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It purported to be by a James Whitty, and the name was followed by a series of distinctions and of the initials, which I have forgotten. F.R.S. were the first. "My name," said the doctor. The Major handed the book back with a bow. "I am proud to make your acquaintance, Dr. Whitty. I have heard of you. May I present Mrs. Trustcott?" Gertie looked confused. The doctor made a stiff obeisance.
Whitty, you could, if you had more time, reduce everything else to the same terms. I know it sounded all very brilliant and unanswerable and analogous to other things. He hardly ever took the trouble to say all this; he was far too much interested in what he already knew, or was just on the point of finding out, to treat of these extravagant and complicated ramifications of his subject.
And as to news, I do find great reason to think that we are beaten in every respect, and that we are the losers. The Prince upon the Galloper, where both the Royall Charles and Royall Katharine had come twice aground, but got off. Captains Bacon, Tearne, Wood, Mootham, Whitty, and Coppin, slayne.
He 'n' Whitty has made a race all to theirselves. It turns out to be a six mile ramble with only one entry. "I goes to the stand 'n' scratches Hamilton while he's still runnin'. The field waits at the post till they get a clear track. "'I didn't know this was a distance race, I says to Whitty when he gets down. Whitty's sore as a crab, the bunch'll mention it to him the rest of the season.
And as to newes, I do find great reason to think that we are beaten in every respect, and that we are the losers. The Prince upon the Galloper, where both the Royall Charles and Royall Katharine had come twice aground, but got off. Captains Bacon, Tearne, Wood, Mootham, Whitty, and Coppin, slayne.
It was so, then, that something of that state to which Frank had passed communicated itself to at least one of those who saw him die. A little past the half hour Frank spoke again. "My love to Whitty," he said.... "Diary.... Tell him...." The end came a few minutes before nine o'clock, and it seems to have come as naturally as life itself. There was no drama, no dying speech, not one word.
As showing the power of the Press, there is no doubt that Whitty and Meany, in the "Journal" and "Post," and through their influence otherwise, did much to secure recognition of a great Irish actor. This was Barry Sullivan, who was, I think, the finest tragedian I have ever seen. He is still remembered with appreciation by many in England, and, I am sure, in Ireland too.
"Please, sir, it's a young man as 'as poisoned 'is foot, 'e says. 'E looks very bad, and " "Eh? Poison?" "Yes, sir." "I'll be down directly," he said almost mechanically. "Take 'em all into the study." Dr. Whitty could hardly explain to me, even when he tried, exactly why he had made an exception in this particular instance.
"I tell you he ain't a proper doctor," he heard his man explaining; "he knows nothing about them things." "My good fellow," began a high, superior voice out of sight; but Dr. Whitty swept on, and was presently deep in indescribable disgustingness of the highest possible value to the human race, especially in the South Seas.
But life, and heart, and hope were changed for ever since those bygone days! Or he would seat himself in a favourite niche of the rocks on Moel Gest, hidden by a stunted growth of the whitty, or mountain-ash, from general observation, with a rich-tinted cushion of stone-crop for his feet, and a straight precipice of rock rising just above.
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