Blind Love

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?"