"I think, Miss Trelawny, that we had better have a consultation on this
case." She answered at once, seemingly a little to his surprise:
"I am glad you have mentioned it. I quite agree. Who would you
suggest?"
"Have you any choice yourself?" he asked. "Any one to whom your Father
is known? Has he ever consulted any one?"
"Not to my knowledge. But I hope you will choose whoever you think
would be best. My dear Father should have all the help that can be
had; and I shall be deeply obliged by your choosing. Who is the best
man in London--anywhere else--in such a case?"
"There are several good men; but they are scattered all over the world.
Somehow, the brain specialist is born, not made; though a lot of hard
work goes to the completing of him and fitting him for his work. He
comes from no country. The most daring investigator up to the present
is Chiuni, the Japanese; but he is rather a surgical experimentalist
than a practitioner. Then there is Zammerfest of Uppsala, and Fenelon
of the University of Paris, and Morfessi of Naples. These, of course,
are in addition to our own men, Morrison of Aberdeen and Richardson of
Birmingham. But before them all I would put Frere of King's College.
Of all that I have named he best unites theory and practice. He has no
hobbies--that have been discovered at all events; and his experience is
immense. It is the regret of all of us who admire him that the nerve
so firm and the hand so dexterous must yield to time. For my own part
I would rather have Frere than any one living."
"Then," said Miss Trelawny decisively, "let us have Doctor Frere--by
the way, is he 'Doctor' or 'Mister'?--as early as we can get him in the
morning!"
A weight seemed removed from him, and he spoke with greater ease and
geniality than he had yet shown:
"He is Sir James Frere. I shall go to him myself as early as it is
possibly to see him, and shall ask him to come here at once." Then
turning to me he said:
"You had better let me dress your hand."
"It is nothing," I said.
"Nevertheless it should be seen to. A scratch from any animal might
turn out dangerous; there is nothing like being safe." I submitted;
forthwith he began to dress my hand. He examined with a
magnifying-glass the several parallel wounds, and compared them with
the slip of blotting-paper, marked with Silvio's claws, which he took
from his pocket-book. He put back the paper, simply remarking:
"It's a pity
|