Dr Finlay's Casebook Read Online Free

piece o’ shortbread tae your tea? I made some afore I went out.’
    ‘Thank you, Janet. I love your shortbread, it’s the best in Tannochbrae.’
    ‘Best in Scotland, ye mean, lad.’ And Janet gave him one of her rare smiles. ‘To find ye so polite and agreeable is just like the auld days when ye first came here. When the
doctor was heid o’ the family and me and you were his devoted children.’
    ‘We’re still devoted, Janet. You know I’d do anything in the world for the auld doctor.’
    ‘I’m sure ye would, lad. It’s just that sometimes ye seem to think that ye ken mair than him.’
    ‘God forbid, Janet.’
    ‘Well here’s your shortbread, and it’s a bigger bit that I meant to give you.’
    Finlay departed with the shortbread and a respectful inclination of his head. Janet was sometimes difficult, but she could always be brought round by any appreciation of her worth, verbal or
otherwise. He had barely nibbled the shortbread and sipped at his first cup of tea before a firm step was heard in the lobby and the door was flung open, revealing Dr Cameron still in full outdoor
panoply – reefer coat slightly open, one of the many scarves knitted by Janet, and his hat cocked at a rakish angle.
    ‘Well, indeed!’ he exclaimed half jocularly. ‘Tea without me! Is that the way to treat the head o’ the house?’
    Finlay stood up and said quietly, ‘As you’re very often not in for your tea, sir, preferring to take it at your club in the town, and as it had struck the half five without a sign of
you, Janet very kindly gave me a cup.’
    ‘Shortbread, too! Well I never. Ye fare well, my young sir, whenever my back is turned.’
    Fortunately Janet scurried in with a tray, bearing more tea and an ample portion of shortbread, which she placed by the big armchair. Then receiving coat, scarf, gloves and hat from her master
she scurried out to hang them in the hall.
    ‘Well, lad! I ken ye were up the burn with my patient. What did you think o’ him?’
    ‘Wonderfully improved, sir, and a compliment to you!’
    ‘Ay, thank ye, lad. As a matter of fact, Bob McKie hailed me in as I passed the shop to shake me by the hand. “Never,” says he to me, “have I seen such a wonderful
recovery. The dear boy was creeping about, white as a ghost. You prescribed for him, and after one bottle o’ your medicine – for it’s all gone – he is cured, looking better
than I have ever seen him since he was a bairn.” ’
    ‘Well, sir,’ Finlay exclaimed, ‘what a triumph for ye.’
    Dr Cameron gave a self-conscious little laugh. ‘Bob told me the whole town would be talking about it. Says he to me, “Doctors may come and doctors may go, but there’s one
doctor who will ever be with us, loved and respected for his kindness and brilliance.” ’
    ‘He insisted in bringing down the boy, my patient. I’ll confess to you, Finlay, that I was amazed by the improvement in him; his pulse, his colour, his briskness. I saw that I had
just hit on the one correct medicine he needed. And it had done the trick for him, and, if I may say so, for me.’
    ‘Well, sir, I am happy for you. And for young Bob. He’s a thoroughly good, likeable lad. And as he was certainly seriously ill it’s a God’s blessing he is well
again.’
    ‘Thank you, Finlay. It’s to your credit that never, ay never, have ye shown the least jealousy towards me.’
    The old doctor then quaffed his tea and poured himself a second cup before filling and lighting his first pipe of the day.
    The weather continued fine and young Bob Macfarlane was up every day fishing the full stretch of the Gielstone Burn where, as work was light in the practice, Dr Finlay
regularly joined him. On several occasions they went further afield and Finlay took the boy over the high Darroch Moors where there was a chance of sea trout in the loch. Usually they came back
with a few sizable fish and once they – or to be exact, Finlay – landed a seven-pound grilse.