Dr Finlay's Casebook

by A. J. Cronin

  A week later, when Peter was well on the way to recovery, Nessie ventured round to see him.

  ‘Is there anything I can do,’ she said, her eyes steadily on his, ‘to make it up to ye, Peter? I’ve always treated ye shameful. And now ye’ve saved my life. It was a brave, brave thing ye did, Peter.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he answered simply, colouring under her praise. ‘It wasn’t that much after all.’

  This time Nessie did not smile at Peter’s shyness, for she knew it as the mark of the man’s great heart.

  In the following year Peter and Nessie were married, and now they live in the square sandstone manse on the outskirts of Tannochbrae. But, though they are beloved and highly esteemed in the village, they are not so staid as Peter’s learned profession might lead one to expect. They go boating on the loch in their little lugsail, and love to tramp on the moors above the village. There is nothing to mar their happiness.

  Hughie, broken and disgraced, sold the farm and went off to Canada in a vain attempt to make a man of himself.

  And now, when Nessie takes her children to the woods to gather raspberries, she does not think of him, such is her present happiness, except with pity. But she does not forget the doctor and his love of raspberry jam, nor the all-important fact that by driving her back to make it he saved her one August afternoon from herself and Hughie Riach.

  And that is why every year, when the earth yields its bounty, Finlay receives from Tannochbrae the big sweet pot of wild rasp jam.

  Who Laughs Last

  ‘Don’t go,’ pithily remarked Cameron to Finlay that April morning when the call came in for Meg Mirless. ‘Take my tip and give the guid lady a gey wide berth.’

  Finlay looked up inquiringly from his finnan haddie which he had been discussing with a healthy appetite before his partner and patron spoke those sage words of admonition and advice.

  ‘And why?’ said he.

  Cameron smiled.

  ‘In the first place, you’ll never sniff your fee, and in the second, there’s nothing could ever be wrong wi’ Meg Mirlees. She’s the healthiest, hardiest, stingiest old faggot that ever drew breath by the grace o’ God and the Provost in this Royal and ancient burgh.’

  Finlay helped himself to more haddock, buttered another of Janet’s famous home-baked bannocks, and listened interestedly while, with a wry and reminiscent smile, Cameron went on.

  ‘Well do I mind the first time I ever waited on her. She had me in for a cough, making out that she had bronchitis, though hang the trouble I could ever discover in her tubes. I called all winter, for it was in my young days in Levenford when I was green and eager and easily led by the nose.

  ‘Well, to cut a long story short, when I sent in my bill, I’m hanged if her ladyship didn’t turn round and argue that she had only asked me to call the once, and the rest of the times had just been for my own pleasure, so to speak. She argued till all was blue, and at the end o’t I lost my temper, tore up the bill, and flung it in her face.’

  Cameron chuckled.

  ‘Dod, ’twas just what she wanted. When I told her I wouldn’t take a penny of her rotten money she laughed like an old cuddy and showed me to the door.’

  ‘So that’s her style!’ exclaimed Finlay.

  ‘Ay,’ Cameron answered, ‘It is her style. She’s a miser, man; maybe not so much miserly as mean. Tcha! she’s as mean with all her gear as a temperance hotel wi’ matches. Mind you, it isn’t as if she wasn’t well off. She’s worth any amount o’ siller. She’s got braw things in her house – antiques, ah, beautiful antiques.’

  Cameron sighed with all the envy of a rival collector, for, besides his fiddles, the old doctor was desperately keen on curios and antique china.

  ‘Why, she’s got a plate there – a dish, to be exact, it’s genuine Ming, brought back by her great-grandmother from Canton, and worth a mint of money. Land’s sake! I’d give my eye-teeth to have the like o’t.’

  Finlay laughed outright at the sudden longing that had crept into Cameron’s tone. He rolled up his napkin and thrust it in the ring. Somehow his interest had been awakened by the account of Miss Mirlees, and as he rose from the table he declared—

  ‘I’ve a mind to have a look at your friend. She’ll not get the better of me.’

  ‘Ye say so.’ Cameron cocked his head shrewdly. ‘Why, man. I’ll wager she’d get what she wants out o’ you and never pay a penny piece.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ protested Finlay stoutly. ‘You wouldn’t catch me giving her advice for nothing.’

  Cameron hid a smile, caressing his chin with a typical reflective gesture.

  ‘On ye go and try, then. Try your hand at her, by all means. If you think you’re a match for Meg Mirlees, Finlay, man, ye’ve no small conceit of yourself.’

  Placed thoroughly on his mettle by this turn of the conversation, and, by the same token, curious to match his wits with the formidable old dame, Finlay, when he had visited his more serious cases that day, dropped in on Meg Mirlees about three in the afternoon.

  Meg lived in Chapel Street, a narrow thoroughfare composed mainly of old-fashioned houses, very quiet and genteel, yet opening at the far end into High Street. The window of Meg’s sitting-room did, in fact, afford a splendid view of High Street, and here, ensconced strategically, Meg would sit watching the passing life of the town, craning her neck, criticising, condemning, throwing out a tasty word of scandal to such of her cronies as had come to keep her company.

  Meg had no friends, but only a tiny ring of toadies, who, by obsequious flattery, hoped to ‘come in for something’ in Meg’s will.

  Meg, however, was alone when Finlay entered, crouched in her customary chair – a gaunt, hard-bitten, shrunken old maid with high cheekbones, a healthy colour, and small, beady, bright eyes.

  She was dressed entirely in rusty black, with an old, darned shawl happed about her, and a worn pair of elastic-sided boots upon her bunioned feet. A bag of small imperials – her one luxury – lay with the Bible on the fine needle-worked stool which stood beside her.

  The plenishings of the room were really excellent; fine old furniture, crystal lustres on the mantelpiece, while, on a table by the window with its back to him, was the famous Ming plate. But the place, for all the value of its contents, had a frowsy smell and dank and chilly air.

  ‘Well, well, doctor,’ whined Meg by way of welcome, ‘it’s good of ye to look in to see a poor auld cratur like mysel’. It’s no’ a professional visit, of course. Ye wouldna think o’ looking on it in that light. Ye see, it’s just a wee bit private word I wanted with ye.’

  Before Finlay could protest she went on quickly.

  ‘Ay, ay, sit down there and rest ye. It’s as cheap sittin’ as standin’. I had a mind to light the fire, and then I just didna. I hope you don’t find it cauld.’

  Even as Finlay shivered in the frigid room he had to smile. He saw that it was more joy for Meg to sit without a fire to save coal than to be warmed with the cheerful blaze she could have well afforded. He took a chair, and gazed at the bleak and cunning old face before him.

  ‘Well,’ said he briskly, ‘why did you send for me, Miss Mirlees?’

  ‘Tit, tit, doctor!’ cried Meg in a panic, ‘dinna put it that down-richt way. A’ I said was ye might look in if you happened to be passing. I was meaning to offer you a cup of tea, but ’deed I do declare, I’ve just discovered we’re out o’ sugar, and the kettle’s this meenit gone off the boil forbye.’

  She broke off, shook her head sadly at the strange coincidence which prevented her offering him hospitality, helped herself with relish to a small imperial, then, as an after-thought, half-offered the bag to Finlay.

  ‘Ye’ll no’ be mindin’ for one o’ thae, doctor. Ye’ll no’ care for the peppermints.’

  She had no idea he would accept, but before she could withdraw the bag Finlay, suppressing a smile, reached out his hand and helped himself liberally.

  ‘Thanks, Miss Mirlees,’ he cried. ‘I’ve g
ot an awfully sweet tooth. How did you know it?’

  Meg’s face froze at the inroads he had made on her precious imperials. She snatched back the bag and declared nippily—

  ‘Ay, it wad seem ye do like them.’

  Screwing the paper poke tightly, she gave him a glower and thrust the sweets safely in her pocket.

  There was a short silence, broken only as they sucked their imperials at one another.

  Finlay, warmed by the initial skirmish, was beginning to enjoy himself.

  ‘And now, Miss Mirlees, that we’re happy and comfortable, what is it all about?’

  Meg darted a sharp glance at him, but, recovering her equanimity with an effort, she assumed a dreadful pretence of sprightliness.

  ‘Weel, it’s this way, doctor. Maybe I have something that might prove interesting for ye. Oh, I ken you doctors are aye lookin’ for something extraordinary in the way o’ complaints.’

  She paused, considering him shrewdly.

  ‘It’s a bit lump on top o’ my head. It doesna worry me ava’, mind ye. I’ve had it these sax years, too, but, dod, it’s been getting bigger lately, so, says I to myself, it might be real interestin’ for young Dr Finlay to look in and maybe, in a quiet way, to try his hand at getting quit o’ it for me. It’ll be grand experience for the young man, thinks I, and, ’deed, I’ve no doubt at all, thinks I, he’d be glad enough to shift it without charge gin I gie him the chance.’

  Her barefaced effrontery fairly took Finlay’s breath away, but he restrained himself, and said—

  ‘Let me look at it, then.’

  ‘Weel, there’s no harm in lookin’,’ responded Meg with a sharp little laugh.

  Finlay rose and went over to the window.

  Parting Meg’s hair, still dark and thick, he examined her scalp, where, as she indicated, there was a round, pink swelling, as big as a pigeon’s egg.

  He recognised the condition at once. It was a simple sebaceous cyst; in plain language, an ordinary wen, a condition commonly met with, and easy to remove.

  Resuming his seat, he explained to Meg in a few words what the condition was, and how, by a simple operation, he could put it right for her.

  Her eye glistened. She rubbed her hands together.

  ‘Ay, I thocht ye’d like the job, doctor. I knew from the start it would be grand experience for ye.’

  Bubbling inside with merriment, Finlay surveyed her with assumed severity.

  ‘I’m not needing that sort of experience, Miss Mirlees. I’ll do the operation for you, if you wish.’ He paused significantly. ‘But the fee will be a guinea and a half.’

  Her face changed comically. She threw up her hands in horror.

  ‘Doctor! Doctor!’ she screeched. ‘I’m surprised at ye. It’s no’ a thing to joke over.’

  ‘I was never more serious in my life,’ said Finlay coolly.

  ‘Na, na,’ entreated Meg. ‘You’re no’ sae heartless, doctor. Havena I told ye . . .’

  ‘Never mind what you’ve told me,’ returned Finlay firmly. ‘It’s what I’m telling you that matters. One guinea and a half is the fee and not a penny less.’

  Meg began to whine.

  ‘I couldna afford it, I couldna, I couldna. Such a way to treat a puir auld woman. Oh, doctor, doctor . . .’

  On she went, begging and praying. But Finlay was adamant. He had sworn to get the better of the stingy Meg. And he meant to keep his word.

  In the end Meg must have seen this, for eventually she gave over, her face flushed with temper and vexation.

  ‘Away with ye, then,’ she cried. ‘Ye’re a bad black-hearted villain. I’ve wasted my time ower ye. Don’t dare charge me for this visit, either. I’ll not pay it, not a farthing. I’ve no money.’

  Finlay rose to go, having enjoyed himself thoroughly, when all at once the great idea struck him.

  It was indeed a grand idea, he thought, and his eyes sped towards the Ming Plate which Cameron had envied so greatly. He exclaimed—

  ‘Never mind about the money then, Miss Mirlees, if you’re rather hard put to it just now. We can’t take the breeks off a hielandman. But I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll do the operation if you’ll give me that plate there by the window.’

  The effect of his words could not have been more unexpected or disastrous. Meg exploded in a final burst of temper.

  ‘My plate!’ she shrieked. ‘My bonny Ming plate that’s worth a heap of golden sovereigns! The idea! The very idea! To think ye wad try to take advantage o’ me like that! As if I didna ken the value o’t! Get out my house, you bold, bad villain, get out my house before I tak’ my stick to ye!’ And, brandishing the little black cane with which she hobbled about the house, she almost drove him out of the room.

  Finlay retreated, laughing at his own defeat, meaning to relate the entire incident with gusto to Cameron that night after supper. But before evening there arrived a note from Meg, wholly unexpected and amazing, asking him to call without fail on the following day. Finlay marvelled, but, awaiting developments, he kept his own counsel, and next morning presented himself again at Meg’s house.

  She was strangely penitent, subdued, tearfully apologetic.

  “Deed, I’m sorry at the way I behaved to ye yestreen, doctor. It was shameful, I ken, but ye maun excuse me. You see, I’m attached to the plate, and your demand fair took me by surprise. But I’ve been thinking since then, and I maun have my poor head seen to. It’s an awfu’ affliction. I canna rest it on the back of my chair at all, at all. I canna thole it, doctor.’ And with her sharp little eyes darting gimlet glances at him, she added – ‘And so I’ve decided to give ye the plate in payment for puttin’ me right.’

  A thrill of triumph shot through Finlay at having brought the old miser to heel, and also at having secured the plate for Cameron. He had always wanted to give Cameron something for his collection; and now here at last was the chance!

  Very well,’ he said briskly. ‘We’ll consider it settled, Miss Mirlees.’

  He went over to the window and took up the plate, and, while she watched him with avaricious eyes, examined it slowly.

  Examined closely, it seemed an ordinary enough plate, plain blue and white in its colouring, rather like a dinner plate, but then Finlay knew nothing of antiques, and he was well aware of the store which Cameron, and, indeed, Meg herself, placed upon it. As he surrendered it back to her jealous hands he said firmly—

  ‘Remember, now, Miss Mirlees, I’m to take this plate away whenever I’ve finished with you. It’s to be this plate and no other.’

  ‘Very well,’ agreed Meg gravely. ‘That plate and no other. It’s a bargain!’ Then quickly, ‘But ye maun do the thing handsome, doctor. Ye’re not to hurt me. Ye’re to take the wen away so it will never come back again. Ye’re to come in every day to see me.’

  ‘All right,’ said Finlay. ‘It’s agreed.’

  ‘And forbye,’ exclaimed Meg, ‘ye’ll throw in all the dressings and bandages complete. It’s a’ to be included.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Finlay, trying to escape. But Meg, clutching at his arms, went on driving the hardest bargain that she could.

  ‘And forbye, doctor, ye’re to gi’e me a braw bottle of tonic for my bluid.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ thought Finlay. ‘If I don’t get out of here she’ll be asking me to cut her corns.’ However, he put the best face on it that he could, and promised to comply with even the most exacting of her requests.

  He did, in fact, make a fine job of the operation, taking endless pains to make it satisfactory. He froze the round swelling thoroughly by spraying it with ethyl chloride, so that the incision should not hurt her. He dissected out the little cyst perfectly, stitched up the wound, and dressed it with iodoform gauze. It was a ticklish job, and took him, from start to finish, a full hour.

  Meg, determined to get every ounce of satisfaction, made a great fuss, moaning and groaning and making awful grimaces. Such, indeed, was her attitude, as Finlay came every day to change h
er dressing. She was a perfect trial and tribulation, harassing him on every front. Only the thought of the beautiful plate he would get from her and be able to give to Cameron kept him from condemning her to everlasting torment. But he did endure it to the end, and at last, after a fortnight, the whole thing was finished, the wound healed, the wen gone, and Meg grudgingly satisfied. It was all over but the fee.

  ‘Now for our bargain,’ said Finlay determinedly. With an odd glint in his eye he went on – ‘Here. This is the bottle of tonic I promised to give you at the end of the treatment. Take it and hand over the plate.’

  She accepted the bottle of physic he held out to her. Then, with unexpected meekness, she hobbled over to the window, took the plate from its stand, and handed it to him without a word. He surveyed it proudly.

  ‘Would you like a bit of paper to wrap it in?’ she muttered.

  Amazed at her liberality, he nodded – perhaps she wasn’t such a bad old thing after all. He shook hands with her, then, with the plate wrapped in an old piece of brown paper and tucked under his arm, he left Meg’s house and walked triumphantly home. Cameron was in the sitting-room, wandering about with his pipe in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. No moment could have been more propitious. With an assumption of indifference Finlay declared—

  ‘I’ve a present for you.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Cameron. He looked surprised but pleased, and as, without further delay, Finlay launched into the story of his bargain with Meg Mirlees, the old doctor listened open-mouthed. When Finlay came to the climax Cameron fairly beamed.

  ‘Well, it beats all, Finlay man, and to think you’ve got me the plate. Well, well, laddie, I can hardly believe it. I’ve had my eye on it for years.’ And Cameron’s hands, the hands of the connoisseur, fairly itched to get at the treasure.

  With pretended modesty, Finlay unwrapped the plate. Cameron took it eagerly, stared at it with bulging eyes, then let out a shout.

  ‘D’you like it?’ said Finlay, fairly oozing satisfaction.

  ‘Like it!’ cried Cameron. The expression of eagerness vanished from his face. He looked at Finlay. He looked back at the plate. Then all at once something came over him and he began to laugh. He laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. He laughed and laughed as he had not done for months, laughed till Janet came rushing to the door to see what it was all about.