An Irish Country Doctor Read Online Free PDF Page A

Maggie?"
    "Ding-dong or brrring?" Maggie asked, hitching herself up in the uneven chair and turning to O'Reilly.
    "You tell me," he said.
    "Ding-dong, Doctor dear."
    O'Reilly smiled at her over his half-moon spectacles. Clearly encouraged, she continued. "Ding-dong it is. Dingy dingy-dong."
    An apt description of the woman herself, Barry thought. "Mmm," said O'Reilly, looking wise. "Mmm. Ding-dong and two inches above. Now are the pains in the middle or off to one side?" 
    "Over to the left, so they are."
    "That's what we call 'eccentric,' Maggie."
    That's what I'd call the pair of you, thought Barry. "Eccentric? Boys-a-dear. Is that bad, Doctor?" 
    "Not at all," said O'Reilly, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Fix you up in no time."
    Her shoulders relaxed. She smiled up at her medical advisor, but when she turned to Barry, her stare was as icy as the wind that sweeps the lough in the winter.
    O'Reilly leant past Barry and grabbed a plastic bottle of vitamin tablets from the desk. "These'll do the trick." Maggie rose and accepted the bottle.
    O'Reilly gently propelled her towards the door. "These are special, Maggie."
    She nodded.
    "You have to take them exactly as I tell you." 
    "Yes, Doctor sir. And how would that be?" O'Reilly held the door for her.
    "Half an hour." His next words were delivered with weighted solemnity: "Exactly half an hour before the pain starts."
     "Oh, thank you, Doctor dear." Her smile was radiant. She made a little curtsey, turned, and faced Barry, but she spoke to O'Reilly. Her departing words stung like the jab of a wasp. "Mind you," she said, "this young Laverty fellow . . . he's a lot to learn."

In a Pig's Ear
    Barry sat back in his dining-room chair and pushed his lunch plate away. Certainly, he thought, O'Reilly's clinical methods might leave something to be desired, but, he burped gently, he was willing to forgive the man's eccentricities as long as Mrs. Kincaid's cooking stayed at its current level.
    "Home visits," said O'Reilly from across the table. He consulted a piece of paper. "Anyone who's too sick to come to the surgery phones Kinky in the morning, and she gives me my list." 
    "The one she gave you at breakfast?"
    "Aye, and she tells me to add any who call during the morning." O'Reilly folded the paper and stuck it into the side pocket of his tweed jacket. "We're lucky today--just one. At the Kennedys'." He rose. "Let's get moving. There's a rugby game tonight on the telly. I want to get back in time for the kickoff."
    Barry followed down the hall and into the kitchen where Mrs. Kincaid, up to her elbows in a sink full of soapy water, greeted them with a smile and said, "Would you like them lobsters for supper, Doctor dear?"
    "That would be grand, Kinky."
    Barry savoured the prospect.
    O'Reilly's forward progress stopped. "Kinky, is tonight your Women's Union night?"
    "Aye, so."
    "We'll have the lobsters cold. Leave them with a bit of salad and get you away early."
    He charged on, ignoring Mrs. Kincaid's thanks, opened the back door, and ushered Barry through.
    He found himself in a spacious, fenced garden, the one he'd seen from his bedroom window. Vegetables grew in a plot by the left-hand hedge. Some apple trees, heavy with early apples, were bowed over a well-kept lawn--he recognized a Cox's Orange Pippin and a Golden Delicious. A tall chestnut tree at the far end drooped branches over a fence and shaded a dog kennel. "Arthur!" yelled O'Reilly. "Arthur Guinness!"
    A vast black Labrador hurled himself from the kennel, charged over the grass, and, tail wagging so hard that his backside swung ninety degrees, leapt at O'Reilly.
    "Who's a good boy then?" O'Reilly said, thumping the dog's flank. "I call him Arthur Guinness because he's Irish, black, and has a great head on him . . . just like the stout." 
    "Aryouff," said Arthur.
    "Arthur Guinness, meet Doctor Laverty."
    "Arf," said Arthur, immediately transferring his affections to Barry, who fought desperately to push