“Well, anyway, when I next meet him I’ll thrash him within an inch of his life,” cried Master Nathaniel violently; and Endymion Leer looked at him with a queer little smile.
“And now you’d better take me to see your son and heir,” he said, after a pause.
“Do you … do you think you’ll be able to cure him?” Master Nathaniel asked hoarsely, as he led the way to the parlour.
“I never answer that kind of question before I’ve seen the patient, and not always then,” answered Endymion Leer.
Ranulph was lying on a couch in the parlour, and Dame Marigold was sitting embroidering, her face pale and a little defiant. She was still feeling every inch a Vigil and full of resentment against the two Chanticleers, father and son, for having involved her in this horrible business.
Poor Master Nathaniel stood by, faint with apprehension, while Endymion Leer examined Ranulph’s tongue, felt his pulse and, at the same time, asked him minute questions as to his symptoms.
Finally he turned to Master Nathaniel and said, “I want to be left alone with him. He will talk to me more easily without you and your dame. Doctors should always see their patients alone.”
But Ranulph gave a piercing shriek of terror. “No, no, no!” he cried. “Father! Father! Don’t leave me with him.”
And then he fainted.
Master Nathaniel began to lose his head, and to buzz and bang again like a cockchafer. But Endymion Leer remained perfectly calm. And the man who remains calm inevitably takes command of a situation. Master Nathaniel found himself gently but firmly pushed out of his own parlour, and the door locked in his face. Dame Marigold had followed him, and there was nothing for them to do but to await the doctor’s good pleasure in the pipe-room.
“By the Sun, Moon, and Stars, I’m going back!” cried Master Nathaniel wildly. “I don’t trust that fellow, I’m not going to leave Ranulph alone with him, I’m going back.”
“Oh, nonsense, Nat!” cried Dame Marigold wearily. “Do please be calm. One really must allow a doctor to have his way.”
For about a quarter of an hour Master Nathaniel paced the room with ill-concealed impatience.
The parlour was opposite the pipe-room, with only a narrow passage between them, and as Master Nathaniel had opened the door of the pipe-room, he soon was able to hear a murmur of voices proceeding from the parlour. This was comforting, for it showed that Ranulph must have come to.
Then, suddenly, his whole body seemed to stiffen, the pupils of his eyes dilated, he went ashy white, and in a low terrified voice he cried, “Marigold, do you hear?”
In the parlour somebody was singing. It was a pretty, plaintive air, and if one listened carefully one could distinguish the words.
“And can the physician make sick men well,
And can the magician a fortune divine
Without lily, germander, and sops in wine?
With sweetbrier,
And bonfire,
And strawberry-wire,
And columbine.”
“Good gracious, Nat!” cried Dame Marigold, with a mocking look of despair. “What on earth is the matter now?”
“Marigold! Marigold!” he cried hoarsely, seizing her wrists, “don’t you hear?”
“I hear a vulgar old song, if that’s what you mean. I’ve known it all my life. It is very kind and domesticated of Endymion Leer to turn nursemaid and rock the cradle like this!”
But what Master Nathaniel had heard was the Note.
For a few seconds he stood motionless, the sweat breaking out on his forehead. Then blind with rage, he dashed across the corridor. But he had forgotten the parlour was locked, so he dashed out by the front door and came bursting in by the window that opened on to the garden.
The two occupants of the parlour were evidently so absorbed in each other that they had noticed neither Master Nathaniel’s violent assault on the door nor yet his entry by the window.
Ranulph was lying on the couch with a look on his face of extraordinary peace and serenity, and there was Endymion Leer, crouching over him and softly crooning the tune to which he had before been singing words.
Master Nathaniel, roaring like a bull, flung himself on the doctor, and, dragging him to his feet, began to shake him as a terrier does a rat, at the same time belabouring him with every insulting epithet he could remember, including, of course, “Son of a Fairy.”
As for Ranulph, he began to whimper, and complain that his father had spoiled everything, for the doctor had been making him well.
The din caused terrified servants to come battering at the door, and Dame Marigold came hurrying in by the garden window, and, pink with shame, she began to drag at Master Nathaniel’s coat, almost hysterically imploring him to come to his senses.
But it was only to exhaustion that he finally yielded, and relaxed his hold on his victim, who was purple in the face and gasping for breath—so severe had been the shaking.
Dame Marigold cast a look of unutterable disgust at her panting, triumphant husband, and overwhelmed the little doctor with apologies and offers of restoratives. He sank down on a chair, unable for a few seconds to get his breath, while Master Nathaniel stood glaring at him, and poor Ranulph lay whimpering on the couch with a white scared face. Then the victim of Master Nathaniel’s fury got to his feet, gave himself a little shake, took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead, and with a little chuckle and in a voice in which there was no trace of resentment, remarked, “Well, a good shaking is a fine thing for settling the humours. Your Worship has turned doctor! Thank you … thank you kindly for your physic.”
But Master Nathaniel said in a stern voice, “What were you doing to my son?”
“What was I doing to him? Why, I was giving him medicine. Songs were
