He sat down with an air of impudent independence and looked round the
room. A little cabinet, containing liqueurs, stood open on the
sideboard. Mr. Vimpany got up again. "May I take a friendly liberty?"
he said--and helped himself, without waiting for permission.
Hugh bore with this, mindful of the mistake that he had committed in
consenting to receive the doctor. At the same time, he was sufficiently
irritated to take a friendly liberty on his side. He crossed the room
to the sideboard, and locked up the liqueurs. Mr. Vimpany's brazen face
flushed deeply (not with shame); he opened his lips to say something
worthy of himself, controlled the impulse, and burst into a boisterous
laugh. He had evidently some favour still to ask.
"Devilish good!" he broke out cheerfully. "Do you remember the
landlady's claret? Ha! you don't want to tempt me this time. Well!
well! to return to my bankruptcy."
Hugh had heard enough of his visitor's bankruptcy. "I am not one of
your creditors," he said.
Mr. Vimpany made a smart reply: "Don't you be too sure of that. Wait a
little."
"Do you mean," Mountjoy asked, "that you have come here to borrow money
of me?"
"Time---give me time," the doctor pleaded: "this is not a matter to be
dispatched in a hurry; this is a matter of business. You will hardly
believe it," he resumed, "but I have actually been in my present
position, once before." He looked towards the cabinet of liqueurs. "If
I had the key," he said, "I should like to try a drop more of your good
Curacoa. You don't see it?"
"I am waiting to hear what your business is," Hugh replied.
Mr. Vimpany's pliable temper submitted with perfect amiability. "Quite
right," he said; "let us return to business. I am a man who possesses
great fertility of resource. On the last occasion when my creditors
pounced on my property, do you think I was discouraged? Nothing of the
sort! My regular medical practice had broken down under me. Very
well--I tried my luck as a quack. In plain English, I invented a patent
medicine. The one thing wanting was money enough to advertise it. False
friends buttoned up their pockets. You see?"
"Oh, yes; I see."
"In that case," Mr. Vimpany continued, "you will not be surprised to
hear that I draw on my resources again. You have no doubt noticed that
we live in an age of amateurs. Amateurs write, paint, compose music,
perform on the stage. I, too, am one of the accomplished persons who
have taken possession of the field of Art. Did you observe the
photographic portraits on the walls of my dining-room? They are of my
doing, sir--whether you observed them or not I am one of the handy
medical men, who can use the photograph. Not that I mention it
generally; the public have got a narrow-minded notion that a doctor
ought to be nothing but a doctor. My name won't appear in a new work
that I am contemplating. Of course, you want to know what my new work
is. I'll tell you, in the strictest confidence. Imagine (if you can) a
series of superb photographs of the most eminent doctors in England,
with memoirs of their lives written by themselves; published once a
month, price half-a-crown. If there isn't money in that idea, there is
no money in anything. Exert yourself, my good friend. Tell me what you
think of it?"