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A well-appointed carriage with two fine black horses was drawn up at the station entrance. The smart coachman touched his hat as Cullingworth opened the door. "Which of the houses, sir?" he asked. Cullingworth's eyes shot round to me to see what I thought of such a query. Between ourselves I have not the slightest doubt that he had instructed the man to ask it.
"James!" she screamed; and then to me: "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Munro?" You should have seen the hatred in her dove's eyes. I felt an insane impulse to pick her up and kiss her. "We've only been having a little spar, Mrs. Cullingworth," said I. "Your husband was complaining that he never got any exercise." "It's all right, Hetty," said he, pulling his coat on again.
As I expected, I have not had one word from him since. But in a roundabout way I did get some news as to what happened. From this account, which was second-hand, and may have been exaggerated, Cullingworth did exactly what I had recommended, and calling all his creditors together he made them a long statement as to his position.
Cullingworth mildly, while he roared with laughter, with all his fangs flashing under his bristling moustache. The girl edged closer to her mistress, looking half-frightened and half-angry. "All right, Mary, no harm!" he cried. "Sit down, Munro, old chap. Get a bottle of champagne, Mary, and we'll drink to more luck." Well, we had a very pleasant little dinner.
Cullingworth reports the history of a woman in whom both ovaries were apparently involved by dermoids, who had given birth to 12 children and had three miscarriages the last, three months before the removal of the growths. The accompanying illustration, taken from Baldy, pictures a dermoid cyst of the complicated variety laid open and exposing the contents in situ.
Cullingworth, and tell him that I have as much to do as I care for," said I. "If you spy upon me after this it will be at your own risk." He shuffled and coloured, but I walked on and saw him no more. There was no one on earth who could have had a motive for wanting to know exactly what I was doing except Cullingworth; and the man's silence was enough in itself to prove that I was right.
I daresay you've quite come to the conclusion by this time that Cullingworth is simply an interesting pathological study a man in the first stage of lunacy or general paralysis. You might not be so sure about it if you were in close contact with him. He justifies his wildest flights by what he does.
You cannot imagine a more savage-looking creature than Cullingworth is when his temper goes wrong. He gets a perfectly fiendish expression in his light blue eyes, and all his hair bristles up like a striking cobra. He isn't a beauty at his best, but at his worst he's really phenomenal. At the first danger signal his wife had ordered the maid from the room. "What rot you do talk, Munro!" he cried.
The good people were so touched by the picture that he drew of a worthy man fighting against adversity that several of them wept, and there was not only complete unanimity as to letting their bills stand over, but even some talk of a collection then and there to help Cullingworth on his way. He has, I understand, left Avonmouth, but no one has any idea what has become of him.
Cullingworth in her dressing-jacket, with her hair down her back. "Would you mind coming down and seeing James, Dr. Munro?" said she. "He has been very strange all night, and I am afraid that he is ill." Down I went, and found Cullingworth looking rather red in the face, and a trifle wild about the eyes.
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