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Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
164
Before
Miss
Pole
left
us,
Miss
Matty
and
I
were
as
full
of
the
morning’s
adventure
as
she
was.
We
talked
about
it
all
the
evening,
turning
it
in
every
possible
light,
and
we
went
to
bed
anxious
for
the
morning,
when
we
should
surely
hear
from
someone
what
Mr
Hoggins
thought
and
recommended;
for,
as
Miss
Matty
observed,
though
Mr
Hoggins
did
say
“Jack’s
up,”
“a
fig
for
his
heels,”
and
called
Preference
“Pref.”
she
believed
he
was
a
very
worthy
man
and
a
very
clever
surgeon.
Indeed,
we
were
rather
proud
of
our
doctor
at
Cranford,
as
a
doctor.
We
often
wished,
when
we
heard
of
Queen
Adelaide
or
the
Duke
of
Wellington
being
ill,
that
they
would
send
for
Mr
Hoggins;
but,
on
consideration,
we
were
rather
glad
they
did
not,
for,
if
we
were
ailing,
what
should
we
do
if
Mr
Hoggins
had
been
appointed
physician-in-ordinary
to
the
Royal
Family?
As
a
surgeon
we
were
proud
of
him;
but
as
a
man—
or
rather,
I
should
say,
as
a
gentleman—
we
could
only
shake
our
heads
over
his
name
and
himself,
and
wished
that
he
had
read
Lord
Chesterfield’s
Letters
in
the
days
when
his
manners
were
susceptible
of
improvement.
Nevertheless,
we
all
regarded
his
dictum
in
the
signor’s
case
as
infallible,
and
when
he
said
that
with
care
and
attention
he
might
rally,
we
had
no
more
fear
for
him.
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