P., stumbling up the stairs of the Tiger
with an infant in his arms.
THE REVOLVER
When friends observed his occasional limp, Alderman Keats would say,
with an air of false casualness, "Oh, a touch of the gout."
And after a year or two, the limp having increased in frequency and
become almost lameness, he would say, "My gout!"
He also acquired the use of the word "twinge." A scowl of torture would
pass across his face, and then he would murmur, "Twinge."
He was proud of having the gout, "the rich man's disease." Alderman
Keats had begun life in Hanbridge as a grocer's assistant, a very simple
person indeed. At forty-eight he was wealthy, and an alderman. It is
something to be alderman of a town of sixty thousand inhabitants. It was
at the age of forty-five that he had first consulted his doctor as to
certain capricious pains, which the doctor had diagnosed as gout. The
diagnosis had enchanted him, though he tried to hide his pleasure,
pretending to be angry and depressed. It seemed to Alderman Keats a mark
of distinction to be afflicted with the gout. Quite against the doctor's
orders he purchased a stock of port, and began to drink it steadily.
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