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Updated: June 16, 2025
It was to that he had got after he had left Lady Sunderbund, and to that he now returned. It was the thinness and unreality of his thought of God that had driven him post-haste to Brighton-Pomfrey in search for that drug that had touched his soul to belief.
He bored his head into the pillow and groaned, and then struggled impatiently to throw the bed-clothes off himself. Then he sat up and talked aloud. "I must go to Brighton-Pomfrey," he said. "And get a medical dispensation. If I do not smoke " He paused for a long time. Then his voice sounded again in the darkness, speaking quietly, speaking with a note almost of satisfaction. "I shall go mad.
So it was on this occasion. The day was clear before him; at least it could be cleared by sending three telegrams; his man could go back to Princhester and so leave him perfectly free to go to Brighton-Pomfrey in London and secure that friendly dispensation to smoke again which seemed the only alternative to a serious mental breakdown.
"For I have much to do." "I think that it is possible to keep your vow," said the young man, and the bishop could have sworn at him. "I think we can manage that all right." The bishop sat at the table resting his arm upon it and awaiting the next development of this unsatisfactory interview. He was on the verge of asking as unpleasantly as possible when Brighton-Pomfrey would return.
And so happy to be back with you, Daddy, and find that your religion is after all just the same religion that I have been wanting." ONE afternoon in October, four months and more after that previous conversation, the card of Mr. Edward Scrope was brought up to Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey. The name awakened no memories.
Brighton-Pomfrey was a little round-faced man with defective eyesight and an unsuitable nose for the glasses he wore, and he flaunted God knows why enormous side-whiskers. "Well," he said, balancing the glasses skilfully by throwing back his head, "and how are you? And what can I do for you? There's no external evidence of trouble. You're looking lean and a little pale, but thoroughly fit."
Dale has inflicted injuries!" Scrope got up, walked slowly to the window, clasping his hands behind his back, and turned. His manner still retained much of his episcopal dignity. "I am sorry. But still you can no doubt tell from your books what it was he gave me. It was a tonic that had a very great effect on me. And I need it badly now." Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey was quietly malignant.
Zactly," said the doctor, snapping his face and making his glasses vibrate. "Run down. Want a tonic or a change?" "Yes. In fact I want a particular tonic." Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey made his eyes and mouth round and interrogative. "While you were away last spring " "Had to go," said the doctor, "unavoidable. Gas gangrene. Certain enquiries. These young investigators all very well in their way.
"He kept no diary at all," he said. "No diary at all." "But "If he did," said Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey, holding up a flat hand and wagging it from side to side, "I wouldn't follow his treatment." He intensified with the hand going faster. "I wouldn't follow his treatment. Not under any circumstances." "Naturally," said Scrope, "if the results are what you say. But in my case it wasn't a treatment.
Of course old Brighton-Pomfrey would go on sending people away for rest and a nice little soothing change if the Day of Judgment was coming in the sky and the earth was opening and the sea was giving up its dead. He'd send 'em to the seaside. Such things as that wouldn't shake his faith in the Channel crossing.
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