Geoffery Gambado Part 10

"I think you must have been misinformed. I believe he is really a very clever, honest man, and gives good sound practical advice to all his patients."

"Yes, so I have heard; and all of it is 'Ride on horseback.' If I went to consult him, I should only get that advice. I know it before hand, and have no inclination to throw away a guinea for it."

"But is it bad advice in your case? would it not do you good to try it?

Why, if you know his remedy, do you not pursue it?"

"Because I do not think it would do me any good."

"Well, you have tried a great many doctors. Let me drive you in my phaeton to Bread-street, and let us hear what the Doctor says."

"Will you pay the Doctor?"

"Yes, if you will follow his advice."

"Done, we will go."

They did go.

The Doctor knew the man he had to deal with, and yet he had confidence in the horseback exercise as the best cure for him, and he told him so.

"Have you got a horse that would suit me?"

"There is a fine strong horse in my stables, that I think would suit you."

"May we go and look at him?"

"I will go with you."

Samuel Ryecross was rather surprised; but Simon Deuce gave him a look, as much as to say, '_I told you he was a horse dealer_.'

When they went to the stables, John Tattsall was there himself, and not being known to either of the gentlemen, they both supposed him to be the groom in the employ of Doctor Gambado.

"John, I have brought a customer to look at the great brown horse. Is he at home?"

"He is, sir; I will lead him out."

He led him out,--rode him,--and Mr. Deuce asked the Doctor what his price was. The Doctor said, "John, what did you say the horse was worth?"

"Ninety guineas, sir, and not a farthing less. I would not let the gentleman have him for one guinea less."

"Will you order him to be sent to my house on Blackheath?"

"Shall I ride him there now, and bring back your cheque?" said John Tattsall.

"You may, if you please, my man."

John bowed, and after ascertaining the name of the abode, Billiter house, Blackheath, he rode off.

"In what name, Doctor, shall I write the cheque?" for, presuming that the Doctor was not professionally a horse dealer, though he considered that he had bought the horse of him, he had a mind to see if he shrunk at all from the responsibility.

The Doctor replied, "In the name of the very man who delivers him, John Tattsall; and I hope the horse will suit you, sir, and do you good."

"There," said Mr. Deuce to his friend Ryecross, "what say you now to the Doctor dealer? hey! Is not my deal with him this day sufficient to convict him before any bench of Magistrates in all the counties of England. If I do not take the s.h.i.+ne out of this Doctor Gambado, then say that Simon Deuce knows nothing of the law."

When they got home, the horse had arrived.

The cheque was written:

"Pay John Tattsall," &c. &c.

John touched his hat, walked off with his money, took a cab to Lombard-street, got the cheque cashed; and called and thanked the Doctor for his recommendation.

The very next day, the Doctor received a summons to answer the charge of being a horse dealer without a licence for that purpose. The suit was preferred in the name of Deuce _v._ Gambado.

Of course, all these things are put into regular process of law, with which we shall not entertain the public. In due time, the case came on in the proper court, and Mr. Deuce swore that he bought such a horse of Doctor Gambado, and that the Doctor's servant, John Tattsall, delivered the horse at Billiter-house, Blackheath. Samuel Ryecross was witness to the transaction. The cheque was produced in court, and Mr. Deuce was lauded very highly for his sense of justice in not allowing the government to be defrauded, and more in not allowing that highly respectable profession of M.D. F.R.S. to be a covering to the tricks and degradation of a horse dealer without a licence.

Never, however, was Deuce more confounded in all his life, than by the cross examination of Serjeant Sharp.

"Pray, sir, may I ask--Did you go to consult Doctor Gambado for any complaint?"

"I went purposely, by the advice of my friend, Samuel Ryecross."

"For what purpose, Mr. Deuce?"

"To consult him."

"Were you ill at that time?"

"Decidedly not well."

"May I ask the nature of the complaint for which you consulted so eminent a physician as Doctor Gambado?"

Mr. Deuce hesitated.

"I have no desire to know more of the complaint than you may think right to tell us; but all who have heard of Doctor Gambado's patients, know well that they are mostly afflicted with nervous depression. May I ask if such was your case?"

"Yes, it was."

"You were deranged, sir; were you not?"

Mr. Deuce, with great vehemence, "No more deranged, sir, than you are."

"Do not be angry, sir, when I used the term _deranged_. I meant that your system was a little deranged, disorganized, or so out of sorts, as to produce a kind of physical disarrangement of the organs leading to the brain, so as to create unpleasant sensations, dyspeptic habits, sleepless nights, and a little of that irritability which we have just seen, so as to render you a little impulsive, and not unlikely to be mistaken."

Deuce did not like this at all, but he could not help saying

"It might be so."

"Oh! It might be so! Now, Mr. Deuce, I must put rather a strong question to you: