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Updated: June 23, 2025
The boys at the back of the hall, who hate Vittie worse than the devil, nearly raised the roof off with the way they shouted. I could see that McMeekin didn't half like it. He's rather given himself away by supporting Vittie. Well, as long as the cheering went on Miss Beresford stood and smiled at them.
He talked vague nonsense about periods of incubation, whereas I wanted to know the earliest date at which I might expect to see him and Titherington stricken down, I hated McMeekin worse than ever for his dogged stupidity. The next day McMeekin said I was better, which showed me that Titherington was right in saying that he was no damned use as a doctor. I was very distinctly worse.
He left the room without shutting the door. I spent the next hour in hoping vehemently that he would get the influenza himself. I would have gone on hoping this if I had not been interrupted by the arrival of McMeekin. He did all the usual things with stethoscopes and thermometers and he asked me all the usual offensive questions.
Titherington used my medicine glass. I had the tumbler off the wash-hand-stand. The nurse knocked at the door before we had finished. But Titherington, with a rudeness which made me really like him, again told her to go away because we were talking business. After I had drunk the champagne I began to feel that McMeekin might have been right after all. I was slightly better.
McMeekin is just the sort of man to resent anything in the way of a professional slight from one of his patients. Goaded on by the Archdeacon he would invent some horrible punishment for me. In mediaeval times, so I am given to understand, the clergy tortured people, in cells, for the good of their souls, and any one who had a private enemy denounced him to the Grand Inquisitor.
"McMeekin," he said, "sets up to be a blasted Radical, and is Vittie's strongest supporter." "In that case send for him at once. He'll probably poison me on purpose and then this will be over." "He's not such an idiot as to do that. He knows that if anything happened to you we'd get another candidate."
This is another proof that McMeekin ought to be in an asylum for idiots. Barley water would depress me and make me miserable even if I were in perfect health. As a set-off against Titherington's thoughtlessness and McMeekin's imbecility, I noticed that during the day the nurse became gradually less obnoxious.
He may not be able to do me any good, but he'll give orders that I'm to be left quiet and that's all I want." "McMeekin's no damned use as a doctor; but he'll " "Then get some one else. Surely he's not the only one there is." "There are two others, but they're both sure to support you in any case, whereas McMeekin " The way Titherington was discussing my illness annoyed me.
He tried, after his own foolish fashion, to cheer and encourage me. "Poor Vittie's got it too," he said. "I was called in to see him last night." "Influenza?" "Yes. It's becoming a perfect epidemic in the district. I have forty cases on my list." "If Vittie's got it," I said, "there's no reason in the world why I should get up." McMeekin is a singularly stupid man. He did not see what I meant.
I felt the need of a stimulant so badly that I ventured to ask McMeekin, who called just before I went to bed, to allow me half a glass of Burgundy. Burgundy would not have been nearly as good for me as champagne, but it would have been better than nothing. McMeekin sternly forbade anything of the sort, and I heard him tell the nurse to give me barley water when I asked for a drink.
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