The Argosy — page 40: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

FEATHERSTON’S STORY. —e — nee = oe AT THE MAISON ROUGE. HAVE called this Featherston’s story, because it was through him that I heard about it—and, indeed, saw a little of it towards the end. Buttermead, the wide straggling district to which Featherston enjoyed the honour of being doctor-in-ordinary, was as rural as any that can be found in Worcestershire. Featherston’s house stood at the end of the village. Whitney Hall lay close by; as did our school, Dr. Frost’s. In the neighbourhood were scattered a few other substantial residences, some farmers’ homesteads and labourers’ cottages. Featherston was a slim man, with long thin legs and a grey face of care. His patients (like the soldier’s steam arm) gave him no rest day or night. There’s no need to go into details here about Featherston’s people. His sister, Mary Ann, lived in his house at one time, and was almost as good a doctor for every-day ailments as he. She was not at all like him: a merry, talkative, sociable little woman, with black hair and quick, kindly dark eyes. Our resident French master in those days at Dr. Frost’s was one Monsieur Jules Cardiac: a small man with honest blue eyes in his clean-shaven face, and light brown hair cropped close to his head. He was an awful martinet at study, but a genial little gentleman out of it. To the surprise of Buttermead, he and Mary Featherston set up a courtship. It was carried on in sober fashion, as befitted a sober couple who had both left thirty years, and the rest, behind them ; and after a summer or two of it they laid plans for their marriage and for living in France. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what on earth I shall do among the French, Johnny Ludlow,’ Mary saia to me in her laughing way, when I and Bill Whitney were having tea at Featherston’s one half- holiday, the week before the wedding. ‘‘ Jules protests they are easier to get on with than the English; not so stiff and formal : but I don’t pay attention to all he says, you know.” M. Jules Cardiac was going to settle down at his native place, Sainteville; a town on the opposite coast, which had a service of English steamers running to it two or three times a week. He had obtained the post of first classical master at the college there, and meant to spin out his salary (never large in French colleges), COMIC OOOKS.CO