Part 35 (1/2)

”I agree again,” continued the Englishman--”with a reservation. Cataract is _sometimes_ curable.”

”This cataracts is curable!” cried Herr Grosse.

”With all possible deference,” said Mr. Sebright, ”I dispute that conclusion. The cataract, in Miss Finch's case, is _not_ curable.”

”Can you give us your reasons, sir, for saying that?” I inquired.

”My reasons are based on surgical considerations which it requires a professional training to understand,” Mr. Sebright replied. ”I can only tell you that I am convinced--after the most minute and careful examination--that Miss Finch's sight is irrevocably gone. Any attempt to restore it by an operation, would be, in my opinion, an unwarrantable proceeding. The young lady would not only have the operation to undergo, she would be kept secluded afterwards, for at least six weeks or two months, in a darkened room. During that time, it is needless for me to remind you that she would inevitably form the most confident hope of her restoration to sight. Remembering this, and believing as I do that the sacrifice demanded of her would end in failure, I think it most undesirable to expose our patient to the moral consequences of a disappointment which must seriously try her. She has been resigned from childhood to her blindness. As an honest man, who feels bound to speak out and to speak strongly, I advise you not further to disturb that resignation. I declare it to be, in my opinion, certainly useless, and possibly dangerous, to allow her to be operated on for the restoration of her sight.”

In those uncompromising words, the Englishman delivered his opinion.

Lucilla's hand closed fast on mine. ”Cruel! cruel!” she whispered to herself angrily. I gave her a little squeeze, recommending patience--and looked in silent expectation (just as Nugent was looking too) at Herr Grosse. The German rose deliberately to his feet, and waddled to the place in which Lucilla and I were sitting together.

”Has goot Mr. Sebrights done?” he asked.

Mr. Sebright only replied by his everlasting never-changing bow.

”Goot! I have now my own word to put in,” said Herr Grosse. ”It shall be one little word--no more. With my best compliments to Mr. Sebrights, I set up against what he only thinks, what I--Grosse--with these hands of mine have done. The cataracts of Miss there, is a cataracts that I have cut into before, a cataracts that I have cured before. Now look!” He suddenly wheeled round to Lucilla, tucked up his cuffs, laid a forefinger of each hand on either side of her forehead, and softly turned down her eyelids with his two big thumbs. ”I pledge you my word as surgeon-optic,”

he resumed, ”my knife shall let the light in here. This lofable-nice girls shall be more lofable-nicer than ever. My pretty Feench must be first in her best goot health. She must next gif me my own ways with her--and then one, two, three--ping! my pretty Feench shall see!” He lifted Lucilla's eyelids again as he said the last word--glared fiercely at her through his spectacles--gave her the loudest kiss, on the forehead, that I ever heard given in my life--laughed till the room rang again--and returned to his post as sentinel on guard over the Mayonnaise.

”Now,” cried Herr Grosse cheerfully, ”the talkings is all done. Gott be thanked, the eatings may begin!”

Lucilla left her chair for the second time.

”Herr Grosse,” she said, ”where are you?”

”Here, my dears!”

She crossed the room to the table at which he was sitting, already occupied in carving his favorite dish.

”Did you say you must use a knife to make me see?” she asked quite calmly.

”Yes, yes. Don't you be frightened of that. Not much pains to bear--not much pains.”

She tapped him smartly on the shoulder with her hand.

”Get up, Herr Grosse,” she said. ”If you have your knife about you, here am I--do it at once!”

Nugent started. Mr. Sebright started. Her daring amazed them both. As for me, I am the greatest coward living, in the matter of surgical operations performed on myself or on others. Lucilla terrified me. I ran headlong across the room to her. I was even fool enough to scream.

Before I could reach her, Herr Grosse had risen, obedient to command, with a choice morsel of chicken on the end of his fork. ”You charming little fools,” he said, ”I don't cut into cataracts in such a hurry as that. I perform but one operations on you to-day. It is this!” He unceremoniously popped the morsel of chicken into Lucilla's mouth. ”Aha!

Bite him well. He is nice-goot! Now then! Sit down all of you. Lonch!

lonch!”

He was irresistible. We all sat down at table.

The rest of us ate. Herr Grosse gobbled. From Mayonnaise to marmalade tart. From marmalade tart back again to Mayonnaise. From Mayonnaise, forward again to ham sandwiches and blancmange; and then back once more (on the word of an honest woman) to Mayonnaise! His drinking was on the same scale as his eating. Beer, wine, brandy--nothing came amiss to him; he mixed them all. As for the lighter elements in the feast--the almonds and raisins, the preserved ginger and the crystallized fruits, he ate them as accompaniments to everything. A dish of olives especially won his favor. He plunged both hands into it, and deposited his fists-full of olives in the pockets of his trousers. ”In this ways,” he explained, ”I shall trouble n.o.body to pa.s.s the dish--I shall have by me continually all the olives that I want.” When he could eat and drink no more, he rolled up his napkin into a ball, and became devoutly thankful. ”How goot of Gott,” he remarked, ”when he invented the worlds to invent eatings and drinkings too! Ah!” sighed Herr Grosse, gently laying his outspread fingers on the pit of his stomach, ”what immense happiness there is in This!”

Mr. Sebright looked at his watch.