Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 January 1881 — Dr. Jex’s Predicament. [ARTICLE]

Dr. Jex’s Predicament.

It was the funniest thing that I ever saw in my life. Cruikshank would have gloried in it. I wish I had him here to illustrate that scene with the spirited vigor that only his dancing pencil gives. It was in Kentucky that it happened—that pleasant land of blue-grass, and tobacco, and fine stock, with white-teethed girls. Mabel, my sister, had married Dick Hucklestone, and they had begun life in great contentment and a liltle three-roomed house scarcely big enough to hold the bridal presente. But they were happy, hearty, healthy. They had two cows, ice cream every aay, a charming baby, and Uncle Brimmer. Who shall say that their cup was not full? Indeed, they thought it full before Uncle Brimmer added* himself thereto—a very pondrous rose leaf. He was one of our old family servants, who fondly believed that Miss Mabel and her young husband would never be able to get on without him. He walked all the way from Mississippi to Kentucky, with his things tied up in a meal sack, and presented himself before Mabel, announcing affably that he had come to “stay on.” “But I haven’t any place for you, Uncle Brimmer,” said Mabel, divided between hospitality and embarrassment. “Lor’ honey, you kin jes’ tuck me aroun’ anywhar. I don’t take up no room. ” Mabel looked thoughtfully upon the big brown gray-whiskered old negro, whose proportions were those of a Hercules, and shook herjiead. ’“You are not a Tom Thumb, Uncle Brimmer.” “No, ma’am,” said he, submissively, “but I’ve got his spirit. Couldn’t I sleep in de kitchen, honey?” he went on, with insinuating sweetness. “No, indeed,” cried our young housekeeper; “I put my foot down on anybody sleeping in the kitchen.” Aunt Patsey, the cook, stood by, balancing a pan of flour on her head, one fat hand on her hip. I suspected her of a personal interest in the matter, and indeed she afterward acknowledged that she thought Uncle Brimmer’s coming , would prove a “blessin’ to her feet.” Those feet of hers had been saved many steps through the service of her ten-year-old daughter Nancy Palmira Kate called Nanky Pal, for short. But of late Nanky’s services had been called into requisition as a nurse, and Aunt Patsey, who was fat and scant o’ breath, thought she had too much to do; and so she viewed with evident delight the stalwart proportions of our good-natured giant from the south. . “Dar’sdelof, Miss Mabel,” she suggested. “It is too small, aud is cluttered up with things already. ” “Oh, sho, chile, dar ain’t nothin in dat lof’ ’cep’ de ’tatters, an’ de peppers, an’ de dried apples, an’ some strings o’ terbacker, an’ de broken plow, an’ some odds an’ ends o’ de chillen’s, an’ Lucy Crittenden’s pups. Lor’, dar ain’t nothin’ ter speak of in de lof’. ” “He can’t get in at the window,” said Mabel, shifting her ground. “Lemme try,” said Uncle Brimmer. The kitchen was a small log-cabin some distance from the house—“in good hollerin’ reach,” to quote Aunt Patsey. Above it was a low roon, or loft, crowded with the miscellaneous articles enumerated. The only way of getting into it was from the outside. A ladder against the side of the cabin a< milted one, through a little window, no longer. I am sure, than that of a railway coach into this storehouse of treasures. Nanky Pal, who was as slim as a snake, was usually selected to fetch and carry tlirough the small aperture. But Uncle Brimmer! “I’m pretty sho I kin do it,” he said squinting up oue eye, as he took off his coat nnd prepared to try. We stood in the doorway as he can tiously went up the ladder; and after ai exciting moment he pushed himself through the window, and turning, smiled triumphantly. Tbis settled the matter. A cot bee was procured for Uncle Brimmer, am he soon became the mainstay of th' family. Cheerfully avoiding all th< work possible; indifferently as an ostrich eating all he could find in cupboards or highways; grimly playing hobgoblin for baby; j gayly twanging his banjo o moonlight nights—memory recalls tl e with a smile, Uncle Brimmer! I c:n close my eyes now and recall him, big shapless, indistinct in the semi-darkness, as he sat under the mulberry-tree, singsing, Wish I was in Tennessee, A-settin’ in my cheer. Jug o’ wnfsky by my side, An’ arms aroun* my dear!” This was his favorite. Who shall doubt that it expressed to him all the poetry, romance, passion, of life? After a time Uncle Brimmer fell ill, and we sent for a doctor. Dr. Trattles Jex was the medical man of our county. Hel ived in Middleburn, seven miles away, and he came trotting over on a great bay horse, with a pair of saddle-bags hanging like Gilpin’s bottle’s, one on either side. He looked as diminutive as a monkey perched on the tall horse’s back, and indeed he was “a wee bit pawky body,” as was said of Tommy Moore. Hut, bless me! he was as pompous and self-important as though he had found the place to stand on, and could move the world with his little lever. A red handkerchief carefully pinned across his chest showed that he had lungs and a mother. His boots were polished to the last degree. His pink and beardless face betrayed his youth; and his voice—ah! his voice! What a treasure it would have been could he have let it out to masqueraders! Whether it was just changing from that of youth to that of man, or whether, like reading and writing, it “came by nature,” I can’t tell. One instant it was and bw, tjis next, squeaking and

soprano. No even tenor about that voice! IHe held out his hand, with, “Goodmorning, Mrs. Hucklestone. I hope the baby has not had an attack?” I popped into the dining-room to giggle, but little well-bred Mabie did not even smile. “Oh no,” she cried; “it is Uncle Brimmer.” The doctor offered to see him at once. Mabel got up to lead the way. Up to tbis moment I warrant it had not struck her as anything out of the way that she must invite Dr. Jex to climb a ladder and crawl through a window to get at his patient. But as she looked at him, speckless, spotless, gloved, scented, curled, then at the ladder leaning against the wall in a disreputable, rickety sort of way, a scene of incongruity seemed borne in on her soul. To add to her distress and my hilarity, we saw that Uncle Brimmer had hung out of the window some mysterious under-rigging that he wore. Long, red, and ragged, it “flaunted in the breeze” as pictursequely as the American flag on a Fourth of July. “I am afraid, doctor, it will be a little awkward,” faltered Mabel; “Uncle Brimmer is up there;” aud she waved her lily hand. “An’ you’ll have to clime de ladder,’* put in Nanky Pal, with a disrespectful chuckle. I thought the little doctor gasped; but he recovered himself gallantly, and said: “As a boy I have climbed trees, and think I can ascend a ladder as a man;” and he sihiled heroically. We watched him. He was encumbered by the saddle-bags, but he managed very well, and had nearly reached the top, when suddenly Uncle Brimmer’s head and shoulders protruded, giving him the look of a snail half out of its shell. “Here’s my pulse, doctor,” he cried, blandly, extending his bared arm. “’Tain’t no place for you up here. ’An here’s my tongue. ” Then out went his tongue for Dr. Jex’s inspection. The doctor settled himself on a rung of the ladder, quite willing to be met half way. Professional inquiries began, when “A deep sound struck like a rising knell.” “Good gracious!” exclaimed Mabel; “what is that?” Nanky Pal sprang up, with distended eyes, almost letting the baby fall. Again, “Nearer, clearer, deadlier than before.” “Sakes alive! Miss Mabel,” cried Nanky, “ole Mr. Simmon’s bull’s done broke loose!” She was right. A moment more, and in rushed the splendid angry beast, bellowing, pawing the ground, shaking his evil lowered head as if the devil were contradicting him. Dr. Jex turned a sacred face. My lord Bull caught sight of-the fluttering red rags, and charged the side of the house. And I give you my word, the next instant the ladder was knocked from under the doctor’s feet, and he was clinging frantically round the neck of Uncle Brimmer. Fearful moment.

“Pull him iii,, Uncle Brimmer—pull him in,” shrieked Mabel, dancing b >ut. “I can’t, honey—l can’t,” gasped the choking giant; “I’m stuck.” “Hold me up,” cried the doctor. “Send for help.” Uncle Brimmer seized him by the armpits. The saddle-bags went clattering down, and about the head of Master Bull a cloud of quinine, calomel, Dover’s aud divers other powders and pills, broke in blinding confusion. “Aunt Patsey. go for Mr. Hucklestone at once,” called Mabel. Aunt Patsey looked cautiously out from the kitchen door. “Yer don’t ketch me in de yard wid ole Simmons’ bull,” she said with charming independence. “Then I shall send Nanky Pal.” “If Nanky Pal goes outen dat house I’ll break every bone in her body.” Then Mabel began to beg: “Aunt Patsey, let her go, please. I’ll give you a whole bagful of quilt pieces, and my ruby rep polonaise that you begged me for yesterday. ” Aunt Patsey’s head came out a little further. “An’what else?” “And a ruffled pillow-sham,” said Mabel, almost in tears, “and some white sugar, and 111 make you a hat—and that’s all. Now!" “I reckon dat a about as much as the chile is wuth,” said the philosophic mother. “Let her go.” “Fly! fly!” cried Mabel. “I ain’t skeered,” said Nanky. “I ain’t dat sort. Mammy ain’t nuther. She was jes’ waitin’ ter see liow much you’d give.” Nankyis bare legs, scudded quickly across the yard. The bull took no notice of her. He was still stamping and bellowing under that window. Uncle Brimmer and the doctor clung together, and only a kick now and then testified to the little man’s agony. “Suppose Uncle Brimmer should let go ?” I suggested in a hollow whisper. “Oh, hush,” cried Mabel. “The doctor's blood would be on our heads.” “Or the bull’s horns.” It was not far to the tobacco field, and in an incredibly short time brother John came riding in followed by half a dozen stout negroes. With some delightful play that gave one quite an idea of a Spanish bull fight, his lordship was captured, and our little doctor was assisted to the house. Gone was the glory of Dr. Trattles Tex. His coat was torn, his knees grimy, his hands scratched, and he looked—yes —as if he had been crying. “Can you ever forgive us?” said Mabel, oiteouslv. She hovered about him like a little mother. She made him drink two glasses of wine; she mended his coat; she .tsked him if he would not like to kiss the baby. And finally a wan smile shone in the countenance of Dr. Jex. For me, I felt my face purpling, and leaving him to Mabel, I fled with brother John to the smoke-house, where we—roared. Uncle Brimmer got well and went in to see the doctor. He returned with a aew cravat, a cane, and several smart articles of attire, from which we inferred tfiat in those trying moments when he supported the suspended doctor, that little gentleman had offered many inducements for him to hold fast. When questioned he responded chiefly with a cavernous and mysterious smile, only saying: “Master Dr. Jex is a gentleman; starch in or starch out, he’s de gentleman straight.” And brother John, who is somewhat acquainted with slang, said, with a great laugh, “Well, old man, you had a bully chance to judge, so you must be right.” —Harper's Weekly.