not altogether please him. He called the landlady, and soundly rated
her. This scene was interesting, it had a fine flavour of the Middle
Ages. The Doctor addressed mine hostess of the
and with magnificent disdain refused to hear her excuses; she, the
stout, noisy woman, who ruled her own underlings with contemptuous
rigour, was all subservience before this social superior, and whined to
him for pardon. “What water is this?” asked Dr. Sculco, sternly, taking
up the corked jar that stood on the floor. The hostess replied that it
was drinking water, purchased with good money. Thereupon he poured out
a little, held it up to the light, and remarked in a matter-of-fact
tone, “I don’t believe you.”
However, in a few minutes peace was restored, and the Doctor prescribed
anew. After he had talked about quinine and cataplasms, he asked me
whether I had any appetite. A vision of the dining-room came before me,
and I shook my head. “Still,” he urged, “it would be well to eat
something.” And, turning to the hostess, “He had better have a
beefsteak and a glass of Marsala.” The look of amazement with which I
heard this caught the Doctor’s eye. “Don’t you like
inquired. I suggested that, for one in a very high fever, with a good
deal of lung congestion, beefsteak seemed a trifle solid, and Marsala
somewhat heating. “Oh!” cried he, “but we must keep the machine going.”
And thereupon he took his genial leave.
I had some fear that my hostess might visit upon me her resentment of
the Doctor’s reproaches; but nothing of the kind. When we were alone,
she sat down by me, and asked what I should really like to eat. If I
did not care for a beefsteak of veal, could I eat a beefsteak of
mutton? It was not the first time that such a choice had been offered
me, for, in the South,
on the grill or in the oven. Never have I sat down to a
which was fit for man’s consumption, and, of course, at the
it would be rather worse than anywhere else. I persuaded the good woman
to supply me with a little broth. Then I lay looking at the patch of
cloudy sky which showed above the houses opposite, and wondering
whether I should have a second fearsome night. I wondered, too, how
long it would be before I could quit Cotrone. The delay here was
particularly unfortunate, as my letters were addressed to Catanzaro,
the next stopping-place, and among them I expected papers which would
need prompt attention. The thought of trying to get my correspondence
forwarded to Cotrone was too disturbing; it would have involved an
enormous amount of trouble, and I could not have felt the least
assurance that things would arrive safely. So I worried through the
hours of daylight, and worried still more when, at nightfall, the fever
returned upon me as badly as ever.
Dr. Sculco had paid his evening visit, and the first horror of
ineffectual drowsing had passed over me, when my door was flung
violently open, and in rushed a man (plainly of the commercial
species), hat on head and bag in hand. I perceived that the
had just arrived, and that travellers were seizing upon their bedrooms.
The invader, aware of his mistake, discharged a volley of apologies,
and rushed out again. Five minutes later the door again banged open,
