The Stark Munro Letters VI - The Parade, Bradfield, 7th March, 1882

Arthur Conan Doyle (0:26)

CHAPTER VI. THE PARADE. BRADFIELD, 7th MARCH, 1882

It is only two days since I wrote to you, my dear old chap, and yet I find myself loaded to the muzzle, and at full cock again. I have come to Bradfield, I have seen old Cullingworth once more, and I have found that all he has told me is true. Yes, incredible as it sounded, this wonderful fellow seems to have actually built up a great practice in little more than a year. He really is, with all his eccentricities, a very remarkable man, Bertie. He doesn't seem to have a chance of showing his true powers in this matured civilization. The law and custom hamper him. He is the sort of fellow who would come right to the front in a French Revolution. Or if you put him as emperor over some of these little South American states, I believe that in ten years he would either be in his grave or would have the continent. Yes, Cullingworth is fit to fight for a higher stake than a medical practice, and on a bigger stage than an English provincial town. When I read of Aaron Burr in your history, I always picture him as a man like C.

I had the kindness of leaf takings from Horton. If he had been my brother, he could not have been more affectionate. I could not have thought that I should grow so fond of a man in so short a time. He takes the keenest interest in my venture, and I am to write him a full account. He gave me as we parted a black old meerschaum, which he had colored himself, the last possible pledge of affection from a smoker. It was pleasant for me to feel that if all went wrong at Bradfield, I had a little harbor at Merton for which I could make. Still, of course, pleasant and instructive is the life there was. I could not shut my eyes to the fact that it would take a terribly long time before I could save enough to buy a share in a practice, a longer time probably than my poor father's strength would last. That telegram of Cullingworth in which, as you may remember, he guaranteed me 300 pounds in the first year, gave me hopes of a much more rapid career. You will agree with me, I am sure, that I did wisely to go to him. I had an adventure upon the way to Bradfield. The carriage in which I was traveling contained a party of three at whom I took the most casual of glances before settling down to the daily paper. There was an elderly lady with a bright rosy face, gold spectacles, and a dash of red velvet in her bonnet. With her were two younger people who I took to be her son and her daughter, the one a quiet, gentle-looking girl of twenty or so dressed in black, and the other a sharp, thick-set young fellow a year or two older. The two ladies sat by each other in the far corner, and the son, as I presume him to be, sat opposite me. We may have traveled an hour or more without my paying any attention to this little family party, save that I could not help hearing some talk between the two ladies. The younger who was addressed as Winnie had, as I noticed, a very sweet and soothing voice. She called the elder Mother, which showed that I was right as to the relationship.

I was sitting then still reading my paper, when I was surprised to get a kick on the shins from the young fellow opposite. I moved my legs thinking that it was an accident, but an instant afterwards I received another and a harder one.

I dropped my paper with a growl, but the moment that I glanced at him, I saw how the matter stood. His foot was jerking spasmodically, his two hands clenched and drumming against his breast, while his eyes were rolling upwards until only the rim of his iris was to be seen. I sprang upon him, tore open his collar, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and pulled his head down upon the seat. Crash went one of his heels through the carriage window, but I contrived to sit upon his knees while I kept hold of his two wrists.

Don't be alarmed, I cried. It's epilepsy and will soon pass.

Glancing up, I saw that the little girl was sitting very pale and quiet in the corner. The mother had pulled a bottle out of her bag and was quite cool and helpful. He often has them, says she. This is bromide.

He's coming out, I answered. You look after Winning. I blurted it out because her head seemed to rock as if she were going off. But the absurdity of the thing struck us all next moment, and the mother burst into a laugh in which the daughter and I joined. The son had opened his eyes and had ceased to struggle.