The Croxley Master: A Great Tale Of The Prize Ring By Arthur Conan
DoyleMR. ROBERT MONTGOMERY was seated at his desk, his head upon his
hands, in a state of the blackest despondency. Before him was the open
ledger with the long columns of Dr. Oldacre's prescriptions. At his
elbow lay the wooden tray with the labels in various partitions, the
cork box, the lumps of twisted sealing-wax, while in front a rank of
empty bottles waited to be filled. But his spirits were too low for
work. He sat in silence, with his fine shoulders bowed and his head upon
his hands. Outside, through the grimy surgery window over a foreground
of blackened brick and slate, a line of enormous chimneys like Cyclopean
pillars upheld the lowering, dun-coloured cloud-bank. For six days in
the week they spouted smoke, but to-day the furnace fires were banked,
for it was Sunday. Sordid and polluting gloom hung over a district
blighted and blasted by the greed of man. There was nothing in the
surroundings to cheer a desponding soul, but it was more than his dismal
environment which weighed upon the medical assistant. His trouble was
deeper and more personal. The winter session was approaching. He should
be back again at the University completing the last year which would
give him his medical degree but alas! he had not the money with which to
pay his class fees, nor could he imagine how he could procure it. Sixty
pounds were wanted to make his career, and it might have been as many
thousands for any chance there seemed to be of his obtaining it. He was
roused from his black meditation by the entrance of Dr. Oldacre himself,
a large, clean-shaven, respectable man, with a prim manner and an
austere face. He had prospered exceedingly by the support of the local
Church interest, and the rule of his life was never by word or action to
run a risk of offending the sentiment which had made him. His standard
of respectability and of dignity was exceedingly high, and he expected
the same from his assistants. His appearance and words were always
vaguely benevolent. A sudden impulse came over the despondent student.
He would test the reality of this philanthropy. "I beg your pardon, Dr.
Oldacre," said he, rising from his chair "I have a great favour to ask
of you." The doctor's appearance was not encouraging. His mouth suddenly
tightened, and his eyes fell. "Yes, Mr. Montgomery?" "You are aware,
sir, that I need only one more session to complete my course." "So you
have told me."
