 Webbe from
Crabsley, as good a country practitioner as any of them, to come over twice
a-week, and in case of any exceptional operation, Protheroe will come from
Brassing. I must work the harder, that's all, and I have given up my post at the
Infirmary. The plan will flourish in spite of them, and then they'll be glad to
come in. Things can't last as they are: there must be all sorts of reform soon,
and then young fellows may be glad to come and study here.« Lydgate was in high
spirits.
    »I shall not flinch, you may depend upon it, Mr. Lydgate,« said Mr.
Bulstrode. »While I see you carrying out high intentions with vigour, you shall
have my unfailing support. And I have humble confidence that the blessing which
has hitherto attended my efforts against the spirit of evil in this town will
not be withdrawn. Suitable directors to assist me I have no doubt of securing.
Mr. Brooke of Tipton has already given me his concurrence, and a pledge to
contribute yearly: he has not specified the sum - probably not a great one. But
he will be a useful member of the Board.«
    A useful member was perhaps to be defined as one who would originate
nothing, and always vote with Mr. Bulstrode.
    The medical aversion to Lydgate was hardly disguised now. Neither Dr.
Sprague nor Dr. Minchin said that he disliked Lydgate's knowledge, or his
disposition to improve treatment: what they disliked was his arrogance, which
nobody felt to be altogether deniable. They implied that he was insolent,
pretentious, and given to that reckless innovation for the sake of noise and
show which was the essence of the charlatan.
    The word charlatan once thrown on the air could not be let drop. In those
days the world was agitated about the wondrous doings of Mr. St John Long,
»noblemen and gentlemen« attesting his extraction of a fluid like mercury from
the temples of a patient.
    Mr. Toller remarked one day, smilingly, to Mrs. Taft, that »Bulstrode had
found a man to suit him in Lydgate; a charlatan in religion is sure to like
other sorts of charlatans.«
    »Yes, indeed, I can imagine,« said Mrs. Taft, keeping the number of thirty
stitches carefully in her mind all the while; »there are so many of that sort. I
remember Mr. Cheshire, with his irons, trying to make people straight when the
Almighty had made them crooked.«
    »No,
