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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:47:34 -0700 |
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diff --git a/29439-h/29439-h.htm b/29439-h/29439-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20f6699 --- /dev/null +++ b/29439-h/29439-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19653 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dr. Sevier, by George W. Cable. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + p.tbhigh {margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; + vertical-align: 0.5em;} + .tblow {vertical-align: -0.5em;} + + h6 { text-align: center; font-size: 3em; + clear: both; + } + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .box { width: 500px; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; + border-style: none; } + + .box1 { width: 200px; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; + border-style: solid; border-width: thin; } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a { text-decoration: none; } + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + /*]]>*/ + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Sevier, by George W. Cable + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dr. Sevier + +Author: George W. Cable + +Release Date: July 18, 2009 [EBook #29439] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. SEVIER *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="box"> +<h2><span class="smcap">George W. Cable’s Writings</span></h2> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>BONAVENTURE. A Prose Pastoral of Arcadian Louisiana. +12mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p>DR. SEVIER. 12mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p>THE GRANDISSIMES. A Story of Creole Life. 12mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p>OLD CREOLE DAYS. 12mo, $1.25.</p> + +<p>STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. Illustrated. +12mo, $2.00.</p> + +<p class="tbhigh">* <span class="tblow">*</span> * <em>New Uniform Edition of the above five volumes, +cloth, in a box, $6.00.</em></p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>JOHN MARCH, SOUTHERNER, 12mo, $1.50.</p> + +<p>OLD CREOLE DAYS. Cameo Edition with Etching, $1.25.</p> + +<p>OLD CREOLE DAYS. 2 vols. 16mo, paper, each 30 cts.</p> + +<p>MADAME DELPHINE. 75 cts.</p> + +<p>THE CREOLES OF LOUISIANA. Illus. Small 4to, $2.50.</p> + +<p>THE SILENT SOUTH. 12mo, $1.00.</p> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h6>DR. SEVIER</h6> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>GEORGE W. CABLE</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">author of “old creole days,” “the grandissimes,”</span> +<span class="smcap">“madame delphine,” etc.</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">NEW YORK<br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS<br /> +1897 +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1883 and 1884</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By</span> GEORGE W. CABLE</p> + +<hr style="width: 10%;" /> + +<p class="center"><em>All rights reserved</em></p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + +<p class="center"> +TROW’S<br /> +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,<br /> +NEW YORK.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>TO MY FRIEND</h3> + +<h2>MARION A. BAKER</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class='center'> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + +<tr> <td align='right'>Chapter</td> <td align='left'></td> <td align='right'>Page</td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>I.</td> <td align='left'>—The Doctor</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>II.</td> <td align='left'>—A Young Stranger</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>III.</td> <td align='left'>—His Wife</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>IV.</td> <td align='left'>—Convalescence and Acquaintance</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>V.</td> <td align='left'>—Hard Questions</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>VI.</td> <td align='left'>—Nesting</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>VII.</td> <td align='left'>—Disappearance</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>VIII.</td> <td align='left'>—A Question of Book-keeping</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>IX.</td> <td align='left'>—When the Wind Blows</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>X.</td> <td align='left'>—Gentles and Commons</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XI.</td> <td align='left'>—A Pantomime</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XII.</td> <td align='left'>—“She's all the World”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XIII.</td> <td align='left'>—The Bough Breaks</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XIV.</td> <td align='left'>—Hard Speeches and High Temper</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XV.</td> <td align='left'>—The Cradle Falls</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVI.</td> <td align='left'>—Many Waters</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVII.</td> <td align='left'>—Raphael Ristofalo</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVIII.</td> <td align='left'>—How He Did It</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XIX.</td> <td align='left'>—Another Patient</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XX.</td> <td align='left'>—Alice</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXI.</td> <td align='left'>—The Sun at Midnight</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXII.</td> <td align='left'>—Borrower Turned Lender</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXIII.</td> <td align='left'>—Wear and Tear</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XIV.</td> <td align='left'>—Brought to Bay</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XV.</td> <td align='left'>—The Doctor Dines Out</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVI.</td> <td align='left'>—The Trough of the Sea</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XVII.</td> <td align='left'>—Out of the Frying-Pan</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXVIII.</td> <td align='left'>—“Oh, where is my Love?”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXIX.</td> <td align='left'>—Release.—Narcisse</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXX.</td> <td align='left'>—Lighting Ship</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXI.</td> <td align='left'>—At Last</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXII.</td> <td align='left'>—A Rising Star</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXIII.</td> <td align='left'>—Bees, Wasps, and Butterflies</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXIV.</td> <td align='left'>—Toward the Zenith</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXV.</td> <td align='left'>—To Sigh, yet Feel no Pain</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXVI.</td> <td align='left'>—What Name?</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXVII.</td> <td align='left'>—Pestilence</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXVIII.</td> <td align='left'>—“I must be Cruel only to be Kind”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XXXIX.</td> <td align='left'>—“Pettent Prate”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XL.</td> <td align='left'>—Sweet Bells Jangled</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_300">300</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLI.</td> <td align='left'>—Mirage</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_310">310</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLII.</td> <td align='left'>—Ristofalo and the Rector</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLIII.</td> <td align='left'>—Shall she Come or Stay?</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLIV.</td> <td align='left'>—What would you Do?</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLV.</td> <td align='left'>—Narcisse with News</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_335">335</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLVI.</td> <td align='left'>—A Prison Memento</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_340">340</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLVII.</td> <td align='left'>—Now I Lay Me—</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLVIII.</td> <td align='left'>—Rise up, my Love, my Fair One!</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_351">351</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>XLIX.</td> <td align='left'>—A Bundle of Hopes</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>L.</td> <td align='left'>—Fall In!</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LI.</td> <td align='left'>—Blue Bonnets over the Border</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_372">372</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LII.</td> <td align='left'>—A Pass through the Lines</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_378">378</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LIII.</td> <td align='left'>—Try Again</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_384">384</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LIV.</td> <td align='left'>—“Who Goes There?”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_394">394</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LV.</td> <td align='left'>—Dixie</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_412">412</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LVI.</td> <td align='left'>—Fire and Sword</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_425">425</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LVII.</td> <td align='left'>—Almost in Sight</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_435">435</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LVIII.</td> <td align='left'>—A Golden Sunset</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LIX.</td> <td align='left'>—Afterglow</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_454">454</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LX.</td> <td align='left'>—“Yet shall he live”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_465">465</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='right'>LXI.</td> <td align='left'>—Peace</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td> </tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<h1>DR. SEVIER.</h1> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>THE DOCTOR.</strong></p> + + +<p>The main road to wealth in New Orleans has long +been Carondelet street. There you see the most +alert faces; noses—it seems to one—with more and +sharper edge, and eyes smaller and brighter and with +less distance between them than one notices in other +streets. It is there that the stock and bond brokers +hurry to and fro and run together promiscuously—the +cunning and the simple, the headlong and the wary—at +the four clanging strokes of the Stock Exchange gong. +There rises the tall façade of the Cotton Exchange. +Looking in from the sidewalk as you pass, you see its +main hall, thronged but decorous, the quiet engine-room +of the surrounding city’s most far-reaching occupation, +and at the hall’s farther end you descry the “Future +Room,” and hear the unearthly ramping and bellowing +of the bulls and bears. Up and down the street, on +either hand, are the ship-brokers and insurers, and in the +upper stories foreign consuls among a multitude of lawyers +and notaries.</p> + +<p>In 1856 this street was just assuming its present +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +character. The cotton merchants were making it their +favorite place of commercial domicile. The open thoroughfare +served in lieu of the present exchanges; men +made fortunes standing on the curb-stone, and during +bank hours the sidewalks were perpetually crowded with +cotton factors, buyers, brokers, weighers, reweighers, +classers, pickers, pressers, and samplers, and the air was +laden with cotton quotations and prognostications.</p> + +<p>Number 3½, second floor, front, was the office of Dr. +Sevier. This office was convenient to everything. Immediately +under its windows lay the sidewalks where +congregated the men who, of all in New Orleans, could +best afford to pay for being sick, and least desired to +die. Canal street, the city’s leading artery, was just +below, at the near left-hand corner. Beyond it lay the +older town, not yet impoverished in those days,—the +French quarter. A single square and a half off at the +right, and in plain view from the front windows, shone +the dazzling white walls of the St. Charles Hotel, where +the nabobs of the river plantations came and dwelt with +their fair-handed wives in seasons of peculiar anticipation, +when it is well to be near the highest medical skill. In +the opposite direction a three minutes’ quick drive +around the upper corner and down Common street carried +the Doctor to his ward in the great Charity Hospital, and +to the school of medicine, where he filled the chair set +apart to the holy ailments of maternity. Thus, as it +were, he laid his left hand on the rich and his right on +the poor; and he was not left-handed.</p> + +<p>Not that his usual attitude was one of benediction. +He stood straight up in his austere pure-mindedness, tall, +slender, pale, sharp of voice, keen of glance, stern in +judgment, aggressive in debate, and fixedly untender +everywhere, except—but always except—in the sick +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +chamber. His inner heart was all of flesh; but his +demands for the rectitude of mankind pointed out like +the muzzles of cannon through the embrasures of his +virtues. To demolish evil!—that seemed the finest of +aims; and even as a physician, that was, most likely, his +motive until later years and a better self-knowledge had +taught him that to do good was still finer and better. He +waged war—against malady. To fight; to stifle; to cut +down; to uproot; to overwhelm;—these were his springs +of action. That their results were good proved that his +sentiment of benevolence was strong and high; but it +was well-nigh shut out of sight by that impatience of evil +which is very fine and knightly in youngest manhood, but +which we like to see give way to kindlier moods as the +earlier heat of the blood begins to pass.</p> + +<p>He changed in later years; this was in 1856. To +“resist not evil” seemed to him then only a rather feeble +sort of knavery. To face it in its nakedness, and to +inveigh against it in high places and low, seemed the +consummation of all manliness; and manliness was the +key-note of his creed. There was no other necessity in +this life.</p> + +<p>“But a man must live,” said one of his kindred, to +whom, truth to tell, he had refused assistance.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; that is just what he can’t do. A man must +die! So, while he lives, let him be a man!”</p> + +<p>How inharmonious a setting, then, for Dr. Sevier, +was 3½ Carondelet street! As he drove, each morning, +down to that point, he had to pass through long, irregular +files of fellow-beings thronging either sidewalk,—a sadly +unchivalric grouping of men whose daily and yearly life +was subordinated only and entirely to the getting of +wealth, and whose every eager motion was a repetition of +the sinister old maxim that “Time is money.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +“It’s a great deal more, sir; it’s life!” the Doctor +always retorted.</p> + +<p>Among these groups, moreover, were many who were +all too well famed for illegitimate fortune. Many occupations +connected with the handling of cotton yielded big +harvests in perquisites. At every jog of the Doctor’s +horse, men came to view whose riches were the outcome +of semi-respectable larceny. It was a day of reckless +operation; much of the commerce that came to New +Orleans was simply, as one might say, beached in Carondelet +street. The sight used to keep the long, thin, keen-eyed +doctor in perpetual indignation.</p> + +<p>“Look at the wreckers!” he would say.</p> + +<p>It was breakfast at eight, indignation at nine, dyspepsia +at ten.</p> + +<p>So his setting was not merely inharmonious; it was +damaging. He grew sore on the whole matter of money-getting.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have money. But I don’t go after it. It +comes to me, because I seek and render service for the +service’s sake. It will come to anybody else the same +way; and why should it come any other way?”</p> + +<p>He not only had a low regard for the motives of most +seekers of wealth; he went further, and fell into much +disbelief of poor men’s needs. For instance, he looked +upon a man’s inability to find employment, or upon a poor +fellow’s run of bad luck, as upon the placarded woes of +a hurdy-gurdy beggar.</p> + +<p>“If he wants work he will find it. As for begging, it +ought to be easier for any true man to starve than to +beg.”</p> + +<p>The sentiment was ungentle, but it came from the +bottom of his belief concerning himself, and a longing for +moral greatness in all men.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +“However,” he would add, thrusting his hand into his +pocket and bringing out his purse, “I’ll help any man to +make himself useful. And the sick—well, the sick, as a +matter of course. Only I must know what I’m doing.”</p> + +<p>Have some of us known Want? To have known her—though +to love her was impossible—is “a liberal education.” +The Doctor was learned; but this acquaintanceship, +this education, he had never got. Hence his untenderness. +Shall we condemn the fault? Yes. And the +man? We have not the face. To be <em>just</em>, which he never +knowingly failed to be, and at the same time to feel +tenderly for the unworthy, to deal kindly with the erring,—it +is a double grace that hangs not always in easy reach +even of the tallest. The Doctor attained to it—but in +later years; meantime, this story—which, I believe, had +he ever been poor would never have been written.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A YOUNG STRANGER.</strong></p> + + +<p>In 1856 New Orleans was in the midst of the darkest +ten years of her history. Yet she was full of new-comers +from all parts of the commercial world,—strangers seeking +livelihood. The ravages of cholera and yellow-fever, +far from keeping them away, seemed actually to draw +them. In the three years 1853, ’54, and ’55, the cemeteries +had received over thirty-five thousand dead; yet +here, in 1856, besides shiploads of European immigrants, +came hundreds of unacclimated youths, from all parts of +the United States, to fill the wide gaps which they +imagined had been made in the ranks of the great exporting +city’s clerking force.</p> + +<p>Upon these pilgrims Dr. Sevier cast an eye full of +interest, and often of compassion hidden under outward +impatience. “Who wants to see,” he would demand, +“men—<em>and women</em>—increasing the risks of this uncertain +life?” But he was also full of respect for them. +There was a certain nobility rightly attributable to emigration +itself in the abstract. It was the cutting loose +from friends and aid,—those sweet-named temptations,—and +the going forth into self-appointed exile and into dangers +known and unknown, trusting to the help of one’s +own right hand to exchange honest toil for honest bread +and raiment. His eyes kindled to see the goodly, broad, +red-cheeked fellows. Sometimes, though, he saw women, +and sometimes tender women, by their side; and that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +sight touched the pathetic chord of his heart with a rude +twangle that vexed him.</p> + +<p>It was on a certain bright, cool morning early in +October that, as he drove down Carondelet street toward +his office, and one of those little white omnibuses of the +old Apollo-street line, crowding in before his carriage, +had compelled his driver to draw close in by the curb-stone +and slacken speed to a walk, his attention chanced +to fall upon a young man of attractive appearance, glancing +stranger-wise and eagerly at signs and entrances while +he moved down the street. Twice, in the moment of the +Doctor’s enforced delay, he noticed the young stranger +make inquiry of the street’s more accustomed frequenters, +and that in each case he was directed farther on. But, +the way opened, the Doctor’s horse switched his tail and +was off, the stranger was left behind, and the next +moment the Doctor stepped across the sidewalk and went +up the stairs of Number 3½ to his office. Something told +him—we are apt to fall into thought on a stair-way—that +the stranger was looking for a physician.</p> + +<p>He had barely disposed of the three or four waiting +messengers that arose from their chairs against the corridor +wall, and was still reading the anxious lines left in +various handwritings on his slate, when the young man +entered. He was of fair height, slenderly built, with +soft auburn hair, a little untrimmed, neat dress, and a +diffident, yet expectant and courageous, face.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Sevier?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, my wife is very ill; can I get you to come at +once and see her?”</p> + +<p>“Who is her physician?”</p> + +<p>“I have not called any; but we must have one now.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about going at once. This is my hour +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +for being in the office. How far is it, and what’s the +trouble?”</p> + +<p>“We are only three squares away, just here in Custom-house +street.” The speaker began to add a faltering +enumeration of some very grave symptoms. The Doctor +noticed that he was slightly deaf; he uttered his words +as though he did not hear them.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” interrupted Dr. Sevier, speaking half to himself +as he turned around to a standing case of cruel-looking +silver-plated things on shelves; “that’s a small +part of the penalty women pay for the doubtful honor +of being our mothers. I’ll go. What is your number? +But you had better drive back with me if you can.” He +drew back from the glass case, shut the door, and took +his hat.</p> + +<p>“Narcisse!”</p> + +<p>On the side of the office nearest the corridor a door let +into a hall-room that afforded merely good space for the +furniture needed by a single accountant. The Doctor +had other interests besides those of his profession, and, +taking them altogether, found it necessary, or at least +convenient, to employ continuously the services of a person +to keep his accounts and collect his bills. Through +the open door the book-keeper could be seen sitting on a +high stool at a still higher desk,—a young man of handsome +profile and well-knit form. At the call of his +name he unwound his legs from the rounds of the stool +and leaped into the Doctor’s presence with a superlatively +high-bred bow.</p> + +<p>“I shall be back in fifteen minutes,” said the Doctor. +“Come, Mr. ——,” and went out with the stranger.</p> + +<p>Narcisse had intended to speak. He stood a moment, +then lifted the last half inch of a cigarette to his lips, +took a long, meditative inhalation, turned half round on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +his heel, dashed the remnant with fierce emphasis into a +spittoon, ejected two long streams of smoke from his +nostrils, and extending his fist toward the door by which +the Doctor had gone out, said:—</p> + +<p>“All right, ole hoss!” No, not that way. It is hard +to give his pronunciation by letter. In the word “right” +he substituted an a for the r, sounding it almost in the +same instant with the i, yet distinct from it: “All a-ight, +ole hoss!”</p> + +<p>Then he walked slowly back to his desk, with that feeling +of relief which some men find in the renewal of a +promissory note, twined his legs again among those of +the stool, and, adding not a word, resumed his pen.</p> + +<p>The Doctor’s carriage was hurrying across Canal street.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Sevier,” said the physician’s companion, “I +don’t know what your charges are”—</p> + +<p>“The highest,” said the Doctor, whose dyspepsia was +gnawing him just then with fine energy. The curt reply +struck fire upon the young man.</p> + +<p>“I don’t propose to drive a bargain, Dr. Sevier!” +He flushed angrily after he had spoken, breathed with +compressed lips, and winked savagely, with the sort of +indignation that school-boys show to a harsh master.</p> + +<p>The physician answered with better self-control.</p> + +<p>“What do you propose?”</p> + +<p>“I was going to propose—being a stranger to you, +sir—to pay in advance.” The announcement was made +with a tremulous, but triumphant, <em>hauteur</em>, as though it +must cover the physician with mortification. The speaker +stretched out a rather long leg, and, drawing a pocket-book, +produced a twenty-dollar piece.</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked full in his face with impatient surprise, +then turned his eyes away again as if he restrained +himself, and said, in a subdued tone:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +“I would rather you had haggled about the price.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t hear”—said the other, turning his ear.</p> + +<p>The Doctor waved his hand:—</p> + +<p>“Put that up, if you please.”</p> + +<p>The young stranger was disconcerted. He remained +silent for a moment, wearing a look of impatient embarrassment. +He still extended the piece, turning it over +and over with his thumb-nail as it lay on his fingers.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know me, Doctor,” he said. He got another +cruel answer.</p> + +<p>“We’re getting acquainted,” replied the physician.</p> + +<p>The victim of the sarcasm bit his lip, and protested, by +an unconscious, sidewise jerk of the chin:—</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d”—and he turned the coin again.</p> + +<p>The physician dropped an eagle’s stare on the gold.</p> + +<p>“I don’t practise medicine on those principles.”</p> + +<p>“But, Doctor,” insisted the other, appeasingly, “you +can make an exception if you will. Reasons are better +than rules, my old professor used to say. I am here +without friends, or letters, or credentials of any sort; this +is the only recommendation I can offer.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t recommend you at all; anybody can do that.”</p> + +<p>The stranger breathed a sigh of overtasked patience, +smiled with a baffled air, seemed once or twice about to +speak, but doubtful what to say, and let his hand sink.</p> + +<p>“Well, Doctor,”—he rested his elbow on his knee, +gave the piece one more turn over, and tried to draw the +physician’s eye by a look of boyish pleasantness,—“I’ll +not ask you to take pay in advance, but I will ask you to +take care of this money for me. Suppose I should lose +it, or have it stolen from me, or—Doctor, it would be a +real comfort to me if you would.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help that. I shall treat your wife, and then +send in my bill.” The Doctor folded arms and appeared +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +to give attention to his driver. But at the same time he +asked:—</p> + +<p>“Not subject to epilepsy, eh?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir!” The indignant shortness of the retort +drew no sign of attention from the Doctor; he was silently +asking himself what this nonsense meant. Was it drink, +or gambling, or a confidence game? Or was it only vanity, +or a mistake of inexperience? He turned his head unexpectedly, +and gave the stranger’s facial lines a quick, +thorough examination. It startled them from a look of +troubled meditation. The physician as quickly turned +away again.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” began the other, but added no more.</p> + +<p>The physician was silent. He turned the matter over +once more in his mind. The proposal was absurdly unbusiness-like. +That his part in it might look ungenerous was +nothing; so his actions were right, he rather liked them +to bear a hideous aspect: that was his war-paint. There +was that in the stranger’s attitude that agreed fairly with +his own theories of living. A fear of debt, for instance, +if that was genuine it was good; and, beyond and better +than that, a fear of money. He began to be more favorably +impressed.</p> + +<p>“Give it to me,” he said, frowning; “mark you, this +is your way,”—he dropped the gold into his vest-pocket,—“it +isn’t mine.”</p> + +<p>The young man laughed with visible relief, and rubbed +his knee with his somewhat too delicate hand. The +Doctor examined him again with a milder glance.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you think you’ve got the principles of life +all right, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” replied the other, taking his turn at +folding arms.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +“H-m-m! I dare say you do. What you lack is the +practice.” The Doctor sealed his utterance with a +nod.</p> + +<p>The young man showed amusement; more, it may be, +than he felt, and presently pointed out his lodging-place.</p> + +<p>“Here, on this side; Number 40;” and they alighted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>HIS WIFE.</strong></p> + + +<p>In former times the presence in New Orleans, during +the cooler half of the year, of large numbers of mercantile +men from all parts of the world, who did not accept +the fever-plagued city as their permanent residence, made +much business for the renters of furnished apartments. +At the same time there was a class of persons whose residence +was permanent, and to whom this letting of rooms +fell by an easy and natural gravitation; and the most +respectable and comfortable rented rooms of which the +city could boast were those <em>chambres garnies</em> in Custom-house +and Bienville streets, kept by worthy free or freed +mulatto or quadroon women.</p> + +<p>In 1856 the gala days of this half-caste people were +quite over. Difference was made between virtue and vice, +and the famous quadroon balls were shunned by those +who aspired to respectability, whether their whiteness was +nature or only toilet powder. Generations of domestic +service under ladies of Gallic blood had brought many of +them to a supreme pitch of excellence as housekeepers. +In many cases money had been inherited; in other cases +it had been saved up. That Latin feminine ability to +hold an awkward position with impregnable serenity, and, +like the yellow Mississippi, to give back no reflection from +the overhanging sky, emphasized this superior fitness. +That bright, womanly business ability that comes of the +same blood added again to their excellence. Not to be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +home itself, nothing could be more like it than were the +apartments let by Madame Cécile, or Madame Sophie, or +Madame Athalie, or Madame Polyxène, or whatever the +name might be.</p> + +<p>It was in one of these houses, that presented its dull +brick front directly upon the sidewalk of Custom-house +street, with the unfailing little square sign of <em>Chambres à +louer</em> (Rooms to let), dangling by a string from the overhanging +balcony and twirling in the breeze, that the sick +wife lay. A waiting slave-girl opened the door as the +two men approached it, and both of them went directly +upstairs and into a large, airy room. On a high, finely +carved, and heavily hung mahogany bed, to which the +remaining furniture corresponded in ancient style and +massiveness, was stretched the form of a pale, sweet-faced +little woman.</p> + +<p>The proprietress of the house was sitting beside the +bed,—a quadroon of good, kind face, forty-five years old +or so, tall and broad. She rose and responded to the +Doctor’s silent bow with that pretty dignity of greeting +which goes with all French blood, and remained standing. +The invalid stirred.</p> + +<p>The physician came forward to the bedside. The +patient could not have been much over nineteen years of +age. Her face was very pleasing; a trifle slender in outline; +the brows somewhat square, not wide; the mouth +small. She would not have been called beautiful, even +in health, by those who lay stress on correctness of +outlines. But she had one thing that to some is better. +Whether it was in the dark blue eyes that were lifted +to the Doctor’s with a look which changed rapidly +from inquiry to confidence, or in the fine, scarcely +perceptible strands of pale-brown hair that played about +her temples, he did not make out; but, for one cause +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +or another, her face was of that kind which almost +any one has seen once or twice, and no one has seen +often,—that seems to give out a soft, but veritable, +light.</p> + +<p>She was very weak. Her eyes quickly dropped away +from his, and turned wearily, but peacefully, to those of +her husband.</p> + +<p>The Doctor spoke to her. His greeting and gentle +inquiry were full of a soothing quality that was new to +the young man. His long fingers moved twice or thrice +softly across her brow, pushing back the thin, waving +strands, and then he sat down in a chair, continuing his +kind, direct questions. The answers were all bad.</p> + +<p>He turned his glance to the quadroon; she understood +it; the patient was seriously ill. The nurse responded +with a quiet look of comprehension. At the same time +the Doctor disguised from the young strangers this interchange +of meanings by an audible question to the quadroon.</p> + +<p>“Have I ever met you before?”</p> + +<p>“No, seh.”</p> + +<p>“What is your name?”</p> + +<p>“Zénobie.”</p> + +<p>“Madame Zénobie,” softly whispered the invalid, +turning her eyes, with a glimmer of feeble pleasantry, +first to the quadroon and then to her husband.</p> + +<p>The physician smiled at her an instant, and then gave +a few concise directions to the quadroon. “Get me”—thus +and so.</p> + +<p>The woman went and came. She was a superior nurse, +like so many of her race. So obvious, indeed, was this, +that when she gently pressed the young husband an inch +or two aside, and murmured that “de doctah” wanted him +to “go h-out,” he left the room, although he knew the +physician had not so indicated.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +By-and-by he returned, but only at her beckon, and +remained at the bedside while Madame Zénobie led the +Doctor into another room to write his prescription.</p> + +<p>“Who are these people?” asked the physician, in an +undertone, looking up at the quadroon, and pausing with +the prescription half torn off.</p> + +<p>She shrugged her large shoulders and smiled perplexedly.</p> + +<p>“Mizzez—Reechin?” The tone was one of query +rather than assertion. “Dey sesso,” she added.</p> + +<p>She might nurse the lady like a mother, but she was +not going to be responsible for the genuineness of a +stranger’s name.</p> + +<p>“Where are they from?”</p> + +<p>“I dunno?—Some pless?—I nevva yeh dat nem +biffo?”</p> + +<p>She made a timid attempt at some word ending in +“walk,” and smiled, ready to accept possible ridicule.</p> + +<p>“Milwaukee?” asked the Doctor.</p> + +<p>She lifted her palm, smiled brightly, pushed him gently +with the tip of one finger, and nodded. He had hit the +nail on the head.</p> + +<p>“What business is he in?”</p> + +<p>The questioner arose.</p> + +<p>She cast a sidelong glance at him with a slight enlargement +of her eyes, and, compressing her lips, gave her +head a little, decided shake. The young man was not +employed.</p> + +<p>“And has no money either, I suppose,” said the physician, +as they started again toward the sick-room.</p> + +<p>She shrugged again and smiled; but it came to her +mind that the Doctor might be considering his own interests, +and she added, in a whisper:—</p> + +<p>“Dey pay me.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +She changed places with the husband, and the physician +and he passed down the stairs together in silence.</p> + +<p>“Well, Doctor?” said the young man, as he stood, +prescription in hand, before the carriage-door.</p> + +<p>“Well,” responded the physician, “you should have +called me sooner.”</p> + +<p>The look of agony that came into the stranger’s face +caused the Doctor instantly to repent his hard speech.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean”—exclaimed the husband.</p> + +<p>“No, no; I don’t think it’s too late. Get that +prescription filled and give it to Mrs. ——”</p> + +<p>“Richling,” said the young man.</p> + +<p>“Let her have perfect quiet,” continued the Doctor. +“I shall be back this evening.”</p> + +<p>And when he returned she had improved.</p> + +<p>She was better again the next day, and the next; but +on the fourth she was in a very critical state. She lay +quite silent during the Doctor’s visit, until he, thinking +he read in her eyes a wish to say something to him alone, +sent her husband and the quadroon out of the room on +separate errands at the same moment. And immediately +she exclaimed:—</p> + +<p>“Doctor, save my life! You mustn’t let me die! Save +me, for my husband’s sake! To lose all he’s lost for me, +and then to lose me too—save me, Doctor! save me!”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to do it!” said he. “You shall get +well!”</p> + +<p>And what with his skill and her endurance it turned +out so.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>CONVALESCENCE AND ACQUAINTANCE.</strong></p> + + +<p>A man’s clothing is his defence; but with a woman +all dress is adornment. Nature decrees it; adornment +is her instinctive delight. And, above all, the +adorning of a bride; it brings out so charmingly the +meaning of the thing. Therein centres the gay consent +of all mankind and womankind to an innocent, sweet +apostasy from the ranks of both. The value of living—which +is loving; the sacredest wonders of life; all that is +fairest and of best delight in thought, in feeling, yea, in +substance,—all are apprehended under the floral crown +and hymeneal veil. So, when at length one day Mrs. +Richling said, “Madame Zénobie, don’t you think I +might sit up?” it would have been absurd to doubt the +quadroon’s willingness to assist her in dressing. True, +here was neither wreath nor veil, but here was very young +wifehood, and its re-attiring would be like a proclamation +of victory over the malady that had striven to put +two hearts asunder. Her willingness could hardly be +doubted, though she smiled irresponsibly, and said:—</p> + +<p>“If you thing”— She spread her eyes and elbows +suddenly in the manner of a crab, with palms turned +upward and thumbs outstretched—“Well!”—and so +dropped them.</p> + +<p>“You don’t want wait till de doctah comin’?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he’s coming; it’s after his time.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +“Yass?”</p> + +<p>The woman was silent a moment, and then threw up +one hand again, with the forefinger lifted alertly forward.</p> + +<p>“I make a lill fi’ biffo.”</p> + +<p>She made a fire. Then she helped the convalescent to +put on a few loose drapings. She made no concealment +of the enjoyment it gave her, though her words were few, +and generally were answers to questions; and when at +length she brought from the wardrobe, pretending not to +notice her mistake, a loose and much too ample robe of +woollen and silken stuffs to go over all, she moved as +though she trod on holy ground, and distinctly felt, herself, +the thrill with which the convalescent, her young +eyes beaming their assent, let her arms into the big +sleeves, and drew about her small form the soft folds of +her husband’s morning-gown.</p> + +<p>“He goin’ to fine that droll,” said the quadroon.</p> + +<p>The wife’s face confessed her pleasure.</p> + +<p>“It’s as much mine as his,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Is you mek dat?” asked the nurse, as she drew its +silken cord about the convalescent’s waist.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Don’t draw it tight; leave it loose—so; but +you can tie the knot tight. That will do; there!” She +smiled broadly. “Don’t tie me in as if you were tying +me in forever.”</p> + +<p>Madame Zénobie understood perfectly, and, smiling in +response, did tie it as if she were tying her in forever.</p> + +<p>Half an hour or so later the quadroon, being—it may +have been by chance—at the street door, ushered in a +person who simply bowed in silence.</p> + +<p>But as he put one foot on the stair he paused, and, +bending a severe gaze upon her, asked:—</p> + +<p>“Why do you smile?”</p> + +<p>She folded her hands limply on her bosom, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +drawing a cheek and shoulder toward each other, replied:—</p> + +<p>“Nuttin’”—</p> + +<p>The questioner’s severity darkened.</p> + +<p>“Why do you smile at nothing?”</p> + +<p>She laid the tips of her fingers upon her lips to compose +them.</p> + +<p>“You din come in you’ carridge. She goin’ to thing +’tis Miché Reechin.” The smile forced its way through +her fingers. The visitor turned in quiet disdain and went +upstairs, she following.</p> + +<p>At the top he let her pass. She led the way and, +softly pushing open the chamber-door, entered noiselessly, +turned, and, as the other stepped across the +threshold, nestled her hands one on the other at her waist, +shrank inward with a sweet smile, and waved one palm toward +the huge, blue-hung mahogany four-poster,—empty.</p> + +<p>The visitor gave a slight double nod and moved on +across the carpet. Before a small coal fire, in a grate too +wide for it, stood a broad, cushioned rocking-chair, with +the corner of a pillow showing over its top. The visitor +went on around it. The girlish form lay in it, with +eyes closed, very still; but his professional glance quickly +detected the false pretence of slumber. A slippered foot +was still slightly reached out beyond the bright colors of +the long gown, and toward the brazen edge of the hearth-pan, +as though the owner had been touching her tiptoe +against it to keep the chair in gentle motion. One cheek +was on the pillow; down the other curled a few light +strands of hair that had escaped from her brow.</p> + +<p>Thus for an instant. Then a smile began to wreath +about the corner of her lips; she faintly stirred, opened +her eyes—and lo! Dr. Sevier, motionless, tranquil, and +grave.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +“O Doctor!” The blood surged into her face and +down upon her neck. She put her hands over her eyes, +and her face into the pillow. “O Doctor!”—rising +to a sitting posture,—“I thought, of course, it was +my husband.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor replied while she was speaking:—</p> + +<p>“My carriage broke down.” He drew a chair toward +the fireplace, and asked, with his face toward the dying +fire:—</p> + +<p>“How are you feeling to-day, madam,—stronger?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I can almost say I’m well.” The blush was still +on her face as he turned to receive her answer, but she +smiled with a bright courageousness that secretly amused +and pleased him. “I thank you, Doctor, for my recovery; +I certainly should thank you.” Her face lighted up +with that soft radiance which was its best quality, and +her smile became half introspective as her eyes dropped +from his, and followed her outstretched hand as it rearranged +the farther edges of the dressing-gown one upon +another.</p> + +<p>“If you will take better care of yourself hereafter, +madam,” responded the Doctor, thumping and brushing +from his knee some specks of mud that he may have got +when his carriage broke down, “I will thank you. +But”—brush—brush—“I—doubt it.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think you should?” she asked, leaning forward +from the back of the great chair and letting her +wrists drop over the front of its broad arms.</p> + +<p>“I do,” said the Doctor, kindly. “Why shouldn’t I? +This present attack was by your own fault.” While he +spoke he was looking into her eyes, contracted at their +corners by her slight smile. The face was one of those +that show not merely that the world is all unknown to +them, but that it always will be so. It beamed with inquisitive +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +intelligence, and yet had the innocence almost of +infancy. The Doctor made a discovery; that it was this +that made her beautiful. “She <em>is</em> beautiful,” he insisted +to himself when his critical faculty dissented.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t doubt me, Doctor. I’ll try my best to +take care. Why, of course I will,—for John’s sake.” +She looked up into his face from the tassel she was twisting +around her finger, touching the floor with her slippers’ +toe and faintly rocking.</p> + +<p>“Yes, there’s a chance there,” replied the grave man, +seemingly not overmuch pleased; “I dare say everything +you do or leave undone is for his sake.”</p> + +<p>The little wife betrayed for a moment a pained perplexity, +and then exclaimed:—</p> + +<p>“Well, of course!” and waited his answer with bright +eyes.</p> + +<p>“I have known women to think of their own sakes,” +was the response.</p> + +<p>She laughed, and with unprecedented sparkle replied:—</p> + +<p>“Why, whatever’s his sake is my sake. I don’t see the +difference. Yes, I see, of course, how there might be a +difference; but I don’t see how a woman”— She +ceased, still smiling, and, dropping her eyes to her hands, +slowly stroked one wrist and palm with the tassel of her +husband’s robe.</p> + +<p>The Doctor rose, turned his back to the mantel-piece, +and looked down upon her. He thought of the great, +wide world: its thorny ways, its deserts, its bitter waters, +its unrighteousness, its self-seeking greeds, its weaknesses, +its under and over reaching, its unfaithfulness; and +then again of this—child, thrust all at once a thousand +miles into it, with never—so far as he could see—an +implement, a weapon, a sense of danger, or a refuge; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +well pleased with herself, as it seemed, lifted up into the +bliss of self-obliterating wifehood, and resting in her husband +with such an assurance of safety and happiness as a +saint might pray for grace to show to Heaven itself. He +stood silent, feeling too grim to speak, and presently Mrs. +Richling looked up with a sudden liveliness of eye and a +smile that was half apology and half persistence.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Doctor, I’m going to take care of myself.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richling, is your father a man of fortune?”</p> + +<p>“My father is not living,” said she, gravely. “He +died two years ago. He was the pastor of a small church. +No, sir; he had nothing but his small salary, except that +for some years he taught a few scholars. He taught +me.” She brightened up again. “I never had any +other teacher.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor folded his hands behind him and gazed +abstractedly through the upper sash of the large French +windows. The street-door was heard to open.</p> + +<p>“There’s John,” said the convalescent, quickly, and +the next moment her husband entered. A tired look +vanished from his face as he saw the Doctor. He hurried +to grasp his hand, then turned and kissed his wife. The +physician took up his hat.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” said the wife, holding the hand he gave her, +and looking up playfully, with her cheek against the chair-back, +“you surely didn’t suspect me of being a rich girl, +did you?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, madam.” His emphasis was so pronounced +that the husband laughed.</p> + +<p>“There’s one comfort in the opposite condition, Doctor,” +said the young man.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes; you see, it requires no explanation.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +“Yes, it does,” said the physician; “it is just as binding +on people to show good cause why they are poor as it +is to show good cause why they’re rich. Good-day, +madam.” The two men went out together. His word +would have been good-by, but for the fear of fresh +acknowledgments.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>HARD QUESTIONS.</strong></p> + + +<p>Dr. Sevier had a simple abhorrence of the expression +of personal sentiment in words. Nothing else +seemed to him so utterly hollow as the attempt to indicate +by speech a regard or affection which was not already +demonstrated in behavior. So far did he keep himself +aloof from insincerity that he had barely room enough +left to be candid.</p> + +<p>“I need not see your wife any more,” he said, as he +went down the stairs with the young husband at his elbow; +and the young man had learned him well enough not to +oppress him with formal thanks, whatever might have +been said or omitted upstairs.</p> + +<p>Madame Zénobie contrived to be near enough, as they +reached the lower floor, to come in for a share of the +meagre adieu. She gave her hand with a dainty grace +and a bow that might have been imported from Paris.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier paused on the front step, half turned toward +the open door where the husband still tarried. That was +not speech; it was scarcely action; but the young man +understood it and was silent. In truth, the Doctor himself +felt a pang in this sort of farewell. A physician’s +way through the world is paved, I have heard one say, +with these broken bits of other’s lives, of all colors and +all degrees of beauty. In his reminiscences, when he can +do no better, he gathers them up, and, turning them over +and over in the darkened chamber of his retrospection, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +sees patterns of delight lit up by the softened rays of bygone +time. But even this renews the pain of separation, +and Dr. Sevier felt, right here at this door-step, that, if +this was to be the last of the Richlings, he would feel the +twinge of parting every time they came up again in his +memory.</p> + +<p>He looked at the house opposite,—where there was +really nothing to look at,—and at a woman who happened +to be passing, and who was only like a thousand others +with whom he had nothing to do.</p> + +<p>“Richling,” he said, “what brings you to New Orleans, +any way?”</p> + +<p>Richling leaned his cheek against the door-post.</p> + +<p>“Simply seeking my fortune, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think it is here?”</p> + +<p>“I’m pretty sure it is; the world owes me a living.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked up.</p> + +<p>“When did you get the world in your debt?”</p> + +<p>Richling lifted his head pleasantly, and let one foot +down a step.</p> + +<p>“It owes me a chance to earn a living, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“I dare say,” replied the other; “that’s what it generally +owes.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all I ask of it,” said Richling; “if it will let +us alone we’ll let it alone.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve no right to allow either,” said the physician. +“No, sir; no,” he insisted, as the young man looked incredulous. +There was a pause. “Have you any capital?” +asked the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Capital! No,”—with a low laugh.</p> + +<p>“But surely you have something to”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,—a little!”</p> + +<p>The Doctor marked the southern “Oh.” There is no +“O” in Milwaukee.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +“You don’t find as many vacancies as you expected to +see, I suppose—h-m-m?”</p> + +<p>There was an under-glow of feeling in the young man’s +tone as he replied:—</p> + +<p>“I was misinformed.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Doctor, staring down-street, “you’ll +find something. What can you do?”</p> + +<p>“Do? Oh, I’m willing to do anything!”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier turned his gaze slowly, with a shade of disappointment +in it. Richling rallied to his defences.</p> + +<p>“I think I could make a good book-keeper, or correspondent, +or cashier, or any such”—</p> + +<p>The Doctor interrupted, with the back of his head +toward his listener, looking this time up the street, +riverward:—</p> + +<p>“Yes;—or a shoe,—or a barrel,—h-m-m?”</p> + +<p>Richling bent forward with the frown of defective hearing, +and the physician raised his voice:—</p> + +<p>“Or a cart-wheel—or a coat?”</p> + +<p>“I can make a living,” rejoined the other, with a needlessly +resentful-heroic manner, that was lost, or seemed to +be, on the physician.</p> + +<p>“Richling,”—the Doctor suddenly faced around and +fixed a kindly severe glance on him,—“why didn’t you +bring letters?”</p> + +<p>“Why,”—the young man stopped, looked at his feet, +and distinctly blushed. “I think,” he stammered—“it +seems to me”—he looked up with a faltering eye—“don’t +you think—I think a man ought to be able to +recommend <em>himself</em>.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor’s gaze remained so fixed that the self-recommended +man could not endure it silently.</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> think so,” he said, looking down again and swinging +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +his foot. Suddenly he brightened. “Doctor, isn’t +this your carriage coming?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I told the boy to drive by here when it was +mended, and he might find me.” The vehicle drew up +and stopped. “Still, Richling,” the physician continued, +as he stepped toward it, “you had better get a letter or +two, yet; you might need them.”</p> + +<p>The door of the carriage clapped to. There seemed a +touch of vexation in the sound. Richling, too, closed +his door, but in the soft way of one in troubled meditation. +Was this a proper farewell? The thought came +to both men.</p> + +<p>“Stop a minute!” said Dr. Sevier to his driver. He +leaned out a little at the side of the carriage and looked +back. “Never mind; he has gone in.”</p> + +<p>The young husband went upstairs slowly and heavily, +more slowly and heavily than might be explained by his +all-day unsuccessful tramp after employment. His wife +still rested in the rocking-chair. He stood against it, +and she took his hand and stroked it.</p> + +<p>“Tired?” she asked, looking up at him. He gazed +into the languishing fire.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You’re not discouraged, are you?”</p> + +<p>“Discouraged? N-no. And yet,” he said, slowly +shaking his head, “I can’t see why I don’t find something +to do.”</p> + +<p>“It’s because you don’t hunt for it,” said the wife.</p> + +<p>He turned upon her with flashing countenance only to +meet her laugh, and to have his head pulled down to her +lips. He dropped into the seat left by the physician, +laid his head back in his knit hands, and crossed his feet +under the chair.</p> + +<p>“John, I do <em>like</em> Dr. Sevier.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +“Why?” The questioner looked at the ceiling.</p> + +<p>“Why, don’t you like him?” asked the wife, and, as +John smiled, she added, “You know you like him.”</p> + +<p>The husband grasped the poker in both hands, dropped +his elbows upon his knees, and began touching the fire, +saying slowly:—</p> + +<p>“I believe the Doctor thinks I’m a fool.”</p> + +<p>“That’s nothing,” said the little wife; “that’s only +because you married me.”</p> + +<p>The poker stopped rattling between the grate-bars; the +husband looked at the wife. Her eyes, though turned +partly away, betrayed their mischief. There was a +deadly pause; then a rush to the assault, a shower of +Cupid’s arrows, a quick surrender.</p> + +<p>But we refrain. Since ever the world began it is +Love’s real, not his sham, battles that are worth the +telling.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>NESTING.</strong></p> + + +<p>A fortnight passed. What with calls on his +private skill, and appeals to his public zeal, Dr. +Sevier was always loaded like a dromedary. Just now he +was much occupied with the affairs of the great American +people. For all he was the furthest remove from a mere +party contestant or spoilsman, neither his righteous pugnacity +nor his human sympathy would allow him to “let +politics alone.” Often across this preoccupation there +flitted a thought of the Richlings.</p> + +<p>At length one day he saw them. He had been called +by a patient, lodging near Madame Zénobie’s house. The +proximity of the young couple occurred to him at once, +but he instantly realized the extreme poverty of the chance +that he should see them. To increase the improbability, +the short afternoon was near its close,—an hour when +people generally were sitting at dinner.</p> + +<p>But what a coquette is that same chance! As he was +driving up at the sidewalk’s edge before his patient’s door, +the Richlings came out of theirs, the husband talking with +animation, and the wife, all sunshine, skipping up to his +side, and taking his arm with both hands, and attending +eagerly to his words.</p> + +<p>“Heels!” muttered the Doctor to himself, for the +sound of Mrs. Richling’s gaiters betrayed that fact. +Heels were an innovation still new enough to rouse the +resentment of masculine conservatism. But for them +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +she would have pleased his sight entirely. Bonnets, for +years microscopic, had again become visible, and her +girlish face was prettily set in one whose flowers and +ribbon, just joyous and no more, were reflected again in +the double-skirted silk <em>barége</em>; while the dark mantilla that +drooped away from the broad lace collar, shading, without +hiding, her “Parodi” waist, seemed made for that +very street of heavy-grated archways, iron-railed balconies, +and high lattices. The Doctor even accepted patiently +the free northern step, which is commonly so repugnant to +the southern eye.</p> + +<p>A heightened gladness flashed into the faces of the +two young people as they descried the physician.</p> + +<p>“Good-afternoon,” they said, advancing.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening,” responded the Doctor, and shook +hands with each. The meeting was an emphatic pleasure +to him. He quite forgot the young man’s lack of credentials.</p> + +<p>“Out taking the air?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Looking about,” said the husband.</p> + +<p>“Looking up new quarters,” said the wife, knitting +her fingers about her husband’s elbow and drawing closer +to it.</p> + +<p>“Were you not comfortable?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but the rooms are larger than we need.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the Doctor; and there the conversation +sank. There was no topic suited to so fleeting a moment, +and when they had smiled all round again Dr. Sevier +lifted his hat. Ah, yes, there was one thing.</p> + +<p>“Have you found work?” asked the Doctor of Richling.</p> + +<p>The wife glanced up for an instant into her husband’s +face, and then down again.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Richling, “not yet. If you should hear +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +of anything, Doctor”—He remembered the Doctor’s +word about letters, stopped suddenly, and seemed as if +he might even withdraw the request; but the Doctor +said:—</p> + +<p>“I will; I will let you know.” He gave his hand to +Richling. It was on his lips to add: “And should you +need,” etc.; but there was the wife at the husband’s side. +So he said no more. The pair bowed their cheerful +thanks; but beside the cheer, or behind it, in the husband’s +face, was there not the look of one who feels the +odds against him? And yet, while the two men’s hands +still held each other, the look vanished, and the young +man’s light grasp had such firmness in it that, for this +cause also, the Doctor withheld his patronizing utterance. +He believed he would himself have resented it had +he been in Richling’s place.</p> + +<p>The young pair passed on, and that night, as Dr. +Sevier sat at his fireside, an uncompanioned widower, he +saw again the young wife look quickly up into her husband’s +face, and across that face flit and disappear its +look of weary dismay, followed by the air of fresh +courage with which the young couple had said good-by.</p> + +<p>“I wish I had spoken,” he thought to himself; “I +wish I had made the offer.”</p> + +<p>And again:—</p> + +<p>“I hope he didn’t tell her what I said about the letters. +Not but I was right, but it’ll only wound her.”</p> + +<p>But Richling had told her; he always “told her everything;” +she could not possibly have magnified wifehood +more, in her way, than he did in his. May be both ways +were faulty; but they were extravagantly, youthfully +confident that they were not.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Unknown to Dr. Sevier, the Richlings had returned +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +from their search unsuccessful. Finding prices too much +alike in Custom-house street they turned into Burgundy. +From Burgundy they passed into Du Maine. As they +went, notwithstanding disappointments, their mood grew +gay and gayer. Everything that met the eye was quaint +and droll to them: men, women, things, places,—all +were more or less outlandish. The grotesqueness of the +African, and especially the French-tongued African, was +to Mrs. Richling particularly irresistible. Multiplying +upon each and all of these things was the ludicrousness +of the pecuniary strait that brought themselves and these +things into contact. Everything turned to fun.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Richling’s mirthful mood prompted her by and +by to begin letting into her inquiries and comments +covert double meanings, intended for her husband’s +private understanding. Thus they crossed Bourbon +street.</p> + +<p>About there their mirth reached a climax; it was in a +small house, a sad, single-story thing, cowering between +two high buildings, its eaves, four or five feet deep, overshadowing +its one street door and window.</p> + +<p>“Looks like a shade for weak eyes,” said the wife.</p> + +<p>They had debated whether they should enter it or not. +He thought no, she thought yes; but he would not insist +and she would not insist; she wished him to do as he +thought best, and he wished her to do as she thought +best, and they had made two or three false starts and +retreats before they got inside. But they were in there +at length, and busily engaged inquiring into the availability +of a small, lace-curtained, front room, when Richling +took his wife so completely off her guard by +addressing her as “Madam,” in the tone and manner of +Dr. Sevier, that she laughed in the face of the householder, +who had been trying to talk English with a French +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +accent and a hare-lip, and they fled with haste to the +sidewalk and around the corner, where they could smile +and smile without being villains.</p> + +<p>“We must stop this,” said the wife, blushing. “We +<em>must</em> stop it. We’re attracting attention.”</p> + +<p>And this was true at least as to one ragamuffin, who +stood on a neighboring corner staring at them. Yet there +is no telling to what higher pitch their humor might have +carried them if Mrs. Richling had not been weighted +down by the constant necessity of correcting her husband’s +statement of their wants. This she could do, +because his exactions were all in the direction of her +comfort.</p> + +<p>“But, John,” she would say each time as they returned +to the street and resumed their quest, “those things cost; +you can’t afford them, can you?”</p> + +<p>“Why, you can’t be comfortable without them,” he +would answer.</p> + +<p>“But that’s not the question, John. We <em>must</em> take +cheaper lodgings, mustn’t we?”</p> + +<p>Then John would be silent, and by littles their gayety +would rise again.</p> + +<p>One landlady was so good-looking, so manifestly and +entirely Caucasian, so melodious of voice, and so modest +in her account of the rooms she showed, that Mrs. Richling +was captivated. The back room on the second floor, +overlooking the inner court and numerous low roofs +beyond, was suitable and cheap.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the sweet proprietress, turning to Richling, +who hung in doubt whether it was quite good enough, +“yesseh, I think you be pretty well in that room +yeh.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +Yesseh, I’m shoe you be <em>verrie</em> well; yesseh.”</p> + +<p>“Can we get them at once?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +“Yes? At once? Yes? Oh, yes?”</p> + +<p>No downward inflections from her.</p> + +<p>“Well,”—the wife looked at the husband; he nodded,—“well, +we’ll take it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” responded the landlady; “well?” leaning +against a bedpost and smiling with infantile diffidence, +“you dunt want no ref’ence?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said John, generously, “oh, no; we can trust +each other that far, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes?” replied the sweet creature; then suddenly +changing countenance, as though she remembered +something. “But daz de troub’—de room not goin’ be +vacate for t’ree mont’.”</p> + +<p>She stretched forth her open palms and smiled, with +one arm still around the bedpost.</p> + +<p>“Why,” exclaimed Mrs. Richling, the very statue of +astonishment, “you said just now we could have it at +once!”</p> + +<p>“Dis room? <em>Oh</em>, no; nod <em>dis</em> room.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how I could have misunderstood you.”</p> + +<p>The landlady lifted her shoulders, smiled, and clasped +her hands across each other under her throat. Then +throwing them apart she said brightly:—</p> + +<p>“No, I say at Madame La Rose. Me, my room is all +fill’. At Madame La Rose, I say, I think you be pritty +well. I’m shoe you be verrie well at Madame La Rose. +I’m sorry. But you kin paz yondeh—’tiz juz ad the +cawneh? And I am shoe I think you be pritty well at +Madame La Rose.”</p> + +<p>She kept up the repetition, though Mrs. Richling, +incensed, had turned her back, and Richling was saying +good-day.</p> + +<p>“She did say the room was vacant!” exclaimed the +little wife, as they reached the sidewalk. But the next +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +moment there came a quick twinkle from her eye, and, +waving her husband to go on without her, she said, “You +kin paz yondeh; at Madame La Rose I am shoe you be +pritty sick.” Thereupon she took his arm,—making +everybody stare and smile to see a lady and gentleman +arm in arm by daylight,—and they went merrily on their +way.</p> + +<p>The last place they stopped at was in Royal street. +The entrance was bad. It was narrow even for those +two. The walls were stained by dampness, and the smell +of a totally undrained soil came up through the floor. +The stairs ascended a few steps, came too near a low +ceiling, and shot forward into cavernous gloom to find a +second rising place farther on. But the rooms, when +reached, were a tolerably pleasant disappointment, and +the proprietress a person of reassuring amiability.</p> + +<p>She bestirred herself in an obliging way that was the +most charming thing yet encountered. She gratified the +young people every moment afresh with her readiness to +understand or guess their English queries and remarks, +hung her head archly when she had to explain away +little objections, delivered her No sirs with gravity and +her Yes sirs with bright eagerness, shook her head slowly +with each negative announcement, and accompanied her +affirmations with a gracious bow and a smile full of rice +powder.</p> + +<p>She rendered everything so agreeable, indeed, that it +almost seemed impolite to inquire narrowly into matters, +and when the question of price had to come up it was +really difficult to bring it forward, and Richling quite lost +sight of the economic rules to which he had silently +acceded in the <em>Rue Du Maine</em>.</p> + +<p>“And you will carpet the floor?” he asked, hovering +off of the main issue.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +“Put coppit? Ah! cettainlee!” she replied, with a +lovely bow and a wave of the hand toward Mrs. Richling, +whom she had already given the same assurance.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded the little wife, with a captivated +smile, and nodded to her husband.</p> + +<p>“We want to get the decentest thing that is cheap,” he +said, as the three stood close together in the middle of +the room.</p> + +<p>The landlady flushed.</p> + +<p>“No, no, John,” said the wife, quickly, “don’t you +know what we said?” Then, turning to the proprietress, +she hurried to add, “We want the cheapest thing that is +decent.”</p> + +<p>But the landlady had not waited for the correction.</p> + +<p>“<em>Dis</em>sent! You want somesin <em>dis</em>sent!” She moved +a step backward on the floor, scoured and smeared with +brick-dust, her ire rising visibly at every heart-throb, and +pointing her outward-turned open hand energetically +downward, added:—</p> + +<p>“’Tis yeh!” She breathed hard. “<em>Mais</em>, no; you +don’t <em>want</em> somesin dissent. No!” She leaned forward +interrogatively: “You want somesin tchip?” She threw +both elbows to the one side, cast her spread hands off in +the same direction, drew the cheek on that side down into +the collar-bone, raised her eyebrows, and pushed her upper +lip with her lower, scornfully.</p> + +<p>At that moment her ear caught the words of the wife’s +apologetic amendment. They gave her fresh wrath and +new opportunity. For her new foe was a woman, and a +woman trying to speak in defence of the husband against +whose arm she clung.</p> + +<p>“Ah-h-h!” Her chin went up; her eyes shot lightning; +she folded her arms fiercely, and drew herself to her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +best height; and, as Richling’s eyes shot back in rising +indignation, cried:—</p> + +<p>“Ziss pless? ’Tis not ze pless! Zis pless—is diss’nt +pless! I am diss’nt woman, me! Fo w’at you come in +yeh?”</p> + +<p>“My dear madam! My husband”—</p> + +<p>“Dass you’ uzban’?” pointing at him.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” cried the two Richlings at once.</p> + +<p>The woman folded her arms again, turned half-aside, +and, lifting her eyes to the ceiling, simply remarked, with +an ecstatic smile:—</p> + +<p>“Humph!” and left the pair, red with exasperation, +to find the street again through the darkening cave of the +stair-way.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was still early the next morning, when Richling entered +his wife’s apartment with an air of brisk occupation. +She was pinning her brooch at the bureau glass.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” he exclaimed, “put something on and come +see what I’ve found! The queerest, most romantic old +thing in the city; the most comfortable—and the cheapest! +Here, is this the wardrobe key? To save time I’ll +get your bonnet.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, no!” cried the laughing wife, confronting +him with sparkling eyes, and throwing herself before the +wardrobe; “I can’t let you touch my bonnet!”</p> + +<p>There is a limit, it seems, even to a wife’s subserviency.</p> + +<p>However, in a very short time afterward, by the feminine +measure, they were out in the street, and people were +again smiling at the pretty pair to see her arm in his, and +she actually <em>keeping step</em>. ’Twas very funny.</p> + +<p>As they went John described his discovery: A pair of +huge, solid green gates immediately on the sidewalk, in +the dull façade of a tall, red brick building with old +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +carved vinework on its window and door frames. Hinges +a yard long on the gates; over the gates a semi-circular +grating of iron bars an inch in diameter; in one of these +gates a wicket, and on the wicket a heavy, battered, highly +burnished brass knocker. A short-legged, big-bodied, and +very black slave to usher one through the wicket into a +large, wide, paved corridor, where from the middle joist +overhead hung a great iron lantern. Big double doors at +the far end, standing open, flanked with diamond-paned +side-lights of colored glass, and with an arch at the same, +fan-shaped, above. Beyond these doors and showing +through them, a flagged court, bordered all around by a +narrow, raised parterre under pomegranate and fruit-laden +orange, and over-towered by vine-covered and latticed +walls, from whose ragged eaves vagabond weeds laughed +down upon the flowers of the parterre below, robbed of late +and early suns. Stairs old fashioned, broad; rooms, their +choice of two; one looking down into the court, the other +into the street; furniture faded, capacious; ceilings high; +windows, each opening upon its own separate small balcony, +where, instead of balustrades, was graceful iron +scroll-work, centered by some long-dead owner’s monogram +two feet in length; and on the balcony next the division +wall, close to another on the adjoining property, a quarter +circle of iron-work set like a blind-bridle, and armed with +hideous prongs for house-breakers to get impaled on.</p> + +<p>“Why, in there,” said Richling, softly, as they hurried +in, “we’ll be hid from the whole world, and the whole +world from us.”</p> + +<p>The wife’s answer was only the upward glance of her +blue eyes into his, and a faint smile.</p> + +<p>The place was all it had been described to be, and +more,—except in one particular.</p> + +<p>“And my husband tells me”—The owner of said +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +husband stood beside him, one foot a little in advance of +the other, her folded parasol hanging down the front of +her skirt from her gloved hands, her eyes just returning +to the landlady’s from an excursion around the ceiling, +and her whole appearance as fresh as the pink flowers +that nestled between her brow and the rim of its precious +covering. She smiled as she began her speech, but not +enough to spoil what she honestly believed to be a very +business-like air and manner. John had quietly dropped +out of the negotiations, and she felt herself put upon her +mettle as his agent. “And my husband tells me the price +of this front room is ten dollars a month.”</p> + +<p>“Munse?”</p> + +<p>The respondent was a very white, corpulent woman, +who constantly panted for breath, and was everywhere +sinking down into chairs, with her limp, unfortified skirt +dropping between her knees, and her hands pressed on +them exhaustedly.</p> + +<p>“Munse?” She turned from husband to wife, and +back again, a glance of alarmed inquiry.</p> + +<p>Mary tried her hand at French.</p> + +<p>“Yes; <em>oui, madame</em>. Ten dollah the month—<em>le mois</em>.”</p> + +<p>Intelligence suddenly returned. Madame made a beautiful, +silent O with her mouth and two others with her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ah <em>non</em>! By munse? No, madame. Ah-h! impossybl’! +By <em>wick</em>, yes; ten dollah de wick! Ah!”</p> + +<p>She touched her bosom with the wide-spread fingers of +one hand and threw them toward her hearers.</p> + +<p>The room-hunters got away, yet not so quickly but they +heard behind and above them her scornful laugh, addressed +to the walls of the empty room.</p> + +<p>A day or two later they secured an apartment, cheap, +and—morally—decent; but otherwise—ah!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>DISAPPEARANCE.</strong></p> + + +<p>It was the year of a presidential campaign. The party +that afterward rose to overwhelming power was, for +the first time, able to put its candidate fairly abreast of +his competitors. The South was all afire. Rising up or +sitting down, coming or going, week-day or Sabbath-day, +eating or drinking, marrying or burying, the talk was all +of slavery, abolition, and a disrupted country.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier became totally absorbed in the issue. He +was too unconventional a thinker ever to find himself in +harmony with all the declarations of any party, and yet it +was a necessity of his nature to be in the <em>mêlée</em>. He had +his own array of facts, his own peculiar deductions; his +own special charges of iniquity against this party and of +criminal forbearance against that; his own startling political +economy; his own theory of rights; his own interpretations +of the Constitution; his own threats and +warnings; his own exhortations, and his own prophecies, +of which one cannot say all have come true. But he +poured them forth from the mighty heart of one who +loved his country, and sat down with a sense of duty fulfilled +and wiped his pale forehead while the band played +a polka.</p> + +<p>It hardly need be added that he proposed to dispense +with politicians, or that, when “the boys” presently +counted him into their party team for campaign haranguing, +he let them clap the harness upon him and splashed +along in the mud with an intention as pure as snow.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +“Hurrah for”—</p> + +<p>Whom it is no matter now. It was not Fremont. +Buchanan won the race. Out went the lights, down came +the platforms, rockets ceased to burst; it was of no use +longer to “Wait for the wagon”; “Old Dan Tucker” +got “out of the way,” small boys were no longer fellow-citizens, +dissolution was postponed, and men began to +have an eye single to the getting of money.</p> + +<p>A mercantile friend of Dr. Sevier had a vacant clerkship +which it was necessary to fill. A bright recollection +flashed across the Doctor’s memory.</p> + +<p>“Narcisse!”</p> + +<p>“Yesseh!”</p> + +<p>“Go to Number 40 Custom-house street and inquire +for Mr. Fledgeling; or, if he isn’t in, for Mrs. Fledge—humph! +Richling, I mean; I”—</p> + +<p>Narcisse laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>“Ha-ha-ha! daz de way, sometime’! My hant she got +a honcl’—he says, once ’pon a time”—</p> + +<p>“Never mind! Go at once!”</p> + +<p>“All a-ight, seh!”</p> + +<p>“Give him this card”—</p> + +<p>“Yesseh!”</p> + +<p>“These people”—</p> + +<p>“Yesseh!”</p> + +<p>“Well, wait till you get your errand, can’t you? +These”—</p> + +<p>“Yesseh!”</p> + +<p>“These people want to see him.”</p> + +<p>“All a-ight, seh!”</p> + +<p>Narcisse threw open and jerked off a worsted jacket, +took his coat down from a peg, transferred a snowy +handkerchief from the breast-pocket of the jacket to that +of the coat, felt in his pantaloons to be sure that he had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +his match-case and cigarettes, changed his shoes, got his +hat from a high nail by a little leap, and put it on a head +as handsome as Apollo’s.</p> + +<p>“Doctah Seveeah,” he said, “in fact, I fine that a +ve’y gen’lemany young man, that Mistoo Itchlin, weely, +Doctah.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor murmured to himself from the letter he was +writing.</p> + +<p>“Well, <em>au ’evoi’</em>, Doctah; I’m goin’.”</p> + +<p>Out in the corridor he turned and jerked his chin up +and curled his lip, brought a match and cigarette together +in the lee of his hollowed hand, took one first, fond draw, +and went down the stairs as if they were on fire.</p> + +<p>At Canal street he fell in with two noble fellows of his +own circle, and the three went around by way of Exchange +alley to get a glass of soda at McCloskey’s old down-town +stand. His two friends were out of employment at the +moment,—making him, consequently, the interesting +figure in the trio as he inveighed against his master.</p> + +<p>“Ah, phooh!” he said, indicating the end of his speech +by dropping the stump of his cigarette into the sand on +the floor and softly spitting upon it,—“<em>le</em> Shylock <em>de la rue</em> +Carondelet!”—and then in English, not to lose the admiration +of the Irish waiter:—</p> + +<p>“He don’t want to haugment me! I din hass ’im, because +the ’lection. But you juz wait till dat firce of +Jannawerry!”</p> + +<p>The waiter swathed the zinc counter, and inquired why +Narcisse did not make his demands at the present +moment.</p> + +<p>“W’y I don’t hass ’im now? Because w’en I hass ’im +he know’ he’s got to <em>do</em> it! You thing I’m goin’ to kill +myseff workin’?”</p> + +<p>Nobody said yes, and by and by he found himself alive +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +in the house of Madame Zénobie. The furniture was +being sold at auction, and the house was crowded with +all sorts and colors of men and women. A huge sideboard +was up for sale as he entered, and the crier was +crying:—</p> + +<p>“Faw-ty-fi’ dollah! faw-ty-fi’ dollah, ladies an’ gentymen! +On’y faw-ty-fi’ dollah fo’ thad magniffyzan sidebode! +<em>Quarante-cinque piastres, seulement, messieurs! +Les</em> knobs <em>vaut bien cette prix</em>! Gentymen, de knobs is +worse de money! Ladies, if you don’ stop dat talkin’, I +will not sell one thing mo’! <em>Et quarante cinque piastres</em>—faw-ty-fi’ +dollah”—</p> + +<p>“Fifty!” cried Narcisse, who had not owned that much +at one time since his father was a constable; realizing +which fact, he slipped away upstairs and found Madame +Zénobie half crazed at the slaughter of her assets.</p> + +<p>She sat in a chair against the wall of the room the Richlings +had occupied, a spectacle of agitated dejection. +Here and there about the apartment, either motionless in +chairs, or moving noiselessly about, and pulling and pushing +softly this piece of furniture and that, were numerous +vulture-like persons of either sex, waiting the up-coming +of the auctioneer. Narcisse approached her briskly.</p> + +<p>“Well, Madame Zénobie!”—he spoke in French—“is +it you who lives here? Don’t you remember me? +What! No? You don’t remember how I used to steal figs +from you?”</p> + +<p>The vultures slowly turned their heads. Madame +Zénobie looked at him in a dazed way.</p> + +<p>No, she did not remember. So many had robbed her—all +her life.</p> + +<p>“But you don’t look at me, Madame Zénobie. Don’t +you remember, for example, once pulling a little boy—as +little as <em>that</em>—out of your fig-tree, and taking the half of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +a shingle, split lengthwise, in your hand, and his head +under your arm,—swearing you would do it if you died +for it,—and bending him across your knee,”—he began +a vigorous but graceful movement of the right arm, which +few members of our fallen race could fail to recognize,—“and +you don’t remember me, my old friend?”</p> + +<p>She looked up into the handsome face with a faint +smile of affirmation. He laughed with delight.</p> + +<p>“The shingle was <em>that</em> wide. Ah! Madame Zénobie, +you did it well!” He softly smote the memorable spot, +first with one hand and then with the other, shrinking forward +spasmodically with each contact, and throwing utter +woe into his countenance. The general company smiled. +He suddenly put on great seriousness.</p> + +<p>“Madame Zénobie, I hope your furniture is selling +well?” He still spoke in French.</p> + +<p>She cast her eyes upward pleadingly, caught her breath, +threw the back of her hand against her temple, and dashed +it again to her lap, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>Narcisse was sorry.</p> + +<p>“I have been doing what I could for you, downstairs,—running +up the prices of things. I wish I could stay to +do more, for the sake of old times. I came to see Mr. +Richling, Madame Zénobie; is he in? Dr. Sevier wants +him.”</p> + +<p>Richling? Why, the Richlings did not live there! The +Doctor must know it. Why should she be made responsible +for this mistake? It was his oversight. They had +moved long ago. Dr. Sevier had seen them looking for +apartments. Where did they live now? Ah, me! <em>she</em> +could not tell. Did Mr. Richling owe the Doctor something?</p> + +<p>“Owe? Certainly not. The Doctor—on the contrary”—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +Ah! well, indeed, she didn’t know where they lived, it +is true; but the fact was, Mr. Richling happened to be +there just then!—<em>à-ç’t’eure</em>! He had come to get a few +trifles left by his madame.</p> + +<p>Narcisse made instant search. Richling was not on the +upper floor. He stepped to the landing and looked down. +There he went!</p> + +<p>“Mistoo ’Itchlin!”</p> + +<p>Richling failed to hear. Sharper ears might have served +him better. He passed out by the street door. Narcisse +stopped the auction by the noise he made coming downstairs +after him. He had some trouble with the front +door,—lost time there, but got out.</p> + +<p>Richling was turning a corner. Narcisse ran there and +looked; looked up—looked down—looked into every +store and shop on either side of the way clear back to +Canal street; crossed it, went back to the Doctor’s office, +and reported. If he omitted such details as having seen +and then lost sight of the man he sought, it may have +been in part from the Doctor’s indisposition to give him +speaking license. The conclusion was simple: the Richlings +could not be found.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The months of winter passed. No sign of them.</p> + +<p>“They’ve gone back home,” the Doctor often said to +himself. How much better that was than to stay where +they had made a mistake in venturing, and become the +nurslings of patronizing strangers! He gave his admiration +free play, now that they were quite gone. True +courage that Richling had—courage to retreat when retreat +is best! And his wife—ah! what a reminder of—hush, +memory!</p> + +<p>“Yes, they must have gone home!” The Doctor spoke +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +very positively, because, after all, he was haunted by +doubt.</p> + +<p>One spring morning he uttered a soft exclamation as he +glanced at his office-slate. The first notice on it read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Please call as soon as you can at number 292 St. Mary street, +corner of Prytania. Lower corner—opposite the asylum.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 70%;" class="smcap">John Richling</span>.</p></div> + +<p>The place was far up in the newer part of the American +quarter. The signature had the appearance as if the +writer had begun to write some other name, and had +changed it to Richling.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A QUESTION OF BOOK-KEEPING.</strong></p> + + +<p>A day or two after Narcisse had gone looking for +Richling at the house of Madame Zénobie, he might +have found him, had he known where to search, in +Tchoupitoulas street.</p> + +<p>Whoever remembers that thoroughfare as it was in +those days, when the commodious “cotton-float” had not +quite yet come into use, and Poydras and other streets +did not so vie with Tchoupitoulas in importance as they +do now, will recall a scene of commercial hurly-burly that +inspired much pardonable vanity in the breast of the +utilitarian citizen. Drays, drays, drays! Not the light +New York things; but big, heavy, solid affairs, many of +them drawn by two tall mules harnessed tandem. Drays +by threes and by dozens, drays in opposing phalanxes, +drays in long processions, drays with all imaginable kinds +of burden; cotton in bales, piled as high as the omnibuses; +leaf tobacco in huge hogsheads; cases of linens and silks; +stacks of raw-hides; crates of cabbages; bales of prints +and of hay; interlocked heaps of blue and red ploughs; +bags of coffee, and spices, and corn; bales of bagging; +barrels, casks, and tierces; whisky, pork, onions, oats, +bacon, garlic, molasses, and other delicacies; rice, sugar,—what +was there not? Wines of France and Spain in +pipes, in baskets, in hampers, in octaves; queensware +from England; cheeses, like cart-wheels, from Switzerland; +almonds, lemons, raisins, olives, boxes of citron, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +casks of chains; specie from Vera Cruz; cries of drivers, +cracking of whips, rumble of wheels, tremble of earth, +frequent gorge and stoppage. It seemed an idle tale to +say that any one could be lacking bread and raiment. +“We are a great city,” said the patient foot-passengers, +waiting long on street corners for opportunity to cross the +way.</p> + +<p>On one of these corners paused Richling. He had not +found employment, but you could not read that in his +face; as well as he knew himself, he had come forward +into the world prepared amiably and patiently to be, to +do, to suffer anything, provided it was not wrong or +ignominious. He did not see that even this is not enough +in this rough world; nothing had yet taught him that one +must often gently suffer rudeness and wrong. As to +what constitutes ignominy he had a very young man’s—and, +shall we add? a very American—idea. He could +not have believed, had he been told, how many establishments +he had passed by, omitting to apply in them for +employment. He little dreamed he had been too select. +He had entered not into any house of the Samaritans, to +use a figure; much less, to speak literally, had he gone +to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. Mary, hiding +away in uncomfortable quarters a short stone’s throw +from Madame Zénobie’s, little imagined that, in her broad +irony about his not hunting for employment, there was +really a tiny seed of truth. She felt sure that two or +three persons who had seemed about to employ him had +failed to do so because they detected the defect in his +hearing, and in one or two cases she was right.</p> + +<p>Other persons paused on the same corner where Richling +stood, under the same momentary embarrassment. +One man, especially busy-looking, drew very near him. +And then and there occurred this simple accident,—that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +at last he came in contact with the man who had work to +give him. This person good-humoredly offered an +impatient comment on their enforced delay. Richling +answered in sympathetic spirit, and the first speaker responded +with a question:—</p> + +<p>“Stranger in the city?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Buying goods for up-country?”</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant feature of New Orleans life that +sociability to strangers on the street was not the exclusive +prerogative of gamblers’ decoys.</p> + +<p>“No; I’m looking for employment.”</p> + +<p>“Aha!” said the man, and moved away a little. But +in a moment Richling, becoming aware that his questioner +was glancing all over him with critical scrutiny, turned, +and the man spoke.</p> + +<p>“D’you keep books?”</p> + +<p>Just then a way opened among the vehicles; and the +man, young and muscular, darted into it, and Richling +followed.</p> + +<p>“I <em>can</em> keep books,” he said, as they reached the +farther curb-stone.</p> + +<p>The man seized him by the arm.</p> + +<p>“D’you see that pile of codfish and herring where that +tall man is at work yonder with a marking-pot and brush? +Well, just beyond there is a boarding-house, and then a +hardware store; you can hear them throwing down sheets +of iron. Here; you can see the sign. See? Well, the +next is my store. Go in there—upstairs into the office—and +wait till I come.”</p> + +<p>Richling bowed and went. In the office he sat down +and waited what seemed a very long time. Could he have +misunderstood? For the man did not come. There was +a person sitting at a desk on the farther side of the office, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +writing, who had not lifted his head from first to last, +Richling said:—</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me when the proprietor will be in?”</p> + +<p>The writer’s eyes rose, and dropped again upon his +writing.</p> + +<p>“What do you want with him?”</p> + +<p>“He asked me to wait here for him.”</p> + +<p>“Better wait, then.”</p> + +<p>Just then in came the merchant. Richling rose, and +he uttered a rude exclamation:—</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> forgot you completely! Where did you say you +kept books at, last?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve not kept anybody’s books yet, but I can do it.”</p> + +<p>The merchant’s response was cold and prompt. He +did not look at Richling, but took a sample vial of molasses +from a dirty mantel-piece and lifted it between his +eyes and the light, saying:—</p> + +<p>“You can’t do any such thing. I don’t want you.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said Richling, so sharply that the merchant +looked round, “if you don’t want me I don’t want you; +but you mustn’t attempt to tell me that what I say is not +true!” He had stepped forward as he began to speak, +but he stopped before half his words were uttered, and +saw his folly. Even while his voice still trembled with +passion and his head was up, he colored with mortification. +That feeling grew no less when his offender simply +looked at him, and the man at the desk did not raise his +eyes. It rather increased when he noticed that both of +them were young—as young as he.</p> + +<p>“I don’t doubt your truthfulness,” said the merchant, +marking the effect of his forbearance; “but you ought to +know you can’t come in and take charge of a large set of +books in the midst of a busy season, when you’ve never +kept books before.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +“I don’t know it at all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I do,” said the merchant, still more coldly than +before. “There are my books,” he added, warming, and +pointed to three great canvassed and black-initialled volumes +standing in a low iron safe, “left only yesterday in +such a snarl, by a fellow who had ‘never kept books, but +knew how,’ that I shall have to open another set! After +this I shall have a book-keeper who has kept books.”</p> + +<p>He turned away.</p> + +<p>Some weeks afterward Richling recalled vividly a +thought that had struck him only faintly at this time: +that, beneath much superficial severity and energy, there +was in this establishment a certain looseness of management. +It may have been this half-recognized thought that +gave him courage, now, to say, advancing another step:—</p> + +<p>“One word, if you please.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no use, my friend.”</p> + +<p>“It may be.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Get an experienced book-keeper for your new set of +books”—</p> + +<p>“You can bet your bottom dollar!” said the merchant, +turning again and running his hands down into his lower +pockets. “And even he’ll have as much as he can do”—</p> + +<p>“That is just what I wanted you to say,” interrupted +Richling, trying hard to smile; “then you can let me +straighten up the old set.”</p> + +<p>“Give a new hand the work of an expert!”</p> + +<p>The merchant almost laughed out. He shook his head +and was about to say more, when Richling persisted:—</p> + +<p>“If I don’t do the work to your satisfaction don’t pay +me a cent.”</p> + +<p>“I never make that sort of an arrangement; no, sir!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +Unfortunately it had not been Richling’s habit to show +this pertinacity, else life might have been easier to him as +a problem; but these two young men, his equals in age, +were casting amused doubts upon his ability to make good +his professions. The case was peculiar. He reached a +hand out toward the books.</p> + +<p>“Let me look over them for one day; if I don’t convince +you the next morning in five minutes that I can +straighten them I’ll leave them without a word.”</p> + +<p>The merchant looked down an instant, and then turned +to the man at the desk.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of that, Sam?”</p> + +<p>Sam set his elbows upon the desk, took the small end +of his pen-holder in his hands and teeth, and, looking up, +said:—</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; you might—try him.”</p> + +<p>“What did you say your name was?” asked the other, +again facing Richling. “Ah, yes! Who are your references, +Mr. Richmond?”</p> + +<p>“Sir?” Richling leaned slightly forward and turned +his ear.</p> + +<p>“I say, who knows you?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody! Where are you from?”</p> + +<p>“Milwaukee.”</p> + +<p>The merchant tossed out his arm impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t do that kind o’ business.”</p> + +<p>He turned abruptly, went to his desk, and, sitting +down half-hidden by it, took up an open letter.</p> + +<p>“I bought that coffee, Sam,” he said, rising again and +moving farther away.</p> + +<p>“Um-hum,” said Sam; and all was still.</p> + +<p>Richling stood expecting every instant to turn on the +next and go. Yet he went not. Under the dusty front +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +windows of the counting-room the street was roaring +below. Just beyond a glass partition at his back a great +windlass far up under the roof was rumbling with the +descent of goods from a hatchway at the end of its tense +rope. Salesmen were calling, trucks were trundling, +shipping clerks and porters were replying. One brawny +fellow he saw, through the glass, take a herring from a +broken box, and stop to feed it to a sleek, brindled mouser. +Even the cat was valued; but he—he stood there absolutely +zero. He saw it. He saw it as he never had seen +it before in his life. This truth smote him like a javelin: +that all this world wants is a man’s permission to do +without him. Right then it was that he thought he +swallowed all his pride; whereas he only tasted its bitter +brine as like a wave it took him up and lifted him forward +bodily. He strode up to the desk beyond which stood +the merchant, with the letter still in his hand, and +said:—</p> + +<p>“I’ve not gone yet! I may have to be turned off by +you, but not in this manner!”</p> + +<p>The merchant looked around at him with a smile of +surprise, mixed with amusement and commendation, but +said nothing. Richling held out his open hand.</p> + +<p>“I don’t ask you to trust me. Don’t trust me. Try +me!”</p> + +<p>He looked distressed. He was not begging, but he +seemed to feel as though he were.</p> + +<p>The merchant dropped his eyes again upon the letter, +and in that attitude asked:—</p> + +<p>“What do you say, Sam?”</p> + +<p>“He can’t hurt anything,” said Sam.</p> + +<p>The merchant looked suddenly at Richling.</p> + +<p>“You’re not from Milwaukee. You’re a Southern +man.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +Richling changed color.</p> + +<p>“I said Milwaukee.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the merchant, “I hardly know. Come +and see me further about it to-morrow morning. I +haven’t time to talk now.”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“Take a seat,” he said, the next morning, and drew +up a chair sociably before the returned applicant. +“Now, suppose I was to give you those books, all in confusion +as they are, what would you do first of all?”</p> + +<p>Mary fortunately had asked the same question the +night before, and her husband was entirely ready with an +answer which they had studied out in bed.</p> + +<p>“I should send your deposit-book to bank to be +balanced, and, without waiting for it, I should begin to +take a trial-balance off the books. If I didn’t get one +pretty soon, I’d drop that for the time being, and turn +in and render the accounts of everybody on the books, +asking them to examine and report.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said the merchant, carelessly; “we’ll +try you.”</p> + +<p>“Sir?” Richling bent his ear.</p> + +<p>“<em>All right; we’ll try you!</em> I don’t care much about +recommendations. I generally most always make up my +opinion about a man from looking at him. I’m that sort +of a man.”</p> + +<p>He smiled with inordinate complacency.</p> + +<p>So, week by week, as has been said already, the winter +passed,—Richling on one side of the town, hidden away +in his work, and Dr. Sevier on the other, very positive +that the “young pair” must have returned to Milwaukee.</p> + +<p>At length the big books were readjusted in all their +hundreds of pages, were balanced, and closed. Much +satisfaction was expressed; but another man had meantime +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +taken charge of the new books,—one who influenced +business, and Richling had nothing to do but put on his +hat.</p> + +<p>However, the house cheerfully recommended him to a +neighboring firm, which also had disordered books to be +righted; and so more weeks passed. Happy weeks! +Happy days! Ah, the joy of them! John bringing home +money, and Mary saving it!</p> + +<p>“But, John, it seems such a pity not to have stayed +with A, B, & Co.; doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so. I don’t think they’ll last much +longer.”</p> + +<p>And when he brought word that A, B, & Co. had gone +into a thousand pieces Mary was convinced that she had +a very far-seeing husband.</p> + +<p>By and by, at Richling’s earnest and restless desire, +they moved their lodgings again. And thus we return by +a circuit to the morning when Dr. Sevier, taking up his +slate, read the summons that bade him call at the corner +of St. Mary and Prytania streets.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>WHEN THE WIND BLOWS.</strong></p> + + +<p>The house stands there to-day. A small, pinched, +frame, ground-floor-and-attic, double tenement, with +its roof sloping toward St. Mary street and overhanging +its two door-steps that jut out on the sidewalk. There +the Doctor’s carriage stopped, and in its front room he +found Mary in bed again, as ill as ever. A humble German +woman, living in the adjoining half of the house, +was attending to the invalid’s wants, and had kept her +daughter from the public school to send her to the +apothecary with the Doctor’s prescription.</p> + +<p>“It is the poor who help the poor,” thought the +physician.</p> + +<p>“Is this your home?” he asked the woman softly, as +he sat down by the patient’s pillow. He looked about +upon the small, cheaply furnished room, full of the neat +makeshifts of cramped housewifery.</p> + +<p>“It’s mine,” whispered Mary. Even as she lay there +in peril of her life, and flattened out as though Juggernaut +had rolled over her, her eyes shone with happiness +and scintillated as the Doctor exclaimed in undertone:—</p> + +<p>“Yours!” He laid his hand upon her forehead. +“Where is Mr. Richling?”</p> + +<p>“At the office.” Her eyes danced with delight. She +would have begun, then and there, to tell him all that had +happened,—“had taken care of herself all along,” she +said, “until they began to move. In moving, had been +<em>obliged</em> to overwork—hardly <em>fixed</em> yet”—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +But the Doctor gently checked her and bade her be +quiet.</p> + +<p>“I will,” was the faint reply; “I will; but—just +one thing, Doctor, please let me say.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“John”—</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes; I know; he’d be here, only you wouldn’t +let him stay away from his work.”</p> + +<p>She smiled assent, and he smiled in return.</p> + +<p>“‘Business is business,’” he said.</p> + +<p>She turned a quick, sparkling glance of affirmation, as +if she had lately had some trouble to maintain that +ancient truism. She was going to speak again, but the +Doctor waved his hand downward soothingly toward the +restless form and uplifted eyes.</p> + +<p>“All right,” she whispered, and closed them.</p> + +<p>The next day she was worse. The physician found +himself, to use his words, “only the tardy attendant of +offended nature.” When he dropped his finger-ends +gently upon her temple she tremblingly grasped his hand.</p> + +<p>“You’ll save me?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he replied; “we’ll do that—the Lord helping us.”</p> + +<p>A glad light shone from her face as he uttered the +latter clause. Whereat he made haste to add:—</p> + +<p>“I don’t pray, but I’m sure you do.”</p> + +<p>She silently pressed the hand she still held.</p> + +<p>On Sunday he found Richling at the bedside. Mary +had improved considerably in two or three days. She +lay quite still as they talked, only shifting her glance +softly from one to the other as one and then the other +spoke. The Doctor heard with interest Richling’s full +account of all that had occurred since he had met them +last together. Mary’s eyes filled with merriment when +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +John told the droller part of their experiences in the +hard quarters from which they had only lately removed. +But the Doctor did not so much as smile. Richling +finished, and the physician was silent.</p> + +<p>“Oh, we’re getting along,” said Richling, stroking the +small, weak hand that lay near him on the coverlet. +But still the Doctor kept silence.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Richling, very quietly, looking at +his wife, “we mustn’t be surprised at a backset now and +then. But we’re getting on.”</p> + +<p>Mary turned her eyes toward the Doctor. Was he not +going to assent at all? She seemed about to speak. He +bent his ear, and she said, with a quiet smile:—</p> + +<p>“‘When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.’”</p> + +<p>The physician gave only a heavy-eyed “Humph!” and +a faint look of amusement.</p> + +<p>“What did she say?” said Richling; the words had +escaped his ear. The Doctor repeated it, and Richling, +too, smiled.</p> + +<p>Yet it was a good speech,—why not? But the patient +also smiled, and turned her eyes toward the wall with a +disconcerted look, as if the smile might end in tears. +For herein lay the very difficulty that always brought the +Doctor’s carriage to the door,—the cradle would not +rock.</p> + +<p>For a few days more that carriage continued to appear, +and then ceased. Richling dropped in one morning at +Number 3½ Carondelet, and settled his bill with Narcisse.</p> + +<p>The young Creole was much pleased to be at length +brought into actual contact with a man of his own years, +who, without visible effort, had made an impression on +Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>Until the money had been paid and the bill receipted +nothing more than a formal business phrase or two +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +passed between them. But as Narcisse delivered the +receipted bill, with an elaborate gesture of courtesy, and +Richling began to fold it for his pocket, the Creole remarked:—</p> + +<p>“I ’ope you will excuse the ’an’-a-’iting.”</p> + +<p>Richling reopened the paper; the penmanship was +beautiful.</p> + +<p>“Do you ever write better than this?” he asked. +“Why, I wish I could write half as well!”</p> + +<p>“No; I do not fine that well a-’itten. I cannot see ’ow +that is,—I nevva ’ite to the satizfagtion of my abil’ty +soon in the mawnin’s. I am dest’oying my chi’og’aphy +at that desk yeh.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed?” said Richling; “why, I should think”—</p> + +<p>“Yesseh, ’tis the tooth. But consunning the chi’og’aphy, +Mistoo Itchlin, I ’ave descovvud one thing to a +maul cettainty, and that is, if I ’ave something to ’ite to +a young lady, I always dizguise my chi’og’aphy. Ha-ah! +I ’ave learn that! You will be aztonizh’ to see in ’ow +many diffe’n’ fawm’ I can make my ’an’-a-’iting to appeah. +That paz thoo my fam’ly, in fact, Mistoo Itchlin. My +hant, she’s got a honcle w’at use’ to be cluck in a bank, +w’at could make the si’natu’e of the pwesiden’, as well as +of the cashieh, with that so absolute puffegtion, that they +tu’n ’im out of the bank! Yesseh. In fact, I thing you +ought to know ’ow to ’ite a ve’y fine ’an’, Mistoo Itchlin.”</p> + +<p>“N-not very,” said Richling; “my hand is large and +legible, but not well adapted for—book-keeping; it’s too +heavy.”</p> + +<p>“You ’ave the ’ight physio’nomie, I am shu’. You +will pe’haps believe me with difficulty, Mistoo Itchlin, +but I assu’ you I can tell if a man ’as a fine chi’og’aphy +aw no, by juz lookin’ upon his liniment. Do you know +that Benjamin Fwanklin ’ote a v’ey fine chi’og’aphy, in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +fact? Also, Voltaire. Yesseh. An’ Napoleon Bonaparte. +Lawd By’on muz ’ave ’ad a beaucheouz chi’og’aphy. +’Tis impossible not to be, with that face. He is +my favo’ite poet, that Lawd By’on. Moze people pwefeh +’im to Shakspere, in fact. Well, you muz go? I am ve’y +’appy to meck yo’ acquaintanze, Mistoo Itchlin, seh. I +am so’y Doctah Seveeah is not theh pwesently. The negs +time you call, Mistoo Itchlin, you muz not be too much +aztonizh to fine me gone from yeh. Yesseh. He’s got to +haugment me ad the en’ of that month, an’ we ’ave to-day +the fifteenth Mawch. Do you smoke, Mistoo Itchlin?” +He extended a package of cigarettes. Richling accepted +one. “I smoke lawgely in that weatheh,” striking a +match on his thigh. “I feel ve’y sultwy to-day. Well,”—he +seized the visitor’s hand,—“<em>au’ evoi’</em>, Mistoo Itchlin.” +And Narcisse returned to his desk happy in the +conviction that Richling had gone away dazzled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>GENTLES AND COMMONS.</strong></p> + + +<p>Dr. Sevier sat in the great easy-chair under the +drop-light of his library table trying to read a book. +But his thought was not on the page. He expired a long +breath of annoyance, and lifted his glance backward from +the bottom of the page to its top.</p> + +<p>Why must his mind keep going back to that little cottage +in St. Mary street? What good reason was there? +Would they thank him for his solicitude? Indeed! He +almost smiled his contempt of the supposition. Why, +when on one or two occasions he had betrayed a least +little bit of kindly interest,—what? Up had gone their +youthful vivacity like an umbrella. Oh, yes!—like all +young folks—<em>their</em> affairs were intensely private. Once +or twice he had shaken his head at the scantiness of all +their provisions for life. Well? They simply and unconsciously +stole a hold upon one another’s hand or arm, +as much as to say, “To love is enough.” When, gentlemen +of the jury, it isn’t enough!</p> + +<p>“Pshaw!” The word escaped him audibly. He drew +partly up from his half recline, and turned back a leaf of +the book to try once more to make out the sense of it.</p> + +<p>But there was Mary, and there was her husband. Especially +Mary. Her image came distinctly between his +eyes and the page. There she was, just as on his last +visit,—a superfluous one—no charge,—sitting and plying +her needle, unaware of his approach, gently moving +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +her rocking-chair, and softly singing, “Flow on, thou +shining river,”—the song his own wife used to sing. +“O child, child! do you think it’s always going to be +‘shining’?” They shouldn’t be so contented. Was +pride under that cloak? Oh, no, no! But even if the +content was genuine, it wasn’t good. Why, they oughtn’t +to be <em>able</em> to be happy so completely out of their true +sphere. It showed insensibility. But, there again,—Richling +wasn’t insensible, much less Mary.</p> + +<p>The Doctor let his book sink, face downward, upon his +knee.</p> + +<p>“They’re too big to be playing in the sand.” He took +up the book again. “’Tisn’t my business to tell them so.” +But before he got the volume fairly before his eyes his +professional bell rang, and he tossed the book upon the +table.</p> + +<p>“Well, why don’t you bring him in?” he asked, in a +tone of reproof, of a servant who presented a card; and +in a moment the visitor entered.</p> + +<p>He was a person of some fifty years of age, with a +patrician face, in which it was impossible to tell where +benevolence ended and pride began. His dress was of +fine cloth, a little antique in cut, and fitting rather loosely +on a form something above the medium height, of good +width, but bent in the shoulders, and with arms that had +been stronger. Years, it might be, or possibly some unflinching +struggle with troublesome facts, had given many +lines of his face a downward slant. He apologized for +the hour of his call, and accepted with thanks the chair +offered him.</p> + +<p>“You are not a resident of the city?” asked Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>“I am from Kentucky.” The voice was rich, and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +stranger’s general air one of rather conscious social +eminence.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” said the Doctor, not specially pleased, and +looked at him closer. He wore a black satin neck-stock, +and dark-blue buttoned gaiters. His hair was dyed brown. +A slender frill adorned his shirt-front.</p> + +<p>“Mrs.”—the visitor began to say, not giving the +name, but waving his index-finger toward his card, which +Dr. Sevier had laid upon the table, just under the lamp,—“my +wife, Doctor, seems to be in a very feeble condition. +Her physicians have advised her to try the effects of a +change of scene, and I have brought her down to your +busy city, sir.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor assented. The stranger resumed:—</p> + +<p>“Its hurry and energy are a great contrast to the plantation +life, sir.”</p> + +<p>“They’re very unlike,” the physician admitted.</p> + +<p>“This chafing of thousands of competitive designs,” +said the visitor, “this great fretwork of cross purposes, +is a decided change from the quiet order of our rural life. +Hmm! There everything is under the administration of +one undisputed will, and is executed by the unquestioning +obedience of our happy and contented slave peasantry. I +prefer the country. But I thought this was just the change +that would arouse and electrify an invalid who has really +no tangible complaint.”</p> + +<p>“Has the result been unsatisfactory?”</p> + +<p>“Entirely so. I am unexpectedly disappointed.” The +speaker’s thought seemed to be that the climate of New +Orleans had not responded with that hospitable alacrity +which was due so opulent, reasonable, and universally +obeyed a guest.</p> + +<p>There was a pause here, and Dr. Sevier looked around +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +at the book which lay at his elbow. But the visitor did +not resume, and the Doctor presently asked:—</p> + +<p>“Do you wish me to see your wife?”</p> + +<p>“I called to see you alone first,” said the other, “because +there might be questions to be asked which were +better answered in her absence.”</p> + +<p>“Then you think you know the secret of her illness, do +you?”</p> + +<p>“I do. I think, indeed I may say I know, it is—bereavement.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor compressed his lips and bowed.</p> + +<p>The stranger drooped his head somewhat, and, resting +his elbows on the arms of his chair, laid the tips of his +thumbs and fingers softly together.</p> + +<p>“The truth is, sir, she cannot recover from the loss of +our son.”</p> + +<p>“An infant?” asked the Doctor. His bell rang again +as he put the question.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; a young man,—one whom I had thought a +person of great promise; just about to enter life.”</p> + +<p>“When did he die?”</p> + +<p>“He has been dead nearly a year. I”— The speaker +ceased as the mulatto waiting-man appeared at the open +door, with a large, simple, German face looking easily +over his head from behind.</p> + +<p>“Toctor,” said the owner of this face, lifting an immense +open hand, “Toctor, uf you bleace, Toctor, you +vill bleace ugscooce me.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor frowned at the servant for permitting the +interruption. But the gentleman beside him said:—</p> + +<p>“Let him come in, sir; he seems to be in haste, sir, +and I am not,—I am not, at all.”</p> + +<p>“Come in,” said the physician.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +The new-comer stepped into the room. He was about +six feet three inches in height, three feet six in breadth, +and the same in thickness. Two kindly blue eyes shone +softly in an expanse of face that had been clean-shaven +every Saturday night for many years, and that ended in +a retreating chin and a dewlap. The limp, white shirt-collar +just below was without a necktie, and the waist of +his pantaloons, which seemed intended to supply this deficiency, +did not quite, but only almost reached up to the +unoccupied blank. He removed from his respectful head +a soft gray hat, whitened here and there with flour.</p> + +<p>“Yentlemen,” he said, slowly, “you vill ugscooce me +to interruptet you,—yentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“Do you wish to see me?” asked Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>The German made an odd gesture of deferential assent, +lifting one open hand a little in front of him to the level +of his face, with the wrist bent forward and the fingers +pointing down.</p> + +<p>“Uf you bleace, Toctor, I toose; undt tat’s te fust +time I effer <em>tit</em> vanted a toctor. Undt you mus’ ugscooce +me, Toctor, to callin’ on you, ovver I vish you come undt +see mine”—</p> + +<p>To the surprise of all, tears gushed from his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Mine poor vife, Toctor!” He turned to one side, +pointed his broad hand toward the floor, and smote his +forehead.</p> + +<p>“I yoost come in fun mine paykery undt comin’ into +mine howse, fen—I see someting”—he waved his +hand downward again—“someting—layin’ on te—floor—face +pleck ans a nigger’s; undt fen I look to see who +udt iss,—<em>udt is Mississ Reisen</em>! Toctor, I vish you +come right off! I couldn’t shtayndt udt you toandt come +right avay!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll come,” said the Doctor, without rising; “just +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +write your name and address on that little white slate +yonder.”</p> + +<p>“Toctor,” said the German, extending and dipping his +hat, “I’m ferra much a-velcome to you, Toctor; undt +tat’s yoost fot te pottekerra by mine corner sayt you +vould too. He sayss, ‘Reisen,’ he sayss, ‘you yoost co +to Toctor Tsewier.’” He bent his great body over the +farther end of the table and slowly worked out his name, +street, and number. “Dtere udt iss, Toctor; I put udt +town on teh schlate; ovver, I hope you ugscooce te +hayndtwriding.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. That’s right. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>The German lingered. The Doctor gave a bow of +dismission.</p> + +<p>“That’s all, I say. I’ll be there in a moment. That’s +all. Dan, order my carriage!”</p> + +<p>“Yentlemen, you vill ugscooce me?”</p> + +<p>The German withdrew, returning each gentleman’s bow +with a faint wave of the hat.</p> + +<p>During this interview the more polished stranger had +sat with bowed head, motionless and silent, lifting it only +once and for a moment at the German’s emotional outburst. +Then the upward and backward turned face was +marked with a commiseration partly artificial, but also +partly natural. He now looked up at the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“I shall have to leave you,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir,” replied the other; “by all means!” +The willingness was slightly overdone and the benevolence +of tone was mixed with complacency. “By all means,” +he said again; “this is one of those cases where it is +only a proper grace in the higher to yield place to the +lower.” He waited for a response, but the Doctor merely +frowned into space and called for his boots. The visitor +resumed:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +“I have a good deal of feeling, sir, for the unlettered +and the vulgar. They have their station, but they have +also—though doubtless in smaller capacity than we—their +pleasures and pains.”</p> + +<p>Seeing the Doctor ready to go, he began to rise.</p> + +<p>“I may not be gone long,” said the physician, rather +coldly; “if you choose to wait”—</p> + +<p>“I thank you; n-no-o”—The visitor stopped between +a sitting and a rising posture.</p> + +<p>“Here are books,” said the Doctor, “and the evening +papers,—‘Picayune,’ ‘Delta,’ ‘True Delta.’” It seemed +for a moment as though the gentleman might sink into +his seat again. “And there’s the ‘New York Herald.’”</p> + +<p>“No, sir!” said the visitor quickly, rising and smoothing +himself out; “nothing from that quarter, if you +please.” Yet he smiled. The Doctor did not notice that, +while so smiling, he took his card from the table. There +was something familiar in the stranger’s face which the +Doctor was trying to make out. They left the house +together. Outside the street door the physician made +apologetic allusion to their interrupted interview.</p> + +<p>“Shall I see you at my office to-morrow? I would be +happy”—</p> + +<p>The stranger had raised his hat. He smiled again, as +pleasantly as he could, which was not delightful, and +said, after a moment’s hesitation:—</p> + +<p>“—Possibly.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A PANTOMIME.</strong></p> + + +<p>It chanced one evening about this time—the vernal +equinox had just passed—that from some small cause +Richling, who was generally detained at the desk until a +late hour, was home early. The air was soft and warm, +and he stood out a little beyond his small front door-step, +lifting his head to inhale the universal fragrance, and +looking in every moment, through the unlighted front +room, toward a part of the diminutive house where a mild +rattle of domestic movements could be heard, and whence +he had, a little before, been adroitly requested to absent +himself. He moved restlessly on his feet, blowing a soft +tune.</p> + +<p>Presently he placed a foot on the step and a hand on +the door-post, and gave a low, urgent call.</p> + +<p>A distant response indicated that his term of suspense +was nearly over. He turned about again once or twice, +and a moment later Mary appeared in the door, came +down upon the sidewalk, looked up into the moonlit sky +and down the empty, silent street, then turned and sat +down, throwing her wrists across each other in her lap, +and lifting her eyes to her husband’s with a smile that +confessed her fatigue.</p> + +<p>The moon was regal. It cast its deep contrasts of +clear-cut light and shadow among the thin, wooden, unarchitectural +forms and weed-grown vacancies of the half-settled +neighborhood, investing the matter-of-fact with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +mystery, and giving an unexpected charm to the unpicturesque. +It was—as Richling said, taking his place +beside his wife—midspring in March. As he spoke he +noticed she had brought with her the odor of flowers. +They were pinned at her throat.</p> + +<p>“Where did you get them?” he asked, touching them +with his fingers.</p> + +<p>Her face lighted up.</p> + +<p>“Guess.”</p> + +<p>How could he guess? As far as he knew neither she +nor he had made an acquaintance in the neighborhood. +He shook his head, and she replied:—</p> + +<p>“The butcher.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a queer girl,” he said, when they had +laughed.</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“You let these common people take to you so.”</p> + +<p>She smiled, with a faint air of concern.</p> + +<p>“You don’t dislike it, do you?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” he said, indifferently, and spoke of other +things.</p> + +<p>And thus they sat, like so many thousands and thousands +of young pairs in this wide, free America, offering +the least possible interest to the great human army round +about them, but sharing, or believing they shared, in the +fruitful possibilities of this land of limitless bounty, +fondling their hopes and recounting the petty minutiæ of +their daily experiences. Their converse was mainly in +the form of questions from Mary and answers from +John.</p> + +<p>“And did he say that he would?” etc. “And didn’t +you insist that he should?” etc. “I don’t understand +how he could require you to,” etc., etc. Looking at everything +from John’s side, as if there never could be any other, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +until at last John himself laughed softly when she asked +why he couldn’t take part of some outdoor man’s work, +and give him part of his own desk-work in exchange, +and why he couldn’t say plainly that his work was too +sedentary.</p> + +<p>Then she proposed a walk in the moonlight, and +insisted she was not tired; she wanted it on her own +account. And so, when Richling had gone into the house +and returned with some white worsted gauze for her head +and neck and locked the door, they were ready to start.</p> + +<p>They were tarrying a moment to arrange this wrapping +when they found it necessary to move aside from where +they stood in order to let two persons pass on the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>These were a man and woman, who had at least reached +middle age. The woman wore a neatly fitting calico gown; +the man, a short pilot-coat. His pantaloons were very +tight and pale. A new soft hat was pushed forward from +the left rear corner of his closely cropped head, with the +front of the brim turned down over his right eye. At +each step he settled down with a little jerk alternately on +this hip and that, at the same time faintly dropping the +corresponding shoulder. They passed. John and Mary +looked at each other with a nod of mirthful approval. +Why? Because the strangers walked silently hand-in-hand.</p> + +<p>It was a magical night. Even the part of town where +they were, so devoid of character by day, had become +all at once romantic with phantasmal lights and glooms, +echoes and silences. Along the edge of a wide chimney-top +on one blank, new hulk of a house, that nothing else +could have made poetical, a mocking-bird hopped and +ran back and forth, singing as if he must sing or die. +The mere names of the streets they traversed suddenly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +became sweet food for the fancy. Down at the first +corner below they turned into one that had been an old +country road, and was still named Felicity.</p> + +<p>Richling called attention to the word painted on a +board. He merely pointed to it in playful silence, and +then let his hand sink and rest on hers as it lay in his +elbow. They were walking under the low boughs of a +line of fig-trees that overhung a high garden wall. Then +some gay thought took him; but when his downward +glance met the eyes uplifted to meet his they were grave, +and there came an instantaneous tenderness into the +exchange of looks that would have been worse than +uninteresting to you or me. But the next moment she +brightened up, pressed herself close to him, and caught +step. They had not owned each other long enough to +have settled into sedate possession, though they sometimes +thought they had done so. There was still a +tingling ecstasy in one another’s touch and glance that +prevented them from quite behaving themselves when +under the moon.</p> + +<p>For instance, now, they began, though in cautious +undertone, to sing. Some person approached them, and +they hushed. When the stranger had passed, Mary +began again another song, alone:—</p> + +<p class="center">“Oh, don’t you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?”</p> + +<p>“Hush!” said John, softly.</p> + +<p>She looked up with an air of mirthful inquiry, and he +added:—</p> + +<p>“That was the name of Dr. Sevier’s wife.”</p> + +<p>“But he doesn’t hear me singing.”</p> + +<p>“No; but it seems as if he did.”</p> + +<p>And they sang no more.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +They entered a broad, open avenue, with a treeless, +grassy way in the middle, up which came a very large and +lumbering street-car, with smokers’ benches on the roof, +and drawn by tandem horses.</p> + +<p>“Here we turn down,” said Richling, “into the way +of the Naiads.” (That was the street’s name.) “They’re +not trying to get me away.”</p> + +<p>He looked down playfully. She was clinging to him +with more energy than she knew.</p> + +<p>“I’d better hold you tight,” she answered. Both +laughed. The nonsense of those we love is better than +the finest wit on earth. They walked on in their bliss. +Shall we follow? Fie!</p> + +<p>They passed down across three or four of a group of +parallel streets named for the nine muses. At Thalia +they took the left, went one square, and turned up by +another street toward home.</p> + +<p>Their conversation had flagged. Silence was enough. +The great earth was beneath their feet, firm and solid; +the illimitable distances of the heavens stretched above +their heads and before their eyes. Here was Mary at +John’s side, and John at hers; John her property and +she his, and time flowing softly, shiningly on. Yea, even +more. If one might believe the names of the streets, +there were Naiads on the left and Dryads on the right; +a little farther on, Hercules; yonder corner the dark +trysting-place of Bacchus and Melpomene; and here, just +in advance, the corner where Terpsichore crossed the path +of Apollo.</p> + +<p>They came now along a high, open fence that ran the +entire length of a square. Above it a dense rank of +bitter orange-trees overhung the sidewalk, their dark mass +of foliage glittering in the moonlight. Within lay a deep, +old-fashioned garden. Its white shell-walks gleamed in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +many directions. A sweet breath came from its parterres +of mingled hyacinths and jonquils that hid themselves +every moment in black shadows of lagustrums and laurestines. +Here, in severe order, a pair of palms, prim as +mediæval queens, stood over against each other; and in +the midst of the garden, rising high against the sky, appeared +the pillared veranda and immense, four-sided roof +of an old French colonial villa, as it stands unchanged +to-day.</p> + +<p>The two loiterers slackened their pace to admire the +scene. There was much light shining from the house. +Mary could hear voices, and, in a moment, words. The +host was speeding his parting guests.</p> + +<p>“The omnibus will put you out only one block from +the hotel,” some one said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Dr. Sevier, returning home from a visit to a friend in +Polymnia street, had scarcely got well seated in the omnibus +before he witnessed from its window a singular +dumb show. He had handed his money up to the driver +as they crossed Euterpe street, had received the change +and deposited his fare as they passed Terpsichore, and +was just sitting down when the only other passenger in the +vehicle said, half-rising:—</p> + +<p>“Hello! there’s going to be a shooting scrape!”</p> + +<p>A rather elderly man and woman on the sidewalk, both +of them extremely well dressed, and seemingly on the eve +of hailing the omnibus, suddenly transferred their attention +to a younger couple a few steps from them, who +appeared to have met them entirely by accident. The +elderly lady threw out her arms toward the younger man +with an expression on her face of intensest mental suffering. +She seemed to cry out; but the deafening rattle +of the omnibus, as it approached them, intercepted the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +sound. All four of the persons seemed, in various ways, +to experience the most violent feelings. The young man +more than once moved as if about to start forward, yet +did not advance; his companion, a small, very shapely +woman, clung to him excitedly and pleadingly. The +older man shook a stout cane at the younger, talking +furiously as he did so. He held the elderly lady to him +with his arm thrown about her, while she now cast her +hands upward, now covered her face with them, now +wrung them, clasped them, or extended one of them in +seeming accusation against the younger person of her own +sex. In a moment the omnibus was opposite the group. +The Doctor laid his hand on his fellow-passenger’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Don’t get out. There will be no shooting.”</p> + +<p>The young man on the sidewalk suddenly started forward, +with his companion still on his farther arm, and +with his eyes steadily fixed on those of the elder and taller +man, a clenched fist lifted defensively, and with a tense, +defiant air walked hurriedly and silently by within easy +sweep of the uplifted staff. At the moment when the +slight distance between the two men began to increase, +the cane rose higher, but stopped short in its descent and +pointed after the receding figure.</p> + +<p>“I command you to leave this town, sir!”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier looked. He looked with all his might, +drawing his knee under him on the cushion and leaning +out. The young man had passed. He still moved on, +turning back as he went a face full of the fear that men +show when they are afraid of their own violence; and, as +the omnibus clattered away, he crossed the street at the +upper corner and disappeared in the shadows.</p> + +<p>“That’s a very strange thing,” said the other passenger +to Dr. Sevier, as they resumed the corner seats by the +door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +“It certainly is!” replied the Doctor, and averted his +face. For when the group and he were nearest together +and the moon shone brightly upon the four, he saw, beyond +all question, that the older man was his visitor of a +few evenings before and that the younger pair were John +and Mary Richling.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>“SHE’S ALL THE WORLD.”</strong></p> + + +<p>Excellent neighborhood, St. Mary street, and +Prytania was even better. Everybody was very retired +though, it seemed. Almost every house standing in +the midst of its shady garden,—sunny gardens are a +newer fashion of the town,—a bell-knob on the gate-post, +and the gate locked. But the Richlings cared nothing +for this; not even what they should have cared. Nor +was there any unpleasantness in another fact.</p> + +<p>“Do you let this window stand wide this way when you +are at work here, all day?” asked the husband. The +opening alluded to was on Prytania street, and looked +across the way to where the asylumed widows of “St +Anna’s” could glance down into it over their poor little +window-gardens.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, dear!” Mary looked up from her little +cane rocker with that thoughtful contraction at the outer +corners of her eyes and that illuminated smile that between +them made half her beauty. And then, somewhat +more gravely and persuasively: “Don’t you suppose they +like it? They must like it. I think we can do that much +for them. Would you rather I’d shut it?”</p> + +<p>For answer John laid his hand on her head and gazed +into her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Take care,” she whispered; “they’ll see you.”</p> + +<p>He let his arm drop in amused despair.</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s the window open for? And, anyhow, +they’re all abed and asleep these two hours.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +They did like it, those aged widows. It fed their +hearts’ hunger to see the pretty unknown passing and repassing +that open window in the performance of her +morning duties, or sitting down near it with her needle, +still crooning her soft morning song,—poor, almost as +poor as they, in this world’s glitter; but rich in hope and +courage, and rich beyond all count in the content of one +who finds herself queen of ever so little a house, where +love is.</p> + +<p>“Love is enough!” said the widows.</p> + +<p>And certainly she made it seem so. The open window +brought, now and then, a moisture to the aged eyes, +yet they liked it open.</p> + +<p>But, without warning one day, there was a change. It +was the day after Dr. Sevier had noticed that queer street +quarrel. The window was not closed, but it sent out no +more light. The song was not heard, and many small, +faint signs gave indication that anxiety had come to be a +guest in the little house. At evening the wife was seen in +her front door and about its steps, watching in a new, +restless way for her husband’s coming; and when he came +it could be seen, all the way from those upper windows, +where one or two faces appeared now and then, that he +was troubled and care-worn. There were two more days +like this one; but at the end of the fourth the wife read +good tidings in her husband’s countenance. He handed +her a newspaper, and pointed to a list of departing +passengers.</p> + +<p>“They’re gone!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>He nodded, and laid off his hat. She cast her arms +about his neck, and buried her head in his bosom. You +could almost have seen Anxiety flying out at the window. +By morning the widows knew of a certainty that the +cloud had melted away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +In the counting-room one evening, as Richling said +good-night with noticeable alacrity, one of his employers, +sitting with his legs crossed over the top of a desk, said +to his partner:—</p> + +<p>“Richling works for his wages.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all,” replied the other; “he don’t see his interests +in ours any more than a tinsmith would, who comes +to mend the roof.”</p> + +<p>The first one took a meditative puff or two from his +cigar, tipped off its ashes, and responded:—</p> + +<p>“Common fault. He completely overlooks his immense +indebtedness to the world at large, and his dependence on +it. He’s a good fellow, and bright; but he actually +thinks that he and the world are starting even.”</p> + +<p>“His wife’s his world,” said the other, and opened the +Bills Payable book. Who will say it is not well to sail in +an ocean of love? But the Richlings were becalmed in +theirs, and, not knowing it, were satisfied.</p> + +<p>Day in, day out, the little wife sat at her window, and +drove her needle. Omnibuses rumbled by; an occasional +wagon or cart set the dust a-flying; the street venders +passed, crying the praises of their goods and wares; the +blue sky grew more and more intense as weeks piled up +upon weeks; but the empty repetitions, and the isolation, +and, worst of all, the escape of time,—she smiled at all, +and sewed on and crooned on, in the sufficient thought +that John would come, each time, when only hours enough +had passed away forever.</p> + +<p>Once she saw Dr. Sevier’s carriage. She bowed brightly, +but he—what could it mean?—he lifted his hat with such +austere gravity. Dr. Sevier was angry. He had no definite +charge to make, but that did not lessen his displeasure. +After long, unpleasant wondering, and long trusting +to see Richling some day on the street, he had at length +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +driven by this way purposely to see if they had indeed +left town, as they had been so imperiously commanded +to do.</p> + +<p>This incident, trivial as it was, roused Mary to thought; +and all the rest of the day the thought worked with energy +to dislodge the frame of mind that she had acquired from +her husband.</p> + +<p>When John came home that night and pressed her to +his bosom she was silent. And when he held her off a +little and looked into her eyes, and she tried to better +her smile, those eyes stood full to the lashes and she +looked down.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked he, quickly.</p> + +<p>“Nothing!” She looked up again, with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>He took a chair and drew her down upon his lap.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with my girl?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“How,—you don’t know?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I simply don’t. I can’t make out what it is. +If I could I’d tell you; but I don’t know at all.” After +they had sat silent a few moments:—</p> + +<p>“I wonder”—she began.</p> + +<p>“You wonder what?” asked he, in a rallying tone.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if there’s such a thing as being too contented.”</p> + +<p>Richling began to hum, with a playful manner:—</p> + +<p class="center">“‘And she’s all the world to me.’</p> + +<p>Is that being too”—</p> + +<p>“Stop!” said Mary. “That’s it.” She laid her hand +upon his shoulder. “You’ve said it. That’s what I +ought not to be!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Mary, what on earth”— His face flamed up +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +“John, I’m willing to be <em>more</em> than all the rest of the +world to you. I always must be that. I’m going to be +that forever. And you”—she kissed him passionately—“you’re +all the world to me! But I’ve no right to be +<em>all</em> the world to <em>you</em>. And you mustn’t allow it. It’s +making it too small!”</p> + +<p>“Mary, what are you saying?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t, John. Don’t speak that way. I’m not saying +anything. I’m only trying to say something, I don’t +know what.”</p> + +<p>“Neither do I,” was the mock-rueful answer.</p> + +<p>“I only know,” replied Mary, the vision of Dr. Sevier’s +carriage passing before her abstracted eyes, and of the +Doctor’s pale face bowing austerely within it, “that if +you don’t take any part or interest in the outside world +it’ll take none in you; do you think it will?”</p> + +<p>“And who cares if it doesn’t?” cried John, clasping +her to his bosom.</p> + +<p>“I do,” she replied. “Yes, I do. I’ve no right to +steal you from the rest of the world, or from the place in +it that you ought to fill. John”—</p> + +<p>“That’s my name.”</p> + +<p>“Why can’t I do something to help you?”</p> + +<p>John lifted his head unnecessarily.</p> + +<p>“No!”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, let’s think of something we can do, without +just waiting for the wind to blow us along,—I mean,” +she added appeasingly, “I mean without waiting to be +employed by others.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; but that takes capital!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know; but why don’t you think up something,—some +new enterprise or something,—and get somebody +with capital to go in with you?”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +“You’re out of your depth. And that wouldn’t make +so much difference, but you’re out of mine. It isn’t enough +to think of something; you must know how to do it. And +what do I know how to do? Nothing! Nothing that’s +worth doing!”</p> + +<p>“I know one thing you could do.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?”</p> + +<p>“You could be a professor in a college.”</p> + +<p>John smiled bitterly.</p> + +<p>“Without antecedents?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Their eyes met; hers dropped, and both voices were +silent. Mary drew a soft sigh. She thought their talk +had been unprofitable. But it had not. John laid hold +of work from that day on in a better and wiser spirit.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>THE BOUGH BREAKS.</strong></p> + + +<p>By some trivial chance, she hardly knew what, Mary +found herself one day conversing at her own door +with the woman whom she and her husband had once +smiled at for walking the moonlit street with her hand in +willing and undisguised captivity. She was a large and +strong, but extremely neat, well-spoken, and good-looking +Irish woman, who might have seemed at ease but for a +faintly betrayed ambition.</p> + +<p>She praised with rather ornate English the good appearance +and convenient smallness of Mary’s house; said her +own was the same size. That person with whom she +sometimes passed “of a Sundeh”—yes, and moonlight +evenings—that was her husband. He was “ferst ingineeur” +on a steam-boat. There was a little, just discernible +waggle in her head as she stated things. It gave +her decided character.</p> + +<p>“Ah! engineer,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“<em>Ferst</em> ingineeur,” repeated the woman; “you know +there bees ferst ingineeurs, an’ secon’ ingineeurs, an’ +therd ingineeurs. Yes.” She unconsciously fanned herself +with a dust-pan that she had just bought from a tin +peddler.</p> + +<p>She lived only some two or three hundred yards away, +around the corner, in a tidy little cottage snuggled in +among larger houses in Coliseum street. She had had +children, but she had lost them; and Mary’s sympathy +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +when she told her of them—the girl and two boys—won +the woman as much as the little lady’s pretty manners had +dazed her. It was not long before she began to drop in +upon Mary in the hour of twilight, and sit through it without +speaking often, or making herself especially interesting +in any way, but finding it pleasant, notwithstanding.</p> + +<p>“John,” said Mary,—her husband had come in unexpectedly,—“our +neighbor, Mrs. Riley.”</p> + +<p>John’s bow was rather formal, and Mrs. Riley soon rose +and said good-evening.</p> + +<p>“John,” said the wife again, laying her hands on his +shoulders as she tiptoed to kiss him, “what troubles +you?” Then she attempted a rallying manner: “Don’t +my friends suit you?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated only an instant, and said:—</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, that’s all right!”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I don’t see why you look so.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve finished the task I was to do.”</p> + +<p>“What! you haven’t”—</p> + +<p>“I’m out of employment.”</p> + +<p>They went and sat down on the little hair-cloth sofa +that Mrs. Riley had just left.</p> + +<p>“I thought they said they would have other work for +you.”</p> + +<p>“They said they might have; but it seems they +haven’t.”</p> + +<p>“And it’s just in the opening of summer, too,” said +Mary; “why, what right”—</p> + +<p>“Oh!”—a despairing gesture and averted gaze—“they’ve +a perfect right if they think best. I asked them +that myself at first—not too politely, either; but I soon +saw I was wrong.”</p> + +<p>They sat without speaking until it had grown quite +dark. Then John said, with a long breath, as he rose:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +“It passes my comprehension.”</p> + +<p>“What passes it?” asked Mary, detaining him by one +hand.</p> + +<p>“The reason why we are so pursued by misfortunes.”</p> + +<p>“But, John,” she said, still holding him, “<em>is</em> it misfortune? +When I know so well that you deserve to succeed, +I think maybe it’s good fortune in disguise, after all. +Don’t you think it’s possible? You remember how it was +last time, when A., B., & Co. failed. Maybe the best of +all is to come now!” She beamed with courage. “Why, +John, it seems to me I’d just go in the very best of spirits, +the first thing to-morrow, and tell Dr. Sevier you are +looking for work. Don’t you think it might”—</p> + +<p>“I’ve been there.”</p> + +<p>“Have you? What did he say?”</p> + +<p>“He wasn’t in.”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was another neighbor, with whom John and Mary +did not get acquainted. Not that it was more his fault +than theirs; it may have been less. Unfortunately for +the Richlings there was in their dwelling no toddling, +self-appointed child commissioner to find his way in unwatched +moments to the play-ground of some other +toddler, and so plant the good seed of neighbor acquaintanceship.</p> + +<p>This neighbor passed four times a day. A man of fortune, +aged a hale sixty or so, who came and stood on the +corner, and sometimes even rested a foot on Mary’s door-step, +waiting for the Prytania omnibus, and who, on his +returns, got down from the omnibus step a little gingerly, +went by Mary’s house, and presently shut himself inside a +very ornamental iron gate, a short way up St. Mary street. +A child would have made him acquainted. Even as it +was, they did not escape his silent notice. It was pleasant +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +for him, from whose life the early dew had been dried +away by a well-risen sun, to recall its former freshness +by glimpses of this pair of young beginners. It was like +having a bird’s nest under his window.</p> + +<p>John, stepping backward from his door one day, saying +a last word to his wife, who stood on the threshold, +pushed against this neighbor as he was moving with somewhat +cumbersome haste to catch the stage, turned quickly, +and raised his hat.</p> + +<p>“Pardon!”</p> + +<p>The other uncovered his bald head and circlet of white, +silken locks, and hurried on to the conveyance.</p> + +<p>“President of one of the banks down-town,” whispered +John.</p> + +<p>That is the nearest they ever came to being acquainted. +And even this accident might not have occurred had not +the man of snowy locks been glancing at Mary as he +passed instead of at his omnibus.</p> + +<p>As he sat at home that evening he remarked:—</p> + +<p>“Very pretty little woman that, my dear, that lives +in the little house at the corner; who is she?”</p> + +<p>The lady responded, without lifting her eyes from the +newspaper in which she was interested; she did not +know. The husband mused and twirled his penknife +between a finger and thumb.</p> + +<p>“They seem to be starting at the bottom,” he observed.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; much the same as we did.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t noticed them particularly.”</p> + +<p>“They’re worth noticing,” said the banker.</p> + +<p>He threw one fat knee over the other, and laid his head +on the back of his easy-chair.</p> + +<p>The lady’s eyes were still on her paper, but she +asked:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +“Would you like me to go and see them?”</p> + +<p>“No, no—unless you wish.”</p> + +<p>She dropped the paper into her lap with a smile and +a sigh.</p> + +<p>“Don’t propose it. I have so much going to do”— She +paused, removed her glasses, and fell to straightening +the fringe of the lamp-mat. “Of course, if you think +they’re in need of a friend; but from your description”—</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered, quickly, “not at all. They’ve +friends, no doubt. Everything about them has a neat, +happy look. That’s what attracted my notice. They’ve +got friends, you may depend.” He ceased, took up a +pamphlet, and adjusted his glasses. “I think I saw a +sofa going in there to-day as I came to dinner. A little +expansion, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“It was going out,” said the only son, looking up from +a story-book.</p> + +<p>But the banker was reading. He heard nothing, and +the word was not repeated. He did not divine that a +little becalmed and befogged bark, with only two lovers +in her, too proud to cry “Help!” had drifted just +yonder upon the rocks, and, spar by spar and plank by +plank, was dropping into the smooth, unmerciful sea.</p> + +<p>Before the sofa went there had gone, little by little, +some smaller valuables.</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Mary to her husband, with the bright +hurry of a wife bent upon something high-handed, “we +both have to have furniture; we must have it; and I +don’t have to have jewelry. Don’t you see?”</p> + +<p>“No, I”—</p> + +<p>“Now, John!” There could be but one end to the +debate; she had determined that. The first piece was a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +bracelet. “No, I wouldn’t pawn it,” she said. “Better +sell it outright at once.”</p> + +<p>But Richling could not but cling to hope and to the +adornments that had so often clasped her wrists and +throat or pinned the folds upon her bosom. Piece by +piece he pawned them, always looking out ahead with +strained vision for the improbable, the incredible, to rise +to his relief.</p> + +<p>“Is <em>nothing</em> going to happen, Mary?”</p> + +<p>Yes; nothing happened—except in the pawn-shop.</p> + +<p>So, all the sooner, the sofa had to go.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use talking about borrowing,” they both said. +Then the bureau went. Then the table. Then, one by +one, the chairs. Very slyly it was all done, too. +Neighbors mustn’t know. “Who lives there?” is a +question not asked concerning houses as small as theirs; +and a young man, in a well-fitting suit of only too heavy +goods, removing his winter hat to wipe the standing drops +from his forehead; and a little blush-rose woman at his +side, in a mist of cool muslin and the cunningest of +millinery,—these, who always paused a moment, with +a lost look, in the vestibule of the sepulchral-looking +little church on the corner of Prytania and Josephine +streets, till the sexton ushered them in, and who as often +contrived, with no end of ingenuity, despite the little +woman’s fresh beauty, to get away after service unaccosted +by the elders,—who could imagine that <em>these</em> were +from so deep a nook in poverty’s vale?</p> + +<p>There was one person who guessed it: Mrs. Riley, who +was not asked to walk in any more when she called at the +twilight hour. She partly saw and partly guessed the +truth, and offered what each one of the pair had been +secretly hoping somebody, anybody, would offer—a loan. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +But when it actually confronted them it was sweetly +declined.</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t it kind?” said Mary; and John said emphatically, +“Yes.” Very soon it was their turn to be kind to +Mrs. Riley. They attended her husband’s funeral. He +had been killed by an explosion. Mrs. Riley beat upon +the bier with her fists, and wailed in a far-reaching +voice:—</p> + +<p>“O Mike, Mike! Me jew’l, me jew’l! Why didn’t ye +wait to see the babe that’s unborn?”</p> + +<p>And Mary wept. And when she and John reëntered +their denuded house she fell upon his neck with fresh +tears, and kissed him again and again, and could utter no +word, but knew he understood. Poverty was so much +better than sorrow! She held him fast, and he her, +while he tenderly hushed her, lest a grief, the very opposite +of Mrs. Riley’s, should overtake her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>HARD SPEECHES AND HIGH TEMPER.</strong></p> + + +<p>Dr. Sevier found occasion, one morning, to speak +at some length, and very harshly, to his book-keeper. +He had hardly ceased when John Richling came briskly +in.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” he said, with great buoyancy, “how do you +do?”</p> + +<p>The physician slightly frowned.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Mr. Richling.”</p> + +<p>Richling was tamed in an instant; but, to avoid too +great a contrast of manner, he retained a semblance of +sprightliness, as he said:—</p> + +<p>“This is the first time I have had this pleasure since +you were last at our house, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Did you not see me one evening, some time ago, in +the omnibus?” asked Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>“Why, no,” replied the other, with returning pleasure; +“was I in the same omnibus?”</p> + +<p>“You were on the sidewalk.”</p> + +<p>“No-o,” said Richling, pondering. “I’ve seen you in +your carriage several times, but you”—</p> + +<p>“I didn’t see you.”</p> + +<p>Richling was stung. The conversation failed. He +recommenced it in a tone pitched intentionally too low +for the alert ear of Narcisse.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, I’ve simply called to say to you that I’m out +of work and looking for employment again.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +“Um—hum,” said the Doctor, with a cold fulness of +voice that hurt Richling afresh. “You’ll find it hard to +get anything this time of year,” he continued, with no +attempt at undertone; “it’s very hard for anybody to +get anything these days, even when well recommended.”</p> + +<p>Richling smiled an instant. The Doctor did not, but +turned partly away to his desk, and added, as if the smile +had displeased him:—</p> + +<p>“Well, maybe you’ll not find it so.”</p> + +<p>Richling turned fiery red.</p> + +<p>“Whether I do or not,” he said, rising, “my affairs +sha’n’t trouble anybody. Good-morning!”</p> + +<p>He started out.</p> + +<p>“How’s Mrs. Richling?” asked the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“She’s well,” responded Richling, putting on his hat +and disappearing in the corridor. Each footstep could +be heard as he went down the stairs.</p> + +<p>“He’s a fool!” muttered the physician.</p> + +<p>He looked up angrily, for Narcisse stood before him.</p> + +<p>“Well, Doctah,” said the Creole, hurriedly arranging +his coat-collar, and drawing his handkerchief, “I’m goin’ +ad the poss-office.”</p> + +<p>“See here, sir!” exclaimed the Doctor, bringing his +fist down upon the arm of his chair, “every time you’ve +gone out of this office for the last six months you’ve told +me you were going to the post-office; now don’t you ever +tell me that again!”</p> + +<p>The young man bowed with injured dignity and responded:—</p> + +<p>“All a-ight, seh.”</p> + +<p>He overtook Richling just outside the street entrance. +Richling had halted there, bereft of intention, almost of +outward sense, and choking with bitterness. It seemed to +him as if in an instant all his misfortunes, disappointments, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +and humiliations, that never before had seemed so +many or so great, had been gathered up into the knowledge +of that hard man upstairs, and, with one unmerciful +downward wrench, had received his seal of approval. +Indignation, wrath, self-hatred, dismay, in undefined +confusion, usurped the faculties of sight and hearing and +motion.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” said Narcisse, “I ’ope you fine +you’seff O.K., seh, if you’ll egscuse the slang expwession.”</p> + +<p>Richling started to move away, but checked himself.</p> + +<p>“I’m well, sir, thank you, sir; yes, sir, I’m very well.”</p> + +<p>“I billieve you, seh. You ah lookin’ well.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned +upon the outer sides of his feet, the embodiment of sweet +temper. Richling found him a wonderful relief at the +moment. He quit gnawing his lip and winking into +vacancy, and felt a malicious good-humor run into all his +veins.</p> + +<p>“I dunno ’ow ’tis, Mistoo Itchlin,” said Narcisse, +“but I muz tell you the tooth; you always ’ave to me the +appe’ance ligue the chile of p’ospe’ity.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?” said Richling, hollowing his hand at his ear,—“child +of”—</p> + +<p>“P’ospe’ity?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—yes,” replied the deaf man vaguely, “I—have +a relative of that name.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed the Creole, “thass good faw luck! +Mistoo Itchlin, look’ like you a lil mo’ hawd to yeh—but +egscuse me. I s’pose you muz be advancing in +business, Mistoo Itchlin. I say I s’pose you muz be +gittin’ along!”</p> + +<p>“I? Yes; yes, I must.”</p> + +<p>He started.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +“I’m ’appy to yeh it!” said Narcisse.</p> + +<p>His innocent kindness was a rebuke. Richling began +to offer a cordial parting salutation, but Narcisse said:—</p> + +<p>“You goin’ that way? Well, I kin go that way.”</p> + +<p>They went.</p> + +<p>“I was goin’ ad the poss-office, but”—he waved his +hand and curled his lip. “Mistoo Itchlin, in fact, if +you yeh of something suitable to me I would like to yeh +it. I am not satisfied with that pless yondeh with Doctah +Seveeah. I was compel this mawnin’, biffo you came in, +to ’epoove ’im faw ’is ’oodness. He called me a jackass, +in fact. I woon allow that. I ’ad to ’epoove ’im. +‘Doctah Seveeah,’ says I, ‘don’t you call me a jackass +ag’in!’ An’ ’e din call it me ag’in. No, seh. But ’e +din like to ’ush up. Thass the rizz’n ’e was a lil miscutteous +to you. Me, I am always polite. As they say, +‘A nod is juz as good as a kick f’om a bline hoss.’ You +are fon’ of maxim, Mistoo Itchlin? Me, I’m ve’y fon’ +of them. But they’s got one maxim what you may ’ave +’eard—I do not fine that maxim always come t’ue. ’Ave +you evva yeah that maxim, ‘A fool faw luck’? That +don’t always come t’ue. I ’ave discove’d that.”</p> + +<p>“No,” responded Richling, with a parting smile, “that +doesn’t always come true.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier denounced the world at large, and the +American nation in particular, for two days. Within +himself, for twenty-four hours, he grumly blamed Richling +for their rupture; then for twenty-four hours reproached +himself, and, on the morning of the third day +knocked at the door, corner of St. Mary and Prytania.</p> + +<p>No one answered. He knocked again. A woman in +bare feet showed herself at the corresponding door-way +in the farther half of the house.</p> + +<p>“Nobody don’t live there no more, sir,” she said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +“Where have they gone?”</p> + +<p>“Well, reely, I couldn’t tell you, sir. Because, reely, +I don’t know nothing about it. I haint but jest lately +moved in here myself, and I don’t know nothing about +nobody around here scarcely at all.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor shut himself again in his carriage and let +himself be whisked away, in great vacuity of mind.</p> + +<p>“They can’t blame anybody but themselves,” was, by-and-by, +his rallying thought. “Still”—he said to himself +after another vacant interval, and said no more. +The thought that whether <em>they</em> could blame others or not +did not cover all the ground, rested heavily on him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>THE CRADLE FALLS.</strong></p> + + +<p>In the rear of the great commercial centre of New +Orleans, on that part of Common street where it suddenly +widens out, broad, unpaved, and dusty, rises the +huge dull-brown structure of brick, famed, well-nigh as +far as the city is known, as the Charity Hospital.</p> + +<p>Twenty-five years ago, when the emigrant ships used to +unload their swarms of homeless and friendless strangers +into the streets of New Orleans to fall a prey to yellow-fever +or cholera, that solemn pile sheltered thousands on +thousands of desolate and plague-stricken Irish and +Germans, receiving them unquestioned, until at times the +very floors were covered with the sick and dying, and the +sawing and hammering in the coffin-shop across the inner +court ceased not day or night. Sombre monument at +once of charity and sin! For, while its comfort and +succor cost the houseless wanderer nothing, it lived and +grew, and lives and grows still, upon the licensed vices of +the people,—drinking, harlotry, and gambling.</p> + +<p>The Charity Hospital of St. Charles—such is its true +name—is, however, no mere plague-house. Whether it +ought to be, let doctors decide. How good or necessary +such modern innovations as “ridge ventilation,” “movable bases,” +the “pavilion plan,” “trained nurses,” etc., +may be, let the Auxiliary Sanitary Association say. +There it stands as of old, innocent of all sins that may +be involved in any of these changes, rising story over +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +story, up and up: here a ward for poisonous fevers, and +there a ward for acute surgical cases; here a story full of +simple ailments, and there a ward specially set aside for +women.</p> + +<p>In 1857 this last was Dr. Sevier’s ward. Here, at his +stated hour one summer morning in that year, he tarried +a moment, yonder by that window, just where you enter +the ward and before you come to the beds. He had fallen +into discourse with some of the more inquiring minds +among the train of students that accompanied him, and +waited there to finish and cool down to a physician’s +proper temperature. The question was public sanitation.</p> + +<p>He was telling a tall Arkansan, with high-combed hair, +self-conscious gloves, and very broad, clean-shaven lower +jaw, how the peculiar formation of delta lands, by which +they drain away from the larger watercourses, instead of +into them, had made the swamp there in the rear of the +town, for more than a century, “the common dumping-ground +and cesspool of the city, sir!”</p> + +<p>Some of the students nodded convincedly to the +speaker; some looked askance at the Arkansan, who put +one forearm meditatively under his coat-tail; some +looked through the window over the regions alluded to, +and some only changed their pose and looked around for +a mirror.</p> + +<p>The Doctor spoke on. Several of his hearers were +really interested in the then unusual subject, and listened +intelligently as he pointed across the low plain at hundreds +of acres of land that were nothing but a morass, partly +filled in with the foulest refuse of a semi-tropical city, and +beyond it where still lay the swamp, half cleared of its +forest and festering in the sun—“every drop of its +waters, and every inch of its mire,” said the Doctor, +“saturated with the poisonous drainage of the town!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +“I happen,” interjected a young city student; but the +others bent their ear to the Doctor, who continued:—</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, were these regions compactly built on, like +similar areas in cities confined to narrow sites, the mortality, +with the climate we have, would be frightful.”</p> + +<p>“I happen to know,” essayed the city student; but the +Arkansan had made an interrogatory answer to the +Doctor, that led him to add:—</p> + +<p>“Why, yes; you see the houses here on these lands +are little, flimsy, single ground-story affairs, loosely +thrown together, and freely exposed to sun and air.”</p> + +<p>“I hap—,” said the city student.</p> + +<p>“And yet,” exclaimed the Doctor, “Malaria is king!”</p> + +<p>He paused an instant for his hearers to take in the +figure.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, I happen to”—</p> + +<p>Some one’s fist from behind caused the speaker to turn +angrily, and the Doctor resumed:—</p> + +<p>“Go into any of those streets off yonder,—Trémé, +Prieur, Marais. Why, there are often ponds under the +houses! The floors of bedrooms are within a foot or +two of these ponds! The bricks of the surrounding pavements +are often covered with a fine, dark moss! Water +seeps up through the sidewalks! That’s his realm, sir! +Here and there among the residents—every here and +there—you’ll see his sallow, quaking subjects dragging +about their work or into and out of their beds, until a fear +of a fatal ending drives them in here. Congestion? Yes, +sometimes congestion pulls them under suddenly, and +they’re gone before they know it. Sometimes their vitality +wanes slowly, until Malaria beckons in Consumption.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor,” said the city student, ruffling with +pride of his town, “there are plenty of cities as bad as +this. I happen to know, for instance”—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +Dr. Sevier turned away in quiet contempt.</p> + +<p>“It will not improve our town to dirty others, or to +clean them, either.”</p> + +<p>He moved down the ward, while two or three members +among the moving train, who never happened to know anything, +nudged each other joyfully.</p> + +<p>The group stretched out and came along, the Doctor +first and the young men after, some of one sort, some of +another,—the dull, the frivolous, the earnest, the kind, +the cold,—following slowly, pausing, questioning, discoursing, +advancing, moving from each clean, slender bed +to the next, on this side and on that, down and up the +long sanded aisles, among the poor, sick women.</p> + +<p>Among these, too, there was variety. Some were +stupid and ungracious, hardened and dulled with long +penury as some in this world are hardened and dulled with +long riches. Some were as fat as beggars; some were old +and shrivelled; some were shrivelled and young; some +were bold; some were frightened; and here and there +was one almost fair.</p> + +<p>Down at the far end of one aisle was a bed whose occupant +lay watching the distant, slowly approaching group +with eyes of unspeakable dread. There was not a word +or motion, only the steadfast gaze. Gradually the +throng drew near. The faces of the students could be +distinguished. This one was coarse; that one was gentle; +another was sleepy; another trivial and silly; another +heavy and sour; another tender and gracious. Presently +the tones of the Doctor’s voice could be heard, soft, clear, +and without that trumpet quality that it had beyond the +sick-room. How slowly, yet how surely, they came! The +patient’s eyes turned away toward the ceiling; they +could not bear the slowness of the encounter. They +closed; the lips moved in prayer. The group came to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +bed that was only the fourth away; then to the third; +then to the second. There they pause some minutes. Now +the Doctor approaches the very next bed. Suddenly he +notices this patient. She is a small woman, young, fair +to see, and, with closed eyes and motionless form, is suffering +an agony of consternation. One startled look, a +suppressed exclamation, two steps forward,—the patient’s +eyes slowly open. Ah, me! It is Mary Richling.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, madam,” said the physician, with a +cold and distant bow; and to the students, “We’ll pass +right along to the other side,” and they moved into the +next aisle.</p> + +<p>“I am a little pressed for time this morning,” he presently +remarked, as the students showed some unwillingness +to be hurried. As soon as he could he parted with them +and returned to the ward alone.</p> + +<p>As he moved again down among the sick, straight along +this time, turning neither to right nor left, one of the +Sisters of Charity—the hospital and its so-called nurses +are under their oversight—touched his arm. He stopped +impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Well, Sister”—(bowing his ear).</p> + +<p>“I—I—the—the”—His frown had scared away +her power of speech.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is it, Sister?”</p> + +<p>“The—the last patient down on this side”—</p> + +<p>He was further displeased. “<em>I’ll</em> attend to the patients, +Sister,” he said; and then, more kindly, “I’m going there +now. No, you stay here, if you please.” And he left +her behind.</p> + +<p>He came and stood by the bed. The patient gazed on him.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richling,” he softly began, and had to cease.</p> + +<p>She did not speak or move; she tried to smile, but her +eyes filled, her lips quivered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +“My dear madam,” exclaimed the physician, in a low +voice, “what brought you here?”</p> + +<p>The answer was inarticulate, but he saw it on the moving +lips.</p> + +<p>“Want,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“But your husband?” He stooped to catch the husky +answer.</p> + +<p>“Home.”</p> + +<p>“Home?” He could not understand. “Not gone to—back—up +the river?”</p> + +<p>She slowly shook her head: “No, home. In Prieur +street.”</p> + +<p>Still her words were riddles. He could not see how she +had come to this. He stood silent, not knowing how to +utter his thought. At length he opened his lips to speak, +hesitated an instant, and then asked:—</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richling, tell me plainly, has your husband gone +wrong?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes looked up a moment, upon him, big and +staring, and suddenly she spoke:—</p> + +<p>“O Doctor! My husband go wrong? John go wrong?” +The eyelids closed down, the head rocked slowly from side +to side on the flat hospital pillow, and the first two tears +he had ever seen her shed welled from the long lashes and +slipped down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“My poor child!” said the Doctor, taking her hand in +his. “No, no! God forgive me! He hasn’t gone wrong; +he’s not going wrong. You’ll tell me all about it when +you’re stronger.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor had her removed to one of the private rooms +of the pay-ward, and charged the Sisters to take special +care of her. “Above all things,” he murmured, with a +beetling frown, “tell that thick-headed nurse not to let +her know that this is at anybody’s expense. Ah, yes; and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +when her husband comes, tell him to see me at my office +as soon as he possibly can.”</p> + +<p>As he was leaving the hospital gate he had an afterthought. +“I might have left a note.” He paused, with +his foot on the carriage-step. “I suppose they’ll tell +him,”—and so he got in and drove off, looking at his +watch.</p> + +<p>On his second visit, although he came in with a quietly +inspiring manner, he had also, secretly, the feeling of a +culprit. But, midway of the room, when the young head +on the pillow turned its face toward him, his heart rose. +For the patient smiled. As he drew nearer she slid out +her feeble hand. “I’m glad I came here,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he replied; “this room is much better than +the open ward.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean this room,” she said. “I meant the +whole hospital.”</p> + +<p>“The whole hospital!” He raised his eyebrows, as to +a child.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Doctor,” she responded, her eyes kindling, +though moist.</p> + +<p>“What, my child?”</p> + +<p>She smiled upward to his bent face.</p> + +<p>“The poor—mustn’t be ashamed of the poor, must +they?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor only stroked her brow, and presently turned +and addressed his professional inquiries to the nurse. He +went away. Just outside the door he asked the nurse:—</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t her husband been here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the reply, “but she was asleep, and he +only stood there at the door and looked in a bit. He +trembled,” the unintelligent woman added, for the Doctor +seemed waiting to hear more,—“he trembled all over; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +and that’s all he did, excepting his saying her name over +to himself like, over and over, and wiping of his eyes.”</p> + +<p>“And nobody told him anything?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not a word, sir!” came the eager answer.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t tell him to come and see me?”</p> + +<p>The woman gave a start, looked dismayed, and +began:—</p> + +<p>“N-no, sir; you didn’t tell”—</p> + +<p>“Um—hum,” growled the Doctor. He took out a +card and wrote on it. “Now see if you can remember to +give him that.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>MANY WATERS.</strong></p> + + +<p>As the day faded away it began to rain. The next +morning the water was coming down in torrents. +Richling, looking out from a door in Prieur street, found +scant room for one foot on the inner edge of the sidewalk; +all the rest was under water. By noon the sidewalks +were completely covered in miles of streets. By two in +the afternoon the flood was coming into many of the +houses. By three it was up at the door-sill on which he +stood. There it stopped.</p> + +<p>He could do nothing but stand and look. Skiffs, +canoes, hastily improvised rafts, were moving in every +direction, carrying the unsightly chattels of the poor out +of their overflowed cottages to higher ground. Barrels, +boxes, planks, hen-coops, bridge lumber, piles of straw +that waltzed solemnly as they went, cord-wood, old +shingles, door-steps, floated here and there in melancholy +confusion; and down upon all still drizzled the slackening +rain. At length it ceased.</p> + +<p>Richling still stood in the door-way, the picture of mute +helplessness. Yes, there was one other thing he could +do; he could laugh. It would have been hard to avoid it +sometimes, there were such ludicrous sights,—such slips +and sprawls into the water; so there he stood in that +peculiar isolation that deaf people content themselves +with, now looking the picture of anxious waiting, now indulging +a low, deaf man’s chuckle when something made +the rowdies and slatterns of the street roar.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +Presently he noticed, at a distance up the way, a young +man in a canoe, passing, much to their good-natured +chagrin, a party of three in a skiff, who had engaged him +in a trial of speed. From both boats a shower of hilarious +French was issuing. At the nearest corner the skiff +party turned into another street and disappeared, throwing +their lingual fireworks to the last. The canoe came +straight on with the speed of a fish. Its dexterous occupant +was no other than Narcisse.</p> + +<p>There was a grace in his movement that kept Richling’s +eyes on him, when he would rather have withdrawn into +the house. Down went the paddle always on the same +side, noiselessly, in front; on darted the canoe; backward +stretched the submerged paddle and came out of the water +edgewise at full reach behind, with an almost imperceptible +swerving motion that kept the slender craft true to its +course. No rocking; no rush of water before or behind; +only the one constant glassy ripple gliding on either side +as silently as a beam of light. Suddenly, without any +apparent change of movement in the sinewy wrists, the +narrow shell swept around in a quarter circle, and Narcisse +sat face to face with Richling.</p> + +<p>Each smiled brightly at the other. The handsome Creole’s +face was aglow with the pure delight of existence.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mistoo Itchlin, ’ow you enjoyin’ that watah? +As fah as myseff am concerned, ‘I am afloat, I am afloat +on the fee-us ’olling tide.’ I don’t think you fine that +stweet pwetty dusty to-day, Mistoo Itchlin?”</p> + +<p>Richling laughed.</p> + +<p>“It don’t inflame my eyes to-day,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You muz egscuse my i’ony, Mistoo Itchlin; I can’t +’ep that sometime’. It come natu’al to me, in fact. I +was on’y speaking i’oniously juz now in calling allusion +to that dust; because, of co’se, theh is no dust to-day, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +because the g’ound is all covvud with watah, in fact. +Some people don’t understand that figgah of i’ony.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand as much about it myself as I’d like +to,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Me, I’m ve’y fon’ of it,” responded the Creole. “I +was making seve’al i’onies ad those fwen’ of mine juz now. +We was ’unning a ’ace. An’ thass anotheh thing I am +fon’ of. I would ’ather ’un a ’ace than to wuck faw a +livin’. Ha! ha! ha! I should thing so! Anybody would, +in fact. But thass the way with me—always making +some i’onies.” He stopped with a sudden change of +countenance, and resumed gravely: “Mistoo Itchlin, +looks to me like you’ lookin’ ve’y salad.” He fanned himself +with his hat. “I dunno ’ow ’tis with you, Mistoo +Itchlin, but I fine myseff ve’y oppwessive thiz evening.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t find you so,” said Richling, smiling broadly.</p> + +<p>And he did not. The young Creole’s burning face and +resplendent wit were a sunset glow in the darkness of this +day of overpowering adversity. His presence even supplied, +for a moment, what seemed a gleam of hope. Why +wasn’t there here an opportunity to visit the hospital? +He need not tell Narcisse the object of his visit.</p> + +<p>“Do you think,” asked Richling, persuasively, crouching +down upon one of his heels, “that I could sit in that +thing without turning it over?”</p> + +<p>“In that pee-ogue?” Narcisse smiled the smile of +the proficient as he waved his paddle across the canoe. +“Mistoo Itchlin,”—the smile passed off,—“I dunno +if you’ll billiv me, but at the same time I muz tell you the +tooth?”—</p> + +<p>He paused inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said Richling, with evident disappointment.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s juz a poss’bil’ty that you’ll wefwain fum +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +spillin’ out fum yeh till the negs cawneh. Thass the +manneh of those who ah not acquainted with the pee-ogue. +‘Lost to sight, to memo’y deah’—if you’ll egscuse the +maxim. Thass Chawles Dickens mague use of that egspwession.”</p> + +<p>Richling answered with a gay shake of the head. “I’ll +keep out of it.” If Narcisse detected his mortified chagrin, +he did not seem to. It was hard; the day’s last +hope was blown out like a candle in the wind. Richling +dared not risk the wetting of his suit of clothes; they +were his sole letter of recommendation and capital in +trade.</p> + +<p>“Well, <em>au ’evoi’</em>, Mistoo Itchlin.” He turned and moved +off—dip, glide, and away.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Dr. Sevier stamped his wet feet on the pavement of the +hospital porch. It was afternoon of the day following +that of the rain. The water still covering the streets +about the hospital had not prevented his carriage from +splashing through it on his double daily round. A narrow +and unsteady plank spanned the immersed sidewalk. +Three times, going and coming, he had crossed it safely, +and this fourth time he had made half the distance well +enough; but, hearing distant cheers and laughter, he looked +up street; when—splatter!—and the cheers were redoubled.</p> + +<p>“Pretty thing to laugh at!” he muttered. Two or +three bystanders, leaning on their umbrellas in the lodge +at the gate and in the porch, where he stood stamping, +turned their backs and smoothed their mouths.</p> + +<p>“Hah!” said the tall Doctor, stamping harder. +Stamp!—stamp! He shook his leg.—“Bah!” He +stamped the other long, slender, wet foot and looked down +at it, turning one side and then the other.—“F-fah!”—The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +first one again.—“Pshaw!“—The other.—Stamp!—stamp!—”<em>Right</em>—<em>into</em> +it!—up to my <em>ankles!</em>” He +looked around with a slight scowl at one man, who seemed +taken with a sudden softening of the spine and knees, +and who turned his back quickly and fell against another, +who, also with his back turned, was leaning tremulously +against a pillar.</p> + +<p>But the object of mirth did not tarry. He went as he +was to Mary’s room, and found her much better—as, +indeed, he had done at every visit. He sat by her bed +and listened to her story.</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor, you see, we did nicely for a while. +John went on getting the same kind of work, and pleasing +everybody, of course, and all he lacked was finding something +permanent. Still, we passed through one month +after another, and we really began to think the sun was +coming out, so to speak.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I thought so, too,” put in the Doctor. “I +thought if it didn’t you’d let me know.”</p> + +<p>“Why, no, Doctor, we couldn’t do that; you couldn’t +be taking care of well people.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Doctor, dropping that point, “I +suppose as the busy season began to wane that mode of +livelihood, of course, disappeared.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,”—a little one-sided smile,—“and so did our +money. And then, of course,”—she slightly lifted and +waved her hand.</p> + +<p>“You had to live,” said Dr. Sevier, sincerely.</p> + +<p>She smiled again, with abstracted eyes. “We thought +we’d like to,” she said. “I didn’t mind the loss of the +things so much,—except the little table we ate from. +You remember that little round table, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>The visitor had not the heart to say no. He nodded.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +“When that went there was but one thing left that could go.”</p> + +<p>“Not your bed?”</p> + +<p>“The bedstead; yes.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t sell your bed, Mrs. Richling?”</p> + +<p>The tears gushed from her eyes. She made a sign of +assent.</p> + +<p>“But then,” she resumed, “we made an excellent arrangement +with a good woman who had just lost her +husband, and wanted to live cheaply, too.”</p> + +<p>“What amuses you, madam?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing great. But I wish you knew her. She’s +funny. Well, so we moved down-town again. Didn’t +cost much to move.”</p> + +<p>She would smile a little in spite of him.</p> + +<p>“And then?” said he, stirring impatiently and leaning +forward. “What then?”</p> + +<p>“Why, then I worked a little harder than I thought,—pulling +trunks around and so on,—and I had this third attack.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor straightened himself up, folded his arms, +and muttered:—</p> + +<p>“Oh!—oh! <em>Why</em> wasn’t I instantly sent for?”</p> + +<p>The tears were in her eyes again, but—</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” she answered, with her odd little argumentative +smile, “how could we? We had nothing to pay +with. It wouldn’t have been just.”</p> + +<p>“Just!” exclaimed the physician, angrily.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” said the invalid, and looked at him.</p> + +<p>“Oh—all right!”</p> + +<p>She made no answer but to look at him still more +pleadingly.</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t it have been just as fair to let me be generous, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +madam?” His faint smile was bitter. “For once? +Simply for once?”</p> + +<p>“We couldn’t make that proposition, could we, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>He was checkmated.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richling,” he said suddenly, clasping the back +of his chair as if about to rise, “tell me,—did you or +your husband act this way for anything I’ve ever said +or done?”</p> + +<p>“No, Doctor! no, no; never! But”—</p> + +<p>“But kindness should seek—not be sought,” said the +physician, starting up.</p> + +<p>“No, Doctor, we didn’t look on it so. Of course we +didn’t. If there’s any fault it’s all mine. For it was my +own proposition to John, that as we <em>had</em> to seek charity +we should just be honest and open about it. I said, +‘John, as I need the best attention, and as that can be +offered free only in the hospital, why, to the hospital I +ought to go.’”</p> + +<p>She lay still, and the Doctor pondered. Presently he +said:—</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Richling—I suppose he looks for work all the time?”</p> + +<p>“From daylight to dark!”</p> + +<p>“Well, the water is passing off. He’ll be along by +and by to see you, no doubt. Tell him to call, first thing +to-morrow morning, at my office.” And with that the +Doctor went off in his wet boots, committed a series of +indiscretions, reached home, and fell ill.</p> + +<p>In the wanderings of fever he talked of the Richlings, +and in lucid moments inquired for them.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” answered the sick Doctor’s physician, +“they’re attended to. Yes, all their wants are supplied. +Just dismiss them from your mind.” In the eyes of this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +physician the Doctor’s life was invaluable, and these +patients, or pensioners, an unknown and, most likely, an +inconsiderable quantity; two sparrows, as it were, +worth a farthing. But the sick man lay thinking. He +frowned.</p> + +<p>“I wish they would go home.”</p> + +<p>“I have sent them.”</p> + +<p>“You have? Home to Milwaukee?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God!”</p> + +<p>He soon began to mend. Yet it was weeks before he +could leave the house. When one day he reëntered the +hospital, still pale and faint, he was prompt to express to +the Mother-Superior the comfort he had felt in his sickness +to know that his brother physician had sent those +Richlings to their kindred.</p> + +<p>The Sister shook her head. He saw the deception in +an instant. As best his strength would allow, he hurried +to the keeper of the rolls. There was the truth. Home? +Yes,—to Prieur street,—discharged only one week +before. He drove quickly to his office.</p> + +<p>“Narcisse, you will find that young Mr. Richling living +in Prieur street, somewhere between Conti and St. Louis. +I don’t know the house; you’ll have to find it. Tell him +I’m in my office again, and to come and see me.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse was no such fool as to say he knew the house. +He would get the praise of finding it quickly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do my mose awduous, seh,” he said, took down +his coat, hung up his jacket, put on his hat, and went +straight to the house and knocked. Got no answer. +Knocked again, and a third time; but in vain. Went +next door and inquired of a pretty girl, who fell in love +with him at a glance.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but they had moved. She wasn’t <em>jess ezac’ly</em> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +sure where they <em>had</em> moved to, <em>unless-n</em> it was in that little +house yondeh between St. Louis and Toulouse; and if +they wasn’t there she didn’t know <em>where</em> they was. +People ought to leave words where they’s movin’ at, but +they don’t. You’re very welcome,” she added, as he expressed +his thanks; and he would have been welcome had +he questioned her for an hour. His parting bow and +smile stuck in her heart a six-months.</p> + +<p>He went to the spot pointed out. As a Creole he was +used to seeing very respectable people living in very small +and plain houses. This one was not too plain even for +his ideas of Richling, though it was but a little one-street-door-and-window +affair, with an alley on the left running +back into the small yard behind. He knocked. Again +no one answered. He looked down the alley and saw, +moving about the yard, a large woman, who, he felt certain, +could not be Mrs. Richling.</p> + +<p>Two little short-skirted, bare-legged girls were playing +near him. He spoke to them in French. Did they know +where Monsieu’ Itchlin lived? The two children repeated +the name, looking inquiringly at each other.</p> + +<p>“<em>Non, miché.</em>”—“No, sir, they didn’t know.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Qui reste ici?</em>” he asked. “Who lives here?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Ici? Madame qui reste là c’est Mizziz Ri-i-i-ly!</em>” +said one.</p> + +<p>“Yass,” said the other, breaking into English and rubbing +a musquito off of her well-tanned shank with the sole +of her foot, “tis Mizziz Ri-i-i-ly what live there. She +jess move een. She’s got a lill baby.—Oh! you means +dat lady what was in de Chatty Hawspill!”</p> + +<p>“No, no! A real, nice <em>lady</em>. She nevva saw that +Cha’ity Hospi’l.”</p> + +<p>The little girls shook their heads. They couldn’t imagine +a person who had never seen the Charity Hospital.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +“Was there nobody else who had moved into any of +these houses about here lately?” He spoke again in +French. They shook their heads. Two boys came forward +and verified the testimony. Narcisse went back +with his report: “Moved,—not found.”</p> + +<p>“I fine that ve’y d’oll, Doctah Seveeah,” concluded the +unaugmented, hanging up his hat; “some peop’ always +’ard to fine. I h-even notiz that sem thing w’en I go to +colic’ some bill. I dunno ’ow’ tis, Doctah, but I assu’ you +I kin tell that by a man’s physio’nomie. Nobody teach +me that. ’Tis my own in<em>geen</em>u’ty ’as made me to discoveh +that, in fact.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor was silent. Presently he drew a piece of +paper toward him and, dipping his pen into the ink, began +to write:—</p> + +<p>“Information wanted of the whereabouts of John +Richling”—</p> + +<p>“Narcisse,” he called, still writing, “I want you to +take an advertisement to the ‘Picayune’ office.”</p> + +<p>“With the gweatez of pleazheh, seh.” The clerk +began his usual shifting of costume. “Yesseh! I assu’ +you, Doctah, that is a p’oposition moze enti’ly to my satizfagtion; +faw I am suffe’ing faw a smoke, and deztitute +of a ciga’ette! I am aztonizh’ ’ow I did that, to egshauz +them unconsciouzly, in fact.” He received the +advertisement in an envelope, whipped his shoes a little +with his handkerchief, and went out. One would think +to hear him thundering down the stairs, that it was +twenty-five cents’ worth of ice.</p> + +<p>“Hold o—” The Doctor started from his seat, then +turned and paced feebly up and down. Who, besides +Richling, might see that notice? What might be its unexpected +results? Who was John Richling? A man +with a secret at the best; and a secret, in Dr. Sevier’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +eyes, was detestable. Might not Richling be a man who +had fled from something? “No! no!” The Doctor +spoke aloud. He had promised to think nothing ill of +him. Let the poor children have their silly secret. He +spoke again: “They’ll find out the folly of it by and +by.” He let the advertisement go; and it went.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>RAPHAEL RISTOFALO.</strong></p> + + +<p>Richling had a dollar in his pocket. A man touched +him on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>But let us see. On the day that John and Mary had +sold their only bedstead, Mrs. Riley, watching them, had +proposed the joint home. The offer had been accepted +with an eagerness that showed itself in nervous laughter. +Mrs. Riley then took quarters in Prieur street, where John +and Mary, for a due consideration, were given a single +neatly furnished back room. The bedstead had brought +seven dollars. Richling, on the day after the removal, +was in the commercial quarter, looking, as usual, for employment.</p> + +<p>The young man whom Dr. Sevier had first seen, in +the previous October, moving with a springing step and +alert, inquiring glances from number to number in Carondelet +street was slightly changed. His step was firm, +but something less elastic, and not quite so hurried. His +face was more thoughtful, and his glance wanting in a +certain dancing freshness that had been extremely pleasant. +He was walking in Poydras street toward the river.</p> + +<p>As he came near to a certain man who sat in the +entrance of a store with the freshly whittled corner of a +chair between his knees, his look and bow were grave, but +amiable, quietly hearty, deferential, and also self-respectful—and +uncommercial: so palpably uncommercial that +the sitter did not rise or even shut his knife.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +He slightly stared. Richling, in a low, private tone, +was asking him for employment.</p> + +<p>“What?” turning his ear up and frowning downward.</p> + +<p>The application was repeated, the first words with a +slightly resentful ring, but the rest more quietly.</p> + +<p>The store-keeper stared again, and shook his head +slowly.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” he said, in a barely audible tone. Richling +moved on, not stopping at the next place, or the next, or +the next; for he felt the man’s stare all over his back +until he turned the corner and found himself in Tchoupitoulas +street. Nor did he stop at the first place around +the corner. It smelt of deteriorating potatoes and up-river +cabbages, and there were open barrels of onions +set ornamentally aslant at the entrance. He had a fatal +conviction that his services would not be wanted in malodorous +places.</p> + +<p>“Now, isn’t that a shame?” asked the chair-whittler, as +Richling passed out of sight. “Such a gentleman as +that, to be beggin’ for work from door to door!”</p> + +<p>“He’s not beggin’ f’om do’ to do’,” said a second, with +a Creole accent on his tongue, and a match stuck behind +his ear like a pen. “Beside, he’s too <em>much</em> of a gennlemun.”</p> + +<p>“That’s where you and him differs,” said the first. He +frowned upon the victim of his delicate repartee with +make-believe defiance. Number Two drew from an outside +coat-pocket a wad of common brown wrapping-paper, +tore from it a small, neat parallelogram, dove into an +opposite pocket for some loose smoking-tobacco, laid a +pinch of it in the paper, and, with a single dexterous turn +of the fingers, thumbs above, the rest beneath,—it looks +simple, but ’tis an amazing art,—made a cigarette. Then +he took down his match, struck it under his short coat-skirt, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +lighted his cigarette, drew an inhalation through it +that consumed a third of its length, and sat there, with +his eyes half-closed, and all that smoke somewhere inside +of him.</p> + +<p>“That young man,” remarked a third, wiping a toothpick +on his thigh and putting it in his vest-pocket, as he +stepped to the front, “don’t know how to <em>look</em> fur work. +There’s one way fur a day-laborer to look fur work, and +there’s another way fur a gentleman to look fur work, and +there’s another way fur a—a—a man with money to +look fur somethin’ to put his money into. <em>It’s just like +fishing!</em>” He threw both hands outward and downward, +and made way for a porter’s truck with a load of green +meat. The smoke began to fall from Number Two’s +nostrils in two slender blue streams. Number Three +continued:—</p> + +<p>“You’ve got to know what kind o’ hooks you want, +and what kind o’ bait you want, and then, after <em>that</em>, +you’ve”—</p> + +<p>Numbers One and Two did not let him finish.</p> + +<p>“—Got to know how to fish,” they said; “that’s so!” +The smoke continued to leak slowly from Number Two’s +nostrils and teeth, though he had not lifted his cigarette +the second time.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you’ve got to know how to fish,” reaffirmed the +third. “If you don’t know how to fish, it’s as like as +not that nobody can tell you what’s the matter; an’ yet, +all the same, you aint goin’ to ketch no fish.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now,” said the first man, with an unconvinced +swing of his chin, “<em>spunk</em> ’ll sometimes pull a man +through; and you can’t say he aint spunky.” Number +Three admitted the corollary. Number Two looked up: +his chance had come.</p> + +<p>“He’d a w’ipped you faw a dime,” said he to Number +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +One, took a comforting draw from his cigarette, and felt +a great peace.</p> + +<p>“I take notice he’s a little deaf,” said Number Three, +still alluding to Richling.</p> + +<p>“That’d spoil him for me,” said Number One.</p> + +<p>Number Three asked why.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I just wouldn’t have him about me. Didn’t +you ever notice that a deaf man always seems like a +sort o’ stranger? I can’t bear ’em.”</p> + +<p>Richling meanwhile moved on. His critics were right. +He was not wanting in courage; but no man from the +moon could have been more an alien on those sidewalks. +He was naturally diligent, active, quick-witted, and of +good, though maybe a little too scholarly address; quick +of temper, it is true, and uniting his quickness of temper +with a certain bashfulness,—an unlucky combination, +since, as a consequence, nobody had to get out of its +way; but he was generous in fact and in speech, and +never held malice a moment. But, besides the heavy +odds which his small secret seemed to be against him, +stopping him from accepting such valuable friendships +as might otherwise have come to him, and besides his +slight deafness, he was by nature a recluse, or, at least, +a dreamer. Every day that he set foot on Tchoupitoulas, +or Carondelet, or Magazine, or Fulton, or Poydras street +he came from a realm of thought, seeking service in an +empire of matter.</p> + +<p>There is a street in New Orleans called Triton <em>Walk</em>. +That is what all the ways of commerce and finance and +daily bread-getting were to Richling. He was a merman—ashore. +It was the feeling rather than the knowledge +of this that prompted him to this daily, aimless trudging +after mere employment. He had a proper pride; once +in a while a little too much; nor did he clearly see his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +deficiencies; and yet the unrecognized consciousness +that he had not the commercial instinct made him willing—as +Number Three would have said—to “cut bait” +for any fisherman who would let him do it.</p> + +<p>He turned without any distinct motive and, retracing +his steps to the corner, passed up across Poydras street. +A little way above it he paused to look at some machinery +in motion. He liked machinery,—for itself rather +than for its results. He would have gone in and examined +the workings of this apparatus had it not been +for the sign above his head, “No Admittance.” Those +words always seemed painted for him. A slight modification +in Richling’s character might have made him an +inventor. Some other faint difference, and he might +have been a writer, a historian, an essayist, or even—there +is no telling—a well-fed poet. With the question +of food, raiment, and shelter permanently settled, he +might have become one of those resplendent flash lights +that at intervals dart their beams across the dark waters +of the world’s ignorance, hardly from new continents, +but from the observatory, the study, the laboratory. But +he was none of these. There had been a crime committed +somewhere in his bringing up, and as a result he +stood in the thick of life’s battle, weaponless. He gazed +upon machinery with childlike wonder; but when he +looked around and saw on every hand men,—good fellows +who ate in their shirt-sleeves at restaurants, told +broad jokes, spread their mouths and smote their sides +when they laughed, and whose best wit was to bombard +one another with bread-crusts and hide behind the sugar-bowl; +men whom he could have taught in every kind +of knowledge that they were capable of grasping, except +the knowledge of how to get money,—when he saw +these men, as it seemed to him, grow rich daily by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +simply flipping beans into each other’s faces, or slapping +each other on the back, the wonder of machinery was +eclipsed. Do as they did? He? He could no more reach +a conviction as to what the price of corn would be to-morrow +than he could remember what the price of sugar +was yesterday.</p> + +<p>He called himself an accountant, gulping down his +secret pride with an amiable glow that commanded, instantly, +an amused esteem. And, to judge by his evident +familiarity with Tonti’s beautiful scheme of mercantile +records, he certainly—those guessed whose books he +had extricated from confusion—had handled money and +money values in days before his unexplained coming to +New Orleans. Yet a close observer would have noticed +that he grasped these tasks only as problems, treated +them in their mathematical and enigmatical aspect, and +solved them without any appreciation of their concrete +values. When they were done he felt less personal interest +in them than in the architectural beauty of the +store-front, whose window-shutters he had never helped +to close without a little heart-leap of pleasure.</p> + +<p>But, standing thus, and looking in at the machinery, +a man touched him on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning,” said the man. He wore a pleasant +air. It seemed to say, “I’m nothing much, but you’ll +recognize me in a moment; I’ll wait.” He was short, +square, solid, beardless; in years, twenty-five or six. +His skin was dark, his hair almost black, his eyebrows +strong. In his mild black eyes you could see the whole +Mediterranean. His dress was coarse, but clean; his +linen soft and badly laundered. But under all the rough +garb and careless, laughing manner was visibly written +again and again the name of the race that once held the +world under its feet.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +“You don’t remember me?” he added, after a moment.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Richling, pleasantly, but with embarrassment. +The man waited another moment, and suddenly +Richling recalled their earlier meeting. The man, representing +a wholesale confectioner in one of the smaller +cities up the river, had bought some cordials and syrups +of the house whose books Richling had last put in order.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes I do, too!” said Richling. “You left +your pocket-book in my care for two or three days; your +own private money, you said.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” The man laughed softly. “Lost that money. +Sent it to the boss. Boss died—store seized—everything +gone.” His English was well pronounced, but did +not escape a pretty Italian accent, too delicate for the +printer’s art.</p> + +<p>“Oh! that was too bad!” Richling laid his hand upon +an awning-post and twined an arm and leg around it as +though he were a vine. “I—I forget your name.”</p> + +<p>“Ristofalo. Raphael Ristofalo. Yours is Richling. +Yes, knocked me flat. Not got cent in world.” The +Italian’s low, mellow laugh claimed Richling’s admiration.</p> + +<p>“Why, when did that happen?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes’day,” replied the other, still laughing.</p> + +<p>“And how are you going to provide for the future?” +Richling asked, smiling down into the face of the shorter +man. The Italian tossed the future away with the back +of his hand.</p> + +<p>“I got nothin’ do with that.” His words were low, but +very distinct.</p> + +<p>Thereupon Richling laughed, leaning his cheek against +the post.</p> + +<p>“Must provide for the present,” said Raphael Ristofalo. +Richling dropped his eyes in thought. The present! He +had never been able to see that it was the present which +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +must be provided against, until, while he was training his +guns upon the future, the most primitive wants of the +present burst upon him right and left like whooping +savages.</p> + +<p>“Can you lend me dollar?” asked the Italian. “Give +you back dollar an’ quarter to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>Richling gave a start and let go the post. “Why, Mr. +Risto—falo, I—I—, the fact is, I”—he shook his +head—“I haven’t much money.”</p> + +<p>“Dollar will start me,” said the Italian, whose feet +had not moved an inch since he touched Richling’s +shoulder. “Be aw righ’ to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t invest one dollar by itself,” said the incredulous +Richling.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Return her to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>Richling swung his head from side to side as an expression +of disrelish. “I haven’t been employed for some time.”</p> + +<p>“I goin’ t’employ myself,” said Ristofalo.</p> + +<p>Richling laughed again. There was a faint betrayal of +distress in his voice as it fell upon the cunning ear of the +Italian; but he laughed too, very gently and innocently, +and stood in his tracks.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t like to refuse a dollar to a man who needs +it,” said Richling. He took his hat off and ran his fingers +through his hair. “I’ve seen the time when it was much +easier to lend than it is just now.” He thrust his hand +down into his pocket and stood gazing at the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>The Italian glanced at Richling askance, and with one +sweep of the eye from the softened crown of his hat +to the slender, white bursted slit in the outer side of +either well-polished shoe, took in the beauty of his face +and a full understanding of his condition. His hair, somewhat +dry, had fallen upon his forehead. His fine, smooth +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +skin was darkened by the exposure of his daily wanderings. +His cheek-bones, a trifle high, asserted their place +above the softly concave cheeks. His mouth was closed +and the lips were slightly compressed; the chin small, +gracefully turned, not weak,—not strong. His eyes were +abstracted, deep, pensive. His dress told much. The +fine plaits of his shirt had sprung apart and been neatly +sewed together again. His coat was a little faulty in the +set of the collar, as if the person who had taken the garment +apart and turned the goods had not put it together +again with practised skill. It was without spot and the +buttons were new. The edges of his shirt-cuffs had been +trimmed with the scissors. Face and vesture alike revealed +to the sharp eye of the Italian the woe underneath. +“He has a wife,” thought Ristofalo.</p> + +<p>Richling looked up with a smile. “How can you be +so sure you will make, and not lose?”</p> + +<p>“I never fail.” There was not the least shade of +boasting in the man’s manner. Richling handed out his +dollar. It was given without patronage and taken with +simple thanks.</p> + +<p>“Where goin’ to meet to-morrow morning?” asked +Ristofalo. “Here?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I forgot,” said Richling. “Yes, I suppose so; +and then you’ll tell me how you invested it, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you couldn’t do it.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>Raphael Ristofalo laughed. “Oh! fifty reason’.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>HOW HE DID IT.</strong></p> + + +<p>Ristofalo and Richling had hardly separated, +when it occurred to the latter that the Italian had +first touched him from behind. Had Ristofalo recognized +him with his back turned, or had he seen him earlier and +followed him? The facts were these: about an hour +before the time when Richling omitted to apply for employment +in the ill-smelling store in Tchoupitoulas street, +Mr. Raphael Ristofalo halted in front of the same place,—which +appeared small and slovenly among its more +pretentious neighbors,—and stepped just inside the door +to where stood a single barrel of apples,—a fruit only the +earliest varieties of which were beginning to appear in +market. These were very small, round, and smooth, and +with a rather wan blush confessed to more than one of +the senses that they had seen better days. He began to +pick them up and throw them down—one, two, three, +four, seven, ten; about half of them were entirely sound.</p> + +<p>“How many barrel’ like this?”</p> + +<p>“No got-a no more; dass all,” said the dealer. He +was a Sicilian. “Lame duck,” he added. “Oäl de +rest gone.”</p> + +<p>“How much?” asked Ristofalo, still handling the +fruit.</p> + +<p>The Sicilian came to the barrel, looked in, and said, +with a gesture of indifference:—</p> + +<p>“’M—doll’ an’ ’alf.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +Ristofalo offered to take them at a dollar if he might +wash and sort them under the dealer’s hydrant, which +could be heard running in the back yard. The offer +would have been rejected with rude scorn but for one +thing: it was spoken in Italian. The man looked at +him with pleased surprise, and made the concession. +The porter of the store, in a red worsted cap, had drawn +near. Ristofalo bade him roll the barrel on its chine +to the rear and stand it by the hydrant.</p> + +<p>“I will come back pretty soon,” he said, in Italian, +and went away.</p> + +<p>By and by he returned, bringing with him two swarthy, +heavy-set, little Sicilian lads, each with his inevitable +basket and some clean rags. A smile and gesture to the +store-keeper, a word to the boys, and in a moment the +barrel was upturned, and the pair were washing, wiping, +and sorting the sound and unsound apples at the hydrant.</p> + +<p>Ristofalo stood a moment in the entrance of the store. +The question now was where to get a dollar. Richling +passed, looked in, seemed to hesitate, went on, turned, +and passed again, the other way. Ristofalo saw him all +the time and recognized him at once, but appeared not to +observe him.</p> + +<p>“He will do,” thought the Italian. “Be back few +minute’,” he said, glancing behind him.</p> + +<p>“Or-r righ’,” said the store-keeper, with a hand-wave +of good-natured confidence. He recognized Mr. Raphael +Ristofalo’s species.</p> + +<p>The Italian walked up across Poydras street, saw +Richling stop and look at the machinery, approached, +and touched him on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>On parting with him he did not return to the store +where he had left the apples. He walked up Tchoupitoulas +street about a mile, and where St. Thomas street +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +branches acutely from it, in a squalid district full of the +poorest Irish, stopped at a dirty fruit-stand and spoke +in Spanish to its Catalan proprietor. Half an hour later +twenty-five cents had changed hands, the Catalan’s fruit +shelves were bright with small pyramids—sound side +foremost—of Ristofalo’s second grade of apples, the +Sicilian had Richling’s dollar, and the Italian was gone +with his boys and his better grade of fruit. Also, a grocer +had sold some sugar, and a druggist a little paper of +some harmless confectioner’s dye.</p> + +<p>Down behind the French market, in a short, obscure +street that runs from Ursulines to Barracks street, and is +named in honor of Albert Gallatin, are some old buildings +of three or four stories’ height, rented, in John +Richling’s day, to a class of persons who got their +livelihood by sub-letting the rooms, and parts of rooms, +to the wretchedest poor of New Orleans,—organ-grinders, +chimney-sweeps, professional beggars, street musicians, +lemon-peddlers, rag-pickers, with all the yet dirtier +herd that live by hook and crook in the streets or under +the wharves; a room with a bed and stove, a room +without, a half-room with or without ditto, a quarter-room +with or without a blanket or quilt, and with only a +chalk-mark on the floor instead of a partition. Into one +of these went Mr. Raphael Ristofalo, the two boys, and +the apples. Whose assistance or indulgence, if any, he +secured in there is not recorded; but when, late in +the afternoon, the Italian issued thence—the boys, +meanwhile, had been coming and going—an unusual +luxury had been offered the roustabouts and idlers of the +steam-boat landings, and many had bought and eaten +freely of the very small, round, shiny, sugary, and artificially +crimson roasted apples, with neatly whittled white-pine +stems to poise them on as they were lifted to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +consumer’s watering teeth. When, the next morning +Richling laughed at the story, the Italian drew out two +dollars and a half, and began to take from it a dollar.</p> + +<p>“But you have last night’s lodging and so forth yet to +pay for.”</p> + +<p>“No. Made friends with Sicilian luggerman. Slept +in his lugger.” He showed his brow and cheeks speckled +with mosquito-bites. “Ate little hard-tack and coffee +with him this morning. Don’t want much.” He offered +the dollar with a quarter added. Richling declined the +bonus.</p> + +<p>“But why not?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I just couldn’t do it,” laughed Richling; “that’s +all.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Italian, “lend me that dollar one day +more, I return you dollar and half in its place to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The lender had to laugh again. “You can’t find an +odd barrel of damaged apples every day.”</p> + +<p>“No. No apples to-day. But there’s regiment soldiers +at lower landing; whole steam-boat load; going to sail +this evenin’ to Florida. They’ll eat whole barrel hard-boil’ +eggs.”—And they did. When they sailed, the +Italian’s pocket was stuffed with small silver.</p> + +<p>Richling received his dollar and fifty cents. As he +did so, “I would give, if I had it, a hundred dollars for +half your art,” he said, laughing unevenly. He was +beaten, surpassed, humbled. Still he said, “Come, don’t +you want this again? You needn’t pay me for the use +of it.”</p> + +<p>But the Italian refused. He had outgrown his patron. +A week afterward Richling saw him at the Picayune Tier, +superintending the unloading of a small schooner-load of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +bananas. He had bought the cargo, and was reselling +to small fruiterers.</p> + +<p>“Make fifty dolla’ to-day,” said the Italian, marking +his tally-board with a piece of chalk.</p> + +<p>Richling clapped him joyfully on the shoulder, but +turned around with inward distress and hurried away. +He had not found work.</p> + +<p>Events followed of which we have already taken knowledge. +Mary, we have seen, fell sick and was taken to +the hospital.</p> + +<p>“I shall go mad!” Richling would moan, with his +dishevelled brows between his hands, and then start to +his feet, exclaiming, “I must not! I must not! I must +keep my senses!” And so to the commercial regions or +to the hospital.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier, as we know, left word that Richling should +call and see him; but when he called, a servant—very +curtly, it seemed to him—said the Doctor was not well +and didn’t want to see anybody. This was enough for a +young man who <em>hadn’t</em> his senses. The more he needed +a helping hand the more unreasonably shy he became +of those who might help him.</p> + +<p>“Will nobody come and find us?” Yet he would not +cry “Whoop!” and how, then, was anybody to come?</p> + +<p>Mary returned to the house again (ah! what joys +there are in the vale of tribulation!), and grew strong,—stronger, +she averred, than ever she had been.</p> + +<p>“And now you’ll <em>not</em> be cast down, <em>will</em> you?” she +said, sliding into her husband’s lap. She was in an +uncommonly playful mood.</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it,” said John. “Every dog has his +day. I’ll come to the top. You’ll see.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t I know that?” she responded, “Look here, +now,” she exclaimed, starting to her feet and facing him, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +“<em>I’ll</em> recommend you to anybody. <em>I’ve</em> got confidence +in you!” Richling thought she had never looked quite +so pretty as at that moment. He leaped from his chair +with a laughing ejaculation, caught and swung her an +instant from her feet, and landed her again before she +could cry out. If, in retort, she smote him so sturdily +that she had to retreat backward to rearrange her shaken +coil of hair, it need not go down on the record; such +things will happen. The scuffle and suppressed laughter +were detected even in Mrs. Riley’s room.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” sighed the widow to herself, “wasn’t it Kate +Riley that used to get the sweet, haird knocks!” Her +grief was mellowing.</p> + +<p>Richling went out on the old search, which the advancing +summer made more nearly futile each day than the day before.</p> + +<p>Stop. What sound was that?</p> + +<p>“Richling! Richling!”</p> + +<p>Richling, walking in a commercial street, turned. A +member of the firm that had last employed him beckoned +him to halt.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing now, Richling? Still acting +deputy assistant city surveyor <em>pro tem.</em>?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, see here! Why haven’t you been in the store +to see us lately? Did I seem a little preoccupied the +last time you called?”</p> + +<p>“I”—Richling dropped his eyes with an embarrassed +smile—“<em>I was</em> afraid I was in the way—or should be.”</p> + +<p>“Well and suppose you were? A man that’s looking +for work must put himself in the way. But come with +me. I think I may be able to give you a lift.”</p> + +<p>“How’s that?” asked Richling, as they started off +abreast.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +“There’s a house around the corner here that will give +you some work,—temporary anyhow, and may be permanent.”</p> + +<p>So Richling was at work again, hidden away from Dr. +Sevier between journal and ledger. His employers asked +for references. Richling looked dismayed for a moment, +then said, “I’ll bring somebody to recommend me,” went +away, and came back with Mary.</p> + +<p>“All the recommendation I’ve got,” said he, with +timid elation. There was a laugh all round.</p> + +<p>“Well, madam, if you say he’s all right, we don’t +doubt he is!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>ANOTHER PATIENT.</strong></p> + + +<p>“Doctah Seveeah,” said Narcisse, suddenly, as +he finished sticking with great fervor the postage-stamps +on some letters the Doctor had written, and +having studied with much care the phraseology of what +he had to say, and screwed up his courage to the pitch of +utterance, “I saw yo’ notiz on the noozpapeh this +mornin’.”</p> + +<p>The unresponding Doctor closed his eyes in unutterable +weariness of the innocent young gentleman’s prepared +speeches.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh. ’Tis a beaucheouz notiz. I fine that w’itten +with the gweatez ac<em>cu</em>’acy of diction, in fact. I made a +twanslation of that faw my hant. Thaz a thing I am +fon’ of, twanslation. I dunno ’ow ’tis, Doctah,” he continued, +preparing to go out,—“I dunno ’ow ’tis, but I +thing, you goin’ to fine that Mistoo Itchlin ad the en’. +I dunno ’ow ’tis. Well, I’m goin’ ad the”—</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked up fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Bank,” said Narcisse, getting near the door.</p> + +<p>“All right!” grumbled the Doctor, more politely.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh—befo’ I go ad the poss-office.”</p> + +<p>A great many other persons had seen the advertisement. +There were many among them who wondered if Mr. John +Richling could be such a fool as to fall into that trap. +There were others—some of them women, alas!—who +wondered how it was that nobody advertised for information +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +concerning them, and who wished, yes, “wished to +God,” that such a one, or such a one, who had had his +money-bags locked up long enough, would die, and then +you’d see who’d be advertised for. Some idlers looked in +vain into the city directory to see if Mr. John Richling +were mentioned there. But Richling himself did not see +the paper. His employers, or some fellow-clerk, might +have pointed it out to him, but—we shall see in a moment.</p> + +<p>Time passed. It always does. At length, one morning, +as Dr. Sevier lay on his office lounge, fatigued after +his attentions to callers, and much enervated by the +prolonged summer heat, there entered a small female +form, closely veiled. He rose to a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Doctor,” said a voice, hurriedly, +behind the veil. “Doctor,” it continued, choking,—“Doctor”—</p> + +<p>“Why, Mrs. Richling!”</p> + +<p>He sprang and gave her a chair. She sank into it.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,—O Doctor! John is in the Charity Hospital!”</p> + +<p>She buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed +aloud. The Doctor was silent a moment, and then asked:—</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with him?”</p> + +<p>“Chills.”</p> + +<p>It seemed as though she must break down again, but +the Doctor stopped her savagely.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear madam, don’t cry! Come, now, you’re +making too much of a small matter. Why, what are +chills? We’ll break them in forty-eight hours. He’ll have +the best of care. You needn’t cry! Certainly this isn’t +as bad as when you were there.”</p> + +<p>She was still, but shook her head. She couldn’t agree +to that.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +“Doctor, will you attend him?”</p> + +<p>“Mine is a female ward.”</p> + +<p>“I know; but”—</p> + +<p>“Oh—if you wish it—certainly; of course I will. +But now, where have you moved, Mrs. Richling? I sent”— He +looked up over his desk toward that of Narcisse.</p> + +<p>The Creole had been neither deaf nor idle. Hospital? +Then those children in Prieur street had told him right. +He softly changed his coat and shoes. As the physician +looked over the top of the desk Narcisse’s silent form, +just here at the left, but out of the range of vision, +passed through the door and went downstairs with the +noiselessness of a moonbeam.</p> + +<p>Mary explained the location and arrangement of her +residence.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, “that’s the way your clerk must +have overlooked us. We live behind—down the alleyway.”</p> + +<p>“Well, at any rate, madam,” said the Doctor, “you +are here now, and before you go I want to”— He drew +out his pocket-book.</p> + +<p>There was a quick gesture of remonstrance and a look +of pleading.</p> + +<p>“No, no, Doctor, please don’t! please don’t! Give +my poor husband one more chance; don’t make me take +that. I don’t refuse it for pride’s sake!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that,” he replied; “why do you +do it?”</p> + +<p>“For his sake, Doctor. I know just as well what he’d +say—we’ve no right to take it anyhow. We don’t know +when we could pay it back.” Her head sank. She wiped +a tear from her hand.</p> + +<p>“Why, I don’t care if you never pay it back!” The +Doctor reddened angrily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +Mary raised her veil.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,”—a smile played on her lips,—“I want to +say one thing.” She was a little care-worn and grief-worn; +and yet, Narcisse, you should have seen her; you +would not have slipped out.</p> + +<p>“Say on, madam,” responded the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“If we have to ask anybody, Doctor, it will be you. +John had another situation, but lost it by his chills. +He’ll get another. I’m sure he will.” A long, broken +sigh caught her unawares. Dr. Sevier thrust his pocket-book +back into its place, compressing his lips and giving +his head an unpersuaded jerk. And yet, was she not +right, according to all his preaching? He asked himself +that. “Why didn’t your husband come to see me, as I +requested him to do, Mrs. Richling?”</p> + +<p>She explained John’s being turned away from the door +during the Doctor’s illness. “But anyhow, Doctor, John +has always been a little afraid of you.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor’s face did not respond to her smile.</p> + +<p>“Why, you are not,” he said.</p> + +<p>“No.” Her eyes sparkled, but their softer light +quickly returned. She smiled and said:—</p> + +<p>“I will ask a favor of you now, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>They had risen, and she stood leaning sidewise against +his low desk and looking up into his face.</p> + +<p>“Can you get me some sewing? John says I may take some.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor was about to order two dozen shirts instanter, +but common sense checked him, and he only said:—</p> + +<p>“I will. I will find you some. And I shall see your +husband within an hour. Good-by.” She reached the +door. “God bless you!” he added.</p> + +<p>“What, sir?” she asked, looking back.</p> + +<p>But the Doctor was reading.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>ALICE.</strong></p> + + +<p>A little medicine skilfully prescribed, the proper +nourishment, two or three days’ confinement in bed, +and the Doctor said, as he sat on the edge of Richling’s +couch:—</p> + +<p>“No, you’d better stay where you are to-day; but to-morrow, +if the weather is good, you may sit up.”</p> + +<p>Then Richling, with the unreasonableness of a convalescent, +wanted to know why he couldn’t just as well go +home. But the Doctor said again, no.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be impatient; you’ll have to go anyhow before +I would prefer to send you. It would be invaluable to +you to pass your entire convalescence here, and go home +only when you are completely recovered. But I can’t +arrange it very well. The Charity Hospital is for sick +people.”</p> + +<p>“And where is the place for convalescents?”</p> + +<p>“There is none,” replied the physician.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t want to go to it, myself,” said Richling, +lolling pleasantly on his pillow; “all I should ask is +strength to get home, and I’d be off.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked another way.</p> + +<p>“The sick are not the wise,” he said, abstractedly. +“However, in your case, I should let you go to your wife +as soon as you safely could.” At that he fell into so long +a reverie that Richling studied every line of his face again +and again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +A very pleasant thought was in the convalescent’s mind +the while. The last three days had made it plain to him +that the Doctor was not only his friend, but was willing +that Richling should be his.</p> + +<p>At length the physician spoke:—</p> + +<p>“Mary is wonderfully like Alice, Richling.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” responded Richling, rather timidly. And the +Doctor continued:—</p> + +<p>“The same age, the same stature, the same features. +Alice was a shade paler in her style of beauty, just a +shade. Her hair was darker; but otherwise her whole +effect was a trifle quieter, even, than Mary’s. She was +beautiful,—outside and in. Like Mary, she had a certain +richness of character—but of a different sort. I suppose +I would not notice the difference if they were not so much +alike. She didn’t stay with me long.”</p> + +<p>“Did you lose her—here?” asked Richling, hardly +knowing how to break the silence that fell, and yet lead +the speaker on.</p> + +<p>“No. In Virginia.” The Doctor was quiet a moment, +and then resumed:—</p> + +<p>“I looked at your wife when she was last in my office, +Richling; she had a little timid, beseeching light in her +eyes that is not usual with her—and a moisture, too; +and—it seemed to me as though Alice had come back. +For my wife lived by my moods. Her spirits rose or fell +just as my whim, conscious or unconscious, gave out +light or took on shadow.” The Doctor was still again, +and Richling only indicated his wish to hear more by +shifting himself on his elbow.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember, Richling, when the girl you had +been bowing down to and worshipping, all at once, in a +single wedding day, was transformed into your adorer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed,” responded the convalescent, with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +beaming face. “Wasn’t it wonderful? I couldn’t credit +my senses. But how did you—was it the same”—</p> + +<p>“It’s the same, Richling, with every man who has +really secured a woman’s heart with her hand. It was +very strange and sweet to me. Alice would have been a +spoiled child if her parents could have spoiled her; and +when I was courting her she was the veriest little empress +that ever walked over a man.”</p> + +<p>“I can hardly imagine,” said Richling, with subdued +amusement, looking at the long, slender form before him. +The Doctor smiled very sweetly.</p> + +<p>“Yes.” Then, after another meditative pause: “But +from the moment I became her husband she lived in continual +trepidation. She so magnified me in her timid +fancy that she was always looking tremulously to me to +see what should be her feeling. She even couldn’t help +being afraid of me. I hate for any one to be afraid of +me.”</p> + +<p>“Do you, Doctor?” said Richling, with surprise and +evident introspection.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Richling felt his own fear changing to love.</p> + +<p>“When I married,” continued Dr. Sevier, “I had +thought Alice was one that would go with me hand in +hand through life, dividing its cares and doubling its joys, +as they say; I guiding her and she guiding me. But if I +had let her, she would have fallen into me as a planet +might fall into the sun. I didn’t want to be the sun to +her. I didn’t want her to shine only when I shone on her, +and be dark when I was dark. No man ought to want +such a thing. Yet she made life a delight to me; only +she wanted that development which a better training, or +even a harder training, might have given her; that subserving +of the emotions to the”—he waved his hand—“I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +can’t philosophize about her. We loved one another with +our might, and she’s in heaven.”</p> + +<p>Richling felt an inward start. The Doctor interrupted +his intended speech.</p> + +<p>“Our short experience together, Richling, is the one +great light place in my life; and to me, to-day, sere as I +am, the sweet—the sweetest sound—on God’s green +earth”—the corners of his mouth quivered—“is the name +of Alice. Take care of Mary, Richling; she’s a priceless +treasure. Don’t leave the making and sustaining of the +home sunshine all to her, any more than you’d like her to +leave it all to you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll not, Doctor; I’ll not.” Richling pressed the +Doctor’s hand fervently; but the Doctor drew it away +with a certain energy, and rose, saying:—</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can sit up to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The day that Richling went back to his malarious home +in Prieur street Dr. Sevier happened to meet him just +beyond the hospital gate. Richling waved his hand. He +looked weak and tremulous. “Homeward bound,” he +said, gayly.</p> + +<p>The physician reached forward in his carriage and bade +his driver stop. “Well, be careful of yourself; I’m +coming to see you in a day or two.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>THE SUN AT MIDNIGHT.</strong></p> + + +<p>Dr. Sevier was daily overtasked. His campaigns +against the evils of our disordered flesh had even +kept him from what his fellow-citizens thought was only +his share of attention to public affairs.</p> + +<p>“Why,” he cried to a committee that came soliciting +his coöperation, “here’s one little unprofessional call that +I’ve been trying every day for two weeks to make—and +ought to have made—and must make; and I haven’t got +a step toward it yet. Oh, no, gentlemen!” He waved +their request away.</p> + +<p>He was very tired. The afternoon was growing late. +He dismissed his jaded horse toward home, walked down +to Canal street, and took that yellow Bayou-Road omnibus +whose big blue star painted on its corpulent side showed +that quadroons, etc., were allowed a share of its accommodation, +and went rumbling and tumbling over the cobble-stones of the +French quarter.</p> + +<p>By and by he got out, walked a little way southward in +the hot, luminous shade of low-roofed tenement cottages +that closed their window-shutters noiselessly, in sensitive-plant +fashion, at his slow, meditative approach, and +slightly and as noiselessly reopened them behind him, +showing a pair of wary eyes within. Presently he recognized +just ahead of him, standing out on the sidewalk, +the little house that had been described to him by Mary.</p> + +<p>In a door-way that opened upon two low wooden +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +sidewalk steps stood Mrs. Riley, clad in a crisp black +and white calico, a heavy, fat babe poised easily in one +arm. The Doctor turned directly toward the narrow alley, +merely touching his hat to her as he pushed its small green +door inward, and disappeared, while she lifted her chin +at the silent liberty and dropped her eyelids.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier went down the cramped, ill-paved passage +very slowly and softly. Regarding himself objectively, +he would have said the deep shade of his thoughts was +due partly, at least, to his fatigue. But that would hardly +have accounted for a certain faint glow of indignation +that came into them. In truth, he began distinctly to +resent this state of affairs in the life of John and Mary +Richling. An ill-defined anger beat about in his brain in +search of some tangible shortcoming of theirs upon which +to thrust the blame of their helplessness. “Criminal +helplessness,” he called it, mutteringly. He tried to +define the idea—or the idea tried to define itself—that +they had somehow been recreant to their social caste, by +getting down into the condition and estate of what one +may call the alien poor. Carondelet street had in some +way specially vexed him to-day, and now here was this. +It was bad enough, he thought, for men to slip into +riches through dark back windows; but here was a brace +of youngsters who had glided into poverty, and taken a +place to which they had no right to stoop. Treachery,—that +was the name for it. And now he must be expected,—the +Doctor quite forgot that nobody had asked him to +do it,—he must be expected to come fishing them out of +their hole, like a rag-picker at a trash barrel.</p> + +<p>—“Bringing me into this wretched alley!” he silently +thought. His foot slipped on a mossy brick. Oh, no +doubt they thought they were punishing some negligent +friend or friends by letting themselves down into this sort +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +of thing. Never mind! He recalled the tender, confiding, +friendly way in which he had talked to John, sitting +on the edge of his hospital bed. He wished, now, he had +every word back he had uttered. They might hide away +to the full content of their poverty-pride. Poverty-pride: +he had invented the term; it was the opposite pole to +purse-pride—and just as mean,—no, meaner. There! +Must he yet slip down? He muttered an angry word. +Well, well, this was making himself a little the cheapest +he had ever let himself be made. And probably this +was what they wanted! Misery’s revenge. Umhum! +They sit down in sour darkness, eh! and make relief +seek them. It wouldn’t be the first time he had caught +the poor taking savage comfort in the blush which their +poverty was supposed to bring to the cheek of better-kept +kinsfolk. True, he didn’t know this was the case with +the Richlings. But wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? And have +they a dog, that will presently hurl himself down this +alley at one’s legs? He hopes so. He would so like +to kick him clean over the twelve-foot close plank fence +that crowded his right shoulder. Never mind! His anger +became solemn.</p> + +<p>The alley opened into a small, narrow yard, paved with +ashes from the gas-works. At the bottom of the yard a +rough shed spanned its breadth, and a woman was there, +busily bending over a row of wash-tubs.</p> + +<p>The Doctor knocked on a door near at hand, then +waited a moment, and, getting no response, turned away +toward the shed and the deep, wet, burring sound of a +wash-board. The woman bending over it did not hear +his footfall. Presently he stopped. She had just +straightened up, lifting a piece of the washing to the +height of her head, and letting it down with a swash and +slap upon the board. It was a woman’s garment, but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +certainly not hers. For she was small and slight. Her +hair was hidden under a towel. Her skirts were shortened +to a pair of dainty ankles by an extra under-fold at +the neat, round waist. Her feet were thrust into a pair +of sabots. She paused a moment in her work, and, +lifting with both smoothly rounded arms, bared nearly to +the shoulder, a large apron from her waist, wiped the +perspiration from her forehead. It was Mary.</p> + +<p>The red blood came up into the Doctor’s pale, thin face. +This was too outrageous. This was insult! He stirred as +if to move forward. He would confront her. Yes, just +as she was. He would speak. He would speak bluntly. +He would chide sternly. He had the right. The only +friend in the world from whom she had not escaped +beyond reach,—he would speak the friendly, angry word +that would stop this shocking—</p> + +<p>But, truly, deeply incensed as he was, and felt it his +right to be, hurt, wrung, exasperated, he did not advance. +She had reached down and taken from the wash-bench +the lump of yellow soap that lay there, and was soaping +the garment on the board before her, turning it this way +and that. As she did this she began, all to herself and +for her own ear, softly, with unconscious richness and +tenderness of voice, to sing. And what was her song?</p> + +<p class="center">“Oh, don’t you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?”</p> + +<p>Down drooped the listener’s head. Remember? Ah, +memory!—The old, heart-rending memory! Sweet Alice!</p> + +<p class="center">“Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown?”</p> + +<p>Yes, yes; so brown!—so brown!</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +“She wept with delight when you gave her a smile,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">And trembled with fear at your frown.”</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +Ah! but the frown is gone! There is a look of supplication +now. Sing no more! Oh, sing no more! Yes, +surely, she will stop there!</p> + +<p>No. The voice rises gently—just a little—into the +higher key, soft and clear as the note of a distant bird, +and all unaware of a listener. Oh! in mercy’s name—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +“In the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Bolt,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.4em;">In a corner obscure and alone,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .4em;">They have fitted a slab of granite so gray,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.4em;">And sweet Alice lies under the stone.”</span></p> + +<p>The little toiling figure bent once more across the wash-board +and began to rub. He turned, the first dew of +many a long year welling from each eye, and stole away, +out of the little yard and down the dark, slippery alley, +to the street.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley still stood on the door-sill, holding the +child.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, madam!”</p> + +<p>“Sur, to you.” She bowed with dignity.</p> + +<p>“Is Mrs. Richling in?”</p> + +<p>There was a shadow of triumph in her faint smile.</p> + +<p>“She is.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to see her.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley hoisted her chin. “I dunno if she’s a-seein’ +comp’ny to-day.” The voice was amiably important. +“Wont ye walk in? Take a seat and sit down, sur, and +I’ll go and infarm the laydie.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said the Doctor, but continued to stand.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley started and stopped again.</p> + +<p>“Ye forgot to give me yer kyaird, sur.” She drew +her chin in again austerely.</p> + +<p>“Just say Dr. Sevier.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sur; yes, that’ll be sufficiend. And dispinse +with the kyaird.” She went majestically.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +The Doctor, left alone, cast his uninterested glance +around the smart little bare-floored parlor, upon its new, +jig-sawed, gray hair-cloth furniture, and up upon a +picture of the Pope. When Mrs. Riley, in a moment, returned +he stood looking out the door.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richling consints to see ye, sur. She’ll be in +turreckly. Take a seat and sit down.” She readjusted +the infant on her arm and lifted and swung a hair-cloth +arm-chair toward him without visible exertion. “There’s +no use o’ having chayers if ye don’t sit on um,” she added +affably.</p> + +<p>The Doctor sat down, and Mrs. Riley occupied the +exact centre of the small, wide-eared, brittle-looking sofa, +where she filled in the silent moments that followed by +pulling down the skirts of the infant’s apparel, oppressed +with the necessity of keeping up a conversation and with +the want of subject-matter. The child stared at the +Doctor, and suddenly plunged toward him with a loud and +very watery coo.</p> + +<p>“Ah-h!” said Mrs. Riley, in ostentatious rebuke. +“Mike!” she cried, laughingly, as the action was repeated. +“Ye rowdy, air ye go-un to fight the gintleman?”</p> + +<p>She laughed sincerely, and the Doctor could but notice +how neat and good-looking she was. He condescended +to crook his finger at the babe. This seemed to exasperate +the so-called rowdy. He planted his pink feet on +his mother’s thigh and gave a mighty lunge and whoop.</p> + +<p>“He’s go-un to be a wicked bruiser,” said proud Mrs. +Riley. “He”—the pronoun stood, this time, for her +husband—“he never sah the child. He was kilt with an +explosion before the child was barn.”</p> + +<p>She held the infant on her strong arm as he struggled +to throw himself, with wide-stretched jaws, upon her +bosom; and might have been devoured by the wicked +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +bruiser had not his attention been diverted by the entrance +of Mary, who came in at last, all in fragrant white, with +apologies for keeping the Doctor waiting.</p> + +<p>He looked down into her uplifted eyes. What a riddle +is woman! Had he not just seen this one in sabots? Did +she not certainly know, through Mrs. Riley, that he must +have seen her so? Were not her skirts but just now +hitched up with an under-tuck, and fastened with a string? +Had she not just laid off, in hot haste, a suds-bespattered +apron and the garments of toil beneath it? Had not a +towel been but now unbound from the hair shining here +under his glance in luxuriant brown coils? This brightness +of eye, that seemed all exhilaration, was it not trepidation +instead? And this rosiness, so like redundant +vigor, was it not the flush of her hot task? He fancied he +saw—in truth he may have seen—a defiance in the eyes +as he glanced upon, and tardily dropped, the little water-soaked +hand with a bow.</p> + +<p>Mary turned to present Mrs. Riley, who bowed and +said, trying to hold herself with majesty while Mike drew +her head into his mouth: “Sur,” then turned with great +ceremony to Mary, and adding, “I’ll withdrah,” withdrew +with the head and step of a duchess.</p> + +<p>“How is your husband, madam?”</p> + +<p>“John?—is not well at all, Doctor; though he would +say he was if he were here. He doesn’t shake off his +chills. He is out, though, looking for work. He’d go as +long as he could stand.”</p> + +<p>She smiled; she almost laughed; but half an eye could +see it was only to avoid the other thing.</p> + +<p>“Where does he go?”</p> + +<p>“Everywhere!” She laughed this time audibly.</p> + +<p>“If he went everywhere I should see him,” said Dr. +Sevier.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +“Ah! naturally,” responded Mary, playfully. “But +he does go wherever he thinks there’s work to be found. +He doesn’t wander clear out among the plantations, of +course, where everybody has slaves, and there’s no work +but slaves’ work. And he says it’s useless to think of a +clerkship this time of year. It must be, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor made no answer.</p> + +<p>There was a footstep in the alley.</p> + +<p>“He’s coming now,” said Mary,—“that’s he. He +must have got work to-day. He has an acquaintance, an +Italian, who promised to have something for him to do +very soon. Doctor,”—she began to put together the +split fractions of a palm-leaf fan, smiling diffidently at it +the while,—“I can’t see how it is any discredit to a +man not to have a <em>knack</em> for making money?”</p> + +<p>She lifted her peculiar look of radiant inquiry.</p> + +<p>“It is not, madam.”</p> + +<p>Mary laughed for joy. The light of her face seemed to +spread clear into her locks.</p> + +<p>“Well, I knew you’d say so! John blames himself; +he can make money, you know, Doctor, but he blames +himself because he hasn’t that natural gift for it that Mr. +Ristofalo has. Why, Mr. Ristofalo is simply wonderful!” +She smiled upon her fan in amused reminiscence. “John +is always wishing he had his gift.”</p> + +<p>“My dear madam, don’t covet it! At least don’t exchange +it for anything else.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor was still in this mood of disapprobation +when John entered. The radiancy of the young husband’s +greeting hid for a moment, but only so long, the +marks of illness and adversity. Mary followed him with +her smiling eyes as the two men shook hands, and John +drew a chair near to her and sat down with a sigh of +mingled pleasure and fatigue.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +She told him of whom she and their visitor had just +been speaking.</p> + +<p>“Raphael Ristofalo!” said John, kindling afresh. +“Yes; I’ve been with him all day. It humiliates me to +think of him.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier responded quietly:—</p> + +<p>“You’ve no right to let it humiliate you, sir.”</p> + +<p>Mary turned to John with dancing eyes, but he passed +the utterance as a mere compliment, and said, through his +smiles:—</p> + +<p>“Just see how it is to-day. I have been overseeing +the unloading of a little schooner from Ruatan island +loaded with bananas, cocoanuts, and pine-apples. I’ve +made two dollars; he has made a hundred.”</p> + +<p>Richling went on eagerly to tell about the plain, lustreless +man whose one homely gift had fascinated him. The +Doctor was entertained. The narrator sparkled and +glowed as he told of Ristofalo’s appearance, and reproduced +his speeches and manner.</p> + +<p>“Tell about the apples and eggs,” said the delighted Mary.</p> + +<p>He did so, sitting on the front edge of his chair-seat, +and sprawling his legs now in front and now behind him +as he swung now around to his wife and now to the +Doctor. Mary laughed softly at every period, and +watched the Doctor, to see his slight smile at each detail of +the story. Richling enjoyed telling it; he had worked; +his earnings were in his pocket; gladness was easy.</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m learning more from Raphael Ristofalo +than I ever learned from my school-masters: I’m learning +the art of livelihood.”</p> + +<p>He ran on from Ristofalo to the men among whom he +had been mingling all day. He mimicked the strange, +long swing of their Sicilian speech; told of their swarthy +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +faces and black beards, their rich instinct for color in +costume; their fierce conversation and violent gestures; +the energy of their movements when they worked, and +the profoundness of their repose when they rested; the +picturesqueness and grotesqueness of the negroes, too; +the huge, flat, round baskets of fruit which the black men +carried on their heads, and which the Sicilians bore on +their shoulders or the nape of the neck. The “captain” +of the schooner was a central figure.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” asked Richling, suddenly, “do you know +anything about the island of Cozumel?”</p> + +<p>“Aha!” thought Mary. So there was something besides +the day’s earning that elated him.</p> + +<p>She had suspected it. She looked at her husband with +an expression of the most alert pleasure. The Doctor +noticed it.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, in reply to Richling’s question.</p> + +<p>“It stands out in the Gulf of Mexico, off the coast of +Yucatan,” began Richling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know that.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mary, I’ve almost promised the schooner +captain that we’ll go there. He wants to get up a colony.”</p> + +<p>Mary started.</p> + +<p>“Why, John!” She betrayed a look of dismay, +glanced at their visitor, tried to say “Have you?” approvingly, +and blushed.</p> + +<p>The Doctor made no kind of response.</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t conclude,” said John to Mary, coloring +too, but smiling. He turned to the physician. “It’s a +wonderful spot, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>But the Doctor was still silent, and Richling turned.</p> + +<p>“Just to think, Mary, of a place where you can raise +all the products of two zones; where health is almost +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +perfect; where the yellow fever has never been; and +where there is such beauty as can be only in the tropics +and a tropical sea. Why, Doctor, I can’t understand +why Europeans or Americans haven’t settled it long ago.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose we can find out before we go, can’t we?” +said Mary, looking timorously back and forth between +John and the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“The reason is,” replied John, “it’s so little known. +Just one island away out by itself. Three crops of fruit +a year. One acre planted in bananas feeds fifty men. +All the capital a man need have is an axe to cut down the +finest cabinet and dye-woods in the world. The thermometer +never goes above ninety nor below forty. You +can hire all the labor you want at a few cents a day.”</p> + +<p>Mary’s diligent eye detected a cloud on the Doctor’s +face. But John, though nettled, pushed on the more rapidly.</p> + +<p>“A man can make—easily!—a thousand dollars the +first year, and live on two hundred and fifty. It’s the +place for a poor man.”</p> + +<p>He looked a little defiant.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Mary, “I know you wouldn’t come +to an opinion”—she smiled with the same restless glance—“until +you had made all the inquiries necessary. It +mu—must—be a delightful place. Doctor?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes shone blue as the sky.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t send a convict to such a place,” said Dr. +Sevier.</p> + +<p>Richling flamed up.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think,” he began to say with visible +restraint and a faint, ugly twist of the head,—“don’t +you think it’s a better place for a poor man than a great, +heartless town?”</p> + +<p>“This isn’t a heartless town,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +“He doesn’t mean it as you do, Doctor,” interposed +Mary, with alarm. “John, you ought to explain.”</p> + +<p>“Than a great town,” said Richling, “where a man of +honest intentions and real desire to live and be useful and +independent; who wants to earn his daily bread at any +honorable cost, and who can’t do it because the town +doesn’t want his services, and will not have them—can +go”— He ceased, with his sentence all tangled.</p> + +<p>“No!” the Doctor was saying meanwhile. “No! No! No!”</p> + +<p>“Here I go, day after day,” persisted Richling, +extending his arm and pointing indefinitely through the +window.</p> + +<p>“No, no, you don’t, John,” cried Mary, with an effort +at gayety; “you don’t go by the window, John; you go +by the door.” She pulled his arm down tenderly.</p> + +<p>“I go by the alley,” said John. Silence followed. +The young pair contrived to force a little laugh, and John +made an apologetic move.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” he exclaimed, with an air of pleasantry, +“the whole town’s asleep!—sound asleep, like a negro +in the sunshine! There isn’t work for one man in fifty!” +He ended tremulously. Mary looked at him with dropped +face but lifted eyes, handling the fan, whose rent she had +made worse.</p> + +<p>“Richling, my friend,”—the Doctor had never used +that term before,—“what does your Italian money-maker +say to the idea?”</p> + +<p>Richling gave an Italian shrug and his own pained laugh.</p> + +<p>“Exactly! Why, Mr. Richling, you’re on an island +now,—an island in mid-ocean. Both of you!” He +waved his hands toward the two without lifting his head +from the back of the easy-chair, where he had dropped it.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Doctor?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +“Mean? Isn’t my meaning plain enough? I mean +you’re too independent. You know very well, Richling, +that you’ve started out in life with some fanciful feud +against the ‘world.’ What it is I don’t know, but I’m +sure it’s not the sort that religion requires. You’ve told +this world—you remember you said it to me once—that +if it will go one road you’ll go another. You’ve forgotten +that, mean and stupid and bad as your fellow-creatures +are, they’re your brothers and sisters, and that they have +claims on you as such, and that you have claims on them +as such.—Cozumel! You’re there now! Has a friend +no rights? I don’t know your immediate relatives, and I +say nothing about them”—</p> + +<p>John gave a slight start, and Mary looked at him suddenly.</p> + +<p>“But here am I,” continued the speaker. “Is it just +to me for you to hide away here in want that forces you +and your wife—I beg your pardon, madam—into mortifying +occupations, when one word to me—a trivial obligation, +not worthy to be called an obligation, contracted +with me—would remove that necessity, and tide you over +the emergency of the hour?”</p> + +<p>Richling was already answering, not by words only, +but by his confident smile:—</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; yes, it is just: ask Mary.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Doctor,” interposed the wife. “We went over”—</p> + +<p>“We went over it together,” said John. “We +weighed it well. It <em>is</em> just,—not to ask aid as long as +there’s hope without it.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor responded with the quiet air of one who is +sure of his position:—</p> + +<p>“Yes, I see. But, of course—I know without asking—you +left the question of health out of your reckoning. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +Now, Richling, put the whole world, if you choose, in a +selfish attitude”—</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said Richling and his wife. “Ah, no!” +But the Doctor persisted.</p> + +<p>“—a purely selfish attitude. Wouldn’t it, nevertheless, +rather help a well man or woman than a sick one? +Wouldn’t it pay better?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but”—</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Doctor. “But you’re taking the most +desperate risks against health and life.” He leaned +forward in his chair, jerked in his legs, and threw out +his long white hands. “You’re committing slow suicide.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” began Mary; but her husband had the floor.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” he said, “can you put yourself in our place? +Wouldn’t you rather die than beg? <em>Wouldn’t</em> you?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor rose to his feet as straight as a lance.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t what you’d rather, sir! You haven’t your +choice! You haven’t your choice at all, sir! When God +gets ready for you to die he’ll let you know, sir! And +you’ve no right to trifle with his mercy in the meanwhile. +I’m not a man to teach men to whine after each other for +aid; but every principle has its limitations, Mr. Richling. +You say you went over the whole subject. Yes; well, +didn’t you strike the fact that suicide is an affront to +civilization and humanity?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor!” cried the other two, rising also. +“We’re not going to commit suicide.”</p> + +<p>“No,” retorted he, “you’re not. That’s what I came +here to tell you. I’m here to prevent it.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” exclaimed Mary, the big tears standing in +her eyes, and the Doctor melting before them like wax, +“it’s not so bad as it looks. I wash—some—because it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +pays so much better than sewing. I find I’m stronger +than any one would believe. I’m stronger than I ever +was before in my life. I am, indeed. I <em>don’t</em> wash <em>much</em>. +And it’s only for the present. We’ll all be laughing at +this, some time, together.” She began a small part of +the laugh then and there.</p> + +<p>“You’ll do it no more,” the Doctor replied. He drew +out his pocket-book. “Mr. Richling, will you please send +me through the mail, or bring me, your note for fifty dollars,—at +your leisure, you know,—payable on demand?” +He rummaged an instant in the pocket-book, and extended +his hand with a folded bank-note between his +thumb and finger. But Richling compressed his lips and +shook his head, and the two men stood silently confronting +each other. Mary laid her hand upon her husband’s +shoulder and leaned against him, with her eyes on the +Doctor’s face.</p> + +<p>“Come, Richling,”—the Doctor smiled,—“your +friend Ristofalo did not treat you in this way.”</p> + +<p>“I never treated Ristofalo so,” replied Richling, with +a smile tinged with bitterness. It was against himself +that he felt bitter; but the Doctor took it differently, and +Richling, seeing this, hurried to correct the impression.</p> + +<p>“I mean I lent him no such amount as that.”</p> + +<p>“It was just one-fiftieth of that,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“But you gave liberally, without upbraiding,” said the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Doctor! no!” exclaimed she, lifting the hand +that lay on her husband’s near shoulder and reaching it +over to the farther one. “Oh! a thousand times no! +John never meant that. Did you, John?”</p> + +<p>“How could I?” said John. “No!” Yet there was +confession in his look. He had not meant it, but he had +felt it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +Dr. Sevier sat down, motioned them into their seats, +drew the arm-chair close to theirs. Then he spoke. +He spoke long, and as he had not spoken anywhere but +at the bedside scarce ever in his life before. The young +husband and wife forgot that he had ever said a grating +word. A soft love-warmth began to fill them through +and through. They seemed to listen to the gentle voice +of an older and wiser brother. A hand of Mary sank +unconsciously upon a hand of John. They smiled and +assented, and smiled, and assented, and Mary’s eyes +brimmed up with tears, and John could hardly keep his +down. The Doctor made the whole case so plain and +his propositions so irresistibly logical that the pair looked +from his eyes to each other’s and laughed. “Cozumel!” +They did not utter the name; they only thought of it +both at one moment. It never passed their lips again. +Their visitor brought them to an arrangement. The +fifty dollars were to be placed to John’s credit on the +books kept by Narcisse, as a deposit from Richling, +and to be drawn against by him in such littles as necessity +might demand. It was to be “secured”—they +all three smiled at that word—by Richling’s note payable +on demand. The Doctor left a prescription for the +refractory chills.</p> + +<p>As he crossed Canal street, walking in slow meditation +homeward at the hour of dusk, a tall man standing +against a wall, tin cup in hand,—a full-fledged mendicant +of the steam-boiler explosion, tin-proclamation type,—asked +his alms. He passed by, but faltered, stopped, +let his hand down into his pocket, and looked around to +see if his pernicious example was observed. None saw +him. He felt—he saw himself—a drivelling sentimentalist. +But weak, and dazed, sore wounded of the archers, +he turned and dropped a dime into the beggar’s cup.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +Richling was too restless with the joy of relief to sit +or stand. He trumped up an errand around the corner, +and hardly got back before he contrived another. He +went out to the bakery for some crackers—fresh baked—for +Mary; listened to a long story across the baker’s +counter, and when he got back to his door found he had +left the crackers at the bakery. He went back for them +and returned, the blood about his heart still running and +leaping and praising God.</p> + +<p>“The sun at midnight!” he exclaimed, knitting Mary’s +hands in his. “You’re very tired. Go to bed. Me? I +can’t yet. I’m too restless.”</p> + +<p>He spent more than an hour chatting with Mrs. Riley, +and had never found her so “nice” a person before; so +easy comes human fellowship when we have had a stroke +of fortune. When he went again to his room there was +Mary kneeling by the bedside, with her head slipped under +the snowy mosquito net, all in fine linen, white as the +moonlight, frilled and broidered, a remnant of her wedding +glory gleaming through the long, heavy wefts of her +unbound hair.</p> + +<p>“Why, Mary”—</p> + +<p>There was no answer.</p> + +<p>“Mary?” he said again, laying his hand upon her head.</p> + +<p>The head was slowly lifted. She smiled an infant’s +smile, and dropped her cheek again upon the bedside. +She had fallen asleep at the foot of the Throne.</p> + +<p>At that same hour, in an upper chamber of a large, +distant house, there knelt another form, with bared, +bowed head, but in the garb in which it had come in from +the street. Praying? This white thing overtaken by +sleep here was not more silent. Yet—yes, praying. But, +all the while, the prayer kept running to a little tune, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +the words repeating themselves again and again; “Oh, +don’t you remember sweet Alice—with hair so brown—so +brown—so brown? Sweet Alice, with hair so +brown?” And God bent his ear and listened.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>BORROWER TURNED LENDER.</strong></p> + + +<p>It was only a day or two later that the Richlings, one +afternoon, having been out for a sunset walk, were +just reaching Mrs. Riley’s door-step again, when they +were aware of a young man approaching from the opposite +direction with the intention of accosting them. They +brought their conversation to a murmurous close.</p> + +<p>For it was not what a mere acquaintance could have +joined them in, albeit its subject was the old one of meat +and raiment. Their talk had been light enough on their +starting out, notwithstanding John had earned nothing +that day. But it had toned down, or, we might say up, +to a sober, though not a sombre, quality. John had in +some way evolved the assertion that even the life of the +body alone is much more than food and clothing and +shelter; so much more, that only a divine provision can +sustain it; so much more, that the fact is, when it fails, +it generally fails with meat and raiment within easy +reach.</p> + +<p>Mary devoured his words. His spiritual vision had +been a little clouded of late, and now, to see it clear— She +closed her eyes for bliss.</p> + +<p>“Why, John,” she said, “you make it plainer than +any preacher I ever heard.”</p> + +<p>This, very naturally, silenced John. And Mary, hoping +to start him again, said:—</p> + +<p>“Heaven provides. And yet I’m sure you’re right in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +seeking our food and raiment?” She looked up inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“Yes; like the fowls, the provision is made <em>for</em> us +through us. The mistake is in making those things the +<em>end</em> of our search.”</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly!” exclaimed Mary, softly. She +took fresh hold in her husband’s arm; the young man was +drawing near.</p> + +<p>“It’s Narcisse!” murmured John. The Creole pressed +suddenly forward with a joyous smile, seized Richling’s +hand, and, lifting his hat to Mary as John presented him, +brought his heels together and bowed from the hips.</p> + +<p>“I wuz juz coming at yo’ ’ouse, Mistoo Itchlin. +Yesseh. I wuz juz sitting in my ’oom afteh dinneh, +envelop’ in my <em>’obe de chambre</em>, when all at once I says +to myseff, ’Faw distwaction I will go and see Mistoo +Itchlin!’”</p> + +<p>“Will you walk in?” said the pair.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley, standing in the door of her parlor, made +way by descending to the sidewalk. Her calico was white, +with a small purple figure, and was highly starched and +beautifully ironed. Purple ribbons were at her waist and +throat. As she reached the ground Mary introduced +Narcisse. She smiled winningly, and when she said, with +a courtesy: “Proud to know ye, sur,” Narcisse was struck +with the sweetness of her tone. But she swept away with +a dramatic tread.</p> + +<p>“Will you walk in?” Mary repeated; and Narcisse +responded:—</p> + +<p>“If you will pummit me yo’ attention a few moment’.” +He bowed again and made way for Mary to precede him.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” he continued, going in, “in fact +you don’t give Misses Witchlin my last name with absolute +co’ectness.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +“Did I not? Why, I hope you’ll pardon”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m glad of it. I don’ feel lak a pusson is my +fwen’ whilst they don’t call me Nahcisse.” He directed +his remark particularly to Mary.</p> + +<p>“Indeed?” responded she. “But, at the same time, +Mr. Richling would have”— She had turned to John, +who sat waiting to catch her eye with such intense amusement +betrayed in his own that she saved herself from +laughter and disgrace only by instant silence.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh,” said Narcisse to Richling, “’tis the tooth.”</p> + +<p>He cast his eye around upon the prevailing hair-cloth +and varnish.</p> + +<p>“Misses Witchlin, I muz tell you I like yo’ tas’e in that +pawlah.”</p> + +<p>“It’s Mrs. Riley’s taste,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a beaucheouz tas’e,” insisted the Creole, contemplatively, +gazing at the Pope’s vestments tricked out +with blue, scarlet, and gilt spangles. “Well, Mistoo +Itchlin, since some time I’ve been stipulating me to do +myseff that honoh, seh, to come at yo’ ’ouse; well, ad the +end I am yeh. I think you fine yoseff not ve’y well those +days. Is that nod the case, Mistoo Itchlin?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m well enough!” Richling ended with a +laugh, somewhat explosively. Mary looked at him with +forced gravity as he suppressed it. He had to draw his +nose slowly through his thumb and two fingers before he +could quite command himself. Mary relieved him by responding:—</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Richling hasn’t been well for some time.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse responded triumphantly:—</p> + +<p>“It stwuck me—so soon I pe’ceive you—that you +’ave the ai’ of a valedictudina’y. Thass a ve’y fawtunate +that you ah ’esiding in a ’ealthsome pawt of the city, in +fact.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +Both John and Mary laughed and demurred.</p> + +<p>“You don’t think?” asked the smiling visitor. “Me, +I dunno,—I fine one thing. If a man don’t die fum one +thing, yet, still, he’ll die fum something. I ’ave study +that out, Mistoo Itchlin. ‘To be, aw to not be, thaz +the queztion,’ in fact. I don’t ca’e if you live one place +aw if you live anotheh place, ’tis all the same,—you’ve +got to pay to live!”</p> + +<p>The Richlings laughed again, and would have been +glad to laugh more; but each, without knowing it of the +other, was reflecting with some mortification upon the +fact that, had they been talking French, Narcisse would +have bitten his tongue off before any of his laughter +should have been at their expense.</p> + +<p>“Indeed you have got to pay to live,” said John, stepping +to the window and drawing up its painted paper +shade. “Yes, and”—</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Mary, with gentle disapprobation. +She met her husband’s eye with a smile of protest. +“John,” she said, “Mr. ——” she couldn’t think of the +name.</p> + +<p>“Nahcisse,” said the Creole.</p> + +<p>“Will think,” she continued, her amusement climbing +into her eyes in spite of her, “you’re in earnest.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am, partly. Narcisse knows, as well as we do +that there are two sides to the question.” He resumed +his seat. “I reckon”—</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Narcisse, “and what you muz look out +faw, ’tis to git on the soff side.”</p> + +<p>They all laughed.</p> + +<p>“I was going to say,” said Richling, “the world takes +us as we come, ‘sight-unseen.’ Some of us pay expenses, +some don’t.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” rejoined Narcisse, looking up at the whitewashed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +ceiling, “those egspenze’!” He raised his hand +and dropped it. “I <em>fine</em> it so <em>diffycul’</em> to defeat those +egspenze’! In fact, Mistoo Itchlin, such ah the state +of my financial emba’assment that I do not go out at all. +I stay in, in fact. I stay at my ’ouse—to light’ those +egspenze’!”</p> + +<p>They were all agreed that expenses could be lightened +thus.</p> + +<p>“And by making believe you don’t want things,” said +Mary.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Narcisse, “I nevvah kin do that!” +and Richling gave a laugh that was not without sympathy. +“But I muz tell you, Mistoo Itchlin, I am aztonizh at +<em>you</em>.”</p> + +<p>An instant apprehension seized John and Mary. They +<em>knew</em> their ill-concealed amusement would betray them, +and now they were to be called to account. But no.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh,” continued Narcisse, “you ’ave the gweatez +o’casion to be the subjec’ of congwatulation, Mistoo +Itchlin, to ’ave the poweh to <em>ac</em>cum’late money in those +hawd time’ like the pwesen’!”</p> + +<p>The Richlings cried out with relief and amused surprise.</p> + +<p>“Why, you couldn’t make a greater mistake!”</p> + +<p>“Mistaken! Hah! W’en I ged that memo’andum +f’om Dr. Seveeah to paz that fifty dollah at yo’ cwedit, it +burz f’om me, that egs<em>clam</em>ation! ’Acchilly! ’ow that +Mistoo Itchlin deserve the ’espect to save a lill quantity +of money like that!”</p> + +<p>The laughter of John and Mary did not impede his +rhapsody, nor their protestations shake his convictions.</p> + +<p>“Why,” said Richling, lolling back, “the Doctor has +simply omitted to have you make the entry of”—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +But he had no right to interfere with the Doctor’s +accounts. However, Narcisse was not listening.</p> + +<p>“You’ compel’ to be witch some day, Mistoo Itchlin, +ad that wate of p’ogwess; I am convince of that. I can +deteg that indis<em>pu</em>tably in yo’ physio’nomie. Me—I +<em>can’t</em> save a cent! Mistoo Itchlin, you would be aztonizh +to know ’ow bad I want some money, in fact; exceb that I am <em>too</em> +pwoud to dizclose you that state of my condition!”</p> + +<p>He paused and looked from John to Mary, and from +Mary to John again.</p> + +<p>“Why, I’ll declare,” said Richling, sincerely, dropping +forward with his chin on his hand, “I’m sorry to hear”—</p> + +<p>But Narcisse interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Diffyculty with me—I am not willing to baw’.”</p> + +<p>Mary drew a long breath and glanced at her husband. +He changed his attitude and, looking upon the floor, said, +“Yes, yes.” He slowly marked the bare floor with the +edge of his shoe-sole. “And yet there are times when +duty actually”—</p> + +<p>“I believe you, Mistoo Itchlin,” said Narcisse, +quickly forestalling Mary’s attempt to speak. “Ah, +Mistoo Itchlin! <em>if</em> I had baw’d money ligue the huncle +of my hant!” He waved his hand to the ceiling and +looked up through that obstruction, as it were, to the +witnessing sky. “But I <em>hade</em> that—to baw’! I tell +you ’ow ’tis with me, Mistoo Itchlin; I nevvah would +consen’ to baw’ money on’y if I pay a big inte’es’ on it. +An’ I’m compel’ to tell you one thing, Mistoo Itchlin, in +fact: I nevvah would leave money with Doctah Seveeah +to invez faw me—no!”</p> + +<p>Richling gave a little start, and cast his eyes an instant +toward his wife. She spoke.</p> + +<p>“We’d rather you wouldn’t say that to us, Mister ——” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +There was a commanding smile at one corner of +her lips. “You don’t know what a friend”—</p> + +<p>Narcisse had already apologized by two or three gestures +to each of his hearers.</p> + +<p>“Misses Itchlin—Mistoo Itchlin,”—he shook his +head and smiled skeptically,—“you think you kin admiah +Doctah Seveeah mo’ than me? ’Tis uzeless to attempt. +‘With all ’is fault I love ’im still.’”</p> + +<p>Richling and his wife both spoke at once.</p> + +<p>“But John and I,” exclaimed Mary, electrically, “love +him, faults and all!”</p> + +<p>She looked from husband to visitor, and from visitor to +husband, and laughed and laughed, pushing her small +feet back and forth alternately and softly clapping her +hands. Narcisse felt her in the centre of his heart. He +laughed. John laughed.</p> + +<p>“What I mean, Mistoo Itchlin,” resumed Narcisse, preferring +to avoid Mary’s aroused eye,—“what I mean—Doctah +Seveeah don’t un’stan’ that kine of business +co’ectly. Still, ad the same time, if I was you I know +I would ’ate faw my money not to be makin’ me some inte’es’. +I tell you what I would do with you, Mistoo +Itchlin, in fact: I kin baw’ that fifty dollah f’om you +myseff.”</p> + +<p>Richling repressed a smile. “Thank you! But I +don’t care to invest it.”</p> + +<p>“Pay you ten pe’ cent. a month.”</p> + +<p>“But we can’t spare it,” said Richling, smiling toward +Mary. “We may need part of it ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you, ’eally, Mistoo Itchlin, I nevveh baw’ +money; but it juz ’appen I kin use that juz at the +pwesent.”</p> + +<p>“Why, John,” said Mary, “I think you might as well +say plainly that the money is borrowed money.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +“That’s what it is,” responded Richling, and rose to +spread the street-door wider open, for the daylight was +fading.</p> + +<p>“Well, I ’ope you’ll egscuse that libbetty,” said Narcisse, +rising a little more tardily, and slower. “I muz +baw’ fawty dollah—some place. Give you good secu’ty—give +you my note, Mistoo Itchlin, in fact; muz baw +fawty—aw thutty-five.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m very sorry,” responded Richling, really +ashamed that he could not hold his face straight. “I +hope you understand”—</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, ’tis baw’d money. If you had a necessity +faw it you would use it. If a fwend ’ave a necessity—’tis +anotheh thing—you don’t feel that libbetty—you +ah ’ight—I honoh you”—</p> + +<p>“I <em>don’t</em> feel the same liberty.”</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” said Narcisse, with noble generosity, +throwing himself a half step forward, “if it was +yoze you’d baw’ it to me in a minnit!” He smiled with +benign delight. “Well, madame,—I bid you good evening, +Misses Itchlin. The bes’ of fwen’s muz pawt, you +know.” He turned again to Richling with a face all +beauty and a form all grace. “I was juz sitting—mistfully—all +at once I says to myseff, ‘Faw distwaction +I’ll go an’ see Mistoo Itchlin.’ I don’t <em>know</em> ’ow I +juz ’appen’!— Well, <em>au ’evoi</em>’, Mistoo Itchlin.”</p> + +<p>Richling followed him out upon the door-step. There +Narcisse intimated that even twenty dollars for a few +days would supply a stern want. And when Richling +was compelled again to refuse, Narcisse solicited his company +as far as the next corner. There the Creole covered +him with shame by forcing him to refuse the loan of ten +dollars, and then of five.</p> + +<p>It was a full hour before Richling rejoined his wife. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +Mrs. Riley had stepped off to some neighbor’s door with +Mike on her arm. Mary was on the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>“John,” she said, in a low voice, and with a long +anxious look.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“He <em>didn’t</em> take the only dollar of your own in the +world?”</p> + +<p>“Mary, what could I do? It seemed a crime to give, +and a crime not to give. He cried like a child; said it +was all a sham about his dinner and his <em>robe de chambre</em>. +An aunt, two little cousins, an aged uncle at home—and +not a cent in the house! What could I do? He says +he’ll return it in three days.”</p> + +<p>“And”—Mary laughed distressfully—“you believed +him?” She looked at him with an air of tender, painful +admiration, half way between a laugh and a cry.</p> + +<p>“Come, sit down,” he said, sinking upon the little +wooden buttress at one side of the door-step.</p> + +<p>Tears sprang into her eyes. She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go inside.” And in there she told him sincerely, +“No, no, no; she didn’t think he had done wrong”—when +he knew he had.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>WEAR AND TEAR.</strong></p> + + +<p>The arrangement for Dr. Sevier to place the loan of +fifty dollars on his own books at Richling’s credit +naturally brought Narcisse into relation with it.</p> + +<p>It was a case of love at first sight. From the moment +the record of Richling’s “little quantity” slid from the pen +to the page, Narcisse had felt himself betrothed to it by +destiny, and hourly supplicated the awful fates to frown +not upon the amorous hopes of him unaugmented. +Richling descended upon him once or twice and tore away +from his embrace small fractions of the coveted treasure, +choosing, through a diffidence which he mistook for a +sort of virtue, the time of day when he would not see Dr. +Sevier; and at the third visitation took the entire golden +fleece away with him rather than encounter again the +always more or less successful courtship of the scorner +of loans.</p> + +<p>A faithful suitor, however, was not thus easily shaken +off. Narcisse became a frequent visitor at the Richlings’, +where he never mentioned money; that part was left to +moments of accidental meeting with Richling in the street, +which suddenly began to occur at singularly short intervals.</p> + +<p>Mary labored honestly and arduously to dislike him—to +hold a repellent attitude toward him. But he was too +much for her. It was easy enough when he was absent; +but one look at his handsome face, so rife with animal +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +innocence, and despite herself she was ready to reward +his displays of sentiment and erudition with laughter +that, mean what it might, always pleased and flattered +him.</p> + +<p>“Can you help liking him?” she would ask John. “I +can’t, to save my life!”</p> + +<p>Had the treasure been earnings, Richling said—and +believed—he could firmly have repelled Narcisse’s importunities. +But coldly to withhold an occasional modest +heave-offering of that which was the free bounty +of another to him was more than he could do.</p> + +<p>“But,” said Mary, straightening his cravat, “you intend +to pay up, and he—you don’t think I’m uncharitable, do +you?”</p> + +<p>“I’d rather give my last cent than think you so,” +replied John. “Still,”—laying the matter before her +with both open hands,—“if you say plainly not to give +him another cent I’ll do as you say. The money’s no +more mine than yours.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you can have all my share,” said Mary, pleasantly.</p> + +<p>So the weeks passed and the hoard dwindled.</p> + +<p>“What has it got down to, now?” asked John, frowningly, +on more than one morning as he was preparing to +go out. And Mary, who had been made treasurer, could +count it at a glance without taking it out of her purse.</p> + +<p>One evening, when Narcisse called, he found no one at +home but Mrs. Riley. The infant Mike had been stuffed +with rice and milk and laid away to slumber. The Richlings +would hardly be back in less than an hour.</p> + +<p>“I’m so’y,” said Narcisse, with a baffled frown, as he +sat down and Mrs. Riley took her seat opposite. “I +came to ’epay ’em some moneys which he made me the +loan—juz in a fwenly way. And I came to ’epay ’im. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +The sum-total, in fact—I suppose he nevva mentioned +you about that, eh?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir; but, still, if”—</p> + +<p>“No, and so I can’t pay it to you. I’m so’y. Because +I know he woon like it, I know, if he fine that you +know he’s been bawing money to me. Well, Misses +Wiley, in fact, thass a <em>ve’y</em> fine gen’leman and lady—that +Mistoo and Misses Itchlin, in fact?”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Mr. Narcisse, ye’r about right? She’s +just too good to live—and he’s not much better—ha! +ha!” She checked her jesting mood. “Yes, sur, +they’re very peaceable, quiet people. They’re just +simply ferst tlass.”</p> + +<p>“’Tis t’ue,” rejoined the Creole, fanning himself with +his straw hat and looking at the Pope. “And they +handsome and genial, as the lite’ati say on the noozpapeh. +Seem like they almoze wedded to each otheh.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, sir, that’s the trooth!” She threw her +open hand down with emphasis.</p> + +<p>“And isn’t that as man and wife should be?”</p> + +<p>“Yo’ mighty co’ect, Misses Wiley!” Narcisse gave +his pretty head a little shake from side to side as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Mr. Narcisse,”—she pointed at herself,—“haven’t +I been a wife? The husband and wife—they’d +aht to jist be each other’s guairdjian angels! Hairt to hairt +sur; sperit to sperit. All the rist is nawthing, Mister +Narcisse.” She waved her hands. “Min is different +from women, sur.” She looked about on the ceiling. Her +foot noiselessly patted the floor.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Narcisse, “and thass the cause that they +dwess them dif’ent. To show the dif’ence, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! no. It’s not the mortial frame, sur; it’s the +sperit. The sperit of man is not the sperit of woman. +The sperit of woman is not the sperit of man. Each one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +needs the other, sur. They needs each other, sur, to +purify and strinthen and enlairge each other’s speritu’l +life. Ah, sur! Doo not I feel those things, sur?” She +touched her heart with one backward-pointed finger, +“<em>I</em> doo. It isn’t good for min to be alone—much liss +for women. Do not misunderstand me, sur; I speak as a +widder, sur—and who always will be—ah! yes, I will—ha! +ha! ha!” She hushed her laugh as if this were +going too far, tossed her head, and continued smiling.</p> + +<p>So they talked on. Narcisse did not stay an hour, but +there was little of the hour left when he rose to go. They +had passed a pleasant time. The Creole, it is true, tried +and failed to take the helm of conversation. Mrs. Riley +held it. But she steered well. She was still expatiating +on the “strinthenin’” spiritual value of the marriage +relation when she, too, stood up.</p> + +<p>“And that’s what Mr. and Madam Richlin’s a-doin’ all +the time. And they do ut to perfiction, sur—jist to +perfiction!”</p> + +<p>“I doubt it not, Misses Wiley. Well, Misses Wiley, +I bid you <em>au ’evoi’</em>. I dunno if you’ll pummit me, but I +am compel to tell you, Misses Wiley, I nevva yeh anybody +in my life with such a educated and talented conve’sation +like yo’seff. Misses Wiley, at what univussity did you +gwaduate?”</p> + +<p>“Well, reely, Mister—eh”—she fanned herself with +broad sweeps of her purple bordered palm-leaf—“reely, +sur, if I don’t furgit the name I—I—I’ll be switched! +Ha! ha! ha!”</p> + +<p>Narcisse joined in the laugh.</p> + +<p>“Thaz the way, sometime,” he said, and then with +sudden gravity: “And, by-the-by, Misses Wiley, speakin’ +of Mistoo Itchlin,—if you could baw’ me two dollahs +an’ a ’alf juz till tomaw mawnin—till I kin sen’ it you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +fum the office— Because that money I’ve got faw Mistoo +Itchlin is in the shape of a check, and anyhow I’m +c’owding me a little to pay that whole sum-total to Mistoo +Itchlin. I kin sen’ it you firs’ thing my bank open +tomaw mawnin.”</p> + +<p>Do you think he didn’t get it?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“What has it got down to now?” John asked again, +a few mornings after Narcisse’s last visit. Mary told him. +He stepped a little way aside, averting his face, dropped +his forehead into his hand, and returned.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see—I don’t see, Mary—I”—</p> + +<p>“Darling,” she replied, reaching and capturing both +his hands, “who does see? The rich <em>think</em> they see; but +do they, John? Now, <em>do</em> they?”</p> + +<p>The frown did not go quite off his face, but he took her +head between his hands and kissed her temple.</p> + +<p>“You’re always trying to lift me,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you lift me?” she replied, looking up between +his hands and smiling.</p> + +<p>“Do I?”</p> + +<p>“You know you do. Don’t you remember the day we +took that walk, and you said that after all it never is we +who provide?” She looked at the button of his coat, +which she twirled in her fingers. “That word lifted me.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose I can’t practice the trust I preach?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“You do trust, though. You have trusted.”</p> + +<p>“Past tense,” said John. He lifted her hands slowly +away from him, and moved toward the door of their +chamber. He could not help looking back at the eyes +that followed him, and then he could not bear their look. +“I—I suppose a man mustn’t trust too much,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Can he?” asked Mary, leaning against a table.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +“Oh, yes, he can,” replied John; but his tone lacked +conviction.</p> + +<p>“If it’s the right kind?”</p> + +<p>Her eyes were full of tears.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid mine’s not the right kind, then,” said +John, and passed out into and down the street.</p> + +<p>But what a mind he took with him—what torture of +questions! Was he being lifted or pulled down? His +tastes,—were they rising or sinking? Were little negligences +of dress and bearing and in-door attitude creeping +into his habits? Was he losing his discriminative sense +of quantity, time, distance? Did he talk of small achievements, +small gains, and small truths, as though they were +great? Had he learned to carp at the rich, and to make +honesty the excuse for all penury? Had he these various +poverty-marks? He looked at himself outside and +inside, and feared to answer. One thing he knew,—that +he was having great wrestlings.</p> + +<p>He turned his thoughts to Ristofalo. This was a +common habit with him. Not only in thought, but in +person, he hovered with a positive infatuation about this +man of perpetual success.</p> + +<p>Lately the Italian had gone out of town, into the country +of La Fourche, to buy standing crops of oranges. +Richling fed his hope on the possibilities that might +follow Ristofalo’s return. His friend would want him to +superintend the gathering and shipment of those crops—when +they should be ripe—away yonder in November. +Frantic thought! A man and his wife could starve to +death twenty times before then.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley’s high esteem for John and Mary had risen +from the date of the Doctor’s visit, and the good woman +thought it but right somewhat to increase the figures +of their room-rent to others more in keeping with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +such high gentility. How fast the little hoard melted +away!</p> + +<p>And the summer continued on,—the long, beautiful, +glaring, implacable summer; its heat quaking on the low +roofs; its fig-trees dropping their shrivelled and blackened +leaves and writhing their weird, bare branches under the +scorching sun; the long-drawn, frying note of its cicada +throbbing through the mid-day heat from the depths of +the becalmed oak; its universal pall of dust on the myriad +red, sleep-heavy blossoms of the oleander and the white +tulips of the lofty magnolia; its twinkling pomegranates +hanging their apples of scarlet and gold over the garden +wall; its little chameleons darting along the hot fence-tops; +its far-stretching, empty streets; its wide hush of +idleness; its solitary vultures sailing in the upper blue; +its grateful clouds; its hot north winds, its cool south +winds; its gasping twilight calms; its gorgeous nights,—the +long, long summer lingered on into September.</p> + +<p>One evening, as the sun was sinking below the broad, +flat land, its burning disk reddened by a low golden haze +of suspended dust, Richling passed slowly toward his +home, coming from a lower part of the town by way of +the quadroon quarter. He was paying little notice, or +none, to his whereabouts, wending his way mechanically, +in the dejected reverie of weary disappointment, and with +voiceless inward screamings and groanings under the +weight of those thoughts which had lately taken up their +stay in his dismayed mind. But all at once his attention +was challenged by a strange, offensive odor. He looked +up and around, saw nothing, turned a corner, and found +himself at the intersection of Trémé and St. Anne streets, +just behind the great central prison of New Orleans.</p> + +<p>The “Parish Prison” was then only about twenty-five +years old; but it had made haste to become offensive to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +every sense and sentiment of reasonable man. It had +been built in the Spanish style,—a massive, dark, grim, +huge, four-sided block, the fissure-like windows of its +cells looking down into the four public streets which ran +immediately under its walls. Dilapidation had followed +hard behind ill-building contractors. Down its frowning +masonry ran grimy streaks of leakage over peeling stucco +and mould-covered brick. Weeds bloomed high aloft in +the broken gutters under the scant and ragged eaves. +Here and there the pale, debauched face of a prisoner +peered shamelessly down through shattered glass or +rusted grating; and everywhere in the still atmosphere +floated the stifling smell of the unseen loathsomeness +within.</p> + +<p>Richling paused. As he looked up he noticed a bat +dart out from a long crevice under the eaves. Two +others followed. Then three—a dozen—a hundred—a +thousand—millions. All along the two sides of the +prison in view they poured forth in a horrid black torrent,—myriads +upon myriads. They filled the air. They +came and came. Richling stood and gazed; and still +they streamed out in gibbering waves, until the wonder +was that anything but a witch’s dream could contain +them.</p> + +<p>The approach of another passer roused him, and he +started on. The step gained upon him—closed up with +him; and at the moment when he expected to see the +person go by, a hand was laid gently on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, I ’ope you well, seh!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>BROUGHT TO BAY.</strong></p> + + +<p>One may take his choice between the two, but there +is no escaping both in this life: the creditor—the +borrower. Either, but never neither. Narcisse caught +step with Richling, and they walked side by side.</p> + +<p>“How I learned to mawch, I billong with a fiah +comp’ny,” said the Creole. “We mawch eve’y yeah on +the fou’th of Mawch.” He laughed heartily. “Thass a +’ime!—Mawch on the fou’th of Mawch! Thass poetwy, +in fact, as you may <em>say</em> in a jesting <em>way</em>—ha! ha! ha!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and it’s truth, besides,” responded the drearier +man.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” exclaimed Narcisse, delighted at the unusual +coincidence, “at the same time ’tis the tooth! In fact, +why should I tell a lie about such a thing like <em>that</em>? +’Twould be useless. Pe’haps you may ’ave notiz, Mistoo +Itchlin, thad the noozpapehs opine us fiahmen to be +the gau’dians of the city.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded Richling. “I think Dr. Sevier +calls you the Mamelukes, doesn’t he? But that’s much +the same, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Same thing,” replied the Creole. “We combad the +fiah fiend. You fine that building ve’y pitto’esque, +Mistoo Itchlin?” He jerked his thumb toward the +prison, that was still pouring forth its clouds of impish +wings. “Yes? ’Tis the same with me. But I tell you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +one thing, Mistoo Itchlin, I assu’ you, and you will +believe me, I would ’atheh be lock’ <em>out</em>side of that building +than to be lock’ <em>in</em>side of the same. ’Cause—you know +why? ’Tis ve’y ’umid in that building. An thass a +thing w’at I believe, Mistoo Itchlin; I believe w’en a +building is v’ey ’umid it is not ve’y ’ealthsome. What is +yo’ opinion consunning that, Mistoo Itchlin?”</p> + +<p>“My opinion?” said Richling, with a smile. “My +opinion is that the Parish Prison would not be a good +place to raise a family.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse laughed.</p> + +<p>“I thing yo’ <em>o</em>pinion is co’ect,” he said, flatteringly; +then growing instantly serious, he added, “Yesseh, I +think you’ about a-’ight, Mistoo Itchlin; faw even if +’twas not too ’umid, ’twould be too confining, in fact,—speshly +faw child’en. I dunno; but thass my opinion. +If you ah p’oceeding at yo’ residence, Mistoo Itchlin, +I’ll juz <em>con</em>tinue my p’omenade in yo’ society—if not +intooding”—</p> + +<p>Richling smiled candidly. “Your company’s worth all +it costs, Narcisse. Excuse me; I always forget your +last name—and your first is so appropriate.” It <em>was</em> +worth all it cost, though Richling could ill afford the +purchase. The young Latin’s sweet, abysmal ignorance, +his infantile amiability, his artless ambition, and heathenish +innocence started the natural gladness of Richling’s +blood to effervescing anew every time they met, and, +through the sheer impossibility of confiding any of his +troubles to the Creole, made him think them smaller and +lighter than they had just before appeared. The very light +of Narcisse’s countenance and beauty of his form—his +smooth, low forehead, his thick, abundant locks, his +faintly up-tipped nose and expanded nostrils, his sweet, +weak mouth with its impending smile, his beautiful chin +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +and bird’s throat, his almond eyes, his full, round arm, +and strong thigh—had their emphatic value.</p> + +<p>So now, Richling, a moment earlier borne down by +the dreadful shadow of the Parish Prison, left it +behind him as he walked and laughed and chatted with +his borrower. He felt very free with Narcisse, for the +reason that would have made a wiser person constrained,—lack +of respect for him.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, you know,” said the Creole, “I like +you to call me Nahcisse. But at the same time my las’ +name is Savillot.” He pronounced it Sav-<em>veel</em>-yo. “Thass +a somewot Spanish name. That double l got a twist in it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, call it Papilio!” laughed Richling.</p> + +<p>“Papillon!” exclaimed Narcisse, with delight. “The +buttehfly! All a-’ight; you kin juz style me that! ’Cause +thass my natu’e, Mistoo Itchlin; I gatheh honey eve’y +day fum eve’y opening floweh, as the bahd of A-von +wemawk.”</p> + +<p>So they went on.</p> + +<p><em>Ad infinitum?</em> Ah, no! The end was just as plainly +in view to both from the beginning as it was when, at +length, the two stepping across the street gutter at the +last corner between Richling and home, Narcisse laid his +open hand in his companion’s elbow, and stopped, saying, +as Richling turned and halted with a sudden frown of +unwillingness:—</p> + +<p>“I tell you ’ow ’tis with me, Mistoo Itchlin, I’ve +p’oject that manneh myseff; in weading a book—w’en +I see a beaucheouz idee, I juz take a pencil”—he drew +one from his pocket—“check! I check it. So w’en I +wead the same book again, then I take notiz I’ve check +that idee and I look to see what I check it faw. ’Ow +you like that invention, eh?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +“Very simple,” said Richling, with an unpleasant look +of expectancy.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” resumed the other, “do you not +fine me impooving in my p’onouncement of yo’ lang-widge? +I fine I don’t use such bad land-widge like biffo. I am +shue you muz’ ’ave notiz since some time I always soun’ +that awer in yo’ name. Mistoo Itchlin, will you ’ave that +kin’ness to baw me two-an-a-’alf till the lass of that +month?”</p> + +<p>Richling looked at him a moment in silence, and then +broke into a short, grim laugh.</p> + +<p>“It’s all gone. There’s no more honey in this flower.” +He set his jaw as he ceased speaking. There was a +warm red place on either cheek.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” said Narcisse, with sudden, quavering +fervor, “you kin len’ me two dollahs! I gi’e you +my honah the moze sacwed of a gen’leman, Mistoo +Itchlin, I nevvah hass you ag’in so long I live!” He +extended a pacifying hand. “One moment, Mistoo +Itchlin,—one moment,—I implo’ you, seh! I assu’ you, +Mistoo Itchlin, I pay you eve’y cent in the worl’ on the +laz of that month? Mistoo Itchlin, I am in indignan’ +circumstan’s. Mistoo Itchlin, if you know the distwess—Mistoo +Itchlin, if you know—’ow bad I ’ate to baw!” +The tears stood in his eyes. “It nea’ly <em>kill</em> me to b—” +Utterance failed him.</p> + +<p>“My friend,” began Richling.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” exclaimed Narcisse, dashing away +the tears and striking his hand on his heart, “I <em>am</em> yo’ +fwend, seh!”</p> + +<p>Richling smiled scornfully. “Well, my good friend, if +you had ever kept a single promise made to me I need +not have gone since yesterday without a morsel of food.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse tried to respond.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +“Hush!” said Richling, and Narcisse bowed while +Richling spoke on. “I haven’t a cent to buy bread with +to carry home. And whose fault is it? Is it my fault—or +is it yours?”</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, seh”—</p> + +<p>“Hush!” cried Richling, again; “if you try to speak +before I finish I’ll thrash you right here in the street!”</p> + +<p>Narcisse folded his arms. Richling flushed and flashed +with the mortifying knowledge that his companion’s behavior +was better than his own.</p> + +<p>“If you want to borrow more money of me find me a +chance to earn it!” He glanced so suddenly at two or +three street lads, who were the only on-lookers, that they +shrank back a step.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” began Narcisse, once more, in a +tone of polite dismay, “you aztonizh me. I assu’ you, +Mistoo Itchlin”—</p> + +<p>Richling lifted his finger and shook it. “Don’t you +tell me that, sir! I will not be an object of astonishment +to you! Not to you, sir! Not to you!” He paused, +trembling, his anger and his shame rising together.</p> + +<p>Narcisse stood for a moment, silent, undaunted, the +picture of amazed friendship and injured dignity, then +raised his hat with the solemnity of affronted patience +and said:—</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, seein’ as ’tis you, a puffic gen’leman, +’oo is not goin’ to ’efuse that satisfagtion w’at a gen’leman, +always a-’eady to give a gen’leman,—I bid you—faw +the pwesen’—good-evenin’, seh!” He walked away.</p> + +<p>Richling stood in his tracks dumfounded, crushed. +His eyes followed the receding form of the borrower until +it disappeared around a distant corner, while the eye of +his mind looked in upon himself and beheld, with a shame +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +that overwhelmed anger, the folly and the puerility of his +outburst. The nervous strain of twenty-four hours’ fast, +without which he might not have slipped at all, only +sharpened his self-condemnation. He turned and walked +to his house, and all the misery that had oppressed him +before he had seen the prison, and all that had come with +that sight, and all this new shame, sank down upon his +heart at once. “I am not a man! I am not a whole +man!” he suddenly moaned to himself. “Something is +wanting—oh! what is it?”—he lifted his eyes to the +sky,—“what is it?”—when in truth, there was little +wanting just then besides food.</p> + +<p>He passed in at the narrow gate and up the slippery +alley. Nearly at its end was the one window of the room +he called home. Just under it—it was somewhat above +his head—he stopped and listened. A step within was +moving busily here and there, now fainter and now +plainer; and a voice, the sweetest on earth to him, was +singing to itself in its soft, habitual way.</p> + +<p>He started round to the door with a firmer tread. It +stood open. He halted on the threshold. There was a +small table in the middle of the room, and there was food +on it. A petty reward of his wife’s labor had brought it +there.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” he said, holding her off a little, “don’t kiss +me yet.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him with consternation. He sat down, +drew her upon his lap, and told her, in plain, quiet voice, +the whole matter.</p> + +<p>“Don’t look so, Mary.”</p> + +<p>“How?” she asked, in a husky voice and with flashing eye.</p> + +<p>“Don’t breathe so short and set your lips. I never +saw you look so, Mary, darling!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +She tried to smile, but her eyes filled.</p> + +<p>“If you had been with me,” said John, musingly, “it +wouldn’t have happened.”</p> + +<p>“If—if”— Mary sat up as straight as a dart, the +corners of her mouth twitching so that she could scarcely +shape a word,—“if—if I’d been there, I’d have made +you <em>whip</em> him!” She flouted her handkerchief out of her +pocket, buried her face in his neck, and sobbed like a +child.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed the tearful John, holding her away +by both shoulders, tossing back his hair and laughing as +she laughed,—“Oh! you women! You’re all of a sort! +You want us men to carry your hymn-books and your +iniquities, too!”</p> + +<p>She laughed again.</p> + +<p>“Well, of course!”</p> + +<p>And they rose and drew up to the board.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>THE DOCTOR DINES OUT.</strong></p> + + +<p>On the third day after these incidents, again at the +sunset hour, but in a very different part of the +town, Dr. Sevier sat down, a guest, at dinner. There +were flowers; there was painted and monogrammed china; +there was Bohemian glass; there was silver of cunning +work with linings of gold, and damasked linen, and oak +of fantastic carving. There were ladies in summer silks +and elaborate coiffures; the hostess, small, slender, +gentle, alert; another, dark, flashing, Roman, tall; +another, ripe but not drooping, who had been beautiful, +now, for thirty years; and one or two others. There +were jewels; there were sweet odors. And there were, +also, some good masculine heads: Dr. Sevier’s, for instance; +and the chief guest’s,—an iron-gray, with hard +lines in the face, and a scar on the near cheek,—a colonel +of the regular army passing through from Florida; and +one crown, bald, pink, and shining, encircled by a silken +fringe of very white hair: it was the banker who lived in +St. Mary street. His wife was opposite. And there was +much high-bred grace. There were tall windows thrown +wide to make the blaze of gas bearable, and two tall mulattoes +in the middle distance bringing in and bearing out +viands too sumptuous for any but a French nomenclature.</p> + +<p>It was what you would call a quiet affair; quite out of +season, and difficult to furnish with even this little handful +of guests; but it was a proper and necessary attention +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +to the colonel; conversation not too dull, nor yet too +bright for ease, but passing gracefully from one agreeable +topic to another without earnestness, a restless virtue, or +frivolity, which also goes against serenity. Now it +touched upon the prospects of young A. B. in the demise +of his uncle; now upon the probable seriousness of C. D. +in his attentions to E. F.; now upon G.’s amusing mishaps +during a late tour in Switzerland, which had—“how +unfortunately!”—got into the papers. Now it +was concerning the admirable pulpit manners and easily +pardoned vocal defects of a certain new rector. Now it +turned upon Stephen A. Douglas’s last speech; passed to +the questionable merits of a new-fangled punch; and +now, assuming a slightly explanatory form from the +gentlemen to the ladies, showed why there was no need +whatever to fear a financial crisis—which came soon +afterward.</p> + +<p>The colonel inquired after an old gentleman whom he +had known in earlier days in Kentucky.</p> + +<p>“It’s many a year since I met him,” he said. “The +proudest man I ever saw. I understand he was down +here last season.”</p> + +<p>“He was,” replied the host, in a voice of native kindness, +and with a smile on his high-fed face. “He was; +but only for a short time. He went back to his estate. +That is his world. He’s there now.”</p> + +<p>“It used to be considered one of the finest places in +the State,” said the colonel.</p> + +<p>“It is still,” rejoined the host. “Doctor, you know +him?”</p> + +<p>“I think not,” said Dr. Sevier; but somehow he recalled +the old gentleman in button gaiters, who had called +on him one evening to consult him about his sick wife.</p> + +<p>“A good man,” said the colonel, looking amused; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +“and a superb gentleman. Is he as great a partisan of +the church as he used to be?”</p> + +<p>“Greater! Favors an established church of America.”</p> + +<p>The ladies were much amused. The host’s son, a +young fellow with sprouting side-whiskers, said he thought +he could be quite happy with one of the finest plantations +in Kentucky, and let the church go its own gait.</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said the father; “I doubt if there’s ever a +happy breath drawn on the place.”</p> + +<p>“Why, how is that?” asked the colonel, in a cautious +tone.</p> + +<p>“Hadn’t he heard?” The host was surprised, but +spoke low. “Hadn’t he heard about the trouble with their +only son? Why, he went abroad and never came back!”</p> + +<p>Every one listened.</p> + +<p>“It’s a terrible thing,” said the hostess to the ladies +nearest her; “no one ever dares ask the family what the +trouble is,—they have such odd, exclusive ideas about +their matters being nobody’s business. All that can be +known is that they look upon him as worse than dead and +gone forever.”</p> + +<p>“And who will get the estate?” asked the banker.</p> + +<p>“The two girls. They’re both married.”</p> + +<p>“They’re very much like their father,” said the hostess, +smiling with gentle significance.</p> + +<p>“Very much,” echoed the host, with less delicacy. +“Their mother is one of those women who stand in terror +of their husband’s will. Now, if he were to die and leave +her with a will of her own she would hardly know what to +do with it—I mean with her will—or the property either.”</p> + +<p>The hostess protested softly against so harsh a speech, +and the son, after one or two failures, got in his remark:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +“Maybe the prodigal would come back and be taken in.”</p> + +<p>But nobody gave this conjecture much attention. The +host was still talking of the lady without a will.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t she an invalid?” Dr. Sevier had asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes; the trip down here last season was on her +account,—for change of scene. Her health is wretched.”</p> + +<p>“I’m distressed that I didn’t call on her,” said the +hostess; “but they went away suddenly. My dear, I +wonder if they really did encounter the young man here?”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw!” said the husband, softly, smiling and shaking +his head, and turned the conversation.</p> + +<p>In time it settled down with something like earnestness +for a few minutes upon a subject which the rich find it +easy to discuss without the least risk of undue warmth. +It was about the time when one of the graciously murmuring +mulattoes was replenishing the glasses, that +remark in some way found utterance to this effect,—that +the company present could congratulate themselves on +living in a community where there was no poor class.</p> + +<p>“Poverty, of course, we see; but there is no misery, +or nearly none,” said the ambitious son of the host.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier differed with him. That was one of the +Doctor’s blemishes as a table guest: he would differ with +people.</p> + +<p>“There is misery,” he said; “maybe not the gaunt +squalor and starvation of London or Paris or New York; +the climate does not tolerate that,—stamps it out before +it can assume dimensions; but there is at least misery of +that sort that needs recognition and aid from the well-fed.”</p> + +<p>The lady who had been beautiful so many years had +somewhat to say; the physician gave attention, and she +spoke:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +“If sister Jane were here, she would be perfectly triumphant +to hear you speak so, Doctor.” She turned to +the hostess, and continued: “Jane is quite an enthusiast, +you know; a sort of Dorcas, as husband says, modified +and readapted. Yes, she is for helping everybody.”</p> + +<p>“Whether help is good for them or not,” said the lady’s +husband, a very straight and wiry man with a garrote +collar.</p> + +<p>“It’s all one,” laughed the lady. “Our new rector told +her plainly, the other day, that she was making a great +mistake; that she ought to consider whether assistance +assists. It was really amusing. Out of the pulpit and +off his guard, you know, he lisps a little; and he said she +ought to consider whether ‘aththithtanth aththithtth.’”</p> + +<p>There was a gay laugh at this, and the lady was called +a perfect and cruel mimic.</p> + +<p>“‘Aththithtanth aththithtth!’” said two or three to +their neighbors, and laughed again.</p> + +<p>“What did your sister say to that?” asked the banker, +bending forward his white, tonsured head, and smiling +down the board.</p> + +<p>“She said she didn’t care; that it kept her own heart +tender, anyhow. ‘My dear madam,’ said he, ‘your heart +wants strengthening more than softening.’ He told her +a pound of inner resource was more true help to any poor +person than a ton of assistance.”</p> + +<p>The banker commended the rector. The hostess, very +sweetly, offered her guarantee that Jane took the rebuke +in good part.</p> + +<p>“She did,” replied the time-honored beauty; “she +tried to profit by it. But husband, here, has offered her +a wager of a bonnet against a hat that the rector will +upset her new schemes. Her idea now is to make work +for those whom nobody will employ.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +“Jane,” said the kind-faced host, “really wants to do +good for its own sake.”</p> + +<p>“I think she’s even a little Romish in her notions,” +said Jane’s wiry brother-in-law. “I talked to her as +plainly as the rector. I told her, ‘Jane, my dear, all this +making of work for the helpless poor is not worth one-fiftieth +part of the same amount of effort spent in teaching +and training those same poor to make their labor intrinsically +marketable.’”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the hostess; “but while we are philosophizing +and offering advice so wisely, Jane is at work—doing +the best she knows how. We can’t claim the honor +even of making her mistakes.”</p> + +<p>“’Tisn’t a question of honors to us, madam,” said Dr. +Sevier; “it’s a question of results to the poor.”</p> + +<p>The brother-in-law had not finished. He turned to the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Poverty, Doctor, is an inner condition”—</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” interposed the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Yes, generally,” continued the brother-in-law, with +some emphasis. “And to give help you must, first of all, +‘inquire within’—within your beneficiary.”</p> + +<p>“Not always, sir,” replied the Doctor; “not if they’re +sick, for instance.” The ladies bowed briskly and applauded +with their eyes. “And not always if they’re +well,” he added. His last words softened off almost into +soliloquy.</p> + +<p>The banker spoke forcibly:—</p> + +<p>“Yes, there are two quite distinct kinds of poverty. +One is an accident of the moment; the other is an inner +condition of the individual”—</p> + +<p>“Of course it is,” said sister Jane’s brother-in-law, +who felt it a little to have been contradicted on the side +of kindness by the hard-spoken Doctor. “Certainly! it’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +a deficiency of inner resources or character, and what to +do with it is no simple question.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I was about to say,” resumed the +banker; “at least, when the poverty is of that sort. +And what discourages kind people is that that’s the sort +we commonly see. It’s a relief to meet the other, Doctor, +just as it’s a relief to a physician to encounter a case of +simple surgery.”</p> + +<p>“And—and,” said the brother-in-law, “what is your +rule about plain almsgiving to the difficult sort?”</p> + +<p>“My rule,” replied the banker, “is, don’t do it. Debt +is slavery, and there is an ugly kink in human nature +that disposes it to be content with slavery. No, sir; +gift-making and gift-taking are twins of a bad blood.” +The speaker turned to Dr. Sevier for approval; but, +though the Doctor could not gainsay the fraction of a +point, he was silent. A lady near the hostess stirred +softly both under and above the board. In her private +chamber she would have yawned. Yet the banker spoke +again:—</p> + +<p>“Help the old, I say. You are pretty safe there. +Help the sick. But as for the young and strong,—now, +no man could be any poorer than I was at twenty-one,—I +say be cautious how you smooth that hard road which +is the finest discipline the young can possibly get.”</p> + +<p>“If it isn’t <em>too</em> hard,” chirped the son of the host.</p> + +<p>“Too hard? Well, yes, if it isn’t too hard. Still I +say, hands off; you needn’t turn your back, however.” +Here the speaker again singled out Dr. Sevier. “Watch +the young man out of one corner of your eye; but make +him swim!”</p> + +<p>“Ah-h!” said the ladies.</p> + +<p>“No, no,” continued the banker; “I don’t say let him +drown; but I take it, Doctor, that your alms, for instance, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +are no alms if they put the poor fellow into your +debt and at your back.”</p> + +<p>“To whom do you refer?” asked Dr. Sevier. Whereat +there was a burst of laughter, which was renewed when +the banker charged the physician with helping so many +persons, “on the sly,” that he couldn’t tell which one +was alluded to unless the name were given.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” said the hostess, seeing it was high time the +conversation should take a new direction, “they tell me +you have closed your house and taken rooms at the St. +Charles.”</p> + +<p>“For the summer,” said the physician.</p> + +<p>As, later, he walked toward that hotel, he went resolving +to look up the Richlings again without delay. The +banker’s words rang in his ears like an overdose of quinine: +“Watch the young man out of one corner of your +eye. Make him swim. I don’t say let him drown.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I do watch him,” thought the Doctor. “I’ve +only lost sight of him once in a while.” But the thought +seemed to find an echo against his conscience, and when +it floated back it was: “I’ve only <em>caught</em> sight of him +once in a while.” The banker’s words came up again: +“Don’t put the poor fellow into your debt and at your +back.” “Just what you’ve done,” said conscience. +“How do you know he isn’t drowned?” He would see +to it.</p> + +<p>While he was still on his way to the hotel he fell in +with an acquaintance, a Judge Somebody or other, lately +from Washington City. He, also, lodged at the St. +Charles. They went together. As they approached the +majestic porch of the edifice they noticed some confusion +at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the rotunda; +cabmen and boys were running to a common point, where, +in the midst of a small, compact crowd, two or three +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +pairs of arms were being alternately thrown aloft and +brought down. Presently the mass took a rapid movement +up St. Charles street.</p> + +<p>The judge gave his conjecture: “Some poor devil +resisting arrest.”</p> + +<p>Before he and the Doctor parted for the night they +went to the clerk’s counter.</p> + +<p>“No letters for you, Judge; mail failed. Here is a +card for you, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor received it. It had been furnished, blank, +by the clerk to its writer.</p> + +<div class="box1"> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">John Richling</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>At the door of his own room, with one hand on the +unturned knob and one holding the card, the Doctor +stopped and reflected. The card gave no indication of +urgency. Did it? It was hard to tell. He didn’t want +to look foolish; morning would be time enough; he +would go early next morning.</p> + +<p>But at daybreak he was summoned post-haste to the +bedside of a lady who had stayed all summer in New +Orleans so as not to be out of this good doctor’s reach at +this juncture. She counted him a dear friend, and in +similar trials had always required close and continual +attention. It was the same now.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier scrawled and sent to the Richlings a line, +saying that, if either of them was sick, he would come at +their call. When the messenger returned with word from +Mrs. Riley that both of them were out, the Doctor’s +mind was much relieved. So a day and a night passed +in which he did not close his eyes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +The next morning, as he stood in his office, hat in +hand, and a finger pointing to a prescription on his desk, +which he was directing Narcisse to give to some one who +would call for it, there came a sudden hurried pounding +of feminine feet on the stairs, a whiff of robes in the +corridor, and Mary Richling rushed into his presence all +tears and cries.</p> + +<p>“O Doctor!—O Doctor! O God, my husband! my +husband! O Doctor, my husband is in the Parish +Prison!” She sank to the floor.</p> + +<p>The Doctor raised her up. Narcisse hurried forward +with his hands full of restoratives.</p> + +<p>“Take away those things,” said the Doctor, resentfully. +“Here!—Mrs. Richling, take Narcisse’s arm +and go down and get into my carriage. I must write a +short note, excusing myself from an appointment, and +then I will join you.”</p> + +<p>Mary stood alone, turned, and passed out of the office +beside the young Creole, but without taking his proffered +arm. Did she suspect him of having something to do +with this dreadful affair?</p> + +<p>“Missez Witchlin,” said he, as soon as they were out +in the corridor, “I dunno if you goin’ to billiv me, but I +boun’ to tell you that nodwithstanning that yo’ ’uzban’ is +displease’ with me, an’ nodwithstanning ’e’s in that calaboose, +I h’always fine ’im a puffic gen’leman—that +Mistoo Itchlin,—an’ I’ll sweah ’e <em>is</em> a gen’leman!”</p> + +<p>She lifted her anguished eyes and looked into his +beautiful face. Could she trust him? His little forehead +was as hard as a goat’s, but his eyes were brimming with +tears, and his chin quivered. As they reached the head +of the stairs he again offered his arm, and she took it, +moaning softly, as they descended:—</p> + +<p>“O John! O John! O my husband, my husband!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>THE TROUGH OF THE SEA.</strong></p> + + +<p>Narcisse, on receiving his scolding from Richling, +had gone to his home in Casa Calvo street, a much +greater sufferer than he had appeared to be. While he +was confronting his abaser there had been a momentary +comfort in the contrast between Richling’s ill-behavior +and his own self-control. It had stayed his spirit and +turned the edge of Richling’s sharp denunciations. But, +as he moved off the field, he found himself, at every step, +more deeply wounded than even he had supposed. He +began to suffocate with chagrin, and hurried his steps in +sheer distress. He did not experience that dull, vacant +acceptance of universal scorn which an unresentful +coward feels. His pangs were all the more poignant +because he knew his own courage.</p> + +<p>In his home he went so straight up to the withered +little old lady, in the dingiest of flimsy black, who was his +aunt, and kissed her so passionately, that she asked at +once what was the matter. He recounted the facts, +shedding tears of mortification. Her feeling, by the +time he had finished the account, was a more unmixed +wrath than his, and, harmless as she was, and wrapped +up in her dear, pretty nephew as she was, she yet demanded +to know why such a man shouldn’t be called out +upon the field of honor.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” cried Narcisse, shrinkingly. She had touched +the core of the tumor. One gets a public tongue-lashing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +from a man concerning money borrowed; well, how is one +going to challenge him without first handing back the +borrowed money? It was a scalding thought! The rotten +joists beneath the bare scrubbed-to-death floor quaked +under Narcisse’s to-and-fro stride.</p> + +<p>“—And then, anyhow!”—he stopped and extended +both hands, speaking, of course, in French,—“anyhow, +he is the favored friend of Dr. Sevier. If I hurt him—I +lose my situation! If he hurts me—I lose my situation!”</p> + +<p>He dried his eyes. His aunt saw the insurmountability +of the difficulty, and they drowned feeling in an affectionate +glass of green-orangeade.</p> + +<p>“But never mind!” Narcisse set his glass down and +drew out his tobacco. He laughed spasmodically as he +rolled his cigarette. “You shall see. The game is not +finished yet.”</p> + +<p>Yet Richling passed the next day and night without +assassination, and on the second morning afterward, as +on the first, went out in quest of employment. He and +Mary had eaten bread, and it had gone into their life +without a remainder either in larder or purse. Richling +was all aimless.</p> + +<p>“I do wish I had the <em>art</em> of finding work,” said he. +He smiled. “I’ll get it,” he added, breaking their last +crust in two. “I have the science already. Why, look +you, Mary, the quiet, amiable, imperturbable, dignified, +diurnal, inexorable haunting of men of influence will get +you whatever you want.”</p> + +<p>“Well, why don’t you do it, dear? Is there any harm +in it? I don’t see any harm in it. Why don’t you do +that very thing?”</p> + +<p>“I’m telling you the truth,” answered he, ignoring her +question. “Nothing else short of overtowering merit +will get you what you want half so surely.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +“Well, why not do it? Why not?” A fresh, glad +courage sparkled in the wife’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why, Mary,” said John, “I never in my life tried so +hard to do anything else as I’ve tried to do that! It +sounds easy; but try it! You can’t conceive how hard it +is till you try it. I can’t <em>do</em> it! I <em>can’t</em> do it!”</p> + +<p>“<em>I’d</em> do it!” cried Mary. Her face shone. “<em>I’d</em> do +it! You’d see if I didn’t! Why, John”—</p> + +<p>“All right!” exclaimed he; “you sha’n’t talk that +way to me for nothing. I’ll try it again! I’ll begin to-day!”</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” he said. He reached an arm over one of +her shoulders and around under the other and drew her +up on tiptoe. She threw both hers about his neck. A +long kiss—then a short one.</p> + +<p>“John, something tells me we’re near the end of our +troubles.”</p> + +<p>John laughed grimly. “Ristofalo was to get back to +the city to-day: maybe he’s going to put us out of our +misery. There are two ways for troubles to end.” He +walked away as he spoke. As he passed under the +window in the alley, its sash was thrown up and Mary +leaned out on her elbows.</p> + +<p>“John!”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>They looked into each other’s eyes with the quiet pleasure +of tried lovers, and were silent a moment. She +leaned a little farther down, and said, softly:—</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t mind what I said just now.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what did you say?”</p> + +<p>“That if it were I, I’d do it. I know you can do anything +I can do, and a hundred better things besides.”</p> + +<p>He lifted his hand to her cheek. “We’ll see,” he +whispered. She drew in, and he moved on.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +Morning passed. Noon came. From horizon to horizon +the sky was one unbroken blue. The sun spread its +bright, hot rays down upon the town and far beyond, +ripening the distant, countless fields of the great delta, +which by and by were to empty their abundance into the +city’s lap for the employment, the nourishing, the clothing +of thousands. But in the dusty streets, along the +ill-kept fences and shadowless walls of the quiet districts, +and on the glaring façades and heated pavements of the +commercial quarters, it seemed only as though the slowly +retreating summer struck with the fury of a wounded +Amazon. Richling was soon dust-covered and weary. +He had gone his round. There were not many men +whom he could even propose to haunt. He had been to +all of them. Dr. Sevier was not one. “Not to-day,” +said Richling.</p> + +<p>“It all depends on the way it’s done,” he said to himself; +“it needn’t degrade a man if it’s done the right +way.” It was only by such philosophy he had done it at +all. Ristofalo he could have haunted without effort; but +Ristofalo was not to be found. Richling tramped in vain. +It may be that all plans were of equal merit just then. +The summers of New Orleans in those times were, as to +commerce, an utter torpor, and the autumn reawakening +was very tardy. It was still too early for the stirrings of +general mercantile life. The movement of the cotton crop +was just beginning to be perceptible; but otherwise almost +the only sounds were from the hammers of craftsmen +making the town larger and preparing it for the activities +of days to come.</p> + +<p>The afternoon wore along. Not a cent yet to carry +home! Men began to shut their idle shops and go to +meet their wives and children about their comfortable +dinner-tables. The sun dipped low. Hammers and saws +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +were dropped into tool-boxes, and painters pulled themselves +out of their overalls. The mechanic’s rank, hot +supper began to smoke on its bare board; but there was +one board that was still altogether bare and to which no +one hastened. Another day and another chance of life +were gone.</p> + +<p>Some men at a warehouse door, the only opening in the +building left unclosed, were hurrying in a few bags of +shelled corn. Night was falling. At an earlier hour +Richling had offered the labor of his hands at this very +door and had been rejected. Now, as they rolled in the +last truck-load, they began to ask for rest with all the +gladness he would have felt to be offered toil, singing,—</p> + +<p class="center">“To blow, to blow, some time for to blow.”</p> + +<p>They swung the great leaves of the door together as they +finished their chorus, stood grouped outside a moment +while the warehouseman turned the resounding lock, and +then went away. Richling, who had moved on, watched +them over his shoulder, and as they left turned back. He +was about to do what he had never done before. He went +back to the door where the bags of grain had stood. A +drunken sailor came swinging along. He stood still and +let him pass; there must be no witnesses. The sailor +turned the next corner. Neither up nor down nor across +the street, nor at dust-begrimed, cobwebbed window, was +there any sound or motion. Richling dropped quickly on +one knee and gathered hastily into his pocket a little pile +of shelled corn that had leaked from one of the bags.</p> + +<p>That was all. No harm to a living soul; no theft; no +wrong; but ah! as he rose he felt a sudden inward lesion. +Something broke. It was like a ship, in a dream, noiselessly +striking a rock where no rock is. It seemed as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +though the very next thing was to begin going to pieces. +He walked off in the dark shadow of the warehouse, half +lifted from his feet by a vague, wide dismay. And yet +he felt no greatness of emotion, but rather a painful want +of it, as if he were here and emotion were yonder, down-street, +or up-street, or around the corner. The ground +seemed slipping from under him. He appeared to have +all at once melted away to nothing. He stopped. He +even turned to go back. He felt that if he should go and +put that corn down where he had found it he should feel +himself once more a living thing of substance and emotions. +Then it occurred to him—no, he would keep it, +he would take it to Mary; but himself—he would not +touch it; and so he went home.</p> + +<p>Mary parched the corn, ground it fine in the coffee-mill +and salted and served it close beside the candle. “It’s +good white corn,” she said, laughing. “Many a time +when I was a child I used to eat this in my playhouse +and thought it delicious. Didn’t you? What! not going +to eat?”</p> + +<p>Richling had told her how he got the corn. Now he +told his sensations. “You eat it, Mary,” he said at the +end; “you needn’t feel so about it; but if I should eat +it I should feel myself a vagabond. It may be foolish, +but I wouldn’t touch it for a hundred dollars.” A hundred +dollars had come to be his synonyme for infinity.</p> + +<p>Mary gazed at him a moment tearfully, and rose, with +the dish in her hand, saying, with a smile, “I’d look +pretty, wouldn’t I!”</p> + +<p>She set it aside, and came and kissed his forehead. By +and by she asked:—</p> + +<p>“And so you saw no work, anywhere?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” he replied, in a tone almost free from dejection. +“I saw any amount of work—preparations for a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +big season. I think I certainly shall pick up something +to-morrow—enough, anyhow, to buy something to eat +with. If we can only hold out a little longer—just a +little—I am sure there’ll be plenty to do—for everybody.” +Then he began to show distress again. “I could have +got work to-day if I had been a carpenter, or if I’d +been a joiner, or a slater, or a bricklayer, or a plasterer, or +a painter, or a hod-carrier. Didn’t I try that, and was +refused?”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad of it,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“‘Show me your hands,’ said the man to me. I +showed them. ‘You won’t do,’ said he.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad of it!” said Mary, again.</p> + +<p>“No,” continued Richling; “or if I’d been a glazier, +or a whitewasher, or a wood-sawyer, or”—he began to +smile in a hard, unpleasant way,—“or if I’d been anything +but an American gentleman. But I wasn’t, and I +didn’t get the work!”</p> + +<p>Mary sank into his lap, with her very best smile.</p> + +<p>“John, if you hadn’t been an American gentleman”—</p> + +<p>“We should never have met,” said John. “That’s +true; that’s true.” They looked at each other, rejoicing +in mutual ownership.</p> + +<p>“But,” said John, “I needn’t have been the typical +American gentleman,—completely unfitted for prosperity +and totally unequipped for adversity.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not your fault,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“No, not entirely; but it’s your calamity, Mary. O +Mary! I little thought”—</p> + +<p>She put her hand quickly upon his mouth. His eye +flashed and he frowned.</p> + +<p>“Don’t do so!” he exclaimed, putting the hand away; +then blushed for shame, and kissed her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +They went to bed. Bread would have put them to +sleep. But after a long time—</p> + +<p>“John,” said one voice in the darkness, “do you +remember what Dr. Sevier told us?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he said we had no right to commit suicide by +starvation.”</p> + +<p>“If you don’t get work to-morrow, are you going to +see him?”</p> + +<p>“I am.”</p> + +<p>In the morning they rose early.</p> + +<p>During these hard days Mary was now and then +conscious of one feeling which she never expressed, and +was always a little more ashamed of than probably she +need have been, but which, stifle it as she would, kept recurring +in moments of stress. Mrs. Riley—such was the +thought—need not be quite so blind. It came to her as +John once more took his good-by, the long kiss and +the short one, and went breakfastless away. But was +Mrs. Riley as blind as she seemed? She had vision +enough to observe that the Richlings had bought no bread +the day before, though she did overlook the fact that +emptiness would set them astir before their usual hour of +rising. She knocked at Mary’s inner door. As it +opened a quick glance showed the little table that +occupied the centre of the room standing clean and +idle.</p> + +<p>“Why, Mrs. Riley!” cried Mary; for on one of Mrs. +Riley’s large hands there rested a blue-edged soup-plate, +heaping full of the food that goes nearest to the Creole +heart—<em>jambolaya</em>. There it was, steaming and smelling,—a +delicious confusion of rice and red pepper, chicken +legs, ham, and tomatoes. Mike, on her opposite arm, +was struggling to lave his socks in it.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Mrs. Riley, with a disappointed lift of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +head, “ye’re after eating breakfast already! And the +plates all tleared off. Well, ye air smairt! I knowed +Mr. Richlin’s taste for jumbalie”—</p> + +<p>Mary smote her hands together. “And he’s just this +instant gone! John! John! Why, he’s hardly”— She +vanished through the door, glided down the alley, leaned +out the gate, looking this way and that, tripped down to +this corner and looked—“Oh! oh!”—no John there—back +and up to the other corner—“Oh! which way did John go?” +There was none to answer.</p> + +<p>Hours passed; the shadows shortened and shrunk under +their objects, crawled around stealthily behind them as +the sun swung through the south, and presently began to +steal away eastward, long and slender. This was the +day that Dr. Sevier dined out, as hereinbefore set +forth.</p> + +<p>The sun set. Carondelet street was deserted. You +could hear your own footstep on its flags. In St. Charles +street the drinking-saloons and gamblers’ drawing-rooms, +and the barber-shops, and the show-cases full of shirt-bosoms +and walking-canes, were lighted up. The smell +of lemons and mint grew finer than ever. Wide Canal +street, out under the darkling crimson sky, was resplendent +with countless many-colored lamps. From the river +the air came softly, cool and sweet. The telescope man +set up his skyward-pointing cylinder hard by the dark +statue of Henry Clay; the confectioneries were ablaze and +full of beautiful life, and every little while a great, empty +cotton-dray or two went thundering homeward over the +stony pavements until the earth shook, and speech for the +moment was drowned. The St. Charles, such a glittering +mass in winter nights, stood out high and dark under the +summer stars, with no glow except just in its midst, in the +rotunda; and even the rotunda was well-nigh deserted +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +The clerk at his counter saw a young man enter the +great door opposite, and quietly marked him as he drew +near.</p> + +<p>Let us not draw the stranger’s portrait. If that were a +pleasant task the clerk would not have watched him. +What caught and kept that functionary’s eye was that, +whatever else might be revealed by the stranger’s aspect,—weariness, +sickness, hardship, pain,—the confession +was written all over him, on his face, on his garb, from +his hat’s crown to his shoe’s sole, Penniless! Penniless! +Only when he had come quite up to the counter the clerk +did not see him at all.</p> + +<p>“Is Dr. Sevier in?”</p> + +<p>“Gone out to dine,” said the clerk, looking over the +inquirer’s head as if occupied with all the world’s affairs +except the subject in hand.</p> + +<p>“Do you know when he will be back?”</p> + +<p>“Ten o’clock.”</p> + +<p>The visitor repeated the hour murmurously and looked +something dismayed. He tarried.</p> + +<p>“Hem!—I will leave my card, if you please.”</p> + +<p>The clerk shoved a little box of cards toward him, from +which a pencil dangled by a string. The penniless wrote +his name and handed it in. Then he moved away, went +down the tortuous granite stair, and waited in the obscurity +of the dimly lighted porch below. The card +was to meet the contingency of the Doctor’s coming +in by some other entrance. He would watch for him +here.</p> + +<p>By and by—he was very weary—he sat down on the +stairs. But a porter, with a huge trunk on his back, told +him very distinctly that he was in the way there, and he +rose and stood aside. Soon he looked for another resting-place. +He must get off of his feet somewhere, if only for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +a few moments. He moved back into the deep gloom +of the stair-way shadow, and sank down upon the pavement. +In a moment he was fast asleep.</p> + +<p>He dreamed that he, too, was dining out. Laughter +and merry-making were on every side. The dishes of +steaming viands were grotesque in bulk. There were +mountains of fruit and torrents of wine. Strange people +of no identity spoke in senseless vaporings that passed +for side-splitting wit, and friends whom he had not seen +since childhood appeared in ludicrously altered forms and +announced impossible events. Every one ate like a Cossack. +One of the party, champing like a boar, pushed +him angrily, and when he, eating like the rest, would +have turned fiercely on the aggressor, he awoke.</p> + +<p>A man standing over him struck him smartly with his +foot.</p> + +<p>“Get up out o’ this! Get up! get up!”</p> + +<p>The sleeper bounded to his feet. The man who had +waked him grasped him by the lapel of his coat.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” exclaimed the awakened man, +throwing the other off violently.</p> + +<p>“I’ll show you!” replied the other, returning with a +rush; but he was thrown off again, this time with a blow +of the fist.</p> + +<p>“You scoundrel!” cried the penniless man, in a rage; +“if you touch me again I’ll kill you!”</p> + +<p>They leaped together. The one who had proposed to +show what he meant was knocked flat upon the stones. +The crowd that had run into the porch made room for him +to fall. A leather helmet rolled from his head, and the +silver crescent of the police flashed on his breast. The +police were not uniformed in those days.</p> + +<p>But he is up in an instant and his adversary is down—backward, +on his elbows. Then the penniless man is up +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +again; they close and struggle, the night-watchman’s club +falls across his enemy’s head blow upon blow, while the +sufferer grasps him desperately, with both hands, by the +throat. They tug, they snuffle, they reel to and fro in +the yielding crowd; the blows grow fainter, fainter; the +grip is terrible; when suddenly there is a violent rupture +of the crowd, it closes again, and then there are two +against one, and up sparkling St. Charles street, the street +of all streets for flagrant, unmolested, well-dressed crime, +moves a sight so exhilarating that a score of street lads +follow behind and a dozen trip along in front with frequent +backward glances: two officers of justice walking in grim +silence abreast, and between them a limp, torn, hatless, +bloody figure, partly walking, partly lifted, partly dragged, +past the theatres, past the lawyers’ rookeries of Commercial +place, the tenpin alleys, the chop-houses, the bunko +shows, and shooting-galleries, on, across Poydras street +into the dim openness beyond, where glimmer the lamps +of Lafayette square and the white marble of the municipal +hall, and just on the farther side of this, with a sudden +wheel to the right into Hevia street, a few strides there, +a turn to the left, stumbling across a stone step and +wooden sill into a narrow, lighted hall, and turning and +entering an apartment here again at the right. The door +is shut; the name is written down; the charge is made: +Vagrancy, assaulting an officer, resisting arrest. An inner +door is opened.</p> + +<p>“What have you got in number nine?” asks the captain +in charge.</p> + +<p>“Chuck full,” replies the turnkey.</p> + +<p>“Well, number seven?” These were the numbers of cells.</p> + +<p>“The rats’ll eat him up in number seven.”</p> + +<p>“How about number ten?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +“Two drunk-and-disorderlies, one petty larceny, and +one embezzlement and breach of trust.”</p> + +<p>“Put him in there.”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And this explains what the watchman in Marais street +could not understand,—why Mary Richling’s window +shone all night long.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN.</strong></p> + + +<p>Round goes the wheel forever. Another sun rose up, +not a moment hurried or belated by the myriads +of life-and-death issues that cover the earth and wait in +ecstasies of hope or dread the passage of time. Punctually +at ten Justice-in-the-rough takes its seat in the +Recorder’s Court, and a moment of silent preparation at +the desks follows the loud announcement that its session +has begun. The perky clerks and smirking pettifoggers +move apart on tiptoe, those to their respective stations, +these to their privileged seats facing the high dais. The +lounging police slip down from their reclining attitudes on +the heel-scraped and whittled window-sills. The hum of +voices among the forlorn humanity that half fills the +gradually rising, greasy benches behind, allotted to witnesses +and prisoners’ friends, is hushed. In a little +square, railed space, here at the left, the reporters tip +their chairs against the hair-greased wall, and sharpen +their pencils. A few tardy visitors, familiar with the place, +tiptoe in through the grimy doors, ducking and winking, +and softly lifting and placing their chairs, with a mock-timorous +upward glance toward the long, ungainly personage +who, under a faded and tattered crimson canopy, +fills the august bench of magistracy with its high oaken +back. On the right, behind a rude wooden paling that +rises from the floor to the smoke-stained ceiling, are the +peering, bloated faces of the night’s prisoners.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +The recorder utters a name. The clerk down in front +of him calls it aloud. A door in the palings opens, and +one of the captives comes forth and stands before the +rail. The arresting officer mounts to the witness-stand +and confronts him. The oath is rattled and turned out +like dice from a box, and the accusing testimony is heard. +It may be that counsel rises and cross-examines, if there +are witnesses for the defence. Strange and far-fetched +questions, from beginners at the law or from old blunderers, +provoke now laughter, and now the peremptory +protestations of the court against the waste of time. Yet, +in general, a few minutes suffices for the whole trial of a +case.</p> + +<p>“You are sure she picked the handsaw up by the +handle, are you?” says the questioner, frowning with the +importance of the point.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And that she coughed as she did so?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, she kind o’”—</p> + +<p>“Yes, or no!”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all.” He waves the prisoner down with an +air of mighty triumph, turns to the recorder, “trusts it is +not necessary to,” etc., and the accused passes this way +or that, according to the fate decreed,—discharged, sentenced +to fine and imprisonment, or committed for trial +before the courts of the State.</p> + +<p>“Order in court!” There is too much talking. Another +comes and stands before the rail, and goes his way. +Another, and another; now a ragged boy, now a half-sobered +crone, now a battered ruffian, and now a painted +girl of the street, and at length one who starts when his +name is called, as though something had exploded.</p> + +<p>“John Richling!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +He came.</p> + +<p>“Stand there!”</p> + +<p>Some one is in the witness-stand, speaking. The +prisoner partly hears, but does not see. He stands and +holds the rail, with his eyes fixed vacantly on the clerk, +who bends over his desk under the seat of justice, writing. +The lawyers notice him. His dress has been laboriously +genteel, but is torn and soiled. A detective, with small +eyes set close together, and a nose like a yacht’s rudder, +whisperingly calls the notice of one of these spectators +who can see the prisoner’s face to the fact that, for all its +thinness and bruises, it is not a bad one. All can see +that the man’s hair is fine and waving where it is not +matted with blood.</p> + +<p>The testifying officer had moved as if to leave the +witness-stand, when the recorder restrained him by a +gesture, and, leaning forward and looking down upon the +prisoner, asked:—</p> + +<p>“Have you anything to say to this?”</p> + +<p>The prisoner lifted his eyes, bowed affirmatively, and +spoke in a low, timid tone. “May I say a few words to +you privately?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>He dropped his eyes, fumbled with the rail, and, looking +up suddenly, said in a stronger voice, “I want +somebody to go to my wife—in Prieur street. She is +starving. This is the third day”—</p> + +<p>“We’re not talking about that,” said the recorder. +“Have you anything to say against this witness’s statement?”</p> + +<p>The prisoner looked upon the floor and slowly shook +his head. “I never meant to break the law. I never +expected to stand here. It’s like an awful dream. Yesterday, +at this time, I had no more idea of this—I didn’t +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +think I was so near it. It’s like getting caught in +machinery.” He looked up at the recorder again. “I’m +so confused”—he frowned and drew his hand slowly +across his brow—“I can hardly—put my words together. +I was hunting for work. There is no man in +this city who wants to earn an honest living more than +I do.”</p> + +<p>“What’s your trade?”</p> + +<p>“I have none.”</p> + +<p>“I supposed not. But you profess to have some occupation, +I dare say. What’s your occupation?”</p> + +<p>“Accountant.”</p> + +<p>“Hum! you’re all accountants. How long have you +been out of employment?”</p> + +<p>“Six months.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you go to sleep under those steps?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t intend to go to sleep. I was waiting for a +friend to come in who boards at the St. Charles.”</p> + +<p>A sudden laugh ran through the room. “Silence in +court!” cried a deputy.</p> + +<p>“Who is your friend?” asked the recorder.</p> + +<p>The prisoner was silent.</p> + +<p>“What is your friend’s name?”</p> + +<p>Still the prisoner did not reply. One of the group of +pettifoggers sitting behind him leaned forward, touched +him on the shoulder, and murmured: “You’d better tell +his name. It won’t hurt him, and it may help you.” The +prisoner looked back at the man and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Did you strike this officer?” asked the recorder, +touching the witness, who was resting on both elbows in +the light arm-chair on the right.</p> + +<p>The prisoner made a low response.</p> + +<p>“I don’t hear you,” said the recorder.</p> + +<p>“I struck him,” replied the prisoner; “I knocked him +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +down.” The court officers below the dais smiled. “I woke +and found him spurning me with his foot, and I resented +it. I never expected to be a law-breaker. I”— He +pressed his temples between his hands and was silent. +The men of the law at his back exchanged glances of +approval. The case was, to some extent, interesting.</p> + +<p>“May it please the court,” said the man who had +before addressed the prisoner over his shoulder, stepping +out on the right and speaking very softly and graciously, +“I ask that this man be discharged. His fault seems so +much more to be accident than intention, and his suffering +so much more than his fault”—</p> + +<p>The recorder interrupted by a wave of the hand and a +preconceived smile: “Why, according to the evidence, +the prisoner was noisy and troublesome in his cell all +night.”</p> + +<p>“O sir,” exclaimed the prisoner, “I was thrown in +with thieves and drunkards! It was unbearable in that +hole. We were right on the damp and slimy bricks. +The smell was dreadful. A woman in the cell opposite +screamed the whole night. One of the men in the cell +tried to take my coat from me, and I beat him!”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me, your honor,” said the volunteer advocate, +“the prisoner is still more sinned against than +sinning. This is evidently his first offence, and”—</p> + +<p>“Do you know even that?” asked the recorder.</p> + +<p>“I do not believe his name can be found on any +criminal record. I”—</p> + +<p>The recorder interrupted once more. He leaned toward +the prisoner.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever go by any other name?”</p> + +<p>The prisoner was dumb.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t John Richling the only name you have ever +gone by?” said his new friend: but the prisoner silently +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +blushed to the roots of his hair and remained motionless.</p> + +<p>“I think I shall have to send you to prison,” said the +recorder, preparing to write. A low groan was the +prisoner’s only response.</p> + +<p>“May it please your honor,” began the lawyer, taking +a step forward; but the recorder waved his pen impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Why, the more is said the worse his case gets; he’s +guilty of the offence charged, by his own confession.”</p> + +<p>“I am guilty and not guilty,” said the prisoner slowly. +“I never intended to be a criminal. I intended to be +a good and useful member of society; but I’ve somehow +got under its wheels. I’ve missed the whole secret of +living.” He dropped his face into his hands. “O Mary, +Mary! why are you my wife?” He beckoned to his counsel. +“Come here; come here.” His manner was wild +and nervous. “I want you—I want you to go to Prieur +street, to my wife. You know—you know the place, +don’t you? Prieur street. Ask for Mrs. Riley”—</p> + +<p>“Richling,” said the lawyer.</p> + +<p>“No, no! you ask for Mrs. Riley? Ask her—ask her—oh! +where are my senses gone? Ask”—</p> + +<p>“May it please the court,” said the lawyer, turning +once more to the magistrate and drawing a limp handkerchief +from the skirt of his dingy alpaca, with a reviving +confidence, “I ask that the accused be discharged; he’s +evidently insane.”</p> + +<p>The prisoner looked rapidly from counsel to magistrate, +and back again, saying, in a low voice, “Oh, no! not that! +Oh, no! not that! not that!”</p> + +<p>The recorder dropped his eyes upon a paper on the +desk before him, and, beginning to write, said without +looking up:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +“Parish Prison—to be examined for insanity.”</p> + +<p>A cry of remonstrance broke so sharply from the prisoner +that even the reporters in their corner checked their +energetic streams of lead-pencil rhetoric and looked up.</p> + +<p>“You cannot do that!” he exclaimed. “I am not +insane! I’m not even confused now! It was only for a +minute! I’m not even confused!”</p> + +<p>An officer of the court laid his hand quickly and sternly +upon his arm; but the recorder leaned forward and motioned +him off. The prisoner darted a single flash of +anger at the officer, and then met the eye of the +justice.</p> + +<p>“If I am a vagrant commit me for vagrancy! I expect +no mercy here! I expect no justice! You punish me +first, and try me afterward, and now you can punish me +again; but you can’t do that!”</p> + +<p>“Order in court! Sit down in those benches!” cried +the deputies. The lawyers nodded darkly or blandly, +each to each. The one who had volunteered his counsel +wiped his bald Gothic brow. On the recorder’s lips +an austere satire played as he said to the panting prisoner:—</p> + +<p>“You are showing not only your sanity, but your contempt +of court also.”</p> + +<p>The prisoner’s eyes shot back a fierce light as he +retorted:—</p> + +<p>“I have no object in concealing either.”</p> + +<p>The recorder answered with a quick, angry look; but, +instantly restraining himself, dropped his glance upon his +desk as before, began again to write, and said, with his +eyes following his pen:—</p> + +<p>“Parish Prison, for thirty days.”</p> + +<p>The officer grasped the prisoner again and pointed him +to the door in the palings whence he had come, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +whither he now returned, without a word or note of distress.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the dark omnibus without windows, +that went by the facetious name of the “Black Maria” +received the convicted ones from the same street door by +which they had been brought in out of the world the night +before. The waifs and vagabonds of the town gleefully +formed a line across the sidewalk from the station-house +to the van, and counted with zest the abundant number +of passengers that were ushered into it one by one. +Heigh ho! In they went: all ages and sorts; both +sexes; tried and untried, drunk and sober, new faces and +old acquaintances; a man who had been counterfeiting, +his wife who had been helping him, and their little girl of +twelve, who had done nothing. Ho, ho! Bridget Fury! +Ha, ha! Howling Lou! In they go: the passive, the +violent, all kinds; filling the two benches against the +sides, and then the standing room; crowding and packing, +until the officer can shut the door only by throwing his +weight against it.</p> + +<p>“Officer,” said one, whose volunteer counsel had persuaded +the reporters not to mention him by name in their +thrilling account,—“officer,” said this one, trying to +pause an instant before the door of the vehicle, “is there +no other possible way to”—</p> + +<p>“Get in! get in!”</p> + +<p>Two hands spread against his back did the rest; the +door clapped to like the lid of a bursting trunk, the padlock +rattled: away they went!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>“OH, WHERE IS MY LOVE?”</strong></p> + + +<p>At the prison the scene is repeated in reverse, and +the Black Maria presently rumbles away empty. +In that building, whose exterior Narcisse found so picturesque, +the vagrant at length finds food. In that question +of food, by the way, another question arose, not as to any +degree of criminality past or present, nor as to age, or +sex, or race, or station; but as to the having or lacking +fifty cents. “Four bits” a day was the open sesame to +a department where one could have bedstead and ragged +bedding and dirty mosquito-bar, a cell whose window +looked down into the front street, food in variety, and a +seat at table with the officers of the prison. But those +who could not pay were conducted past all these delights, +along one of several dark galleries, the turnkeys of which +were themselves convicts, who, by a process of reasoning +best understood among the harvesters of perquisites, +were assumed to be undergoing sentence.</p> + +<p>The vagrant stood at length before a grated iron gate +while its bolts were thrown back and it growled on its +hinges. What he saw within needs no minute description; +it may be seen there still, any day: a large, flagged court, +surrounded on three sides by two stories of cells with +heavy, black, square doors all a-row and mostly open; +about a hundred men sitting, lying, or lounging about in +scanty rags,—some gaunt and feeble, some burly and +alert, some scarred and maimed, some sallow, some red, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +some grizzled, some mere lads, some old and bowed,—the +sentenced, the untried, men there for the first time, +men who were oftener in than out,—burglars, smugglers, +house-burners, highwaymen, wife-beaters, wharf-rats, +common “drunks,” pickpockets, shop-lifters, stealers of +bread, garroters, murderers,—in common equality and +fraternity. In this resting and refreshing place for vice, +this caucus for the projection of future crime, this ghastly +burlesque of justice and the protection of society, there +was a man who had been convicted of a dreadful murder +a year or two before, and sentenced to twenty-one years’ +labor in the State penitentiary. He had got his sentence +commuted to confinement in this prison for twenty-one +years of idleness. The captain of the prison had made +him “captain of the yard.” Strength, ferocity, and a +terrific record were the qualifications for this honorary +office.</p> + +<p>The gate opened. A howl of welcome came from those +within, and the new batch, the vagrant among them, +entered the yard. He passed, in his turn, to a tank of +muddy water in this yard, washed away the soil and blood +of the night, and so to the cell assigned him. He was lying +face downward on its pavement, when a man with a cudgel +ordered him to rise. The vagrant sprang to his feet and +confronted the captain of the yard, a giant in breadth and +stature, with no clothing but a ragged undershirt and +pantaloons.</p> + +<p>“Get a bucket and rag and scrub out this cell!”</p> + +<p>He flourished his cudgel. The vagrant cast a quick +glance at him, and answered quietly, but with burning +face:—</p> + +<p>“I’ll die first.”</p> + +<p>A blow with the cudgel, a cry of rage, a clash together, +a push, a sledge-hammer fist in the side, another on the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +head, a fall out into the yard, and the vagrant lay senseless +on the flags.</p> + +<p>When he opened his eyes again, and struggled to his +feet, a gentle grasp was on his arm. Somebody was +steadying him. He turned his eyes. Ah! who is this? +A short, heavy, close-shaven man, with a woollen jacket +thrown over one shoulder and its sleeves tied together in +a knot under the other. He speaks in a low, kind tone:—</p> + +<p>“Steady, Mr. Richling!”</p> + +<p>Richling supported himself by a hand on the man’s arm, +gazed in bewilderment at the gentle eyes that met his, and +with a slow gesture of astonishment murmured, “Ristofalo!” +and dropped his head.</p> + +<p>The Italian had just entered the prison from another +station-house. With his hand still on Richling’s shoulder, +and Richling’s on his, he caught the eye of the captain of +the yard, who was striding quietly up and down near by, +and gave him a nod to indicate that he would soon adjust +everything to that autocrat’s satisfaction. Richling, +dazed and trembling, kept his eyes still on the ground, +while Ristofalo moved with him slowly away from the +squalid group that gazed after them. They went toward +the Italian’s cell.</p> + +<p>“Why are you in prison?” asked the vagrant, feebly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothin’ much—witness in shootin’ scrape—talk +’bout aft’ while.”</p> + +<p>“O Ristofalo,” groaned Richling, as they entered, +“my wife! my wife! Send some bread to my wife!”</p> + +<p>“Lie down,” said the Italian, pressing softly on his +shoulders; but Richling as quietly resisted.</p> + +<p>“She is near here, Ristofalo. You can send with the +greatest ease! You can do anything, Ristofalo,—if you +only choose!”</p> + +<p>“Lay down,” said the Italian again, and pressed more +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +heavily. The vagrant sank limply to the pavement, his +companion quickly untying the jacket sleeves from under +his own arms and wadding the garment under Richling’s +head.</p> + +<p>“Do you know what I’m in here for, Ristofalo?” +moaned Richling.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know, don’t care. Yo’ wife know you here?” +Richling shook his head on the jacket. The Italian asked +her address, and Richling gave it.</p> + +<p>“Goin’ tell her come and see you,” said the Italian. +“Now, you lay still little while; I be back t’rectly.” He +went out into the yard again, pushing the heavy door +after him till it stood only slightly ajar, sauntered easily +around till he caught sight of the captain of the yard, and +was presently standing before him in the same immovable +way in which he had stood before Richling in Tchoupitoulas +street, on the day he had borrowed the dollar. +Those who idly drew around could not hear his words, but +the “captain’s” answers were intentionally audible. He +shook his head in rejection of a proposal. “No, nobody +but the prisoner himself should scrub out the cell. No, +the Italian should not do it for him. The prisoner’s +refusal and resistance had settled that question. No, the +knocking down had not balanced accounts at all. There +was more scrubbing to be done. It was scrubbing day. +Others might scrub the yard and the galleries, but he +should scrub out the tank. And there were other things, +and worse,—menial services of the lowest kind. He +should do them when the time came, and the Italian +would have to help him too. Never mind about the law +or the terms of his sentence. Those counted for nothing +there.” Such was the sense of the decrees; the words +were such as may be guessed or left unguessed. The +scrubbing of the cell must commence at once. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +vagrant must make up his mind to suffer. “He had +served on jury!” said the man in the undershirt, with a +final flourish of his stick. “He’s got to pay dear for +it.”</p> + +<p>When Ristofalo returned to his cell, its inmate, after +many upstartings from terrible dreams, that seemed to +guard the threshold of slumber, had fallen asleep. The +Italian touched him gently, but he roused with a wild +start and stare.</p> + +<p>“Ristofalo,” he said, and fell a-staring again.</p> + +<p>“You had some sleep,” said the Italian.</p> + +<p>“It’s worse than being awake,” said Richling. He +passed his hands across his face. “Has my wife been +here?”</p> + +<p>“No. Haven’t sent yet. Must watch good chance. +Git captain yard in good-humor first, or else do on sly.” +The cunning Italian saw that anything looking like early +extrication would bring new fury upon Richling. He +knew <em>all</em> the values of time. “Come,” he added, “must +scrub out cell now.” He ignored the heat that kindled +in Richling’s eyes, and added, smiling, “You don’t do +it, I got to do it.”</p> + +<p>With a little more of the like kindly guile, and some +wise and simple reasoning, the Italian prevailed. Together, +without objection from the captain of the yard, +with many unavailing protests from Richling, who would +now do it alone, and with Ristofalo smiling like a Chinaman +at the obscene ribaldry of the spectators in the yard, +they scrubbed the cell. Then came the tank. They had +to stand in it with the water up to their knees, and rub +its sides with brickbats. Richling fell down twice in the +water, to the uproarious delight of the yard; but his +companion helped him up, and they both agreed it was +the sliminess of the tank’s bottom that was to blame.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +“Soon we get through we goin’ to buy drink o’ whisky +from jailer,” said Ristofalo; “he keep it for sale. Then, +after that, kin hire somebody to go to your house; +captain yard think we gittin’ mo’ whisky.”</p> + +<p>“Hire?” said Richling. “I haven’t a cent in the +world.”</p> + +<p>“I got a little—few dimes,” rejoined the other.</p> + +<p>“Then why are you here? Why are you in this part +of the prison?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ’fraid to spend it. On’y got few dimes. Broke +ag’in.”</p> + +<p>Richling stopped still with astonishment, brickbat in +hand. The Italian met his gaze with an illuminated smile. +“Yes,” he said, “took all I had with me to bayou La +Fourche. Coming back, slept with some men in boat. +One git up in night-time and steal everything. Then was +a big fight. Think that what fight was about—about +dividing the money. Don’t know sure. One man git +killed. Rest run into the swamp and prairie. Officer arrest +me for witness. Couldn’t trust me to stay in the city.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think the one who was killed was the thief?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know sure,” said the Italian, with the same +sweet face, and falling to again with his brickbat,—“hope so!”</p> + +<p>“Strange place to confine a witness!” said Richling, +holding his hand to his bruised side and slowly straightening +his back.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, good place,” replied the other, scrubbing +away; “git him, in short time, so he swear to anything.”</p> + +<p>It was far on in the afternoon before the wary Ristofalo +ventured to offer all he had in his pocket to a +hanger-on of the prison office, to go first to Richling’s +house, and then to an acquaintance of his own, with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +messages looking to the procuring of their release. The +messenger chose to go first to Ristofalo’s friend, and +afterward to Mrs. Riley’s. It was growing dark when he +reached the latter place. Mary was out in the city somewhere, +wandering about, aimless and distracted, in search +of Richling. The messenger left word with Mrs. Riley. +Richling had all along hoped that that good friend, +doubtless acquainted with the most approved methods of +finding a missing man, would direct Mary to the police +station at the earliest practicable hour. But time had +shown that she had not done so. No, indeed! Mrs. +Riley counted herself too benevolently shrewd for that. +While she had made Mary’s suspense of the night less +frightful than it might have been, by surmises that Mr. +Richling had found some form of night-work,—watching +some pile of freight or some unfinished building,—she +had come, secretly, to a different conviction, predicated +on her own married experiences; and if Mr. Richling had, +in a moment of gloom, tipped the bowl a little too high, +as her dear lost husband, the best man that ever walked, +had often done, and had been locked up at night to be +let out in the morning, why, give him a chance! Let him +invent his own little fault-hiding romance and come home +with it. Mary was frantic. She could not be kept in; +but Mrs. Riley, by prolonged effort, convinced her it was +best not to call upon Dr. Sevier until she could be sure +some disaster had actually occurred, and sent her among +the fruiterers and oystermen in vain search for Raphael +Ristofalo. Thus it was that the Doctor’s morning messenger +to the Richlings, bearing word that if any one +were sick he would call without delay, was met by Mrs. +Riley only, and by the reassuring statement that both of +them were out. The later messenger, from the two men +in prison, brought back word of Mary’s absence from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +house, of her physical welfare, and Mrs. Riley’s promise +that Mary should visit the prison at the earliest hour +possible. This would not be till the next morning.</p> + +<p>While Mrs. Riley was sending this message, Mary, a +great distance away, was emerging from the darkening +and silent streets of the river front and moving with timid +haste across the broad levee toward the edge of the water +at the steam-boat landing. In this season of depleted +streams and idle waiting, only an occasional boat lifted +its lofty, black, double funnels against the sky here and +there, leaving wide stretches of unoccupied wharf-front +between. Mary hurried on, clear out to the great wharf’s +edge, and looked forth upon the broad, softly moving harbor. +The low waters spread out and away, to and around +the opposite point, in wide surfaces of glassy purples and +wrinkled bronze. Beauty, that joy forever, is sometimes +a terror. Was the end of her search somewhere underneath +that fearful glory? She clasped her hands, bent +down with dry, staring eyes, then turned again and fled +homeward. She swerved once toward Dr. Sevier’s quarters, +but soon decided to see first if there were any tidings +with Mrs. Riley, and so resumed her course. Night +overtook her in streets where every footstep before or +behind her made her tremble; but at length she crossed +the threshold of Mrs. Riley’s little parlor. Mrs. Riley +was standing in the door, and retreated a step or two +backward as Mary entered with a look of wild inquiry.</p> + +<p>“Not come?” cried the wife.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richlin’,” said the widow, hurriedly, “yer husband’s +alive and found.”</p> + +<p>Mary seized her frantically by the shoulders, crying +with high-pitched voice:—</p> + +<p>“Where is he?—where is he?”</p> + +<p>“Ya can’t see um till marning, Mrs. Richlin’.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +“Where is he?” cried Mary, louder than before.</p> + +<p>“Me dear,” said Mrs. Riley, “ye kin easy git him out +in the marning.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Riley,” said Mary, holding her with her eye, +“is my husband in prison?—O Lord God! O God! my +God!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley wept. She clasped the moaning, sobbing +wife to her bosom, and with streaming eyes said:—</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richlin’, me dear, Mrs. Richlin’, me dear, what +wad I give to have my husband this night where your +husband is!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>RELEASE.—NARCISSE.</strong></p> + + +<p>As some children were playing in the street before the +Parish Prison next morning, they suddenly started +and scampered toward the prison’s black entrance. A +physician’s carriage had driven briskly up to it, ground its +wheels against the curb-stone, and halted. If any fresh +crumbs of horror were about to be dropped, the children +must be there to feast on them. Dr. Sevier stepped out, +gave Mary his hand and then his arm, and went in with +her. A question or two in the prison office, a reference +to the rolls, and a turnkey led the way through a dark +gallery lighted with dimly burning gas. The stench was +suffocating. They stopped at the inner gate.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you bring him to us?” asked the Doctor, +scowling resentfully at the facetious drawings and legends +on the walls, where the dampness glistened in the sickly +light.</p> + +<p>The keeper made a low reply as he shot the bolts.</p> + +<p>“What?” quickly asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“He’s not well,” said Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>The gate swung open. They stepped into the yard +and across it. The prisoners paused in a game of ball. +Others, who were playing cards, merely glanced up and +went on. The jailer pointed with his bunch of keys to a +cell before him. Mary glided away from the Doctor and +darted in. There was a cry and a wail.</p> + +<p>The Doctor followed quickly. Ristofalo passed out as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +he entered. Richling lay on a rough gray blanket spread +on the pavement with the Italian’s jacket under his head. +Mary had thrown herself down beside him upon her knees, +and their arms were around each other’s neck.</p> + +<p>“Let me see, Mrs. Richling,” said the physician, +touching her on the shoulder. She drew back. Richling +lifted a hand in welcome. The Doctor pressed it.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richling,” he said, as they faced each other, he +on one knee, she on both. He gave her a few laconic +directions for the sick man’s better comfort. “You +must stay here, madam,” he said at length; “this man +Ristofalo will be ample protection for you; and I will go +at once and get your husband’s discharge.” He went out.</p> + +<p>In the office he asked for a seat at a desk. As he finished +using it he turned to the keeper and asked, with +severe face:—</p> + +<p>“What do you do with sick prisoners here, anyway?”</p> + +<p>The keeper smiled.</p> + +<p>“Why, if they gits right sick, the hospital wagon comes +and takes ’em to the Charity Hospital.”</p> + +<p>“Umhum!” replied the Doctor, unpleasantly,—“in +the same wagon they use for a case of scarlet fever or +small-pox, eh?”</p> + +<p>The keeper, with a little resentment in his laugh, stated +that he would be eternally lost if he knew.</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> know,” remarked the Doctor. “But when a man +is only a little sick,—according to your judgment,—like +that one in there now, he is treated here, eh?”</p> + +<p>The keeper swelled with a little official pride. His tone +was boastful.</p> + +<p>“We has a complete dispenisary in the prison,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes? Who’s your druggist?” Dr. Sevier was in his +worst inquisitorial mood.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +“One of the prisoners,” said the keeper.</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked at him steadily. The man, in the +blackness of his ignorance, was visibly proud of this bit +of economy and convenience.</p> + +<p>“How long has he held this position?” asked the physician.</p> + +<p>“Oh, a right smart while. He was sentenced for +murder, but he’s waiting for a new trial.”</p> + +<p>“And he has full charge of all the drugs?” asked the +Doctor, with a cheerful smile.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.” The keeper was flattered.</p> + +<p>“Poisons and all, I suppose, eh?” pursued the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Everything.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked steadily and silently upon the officer, +and tore and folded and tore again into small bits the +prescription he had written. A moment later the door of +his carriage shut with a smart clap and its wheels rattled +away. There was a general laugh in the office, heavily +spiced with maledictions.</p> + +<p>“I say, Cap’, what d’you reckon he’d ’a’ said if he’d +’a’ seen the women’s department?”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In those days recorders had the power to release prisoners +sentenced by them when in their judgment new +information justified such action. Yet Dr. Sevier had a +hard day’s work to procure Richling’s liberty. The sun +was declining once more when a hack drove up to Mrs. +Riley’s door with John and Mary in it, and Mrs. Riley +was restrained from laughing and crying only by the +presence of the great Dr. Sevier and a romantic Italian +stranger by the captivating name of Ristofalo. Richling, +with repeated avowals of his ability to walk alone, was +helped into the house between these two illustrious visitors, +Mary hurrying in ahead, and Mrs. Riley shutting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +the street door with some resentment of manner toward +the staring children who gathered without. Was there +anything surprising in the fact that eminent persons should +call at her house?</p> + +<p>When there was time for greetings she gave her hand +to Dr. Sevier and asked him how he found himself. To +Ristofalo she bowed majestically. She noticed that he +was handsome and muscular.</p> + +<p>At different hours the next day the same two visitors +called. Also the second day after. And the third. And +frequently afterward.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ristofalo regained his financial feet almost, as one +might say, at a single hand-spring. He amused Mary +and John and Mrs. Riley almost beyond limit with his +simple story of how he did it.</p> + +<p>“Ye’d better hurry and be getting up out o’ that sick +bed, Mr. Richlin’,” said the widow, in Ristofalo’s absence, +“or that I-talian rascal’ll be making himself entirely too +agree’ble to yer lady here. Ha! ha! It’s <em>she</em> that he’s +a-comin’ here to see.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley laughed again, and pointed at Mary and +tossed her head, not knowing that Mary went through it +all over again as soon as Mrs. Riley was out of the room, +to the immense delight of John.</p> + +<p>“And now, madam,” said Dr. Sevier to Mary, by and +by, “let it be understood once more that even independence +may be carried to a vicious extreme, and that”—he +turned to Richling, by whose bed he stood—“you and +your wife will not do it again. You’ve had a narrow +escape. Is it understood?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll try to be moderate,” replied the invalid, playfully.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe you,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +And his scepticism was wise. He continued to watch +them, and at length enjoyed the sight of John up and out +again with color in his cheeks and the old courage—nay, +a new and a better courage—in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Said the Doctor on his last visit, “Take good care of +your husband, my child.” He held the little wife’s hand a +moment, and gazed out of Mrs. Riley’s front door upon +the western sky. Then he transferred his gaze to John, +who stood, with his knee in a chair, just behind her. He +looked at the convalescent with solemn steadfastness. +The husband smiled broadly.</p> + +<p>“I know what you mean. I’ll try to deserve her.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked again into the west.</p> + +<p>“Good-by.”</p> + +<p>Mary tried playfully to retort, but John restrained her, +and when she contrived to utter something absurdly +complimentary of her husband he was her only hearer.</p> + +<p>They went back into the house, talking of other +matters. Something turned the conversation upon Mrs. +Riley, and from that subject it seemed to pass naturally +to Ristofalo. Mary, laughing and talking softly as they +entered their room, called to John’s recollection the Italian’s +account of how he had once bought a tarpaulin hat +and a cottonade shirt of the pattern called a “jumper,” +and had worked as a deck-hand in loading and unloading +steam-boats. It was so amusingly sensible to put on the +proper badge for the kind of work sought. Richling +mused. Many a dollar he might have earned the past +summer, had he been as ingeniously wise, he thought.</p> + +<p>“Ristofalo is coming here this evening,” said he, +taking a seat in the alley window.</p> + +<p>Mary looked at him with sidelong merriment. The +Italian was coming to see Mrs. Riley.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +“Why, John,” whispered Mary, standing beside him, +“she’s nearly ten years older than he is!”</p> + +<p>But John quoted the old saying about a man’s age being +what he feels, and a woman’s what she looks.</p> + +<p>“Why,—but—dear, it is scarcely a fortnight since +she declared nothing could ever induce”—</p> + +<p>“Let her alone,” said John, indulgently. “Hasn’t she +said half-a-dozen times that it isn’t good for woman to be +alone? A widow’s a woman—and you never disputed it.”</p> + +<p>“O John,” laughed Mary, “for shame! You know I +didn’t mean that. You know I never could mean that.”</p> + +<p>And when John would have maintained his ground she +besought him not to jest in that direction, with eyes so +ready for tears that he desisted.</p> + +<p>“I only meant to be generous to Mrs. Riley,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I know it,” said Mary, caressingly; “you’re always +on the generous side of everything.”</p> + +<p>She rested her hand fondly on his arm, and he took it +into his own.</p> + +<p>One evening the pair were out for that sunset walk +which their young blood so relished, and which often led +them, as it did this time, across the wide, open commons +behind the town, where the unsettled streets were turf-grown, +and toppling wooden lamp-posts threatened to fall +into the wide, cattle-trodden ditches.</p> + +<p>“Fall is coming,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“Let it come!” exclaimed John; “it’s hung back long enough.”</p> + +<p>He looked about with pleasure. On every hand the +advancing season was giving promise of heightened activity. +The dark, plumy foliage of the china trees was +getting a golden edge. The burnished green of the great +magnolias was spotted brilliantly with hundreds of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +bursting cones, red with their pendent seeds. Here and +there, as the sauntering pair came again into the region of +brick sidewalks, a falling cone would now and then +scatter its polished coral over the pavement, to be gathered +by little girls for necklaces, or bruised under foot, +staining the walk with its fragrant oil. The ligustrums +bent low under the dragging weight of their small clustered +berries. The oranges were turning. In the wet, +choked ditches along the interruptions of pavement, +where John followed Mary on narrow plank footways, +bloomed thousands of little unrenowned asteroid flowers, +blue and yellow, and the small, pink spikes of the water +pepper. It wasn’t the fashionable habit in those days, +but Mary had John gather big bunches of this pretty +floral mob, and filled her room with them—not Mrs. +Riley’s parlor—whoop, no! Weeds? Not if Mrs. +Riley knew herself.</p> + +<p>So ran time apace. The morning skies were gray +monotones, and the evening gorgeous reds. The birds +had finished their summer singing. Sometimes the alert +chirp of the cardinal suddenly smote the ear from some +neighboring tree; but he would pass, a flash of crimson, +from one garden to the next, and with another chirp or +two be gone for days. The nervy, unmusical waking cry +of the mocking-bird was often the first daybreak sound. +At times a myriad downy seed floated everywhere, now +softly upward, now gently downward, and the mellow +rays of sunset turned it into a warm, golden snow-fall. +By night a soft glow from distant burning prairies showed +the hunters were afield; the call of unseen wild fowl +was heard overhead, and—finer to the waiting poor +man’s ear than all other sounds—came at regular intervals, +now from this quarter and now from that, the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +heavy, rushing blast of the cotton compress, telling that +the flood tide of commerce was setting in.</p> + +<p>Narcisse surprised the Richlings one evening with a +call. They tried very hard to be reserved, but they were +too young for that task to be easy. The Creole had evidently +come with his mind made up to take unresentfully +and override all the unfriendliness they might choose to +show. His conversation never ceased, but flitted from +subject to subject with the swift waywardness of a humming-bird. +It was remarked by Mary, leaning back in +one end of Mrs. Riley’s little sofa, that “summer dresses +were disappearing, but that the girls looked just as sweet +in their darker colors as they had appeared in midsummer +white. Had Narcisse noticed? Probably he didn’t care for”—</p> + +<p>“Ho! I notiz them an’ they notiz me! An’ thass one +thing I ’ave notiz about young ladies: they ah juz like those +bird’; in summeh lookin’ cool, in winteh waum. I ’ave +notiz that. An’ I’ve notiz anotheh thing which make +them juz like those bird’. They halways know if a man +is lookin’, an’ they halways make like they don’t see ’im! +I would like to ’ite an i’ony about that—a lill i’ony—in +the he’oic measuh. You like that he’oic measuh, Mizzez +Witchlin’?”</p> + +<p>As he rose to go he rolled a cigarette, and folded the +end in with the long nail of his little finger.</p> + +<p>“Mizzez Witchlin’, if you will allow me to light my +ciga’ette fum yo’ lamp—I can’t use my sun-glass at +night, because the sun is nod theh. But, the sun shining, +I use it. I ’ave adop’ that method since lately.”</p> + +<p>“You borrow the sun’s rays,” said Mary, with wicked +sweetness.</p> + +<p>“Yes; ’tis cheapeh than matches in the longue ’un.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +“You have discovered that, I suppose,” remarked John.</p> + +<p>“Me? The sun-glass? No. I believe Ahchimides +invend that, in fact. An’ yet, out of ten thousan’ who +use the sun-glass only a few can account ’ow tis done. +’Ow did you think that that’s my invention, Mistoo Itchlin? +Did you know that I am something of a chimist? +I can tu’n litmus papeh ’ed by juz dipping it in SO<sub>3</sub>HO. +Yesseh.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Richling, “that’s one thing that I have +noticed, that you’re very fertile in devices.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” echoed Mary, “I noticed that, the first time +you ever came to see us. I only wish Mr. Richling was +half as much so.”</p> + +<p>She beamed upon her husband. Narcisse laughed with +pure pleasure.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am compel’ to say you ah co’ect. I am continually +makin’ some discove’ies. ‘Necessity’s the +motheh of inventions.’ Now thass anotheh thing I ’ave +notiz—about that month of Octobeh: it always come +befo’ you think it’s comin’. I ’ave notiz that about eve’y +month. Now, to-day we ah the twennieth Octobeh! Is it +not so?” He lighted his cigarette. “You ah compel’ to +co’obo’ate me.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>LIGHTING SHIP.</strong></p> + + +<p>Yes, the tide was coming in. The Richlings’ bark +was still on the sands, but every now and then a +wave of promise glided under her. She might float, now, +any day. Meantime, as has no doubt been guessed, she +was held on an even keel by loans from the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Why you don’t advertise in papers?” asked Ristofalo.</p> + +<p>“Advertise? Oh, I didn’t think it would be of any use. +I advertised a whole week, last summer.”</p> + +<p>“You put advertisement in wrong time and keep it out +wrong time,” said the Italian.</p> + +<p>“I have a place in prospect, now, without advertising,” +said Richling, with an elated look.</p> + +<p>It was just here that a new mistake of Richling’s +emerged. He had come into contact with two or three +men of that wretched sort that indulge the strange vanity +of keeping others waiting upon them by promises of +employment. He believed them, liked them heartily +because they said nothing about references, and gratefully +distended himself with their husks, until Ristofalo +opened his eyes by saying, when one of these men had +disappointed Richling the third time:—</p> + +<p>“Business man don’t promise but once.”</p> + +<p>“You lookin’ for book-keeper’s place?” asked the +Italian at another time. “Why don’t dress like a book-keeper?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +“On borrowed money?” asked Richling, evidently looking +upon that question as a poser.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” said Richling, with a smile of superiority; +but the other one smiled too, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Borrow mo’, if you don’t.”</p> + +<p>Richling’s heart flinched at the word. He had thought +he was giving his true reason; but he was not. A foolish +notion had floated, like a grain of dust, into the over-delicate +wheels of his thought,—that men would employ +him the more readily if he looked needy. His hat was +unbrushed, his shoes unpolished; he had let his beard +come out, thin and untrimmed; his necktie was faded. +He looked battered. When the Italian’s gentle warning +showed him this additional mistake on top of all his +others he was dismayed at himself; and when he sat +down in his room and counted the cost of an accountant’s +uniform, so to speak, the remains of Dr. Sevier’s last loan +to him was too small for it. Thereupon he committed +one error more,—but it was the last. He sunk his +standard, and began again to look for service among +industries that could offer employment only to manual +labor. He crossed the river and stirred about among the +dry-docks and ship-carpenters’ yards of the suburb +Algiers. But he could neither hew spars, nor paint, nor +splice ropes. He watched a man half a day calking a +boat; then he offered himself for the same work, did it +fairly, and earned half a day’s wages. But then the boat +was done, and there was no other calking at the moment +along the whole harbor front, except some that was being +done on a ship by her own sailors.</p> + +<p>“John,” said Mary, dropping into her lap the sewing +that hardly paid for her candle, “isn’t it hard to realize +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +that it isn’t twelve months since your hardships commenced? +They <em>can’t</em> last much longer, darling.”</p> + +<p>“I know that,” said John. “And I know I’ll find a +place presently, and then we’ll wake up to the fact that +this was actually less than a year of trouble in a lifetime +of love.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” rejoined Mary, “I know your patience will be rewarded.”</p> + +<p>“But what I want is work now, Mary. The bread of +idleness is getting <em>too</em> bitter. But never mind; I’m going +to work to-morrow;—never mind where. It’s all right. You’ll see.”</p> + +<p>She smiled, and looked into his eyes again with a confession +of unreserved trust. The next day he reached the—what +shall we say?—big end of his last mistake. What it was came +out a few mornings after, when he called at Number 5 Carondelet +street.</p> + +<p>“The Doctah is not in pwesently,” said Narcisse. “He +ve’y hawdly comes in so soon as that. He’s living home +again, once mo’, now. He’s ve’y un’estless. I tole ’im +yistiddy, ‘Doctah, I know juz ’ow you feel, seh; ’tis the +same way with myseff. You ought to git ma’ied!’”</p> + +<p>“Did he say he would?” asked Richling.</p> + +<p>“Well, you know, Mistoo Itchlin, so the povvub says, +‘Silent give consense.’ He juz look at me—nevvah +said a word—ha! he couldn’! You not lookin’ ve’y +well, Mistoo Itchlin. I suppose ’tis that waum weatheh.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it is; at least, partly,” said Richling, and +added nothing more, but looked along and across the +ceiling, and down at a skeleton in a corner, that was +offering to shake hands with him. He was at a loss how +to talk to Narcisse. Both Mary and he had grown a +little ashamed of their covert sarcasms, and yet to leave +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +them out was bread without yeast, meat without salt, as +far as their own powers of speech were concerned.</p> + +<p>“I thought, the other day,” he began again, with an +effort, “when it blew up cool, that the warm weather was over.”</p> + +<p>“It seem to be finishin’ ad the end, I think,” responded +the Creole. “I think, like you, that we ’ave ’ad too +waum weatheh. Me, I like that weatheh to be cole, me. +I halways weigh the mose in cole weatheh. I gain flesh, +in fact. But so soon ’tis summeh somethin’ become of +it. I dunno if ’tis the fault of my close, but I reduct in +summeh. Speakin’ of close, Mistoo Itchlin,—egscuse +me if ’tis a fair question,—w’at was yo’ objec’ in buyin’ +that tawpaulin hat an’ jacket lass week ad that sto’ on +the levee? You din know I saw you, but I juz ’appen to +see you, in fact.” (The color rose in Richling’s face, and +Narcisse pressed on without allowing an answer.) “Well, +thass none o’ my biziness, of co’se, but I think you +lookin’ ve’y bad, Mistoo Itchlin”— He stopped very +short and stepped with dignified alacrity to his desk, for +Dr. Sevier’s step was on the stair.</p> + +<p>The Doctor shook hands with Richling and sank into +the chair at his desk. “Anything turned up yet, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” began Richling, drawing his chair near and +speaking low.</p> + +<p>“Good-mawnin’, Doctah,” said Narcisse, showing himself +with a graceful flourish.</p> + +<p>The Doctor nodded, then turned again to Richling. +“You were saying”—</p> + +<p>“I ’ope you well, seh,” insisted the Creole, and as the +Doctor glanced toward him impatiently, repeated the sentiment, +“’Ope you well, seh.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor said he was, and turned once more to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +Richling. Narcisse bowed away backward and went to +his desk, filled to the eyes with fierce satisfaction. He +had made himself felt. Richling drew his chair nearer +and spoke low:—</p> + +<p>“If I don’t get work within a day or two I shall have +to come to you for money.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, Richling.” The Doctor spoke aloud; +Richling answered low.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Doctor, it’s all wrong! Indeed, I can’t do it +any more unless you will let me earn the money.”</p> + +<p>“My dear sir, I would most gladly do it; but I have +nothing that you can do.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you have, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s this: you have a slave boy driving your carriage.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Give him some other work, and let me do that.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier started in his seat. “Richling, I can’t do +that. I should ruin you. If you drive my carriage”—</p> + +<p>“Just for a time, Doctor, till I find something else.”</p> + +<p>“No! no! If you drive my carriage in New Orleans +you’ll never do anything else.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor, there are men standing in the front +ranks to-day, who”—</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” replied the Doctor, impatiently, “I know,—who +began with menial labor; but—I can’t explain +it to you, Richling, but you’re not of the same sort; that’s +all. I say it without praise or blame; you must have +work adapted to your abilities.”</p> + +<p>“My abilities!” softly echoed Richling. Tears sprang +to his eyes. He held out his open palms,—“Doctor, look +there.” They were lacerated. He started to rise, but +the Doctor prevented him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +“Let me go,” said Richling, pleadingly, and with +averted face. “Let me go. I’m sorry I showed them. +It was mean and foolish and weak. Let me go.”</p> + +<p>But Dr. Sevier kept a hand on him, and he did not +resist. The Doctor took one of the hands and examined +it. “Why, Richling, you’ve been handling freight!”</p> + +<p>“There was nothing else.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bah!”</p> + +<p>“Let me go,” whispered Richling. But the Doctor +held him.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t do this on the steam-boat landing, did +you, Richling?”</p> + +<p>The young man nodded. The Doctor dropped the hand +and looked upon its owner with set lips and steady severity. +When he spoke he said:—</p> + +<p>“Among the negro and green Irish deck-hands, and +under the oaths and blows of steam-boat mates! Why, +Richling!” He turned half away in his rotary chair with +an air of patience worn out.</p> + +<p>“You thought I had more sense,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>The Doctor put his elbows upon his desk and slowly +drew his face upward through his hands. “Mr. Richling, +what is the matter with you?” They gazed at each other +a long moment, and then Dr. Sevier continued: “Your +trouble isn’t want of sense. I know that very well, Richling.” +His voice was low and became kind. “But you +don’t get the use of the sense you have. It isn’t available.” +He bent forward: “Some men, Richling, carry their folly +on the surface and their good sense at the bottom,”—he +jerked his thumb backward toward the distant Narcisse, +and added, with a stealthy frown,—“like that little fool +in yonder. He’s got plenty of sense, but he doesn’t load +any of it on deck. Some men carry their sense on top and +their folly down below”—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +Richling smiled broadly through his dejection, and +touched his own chest. “Like this big fool here,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” said Dr. Sevier. “Now you’ve developed +a defect of the memory. Your few merchantable qualities +have been so long out of the market, and you’ve suffered +such humiliation under the pressure of adversity, that +you’ve—you’ve done a very bad thing.”</p> + +<p>“Say a dozen,” responded Richling, with bitter humor. +But the Doctor swung his head in resentment of the levity.</p> + +<p>“One’s enough. You’ve allowed yourself to forget +your true value.”</p> + +<p>“I’m worth whatever I’ll bring.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor tossed his head in impatient disdain.</p> + +<p>“Pshaw! You’ll never bring what you’re worth any +more than some men are worth what they bring. You +don’t know how. You never will know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Doctor, I do know that I’m worth more than I +ever was before. I’ve learned a thousand things in the +last twelvemonth. If I can only get a chance to prove +it!” Richling turned red and struck his knee with his +fist.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Dr. Sevier; “that’s your sense, on +top. And then you go—in a fit of the merest impatience, +as I do suspect—and offer yourself as a deck-hand and +as a carriage-driver. That’s your folly, at the bottom. +What ought to be done to such a man?” He gave a low, +harsh laugh. Richling dropped his eyes. A silence +followed.</p> + +<p>“You say all you want is a chance,” resumed the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” quickly answered Richling, looking up.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to give it to you.” They looked into each +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +other’s eyes. The Doctor nodded. “Yes, sir.” He +nodded again.</p> + +<p>“Where did you come from, Richling,—when you +came to New Orleans,—you and your wife? Milwaukee?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Do your relatives know of your present condition?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Is your wife’s mother comfortably situated?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll tell you what you must do.”</p> + +<p>“The only thing I can’t do,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can. You must. You must send Mrs. +Richling back to her mother.”</p> + +<p>Richling shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Doctor, warmly, “I say you must. I +will lend you the passage-money.”</p> + +<p>Richling’s eye kindled an instant at the Doctor’s compulsory +tone, but he said, gently:—</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor, Mary will never consent to leave me.”</p> + +<p>“Of course she will not. But you must make her do +it! That’s what you must do. And when that’s done +then you must start out and go systematically from door +to door,—of business houses, I mean,—offering yourself +for work befitting your station—ahem!—station, I say—and +qualifications. I will lend you money to live on +until you find permanent employment. Now, now, don’t +get alarmed! I’m not going to help you any more than +I absolutely must!”</p> + +<p>“But, Doctor, how can you expect”— But the Doctor +interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Come, now, none of that! You and your wife are +brave; I must say that for you. She has the courage of +a gladiator. You can do this if you will.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +“Doctor,” said Richling, “you are the best of friends; +but, you know, the fact is, Mary and I—well, we’re still +lovers.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” The Doctor turned away his head with fresh +impatience. Richling bit his lip, but went on:—</p> + +<p>“We can bear anything on earth together; but we +have sworn to stay together through better and worse”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, pf-f-f-f!” said the doctor, closing his eyes and +swinging his head away again.</p> + +<p>“—And we’re going to do it,” concluded Richling.</p> + +<p>“But you can’t do it!” cried the Doctor, so loudly that +Narcisse stood up on the rungs of his stool and peered.</p> + +<p>“We can’t separate.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier smote the desk and sprang to his feet:—</p> + +<p>“Sir, you’ve got to do it! If you continue in this +way, you’ll die. You’ll die, Mr. Richling—both of you! +You’ll die! Are you going to let Mary die just because +she’s brave enough to do it?” He sat down again and +busied himself, nervously placing pens on the pen-rack, +the stopper in the inkstand, and the like.</p> + +<p>Many thoughts ran through Richling’s mind in the +ensuing silence. His eyes were on the floor. Visions of +parting; of the great emptiness that would be left behind; +the pangs and yearnings that must follow,—crowded +one upon another. One torturing realization +kept ever in the front,—that the Doctor had a well-earned +right to advise, and that, if his advice was to be rejected, +one must show good and sufficient cause for rejecting it, +both in present resources and in expectations. The truth +leaped upon him and bore him down as it never had done +before,—the truth which he had heard this very Dr. +Sevier proclaim,—that debt is bondage. For a moment +he rebelled against it; but shame soon displaced mutiny, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +and he accepted this part, also, of his lot. At length he +rose.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>“May I ask Mary?”</p> + +<p>“You will do what you please, Mr. Richling.” And +then, in a kinder voice, the Doctor added, “Yes; ask +her.”</p> + +<p>They moved together to the office door. The Doctor +opened it, and they said good-by, Richling trying to +drop a word of gratitude, and the Doctor hurriedly ignoring +it.</p> + +<p>The next half hour or more was spent by the physician +in receiving, hearing, and dismissing patients and their +messengers. By and by no others came. The only +audible sound was that of the Doctor’s paper-knife as it +parted the leaves of a pamphlet. He was thinking over +the late interview with Richling, and knew that, if this +silence were not soon interrupted from without, he would +have to encounter his book-keeper, who had not spoken +since Richling had left. Presently the issue came.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Seveeah,”—Narcisse came forward, hat in hand,—“I +dunno ’ow ’tis, but Mistoo Itchlin always wemine +me of that povvub, ‘Ully to bed, ully to ’ise, make a +pusson to be ’ealthy an’ wealthy an’ wise.’”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how it is, either,” grumbled the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“I believe thass not the povvub I was thinking. I am +acquainting myseff with those povvubs; but I’m somewhat +gween in that light, in fact. Well, Doctah, I’m +goin’ ad the—shoemakeh. I burs’ my shoe yistiddy. I +was juz”—</p> + +<p>“Very well, go.”</p> + +<p>“Yesseh; and from the shoemakeh I’ll go”—</p> + +<p>The Doctor glanced darkly over the top of the pamphlet.</p> + +<p>“—Ad the bank; yesseh,” said Narcisse, and went.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>AT LAST.</strong></p> + + +<p>Mary, cooking supper, uttered a soft exclamation +of pleasure and relief as she heard John’s step +under the alley window and then at the door. She turned, +with an iron spoon in one hand and a candlestick in the +other, from the little old stove with two pot-holes, where +she had been stirring some mess in a tin pan.</p> + +<p>“Why, you’re”—she reached for a kiss—“real late!”</p> + +<p>“I could not come any sooner.” He dropped into a +chair at the table.</p> + +<p>“Busy?”</p> + +<p>“No; no work to-day.”</p> + +<p>Mary lifted the pan from the stove, whisked it to the +table, and blew her fingers.</p> + +<p>“Same subject continued,” she said laughingly, pointing +with her spoon to the warmed-over food.</p> + +<p>Richling smiled and nodded, and then flattened his +elbows out on the table and hid his face in them.</p> + +<p>This was the first time he had ever lingered away from +his wife when he need not have done so. It was the +Doctor’s proposition that had kept him back. All day +long it had filled his thoughts. He felt its wisdom. Its +sheer practical value had pierced remorselessly into the +deepest convictions of his mind. But his heart could not +receive it.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mary, brightly, as she sat down at the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +table, “maybe you’ll have better luck to-morrow. Don’t +you think you may?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said John, straightening up and tossing +back his hair. He pushed a plate up to the pan, +supplied and passed it. Then he helped himself and fell +to eating.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen Dr. Sevier to-day?” asked Mary, +cautiously, seeing her husband pause and fall into distraction.</p> + +<p>He pushed his plate away and rose. She met him in +the middle of the room. He extended both hands, took +hers, and gazed upon her. How could he tell? Would +she cry and lament, and spurn the proposition, and fall +upon him with a hundred kisses? Ah, if she would! +But he saw that Doctor Sevier, at least, was confident she +would not; that she would have, instead, what the wife so +often has in such cases, the strongest love, it may be, but +also the strongest wisdom for that particular sort of issue. +Which would she do? Would she go, or would she not?</p> + +<p>He tried to withdraw his hands, but she looked beseechingly +into his eyes and knit her fingers into his. +The question stuck upon his lips and would not be uttered. +And why should it be? Was it not cowardice to leave +the decision to her? Should not he decide? Oh! if she +would only rebel! But would she? Would not her utmost +be to give good reasons in her gentle, inquiring way +why he should not require her to leave him? And were +there any such? No! no! He had racked his brain to +find so much as one, all day long.</p> + +<p>“John,” said Mary, “Dr. Sevier’s been talking to you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And he wants you to send me back home for a while?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +“How do you know?” asked John, with a start.</p> + +<p>“I can read it in your face.” She loosed one hand +and laid it upon his brow.</p> + +<p>“What—what do you think about it, Mary?”</p> + +<p>Mary, looking into his eyes with the face of one who +pleads for mercy, whispered, “He’s right,” then buried +her face in his bosom and wept like a babe.</p> + +<p>“I felt it six months ago,” she said later, sitting on +her husband’s knee and holding his folded hands tightly +in hers.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you say so?” asked John.</p> + +<p>“I was too selfish,” was her reply.</p> + +<p>When, on the second day afterward, they entered the +Doctor’s office Richling was bright with that new hope +which always rises up beside a new experiment, and Mary +looked well and happy. The Doctor wrote them a letter +of introduction to the steam-boat agent.</p> + +<p>“You’re taking a very sensible course,” he said, +smoothing the blotting-paper heavily over the letter. +“Of course, you think it’s hard. It is hard. But distance +needn’t separate you.”</p> + +<p>“It can’t,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Time,” continued the Doctor,—“maybe a few months,—will +bring you together again, prepared for a long life +of secure union; and then, when you look back upon this, +you’ll be proud of your courage and good sense. And +you’ll be”— He enclosed the note, directed the envelope, +and, pausing with it still in his hand, turned toward the +pair. They rose up. His rare, sick-room smile hovered +about his mouth, and he said:—</p> + +<p>“You’ll be all the happier—all three of you.”</p> + +<p>The husband smiled. Mary colored down to the throat +and looked up on the wall, where Harvey was explaining +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +to his king the circulation of the blood. There was quite +a pause, neither side caring to utter the first adieu.</p> + +<p>“If a physician could call any hour his own,” presently +said the Doctor, “I should say I would come down to the +boat and see you off. But I might fail in that. Good-by!”</p> + +<p>“Good-by, Doctor!”—a little tremor in the voice,—“take +care of John.”</p> + +<p>The tall man looked down into the upturned blue eyes.</p> + +<p>“Good-by!” He stooped toward her forehead, but +she lifted her lips and he kissed them. So they parted.</p> + +<p>The farewell with Mrs. Riley was mainly characterized +by a generous and sincere exchange of compliments and +promises of remembrance. Some tears rose up; a few +ran over.</p> + +<p>At the steam-boat wharf there were only the pair themselves +to cling one moment to each other and then wave +that mute farewell that looks through watery eyes and +sticks in the choking throat. Who ever knows what +good-by means?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“Doctor,” said Richling, when he came to accept those +terms in the Doctor’s proposition which applied more exclusively +to himself,—“no, Doctor, not that way, please.” He +put aside the money proffered him. “This +is what I want to do: I will come to your house every +morning and get enough to eat to sustain me through the +day, and will continue to do so till I find work.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>The arrangement went into effect. They never met at +dinner; but almost every morning the Doctor, going into +the breakfast-room, met Richling just risen from his +earlier and hastier meal.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +“Well? Anything yet?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing yet.”</p> + +<p>And, unless there was some word from Mary, nothing +more would be said. So went the month of November.</p> + +<p>But at length, one day toward the close of the Doctor’s +office hours, he noticed the sound of an agile foot springing +up his stairs three steps at a stride, and Richling +entered, panting and radiant.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, at last! At last!”</p> + +<p>“At last, what?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve found employment! I have, indeed! One line +from you, and the place is mine! A good place, Doctor, +and one that I can fill. The very thing for me! Adapted +to my abilities!” He laughed so that he coughed, was +still, and laughed again. “Just a line, if you please, +Doctor.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A RISING STAR.</strong></p> + + +<p>It had been many a day since Dr. Sevier had felt such +pleasure as thrilled him when Richling, half beside +himself with delight, ran in upon him with the news that +he had found employment. Narcisse, too, was glad. He +slipped down from his stool and came near enough to +contribute his congratulatory smiles, though he did not +venture to speak. Richling nodded him a happy how-d’ye-do, +and the Creole replied by a wave of the hand.</p> + +<p>In the Doctor’s manner, on the other hand, there was a +decided lack of response that made Richling check his +spirits and resume more slowly,—</p> + +<p>“Do you know a man named Reisen?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Why, he says he knows you.”</p> + +<p>“That may be.”</p> + +<p>“He says you treated his wife one night when she was very ill”—</p> + +<p>“What name?”</p> + +<p>“Reisen.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor reflected a moment.</p> + +<p>“I believe I recollect him. Is he away up on Benjamin +street, close to the river, among the cotton-presses?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Thalia street they call it now. He says”—</p> + +<p>“Does he keep a large bakery?” interrupted the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“The ‘Star Bakery,’” said Richling, brightening +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +again. “He says he knows you, and that, if you will +give me just one line of recommendation, he will put me +in charge of his accounts and give me a trial. And a +trial’s all I want, Doctor. I’m not the least fearful of +the result.”</p> + +<p>“Richling,” said Dr. Sevier, slowly picking up his +paper-folder and shaking it argumentatively, “where are +the letters I advised you to send for?”</p> + +<p>Richling sat perfectly still, taking a long, slow breath +through his nostrils, his eyes fixed emptily on his questioner. +He was thinking, away down at the bottom of +his heart,—and the Doctor knew it,—that this was the +unkindest question, and the most cold-blooded, that he +had ever heard. The Doctor shook his paper-folder again.</p> + +<p>“You see, now, as to the bare fact, I don’t know you.”</p> + +<p>Richling’s jaw dropped with astonishment. His eye +lighted up resentfully. But the speaker went on:—</p> + +<p>“I esteem you highly. I believe in you. I would +trust you, Richling,”—his listener remembered how the +speaker <em>had</em> trusted him, and was melted,—“but as to +recommending you, why, that is like going upon the +witness-stand, as it were, and I cannot say that I know +anything.”</p> + +<p>Richling’s face suddenly flashed full of light. He +touched the Doctor’s hand.</p> + +<p>“That’s it! That’s the very thing, sir! Write that!”</p> + +<p>The Doctor hesitated. Richling sat gazing at him, +afraid to move an eye lest he should lose an advantage. +The Doctor turned to his desk and wrote.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On the next morning Richling did not come for his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +breakfast; and, not many days after, Dr. Sevier received +through the mail the following letter:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p style="margin-left: 60%;"> +<span class="smcap">New Orleans</span>, December 2, 1857.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Doctor</span>,—I’ve got the place. I’m Reisen’s book-keeper. +I’m earning my living. And I like the work. Bread, the word +bread, that has so long been terrible to me, is now the sweetest +word in the language. For eighteen months it was a prayer; now +it’s a proclamation.</p> + +<p>I’ve not only got the place, but I’m going to keep it. I find I +have new powers; and the first and best of them is the power to +throw myself into my work and make it <em>me</em>. It’s not a task; it’s a +mission. Its being bread, I suppose, makes it easier to seem so; +but it should be so if it was pork and garlic, or rags and raw-hides.</p> + +<p>My maxim a year ago, though I didn’t know it then, was to do +what I liked. Now it’s to like what I do. I understand it now. +And I understand now, too, that a man who expects to retain employment +must yield a profit. He must be worth more than he +costs. I thank God for the discipline of the last year and a half. +I thank him that I did not fall where, in my cowardice, I so often +prayed to fall, into the hands of foolish benefactors. You wouldn’t +believe this of me, I know; but it’s true. I have been taught +what life is; I never would have learned it any other way.</p> + +<p>And still another thing: I have been taught to know what the +poor suffer. I know their feelings, their temptations, their hardships, +their sad mistakes, and the frightful mistakes and oversights +the rich make concerning them, and the ways to give them true and +helpful help. And now, if God ever gives me competency, whether +he gives me abundance or not, I know what he intends me to do. +I was once, in fact and in sentiment, a brother to the rich; but I +know that now he has trained me to be a brother to the poor. +Don’t think I am going to be foolish. I remember that I’m brother +to the rich too; but I’ll be the other as well. How wisely has God—what +am I saying? Poor fools that we humans are! We can +hardly venture to praise God’s wisdom to-day when we think we see +it, lest it turn out to be only our own folly to-morrow.</p> + +<p>But I find I’m only writing to myself, Doctor, not to you; so I +stop. Mary is well, and sends you much love.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 70%;">Yours faithfully,</span><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 80%;" class="smcap">John Richling.</span></p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +“Very little about Mary,” murmured Dr. Sevier. +Yet he was rather pleased than otherwise with the letter. +He thrust it into his breast-pocket. In the evening, at his +fireside, he drew it out again and re-read it.</p> + +<p>“Talks as if he had got into an impregnable castle,” +thought the Doctor, as he gazed into the fire. “Book-keeper +to a baker,” he muttered, slowly folding the sheet +again. It somehow vexed him to see Richling so happy +in so low a station. But—“It’s the joy of what he has +escaped <em>from</em>, not <em>to</em>,” he presently remembered.</p> + +<p>A fortnight or more elapsed. A distant relative of Dr. +Sevier, a man of his own years and profession, was his +guest for two nights and a day as he passed through the +city, eastward, from an all-summer’s study of fevers in +Mexico. They were sitting at evening on opposite sides +of the library fire, conversing in the leisurely ease of those +to whom life is not a novelty.</p> + +<p>“And so you think of having Laura and Bess come +out from Charleston, and keep house for you this winter? +Their mother wrote me to that effect.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Dr. Sevier. “Society here will be a +great delight to them. They will shine. And time will +be less monotonous for me. It may suit me, or it may +not.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say it may,” responded the kinsman, whereas +in truth he was very doubtful about it.</p> + +<p>He added something, a moment later, about retiring +for the night, and his host had just said, “Eh?” when a +slave, in a five-year-old dress-coat, brought in the card of a +person whose name was as well known in New Orleans in +those days as St. Patrick’s steeple or the statue of Jackson +in the old Place d’Armes. Dr. Sevier turned it over +and looked for a moment ponderingly upon the domestic.</p> + +<p>The relative rose.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +“You needn’t go,” said Dr. Sevier; but he said “he +had intended,” etc., and went to his chamber.</p> + +<p>The visitor entered. He was a dark, slender, iron +gray man, of finely cut, regular features, and seeming to +be much more deeply wrinkled than on scrutiny he proved +to be. One quickly saw that he was full of reposing +energy. He gave the feeling of your being very near +some weapon, of dreadful efficiency, ready for instant use +whenever needed. His clothing fitted him neatly; his +long, gray mustache was the only thing that hung loosely +about him; his boots were fine. If he had told a child +that all his muscles and sinews were wrapped with fine +steel wire the child would have believed him, and continued +to sit on his knee all the same. It is said, by those +who still survive him, that in dreadful places and moments +the flash of his fist was as quick, as irresistible, and as +all-sufficient, as lightning, yet that years would sometimes +pass without its ever being lifted.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier lifted his slender length out of his easy-chair, +and bowed with severe gravity.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, sir,” he said, and silently thought, +“Now, what can Smith Izard possibly want with me?”</p> + +<p>It may have been perfectly natural that this man’s +presence shed off all idea of medical consultation; but +why should it instantly bring to the Doctor’s mind, as an +answer to his question, another man as different from +this one as water from fire?</p> + +<p>The detective returned the Doctor’s salutation, and they +became seated. Then the visitor craved permission to ask +a confidential question or two for information which he +was seeking in his official capacity. His manners were a +little old-fashioned, but perfect of their kind. The Doctor +consented. The man put his hand into his breast-pocket, +and drew out a daguerreotype case, touched its +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +spring, and as it opened in his palm extended it to the +Doctor. The Doctor took it with evident reluctance. It +contained the picture of a youth who was just reaching +manhood. The detective spoke:—</p> + +<p>“They say he ought to look older than that now.”</p> + +<p>“He does,” said Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>“Do you know his name?” inquired the detective.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“What name do you know him by?”</p> + +<p>“John Richling.”</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t he sent down by Recorder Munroe, last summer, +for assault, etc.?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I got him out the next day. He never should +have been put in.”</p> + +<p>To the Doctor’s surprise the detective rose to go.</p> + +<p>“I’m much obliged to you, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all you wanted to ask me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Izard, who is this young man? What has he done?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir. I have a letter from a lawyer in +Kentucky who says he represents this young man’s two +sisters living there,—half-sisters, rather,—stating that +his father and mother are both dead,—died within three +days of each other.”</p> + +<p>“What name?”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t give the name. He sent this daguerreotype, +with instructions to trace up the young man, if possible. +He said there was reason to believe he was in New +Orleans. He said, if I found him, just to see him privately, +tell him the news, and invite him to come back home. +But he said if the young fellow had got into any kind of +trouble that might somehow reflect on the family, you +know, like getting arrested for something or other, you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +know, or some such thing, then I was just to drop the +thing quietly, and say nothing about it to him or anybody +else.”</p> + +<p>“And doesn’t that seem a strange way to manage a +matter like that,—to put it into the hands of a detective?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Izard. “We’re used +to strange things, and this isn’t so very strange. No, it’s +very common. I suppose he knew that if he gave it to +me it would be attended to in a quiet and innocent sort +o’ way. Some people hate mighty bad to get talked about. +Nobody’s seen that picture but you and one ’aid,’ and +just as soon as he saw it he said, ‘Why, that’s the chap +that Dr. Sevier took out of the Parish Prison last September.’ +And there won’t anybody else see it.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you intend to see Richling?” asked the Doctor, +following the detective toward the door.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see as it would be any use,” said the detective, +“seeing he’s been sent down, and so on. I’ll write to the +lawyer and state the facts, and wait for orders.”</p> + +<p>“But do you know how slight the blame was that got +him into trouble here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. The ’aid’ who saw the picture told me all about +that. It was a shame. I’ll say so. I’ll give all the particulars. +But I tell you, I just guess—they’ll drop him.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say,” said Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>“Well, Doctor,” said Mr. Izard, “hope I haven’t annoyed you.”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the Doctor.</p> + +<p>But he had; and the annoyance had not ceased to be +felt when, a few mornings afterward, Narcisse suddenly +doubled—trebled it by saying:—</p> + +<p>“Doctah Seveeah,”—it was a cold day and the young +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +Creole stood a moment with his back to the office fire, to +which he had just given an energetic and prolonged +poking,—“a man was yeh, to see you, name’ Bison. ’F +want’ to see you about Mistoo Itchlin.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked up with a start, and Narcisse continued:—</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin is wuckin’ in ’is employment. I think +’e’s please’ with ’im.”</p> + +<p>“Then why does he come to see me about him?” asked +the Doctor, so sharply that Narcisse shrugged as he +replied:—</p> + +<p>“Reely, I cann’ tell you; but thass one thing, Doctah, +I dunno if you ’ave notiz: the worl’ halways take a gweat +deal of welfa’e in a man w’en ’e’s ’ising. I do that myseff. +Some’ow I cann’ ’e’p it.” This bold speech was too much +for him. He looked down at his symmetrical legs and +went back to his desk.</p> + +<p>The Doctor was far from reassured. After a silence +he called out:—</p> + +<p>“Did he say he would come back?” A knock at the +door arrested the answer, and a huge, wide, broad-faced +German entered diffidently. The Doctor recognized +Reisen. The visitor took off his flour-dusted hat and +bowed with great deference.</p> + +<p>“Toc-tor,” he softly drawled, “I yoost taught I +trop in on you to say a verte to you apowt teh chung +yentleman vot you hef rickomendet to me.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t recommend him to you, sir. I wrote you +distinctly that I did not feel at liberty to recommend +him.”</p> + +<p>“Tat iss teh troot, Toctor Tseweer; tat iss teh ectsectly +troot. Shtill I taught I’ll yoost trop in on you to say a +verte to you,—Toctor,—apowt Mister”— He hung +his large head at one side to remember.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +“Richling,” said the Doctor, impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. Apowt Mister Richlun. I heff a tifficuldy +to rigolict naymps. I yoost taught I voot trop in und trop +a verte to you apowt Mr. Richlun, vot maypy you titn’t +herr udt before, yet.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Doctor, with ill-concealed contempt. +“Well, speak it out, Mr. Reisen; time is precious.”</p> + +<p>The German smiled and made a silly gesture of assent.</p> + +<p>“Yes, udt is brecious. Shtill I taught I voot take +enough time to yoost trop in undt say to you tat I heffent +het Mr. Richlun in my etsteplitchmendt a veek undtil I +finte owdt someting apowt him, tot, uf you het a-knowdt +ud, voot hef mate your letter maypy a little tifferendt +written, yet.”</p> + +<p>Now, at length, Dr. Sevier’s annoyance was turned to +dismay. He waited in silence for Reisen to unfold his +enigma, but already his resentment against Richling was +gathering itself for a spring. To the baker, however, he +betrayed only a cold hostility.</p> + +<p>“I kept a copy of my letter to you, Mr. Reisen, and +there isn’t a word in it which need have misled you, sir.”</p> + +<p>The baker waved his hand amicably.</p> + +<p>“Sure, Tocter Tseweer, I toandt hef nutting to gomblain +akinst teh vertes of tat letter. You voss mighty +puttickly. Ovver, shtill, I hef sumpting to tell you vot +ef you het a-knowdt udt pefore you writed tose vertes, +alreatty, t’ey voot a little tifferendt pin.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, why don’t you tell it?”</p> + +<p>Reisen smiled. “Tat iss teh ectsectly vot I am coing +to too. I yoost taught I’ll trop in undt tell you, Toctor, +tat I heffent het Mr. Richlun in my etsteplitchmendt +a veek undtil I findte owdt tat he’s a—berfect—tressure.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Sevier started half up from his chair, dropped +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +into it again, wheeled half away, and back again with the +blood surging into his face and exclaimed:—</p> + +<p>“Why, what do you mean by such drivelling nonsense, +sir? You’ve given me a positive fright!” He frowned +the blacker as the baker smiled from ear to ear.</p> + +<p>“Vy, Toctor, I hope you ugscooce me! I yoost taught +you voot like to herr udt. Undt Missis Reisen sayce, +‘Reisen, you yoost co undt tell um.’ I taught udt voot +pe blessant to you to know tatt you hett sendt me teh +fynust pissness mayn I effer het apowdt me. Undt uff he +iss onnust he iss a berfect tressure, undt uff he aint a +berfect tressure,”—he smiled anew and tendered his +capacious hat to his listener,—“you yoost kin take tiss, +Toctor, undt kip udt undt vare udt! Toctor, I vish you +a merrah Chris’mus!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>BEES, WASPS, AND BUTTERFLIES.</strong></p> + + +<p>The merry day went by. The new year, 1858, set in. +Everything gathered momentum. There was a +panic and a crash. The brother-in-law of sister Jane—he +whom Dr. Sevier met at that quiet dinner-party—struck +an impediment, stumbled, staggered, fell under +the feet of the racers, and crawled away minus not money +and credit only, but all his philosophy about helping the +poor, maimed in spirit, his pride swollen with bruises, his +heart and his speech soured beyond all sweetening.</p> + +<p>Many were the wrecks. But over their débris, Mercury +and Venus—the busy season and the gay season—ran +lightly, hand in hand. Men getting money and women +squandering it. Whole nights in the ball-room. Gold +pouring in at the hopper and out at the spout,—Carondelet +street emptying like a yellow river into Canal street. +Thousands for vanity; thousands for pride; thousands for +influence and for station; thousands for hidden sins; a +slender fraction for the wants of the body; a slenderer +for the cravings of the soul. Lazarus paid to stay away +from the gate. John the Baptist, in raiment of broadcloth, +a circlet of white linen about his neck, and his +meat strawberries and ice-cream. The lower classes +mentioned mincingly; awkward silences or visible wincings +at allusions to death, and converse on eternal things +banished as if it were the smell of cabbage. So looked +the gay world, at least, to Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +He saw more of it than had been his wont for many +seasons. The two young-lady cousins whom he had +brought and installed in his home thirsted for that gorgeous, +nocturnal moth life in which no thirst is truly +slaked, and dragged him with them into the iridescent, +gas-lighted spider-web of society.</p> + +<p>“Now, you know you like it!” they said.</p> + +<p>“A little of it, yes. But I don’t see how you can like +it, who virtually live in it and upon it. Why, I would as +soon try to live upon cake and candy!”</p> + +<p>“Well, we can live very nicely upon cake and candy,” +retorted they.</p> + +<p>“Why, girls, it’s no more life than spice is food. +What lofty motive—what earnest, worthy object”—</p> + +<p>But they drowned his homily in a carol, and ran away +arm in arm to dress for another ball. One of them +stopped in the door with an air of mock bravado:—</p> + +<p>“What do we care for lofty motives or worthy objects?”</p> + +<p>A smile escaped from him as she vanished. His condemnation +was flavored with charity. “It’s their mating +season,” he silently thought, and, not knowing he did it, +sighed.</p> + +<p>“There come Dr. Sevier and his two pretty cousins,” +was the ball-room whisper. “Beautiful girls—rich widower +without children—great catch! <em>Passé</em>, how? Well, +maybe so; not as much as he makes himself out, though.” +“<em>Passé</em>, yes,” said a merciless belle to a blade of her +own years; “a man of strong sense is <em>passé</em> at any age.” +Sister Jane’s name was mentioned in the same connection, +but that illusion quickly passed. The cousins denied indignantly +that he had any matrimonial intention. Somebody +dissipated the rumor by a syllogism: “A man +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +hunting a second wife always looks like a fool; the Doctor +doesn’t look a bit like a fool, ergo”—</p> + +<p>He grew very weary of the giddy rout, standing in it +like a rock in a whirlpool. He did rejoice in the Carnival, +but only because it was the end.</p> + +<p>“Pretty? yes, as pretty as a bonfire,” he said. “I +can’t enjoy much fiddling while Rome is burning.”</p> + +<p>“But Rome isn’t always burning,” said the cousins.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is! Yes, it is!”</p> + +<p>The wickeder of the two cousins breathed a penitential +sigh, dropped her bare, jewelled arms out of her cloak, +and said:—</p> + +<p>“Now tell us once more about Mary Richling.” He +had bored them to death with Mary.</p> + +<p>Lent was a relief to all three. One day, as the Doctor +was walking along the street, a large hand grasped his +elbow and gently arrested his steps. He turned.</p> + +<p>“Well, Reisen, is that you?”</p> + +<p>The baker answered with his wide smile. “Yes, Toctor, +tat iss me, sure. You titn’t tink udt iss Mr. Richlun, +tit you?”</p> + +<p>“No. How is Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Vell, Mr. Richlun kitten along so-o-o-so-o-o. He iss +not ferra shtrong; ovver he vurks like a shteam-inchyine.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t seen him for many a day,” said Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>The baker distended his eyes, bent his enormous digestive +apparatus forward, raised his eyebrows, and hung +his arms free from his sides. “He toandt kit a minudt +to shpare in teh tswendy-four hourss. Sumptimes he +sayss, ‘Mr. Reisen, I can’t shtop to talk mit you.’ Sindts +Mr. Richlun pin py my etsteplitchmendt, I tell you teh +troot, Toctor Tseweer, I am yoost meckin’ monneh +haynd ofer fist!” He swung his chest forward again, +drew in his lower regions, revolved his fists around each +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +other for a moment, and then let them fall open at his +sides, with the added assurance, “Now you kott teh +ectsectly troot.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor started away, but the baker detained him +by a touch:—</p> + +<p>“You toandt kott enna verte to sendt to Mr. Richlun, Toctor!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Tell him to come and pass an hour with me +some evening in my library.”</p> + +<p>The German lifted his hand in delight.</p> + +<p>“Vy, tot’s yoost teh dting! Mr. Richlun alvayss pin +sayin’, ‘I vish he aysk me come undt see um;’ undt +I sayss, ‘You holdt shtill, yet, Mr. Richlun; teh next +time I see um I make um aysk you.’ Vell, now, titn’t I +tunned udt?” He was happy.</p> + +<p>“Well, ask him,” said the Doctor, and got away.</p> + +<p>“No fool is an utter fool,” pondered the Doctor, as he +went. Two friends had been kept long apart by the fear +of each, lest he should seem to be setting up claims based +on the past. It required a simpleton to bring them together.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>TOWARD THE ZENITH.</strong></p> + + +<p>“Richling, I am glad to see you!”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier had risen from his luxurious chair +beside a table, the soft downward beams of whose lamp +partly showed, and partly hid, the rich appointments of +his library. He grasped Richling’s hand, and with an +extensive stride drew forward another chair on its smooth-running +casters.</p> + +<p>Then inquiries were exchanged as to the health of one +and the other. The Doctor, with his professional eye, +noticed, as the light fell full upon his visitor’s buoyant +face, how thin and pale he had grown. He rose again, and +stepping beyond Richling with a remark, in part complimentary +and in part critical, upon the balmy April evening, +let down the sash of a window where the smell of +honeysuckles was floating in.</p> + +<p>“Have you heard from your wife lately?” he asked, +as he resumed his seat.</p> + +<p>“Yesterday,” said Richling. “Yes, she’s very well, +been well ever since she left us. She always sends love +to you.”</p> + +<p>“Hum,” responded the physician. He fixed his eyes +on the mantel and asked abstractedly, “How do you bear +the separation?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” Richling laughed, “not very heroically. It’s +a great strain on a man’s philosophy.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +“Work is the only antidote,” said the Doctor, not +moving his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Yes, so I find it,” answered the other. “It’s bearable +enough while one is working like mad; but sooner or +later one must sit down to meals, or lie down to rest, you +know”—</p> + +<p>“Then it hurts,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lively discipline,” mused Richling.</p> + +<p>“Do you think you learn anything by it?” asked the +other, turning his eyes slowly upon him. “That’s what +it means, you notice.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” replied Richling, smiling; “I learn the +very thing I suppose you’re thinking of,—that separation +isn’t disruption, and that no pair of true lovers are quite +fitted out for marriage until they can bear separation if +they must.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded the physician; “if they can muster +the good sense to see that they’ll not be so apt to marry +prematurely. I needn’t tell you I believe in marrying +for love; but these needs-must marriages are so ineffably +silly. You ‘must’ and you ‘will’ marry, and ‘nobody +shall hinder you!’ And you do it! And in three or four +or six months”—he drew in his long legs energetically +from the hearth-pan—“<em>death</em> separates you!—death, +sometimes, resulting directly from the turn your haste +has given to events! Now, where is your ‘must’ and +‘will’?” He stretched his legs out again, and laid his +head on his cushioned chair-back.</p> + +<p>“I have made a narrow escape,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t so fortunate,” responded the Doctor, turning +solemnly toward his young friend. “Richling, just seven +months after I married Alice I buried her. I’m not going +into particulars—of course; but the sickness that +carried her off was distinctly connected with the haste +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +of our marriage. Your Bible, Richling, that you lay such +store by, is right; we should want things as if we didn’t +want them. That isn’t the quotation, exactly, but it’s +the idea. I swore I couldn’t and wouldn’t live without +her; but, you see, this is the fifteenth year that I have +had to do it.”</p> + +<p>“I should think it would have unmanned you for life,” +said Richling.</p> + +<p>“It made a man of me! I’ve never felt young a day +since, and yet I’ve never seemed to grow a day older. +It brought me all at once to my full manhood. I have +never consciously disputed God’s arrangements since. +The man who does is only a wayward child.”</p> + +<p>“It’s true,” said Richling, with an air of confession, +“it’s true;” and they fell into silence.</p> + +<p>Presently Richling looked around the room. His eyes +brightened rapidly as he beheld the ranks and tiers of +good books. He breathed an audible delight. The multitude +of volumes rose in the old-fashioned way, in ornate +cases of dark wood from floor to ceiling, on this hand, +on that, before him, behind; some in gay covers,—green, +blue, crimson,—with gilding and embossing; some in the +sumptuous leathers of France, Russia, Morocco, Turkey; +others in worn attire, battered and venerable, dingy but +precious,—the gray heads of the council.</p> + +<p>The two men rose and moved about among those silent +wits and philosophers, and, from the very embarrassment +of the inner riches, fell to talking of letter-press and +bindings, with maybe some effort on the part of each to +seem the better acquainted with Caxton, the Elzevirs, and +other like immortals. They easily passed to a competitive +enumeration of the rare books they had seen or not seen +here and there in other towns and countries. Richling +admitted he had travelled, and the conversation turned +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +upon noted buildings and famous old nooks in distant +cities where both had been. So they moved slowly back +to their chairs, and stood by them, still contemplating the +books. But as they sank again into their seats the one +thought which had fastened itself in the minds of both +found fresh expression.</p> + +<p>Richling began, smilingly, as if the subject had not +been dropped at all,—“I oughtn’t to speak as if I didn’t +realize my good fortune, for I do.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you do,” said the Doctor, reaching toward +the fire-irons.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Still, I lose patience with myself to find myself +taking Mary’s absence so hard.”</p> + +<p>“All hardships are comparative,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Certainly they are,” replied Richling. “I lie sometimes +and think of men who have been political prisoners, +shut away from wife and children, with war raging outside +and no news coming in.”</p> + +<p>“Think of the common poor,” exclaimed Dr. Sevier,—“the +thousands of sailors’ wives and soldiers’ wives. +Where does that thought carry you?”</p> + +<p>“It carries me,” responded the other, with a low laugh, +“to where I’m always a little ashamed of myself.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean it to do that,” said the Doctor; “I +can imagine how you miss your wife. I miss her myself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! but she’s here on this earth. She’s alive and +well. Any burden is light when I think of that—pardon +me, Doctor!”</p> + +<p>“Go on, go on. Anything you please about her, Richling.” +The Doctor half sat, half lay in his chair, his +eyes partly closed. “Go on,” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“I was only going to say that long before Mary went +away, many a time when she and I were fighting starvation +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +at close quarters, I have looked at her and said to +myself, ‘What if I were in Dr. Sevier’s place?’ and it +gave me strength to rise up and go on.”</p> + +<p>“You were right.”</p> + +<p>“I know I was. I often wake now at night and turn +and find the place by my side empty, and I can hardly +keep from calling her aloud. It wrenches me, but before +long I think she’s no such great distance away, since +we’re both on the same earth together, and by and by +she’ll be here at my side; and so it becomes easy to me +once more.” Richling, in the self-occupation of a lover, +forgot what pains he might be inflicting. But the Doctor +did not wince.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the physician, “of course you wouldn’t +want the separation to be painless; and it promises a +reward, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Richling, with an exultant smile and +motion of the head, and then dropped his eyes in meditation. +The Doctor looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>“Richling, you’ve gathered some terribly hard experiences. +But hard experiences are often the foundation-stones +of a successful life. You can make them all +profitable. You can make them draw you along, so to +speak. But you must hold them well in hand, as you +would a dangerous team, you know,—coolly and alertly, +firmly and patiently,—and never let the reins slack till +you’ve driven through the last gate.”</p> + +<p>Richling replied, with a pleasant nod, “I believe I shall +do it. Did you notice what I wrote you in my letter? I +have got the notion strongly that the troubles we have +gone through—Mary and I—were only our necessary +preparation—not so necessary for her as for me”—</p> + +<p>“No,” said Dr. Sevier, and Richling continued, with a +smile:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +“To fit us for a long and useful life, and especially a +life that will be full of kind and valuable services to the +poor. If that isn’t what they were sent for”—he dropped +into a tone of reflection—“then I don’t understand them.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose you don’t understand,” said the Doctor, +with his cold, grim look.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” rejoined Richling, in amiable protest; +“but a man would like to understand.”</p> + +<p>“Like to—yes,” replied the Doctor; “but be careful. +The spirit that <em>must</em> understand is the spirit that can’t +trust.” He paused. Presently he said, “Richling!”</p> + +<p>Richling answered by an inquiring glance.</p> + +<p>“Take better care of your health,” said the physician.</p> + +<p>Richling smiled—a young man’s answer—and rose to +say good-night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>TO SIGH, YET FEEL NO PAIN.</strong></p> + + +<p>Mrs. Riley missed the Richlings, she said, more +than tongue could tell. She had easily rented the +rooms they left vacant; that was not the trouble. The +new tenant was a sallow, gaunt, wind-dried seamstress of +sixty, who paid her rent punctually, but who was—</p> + +<p>“Mighty poor comp’ny to thim as’s been used to the +upper tin, Mr. Ristofalo.”</p> + +<p>Still she was a protection. Mrs. Riley had not regarded +this as a necessity in former days, but now, somehow, +matters seemed different. This seamstress had, moreover, +a son of eighteen years, principally skin and bone, who +was hoping to be appointed assistant hostler at the fire-engine +house of “Volunteer One,” and who meantime +hung about Mrs. Riley’s dwelling and loved to relieve her +of the care of little Mike. This also was something to be +appreciated. Still there was a void.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Richlin’!” cried Mrs. Riley, as she opened +her parlor door in response to a knock. “Well, I’ll be +switched! ha! ha! I didn’t think it was you at all. Take +a seat and sit down!”</p> + +<p>It was good to see how she enjoyed the visit. Whenever +she listened to Richling’s words she rocked in her +rocking-chair vigorously, and when she spoke stopped +its motion and rested her elbows on its arms.</p> + +<p>“And how <em>is</em> Mrs. Richlin’? And so she sent her +love to me, did she, now? The blessed angel! Now, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +ye’re not just a-makin’ that up? No, I know ye wouldn’t +do sich a thing as that, Mr. Richlin’. Well, you must +give her mine back again. I’ve nobody else on e’rth to +give ud to, and never will have.” She lifted her nose +with amiable stateliness, as if to imply that Richling +might not believe this, but that it was true, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>“You may change your mind, Mrs. Riley, some day,” +returned Richling, a little archly.</p> + +<p>“Ha! ha!” She tossed her head and laughed with +good-natured scorn. “Nivver a fear o’ that, Mr. Richlin’!” +Her brogue was apt to broaden when pleasure +pulled down her dignity. “And, if I did, it wuddent be +for the likes of no I-talian Dago, if id’s him ye’re +a-dthrivin’ at,—not intinding anny disrespect to your +friend, Mr. Richlin’, and indeed I don’t deny he’s a perfect +gintleman,—but, indeed, Mr. Richlin’, I’m just after +thinkin’ that you and yer lady wouldn’t have no self-respect +for Kate Riley if she should be changing her name.”</p> + +<p>“Still you were thinking about it,” said Richling, with +a twinkle.</p> + +<p>“Ah! ha! ha! Indeed I wasn’, an’ ye needn’ be t’rowin’ +anny o’ yer slyness on me. Ye know ye’d have no self-respect +fur me. No; now ye know ye wuddent,—wud ye?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Mrs. Riley, of course we would. Why—why not?” +He stood in the door-way, about to take his leave. +“You may be sure we’ll always be glad of anything that +will make you the happier.” Mrs. Riley looked so grave +that he checked his humor.</p> + +<p>“But in the nixt life, Mr. Richlin’, how about that?”</p> + +<p>“There? I suppose we shall simply each love all in +absolute perfection. We’ll”—</p> + +<p>“We’ll never know the differ,” interposed Mrs. Riley.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +“That’s it,” said Richling, smiling again. “And so +I say,—and I’ve always said,—if a person <em>feels</em> like +marrying again, let him do it.”</p> + +<p>“Have ye, now? Well, ye’re just that good, Mr. +Richlin’.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he responded, trying to be grave, “that’s about my measure.”</p> + +<p>“Would <em>you</em> do ut?”</p> + +<p>“No, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. But I should like—in +good earnest, Mrs. Riley, I should like, now, the comfort +of knowing that you were not to pass all the rest of your +days in widowhood.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! ged out, Mr. Richlin’!” She failed in her effort +to laugh. “Ah! ye’re sly!” She changed her attitude +and drew a breath.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Richling, “no, honestly. I should feel +that you deserved better at this world’s hands than that, +and that the world deserved better of you. I find two +people don’t make a world, Mrs. Riley, though often they +think they do. They certainly don’t when one is gone.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Richlin’,” exclaimed Mrs. Riley, drawing back +and waving her hand sweetly, “stop yer flattery! Stop +ud! Ah! ye’re a-feeling yer oats, Mr. Richlin’. An’ ye’re +a-showin’ em too, ye air. Why, I hered ye was lookin’ +terrible, and here ye’re lookin’ just splendud!”</p> + +<p>“Who told you that?” asked Richling.</p> + +<p>“Never mind! Never mind who he was—ha, ha, ha!” She +checked herself suddenly. “Ah, me! It’s a +shame for the likes o’ me to be behavin’ that foolish!” +She put on additional dignity. “I will always be the +Widow Riley.” Then relaxing again into sweetness: +“Marridge is a lottery, Mr. Richlin’; indeed an’ it is; +and ye know mighty well that he ye’re after joking me +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +about is no more nor a fri’nd.” She looked sweet enough +for somebody to kiss.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know so certainly about that,” said her visitor, +stepping down upon the sidewalk and putting on his +hat. “If I may judge by”— He paused and glanced +at the window.</p> + +<p>“Ah, now, Mr. Richlin’, na-na-now, Mr. Richlin’, ye +daurn’t say ud! Ye daurn’t!” She smiled and blushed +and arched her neck and rose and sank upon herself with +sweet delight.</p> + +<p>“I say if I may judge by what he has said to me,” +insisted Richling.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley glided down across the door-step, and, with +all the insinuation of her sex and nation, demanded:—</p> + +<p>“What’d he tell ye? Ah! he didn’t tell ye nawthing! +Ha, ha! there wasn’ nawthing to tell!” But Richling +slipped away.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley shook her finger: “Ah, ye’re a wicket joker, +Mr. Richlin’. I didn’t think that o’ the likes of a gintleman +like you, anyhow!” She shook her finger again as +she withdrew into the house, smiling broadly all the way +in to the cradle, where she kissed and kissed again her +ruddy, chubby, sleeping boy.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ristofalo came often. He was a man of simple words, +and of few thoughts of the kind that were available in +conversation; but his personal adventures had begun almost +with infancy, and followed one another in close and strange +succession over lands and seas ever since. He could therefore +talk best about himself, though he talked modestly. +“These things to hear would Desdemona seriously incline,” +and there came times when even a tear was not wanting to +gem the poetry of the situation.</p> + +<p>“And ye might have saved yerself from all that,” was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +sometimes her note of sympathy. But when he asked +how she silently dried her eyes.</p> + +<p>Sometimes his experiences had been intensely ludicrous, +and Mrs. Riley would laugh until in pure self-oblivion she +smote her thigh with her palm, or laid her hand so smartly +against his shoulder as to tip him half off his seat.</p> + +<p>“Ye didn’t!”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Get out wid ye, Raphael Ristofalo,—to be +telling me that for the trooth!”</p> + +<p>At one such time she was about to give him a second +push, but he took the hand in his, and quietly kept it to +the end of his story.</p> + +<p>He lingered late that evening, but at length took his hat +from under his chair, rose, and extended his hand.</p> + +<p>“Man alive!” she cried, “that’s my <em>hand</em>, sur, I’d +have ye to know. Begahn wid ye! Lookut heere! +What’s the reason ye make it so long atween yer visits, +eh? Tell me that. Ah—ah—ye’ve no need fur to tell +me, Mr. Ristofalo! Ah—now don’t tell a lie!”</p> + +<p>“Too busy. Come all time—wasn’t too busy.”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha! Yes, yes; ye’re too busy. Of coorse ye’re +too busy. Oh, yes! ye <em>air</em> too busy—a-courtin’ thim +I-talian froot gerls around the Frinch Mairket. Ah! I’ll +bet two bits ye’re a bouncer! Ah, don’t tell me. I know +ye, ye villain! Some o’ thim’s a-waitin’ fur ye now, ha, +ha! Go! And don’t ye nivver come back heere anny +more. D’ye mind?”</p> + +<p>“Aw righ’.” The Italian took her hand for the third +time and held it, standing in his simple square way before +her and wearing his gentle smile as he looked her in the +eye. “Good-by, Kate.”</p> + +<p>Her eye quailed. Her hand pulled a little helplessly +and in a meek voice she said:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +“That’s not right for you to do me that a-way, Mr. +Ristofalo. I’ve got a handle to my name, sur.”</p> + +<p>She threw some gentle rebuke into her glance, and +turned it upon him. He met it with that same amiable +absence of emotion that was always in his look.</p> + +<p>“Kate too short by itself?” he asked. “Aw righ’; +make it Kate Ristofalo.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mrs. Riley, averting and drooping her +face.</p> + +<p>“Take good care of you,” said the Italian; “you and +Mike. Always be kind. Good care.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Riley turned with sudden fervor.</p> + +<p>“Good cayre!—Mr. Ristofalo,” she exclaimed, lifting +her free hand and touching her bosom with the points of +her fingers, “ye don’t know the hairt of a woman, surr! +No-o-o, surr! It’s <em>love</em> we wants! ‘The hairt as has trooly +loved nivver furgits, but as trooly loves ahn to the tlose!’”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Italian; “yes,” nodding and ever +smiling, “dass aw righ’.”</p> + +<p>But she:—</p> + +<p>“Ah! it’s no use fur you to be a-talkin’ an’ a-pallaverin’ +to Kate Riley when ye don’t be lovin’ her, Mr. +Ristofalo, an’ ye know ye don’t.”</p> + +<p>A tear glistened in her eye.</p> + +<p>“Yes, love you,” said the Italian; “course, love you.”</p> + +<p>He did not move a foot or change the expression of a +feature.</p> + +<p>“H-yes!” said the widow. “H-yes!” she panted. “H-yes, +a little! A little, Mr. Ristofalo! But I want”—she +pressed her hand hard upon her bosom, and raised +her eyes aloft—“I want to be—h—h—h-adaured +above all the e’rth!”</p> + +<p>“Aw righ’,” said Ristofalo; “das aw righ’; yes—door +above all you worth.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +“Raphael Ristofalo,” she said, “ye’re a-deceivin’ me! +Ye came heere whin nobody axed ye,—an’ that ye know +is a fact, surr,—an’ made yerself agree’ble to a poor, +unsuspectin’ widdah, an’ [<em>tears</em>] rabbed me o’ mie hairt, +ye did; whin I nivver intinded to git married ag’in.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry, Kate—Kate Ristofalo,” quietly observed +the Italian, getting an arm around her waist, and laying +a hand on the farther cheek. “Kate Ristofalo.”</p> + +<p>“Shut!” she exclaimed, turning with playful fierceness, +and proudly drawing back her head; “shut! Hah! +It’s Kate Ristofalo, is it? Ah, ye think so? Hah-h! +It’ll be ad least two weeks yet before the priest will be +after giving you the right to call me that!”</p> + +<p>And, in fact, an entire fortnight did pass before they +were married.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>WHAT NAME?</strong></p> + + +<p>Richling in Dr. Sevier’s library, one evening in +early May, gave him great amusement by an account +of the Ristofalo-Riley wedding. He had attended it only +the night before. The Doctor had received an invitation, +but had pleaded previous engagements.</p> + +<p>“But I am glad you went,” he said to Richling; “however, +go on with your account.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I was glad to go. And I’m certainly glad I went.”</p> + +<p>Richling proceeded with the recital. The Doctor +smiled. It was very droll,—the description of persons +and costumes. Richling was quite another than his usual +restrained self this evening. Oddly enough, too, for this +was but his second visit; the confinement of his work was +almost like an imprisonment, it was so constant. The +Doctor had never seen him in just such a glow. He even +mimicked the brogue of two or three Irish gentlemen, and +the soft, outlandish swing in the English of one or two +Sicilians. He did it all so well that, when he gave an +instance of some of the broad Hibernian repartee he had +heard, the Doctor actually laughed audibly. One of his +young-lady cousins on some pretext opened a door, and +stole a glance within to see what could have produced a +thing so extraordinary.</p> + +<p>“Come in, Laura; come in! Tell Bess to come in.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor introduced Richling with due ceremony +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +Richling could not, of course, after this accession of +numbers, go on being funny. The mistake was trivial, +but all saw it. Still the meeting was pleasant. The girls +were very intelligent and vivacious. Richling found a +certain refreshment in their graceful manners, like what +we sometimes feel in catching the scent of some long-forgotten +perfume. They had not been told all his history, +but had heard enough to make them curious to see +and speak to him. They were evidently pleased with +him, and Dr. Sevier, observing this, betrayed an air that +was much like triumph. But after a while they went as +they had come.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” said Richling, smiling until Dr. Sevier wondered +silently what possessed the fellow, “excuse me for +bringing this here. But I find it so impossible to get to +your office”— He moved nearer the Doctor’s table and +put his hand into his bosom.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked the Doctor, frowning heavily. +Richling smiled still broader than before.</p> + +<p>“This is a statement,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Of what?”</p> + +<p>“Of the various loans you have made me, with interest to date.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” said the Doctor, frigidly.</p> + +<p>“And here,” persisted the happy man, straightening +out a leg as he had done the first time they ever met, +and drawing a roll of notes from his pocket, “is the total amount.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” The Doctor regarded them with cold contempt. +“That’s all very pleasant for you, I suppose, +Richling,—shows you’re the right kind of man, I suppose, +and so on. I know that already, however. Now +just put all that back into your pocket; the sight of it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +isn’t pleasant. You certainly don’t imagine I’m going +to take it, do you?”</p> + +<p>“You promised to take it when you lent it.”</p> + +<p>“Humph! Well, I didn’t say when.”</p> + +<p>“As soon as I could pay it,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“I don’t remember,” replied the Doctor, picking up a +newspaper. “I release myself from that promise.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t release you,” persisted Richling; +“neither does Mary.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor was quiet awhile before he answered. He +crossed his knees, a moment after folded his arms, and +presently said:—</p> + +<p>“Foolish pride, Richling.”</p> + +<p>“We know that,” replied Richling; “we don’t deny +that that feeling creeps in. But we’d never do anything +that’s right if we waited for an unmixed motive, would +we?”</p> + +<p>“Then you think my motive—in refusing it—is +mixed, probably.”</p> + +<p>“Ho-o-oh!” laughed Richling. The gladness within +him would break through. “Why, Doctor, nothing could +be more different. It doesn’t seem to me as though you +ever had a mixed motive.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor did not answer. He seemed to think the +same thing.</p> + +<p>“We know very well, Doctor, that if we should accept +this kindness we might do it in a spirit of proper and +commendable—a—humble-mindedness. But it isn’t +mere pride that makes us insist.”</p> + +<p>“No?” asked the Doctor, cruelly. “What is it else?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I hardly know what to call it, except that it’s +a conviction that—well, that to pay is best; that it’s the +nearest to justice we can get, and that”—he spoke faster—“that +it’s simply duty to choose justice when we can +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +and mercy when we must. There, I’ve hit it out!” He +laughed again. “Don’t you see, Doctor? Justice when +we may—mercy when we must! It’s your own principles!”</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked straight at the mantel-piece as he +asked:—</p> + +<p>“Where did you get that idea?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; partly from nowhere, and”—</p> + +<p>“Partly from Mary,” interrupted the Doctor. He put +out his long white palm. “It’s all right. Give me the +money.” Richling counted it into his hand. He rolled +it up and stuffed it into his portemonnaie.</p> + +<p>“You like to part with your hard earnings, do you, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Earnings can’t be hard,” was the reply; +“it’s borrowings that are hard.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor assented.</p> + +<p>“And, of course,” said Richling, “I enjoy paying old debts.” +He stood and leaned his head in his hand with his elbow on +the mantel. “But, even aside from that, I’m happy.”</p> + +<p>“I see you are!” remarked the physician, emphatically, +catching the arms of his chair and drawing his feet closer +in. “You’ve been smiling worse than a boy with a love-letter.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been hoping you’d ask me what’s the matter.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, Richling, what is the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Mary has a daughter.”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried the Doctor, springing up with a radiant +face, and grasping Richling’s hand in both his own.</p> + +<p>Richling laughed aloud, nodded, laughed again, and +gave either eye a quick, energetic wipe with all his fingers.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” he said, as the physician sank back into his +chair, “we want to name”—he hesitated, stood on one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +foot and leaned again against the shelf—“we want to +call her by the name of—if we may”—</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked up as if with alarm, and John said, +timidly,—“Alice!”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier’s eyes—what was the matter? His mouth +quivered. He nodded and whispered huskily:—</p> + +<p>“All right.”</p> + +<p>After a long pause Richling expressed the opinion +that he had better be going, and the Doctor did not indicate +any difference of conviction. At the door the +Doctor asked:—</p> + +<p>“If the fever should break out this summer, Richling, +will you go away?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>PESTILENCE.</strong></p> + + +<p>On the twentieth of June, 1858, an incident occurred +in New Orleans which challenged special attention +from the medical profession. Before the month closed +there was a second, similar to the first. The press did +not give such matters to the public in those days; it +would only make the public—the advertising public—angry. +Times have changed since—faced clear about: +but at that period Dr. Sevier, who hated a secret only +less than a falsehood, was right in speaking as he did.</p> + +<p>“Now you’ll see,” he said, pointing downward aslant, +“the whole community stick its head in the sand!” He +sent for Richling.</p> + +<p>“I give you fair warning,” he said. “It’s coming.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t cases occur sometimes in an isolated way without—anything +further?” asked Richling, with a promptness +which showed he had already been considering the +matter.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And might not this”—</p> + +<p>“Richling, I give you fair warning.”</p> + +<p>“Have you sent your cousins away, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“They go to-morrow.” After a silence the Doctor +added: “I tell you now, because this is the time to +decide what you will do. If you are not prepared to take +all the risks and stay them through, you had better go at +once.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +“What proportion of those who are taken sick of it die?” asked Richling.</p> + +<p>“The proportion varies in different seasons; say about +one in seven or eight. But your chances would be +hardly so good, for you’re not strong, Richling, nor well +either.”</p> + +<p>Richling stood and swung his hat against his knee.</p> + +<p>“I really don’t see, Doctor, that I have any choice at +all. I couldn’t go to Mary—when she has but just come +through a mother’s pains and dangers—and say, ‘I’ve +thrown away seven good chances of life to run away from +one bad one.’ Why, to say nothing else, Reisen can’t +spare me.” He smiled with boyish vanity.</p> + +<p>“O Richling, that’s silly!”</p> + +<p>“I—I know it,” exclaimed the other, quickly; “I +see it is. If he could spare me, of course he wouldn’t be +paying me a salary.” But the Doctor silenced him by a +gesture.</p> + +<p>“The question is not whether he can spare you, at all. +It’s simply, can you spare him?”</p> + +<p>“Without violating any pledge, you mean,” added +Richling.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” assented the physician.</p> + +<p>“Well, I can’t spare him, Doctor. He has given me a +hold on life, and no one chance in seven, or six, or five +is going to shake me loose. Why, I tell you I couldn’t +look Mary in the face!”</p> + +<p>“Have your own way,” responded the Doctor. “There +are some things in your favor. You frail fellows often +pull through easier than the big, full-blooded ones.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s Mary’s way too, I feel certain!” retorted +Richling, gayly, “and I venture to say”—he coughed +and smiled again—“it’s yours.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” replied the unsmiling Doctor, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +reaching for a pen and writing a prescription. “Here; +get that and take it according to direction. It’s for that +cold.”</p> + +<p>“If I should take the fever,” said Richling, coming +out of a revery, “Mary will want to come to me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, she mustn’t come a step!” exclaimed the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“You’ll forbid it, will you not, Doctor? Pledge me!”</p> + +<p>“I do better, sir; I pledge myself.”</p> + +<p>So the July suns rose up and moved across the beautiful +blue sky; the moon went through all her majestic +changes; on thirty-one successive midnights the Star +Bakery sent abroad its grateful odors of bread, and as +the last night passed into the first twinkling hour of +morning the month chronicled one hundred and thirty-one +deaths from yellow fever. The city shuddered because +it knew, and because it did not know, what was in +store. People began to fly by hundreds, and then by +thousands. Many were overtaken and stricken down as +they fled. Still men plied their vocations, children played +in the streets, and the days came and went, fair, blue +tremulous with sunshine, or cool and gray and sweet with +summer rain. How strange it was for nature to be so +beautiful and so unmoved! By and by one could not +look down a street, on this hand or on that, but he saw a +funeral. Doctors’ gigs began to be hailed on the streets +and to refuse to stop, and houses were pointed out that +had just become the scenes of strange and harrowing +episodes.</p> + +<p>“Do you see that bakery,—the ‘Star Bakery’? Five +funerals from that place—and another goes this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Before this was said August had completed its record +of eleven hundred deaths, and September had begun the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +long list that was to add twenty-two hundred more. +Reisen had been the first one ill in the establishment. +He had been losing friends,—one every few days; and +he thought it only plain duty, let fear or prudence say +what they might, to visit them at their bedsides and +follow them to their tombs. It was not only the outer +man of Reisen, but the heart as well, that was elephantine. +He had at length come home from one of these +funerals with pains in his back and limbs, and the various +familiar accompaniments.</p> + +<p>“I feel right clumsy,” he said, as he lifted his great +feet and lowered them into the mustard foot-bath.</p> + +<p>“Doctor Sevier,” said Richling, as he and the physician +paused half way between the sick-chambers of Reisen +and his wife, “I hope you’ll not think it foolhardy for +me to expose myself by nursing these people”—</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the veteran, in a tone of indifference, and +passed on; the tincture of self-approval that had “mixed” +with Richling’s motives went away to nothing.</p> + +<p>Both Reisen and his wife recovered. But an apple-cheeked +brother of the baker, still in a green cap and +coat that he had come in from Germany, was struck from +the first with that mortal terror which is so often an evil +symptom of the disease, and died, on the fifth day after +his attack, in raging delirium. Ten of the workmen, +bakers and others, followed him. Richling alone, of all +in the establishment, while the sick lay scattered through +the town on uncounted thousands of beds, and the month +of October passed by, bringing death to eleven hundred +more, escaped untouched of the scourge.</p> + +<p>“I can’t understand it,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Demand an immediate explanation,” said Dr. Sevier, +with sombre irony.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +How did others fare? Ristofalo had, time and again, +sailed with the fever, nursed it, slept with it. It passed +him by again. Little Mike took it, lay two or three days +very still in his mother’s strong arms, and recovered. +Madame Ristofalo had had it in “fifty-three.” She +became a heroic nurse to many, and saved life after life +among the poor.</p> + +<p>The trials of those days enriched John Richling in the +acquaintanceship and esteem of Sister Jane’s little lisping +rector. And, by the way, none of those with whom Dr. +Sevier dined on that darkest night of Richling’s life +became victims. The rector had never encountered the +disease before, but when Sister Jane and the banker, and +the banker’s family and friends, and thousands of others, +fled, he ran toward it, David-like, swordless and armorless. +He and Richling were nearly of equal age. Three +times, four times, and again, they met at dying-beds. +They became fond of each other.</p> + +<p>Another brave nurse was Narcisse. Dr. Sevier, it is +true, could not get rid of the conviction for years afterward +that one victim would have lived had not Narcisse +talked him to death. But in general, where there was +some one near to prevent his telling all his discoveries +and inventions, he did good service, and accompanied it +with very chivalric emotions.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh,” he said, with a strutting attitude that somehow +retained a sort of modesty, “I ’ad the gweatess +success. Hah! a nuss is a nuss those time’. Only some +time’ ’e’s not. ’Tis accawding to the povvub,—what is +that povvub, now, ag’in?” The proverb did not answer +his call, and he waved it away. “Yesseh, eve’ybody +wanting me at once—couldn’ supply the deman’.”</p> + +<p>Richling listened to him with new pleasure and rising +esteem.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +“You make me envy you,” he exclaimed, honestly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I s’pose you may say so, Mistoo Itchlin, faw I +nevva nuss a sing-le one w’at din paid me ten dollahs a +night. Of co’se! ‘Consistency, thou awt a jew’l.’ It’s +juz as the povvub says, ‘All work an’ no pay keep Jack +a small boy.’ An’ yet,” he hurriedly added, remembering +his indebtedness to his auditor, “’tis aztonizhin’ ’ow ’tis +expensive to live. I haven’ got a picayune of that money +pwesently! I’m aztonizh’ myseff!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>“I MUST BE CRUEL ONLY TO BE KIND.”</strong></p> + + +<p>The plague grew sated and feeble. One morning +frost sent a flight of icy arrows into the town, and it +vanished. The swarthy girls and lads that sauntered +homeward behind their mothers’ cows across the wide +suburban stretches of marshy commons heard again the +deep, unbroken, cataract roar of the reawakened city.</p> + +<p>We call the sea cruel, seeing its waters dimple and +smile where yesterday they dashed in pieces the ship that +was black with men, women, and children. But what +shall we say of those billows of human life, of which we +are ourselves a part, that surge over the graves of its own +dead with dances and laughter and many a coquetry, with +panting chase for gain and preference, and pious regrets +and tender condolences for the thousands that died +yesterday—and need not have died?</p> + +<p>Such were the questions Dr. Sevier asked himself as he +laid down the newspaper full of congratulations upon the +return of trade’s and fashion’s boisterous flow, and praises +of the deeds of benevolence and mercy that had abounded +throughout the days of anguish.</p> + +<p>Certain currents in these human rapids had driven +Richling and the Doctor wide apart. But at last, one +day, Richling entered the office with a cheerfulness of +countenance something overdone, and indicative to the +Doctor’s eye of inward trepidation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +“Doctor,” he said hurriedly, “preparing to leave the +office? It was the only moment I could command”—</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Richling.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been trying every day for a week to get down +here,” said Richling, drawing out a paper. “Doctor”—with +his eyes on the paper, which he had begun to unfold.</p> + +<p>“Richling”— It was the Doctor’s hardest voice. +Richling looked up at him as a child looks at a thundercloud. +The Doctor pointed to the document:—</p> + +<p>“Is that a subscription paper?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You needn’t unfold it, Richling.” The Doctor made +a little pushing motion at it with his open hand. “From +whom does it come?”</p> + +<p>Richling gave a name. He had not changed color when +the Doctor looked black, but now he did; for Dr. Sevier +smiled. It was terrible.</p> + +<p>“Not the little preacher that lisps?” asked the physician.</p> + +<p>“He lisps sometimes,” said Richling, with resentful +subsidence of tone and with dropped eyes, preparing to +return the paper to his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” said the Doctor, more gravely, arresting the +movement with his index finger. “What is it for?”</p> + +<p>“It’s for the aid of an asylum overcrowded with +orphans in consequence of the late epidemic.” There +was still a tightness in Richling’s throat, a faint bitterness +in his tone, a spark of indignation in his eye. But these +the Doctor ignored. He reached out his hand, took the +folded paper gently from Richling, crossed his knees, and, +resting his elbows on them and shaking the paper in a +prefatory way, spoke:—</p> + +<p>“Richling, in old times we used to go into monasteries; +now we subscribe to orphan asylums. Nine months ago +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +I warned this community that if it didn’t take the necessary +precautions against the foul contagion that has since +swept over us it would pay for its wicked folly in the lives +of thousands and the increase of fatherless and helpless +children. I didn’t know it would come this year, but I +knew it might come any year. Richling, we deserved it!”</p> + +<p>Richling had never seen his friend in so forbidding an +aspect. He had come to him boyishly elated with the +fancied excellence and goodness and beauty of the task +he had assumed, and a perfect confidence that his noble +benefactor would look upon him with pride and upon the +scheme with generous favor. When he had offered to +present the paper to Dr. Sevier he had not understood +the little rector’s marked alacrity in accepting his service. +Now it was plain enough. He was well-nigh dumfounded. +The responses that came from him came mechanically, +and in the manner of one who wards off unmerited buffetings +from one whose unkindness may not be resented.</p> + +<p>“You can’t think that only those died who were to +blame?” he asked, helplessly; and the Doctor’s answer +came back instantly:—</p> + +<p>“Ho, no! look at the hundreds of little graves! No, +sir. If only those who were to blame had been stricken, +I should think the Judgment wasn’t far off. Talk of +God’s mercy in times of health! There’s no greater evidence +of it than to see him, in these awful visitations, +refusing still to discriminate between the innocent and +the guilty! Richling, only Infinite Mercy joined to Infinite +Power, with infinite command of the future, could so +forbear!”</p> + +<p>Richling could not answer. The Doctor unfolded the +paper and began to read: “‘God, in his mysterious +providence’—O sir!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +“What!” demanded Richling.</p> + +<p>“O sir, what a foul, false charge! There’s nothing +mysterious about it. We’ve trampled the book of Nature’s +laws in the mire of our streets, and dragged her penalties +down upon our heads! Why, Richling,”—he shifted +his attitude, and laid the edge of one hand upon the paper +that lay in the other, with the air of commencing a demonstration,—“you’re +a Bible man, eh? Well, yes, I think +you are; but I want you never to forget that the book of +Nature has its commandments, too; and the man who +sins against <em>them</em> is a sinner. There’s no dispensation of +mercy in that Scripture to Jew or Gentile, though the God +of Mercy wrote it with his own finger. A community has +got to know those laws and keep them, or take the consequences—and +take them here and now—on this globe—<em>presently</em>!”</p> + +<p>“You mean, then,” said Richling, extending his hand +for the return of the paper, “that those whose negligence +filled the asylums should be the ones to subscribe.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the Doctor, “yes!” drew back his +hand with the paper still in it, turned to his desk, opened +the list, and wrote. Richling’s eyes followed the pen; +his heart came slowly up into his throat.</p> + +<p>“Why, Doc—Doctor, that’s more than any one else has”—</p> + +<p>“They have probably made some mistake,” said +Dr. Sevier, rubbing the blotting-paper with his finger. +“Richling, do you think it’s your mission to be a philanthropist?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it everybody’s mission?” replied Richling.</p> + +<p>“That’s not what I asked you.”</p> + +<p>“But you ask a question,” said Richling, smiling down +upon the subscription-paper as he folded it, “that nobody +would like to answer.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +“Very well, then, you needn’t answer. But, Richling,”—he +pointed his long finger to the pocket of Richling’s +coat, where the subscription-list had disappeared,—“this +sort of work—whether you distinctly propose to be a +philanthropist or not—is right, of course. It’s good. +But it’s the mere alphabet of beneficence. Richling, +whenever philanthropy takes the <em>guise</em> of philanthropy, +look out. Confine your philanthropy—you can’t do it +entirely, but as much as you can—confine your philanthropy +to the <em>motive</em>. It’s the temptation of philanthropists +to set aside the natural constitution of society +wherever it seems out of order, and substitute some +philanthropic machinery in its place. It’s all wrong, +Richling. Do as a good doctor would. Help nature.”</p> + +<p>Richling looked down askance, pushed his fingers +through his hair perplexedly, drew a deep breath, lifted +his eyes to the Doctor’s again, smiled incredulously, and +rubbed his brow.</p> + +<p>“You don’t see it?” asked the physician, in a tone of +surprise.</p> + +<p>“O Doctor,”—throwing up a despairing hand,—“we’re +miles apart. I don’t see how any work could be +nobler. It looks to me”— But Dr. Sevier interrupted.</p> + +<p>“—From an emotional stand-point, Richling. Richling,”—he +changed his attitude again,—“if you <em>want</em> +to be a philanthropist, be cold-blooded.”</p> + +<p>Richling laughed outright, but not heartily.</p> + +<p>“Well!” said his friend, with a shrug, as if he dismissed +the whole matter. But when Richling moved, as +if to rise, he restrained him. “Stop! I know you’re in +a hurry, but you may tell Reisen to blame me.”</p> + +<p>“It’s not Reisen so much as it’s the work,” replied +Richling, but settled down again in his seat.</p> + +<p>“Richling, human benevolence—public benevolence—in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +its beginning was a mere nun on the battle-field, binding +up wounds and wiping the damp from dying brows. +But since then it has had time and opportunity to become +strong, bold, masculine, potential. Once it had only the +knowledge and power to alleviate evil consequences; now +it has both the knowledge and the power to deal with evil +causes. Now, I say to you, leave this emotional A B C +of human charity to nuns and mite societies. It’s a good +work; let them do it. Give them money, if you can.”</p> + +<p>“I see what you mean—I think,” said Richling, +slowly, and with a pondering eye.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad if you do,” rejoined the Doctor, visibly +relieved.</p> + +<p>“But that only throws a heavier responsibility upon +strong men, if I understand it,” said Richling, half interrogatively.</p> + +<p>“Certainly! Upon strong spirits, male or female. +Upon spirits that can drive the axe low down into the +causes of things, again and again and again, steadily, patiently, +until at last some great evil towering above them +totters and falls crashing to the earth, to be cut to pieces +and burned in the fire. Richling, gather fagots for pastime +if you like, though it’s poor fun; but don’t think that’s +your mission! <em>Don’t</em> be a fagot-gatherer! What are you +smiling at?”</p> + +<p>“Your good opinion of me,” answered Richling. +“Doctor, I don’t believe I’m fit for anything but a fagot-gatherer. +But I’m willing to try.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bah!” The Doctor admired such humility as +little as it deserved. “Richling, reduce the number of +helpless orphans! Dig out the old roots of calamity! A +spoon is not what you want; you want a <em>mattock</em>. Reduce +crime and vice! Reduce squalor! Reduce the poor man’s +death-rate! Improve his tenements! Improve his hospitals! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +Carry sanitation into his workshops! Teach the +trades! Prepare the poor for possible riches, and the +rich for possible poverty! Ah—ah—Richling, I preach +well enough, I think, but in practice I have missed it +myself! Don’t repeat my error!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but you haven’t missed it!” cried Richling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I have,” said the Doctor. “Here I am, +telling you to let your philanthropy be cold-blooded; +why, I’ve always been hot-blooded.”</p> + +<p>“I like the hot best,” said Richling, quickly.</p> + +<p>“You ought to hate it,” replied his friend. “It’s +been the root of all your troubles. Richling, God Almighty +is unimpassioned. If he wasn’t he’d be weak. +You remember Young’s line: ‘A God all mercy is a God +unjust.’ The time has come when beneficence, to be real, +must operate scientifically, not emotionally. Emotion is +good; but it must follow, not guide. Here! I’ll give +you a single instance. Emotion never sells where it can +give: that is an old-fashioned, effete benevolence. The +new, the cold-blooded, is incomparably better: it never—to +individual or to community—gives where it can sell. +Your instincts have applied the rule to yourself; apply it +to your fellow-man.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Richling, promptly, “that’s another thing. +It’s not my business to apply it to them.”</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> your business to apply it to them. You have +no right to do less.”</p> + +<p>“And what will men say of me? At least—not that, but”—</p> + +<p>The Doctor pointed upward. “They will say, ‘I +know thee, that thou art an hard man.’” His voice +trembled. “But, Richling,” he resumed with fresh firmness, +“if you want to lead a long and useful life,—you +say you do,—you must take my advice; you must deny +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +yourself for a while; you must shelve these fine notions +for a time. I tell you once more, you must endeavor to +reëstablish your health as it was before—before they +locked you up, you know. When that is done you can +commence right there if you choose; I wish you would. +Give the public—sell would be better, but it will hardly +buy—a prison system less atrocious, less destructive of +justice, and less promotive of crime and vice, than the +one it has. By-the-by, I suppose you know that Raphael +Ristofalo went to prison last night again?”</p> + +<p>Richling sprang to his feet. “For what? He hasn’t”—</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; he has discovered the man who robbed him, +and has killed him.”</p> + +<p>Richling started away, but halted as the Doctor spoke +again, rising from his seat and shaking out his legs.</p> + +<p>“He’s not suffering any hardship. He’s shrewd, you +know,—has made arrangements with the keeper by +which he secures very comfortable quarters. The star-chamber, +I think they call the room he is in. He’ll suffer +very little restraint. Good-day!”</p> + +<p>He turned, as Richling left, to get his own hat and +gloves. “Yes,” he thought, as he passed slowly downstairs +to his carriage, “I have erred.” He was not only +teaching, he was learning. To fight evil was not enough. +People who wanted help for orphans did not come to him—they +sent. They drew back from him as a child +shrinks from a soldier. Even Alice, his buried Alice, +had wept with delight when he gave her a smile, and +trembled with fear at his frown. To fight evil is not +enough. Everybody seemed to feel as though that were +a war against himself. Oh for some one always to understand—never +to fear—the frowning good intention of the lonely man!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>“PETTENT PRATE.”</strong></p> + + +<p>It was about the time, in January, when clerks and +correspondents were beginning to write ’59 without +first getting it ’58, that Dr. Sevier, as one morning he approached +his office, noticed with some grim amusement, +standing among the brokers and speculators of Carondelet +street, the baker, Reisen. He was earnestly conversing +with and bending over a small, alert fellow, in a rakish +beaver and very smart coat, with the blue flowers of +modesty bunched saucily in one button-hole.</p> + +<p>Almost at the same moment Reisen saw the Doctor. +He called his name aloud, and for all his ungainly bulk +would have run directly to the carriage in the middle of +the street, only that the Doctor made believe not to see, +and in a moment was out of reach. But when, two or +three hours later, the same vehicle came, tipping somewhat +sidewise against the sidewalk at the Charity Hospital +gate, and the Doctor stepped from it, there stood +Reisen in waiting.</p> + +<p>“Toctor,” he said, approaching and touching his hat, +“I like to see you a minudt, uff you bleace, shtrict prifut.”</p> + +<p>They moved slowly down the unfrequented sidewalk, +along the garden wall.</p> + +<p>“Before you begin, Reisen, I want to ask you a question. +I’ve noticed for a month past that Mr. Richling +rides in your bread-carts alongside the drivers on their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +rounds. Don’t you know you ought not to require such a +thing as that from a person like Mr. Richling? Mr. +Richling’s a gentleman, Reisen, and you make him mount +up in those bread-carts, and jump out every few minutes +to deliver bread!”</p> + +<p>The Doctor’s blood was not cold.</p> + +<p>“Vell, now!” drawled the baker, as the corners of +his mouth retreated toward the back of his neck, “end’t +tat teh funn’est ting, ennahow! Vhy, tat iss yoost teh +ferra ting fot I comin’ to shpeak mit you apowdt udt!” +He halted and looked at the Doctor to see how this coincidence +struck him; but the Doctor merely moved on. +“<em>I</em> toant make him too udt,” he continued, starting +again; “he cumps to me sindts apowdt two-o-o mundts +aco—ven I shtill feelin’ a liddle veak, yet, fun teh yalla-feewa—undt +yoost paygs me to let um too udt. ‘Mr. +Richlun,’ sayss I to him, ‘I toandt kin untershtayndt for +vot you vawndts to too sich a ritickliss, Mr. Richlun!’ +Ovver he sayss, ‘Mr. Reisen,’—he alvays callss me +‘Mister,’ undt tat iss one dting in puttickly vot I alvays +tit li-i-iked apowdt Mr. Richlun,—‘Mr. Reisen,’ he sayss, +‘toandt you aysk me te reason, ovver yoost let me co +abate undt too udt!’ Undt I voss a coin’ to kiff udt up, +alretty; ovver ten cumps in <em>Missess</em> Reisen,—who iss a +heap shmarter mayn as fot Reisen iss, I yoost tell you te +ectsectly troot,—and she sayss, ‘Reisen, you yoost tell +Mr. Richlun, Mr. Richlun, you toadnt coin’ to too sich a +ritickliss!’”</p> + +<p>The speaker paused for effect.</p> + +<p>“Undt ten Mr. Richlun, he talks!—Schweedt?—Oh +yendlemuns, toandt say nutting!” The baker lifted up +his palm and swung it down against his thigh with a blow +that sent the flour out in a little cloud. “I tell you, +Toctor Tseweer, ven tat mayn vawndts to too udt, he kin +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +yoost talk te mo-ust like a Christun fun enna mayn I +neffa he-ut in mine li-i-fe! ‘Missess Reisen,’ he sayss, +‘I vawndts to too udt pecause I vawndts to too udt.’ +Vell, how you coin’ to arg-y ennating eagval mit Mr. +Richlun? So teh upshodt iss he coes owdt in teh prate-cawts +tistripputin’ te prate!” Reisen threw his arms far +behind him, and bowed low to his listener.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier had learned him well enough to beware of +interrupting him, lest when he resumed it would be at the +beginning again. He made no answer, and Reisen went on:—</p> + +<p>“Bressently”— He stopped his slow walk, brought +forward both palms, shrugged, dropped them, bowed, +clasped them behind him, brought the left one forward, +dropped it, then the right one, dropped it also, frowned, +smiled, and said:—</p> + +<p>“Bressently”—then a long silence—“effrapotty in +my etsteplitchmendt”—another long pause—“hef +yoost teh same ettechmendt to Mr. Richlun,”—another +interval,—“tey hef yoost tso much effection fur <em>him</em>”—another +silence—“ass tey hef”—another, with a smile +this time—“fur—te teffle himpselluf!” An oven +opened in the baker’s face, and emitted a softly rattling +expiration like that of a bursted bellows. The Doctor +neither smiled nor spoke. Reisen resumed:—</p> + +<p>“I seen udt. I seen udt. Ovver I toandt coult untershtayndt +udt. Ovver one tay cumps in mine little poy in +to me fen te pakers voss all ashleep, ‘Pap-a, Mr. +Richlun sayss you shouldt come into teh offuss.’ I +kumpt in. Mr. Richlun voss tare, shtayndting yoost so—yoost +so—py teh shtofe; undt, Toctor Tseweer, I +yoost tell you te ectsectly troot, he toaldt in fife minudts—six +minudts—seven minudts, udt may pe—undt shoadt +me how effrapotty, high undt low, little undt pick, Tom, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +Tick, undt Harra, pin ropping me sindts more ass fife +years!”</p> + +<p>The longest pause of all followed this disclosure. The +baker had gradually backed the Doctor up against the +wall, spreading out the whole matter with his great palms +turned now upward and now downward, the bulky +contents of his high-waisted, barn-door trowsers now +bulged out and now withdrawn, to be protruded yet more +a moment later. He recommenced by holding out his +down-turned hand some distance above the ground.</p> + +<p>“I yoompt tot hoigh!” He blew his cheeks out, and +rose a half-inch off his heels in recollection of the mighty +leap. “Ovver Mr. Richlun sayss,—he sayss, ‘Kip +shtill, Mr. Reisen;’ undt I kibt shtill.”</p> + +<p>The baker’s auditor was gradually drawing him back +toward the hospital gate; but he continued speaking:—</p> + +<p>“Py undt py, vun tay, I kot someting to say to Mr. +<em>Richlun</em>, yet. Undt I sendts vert to Mr. <em>Richlun</em> tat <em>he</em> +shouldt come into teh offuss. He cumps in. ‘Mr. +Richlun,’ I sayss, sayss I to him, ‘Mr. Richlun, I kot +udt!’” The baker shook his finger in Dr. Sevier’s face. +“‘I kot udt, udt layst, Mr. Richlun! I yoost het a +<em>suspish’n</em> sindts teh first tay fot I employedt you, ovver +now I <em>know</em> I kot udt!’ Vell, sir, he yoost turnun so rate +ass a flennen shirt!—‘Mr. Reisen,’ sayss he to me, +‘fot iss udt fot you kot?’ Undt sayss I to him, ‘Mr. +Richlun, udt iss you! Udt is <em>you</em> fot I kot!’”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier stood sphinx-like, and once more Reisen +went on.</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, Mr. Richlun,’” still addressing the Doctor as +though he were his book-keeper, “‘I yoost layin, on my +pett effra nighdt—effra nighdt, vi-i-ite ava-a-ake! undt +in apowdt a veek I make udt owdt ut layst tot you, Mr. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +Richlun,’—I lookt um shtraight in te eye, undt he lookt +me shtraight te same,—‘tot, Mr. Richlun, <em>you</em>,’ sayss I, +‘not dtose fellehs fot pin py mo sindts more ass fife +yearss, put <em>you</em>, Mr. Richlun, iss teh mayn!—teh mayn +fot I—kin <em>trust</em>!’” The baker’s middle parts bent out +and his arms were drawn akimbo. Thus for ten seconds.</p> + +<p>“‘Undt now, Mr. Richlun, do you kot teh shtrengdt +for to shtart a noo pissness?’—Pecause, Toctor, udt pin +seem to me Mr. Richlun kitten more undt more shecklun, +undt toandt take tot meticine fot you kif um (ovver he +sayss he toos). So ten he sayss to me, ‘Mister Reisen, +I am yoost so sollut undt shtrong like a pilly-coat! Fot +is teh noo pissness?’—‘Mr. Richlun,’ sayss I, ‘ve goin’ +to make pettent prate!’”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked the Doctor, frowning with impatience +and venturing to interrupt at last.</p> + +<p>“<em>Pet-tent prate!</em>”</p> + +<p>The listener frowned heavier and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“<em>Pettent prate!</em>”</p> + +<p>“Oh! patent bread; yes. Well?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Reisen, “prate mate mit a mutcheen; +mit copponic-essut kass into udt ploat pefore udt is paked. +I pought teh pettent tiss mawning fun a yendleman in +Garontelet shtreedt, alretty, naympt Kknox.”</p> + +<p>“And what have I to do with all this?” asked the +Doctor, consulting his watch, as he had already done +twice before.</p> + +<p>“Vell,” said Reisen, spreading his arms abroad, “I +yoost taught you like to herr udt.”</p> + +<p>“But what do you want to see me for? What have +you kept me all this time to tell me—or ask me?”</p> + +<p>“Toctor,—you ugscooce me—ovver”—the baker +held the Doctor by the elbow as he began to turn away—“Toctor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +Tseweer,”—the great face lighted up with a +smile, the large body doubled partly together, and the +broad left hand was held ready to smite the thigh,—“you +shouldt see Mr. Richlun ven he fowndt owdt udt is +goin’ to lower teh price of prate! I taught he iss goin’ to +kiss Mississ Reisen!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>SWEET BELLS JANGLED.</strong></p> + + +<p>Those who knew New Orleans just before the civil +war, even though they saw it only along its riverfront +from the deck of some steam-boat, may easily recall +a large sign painted high up on the side of the old “Triangle +Building,” which came to view through the dark +web of masts and cordage as one drew near St. Mary’s +Market. “Steam Bakery” it read. And such as were +New Orleans householders, or by any other chance enjoyed +the experience of making their way in the early +morning among the hundreds of baskets that on hundreds +of elbows moved up and down along and across the quaint +gas-lit arcades of any of the market-houses, must remember +how, about this time or a little earlier, there +began to appear on one of the tidiest of bread-stalls in +each of these market-houses a new kind of bread. It was +a small, densely compacted loaf of the size and shape of +a badly distorted brick. When broken, it divided into +layers, each of which showed—“teh bprindt of teh +kkneading-mutcheen,” said Reisen to Narcisse; “yoost +like a tsoda crecker!”</p> + +<p>These two persons had met by chance at a coffee-stand +one beautiful summer dawn in one of the markets,—the +Tréiné, most likely,—where, perched on high stools at a +zinc-covered counter, with the smell of fresh blood on the +right and of stale fish on the left, they had finished half +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +their cup of <em>café au lait</em> before they awoke to the exhilarating +knowledge of each other’s presence.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh,” said Narcisse, “now since you ’ave wemawk +the mention of it, I think I have saw that va’iety +of bwead.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, surely you poundt to a-seedt udt. A uckly little +prown dting”—</p> + +<p>“But cook well,” said Narcisse.</p> + +<p>“Yayss,” drawled the baker. It was a fact that he +had to admit.</p> + +<p>“An’ good flou’,” persisted the Creole.</p> + +<p>“Yayss,” said the smiling manufacturer. He could +not deny that either.</p> + +<p>“An’ honness weight!” said Narcisse, planting his +empty cup in his saucer, with the energy of his asservation; +“an’, Mr. Bison, thass a ve’y seldom thing.”</p> + +<p>“Yayss,” assented Reisen, “ovver tat prate is mighdy +dtry, undt shtickin’ in ten dtroat.”</p> + +<p>“No, seh!” said the flatterer, with a generous smile. +“Egscuse me—I diffeh fum you. ’Tis a beaucheouz +bwead. Yesseh. And eve’y loaf got the name beaucheouzly +pwint on the top, with ‘Patent’—sich an’ sich a +time. ’Tis the tooth, Mr. Bison, I’m boun’ to congwatu<em>late</em> +you on that bwead.”</p> + +<p>“O-o-oh! tat iss not <em>mine</em> prate,” exclaimed the baker. +“Tat iss not fun mine etsteplitchmendt. Oh, no! Tatt +iss te prate—I’m yoost dtellin’ you—tat iss te prate fun +tat fellah py teh Sunk-Mary’s Morrikit-house! Tat’s teh +‘shteam prate’. I to-undt know for vot effrapotty puys tat +prate annahow! Ovver you yoost vait dtill you see <em>mine</em> +prate!”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bison,” said Narcisse, “Mr. Bison,”—he had +been trying to stop him and get in a word of his own, +but could not,—“I don’t know if you—Mr.—Mr. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +Bison, in fact, you din unde’stood me. Can that be +poss’ble that you din notiz that I was speaking in my +i’ony about that bwead? Why, of co’se! Thass juz my +i’onious cuztom, Mr. Bison. Thass one thing I dunno if +you ’ave notiz about that ‘steam bwead,’ Mr. Bison, but +with me that bwead always stick in my th’oat; an’ yet I +kin swallow mose anything, in fact. No, Mr. Bison, yo’ +bwead is deztyned to be the bwead; and I tell you how +’tis with me, I juz gladly eat yo’ bwead eve’y time I kin +git it! Mr. Bison, in fact you don’t know me ve’y in<em>tim</em>itly, +but you will oblige me ve’y much indeed to baw +me five dollahs till tomaw—save me fum d’awing a check!”</p> + +<p>The German thrust his hand slowly and deeply into his +pocket. “I alvayss like to oplyche a yendleman,”—he +smiled benignly, drew out a toothpick, and added,—“ovver +I nivveh bporrah or lend to ennabodda.”</p> + +<p>“An’ then,” said Narcisse, promptly, “’tis imposs’ble +faw anybody to be offended. Thass the bess way, Mr. Bison.”</p> + +<p>“Yayss,” said the baker, “I tink udt iss.” As they +were parting, he added: “Ovver you vait dtill you see +<em>mine</em> prate!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do it, seh!— And, Mr. Bison, you muzn’t think +anything about that, my not bawing that five dollars fum +you, Mr. Bison, because that don’t make a bit o’ dif’ence; +an’ thass one thing I like about you, Mr. Bison, you +don’t baw yo’ money to eve’y Dick, Tom, an’ Hawwy, do you?”</p> + +<p>“No, I dtoandt. Ovver, you yoost vait”—</p> + +<p>And certainly, after many vexations, difficulties, and +delays, that took many a pound of flesh from Reisen’s +form, the pretty, pale-brown, fragrant white loaves of +“aërated bread” that issued from the Star Bakery in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +Benjamin street were something pleasant to see, though +they did not lower the price.</p> + +<p>Richling’s old liking for mechanical apparatus came +into play. He only, in the establishment, thoroughly +understood the new process, and could be certain of daily, +or rather nightly, uniform results. He even made one or +two slight improvements in it, which he contemplated +with ecstatic pride, and long accounts of which he wrote +to Mary.</p> + +<p>In a generous and innocent way Reisen grew a little +jealous of his accountant, and threw himself into his +business as he had not done before since he was young, +and in the ardor of his emulation ignored utterly a state +of health that was no better because of his great length +and breadth.</p> + +<p>“Toctor Tseweer!” he said, as the physician appeared +one day in his office. “Vell, now, I yoost pet finfty +tawllars tat iss Mississ Reisen sendts for you tat I’m +sick! Ven udt iss not such a dting!” He laughed immoderately. +“Ovver I’m gladt you come, Toctor, ennahow, +for you pin yoost in time to see ever’ting runnin’. +I vish you yoost come undt see udt!” He grinned in +his old, broad way; but his face was anxious, and his +bared arms were lean. He laid his hand on the Doctor’s +arm, and then jerked it away, and tried to blow off the +floury print of his fingers. “Come!” He beckoned. +“Come; I show you somedting putiful. Toctor, I <em>vizh</em> +you come!”</p> + +<p>The Doctor yielded. Richling had to be called upon +at last to explain the hidden parts and processes.</p> + +<p>“It’s yoost like putt’n’ te shpirudt into teh potty,” +said the laughing German. “Now, tat prate kot life in +udt yoost teh same like your own selluf, Toctor. Tot +prate kot yoost so much sense ass Reisen kot. Ovver, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +Toctor—Toctor”—the Doctor was giving his attention +to Richling, who was explaining something—“Toctor, +toandt you come here uxpectin’ to see nopoty sick, less-n +udt iss Mr. Richlun.” He caught Richling’s face roughly +between his hands, and then gave his back a caressing +thwack. “Toctor, vot you dtink? Ve goin’ teh run prate-cawts +mit copponic-essut kass. Tispense mit hawses!” +He laughed long but softly, and smote Richling again as +the three walked across the bakery yard abreast.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Dr. Sevier to Richling, in a low tone, +“always working toward the one happy end.”</p> + +<p>Richling had only time to answer with his eyes, when +the baker, always clinging close to them, said, “Yes; if +I toandt look oudt yet, he pe rich pefore Reisen.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked steadily at Richling, stood still, and +said, “Don’t hurry.”</p> + +<p>But Richling swung playfully half around on his heel, +dropped his glance, and jerked his head sidewise, as one +who neither resented the advice nor took it. A minute +later he drew from his breast-pocket a small, thick letter +stripped of its envelope, and handed it to the Doctor, +who put it into his pocket, neither of them speaking. The +action showed practice. Reisen winked one eye laboriously +at the Doctor and chuckled.</p> + +<p>“See here, Reisen,” said the Doctor, “I want you to +pack your trunk, take the late boat, and go to Biloxi or +Pascagoula, and spend a month fishing and sailing.”</p> + +<p>The baker pushed his fingers up under his hat, scratched +his head, smiled widely, and pointed at Richling.</p> + +<p>“Sendt him.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor went and sat down with Reisen, and used +every form of inducement that could be brought to bear; +but the German had but one answer: Richling, Richling, +not he. The Doctor left a prescription, which the baker +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +took until he found it was making him sleep while Richling +was at work, whereupon he amiably threw it out of +his window.</p> + +<p>It was no surprise to Dr. Sevier that Richling came to +him a few days later with a face all trouble.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Richling? How’s Reisen?”</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” said Richling, “I’m afraid Mr. Reisen is”—Their +eyes met.</p> + +<p>“Insane,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Does his wife know whether he has ever had such +symptoms before—in his life?”</p> + +<p>“She says he hasn’t.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you know his pecuniary condition perfectly; +has he money?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll not consent to go away anywhere, I suppose, will he?”</p> + +<p>“Not an inch.”</p> + +<p>“There’s but one sensible and proper course, Richling; +he must be taken at once, by force if necessary, to a +first-class insane hospital.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor, why? Can’t we treat him better at home?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor gave his head its well-known swing of +impatience. “If you want to be <em>criminally</em> in error try that!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to be in error at all,” retorted Richling.</p> + +<p>“Then don’t lose twelve hours that you can save, but +send him off as soon as process of court will let you.”</p> + +<p>“Will you come at once and see him?” asked Richling, +rising up.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ll be there nearly as soon as you will. Stop; +you had better ride with me; I have something special to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +say.” As the carriage started off, the Doctor leaned back +in its cushions, folded his arms, and took a long, meditative +breath. Richling glanced at him and said:—</p> + +<p>“We’re both thinking of the same person.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the Doctor; “and the same day, too, +I suppose: the first day I ever saw her; the only other +time that we ever got into this carriage together. Hmm! +hmm! With what a fearful speed time flies!”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” said the yearning husband, and apologized +by a laugh. The Doctor grunted, looked out of +the carriage window, and, suddenly turning, asked:—</p> + +<p>“Do you know that Reisen instructed his wife about +six months ago, in the event of his death or disability, to +place all her interests in your hands, and to be guided by +your advice in everything?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Richling, “he can’t do that! He +should have asked my consent.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he knew he wouldn’t get it. He’s a cunning +simpleton.”</p> + +<p>“But, Doctor, if you knew this”—Richling ceased.</p> + +<p>“Six months ago. Why didn’t I tell you?” said the +physician. “I thought I would, Richling, though Reisen +bade me not, when he told me; I made no promise. But +time, that you think goes slow, was too fast for me.”</p> + +<p>“I shall refuse to serve,” said Richling, soliloquizing +aloud. “Don’t you see, Doctor, the delicacy of the position?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do; but you don’t. Don’t you see it would be +just as delicate a matter for you to refuse?”</p> + +<p>Richling pondered, and presently said, quite slowly:—</p> + +<p>“It will look like coming down out of the tree to catch +the apples as they fall,” he said. “Why,” he added +with impatience, “it lays me wide open to suspicion and slander.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +“Does it?” asked the Doctor, heartlessly. “There’s +nothing remarkable in that. Did any one ever occupy a +responsible position without those conditions?”</p> + +<p>“But, you know, I have made some unscrupulous +enemies by defending Reisen’s interests.”</p> + +<p>“Um-hmm; what did you defend them for?”</p> + +<p>Richling was about to make a reply; but the Doctor +wanted none. “Richling,” he said, “the most of men +have burrows. They never let anything decoy them so +far from those burrows but they can pop into them at a +moment’s notice. Do you take my meaning?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” said Richling, pleasantly; “no trouble to +understand you this time. I’ll not run into any burrow +just now. I’ll face my duty and think of Mary.”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“Excellent pastime,” responded Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>They rode on in silence.</p> + +<p>“As to”—began Richling again,—“as to such matters +as these, once a man confronts the question candidly, +there is really no room, that I can see, for a man to +choose: a man, at least, who is always guided by conscience.”</p> + +<p>“If there were such a man,” responded the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“True,” said John.</p> + +<p>“But for common stuff, such as you and I are made of, +it must sometimes be terrible.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say,” said Richling. “It sometimes requires +cold blood to choose aright.”</p> + +<p>“As cold as granite,” replied the other.</p> + +<p>They arrived at the bakery.</p> + +<p>“O Doctor,” said Mrs. Reisen, proffering her hand as +he entered the house, “my poor hussband iss crazy!” She +dropped into a chair and burst into tears. She was a +large woman, with a round, red face and triple chin, but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +with a more intelligent look and a better command of +English than Reisen. “Doctor, I want you to cure him +ass quick ass possible.”</p> + +<p>“Well, madam, of course; but will you do what I say?”</p> + +<p>“I will, certain shure. I do it yust like you tellin’ me.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor gave her such good advice as became a +courageous physician.</p> + +<p>A look of dismay came upon her. Her mouth dropped +open. “Oh, no, Doctor!” She began to shake her head. +“I’ll never do tha-at; oh, no; I’ll never send my poor +hussband to the crazy-house! Oh, no, sir; I’ll do not such +a thing!” There was some resentment in her emotion. +Her nether lip went up like a crying babe’s, and she +breathed through her nostrils audibly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I know!” said the poor creature, turning her +face away from the Doctor’s kind attempts to explain, and +lifting it incredulously as she talked to the wall,—“I +know all about it. I’m not a-goin’ to put no sich a disgrace +on my poor hussband; no, indeed!” She faced around +suddenly and threw out her hand to Richling, who leaned +against a door twisting a bit of string between his thumbs. +“Why, he wouldn’t go, nohow, even if I gave my consents. +You caynt coax him out of his room yet. Oh, no, Doctor! +It’s my duty to keep him wid me an’ try to cure him first +a little while here at home. That aint no trouble to me; +I don’t never mind no trouble if I can be any help to my +hussband.” She addressed the wall again.</p> + +<p>“Well, madam,” replied the physician, with unusual +tenderness of tone, and looking at Richling while he +spoke, “of course you’ll do as you think best.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! my poor Reisen!” exclaimed the wife, wringing +her hands.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +“Yes,” said the physician, rising and looking out of +the window, “I am afraid it will be ruin to Reisen.”</p> + +<p>“No, it won’t be such a thing,” said Mrs. Reisen, turning +this way and that in her chair as the physician moved +from place to place. “Mr. Richlin’,”—turning to him,—“Mr. +Richlin’ and me kin run the business yust so +good as Reisen.” She shifted her distressed gaze back +and forth from Richling to the Doctor. The latter turned +to Richling:—</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to leave this matter to you.”</p> + +<p>Richling nodded.</p> + +<p>“Where is Reisen?” asked the Doctor. “In his own +room, upstairs?” The three passed through an inner +door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>MIRAGE.</strong></p> + + +<p>“This spoils some of your arrangements, doesn’t it?” +asked Dr. Sevier of Richling, stepping again into his +carriage. He had already said the kind things, concerning +Reisen, that physicians commonly say when they have little +hope. “Were you not counting on an early visit to Milwaukee?”</p> + +<p>Richling laughed.</p> + +<p>“That illusion has been just a little beyond reach for +months.” He helped the Doctor shut his carriage-door.</p> + +<p>“But now, of course—” said the physician.</p> + +<p>“Of course it’s out of the question,” replied Richling; +and the Doctor drove away, with the young man’s face in +his mind bearing an expression of simple emphasis that +pleased him much.</p> + +<p>Late at night Richling, in his dingy little office, unlocked +a drawer, drew out a plump package of letters, and began +to read their pages,—transcripts of his wife’s heart, pages +upon pages, hundreds of precious lines, dates crowding +closely one upon another. Often he smiled as his eyes ran +to and fro, or drew a soft sigh as he turned the page, and +looked behind to see if any one had stolen in and was reading +over his shoulder. Sometimes his smile broadened; +he lifted his glance from the sheet and fixed it in pleasant +revery on the blank wall before him. Often the lines +were entirely taken up with mere utterances of affection. +Now and then they were all about little Alice, who had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +fretted all the night before, her gums being swollen and +tender on the upper left side near the front; or who had +fallen violently in love with the house-dog, by whom, in +turn, the sentiment was reciprocated; or whose eyes were +really getting bluer and bluer, and her cheeks fatter and +fatter, and who seemed to fear nothing that had existence. +And the reader of the lines would rest one elbow on the +desk, shut his eyes in one hand, and see the fair young head +of the mother drooping tenderly over that smaller head in +her bosom. Sometimes the tone of the lines was hopefully +grave, discussing in the old tentative, interrogative key +the future and its possibilities. Some pages were given +to reminiscences,—recollections of all the droll things and +all the good and glad things of the rugged past. Every +here and there, but especially where the lines drew toward +the signature, the words of longing multiplied, but always +full of sunshine; and just at the end of each letter love +spurned its restraints, and rose and overflowed with sweet +confessions.</p> + +<p>Sometimes these re-read letters did Richling good; +not always. Maybe he read them too often. It was +only the very next time that the Doctor’s carriage stood +before the bakery that the departing physician turned +before he reëntered the vehicle, and—whatever Richling +had been saying to him—said abruptly:—</p> + +<p>“Richling, are you falling out of love with your work?”</p> + +<p>“Why do you ask me that?” asked the young man, coloring.</p> + +<p>“Because I no longer see that joy of deliverance with +which you entered upon this humble calling. It seems to +have passed like a lost perfume, Richling. Have you let +your toil become a task once more?”</p> + +<p>Richling dropped his eyes and pushed the ground with +the toe of his boot.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +“I didn’t want you to find that out, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I was afraid, from the first, it would be so,” said the +physician.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why you were.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I saw that the zeal with which you first laid hold +of your work was not entirely natural. It was good, +but it was partly artificial,—the more credit to you on +that account. But I saw that by and by you would have +to keep it up mainly by your sense of necessity and duty. +‘That’ll be the pinch,’ I said; and now I see it’s come. +For a long time you idealized the work; but at last its +real dulness has begun to overcome you, and you’re +discontented—and with a discontentment that you can’t +justify, can you?”</p> + +<p>“But I feel myself growing smaller again.”</p> + +<p>“No wonder. Why, Richling, it’s the discontent makes that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! The discontent makes me long to expand. +I never had so much ambition before. But what can I +do here? Why, Doctor, I ought to be—I might be”—</p> + +<p>The physician laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Richling. Drop those phrases and give us a +healthy ‘I am,’ and ‘I must,’ and ‘I will.’ Don’t—<em>don’t</em> +be like so many! You’re not of the many. Richling, +in the first illness in which I ever attended your +wife, she watched her chance and asked me privately—implored +me—not to let her die, for your sake. I don’t +suppose that tortures could have wrung from her, even +if she realized it,—which I doubt,—the true reason. +But don’t you feel it? It was because your moral nature +needs her so badly. Stop—let me finish. You need +Mary back here now to hold you square to your course +by the tremendous power of her timid little ‘Don’t you think?’ +and ‘Doesn’t it seem?’”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +“Doctor,” replied Richling, with a smile of expostulation, +“you touch one’s pride.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I do. You’re willing enough to say that +you love her and long for her, but not that your moral +manhood needs her. And yet isn’t it true?”</p> + +<p>“It sha’n’t be true,” said Richling, swinging a playful +fist. “‘Forewarned is forearmed;’ I’ll not allow it. +I’m man enough for that.” He laughed, with a touch of +pique.</p> + +<p>“Richling,”—the Doctor laid a finger against his +companion’s shoulder, preparing at the same time to leave +him,—“don’t be misled. A man who doesn’t need a +wife isn’t fit to have one.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor,” replied Richling, with sincere amiability, +“you’re the man of all men I should have picked +out to prove the contrary.”</p> + +<p>“No, Richling, no. I wasn’t fit, and God took her.”</p> + +<p>In accordance with Dr. Sevier’s request Richling essayed +to lift the mind of the baker’s wife, in the matter +of her husband’s affliction, to that plane of conviction +where facts, and not feelings, should become her motive; +and when he had talked until his head reeled, as though +he had been blowing a fire, and she would not blaze for +all his blowing—would be governed only by a stupid +sentimentality; and when at length she suddenly flashed +up in silly anger and accused him of interested motives; +and when he had demanded instant retraction or release +from her employment; and when she humbly and affectionately +apologized, and was still as deep as ever in +hopeless, clinging sentimentalisms, repeating the dictums +of her simple and ignorant German neighbors and intimates, +and calling them in to argue with him, the feeling +that the Doctor’s exhortation had for the moment driven +away came back with more force than ever, and he could +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +only turn again to his ovens and account-books with a +feeling of annihilation.</p> + +<p>“Where am I? What am I?” Silence was the only +answer. The separation that had once been so sharp a +pain had ceased to cut, and was bearing down upon him +now with that dull, grinding weight that does the damage +in us.</p> + +<p>Presently came another development: the lack of +money, that did no harm while it was merely kept in the +mind, settled down upon the heart.</p> + +<p>“It may be a bad thing to love, but it’s a good thing +to have,” he said, one day, to the little rector, as this +friend stood by him at a corner of the high desk where +Richling was posting his ledger.</p> + +<p>“But not to seek,” said the rector.</p> + +<p>Richling posted an item and shook his head doubtingly.</p> + +<p>“That depends, I should say, on how much one seeks +it, and how much of it he seeks.”</p> + +<p>“No,” insisted the clergyman. Richling bent a look +of inquiry upon him, and he added:—</p> + +<p>“The principle is bad, and you know it, Richling. +‘Seek ye first’—you know the text, and the assurance +that follows with it—‘all these things shall be added’”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; but still”—</p> + +<p>“‘But still!’” exclaimed the little preacher; “why +must everybody say ‘but still’? Don’t you see that that +‘but still’ is the refusal of Christians to practise Christianity?”</p> + +<p>Richling looked, but said nothing; and his friend hoped +the word had taken effect. But Richling was too deeply +bitten to be cured by one or two good sayings. After a +moment he said:—</p> + +<p>“I used to wonder to see nearly everybody struggling +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +to be rich, but I don’t now. I don’t justify it, but I +understand it. It’s flight from oblivion. It’s the natural +longing to be seen and felt.”</p> + +<p>“Why isn’t it enough to be felt?” asked the other. +“Here, you make bread and sell it. A thousand people +eat it from your hand every day. Isn’t that something?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but it’s all the bread. The bread’s everything; +I’m nothing. I’m not asked to do or to be. I may exist +or not; there will be bread all the same. I see my +remark pains you, but I can’t help it. You’ve never tried +the thing. You’ve never encountered the mild contempt +that people in ease pay to those who pursue the ‘industries.’ +You’ve never suffered the condescension of rank +to the ranks. You don’t know the smart of being only +an arithmetical quantity in a world of achievements and +possessions.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the preacher, “maybe I haven’t. But I +should say you are just the sort of man that ought to +come through all that unsoured and unhurt. Richling,”—he +put on a lighter mood,—“you’ve got a moral indigestion. +You’ve accustomed yourself to the highest motives, +and now these new notions are not the highest, and you +know and feel it. They don’t nourish you. They don’t +make you happy. Where are your old sentiments? +What’s become of them?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Richling, “I got them from my wife. +And the supply’s nearly run out.”</p> + +<p>“Get it renewed!” said the little man, quickly, putting +on his hat and extending a farewell hand. “Excuse me +for saying so. I didn’t intend it; I dropped in to ask +you again the name of that Italian whom you visit at the +prison,—the man I promised you I’d go and talk to. +Yes—Ristofalo; that’s it. Good-by.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +That night Richling wrote to his wife. What he wrote +goes not down here; but he felt as he wrote that his mood +was not the right one, and when Mary got the letter she +answered by first mail:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Will you not let me come to you? Is it not surely best? Say +but the word, and I’ll come. It will be the steamer to Chicago, +railroad to Cairo, and a St. Louis boat to New Orleans. Alice will +be both company and protection, and no burden at all. O my +beloved husband! I am just ungracious enough to think, some days, +that these times of separation are the hardest of all. When we +were suffering sickness and hunger together—well, we were +<em>together</em>. Darling, if you’ll just say come, I’ll come in an <em>instant</em>. +Oh, how gladly! Surely, with what you tell me you’ve saved, and +with your place so secure to you, can’t we venture to begin again? +Alice and I can live with you in the bakery. O my husband! if +you but say the word, a little time—a few days will bring us into +your arms. And yet, do not yield to my impatience; I trust your +wisdom, and know that what you decide will be best. Mother has +been very feeble lately, as I have told you; but she seems to be +improving, and now I see what I’ve half suspected for a long time, +and ought to have seen sooner, that my husband—my dear, dear +husband—needs me most; and I’m coming—I’m <em>coming</em>, John, +if you’ll only say come.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 80%;">Your loving</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 85%;" class="smcap">Mary.</span>”</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>RISTOFALO AND THE RECTOR.</strong></p> + + +<p>Be Richling’s feelings what they might, the Star Bakery +shone in the retail firmament of the commercial heavens +with new and growing brilliancy. There was scarcely +time to talk even with the tough little rector who hovers +on the borders of this history, and he might have become +quite an alien had not Richling’s earnest request made +him one day a visitor, as we have seen him express his +intention of being, in the foul corridors of the parish +prison, and presently the occupant of a broken chair in +the apartment apportioned to Raphael Ristofalo and two +other prisoners. “Easy little tasks you cut out for your +friends,” said the rector to Richling when next they met. +“I got preached <em>to</em>—not to say edified. I’ll share my +edification with you!” He told his experience.</p> + +<p>It was a sinister place, the prison apartment. The +hand of Kate Ristofalo had removed some of its unsightly +conditions and disguised others; but the bounds +of the room, walls, ceiling, windows, floor, still displayed, +with official unconcern, the grime and decay that is commonly +thought good enough for men charged, rightly or +wrongly, with crime.</p> + +<p>The clergyman’s chair was in the centre of the floor. +Ristofalo sat facing him a little way off on the right. A +youth of nineteen sat tipped against the wall on the left, +and a long-limbed, big-boned, red-shirted young Irishman +occupied a poplar table, hanging one of his legs across a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +corner of it and letting the other down to the floor. Ristofalo +remarked, in the form of polite acknowledgment, +that the rector had preached to the assembled inmates of +the prison on the Sunday previous.</p> + +<p>“Did I say anything that you thought was true?” +asked the minister.</p> + +<p>The Italian smiled in the gentle manner that never +failed him.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t listen much,” he said. He drew from a +pocket of his black velveteen pantaloons a small crumpled +tract. It may have been a favorite one with the clergyman, +for the youth against the wall produced its counterpart, +and the man on the edge of the table lay back on +his elbow, and, with an indolent stretch of the opposite +arm and both legs, drew a third one from a tin cup that +rested on a greasy shelf behind him. The Irishman held +his between his fingers and smirked a little toward the +floor. Ristofalo extended his toward the visitor, and +touched the caption with one finger: “Mercy offered.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” asked the rector, pleasantly, “what’s the +matter with that?”</p> + +<p>“Is no use yeh. Wrong place—this prison.”</p> + +<p>“Um-hm,” said the tract-distributor, glancing down +at the leaf and smoothing it on his knee while he took +time to think. “Well, why shouldn’t mercy be offered here?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Ristofalo, still smiling; “ought offer +justice first.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Preacher,” asked the young Irishman, bringing +both legs to the front, and swinging them under the table, +“d’ye vote?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I vote.”</p> + +<p>“D’ye call yerself a cidizen—with a cidizen’s rights +an’ djuties?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> +“I do.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right.” There was a deep sea of insolence in +the smooth-faced, red-eyed smile that accompanied the +commendation. “And how manny times have ye bean +in this prison?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; eight or ten times. That rather beats +you, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Ristofalo smiled, the youth uttered a high rasping +cackle, and the Irishman laughed the heartiest of all.</p> + +<p>“A little,” he said; “a little. But nivver mind. Ye +say ye’ve bin here eight or tin times; yes. Well, now, +will I tell ye what I’d do afore and iver I’d kim back here +ag’in,—if I was you now? Will I tell ye?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes,” replied the visitor, amiably; “I’d like to +know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, surr, I’d go to the mair of this city and to the +judge of the criminal coort, and to the gov’ner of the +Sta-ate, and to the ligislatur, if needs be, and I’d say, +‘Gintlemin, I can’t go back to that prison! There is +more crimes a-being committed by the people outside ag’in +the fellies in theyre than—than—than the—the fellies +in theyre has committed ag’in the people! I’m ashamed +to preach theyre! I’m afeered to do ud!’” The speaker +slipped off the table, upon his feet. “‘There’s murrder a-goun’ +on in theyre! There’s more murrder a-bein’ done +in theyre nor there is outside! Justice is a-bein’ murdered +theyre ivery hour of day and night!’”</p> + +<p>He brandished his fist with the last words, but dropped +it at a glance from Ristofalo, and began to pace the floor +along his side of the room, looking with a heavy-browed +smile back and forth from one fellow-captive to the other. +He waited till the visitor was about to speak, and then +interrupted, pointing at him suddenly:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> +“Ye’re a Prodez’n preacher! I’ll bet ye fifty dollars +ye have a rich cherch! Full of leadin’ cidizens!”</p> + +<p>“You’re correct.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’d go an’—an’—an’ I’d say, ‘Dawn’t ye +nivver ax me to go into that place ag’in a-pallaverin’ +about mercy, until ye gid ud chaynged from the hell on +earth it is to a house of justice, wheyre min gits the sintences +that the coorts decrees!’ <em>I</em> don’t complain in +here. <em>He</em> don’t complain,” pointing to Ristofalo; “ye’ll +nivver hear a complaint from him. But go look in that +yaird!” He threw up both hands with a grimace of +disgust—“Aw!”—and ceased again, but continued his +walk, looked at his fellows, and resumed:—</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> listened to yer sermon. I heerd ye talkin’ about +the souls of uz. Do ye think ye kin make anny of thim +min believe ye cayre for the souls of us whin ye do +nahthing for the <em>bodies</em> that’s before yer eyes tlothed in +rrags and stairved, and made to sleep on beds of brick +and stone, and to receive a hundred abuses a day that +was nivver intended to be a pairt of <em>anny</em>body’s sintince—and +manny of’m not tried yit, an’ nivver a-goun’ to +have annythin’ proved ag’in ’m? How <em>can</em> ye come offerin’ +uz merrcy? For ye don’t come out o’ the tloister, like a +poor Cat’lic priest or Sister. Ye come rright out o’ the +hairt o’ the community that’s a-committin’ more crimes +ag’in uz in here than all of us together has iver committed +outside. Aw!—Bring us a better airticle of yer own +justice ferst—I doan’t cayre how <em>crool</em> it is, so ut’s +<em>justice</em>—an’ <em>thin</em> preach about God’s mercy. I’ll listen +to ye.”</p> + +<p>Ristofalo had kept his eyes for the most of the time on +the floor, smiling sometimes more and sometimes less. Now, +however, he raised them and nodded to the clergyman. +He approved all that had been said. The Irishman went +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> +and sat again on the table and swung his legs. The +visitor was not allowed to answer before, and must +answer now. He would have been more comfortable at +the rectory.</p> + +<p>“My friend,” he began, “suppose, now, I should say +that you are pretty nearly correct in everything you’ve +said?”</p> + +<p>The prisoner, who, with hands grasping the table’s +edge on either side of him, was looking down at his +swinging brogans, simply lifted his lurid eyes without +raising his head, and nodded. “It would be right,” he +seemed to intimate, “but nothing great.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose I should say that I’m glad I’ve heard +it, and that I even intend to make good use of it?”</p> + +<p>His hearer lifted his head, better pleased, but not +without some betrayal of the distrust which a lower +nature feels toward the condescensions of a higher. The +preacher went on:—</p> + +<p>“Would you try to believe what I have to add to that?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’d try,” replied the Irishman, looking facetiously +from the youth to Ristofalo. But this time the +Italian was grave, and turned his glance expectantly upon +the minister, who presently replied:—</p> + +<p>“Well, neither my church nor the community has sent +me here at all.”</p> + +<p>The Irishman broke into a laugh.</p> + +<p>“Did God send ye?” He looked again to his comrades, +with an expanded grin. The youth giggled. The clergyman +met the attack with serenity, waited a moment and +then responded:—</p> + +<p>“Well, in one sense, I don’t mind saying—yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Irishman, still full of mirth, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +swinging his legs with fresh vigor, “he’d aht to ’a’ sint +ye to the ligislatur.”</p> + +<p>“I’m in hopes he will,” said the little rector; “but”—checking +the Irishman’s renewed laughter—“tell me +why should other men’s injustice in here stop me from +preaching God’s mercy?”</p> + +<p>“Because it’s pairt <em>your</em> injustice! Ye <em>do</em> come from +yer cherch, an’ ye <em>do</em> come from the community, an’ ye +can’t deny ud, an’ ye’d ahtn’t to be comin’ in here with +yer sweet tahk and yer eyes tight shut to the crimes that’s +bein’ committed ag’in uz for want of an outcry against +’em by you preachers an’ prayers an’ thract-disthributors.” +The speaker ceased and nodded fiercely. Then a new +thought occurred to him, and he began again abruptly:—</p> + +<p>“Look ut here! Ye said in yer serrmon that as to +Him”—he pointed through the broken ceiling—“we’re +all criminals alike, didn’t ye?”</p> + +<p>“I did,” responded the preacher, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ristofalo; and the boy echoed the same word.</p> + +<p>“Well, thin, what rights has some to be out an’ some to be in?”</p> + +<p>“Only one right that I know of,” responded the little +man; “still that is a good one.”</p> + +<p>“And that is—?” prompted the Irishman.</p> + +<p>“Society’s right to protect itself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the prisoner, “to protect itself. Thin +what right has it to keep a prison like this, where every +man an’ woman as goes out of ud goes out a blacker +devil, and cunninger devil, and a more dangerous devil, +nor when he came in? Is that anny protection? Why +shouldn’t such a prison tumble down upon the heads of +thim as built it? Say.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> +“I expect you’ll have to ask somebody else,” said the +rector. He rose.</p> + +<p>“Ye’re not a-goun’!” exclaimed the Irishman, in +broad affectation of surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! come, now! Ye’re not goun’ to be beat that +a-way by a wild Mick o’ the woods?” He held himself +ready for a laugh.</p> + +<p>“No, I’m coming back,” said the smiling clergyman, +and the laugh came.</p> + +<p>“That’s right! But”—as if the thought was a sudden +one—“I’ll be dead by thin, willn’t I? Of coorse I will.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” rejoined the clergyman. “How’s that?”</p> + +<p>The Irishman turned to the Italian.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ristofalo, we’re a-goin to the pinitintiary, aint we?”</p> + +<p>Ristofalo nodded.</p> + +<p>“Of coorse we air! Ah! Mr. Preechur, that’s the place!”</p> + +<p>“Worse than this?”</p> + +<p>“Worse? Oh, no! It’s better. This is slow death, +but that’s quick and short—and sure. If it don’t git ye +in five year’, ye’re an allygatur. This place? It’s heaven +to ud!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>SHALL SHE COME OR STAY?</strong></p> + + +<p>Richling read Mary’s letter through three times without +a smile. The feeling that he had prompted the +missive—that it was partly his—stood between him and +a tumult of gladness. And yet when he closed his eyes he +could see Mary, all buoyancy and laughter, spurning his +claim to each and every stroke of the pen. It was all +hers, all!</p> + +<p>As he was slowly folding the sheet Mrs. Reisen came +in upon him. It was one of those excessively warm +spring evenings that sometimes make New Orleans fear it +will have no May. The baker’s wife stood with her +immense red hands thrust into the pockets of an expansive +pinafore, and her three double chins glistening with +perspiration. She bade her manager a pleasant good-evening.</p> + +<p>Richling inquired how she had left her husband.</p> + +<p>“Kviet, Mr. Richlin’, kviet. Mr. Richlin’, I pelief +Reisen kittin petter. If he don’t gittin’ better, how come +he’ss every day a little more kvieter, and sit’ still and +don’t say nutting to nobody?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Reisen, my wife is asking me to send for her”—Richling +gave the folded letter a little shake as he held it +by one corner—“to come down here and live again.”</p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Richlin’?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will shwear!” She dropped into a seat. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +“Right in de bekinning o’ summer time! Vell, vell, +vell! And you told me Mrs. Richling is a sentsible +voman! Vell, I don’t belief dat I efer see a young +voman w’at aint de pickest kind o’ fool apowt her hussbandt. +Vell, vell!—And she comin’ down heah ’n’ +choost kittin’ all your money shpent, ’n’ den her mudter +kittin’ vorse ’n’ she got ’o go pack akin!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Mrs. Reisen,” exclaimed Richling, warmly. +“you speak as if you didn’t want her to come.” He contrived +to smile as he finished.</p> + +<p>“Vell,—of—course! <em>You</em> don’t vant her to come, do you?”</p> + +<p>Richling forced a laugh.</p> + +<p>“Seems to me ’twould be natural if I did, Mrs. Reisen. +Didn’t the preacher say, when we were married, ‘Let no +man put asunder’?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, now, Mr. Richlin’, dere aindt nopotty a-koin’ to +put you under!—’less-n it’s your vife. Vot she want to +come down for? Don’t I takin’ koot care you?” There +was a tear in her eye as she went out.</p> + +<p>An hour or so later the little rector dropped in.</p> + +<p>“Richling, I came to see if I did any damage the last +time I was here. My own words worried me.”</p> + +<p>“You were afraid,” responded Richling, “that I would +understand you to recommend me to send for my wife.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t understand you so.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my mind’s relieved.”</p> + +<p>“Mine isn’t,” said Richling. He laid down his pen +and gathered his fingers around one knee. “Why +shouldn’t I send for her?”</p> + +<p>“You will, some day.”</p> + +<p>“But I mean now.”</p> + +<p>The clergyman shook his head pleasantly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> +“I don’t think that’s what you mean.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let that pass. I know what I do mean. I +mean to get out of this business. I’ve lived long enough +with these savages.” A wave of his hand indicated the +whole <em>personnel</em> of the bread business.</p> + +<p>“I would try not to mind their savageness, Richling,” +said the little preacher, slowly. “The best of us are only +savages hid under a harness. If we’re not, we’ve somehow +made a loss.” Richling looked at him with amused +astonishment, but he persisted. “I’m in earnest! We’ve +had something refined out of us that we shouldn’t have +parted with. Now, there’s Mrs. Reisen. I like her. +She’s a good woman. If the savage can stand you, why +can’t you stand the savage?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, true enough. Yet—well, I must get out of this, anyway.”</p> + +<p>The little man clapped him on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>“<em>Climb</em> out. See here, you Milwaukee man,”—he +pushed Richling playfully,—“what are <em>you</em> doing with +these Southern notions of ours about the ‘yoke of menial +service,’ anyhow?”</p> + +<p>“I was not born in Milwaukee,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“And you’ll not die with these notions, either,” retorted +the other. “Look here, I am going. Good-by. You’ve +got to get rid of them, you know, before your wife comes. +I’m glad you are not going to send for her now.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you don’t know what you’d do,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>The little preacher eyed him steadily for a moment, and +then slowly returned to where he still sat holding his +knee.</p> + +<p>They had a long talk in very quiet tones. At the end +the rector asked:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +“Didn’t you once meet Dr. Sevier’s two nieces—at his house?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember the one named Laura?—the dark, +flashing one?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well,—oh, pshaw! I could tell you something +funny, but I don’t care to do it.”</p> + +<p>What he did not care to tell was, that she had promised +him five years before to be his wife any day when he +should say the word. In all that time, and this very +night, one letter, one line almost, and he could have ended +his waiting; but he was not seeking his own happiness.</p> + +<p>They smiled together. “Well, good-by again. Don’t +think I’m always going to persecute you with my solicitude.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not worth it,” said Richling, slipping slowly +down from his high stool and letting the little man out +into the street.</p> + +<p>A little way down the street some one coming out of a +dark alley just in time to confront the clergyman extended +a hand in salutation.</p> + +<p>“Good-evenin’, Mr. Blank.”</p> + +<p>He took the hand. It belonged to a girl of eighteen, +bareheaded and barefooted, holding in the other hand a +small oil-can. Her eyes looked steadily into his.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know me,” she said, pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, now I remember you. You’re Maggie.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied the girl. “Don’t you recollect—in +the mission-school? Don’t you recollect you married me +and Larry? That’s two years ago.” She almost laughed +out with pleasure.</p> + +<p>“And where’s Larry?”</p> + +<p>“Why, don’t you recollect? He’s on the sloop-o’-war +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +<em>Preble</em>.” Then she added more gravely: “I aint seen +him in twenty months. But I know he’s all right. I aint +a-scared about <em>that</em>—only if he’s alive and well; yes, sir. +Well, good-evenin’, sir. Yes, sir; I think I’ll come to +the mission nex’ Sunday—and I’ll bring the baby, will I? +All right, sir. Well, so long, sir. Take care of yourself, +sir.”</p> + +<p>What a word that was! It echoed in his ear all the +way home: “Take care of <em>yourself</em>.” What boast is +there for the civilization that refines away the unconscious +heroism of the unfriended poor?</p> + +<p>He was glad he had not told Richling all his little +secret. But Richling found it out later from Dr. Sevier.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>WHAT WOULD YOU DO?</strong></p> + + +<p>Three days Mary’s letter lay unanswered. About +dusk of the third, as Richling was hurrying across +the yard of the bakery on some errand connected with the +establishment, a light touch was laid upon his shoulder; +a peculiar touch, which he recognized in an instant. He +turned in the gloom and exclaimed, in a whisper:—</p> + +<p>“Why, Ristofalo!”</p> + +<p>“Howdy?” said Raphael, in his usual voice.</p> + +<p>“Why, how did you get out?” asked Richling. “Have +you escaped?”</p> + +<p>“No. Just come out for little air. Captain of the +prison and me. Not captain, exactly; one of the keepers. +Goin’ back some time to-night.” He stood there in his +old-fashioned way, gently smiling, and looking as immovable +as a piece of granite. “Have you heard from wife lately?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Richling. “But—why—I don’t understand. +You and the jailer out together?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, takin’ a little stroll ’round. He’s out there in +the street. You can see him on door-step ’cross yonder. +Pretty drunk, eh?” The Italian’s smile broadened for a +moment, then came back to its usual self again. “I jus’ +lef’ Kate at home. Thought I’d come see you a little +while.”</p> + +<p>“Return calls?” suggested Richling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, return call. Your wife well?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +“Yes. But—why, this is the drollest”— He stopped +short, for the Italian’s gravity indicated his opinion that +there had been enough amusement shown. “Yes, she’s +well, thank you. By-the-by, what do you think of my +letting her come out here now and begin life over again? +Doesn’t it seem to you it’s high time, if we’re ever going +to do it at all?”</p> + +<p>“What you think?” asked Ristofalo.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, you answer my question first.”</p> + +<p>“No, you answer me first.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t. I haven’t decided. I’ve been three days +thinking about it. It may seem like a small matter to +hesitate so long over”—Richling paused for his hearer +to dissent.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ristofalo, “pretty small.” His smile +remained the same. “She ask you? Reckon you put +her up to it, eh?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why you should reckon that,” said Richling, +with resentful coldness.</p> + +<p>“I dunno,” said the Italian; “thought so—that’s +the way fellows do sometimes.” There was a pause. Then +he resumed: “I wouldn’t let her come yet. Wait.”</p> + +<p>“For what?”</p> + +<p>“See which way the cat goin’ to jump.”</p> + +<p>Richling laughed unpleasantly.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“We goin’ to have war,” said Raphael Ristofalo.</p> + +<p>“Ho! ho! ho! Why, Ristofalo, you were never more +mistaken in your life!”</p> + +<p>“I dunno,” replied the Italian, sticking in his tracks, +“think it pretty certain. I read all the papers every +day; nothin’ else to do in parish prison. Think we see +war nex’ winter.”</p> + +<p>“Ristofalo, a man of your sort can hardly conceive +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> +the amount of bluster this country can stand without +coming to blows. We Americans are not like you +Italians.”</p> + +<p>“No,” responded Ristofalo, “not much like.” His +smile changed peculiarly. “Wasn’t for Kate, I go to +Italia now.”</p> + +<p>“Kate and the parish prison,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Oh!”—the old smile returned,—“I get out that +place any time I want.”</p> + +<p>“And you’d join Garibaldi, I suppose?” The news +had just come of Garibaldi in Sicily.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded the Italian. There was a twinkle +deep in his eyes as he added: “I know Garibaldi.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Sailed under him when he was ship-cap’n. He +knows me.”</p> + +<p>“And I dare say he’d remember you,” said Richling, +with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>“He remember me,” said the quieter man. “Well,—must +go. Good-e’nin’. Better tell yo’ wife wait a while.”</p> + +<p>“I—don’t know. I’ll see. Ristofalo”—</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“I want to quit this business.”</p> + +<p>“Better not quit. Stick to one thing.”</p> + +<p>“But you never did that. You never did one thing +twice in succession.”</p> + +<p>“There’s heap o’ diff’ence.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see it. What is it?”</p> + +<p>But the Italian only smiled and shrugged, and began to +move away. In a moment he said:—</p> + +<p>“You see, Mr. Richlin’, you sen’ for yo’ wife, you +can’t risk change o’ business. You change business, you +can’t risk sen’ for yo’ wife. Well, good-night.”</p> + +<p>Richling was left to his thoughts. Naturally they were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> +of the man whom he still saw, in his imagination, picking +his jailer up off the door-step and going back to prison. +Who could say that this man might not any day make +just such a lion’s leap into the world’s arena as Garibaldi +had made, and startle the nations as Garibaldi had done? +What was that red-shirted scourge of tyrants that this +man might not be? Sailor, soldier, hero, patriot, prisoner! +See Garibaldi: despising the restraints of law; +careless of the simplest conventionalities that go to make +up an honest gentleman; doing both right and wrong—like +a lion; everything in him leonine. All this was in +Ristofalo’s reach. It was all beyond Richling’s. Which +was best, the capability or the incapability? It was a +question he would have liked to ask Mary.</p> + +<p>Well, at any rate, he had strength now for one thing—“one +pretty small thing.” He would answer her letter. +He answered it, and wrote: “Don’t come; wait a little +while.” He put aside all those sweet lovers’ pictures that +had been floating before his eyes by night and day, and +bade her stay until the summer, with its risks to health, +should have passed, and she could leave her mother well +and strong.</p> + +<p>It was only a day or two afterward that he fell sick. +It was provoking to have such a cold and not know how +he caught it, and to have it in such fine weather. He was +in bed some days, and was robbed of much sleep by a +cough. Mrs. Reisen found occasion to tell Dr. Sevier of +Mary’s desire, as communicated to her by “Mr. Richlin’,” +and of the advice she had given him.</p> + +<p>“And he didn’t send for her, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Reisen, I wish you had kept your advice +to yourself.” The Doctor went to Richling’s bedside.</p> + +<p>“Richling, why don’t you send for your wife?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> +The patient floundered in the bed and drew himself up +on his pillow.</p> + +<p>“O Doctor, just listen!” He smiled incredulously. +“Bring that little woman and her baby down here just as +the hot season is beginning?” He thought a moment, +and then continued: “I’m afraid, Doctor, you’re prescribing +for homesickness. Pray don’t tell me that’s my ailment.”</p> + +<p>“No, it’s not. You have a bad cough, that you must +take care of; but still, the other is one of the counts in +your case, and you know how quickly Mary and—the +little girl would cure it.”</p> + +<p>Richling smiled again.</p> + +<p>“I can’t do that, Doctor; when I go to Mary, or send +for her, on account of homesickness, it must be hers, not +mine.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Reisen,” said the Doctor, outside the street +door, “I hope you’ll remember my request.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tdo udt, Dtoctor,” was the reply, so humbly +spoken that he repented half his harshness.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you’ve often heard that ‘you can’t make a +silk purse of a sow’s ear,’ haven’t you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I pin right often heeard udt.” She spoke as +though she was not wedded to any inflexible opinion concerning +the proposition.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Reisen, as a man once said to me, +‘neither can you make a sow’s ear out of a silk purse.’”</p> + +<p>“Vell, to be cettaintly!” said the poor woman, drawing +not the shadow of an inference; “how kin you?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Richling tells me he will write to Mrs. Richling +to prepare to come down in the fall.”</p> + +<p>“Vell,” exclaimed the delighted Mrs. Reisen, in her +husband’s best manner, “t’at’s te etsectly I atwised +him!” And, as the Doctor drove away, she rubbed her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> +mighty hands around each other in restored complacency. +Two or three days later she had the additional pleasure +of seeing Richling up and about his work again. It was +upon her motherly urging that he indulged himself, one +calm, warm afternoon, in a walk in the upper part of the +city.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>NARCISSE WITH NEWS.</strong></p> + + +<p>It was very beautiful to see the summer set in. Trees +everywhere. You looked down a street, and, unless it +were one of the two broad avenues where the only street-cars +ran, it was pretty sure to be so overarched with +boughs that, down in the distance, there was left but a +narrow streak of vivid blue sky in the middle. Well-nigh +every house had its garden, as every garden its countless +flowers. The dark orange began to show its growing +weight of fruitfulness, and was hiding in its thorny interior +the nestlings of yonder mocking-bird, silently foraging +down in the sunny grass. The yielding branches of +the privet were bowed down with their plumy panicles, +and swayed heavily from side to side, drunk with gladness +and plenty. Here the peach was beginning to droop +over a wall. There, and yonder again, beyond, ranks of +fig-trees, that had so muffled themselves in their foliage +that not the nakedness of a twig showed through, had yet +more figs than leaves. The crisp, cool masses of the +pomegranate were dotted with scarlet flowers. The cape +jasmine wore hundreds of her own white favors, whose +fragrance forerun the sight. Every breath of air was a +new perfume. Roses, an innumerable host, ran a fairy +riot about all grounds, and clambered from the lowest +door-step to the highest roof. The oleander, wrapped in +one great garment of red blossoms, nodded in the sun, +and stirred and winked in the faint stirrings of the air +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +The pale banana slowly fanned herself with her own +broad leaf. High up against the intense sky, its hard, +burnished foliage glittering in the sunlight, the magnolia +spread its dark boughs, adorned with their queenly white +flowers. Not a bird nor an insect seemed unmated. The +little wren stood and sung to his sitting wife his loud, +ecstatic song, made all of her own name,—Matilda, +Urilda, Lucinda, Belinda, Adaline, Madaline, Caroline, or +Melinda, as the case might be,—singing as though every +bone of his tiny body were a golden flute. The hummingbirds +hung on invisible wings, and twittered with delight +as they feasted on woodbine and honeysuckle. The +pigeon on the roof-tree cooed and wheeled about his mate, +and swelled his throat, and tremulously bowed and walked +with a smiting step, and arched his purpling neck, and +wheeled and bowed and wheeled again. Pairs of butterflies +rose in straight upward flight, fluttered about each +other in amorous strife, and drifted away in the upper air. +And out of every garden came the voices of little children +at play,—the blessedest sound on earth.</p> + +<p>“O Mary, Mary! why should two lovers live apart on +this beautiful earth? Autumn is no time for mating. +Who can tell what autumn will bring?”</p> + +<p>The revery was interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, ’ow you enjoyin’ yo’ ’ealth in that +beaucheouz weatheh juz at the pwesent? Me, I’m well. +Yes, I’m always well, in fact. At the same time nevvatheless, +I fine myseff slightly sad. I s’pose ’tis natu’al—a +man what love the ’itings of Lawd By’on as much as +me. You know, of co’se, the melancholic intelligens?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Richling; “has any one”—</p> + +<p>“Lady By’on, seh. Yesseh. ‘In the mids’ of life’—you +know where we ah, Mistoo Itchlin, I su-pose?”</p> + +<p>“Is Lady Byron dead?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> +“Yesseh.” Narcisse bowed solemnly. “Gone, Mistoo +Itchlin. Since the seventeenth of last; yesseh. ‘Kig +the bucket,’ as the povvub say.” He showed an extra +band of black drawn neatly around his new straw hat. +“I thought it but p’opeh to put some moaning—as a +species of twibute.” He restored the hat to his head. +“You like the tas’e of that, Mistoo Itchlin?”</p> + +<p>Richling could but confess the whole thing was delicious.</p> + +<p>“Yo humble servan’, seh,” responded the smiling Creole, +with a flattered bow. Then, assuming a gravity becoming +the historian, he said:—</p> + +<p>“In fact, ’tis a gweat mistake, that statement that +Lawd By’on evva qua’led with his lady, Mistoo Itchlin. +But I s’pose you know ’tis but a slandeh of the pwess. +Yesseh. As, faw instance, thass anotheh slandeh of the +pwess that the delegates qua’led ad the Chawleston convention. +They only pwetend to qua’l; so, by that way, +to mizguide those A<em>bol</em>ish-nists. Mistoo Itchlin, I am +p’ojecting to ’ite some obitua’ ’emawks about that Lady +By’on, but I scass know w’etheh to ’ite them in the poetic +style aw in the p’osaic. Which would you conclude, +Mistoo Itchlin?”</p> + +<p>Richling reflected with downcast eyes.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me,” he said, when he had passed his +hand across his mouth in apparent meditation and looked +up,—“seems to me I’d conclude both, without delay.”</p> + +<p>“Yes? But accawding to what fawmule, Mistoo +Itchlin? ’Ay, ’tis theh is the ’ub,’ in fact, as Lawd +By’on say. Is it to migs the two style’ that you +advise?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the favorite method,” replied Richling.</p> + +<p>“Well, I dunno ’ow ’tis, Mistoo Itchlin, but I fine the +moze facil’ty in the poetic. ’Tis t’ue, in the poetic you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> +got to look out concehning the <em>’ime</em>. You got to keep +the eye skin’ faw it, in fact. But in the p’osaic, on the +cont’a-ay, ’tis juz the opposite; you got to keep the eye +skin’ faw the <em>sense</em>. Yesseh. Now, if you migs the two +style’—well—’ow’s that, Mistoo Itchlin, if you migs +them? Seem’ to me I dunno.”</p> + +<p>“Why, don’t you see?” asked Richling. “If you +mix them, you avoid both necessities. You sail triumphantly +between Scylla and Charybdis without so much +as skinning your eye.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse looked at him a moment with a slightly searching +glance, dropped his eyes upon his own beautiful feet, +and said, in a meditative tone:—</p> + +<p>“I believe you co’ect.” But his smile was gone, and +Richling saw he had ventured too far.</p> + +<p>“I wish my wife were here,” said Richling; “she +might give you better advice than I.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Narcisse, “I believe you co’ect ag’in, +Mistoo Itchlin. ’Tis but since yeste’d’y that I jus appen +to hea’ Dr. Seveeah d’op a saying ’esembling to that. +Yesseh, she’s a v’ey ’emawkable, Mistoo Itchlin.”</p> + +<p>“Is that what Dr. Sevier said?” Richling began to +fear an ambush.</p> + +<p>“No, seh. What the Doctah say—’twas me’ly to +’emawk in his jocose way—you know the Doctah’s lill +callous, jocose way, Mistoo Itchlin.”</p> + +<p>He waved either hand outward gladsomely.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Richling, “I’ve seen specimens of it.”</p> + +<p>“Yesseh. He was ve’y complimenta’y, in fact, the +Doctah. ’Tis the trooth. He says, ‘She’ll make a man +of Witchlin if anythin’ can.’ Juz in his jocose way, you +know.”</p> + +<p>The Creole’s smile had returned in concentrated sweetness. +He stood silent, his face beaming with what +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> +seemed his confidence that Richling would be delighted. +Richling recalled the physician’s saying concerning this +very same little tale-bearer,—that he carried his nonsense +on top and his good sense underneath.</p> + +<p>“Dr. Sevier said that, did he?” asked Richling, after +a time.</p> + +<p>“’Tis the vehbatim, seh. Convussing to yo’ ’eve’end +fwend. You can ask him; he will co’obo’ate me in fact. +Well, Mistoo Itchlin, it supp’ise me you not tickle at that. +Me, I may say, I wish <em>I</em> had a wife to make a man out of +<em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you had,” said Richling. But Narcisse smiled on.</p> + +<p>“Well, <em>au ’evoi’</em>.” He paused an instant with an +earnest face. “Pehchance I’ll meet you this evening, +Mistoo Itchlin? Faw doubtless, like myseff, you will +assist at the gweat a-ally faw the Union, the Const’ution, +and the enfo’cemen’ of the law. Dr. Seveeah will addwess.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I care to hear him,” replied Richling.</p> + +<p>“Goin’ to be a gwan’ out-po’-ing, Mistoo Itchlin. +Citizens of Noo ’Leans without the leas’ ’espec’ faw +fawmeh polly-tickle diff’ence. Also fiah-works. ‘Come +one, come all,’ as says the gweat Scott—includin’ yo’seff, +Mistoo Itchlin. No? Well, <em>au ’evoi’</em>, Mistoo Itchlin.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A PRISON MEMENTO.</strong></p> + + +<p>The political pot began to seethe. Many yet will +remember how its smoke went up. The summer—summer +of 1860—grew fervent. Its breath became hot +and dry. All observation—all thought—turned upon +the fierce campaign. Discussion dropped as to whether +Heenan would ever get that champion’s belt, which even +the little rector believed he had fairly won in the international +prize-ring. The news brought by each succeeding +European steamer of Garibaldi’s splendid triumphs in +the cause of a new Italy, the fierce rattle of partisan warfare +in Mexico, that seemed almost within hearing, so +nearly was New Orleans concerned in some of its +movements,—all things became secondary and trivial +beside the developments of a political canvass in which +the long-foreseen, long-dreaded issues between two parts +of the nation were at length to be made final. The conventions +had met, the nominations were complete, and +the clans of four parties and fractions of parties were +“meeting,” and “rallying,” and “uprising,” and “outpouring.”</p> + +<p>All life was strung to one high pitch. This contest +was everything,—nay, everybody,—men, women, and +children. They were all for the Constitution; they were +all for the Union; and each, even Richling, for the +enforcement of—his own ideas. On every bosom, “no +matteh the sex,” and no matter the age, hung one of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> +those little round, ribbanded medals, with a presidential +candidate on one side and his vice-presidential man +Friday on the other. Needless to say that Ristofalo’s +Kate, instructed by her husband, imported the earliest +and many a later invoice of them, and distributing her +peddlers at choice thronging-places, “everlastin’ly,” as +she laughingly and confidentially informed Dr. Sevier, +“raked in the sponjewlicks.” They were exposed for +sale on little stalls on populous sidewalks and places of +much entry and exit.</p> + +<p>The post-office in those days was still on Royal street, +in the old Merchants’ Exchange. The small hand-holes +of the box-delivery were in the wide tessellated passage +that still runs through the building from Royal street to +Exchange alley. A keeper of one of these little stalls +established himself against a pillar just where men turned +into and out of Royal street, out of or into this passage. +One day, in this place, just as Richling turned from a +delivery window to tear the envelope of a letter bearing +the Milwaukee stamp, his attention was arrested by a +man running by him toward Exchange alley, pale as +death, and followed by a crowd that suddenly broke into +a cry, a howl, a roar: “Hang him! Hang him!”</p> + +<p>“Come!” said a small, strong man, seizing Richling’s +arm and turning him in the common direction. If the +word was lost on Richling’s defective hearing, not so the +touch; for the speaker was Ristofalo. The two friends +ran with all their speed through the passage and out into +the alley. A few rods away the chased wretch had been +overtaken, and was made to face his pursuers. When +Richling and Ristofalo reached him there was already a +rope about his neck.</p> + +<p>The Italian’s leap, as he closed in upon the group +around the victim, was like a tiger’s. The men he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> +touched did not fall; they were rather hurled, driving +backward those whom they were hurled against. A man +levelled a revolver at him; Richling struck it a blow that +sent it over twenty men’s heads. A long knife flashed in +Ristofalo’s right hand. He stood holding the rope in his +left, stooping slightly forward, and darting his eyes about +as if selecting a victim for his weapon. A stranger +touched Richling from behind, spoke a hurried word in +Italian, and handed him a huge dirk. But in that same +moment the affair was over. There stood Ristofalo, +gentle, self-contained, with just a perceptible smile turned +upon the crowd, no knife in his hand, and beside him the +slender, sinewy, form, and keen gray eye of Smith Izard.</p> + +<p>The detective was addressing the crowd. While he was +speaking, half a score of police came from as many directions. +When he had finished, he waved his slender hand +at the mass of heads.</p> + +<p>“Stand back. Go about your business.” And they +began to go. He laid a hand upon the rescued stranger +and addressed the police.</p> + +<p>“Take this rope off. Take this man to the station and +keep him until it’s safe to let him go.”</p> + +<p>The explanation by which he had so quickly pacified +the mob was a simple one. The rescued man was a seller +of campaign medals. That morning, in opening a fresh +supply of his little stock, he had failed to perceive that, +among a lot of “Breckenridge and Lane” medals, there +had crept in one of Lincoln. That was the sum of his +offence. The mistake had occurred in the Northern factory. +Of course, if he did not intend to sell Lincoln medals, +there was no crime.</p> + +<p>“Don’t I tell you?” said the Italian to Richling, as +they were walking away together. “Bound to have war; +is already begin-n.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> +“It began with me the day I got married,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>Ristofalo waited some time, and then asked:—</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t have said so,” replied Richling; “I can’t explain.”</p> + +<p>“Thass all right,” said the other. And, a little later: +“Smith Izard call’ you by name. How he know yo’ name?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t imagine!”</p> + +<p>The Italian waved his hand.</p> + +<p>“Thass all right, too; nothin’ to me.” Then, after +another pause: “Think you saved my life to-day.”</p> + +<p>“The honors are easy,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>He went to bed again for two or three days. He liked +it little when Dr. Sevier attributed the illness to a few +moments’ violent exertion and excitement.</p> + +<p>“It was bravely done, at any rate, Richling,” said the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“<em>That</em> it was!” said Kate Ristofalo, who had happened +to call to see the sick man at the same hour. +“Doctor, ye’r mighty right! Ha!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reisen expressed a like opinion, and the two kind +women met the two men’s obvious wish by leaving the room.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” said Richling at once, “the last time you +said it was love-sickness; this time you say it’s excitement; +at the bottom it isn’t either. Will you please tell +me what it really is? What is this thing that puts me +here on my back this way?”</p> + +<p>“Richling,” replied the Doctor, slowly, “if I tell you +the honest truth, it began in that prison.”</p> + +<p>The patient knit his hands under his head and lay +motionless and silent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> +“Yes,” he said, after a time. And by and by again: +“Yes; I feared as much. And can it be that my <em>physical</em> +manhood is going to fail me at such a time as this?” He +drew a long breath and turned restively in the bed.</p> + +<p>“We’ll try to keep it from doing that,” replied the +physician. “I’ve told you this, Richling, old fellow to +impress upon you the necessity of keeping out of all this +hubbub,—this night-marching and mass-meeting and +exciting nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“And am I always—always to be blown back—blown +back this way?” said Richling, half to himself, half to his +friend.</p> + +<p>“There, now,” responded the Doctor, “just stop talking +entirely. No, no; not always blown back. A sick +man always thinks the present moment is the whole boundless +future. Get well. And to that end possess your +soul in patience. No newspapers. Read your Bible. It +will calm you. I’ve been trying it myself.” His tone was +full of cheer, but it was also so motherly and the touch so +gentle with which he put back the sick man’s locks—as +if they had been a lad’s—that Richling turned away his +face with chagrin.</p> + +<p>“Come!” said the Doctor, more sturdily, laying his +hand on the patient’s shoulder. “You’ll not lie here +more than a day or two. Before you know it summer +will be gone, and you’ll be sending for Mary.”</p> + +<p>Richling turned again, put out a parting hand, and +smiled with new courage.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>NOW I LAY ME—</strong></p> + + +<p>Time may drag slowly, but it never drags backward. +So the summer wore on, Richling following his physician’s +directions; keeping to his work only—out of +public excitements and all overstrain; and to every day, +as he bade it good-by, his eager heart, lightened each +time by that much, said, “When you come around again, +next year, Mary and I will meet you hand in hand.” +This was <em>his</em> excitement, and he seemed to flourish on it.</p> + +<p>But day by day, week by week, the excitements of +the times rose. Dr. Sevier was deeply stirred, and ever +on the alert, looking out upon every quarter of the political +sky, listening to the rising thunder, watching the +gathering storm. There could hardly have been any one +more completely engrossed by it. If there was, it was +his book-keeper. It wasn’t so much the Constitution that +enlisted Narcisse’s concern; nor yet the Union, which +seemed to him safe enough; much less did the desire to +see the enforcement of the laws consume him. Nor was +it altogether the “’oman candles” and the “’ockets”; +but the rhetoric.</p> + +<p>Ah, the “’eto’ic”! He bathed, he paddled, dove, +splashed, in a surf of it.</p> + +<p>“Doctah,”—shaking his finely turned shoulders into +his coat and lifting his hat toward his head,—“I had +the honah, and at the same time the pleasu’, to yeh you +make a shawt speech lass evening. I was p’oud to yeh +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> +yo’ bunning eloquence, Doctah,—if you’ll allow. Yesseh. +Eve’ybody said ’twas the moze bilious effo’t of the o’-casion.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier actually looked up and smiled, and thanked +the happy young man for the compliment.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh,” continued his admirer, “I nevveh flatteh. +I give me’-it where the me’-it lies. Well, seh, we juz +make the welkin ’ing faw joy when you finally stop’ at the +en’. Pehchance you heard my voice among that sea of +head’? But I doubt—in ’such a vas’ up’ising—so +many imposing pageant’, in fact,—and those ’ocket’ +exploding in the staw-y heaven’, as they say. I think I +like that exp’ession I saw on the noozpapeh, wheh it says: +‘Long biffo the appointed owwa, thousan’ of flashing +tawches and tas’eful t’anspa’encies with divuz devices +whose blazing effulgence turn’ day into night.’ Thass a +ve’y talented style, in fact. Well, <em>au ’evoi’</em>, Doctah. +I’m going ad the—an’ thass anotheh thing I like—’tis +faw the ladies to ’ing bells that way on the balconies. +Because Mr. Bell and Eve’et is name <em>bell</em>, and so is the +<em>bells</em> name’ juz the same way, and so they ’ing the <em>bells</em> to +signify. I had to elucidate that to my hant. Well, <em>au +’evoi’</em>, Doctah.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor raised his eyes from his letter-writing. +The young man had turned, and was actually going out +without another word. What perversity moved the physician +no one will ever know; but he sternly called:—</p> + +<p>“Narcisse?”</p> + +<p>The Creole wheeled about on the threshold.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor held him with a firm, grave eye, and slowly +said:—</p> + +<p>“I suppose before you return you will go to the post +office.” He said nothing more,—only that, just in his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> +jocose way,—and dropped his eyes again upon his pen. +Narcisse gave him one long black look, and silently went +out.</p> + +<p>But a sweet complacency could not stay long away +from the young man’s breast. The world was too beautiful; +the white, hot sky above was in such fine harmony +with his puffed lawn shirt-bosom and his white linen +pantaloons, bulging at the thighs and tapering at the +ankles, and at the corner of Canal and Royal streets he +met so many members of the Yancey Guards and Southern +Guards and Chalmette Guards and Union Guards and +Lane Dragoons and Breckenridge Guards and Douglas +Rangers and Everett Knights, and had the pleasant +trouble of stepping aside and yielding the pavement to +the far-spreading crinoline. Oh, life was one scintillating +cluster breast-pin of ecstasies! And there was another +thing,—General William Walker’s filibusters! Royal +street, St. Charles, the rotunda of the St. Charles Hotel, +were full of them.</p> + +<p>It made Dr. Sevier both sad and fierce to see what +hold their lawless enterprise took upon the youth of the +city. Not that any great number were drawn into +the movement, least of all Narcisse; but it captivated +their interest and sympathy, and heightened the general +unrest, when calmness was what every thoughtful man +saw to be the country’s greatest need.</p> + +<p>An incident to illustrate the Doctor’s state of mind.</p> + +<p>It occurred one evening in the St. Charles rotunda. +He saw some citizens of high standing preparing to drink +at the bar with a group of broad-hatted men, whose +bronzed foreheads and general out-of-door mien hinted +rather ostentatiously of Honduras and Ruatan Island. +As he passed close to them one of the citizens faced him +blandly, and unexpectedly took his hand, but quickly let +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> +it go again. The rest only glanced at the Doctor, and +drew nearer to the bar.</p> + +<p>“I trust you’re not unwell, Doctor,” said the sociable +one, with something of a smile, and something of a frown, +at the tall physician’s gloomy brow.</p> + +<p>“I am well, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I—didn’t know,” said the man again, throwing an +aggressive resentment into his tone; “you seemed preoccupied.”</p> + +<p>“I was,” replied the Doctor, returning his glance with +so keen an eye that the man smiled again, appeasingly. +“I was thinking how barely skin-deep civilization is.”</p> + +<p>The man ha-ha’d artificially, stepping backward as he +said, “That’s so!” He looked after the departing Doctor +an instant and then joined his companions.</p> + +<p>Richling had a touch of this contagion. He looked +from Garibaldi to Walker and back again, and could not +see any enormous difference between them. He said as +much to one of the bakery’s customers, a restaurateur +with a well-oiled tongue, who had praised him for his +intrepidity in the rescue of the medal-peddler, which, it +seems, he had witnessed. With this praise still upon his +lips the caterer walked with Richling to the restaurant +door, and detained him there to enlarge upon the subject +of Spanish-American misrule, and the golden rewards that +must naturally fall to those who should supplant it with +stable government. Richling listened and replied and +replied again and listened; and presently the restaurateur +startled him with an offer to secure him a captain’s commission +under Walker. He laughed incredulously; but +the restaurateur, very much in earnest, talked on; and by +littles, but rapidly, Richling admitted the value of the +various considerations urged. Two or three months of +rapid adventure; complete physical renovation—of course—natural +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> +sequence; the plaudits of a grateful people; +maybe fortune also, but at least a certainty of finding the +road to it,—all this to meet Mary with next fall.</p> + +<p>“I’m in a great hurry just now,” said Richling; “but +I’ll talk about this thing with you again to-morrow or next +day,” and so left.</p> + +<p>The restaurateur turned to his head-waiter, stuck his +tongue in his cheek, and pulled down the lower lid of an +eye with his forefinger. He meant to say he had been +lying for the pure fun of it.</p> + +<p>When Dr. Sevier came that afternoon to see Reisen—of +whom there was now but little left, and that little +unable to leave the bed—Richling took occasion to raise +the subject that had entangled his fancy. He was careful +to say nothing of himself or the restaurateur, or +anything, indeed, but a timid generality or two. But the +Doctor responded with a clear, sudden energy that, when +he was gone, left Richling feeling painfully blank, and yet +unable to find anything to resent except the Doctor’s +superfluous—as he thought, quite superfluous—mention +of the island of Cozumel.</p> + +<p>However, and after all, that which for the most part +kept the public mind heated was, as we have said, the +political campaign. Popular feeling grew tremulous with +it as the landscape did under the burning sun. It was a +very hot summer. Not a good one for feeble folk; and +one early dawn poor Reisen suddenly felt all his reason +come back to him, opened his eyes, and lo! he had +crossed the river in the night, and was on the other side.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier’s experienced horse halted of his own will +to let a procession pass. In the carriage at its head +the physician saw the little rector, sitting beside a man of +German ecclesiastical appearance. Behind it followed a +majestic hearse, drawn by black-plumed and caparisoned +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> +horses,—four of them. Then came a long line of red-shirted +firemen; for he in the hearse had been an +“exempt.” Then a further line of big-handed, white-gloved +men in beavers and regalias; for he had been also +a Freemason and an Odd-fellow. Then another column, +of emotionless-visaged German women, all in bunchy black +gowns, walking out of time to the solemn roll and pulse +of the muffled drums, and the brazen peals of the funeral +march. A few carriages closed the long line. In the +first of them the waiting Doctor marked, with a sudden +understanding of all, the pale face of John Richling, and +by his side the widow who had been forty years a wife,—weary +and red with weeping. The Doctor took off his hat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>RISE UP, MY LOVE, MY FAIR ONE.</strong></p> + + +<p>The summer at length was past, and the burning heat +was over and gone. The days were refreshed with +the balm of a waning October. There had been no fever. +True, the nights were still aglare with torches, and the +street echoes kept awake by trumpet notes and huzzas, +by the tramp of feet and the delicate hint of the +bell-ringing; and men on the stump and off it; in the +“wigwams;” along the sidewalks, as they came forth, +wiping their mouths, from the free-lunch counters, and on +the curb-stones and “flags” of Carondelet street, were +saying things to make a patriot’s heart ache. But contrariwise, +in that same Carondelet street, and hence in all +the streets of the big, scattered town, the most prosperous +commercial year—they measure from September +to September—that had ever risen upon New Orleans +had closed its distended record, and no one knew or +dreamed that, for nearly a quarter of a century to come, +the proud city would never see the equal of that golden +year just gone. And so, away yonder among the great +lakes on the northern border of the anxious but hopeful +country, Mary was calling, calling, like an unseen bird +piping across the fields for its mate, to know if she and +the one little nestling might not come to hers.</p> + +<p>And at length, after two or three unexpected contingencies +had caused delays of one week after another, all +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> +in a silent tremor of joy, John wrote the word—“Come!”</p> + +<p>He was on his way to put it into the post-office, in +Royal street. At the newspaper offices, in Camp street, +he had to go out into the middle of the way to get around +the crowd that surrounded the bulletin-boards, and that +scuffled for copies of the latest issue. The day of days +was passing; the returns of election were coming in. In +front of the “Picayune” office he ran square against a +small man, who had just pulled himself and the most of +his clothing out of the press with the last news crumpled +in the hand that he still held above his head.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Richling, this is pretty exciting, isn’t it?” It +was the little clergyman. “Come on, I’ll go your way; +let’s get out of this.”</p> + +<p>He took Richling’s arm, and they went on down the +street, the rector reading aloud as they walked, and +shopkeepers and salesmen at their doors catching what they +could of his words as the two passed.</p> + +<p>“It’s dreadful! dreadful!” said the little man, thrusting +the paper into his pocket in a wad.</p> + +<p>“Hi! Mistoo Itchlin,” quoth Narcisse, passing them +like an arrow, on his way to the paper offices.</p> + +<p>“He’s happy,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, he’s the only happy man I know of in +New Orleans to-day,” said the little rector, jerking his +head and drawing a sigh through his teeth.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Richling, “I’m another. You see this +letter.” He showed it with the direction turned down. +“I’m going now to mail it. When my wife gets it she +starts.”</p> + +<p>The preacher glanced quickly into his face. Richling +met his gaze with eyes that danced with suppressed joy. +The two friends attracted no attention from those whom +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> +they passed or who passed them; the newsboys were +scampering here and there, everybody buying from them, +and the walls of Common street ringing with their +shouted proffers of the “full account” of the election.</p> + +<p>“Richling, don’t do it.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” Richling showed only amusement.</p> + +<p>“For several reasons,” replied the other. “In the +first place, look at your business!”</p> + +<p>“Never so good as to-day.”</p> + +<p>“True. And it entirely absorbs you. What time +would you have at your fireside, or even at your family +table? None. It’s—well you know what it is—it’s a +bakery, you know. You couldn’t expect to lodge <em>your</em> +wife and little girl in a bakery in Benjamin street; you +know you couldn’t. Now, <em>you</em>—you don’t mind it—or, +I mean, you can stand it. Those things never need +damage a gentleman. But with your wife it would be +different. You smile, but—why, you know she couldn’t +go there. And if you put her anywhere where a lady +ought to be, in New Orleans, she would be—well, don’t +you see she would be about as far away as if she were in +Milwaukee? Richling, I don’t know how it looks to you +for me to be so meddlesome, and I believe you think I’m +making a very poor argument; but you see this is only +one point and the smallest. Now”—</p> + +<p>Richling raised his thin hand, and said pleasantly:—</p> + +<p>“It’s no use. You can’t understand; it wouldn’t be +possible to explain; for you simply don’t know Mary.”</p> + +<p>“But there are some things I do know. Just think; +she’s with her mother where she is. Imagine her falling +ill here,—as you’ve told me she used to do,—and you +with that bakery on your hands.”</p> + +<p>Richling looked grave.</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” continued the little man. “You’ve been so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> +brave and patient, you and your wife, both,—do be so a +little bit longer! Live close; save your money; go on +rising in value in your business; and after a little you’ll +rise clear out of the sphere you’re now in. You’ll +command your own time; you’ll build your own little +home; and life and happiness and usefulness will be +fairly and broadly open before you.” Richling gave heed +with a troubled face, and let his companion draw him +into the shadow of that “St. Charles” from the foot of +whose stair-way he had once been dragged away as a +vagrant.</p> + +<p>“See, Richling! Every few weeks you may read in +some paper of how a man on some ferry-boat jumps for +the wharf before the boat has touched it, falls into the +water, and— Make sure! Be brave a little longer—only +a little longer! Wait till you’re sure!”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure enough!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, you’re not! Wait till this political broil is +over. They say Lincoln is elected. If so, the South is +not going to submit to it. Nobody can tell what the +consequences are to be. Suppose we should have war? +I don’t think we shall, but suppose we should? There +would be a general upheaval, commercial stagnation, +industrial collapse, shrinkage everywhere! Wait till it’s +over. It may not be two weeks hence; it can hardly be +more than ninety days at the outside. If it should the +North would be ruined, and you may be sure they are not +going to allow <em>that</em>. Then, when all starts fair again, +bring your wife and baby. I’ll tell you what to do, Richling!”</p> + +<p>“Will you?” responded the listener, with an amiable +laugh that the little man tried to echo.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Ask Dr. Sevier! He’s right here in the next +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> +street. He was on your side last time; maybe he’ll be so +now.”</p> + +<p>“Done!” said Richling. They went. The rector said +he would do an errand in Canal street, while Richling +should go up and see the physician.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier was in.</p> + +<p>“Why, Richling!” He rose to receive him. “How +are you?” He cast his eye over his visitor with professional +scrutiny. “What brings <em>you</em> here?”</p> + +<p>“To tell you that I’ve written for Mary,” said Richling, +sinking wearily into a chair.</p> + +<p>“Have you mailed the letter?”</p> + +<p>“I’m taking it to the post-office now.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor threw one leg energetically over the other, +and picked up the same paper-knife that he had handled +when, two years and a half before, he had sat thus, talking +to Mary and John on the eve of their separation.</p> + +<p>“Richling, I’ll tell you. I’ve been thinking about this +thing for some time, and I’ve decided to make you a +proposal. I look at you and at Mary and at the times—the +condition of the country—the probable future—everything. +I know you, physically and mentally, better +than anybody else does. I can say the same of Mary. +So, of course, I don’t make this proposal impulsively, +and I don’t want it rejected.</p> + +<p>“Richling, I’ll lend you two thousand to twenty-five +hundred dollars, payable at your convenience, if you will +just go to your room, pack up, go home, and take from +six to twelve months’ holiday with your wife and child.”</p> + +<p>The listener opened his mouth in blank astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor, you’re jesting! You can’t suppose”—</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose anything. I simply want you to do it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I simply can’t!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> +“Did you ever regret taking my advice, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“No, never. But this—why, it’s utterly impossible! +Me leave the results of four years’ struggle to go holidaying? +I can’t understand you, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“’Twould take weeks to explain.”</p> + +<p>“It’s idle to think of it,” said Richling, half to himself.</p> + +<p>“Go home and think of it twenty-four hours,” said the +Doctor.</p> + +<p>“It is useless, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, then; send for Mary. Mail your letter.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean it!” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do. Send for Mary; and tell her I advised it.” +He turned quickly away to his desk, for Richling’s +eyes had filled with tears; but turned again and rose as +Richling rose. They joined hands.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Richling, send for her. It’s the right thing to +do—if you will not do the other. You know I want you +to be happy.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, one word. In your opinion is there going to +be war?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. But if there is it’s time for husband +and wife and child to draw close together. Good-day.”</p> + +<p>And so the letter went.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A BUNDLE OF HOPES.</strong></p> + + +<p>Richling insisted, in the face of much scepticism +on the part of the baker’s widow, that he felt better, +was better, and would go on getting better, now that the +weather was cool once more.</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope you vill, Mr. Richlin’, dtat’s a fect. +’Specially ven yo’ vife comin’. Dough <em>I</em> could a-tooken +care ye choost tso koot as vot she couldt.”</p> + +<p>“But maybe you couldn’t take care of her as well as I +can,” said the happy Richling.</p> + +<p>“Oh, tdat’s a tdifferendt. A voman kin tek care +herself.”</p> + +<p>Visiting the French market on one of these glad mornings, +as his business often required him to do, he fell in +with Narcisse, just withdrawing from the celebrated coffee-stand +of Rose Nicaud. Richling stopped in the moving +crowd and exchanged salutations very willingly; for here +was one more chance to hear himself tell the fact of +Mary’s expected coming.</p> + +<p>“So’y, Mistoo Itchlin,” said Narcisse, whipping away +the pastry crumbs from his lap with a handkerchief and +wiping his mouth, “not to encounteh you a lill biffo’, to +join in pahtaking the cup what cheeahs at the same time +whilce it invigo’ates; to-wit, the coffee-cup—as the +maxim say. I dunno by what fawmule she makes that +coffee, but ’tis astonishin’ how ’tis good, in fact. I dunno +if you’ll billieve me, but I feel almost I could pahtake +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> +anotheh cup—? ’Tis the tooth.” He gave Richling +time to make any handsome offer that might spontaneously +suggest itself, but seeing that the response was only an +over-gay expression of face, he added, “But I conclude +no. In fact, Mistoo Itchlin, thass a thing I have +discovud,—that too much coffee millytates ag’inst the +chi’og’aphy; and thus I abstain. Well, seh, ole Abe is +elected.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” rejoined Richling, “and there’s no telling what +the result will be.”</p> + +<p>“You co’ect, Mistoo Itchlin.” Narcisse tried to look +troubled.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a bit of private news that I don’t think +you’ve heard,” said Richling. And the Creole rejoined +promptly:—</p> + +<p>“Well, I <em>thought</em> I saw something on yo’ thoughts—if +you’ll excuse my tautology. Thass a ve’y diffycult to +p’event sometime’. But, Mistoo Itchlin, I trus’ ’tis not +you ’ave allowed somebody to swin’le you?—confiding +them too indiscweetly, in fact?” He took a pretty +attitude, his eyes reposing in Richling’s.</p> + +<p>Richling laughed outright.</p> + +<p>“No, nothing of that kind. No, I”—</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m ve’y glad,” interrupted Narcisse.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, ’tisn’t trouble at all! I’ve sent for Mrs. +Richling. We’re going to resume housekeeping.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse gave a glad start, took his hat off, passed it +to his left hand, extended his right, bowed from the +middle with princely grace, and, with joy breaking all +over his face, said:—</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, in fact,—shake!”</p> + +<p>They shook.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh—an’ many ’appy ’eturn! I dunno if you kin +billieve that, Mistoo Itchlin; but I was juz about to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> +’ead that in yo’ physio’nomie! Yesseh. But, Mistoo +Itchlin, when shall the happy o’casion take effect?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty soon. Not as soon as I thought, for I got a +despatch yesterday, saying her mother is very ill, and of +course I telegraphed her to stay till her mother is at +least convalescent. But I think that will be soon. Her +mother has had these attacks before. I have good hopes +that before long Mrs. Richling will actually be here.”</p> + +<p>Richling began to move away down the crowded +market-house, but Narcisse said:—</p> + +<p>“Thass yo’ di’ection? ’Tis the same, mine. We may +accompany togetheh—if you’ll allow yo’ ’umble suvvant?”</p> + +<p>“Come along! You do me honor!” Richling laid +his hand on Narcisse’s shoulder and they went at a gait +quickened by the happy husband’s elation. Narcisse was +very proud of the touch, and, as they began to traverse +the vegetable market, took the most populous arcade.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin,” he began again, “I muz congwatu<em>late</em> +you! You know I always admiah yo’ lady to +excess. But appopo of that news, I might infawm you +some intelligens consunning myseff.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” exclaimed Richling. “For it’s good news, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yesseh,—as you may say,—yes. Faw in fact, +Mistoo Itchlin, I ’ave ass Dr. Seveeah to haugment me.”</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” cried Richling. He coughed and laughed +and moved aside to a pillar and coughed, until people +looked at him, and lifted his eyes, tired but smiling, and, +paying his compliments to the paroxysm in one or two ill-wishes, +wiped his eyes at last, and said:—</p> + +<p>“And the Doctor augmented you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no, I can’t say that—not p’ecisely.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what did he do?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> +“Well, he ’efuse’ me, in fact.”</p> + +<p>“Why—but that isn’t good news, then.”</p> + +<p>Narcisse gave his head a bright, argumentative +twitch.</p> + +<p>“Yesseh. ’Tis t’ue he ’efuse’; but ad the same time—I +dunno—I thing he wasn’ so mad about it as he make +out. An’ you know thass one thing, Mistoo Itchlin, +whilce they got life they got hope; and hence I ente’tain +the same.”</p> + +<p>They had reached that flagged area without covering or +inclosure, before the third of the three old market-houses, +where those dealers in the entire miscellanies of a housewife’s +equipment, excepting only stoves and furniture, +spread their wares and fabrics in the open weather before +the Bazar market rose to give them refuge. He grew +suddenly fierce.</p> + +<p>“But any’ow I don’t care! I had the spunk to ass ’im, +an’ he din ’ave the spunk to dischawge me! All he can +do; ’tis to shake the fis’ of impatience.” He was looking +into his companion’s face, as they walked, with an eye +distended with defiance.</p> + +<p>“Look out!” exclaimed Richling, reaching a hurried +hand to draw him aside. Narcisse swerved just in time +to avoid stepping into a pile of crockery, but in so doing +went full into the arms of a stately female figure dressed +in the crispest French calico and embarrassed with numerous +small packages of dry goods. The bundles flew +hither and yon. Narcisse tried to catch the largest as he +saw it going, but only sent it farther than it would have +gone, and as it struck the ground it burst like a pomegranate. +But the contents were white: little thin, square-folded +fractions of barred jaconet and white flannel; rolls +of slender white lutestring ribbon; very narrow papers +of tiny white pearl buttons, minute white worsted socks, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> +spools of white floss, cards of safety-pins, pieces of white +castile soap, etc.</p> + +<p>“<em>Mille pardons, madame!</em>” exclaimed Narcisse; “I +make you a thousan’ poddons, madam!”</p> + +<p>He was ill-prepared for the majestic wrath that flashed +from the eyes and radiated from the whole dilating, and +subsiding, and reëxpanding, and rising, and stiffening +form of Kate Ristofalo!</p> + +<p>“Officerr,” she panted,—for instantly there was a +crowd, and a man with the silver-crescent badge was +switching the assemblage on the legs with his cane to +make room,—“Officerr,” she gasped, levelling her tremulous +finger at Narcisse, “arrist that man!”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Ristofalo!” exclaimed Richling, “don’t do that! +It was all an accident! Why, don’t you see it’s Narcisse,—my +friend?”</p> + +<p>“Yer frind rised his hand to sthrike me, sur, he did! +Yer frind rised his hand to sthrike me, he did!” And +up she went and down she went, shortening and lengthening, +swelling and decreasing. “Yes, yes, I know yer +frind; indeed I do! I paid two dollars and a half fur his +acquaintans nigh upon three years agone, sur. Yer +frind!” And still she went up and down, enlarging, +diminishing, heaving her breath and waving her chin +around, and saying, in broken utterances,—while a hackman +on her right held his whip in her auditor’s face, +crying, “Carriage, sir? Carriage, sir?”—</p> + +<p>“Why didn’—he rin agin—a man, sur! I—I—oh! +I wish Mr. Ristofalah war heer!—to teach um how—to +walk!—Yer frind, sur—ixposing me!” She pointed +to Narcisse and the policeman gathering up the scattered +lot of tiny things. Her eyes filled with tears, but still +shot lightning. “If he’s hurrted me, he’s got ’o suffer +fur ud, Mr. Richlin’!” And she expanded again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> +“Carriage, sir, carriage?” continued the man with the +whip.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” said Richling and Mrs. Ristofalo in a breath. +She took his arm, the hackman seized the bundles from +the policeman, threw open his hack door, laid the bundles +on the front seat, and let down the folding steps. The +crowd dwindled away to a few urchins.</p> + +<p>“Officerr,” said Mrs. Ristofalo, her foot on the step and +composure once more in her voice, “ye needn’t arrist +um. I could of done ud, sur,” she added to Narcisse +himself, “but I’m too much of a laydy, sur!” And she +sank together and stretched herself up once more, entered +the vehicle, and sat with a perpendicular back, her arms +folded on her still heaving bosom, and her head high.</p> + +<p>As to her ability to have that arrest made, Kate Ristofalo +was in error. Narcisse smiled to himself; for he +was conscious of one advantage that overtopped all the +sacredness of female helplessness, public right, or any +other thing whatsoever. It lay in the simple fact that he +was acquainted with the policeman. He bowed blandly +to the officer, stepped backward, touching his hat, and +walked away, the policeman imitating each movement with +the promptness and faithfulness of a mirror.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t ye goin’ to get in, Mr. Richlin’?” asked Mrs. +Ristofalo. She smiled first and then looked alarmed.</p> + +<p>“I—I can’t very well—if you’ll excuse me, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Mr. Richlin’!”—she pouted girlishly. “Gettin’ +proud!” She gave her head a series of movements, as to +say she might be angry if she would, but she wouldn’t. +“Ye won’t know uz when Mrs. Richlin’ comes.”</p> + +<p>Richling laughed, but she gave a smiling toss to indicate +that it was a serious matter.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she insisted, patting the seat beside her with +honeyed persuasiveness, “come and tell me all about ud. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> +Mr. Ristofalah nivver goes into peticklers, an’ so I har’ly +know anny more than jist she’s a-comin’. Come, git in +an’ tell me about Mrs. Richlin’—that is, if ye like the +subject—and I don’t believe ye do.” She lifted her +finger, shook it roguishly close to her own face, and looked +at him sidewise. “Ah, nivver mind, sur! that’s rright! +Furgit yer old frinds—maybe ye wudden’t do ud if ye +knewn everythin’. But that’s rright; that’s the way with +min.” She suddenly changed to subdued earnestness, +turned the catch of the door, and, as the door swung +open, said: “Come, if ud’s only fur a bit o’ the way—if +ud’s only fur a ming-ute. I’ve got somethin’ to tell ye.”</p> + +<p>“I must get out at Washington Market,” said Richling, +as he got in. The hack hurried down Old Levee street.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said she, merriment dancing in her eyes, +her folded arms tightening upon her bosom, and her lips +struggling against their own smile, “I’m just a good +mind not to tell ye at ahll!”</p> + +<p>Her humor was contagious and Richling was ready to +catch it. His own eye twinkled.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Ristofalo, of course, if you feel any +embarrassment”—</p> + +<p>“Ye villain!” she cried, with delighted indignation, +“I didn’t mean nawthing about <em>that</em>, an’ ye knew ud! +Here, git out o’ this carridge!” But she made no effort +to eject him.</p> + +<p>“Mary and I are interested in all your hopes,” said +Richling, smiling softly upon the damaged bundle which +he was making into a tight package again on his knee. +“You’ll tell me your good news if it’s only that I may +tell her, will you not?”</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> will. And it’s joost this,—Mr. Richlin’,—that if +there be’s a war Mr. Ristofalah’s to be lit out o’ prison.”</p> + +<p>“I’m very glad!” cried Richling, but stopped short, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> +for Mrs. Ristofalo’s growing dignity indicated that there +was more to be told.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure ye air, Mr. Richlin’; and I’m sure ye’ll be +glad—a heap gladder nor I am—that in that case he’s +to be Captain Ristofalah.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sur.” The wife laid her palm against her +floating ribs and breathed a sigh. “I don’t like ud, +Mr. Richlin’. No, sur. I don’t like tytles.” She +got her fan from under her handkerchief and set it +a-going. “I nivver liked the idee of bein’ a tytled man’s +wife. No, sur.” She shook her head, elevating it as she +shook it. “It creates too much invy, Mr. Richlin’. Well, +good-by.” The carriage was stopping at the Washington +Market. “Now, don’t ye mintion it to a livin’ soul, +Mr. Richlin’!”</p> + +<p>Richling said “No.”</p> + +<p>“No, sur; fur there be’s manny a slip ’tuxt the cup +an’ the lip, ye know; an’ there may be no war, after all, +and we may all be disapp’inted. But he’s bound to be +tleared if he’s tried, and don’t ye see—I—I don’t want +um to be a captain, anyhow, don’t ye see?”</p> + +<p>Richling saw, and they parted.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Thus everybody hoped. Dr. Sevier, wifeless, childless, +had his hopes too, nevertheless. Hopes for the hospital +and his many patients in it and out of it; hopes for his +town and his State; hopes for Richling and Mary; and +hopes with fears, and fears with hopes, for the great +sisterhood of States. Richling had one hope more. +After some weeks had passed Dr. Sevier ventured once +more to say:—</p> + +<p>“Richling, go home. Go to your wife. I must tell +you you’re no ordinary sick man. Your life is in danger.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> +“Will I be out of danger if I go home?” asked Richling.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier made no answer.</p> + +<p>“Do you still think we may have war?” asked Richling +again.</p> + +<p>“I know we shall.”</p> + +<p>“And will the soldiers come back,” asked the young +man, smilingly, “when they find their lives in danger?”</p> + +<p>“Now, Richling, that’s another thing entirely; that’s +the battle-field.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it all the <em>same</em> thing, Doctor? Isn’t it all a battle-field?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor turned impatiently, disdaining to reply. +But in a moment he retorted:—</p> + +<p>“We take wounded men off the field.”</p> + +<p>“They don’t take themselves off,” said Richling, +smiling.</p> + +<p>“Well,” rejoined the Doctor, rising and striding toward +a window, “a good general may order a retreat.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but—maybe I oughtn’t to say what I was thinking”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, say it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, he don’t let his surgeon order it. Doctor,” +continued Richling, smiling apologetically as his +friend confronted him, “you know, as you say, better +than any one else, all that Mary and I have gone through—nearly +all—and how we’ve gone through it. Now, +if my life should end here shortly, what would the whole +thing mean? It would mean nothing. Doctor; it would +be meaningless. No, sir; this isn’t the end. Mary and +I”—his voice trembled an instant and then was firm +again—“are designed for a long life. I argue from the +simple fitness of things,—this is not the end.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier turned his face quickly toward the window, +and so remained.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>FALL IN!</strong></p> + + +<p>There came a sound of drums. Twice on such a day, +once the day before, thrice the next day, till by and +by it was the common thing. High-stepping childhood, +with laths and broom-handles at shoulder, was not fated, +as in the insipid days of peace, to find, on running to the +corner, its high hopes mocked by a wagon of empty +barrels rumbling over the cobble-stones. No; it was the +Washington Artillery, or the Crescent Rifles, or the +Orleans Battalion, or, best of all, the blue-jacketed, +white-leggined, red-breeched, and red-fezzed Zouaves; +or, better than the best, it was all of them together, their +captains stepping backward, sword in both hands, calling +“<em>Gauche! gauche!</em>” (“Left! left!”) “Guide right!”—“<em>Portez +armes!</em>” and facing around again, throwing +their shining blades stiffly to belt and epaulette, and +glancing askance from under their abundant plumes to +the crowded balconies above. Yea, and the drum-majors +before, and the brilliant-petticoated <em>vivandières</em> behind!</p> + +<p>What pomp! what giddy rounds! Pennons, cock-feathers, +clattering steeds, pealing salvos, banners, +columns, ladies’ favors, balls, concerts, toasts, the Free +Gift Lottery—don’t you recollect?—and this uniform +and that uniform, brother a captain, father a colonel, +uncle a major, the little rector a chaplain, Captain Ristofalo +of the Tiger Rifles; the levee covered with munitions +of war, steam-boats unloading troops, troops, troops, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> +from Opelousas, Attakapas, Texas; and a supper to this +company, a flag to that battalion, farewell sermon to the +Washington Artillery, tears and a kiss to a spurred and +sashed lover, hurried weddings,—no end of them,—a +sword to such a one, addresses by such and such, serenades +to Miss and to Mademoiselle.</p> + +<p>Soon it will have been a quarter of a century ago!</p> + +<p>And yet—do you not hear them now, coming down +the broad, granite-paved, moonlit street, the light that +was made for lovers glancing on bayonet and sword soon +to be red with brothers’ blood, their brave young hearts +already lifted up with the triumph of battles to come, and +the trumpets waking the midnight stillness with the gay +notes of the Cracovienne?—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Again, again, the pealing drum,</span><br /> + The clashing horn, they come, they come,<br /> + And lofty deeds and daring high<br /> + Blend with their notes of victory.”</p> + +<p>Ah! the laughter; the music; the bravado; the dancing; +the songs! “<em>Voilà l’Zouzou!</em>” “Dixie!” “<em>Aux +armes, vos citoyens!</em>” “The Bonnie Blue Flag!”—it +wasn’t bonnie very long. Later the maidens at home +learned to sing a little song,—it is among the missing +now,—a part of it ran:—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Sleeping on grassy couches;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pillowed on hillocks damp;</span><br /> + Of martial fame how little we know<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till brothers are in the camp.”</span></p> + +<p>By and by they began to depart. How many they +were! How many, many! We had too lightly let them +go. And when all were gone, and they of Carondelet +street and its tributaries, massed in that old gray, brittle-shanked +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> +regiment, the Confederate Guards, were having +their daily dress parade in Coliseum place, and only they +and the Foreign Legion remained; when sister Jane made +lint, and flour was high, and the sounds of commerce +were quite hushed, and in the custom-house gun-carriages +were a-making, and in the foundries big guns were being +cast, and the cotton gun-boats and the rams were building, +and at the rotting wharves the masts of a few empty +ships stood like dead trees in a blasted wilderness, and +poor soldiers’ wives crowded around the “Free Market,” +and grass began to spring up in the streets,—they were +many still, while far away; but some marched no more, +and others marched on bleeding feet, in rags; and it was +very, very hard for some of us to hold the voice steady +and sing on through the chorus of the little song:—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“Brave boys are they!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gone at their country’s call.</span><br /> + And yet—and yet—we cannot forget<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That many brave boys must fall.”</span></p> + +<p>Oh! Shiloh, Shiloh!</p> + +<p>But before the gloom had settled down upon us it was +a gay dream.</p> + +<p>“Mistoo Itchlin, in fact ’ow you ligue my uniefawm? +You think it suit my style? They got about two poun’ +of gole lace on that uniefawm. Yesseh. Me, the h-only +thing—I don’ ligue those epaulette’. So soon ev’ybody +see that on me, ’tis ‘Lieut’nan’!’ in thiz place, an’ ‘Lieut’nan’!’ +in that place. My de’seh, you’d thing I’m a +majo’-gen’l, in fact. Well, of co’se, I don’ ligue that.”</p> + +<p>“And so you’re a lieutenant?”</p> + +<p>“Third! Of the Chasseurs-á-Pied! Coon he’p ’t, in +fact; the fellehs elected me. Goin’ at Pensacola tomaw. +Dr. Seveeah <em>con</em>tinue my sala’y whilce I’m gone. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> +no matteh the len’th. Me, I don’ care, so long the sala’y +<em>con</em>tinue, if that waugh las’ ten yeah! You ah pe’haps +goin’ ad the ball to-nighd, Mistoo Itchlin? I dunno ’ow +’tis—I suppose you’ll be aztonizh’ w’en I infawm you—that +ball wemine me of that battle of Wattaloo! Did +you evva yeh those line’ of Lawd By’on,—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.2em;">‘Theh was a soun’ of wibalwy by night,</span><br /> + W’en—’Ush-’ark!—A deep saun’ stwike’—?</p> + +<p>Thaz by Lawd By’on. Yesseh. Well”—</p> + +<p>The Creole lifted his right hand energetically, laid its +inner edge against the brass buttons of his <em>képi</em>, and +then waved it gracefully abroad:—</p> + +<p>“<em>Au ’evoi’</em>, Mistoo Itchlin. I leave you to defen’ the +city.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” in those days of unreadiness and +disconnection, glided just beyond reach continually. When +at times its realization was at length grasped, it was +away over on the far side of a fortnight or farther. +However, the to-morrow for Narcisse came at last.</p> + +<p>A quiet order for attention runs down the column. +Attention it is. Another order follows, higher-keyed, +longer drawn out, and with one sharp “clack!” the +sword-bayoneted rifles go to the shoulders of as fine a +battalion as any in the land of Dixie.</p> + +<p>“<em>En avant!</em>”—Narcisse’s heart stands still +for joy—“<em>Marche!</em>”</p> + +<p>The bugle rings, the drums beat; “tramp, tramp,” in +quick succession, go the short-stepping, nimble Creole +feet, and the old walls of the Rue Chartres ring again +with the pealing huzza, as they rang in the days of Villeré +and Lafrénière, and in the days of the young Galvez, +and in the days of Jackson.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> +The old Ponchartrain cars move off, packed. Down +at the “Old Lake End” the steamer for Mobile receives +the burden. The gong clangs in her engine-room, +the walking-beam silently stirs, there is a hiss of +water underneath, the gang-plank is in, the wet hawser-ends +whip through the hawse-holes,—she moves; clang +goes the gong again—she glides—or is it the crowded +wharf that is gliding?—No.—Snatch the kisses! snatch +them! Adieu! Adieu! She’s off, huzza—she’s off!</p> + +<p>Now she stands away. See the mass of gay colors—red, +gold, blue, yellow, with glitter of steel and flutter of +flags, a black veil of smoke sweeping over. Wave, +mothers and daughters, wives, sisters, sweethearts—wave, +wave; you little know the future!</p> + +<p>And now she is a little thing, her white wake following +her afar across the green waters, the call of the bugle +floating softly back. And now she is a speck. And +now a little smoky stain against the eastern blue is all,—and +now she is gone. Gone! Gone!</p> + +<p>Farewell, soldier boys! Light-hearted, little-forecasting, +brave, merry boys! God accept you, our offering +of first fruits! See that mother—that wife—take them +away; it is too much. Comfort them, father, brother; +tell them their tears may be for naught.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +“And yet—and yet—we cannot forget<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That many brave boys must fall.”</span></p> + +<p>Never so glad a day had risen upon the head of Narcisse. +For the first time in his life he moved beyond the +corporate limits of his native town.</p> + +<p>“‘Ezcape fum the aunt, thou sluggud!’” “<em>Au ’evoi’</em>” +to his aunt and the uncle of his aunt. +“<em>Au ’evoi’!</em> <em>Au ’evoi’!</em>”—desk, pen, +book—work, care, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> +thought, restraint—all sinking, sinking beneath the receding +horizon of Lake Ponchartrain, and the wide world +and a soldier’s life before him.</p> + +<p>Farewell, Byronic youth! You are not of so frail a +stuff as you have seemed. You shall thirst by day and +hunger by night. You shall keep vigil on the sands of +the Gulf and on the banks of the Potomac. You shall +grow brown, but prettier. You shall shiver in loathsome +tatters, yet keep your grace, your courtesy, your joyousness. +You shall ditch and lie down in ditches, and shall +sing your saucy songs of defiance in the face of the foe, +so blackened with powder and dust and smoke that your +mother in heaven would not know her child. And you +shall borrow to your heart’s content chickens, hogs, rails, +milk, buttermilk, sweet potatoes, what not; and shall +learn the American songs, and by the camp-fire of Shenandoah +valley sing “The years creep slowly by, Lorena” +to messmates with shaded eyes, and “Her bright smile +haunts me still.” Ah, boy! there’s an old woman still +living in the Rue Casa Calvo—your bright smile haunts +her still. And there shall be blood on your sword, and +blood—twice—thrice—on your brow. Your captain +shall die in your arms; and you shall lead charge after +charge, and shall step up from rank to rank; and all at +once, one day, just in the final onset, with the cheer on +your lips, and your red sword waving high, with but one +lightning stroke of agony, down, down you shall go in the +death of your dearest choice.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER.</strong></p> + + +<p>One morning, about the 1st of June, 1861, in the +city of New York, two men of the mercantile class +came from a cross street into Broadway, near what was +then the upper region of its wholesale stores. They +paused on the corner, near the edge of the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>“Even when the States were seceding,” said one of +them, “I couldn’t make up my mind that they really meant +to break up the Union.”</p> + +<p>He had rosy cheeks, a retreating chin, and amiable, +inquiring eyes. The other had a narrower face, alert +eyes, thin nostrils, and a generally aggressive look. He +did not reply at once, but, after a quick glance down the +great thoroughfare and another one up it, said, while +his eyes still ran here and there:—</p> + +<p>“Wonderful street, this Broadway!”</p> + +<p>He straightened up to his fullest height and looked +again, now down the way, now up, his eye kindling with +the electric contagion of the scene. His senses were all +awake. They took in, with a spirit of welcome, all the +vast movement: the uproar, the feeling of unbounded +multitude, the commercial splendor, the miles of towering +buildings; the long, writhing, grinding mass of coming +and going vehicles, the rush of innumerable feet, and +the countless forms and faces hurrying, dancing, gliding +by, as though all the world’s mankind, and womankind, +and childhood must pass that way before night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> +“How many people, do you suppose, go by this corner +in a single hour?” asked the man with the retreating chin. +But again he got no answer. He might as well not have +yielded the topic of conversation as he had done; so he +resumed it. “No, I didn’t believe it,” he said. “Why, +look at the Southern vote of last November—look at +New Orleans. The way it went there, I shouldn’t have +supposed twenty-five per cent. of the people would be in +favor of secession. Would you?”</p> + +<p>But his companion, instead of looking at New Orleans, +took note of two women who had come to a halt within a +yard of them and seemed to be waiting, as he and his +companion were, for an opportunity to cross the street. +The two new-comers were very different in appearance, +the one from the other. The older and larger was much +beyond middle life, red, fat, and dressed in black stuff, +good as to fabric, but uncommonly bad as to fit. The +other was young and pretty, refined, tastefully dressed, and +only the more interesting for the look of permanent anxiety +that asserted itself with distinctness about the corners +of her eyes and mouth. She held by the hand a rosy, +chubby little child, that seemed about three years old, and +might be a girl or might be a boy, so far as could be +discerned by masculine eyes. The man did not see this +fifth member of their group until the elder woman caught +it under the arms in her large hands, and, lifting it above +her shoulder, said, looking far up the street:—</p> + +<p>“O paypy, paypy, choost look de fla-ags! One, two, +dtree,—a tuzzent, a hundut, a dtowsant fla-ags!”</p> + +<p>Evidently the child did not know her well. The little +face remained without a smile, the lips sealed, the shoulders +drawn up, and the legs pointing straight to the spot +whence they had been lifted. She set it down again.</p> + +<p>“We’re not going to get by here,” said the less talkative +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> +man. “They must be expecting some troops to pass +here. Don’t you see the windows full of women and +children?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s wait and look at them,” responded the other, +and his companion did not dissent.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said the more communicative one, after +a moment’s contemplation, “I never expected to see +this!” He indicated by a gesture the stupendous life of +Broadway beginning slowly to roll back upon itself like +an obstructed river. It was obviously gathering in a +general pause to concentrate its attention upon something +of leading interest about to appear to view. “We’re in +earnest at last, and we can see, now, that the South was +in the deadest kind of earnest from the word go.”</p> + +<p>“They can’t be any more in earnest than we are, now,” +said the more decided speaker.</p> + +<p>“I had great hopes of the peace convention,” said the +rosier man.</p> + +<p>“I never had a bit,” responded the other.</p> + +<p>“The suspense was awful—waiting to know what +Lincoln would do when he came in,” said he of the poor +chin. “My wife was in the South visiting her relatives; +and we kept putting off her return, hoping for a quieter +state of affairs—hoping and putting off—till first thing +you knew the lines closed down and she had the hardest +kind of a job to get through.”</p> + +<p>“I never had a doubt as to what Lincoln would do,” +said the man with sharp eyes; but while he spoke he +covertly rubbed his companion’s elbow with his own, and +by his glance toward the younger of the two women gave +him to understand that, though her face was partly turned +away, the very pretty ear, with no ear-ring in the hole +pierced for it, was listening. And the readier speaker +rejoined in a suppressed voice:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> +“That’s the little lady I travelled in the same car with +all the way from Chicago.”</p> + +<p>“No times for ladies to be travelling alone,” muttered +the other.</p> + +<p>“She hoped to take a steam-ship for New Orleans, to +join her husband there.”</p> + +<p>“Some rebel fellow, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“No, a Union man, she says.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course!” said the sharp-eyed one, sceptically. +“Well, she’s missed it. The last steamer’s gone and +may get back or may not.” He looked at her again, +narrowly, from behind his companion’s shoulder. She +was stooping slightly toward the child, rearranging some +tie under its lifted chin and answering its questions in +what seemed a chastened voice. He murmured to his +fellow, “How do you know she isn’t a spy?”</p> + +<p>The other one turned upon him a look of pure amusement, +but, seeing the set lips and earnest eye of his +companion, said softly, with a faint, scouting hiss and +smile:—</p> + +<p>“She’s a perfect lady—a perfect one.”</p> + +<p>“Her friend isn’t,” said the aggressive man.</p> + +<p>“Here they come,” observed the other aloud, looking +up the street. There was a general turning of attention +and concentration of the street’s population toward the +edge of either sidewalk. A force of police was clearing +back into the by-streets a dense tangle of drays, wagons, +carriages, and white-topped omnibuses, and far up the +way could be seen the fluttering and tossing of handkerchiefs, +and in the midst a solid mass of blue with a sheen +of bayonets above, and every now and then a brazen reflection +from in front, where the martial band marched before. +It was not playing. The ear caught distantly, instead of +its notes, the warlike thunder of the drum corps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> +The sharper man nudged his companion mysteriously.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” he whispered. Neither they nor the other +pair had materially changed their relative positions. The +older woman was speaking.</p> + +<p>“’Twas te fun’est dting! You pe lookin’ for te +Noo ’Leants shteamer, undt me lookin’ for te Hambourg +shteamer, undt coompt right so togeder undt never +vouldn’t ’a’ knowedt udt yet, ovver te mayne exdt me, +‘Misses Reisen, vot iss your name?’ undt you headt udt. +Undt te minudt you shpeak, udt choost come to me +like a flash o’ lightenin’—‘Udt iss Misses Richlin’!’” +The speaker’s companion gave her such attention as one +may give in a crowd to words that have been heard two +or three times already within the hour.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Alice,” she said, once or twice to the little one, +who pulled softly at her skirt asking confidential questions. +But the baker’s widow went on with her story, enjoying +it for its own sake.</p> + +<p>“You know, Mr. Richlin’ he told me finfty dtimes, +‘Misses Reisen, doant kif up te pissness!’ Ovver I see +te mutcheenery proke undt te foundtries all makin’ guns +undt kennons, undt I choost says, ‘I kot plenteh moneh—I +tdtink I kfit undt go home.’ Ovver I sayss to de +Doctor, ‘Dte oneh dting—vot Mr. Richlin’ ko-in to tdo?’ +Undt Dr. Tseweer he sayss, ‘How menneh pa’ls flour you +kot shtowed away?’ Undt I sayss, ‘Tsoo hundut finfty.’ +Undt he sayss, ‘Misses Reisen, Mr. Richlin’ done made you +rich; you choost kif um dtat flour; udt be wort’ tweny-fife +tollahs te pa’l, yet.’ Undt sayss I, ‘Doctor, you’ right, +undt I dtank you for te goodt idea; I kif Mr. Richlin’ +innahow one pa’l.’ Undt I done-d it. Ovver I sayss, +‘Doctor, dtat’s not like a rigler sellery, yet.’ Undt dten +he sayss, ‘You know, <em>mine</em> pookkeeper he gone to te vor, +undt I need’”—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> +A crash of brazen music burst upon the ear and drowned +the voice. The throng of the sidewalk pushed hard upon +its edge.</p> + +<p>“Let me hold the little girl up,” ventured the milder +man, and set her gently upon his shoulder, as amidst a +confusion of outcries and flutter of hats and handkerchiefs +the broad, dense column came on with measured tread, +its stars and stripes waving in the breeze and its backward-slanting +thicket of bayoneted arms glittering in the +morning sun. All at once there arose from the great +column, in harmony with the pealing music, the hoarse +roar of the soldiers’ own voices singing in time to the +rhythm of their tread. And a thrill runs through the +people, and they answer with mad huzzas and frantic +wavings and smiles, half of wild ardor and half of wild +pain; and the keen-eyed man here by Mary lets the tears +roll down his cheeks unhindered as he swings his hat and +cries “Hurrah! hurrah!” while on tramps the mighty +column, singing from its thousand thirsty throats the song +of John Brown’s Body.</p> + +<p>Yea, so, soldiers of the Union,—though that little +mother there weeps but does not wave, as the sharp-eyed +man notes well through his tears,—yet even so, yea, all +the more, go—“go marching on,” saviors of the Union; +your cause is just. Lo, now, since nigh twenty-five years +have passed, we of the South can say it!</p> + +<p class="center"> +“And yet—and yet, we cannot forget”—</p> + +<p>and we would not.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A PASS THROUGH THE LINES.</strong></p> + + +<p>About the middle of September following the date +of the foregoing incident, there occurred in a farmhouse +head-quarters on the Indiana shore of the Ohio +river the following conversation:—</p> + +<p>“You say you wish me to give you a pass through the +lines, ma’am. Why do you wish to go through?”</p> + +<p>“I want to join my husband in New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>“Why, ma’am, you’d much better let New Orleans +come through the lines. We shall have possession of it, +most likely, within a month.” The speaker smiled very +pleasantly, for very pleasant and sweet was the young +face before him, despite its lines of mental distress, and +very soft and melodious the voice that proceeded from it.</p> + +<p>“Do you think so?” replied the applicant, with an +unhopeful smile. “My friends have been keeping me at +home for months on that idea, but the fact seems as far +off now as ever. I should go straight through without +stopping, if I had a pass.”</p> + +<p>“Ho!” exclaimed the man, softly, with pitying amusement. +“Certainly, I understand you would try to do so. +But, my dear madam, you would find yourself very much +mistaken. Suppose, now, we should let you through our +lines. You’d be between two fires. You’d still have to +get into the rebel lines. You don’t know what you’re +undertaking.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> +She smiled wistfully.</p> + +<p>“I’m undertaking to get to my husband.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” said the officer, pulling his handkerchief +from between two brass buttons of his double-breasted +coat and wiping his brow. She did not notice that he +made this motion purely as a cover for the searching +glance which he suddenly gave her from head to foot. +“Yes,” he continued, “but you don’t know what it is, +ma’am. After you get through the <em>other</em> lines, what are +you going to do <em>then</em>? There’s a perfect reign of terror +over there. I wouldn’t let a lady relative of mine take +such risks for thousands of dollars. I don’t think your +husband ought to thank me for giving you a pass. You +say he’s a Union man; why don’t he come to you?”</p> + +<p>Tears leaped into the applicant’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“He’s become too sick to travel,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Lately?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you said you hadn’t heard from him for +months.” The officer looked at her with narrowed eyes.</p> + +<p>“I said I hadn’t had a letter from him.” The speaker +blushed to find her veracity on trial. She bit her lip, and +added, with perceptible tremor: “I got one lately from +his physician.”</p> + +<p>“How did you get it?”</p> + +<p>“What, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Now, madam, you know what I asked you, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Well, I’d like you to answer.”</p> + +<p>“I found it, three mornings ago, under the front door +of the house where I live with my mother and my little +girl.”</p> + +<p>“Who put it there?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> +“I do not know.”</p> + +<p>The officer looked her steadily in the eyes. They were +blue. His own dropped.</p> + +<p>“You ought to have brought that letter with you, +ma’am,” he said, looking up again; “don’t you see how +valuable it would be to you?”</p> + +<p>“I did bring it,” she replied, with alacrity, rummaged +a moment in a skirt-pocket, and brought it out. The +officer received it and read the superscription audibly.</p> + +<p>“‘Mrs. John H——.’ Are you Mrs. John H——?”</p> + +<p>“That is not the envelope it was in,” she replied. +“It was not directed at all. I put it into that envelope +merely to preserve it. That’s the envelope of a different +letter,—a letter from my mother.”</p> + +<p>“Are you Mrs. John H——?” asked her questioner +again. She had turned partly aside and was looking +across the apartment and out through a window. He +spoke once more. “Is this your name?”</p> + +<p>“What, sir?”</p> + +<p>He smiled cynically.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t do that again, madam.”</p> + +<p>She blushed down into the collar of her dress.</p> + +<p>“That is my name, sir.”</p> + +<p>The man put the missive to his nose, snuffed it softly, +and looked amused, yet displeased.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. H——, did you notice just a faint smell of—garlic—about +this—?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I have no less than three or four others with +the very same odor.” He smiled on. “And so, no +doubt, we are both of the same private opinion that the +bearer of this letter was—who, Mrs. H——?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. H—— frequently by turns raised her eyes honestly +to her questioner’s and dropped them to where, in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> +her lap, the fingers of one hand fumbled with a lone +wedding-ring on the other, while she said:—</p> + +<p>“Do you think, sir, if you were in my place you would +like to give the name of the person you thought had risked +his life to bring you word that your husband—your wife—was +very ill, and needed your presence? Would you like to do it?”</p> + +<p>The officer looked severe.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know perfectly well that wasn’t his principal +errand inside our lines?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“No!” echoed the man; “and you don’t know perfectly +well, I suppose, that he’s been shot at along this +line times enough to have turned his hair white? Or +that he crossed the river for the third time last night, +loaded down with musket-caps for the rebels?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“But you must admit you know a certain person, +wherever he may be, or whatever he may be doing, named +Raphael Ristofalo?”</p> + +<p>“I do not.”</p> + +<p>The officer smiled again.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I see. That is to say, you don’t <em>admit</em> it. And +you don’t deny it.”</p> + +<p>The reply came more slowly:—</p> + +<p>“I do not.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Mrs. H——, I’ve given you a pretty +long audience. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. But do you +please tell me, first, you affirm on your word of honor +that your name is really Mrs. H——; that you are no +spy, and have had no voluntary communication with any, +and that you are a true and sincere Union woman.”</p> + +<p>“I affirm it all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, come in to-morrow at this hour, and if I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> +am going to give you a pass at all I’ll give it to you then. +Here, here’s your letter.”</p> + +<p>As she received the missive she lifted her eyes, suffused, +but full of hope, to his, and said:—</p> + +<p>“God grant you the heart to do it, sir, and bless you.”</p> + +<p>The man laughed. Her eyes fell, she blushed, and, +saying not a word, turned toward the door and had +reached the threshold when the officer called, with a +certain ringing energy:—</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Richling!”</p> + +<p>She wheeled as if he had struck her, and answered:—</p> + +<p>“What, sir!” Then, turning as red as a rose, she +said, “O sir, that was cruel!” covered her face with +her hands, and sobbed aloud. It was only as she was in +the midst of these last words that she recognized in the +officer before her the sharper-visaged of those two men +who had stood by her in Broadway.</p> + +<p>“Step back here, Mrs. Richling.”</p> + +<p>She came.</p> + +<p>“Well, madam! I should like to know what we are +coming to, when a lady like you—a palpable, undoubted +lady—can stoop to such deceptions!”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said Mary, looking at him steadfastly and then +shaking her head in solemn asseveration, “all that I have +said to you is the truth.”</p> + +<p>“Then will you explain how it is that you go by one +name in one part of the country, and by another in +another part?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said. It was very hard to speak. The +twitching of her mouth would hardly let her form a word. +“No—no—I can’t—tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, ma’am. If you don’t start back to Milwaukee +by the next train, and stay there, I shall”—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> +“Oh, don’t say that, sir! I must go to my husband! +Indeed, sir, it’s nothing but a foolish mistake, made years +ago, that’s never harmed any one but us. I’ll take all the +blame of it if you’ll only give me a pass!”</p> + +<p>The officer motioned her to be silent.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to do as I tell you, ma’am. If not, I +shall know it; you will be arrested, and I shall give you +a sort of pass that you’d be a long time asking for.” He +looked at the face mutely confronting him and felt himself +relenting. “I dare say this does sound very cruel to you, +ma’am; but remember, this is a cruel war. I don’t judge +you. If I did, and could harden my heart as I ought to, +I’d have you arrested now. But, I say, you’d better take +my advice. Good-morning! <em>No, ma’am, I can’t hear +you!</em> So, now, that’s enough! Good-morning, madam!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>TRY AGAIN.</strong></p> + + +<p>One afternoon in the month of February, 1862, a +locomotive engine and a single weather-beaten +passenger-coach, moving southward at a very moderate speed +through the middle of Kentucky, stopped in response to a +handkerchief signal at the southern end of a deep, rocky +valley, and, in a patch of gray, snow-flecked woods, took +on board Mary Richling, dressed in deep mourning, and +her little Alice. The three or four passengers already in +the coach saw no sign of human life through the closed +panes save the roof of one small cabin that sent up its +slender thread of blue smoke at one corner of a little +badly cleared field a quarter of a mile away on a huge +hill-side. As the scant train crawled off again into a +deep, ice-hung defile, it passed the silent figure of a man +in butternut homespun, spattered with dry mud, standing +close beside the track on a heap of cross-tie cinders and +fire-bent railroad iron, a gray goat-beard under his chin, +and a quilted homespun hat on his head. From beneath +the limp brim of this covering, as the train moved by him, +a tender, silly smile beamed upward toward one hastily +raised window, whence the smile of Mary and the grave, +unemotional gaze of the child met it for a moment before +the train swung round a curve in the narrow way, and +quickened speed on down grade.</p> + +<p>The conductor came and collected her fare. He smelt +of tobacco above the smell of the coach in general.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> +“Do you charge anything for the little girl?”</p> + +<p>The purse in which the inquirer’s finger and thumb +tarried was limber and flat.</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>It was not the customary official negative; a tawdry +benevolence of face went with it, as if to say he did not +charge because he would not; and when Mary returned a +faint beam of appreciation he went out upon the rear +platform and wiped the plenteous dust from his shoulders +and cap. Then he returned to his seat at the stove and +renewed his conversation with a lieutenant in hard-used +blue, who said “the rebel lines ought never to have been +allowed to fall back to Nashville,” and who knew “how +Grant could have taken Fort Donelson a week ago if he +had had any sense.”</p> + +<p>There were but few persons, as we have said, in the car. +A rough man in one corner had a little captive, a tiny, +dappled fawn, tied by a short, rough bit of rope to the +foot of the car-seat. When the conductor by and by +lifted the little Alice up from the cushion, where she sat +with her bootees straight in front of her at its edge, and +carried her, speechless and drawn together like a kitten, +and stood her beside the captive orphan, she simply turned +about and pattered back to her mother’s side.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe she even saw it,” said the conductor, +standing again by Mary.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she did,” replied Mary, smiling upon the child’s +head as she smoothed its golden curls; “she’ll talk about +it to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The conductor lingered a moment, wanting to put his +own hand there, but did not venture, perhaps because of +the person sitting on the next seat behind, who looked at +him rather steadily until he began to move away.</p> + +<p>This was a man of slender, commanding figure and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> +advanced years. Beside him, next the window, sat a +decidedly aristocratic woman, evidently his wife. She, +too, was of fine stature, and so, without leaning forward +from the back of her seat, or unfolding her arms, she +could make kind eyes to Alice, as the child with growing +frequency stole glances, at first over her own little +shoulder, and later over her mother’s, facing backward +and kneeling on the cushion. At length a cooky passed +between them in dead silence, and the child turned and +gazed mutely in her mother’s face, with the cooky just in +sight.</p> + +<p>“It can’t hurt her,” said the lady, in a sweet voice, to +Mary, leaning forward with her hands in her lap. By the +time the sun began to set in a cool, golden haze across +some wide stretches of rolling fallow, a conversation had +sprung up, and the child was in the lady’s lap, her little +hand against the silken bosom, playing with a costly watch.</p> + +<p>The talk began about the care of Alice, passed to the +diet, and then to the government, of children, all in a light +way, a similarity of convictions pleasing the two ladies +more and more as they found it run further and further. +Both talked, but the strange lady sustained the conversation, +although it was plainly both a pastime and a +comfort to Mary. Whenever it threatened to flag the +handsome stranger persisted in reviving it.</p> + +<p>Her husband only listened and smiled, and with one +finger made every now and then a soft, slow pass at Alice, +who each time shrank as slowly and softly back into his +wife’s fine arm. Presently, however, Mary raised her +eyebrows a little and smiled, to see her sitting quietly in +the gentleman’s lap; and as she turned away and rested +her elbow on the window-sill and her cheek on her hand +in a manner that betrayed weariness, and looked out +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> +upon the ever-turning landscape, he murmured to his +wife, “I haven’t a doubt in my mind,” and nodded significantly +at the preoccupied little shape in his arms. His +manner with the child was imperceptibly adroit, and very +soon her prattle began to be heard. Mary was just +turning to offer a gentle check to this rising volubility, +when up jumped the little one to a standing posture on the +gentleman’s knee, and, all unsolicited and with silent +clapping of hands, plumped out her full name:—</p> + +<p>“Alice Sevier Witchlin’!”</p> + +<p>The husband threw a quick glance toward his wife; but +she avoided it and called Mary’s attention to the sunset as +seen through the opposite windows. Mary looked and responded +with expressions of admiration, but was visibly +disquieted, and the next moment called her child to her.</p> + +<p>“My little girl mustn’t talk so loud and fast in the +cars,” she said, with tender pleasantness, standing her +upon the seat and brushing back the stray golden waves +from the baby’s temples, and the brown ones, so like them, +from her own. She turned a look of amused apology to +the gentleman, and added, “She gets almost boisterous +sometimes,” then gave her regard once more to her offspring, +seating the little one beside her as in the beginning, +and answering her musical small questions with composing +yeas and nays.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” she said, after a pause and a look out +through the window,—“I suppose we ought soon to be +reaching M—— station, now, should we not?”</p> + +<p>“What, in Tennessee? Oh! no,” replied the gentleman. +“In ordinary times we should; but at this slow +rate we cannot nearly do it. We’re on a road, you see, +that was destroyed by the retreating army and made over +by the Union forces. Besides, there are three trains of +troops ahead of us, that must stop and unload between +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> +here and there, and keep you waiting, there’s no telling +how long.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll get there in the night!” exclaimed Mary.</p> + +<p>“Yes, probably after midnight.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shouldn’t have <em>thought</em> of coming before to-morrow +if I had known that!” In the extremity of her dismay she rose +half from her seat and looked around with alarm.</p> + +<p>“Have you no friends expecting to receive you there?” +asked the lady.</p> + +<p>“Not a soul! And the conductor says there’s no +lodging-place nearer than three miles”—</p> + +<p>“And that’s gone now,” said the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to get out at the same station with us,” +said the lady, her manner kindness itself and at the same +time absolute.</p> + +<p>“I think you have claims on us, anyhow, that we’d like to pay.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! impossible,” said Mary. “You’re certainly mistaking me.”</p> + +<p>“I think you have,” insisted the +lady; “that is, if your name is Richling.”</p> + +<p>Mary blushed.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you know my husband,” she +said; “he lives a long way from here.”</p> + +<p>“In New Orleans?” asked the gentleman.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Mary, boldly. She couldn’t fear +such good faces.</p> + +<p>“His first name is John, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. Do you really know John, sir?” The +lines of pleasure and distress mingled strangely in Mary’s +face. The gentleman smiled. He tapped little Alice’s +head with the tips of his fingers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> +“I used to hold him on my knee when he was no +bigger than this little image of him here.”</p> + +<p>The tears leaped into Mary’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thornton,” she whispered, huskily, and could say +no more.</p> + +<p>“You must come home with us,” said the lady, +touching her tenderly on the shoulder. “It’s a wonder +of good fortune that we’ve met. Mr. Thornton has something +to say to you,—a matter of business. He’s the +family’s lawyer, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I must get to my husband without delay,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“Get to your husband?” asked the lawyer, in astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Through the lines?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I told him so,” said the lady.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how to credit it,” said he. “Why, my +child, I don’t think you can possibly know what you are +attempting. Your friends ought never to have allowed +you to conceive such a thing. You must let us dissuade +you. It will not be taking too much liberty, will it? +Has your husband never told you what good friends we +were?”</p> + +<p>Mary nodded and tried to speak.</p> + +<p>“Often,” said Mrs. Thornton to her husband, interpreting +the half-articulated reply.</p> + +<p>They sat and talked in low tones, under the dismal +lamp of the railroad coach, for two or three hours. Mr. +Thornton came around and took the seat in front of +Mary, and sat with one leg under him, facing back toward +her. Mrs. Thornton sat beside her, and Alice slumbered +on the seat behind, vacated by the lawyer and his wife.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> +“You needn’t tell me John’s story,” said the gentleman; +“I know it. What I didn’t know before, I got from a +man with whom I corresponded in New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Sevier?”</p> + +<p>“No, a man who got it from the Doctor.”</p> + +<p>So they had Mary tell her own story.</p> + +<p>“I thought I should start just as soon as my mother’s +health would permit. John wouldn’t have me start +before that, and, after all, I don’t see how I could have +done it—rightly. But by the time she was well—or +partly well—every one was in the greatest anxiety +and doubt everywhere. You know how it was.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Thornton.</p> + +<p>“And everybody thinking everything would soon be settled,” +continued Mary.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the sympathetic lady, and her husband +touched her quietly, meaning for her not to interrupt.</p> + +<p>“We didn’t think the Union <em>could</em> be broken so easily,” +pursued Mary. “And then all at once it was unsafe and +improper to travel alone. Still I went to New York, to +take steamer around by sea. But the last steamer had +sailed, and I had to go back home; for—the fact is,”—she +smiled,—“my money was all gone. It was September +before I could raise enough to start again; but +one morning I got a letter from New Orleans, telling me +that John was very ill, and enclosing money for me to +travel with.”</p> + +<p>She went on to tell the story of her efforts to get a pass +on the bank of the Ohio river, and how she had gone +home once more, knowing she was watched, not daring +for a long time to stir abroad, and feeding on the frequent +hope that New Orleans was soon to be taken by one or +another of the many naval expeditions that from time to +time were, or were said to be, sailing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> +“And then suddenly—my mother died.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thornton gave a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>“And then,” said Mary, with a sudden brightening, +but in a low voice, “I determined to make one last +effort. I sold everything in the world I had and took +Alice and started. I’ve come very slowly, a little way at +a time, feeling along, for I was resolved not to be turned +back. I’ve been weeks getting this far, and the lines +keep moving south ahead of me. But I haven’t been +turned back,” she went on to say, with a smile, “and +everybody, white and black, everywhere, has been just as +kind as kind can be.” Tears stopped her again.</p> + +<p>“Well, never mind, Mrs. Richling,” said Mrs. Thornton; +then turned to her husband, and asked, “May I tell her?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Richling,—but do you wish to be called Mrs. Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary, and “Certainly,” said Mr. Thornton.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Richling, Mr. Thornton has some money +for your husband. Not a great deal, but still—some. +The younger of the two sisters died a few weeks ago. +She was married, but she was rich in her own right. She +left almost everything to her sister; but Mr. Thornton +persuaded her to leave some money—well, two thousand—’tisn’t +much, but it’s something, you know—to—ah +to Mr. Richling. Husband has it now at home and will +give it to you,—at the breakfast-table to-morrow morning; +can’t you, dear?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and we’ll not try to persuade you to give up +your idea of going to New Orleans. I know we couldn’t +do it. We’ll watch our chance,—eh, husband?—and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> +put you through the lines; and not only that, but give +you letters to—why, dear,” said the lady, turning to her +partner in good works, “you can give Mrs. Richling a +letter to Governor Blank; and another to General Um-hm, +can’t you? and—yes, and one to Judge Youknow. +Oh, they will take you anywhere! But first you’ll stop +with us till you get well rested—a week or two, or as +much longer as you will.”</p> + +<p>Mary pressed the speaker’s hand.</p> + +<p>“I can’t stay.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you know you needn’t have the least fear of +seeing any of John’s relatives. They don’t live in this +part of the State at all; and, even if they did, husband +has no business with them just now, and being a Union +man, you know”—</p> + +<p>“I want to see my husband,” said Mary, not waiting +to hear what Union sympathies had to do with the +matter.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the lady, in a suddenly subdued tone. +“Well, we’ll get you through just as quickly as we can.” +And soon they all began to put on wraps and gather their +luggage. Mary went with them to their home, laid her +tired head beside her child’s in sleep, and late next morning +rose to hear that Fort Donelson was taken, and the +Southern forces were falling back. A day or two later +came word that Columbus, on the Mississippi, had been +evacuated. It was idle for a woman to try just then to +perform the task she had set for herself. The Federal +lines!</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear child, they’re trying to find the Confederate +lines and strike them. You can’t lose anything—you +may gain much—by remaining quiet here awhile. +The Mississippi, I don’t doubt, will soon be open from +end to end.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> +A fortnight seemed scarcely more than a day when it +was past, and presently two of them had gone. One day +comes Mr. Thornton, saying:—</p> + +<p>“My dear child, I cannot tell you how I have the +news, but you may depend upon its correctness. New +Orleans is to be attacked by the most powerful naval expedition +that ever sailed under the United States flag. If +the place is not in our hands by the first of April I will +put you through both lines, if I have to go with you myself.” +When Mary made no answer, he added, +“Your delays have all been unavoidable, my child!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know; I don’t know!” exclaimed Mary, +with sudden distraction; “it seems to me I <em>must</em> be to +blame, or I’d have been through long ago. I ought to +have <em>run through</em> the lines. I ought to have ‘run the +blockade.’”</p> + +<p>“My child,” said the lawyer, “you’re mad.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll see,” replied Mary, almost in soliloquy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>“WHO GOES THERE?”</strong></p> + + +<p>The scene and incident now to be described are without +date. As Mary recalled them, years afterward, +they hung out against the memory a bold, clear picture, +cast upon it as the magic lantern casts its tableaux upon +the darkened canvas. She had lost the day of the month, +the day of the week, all sense of location, and the points +of the compass. The most that she knew was that she +was somewhere near the meeting of the boundaries of +three States. Either she was just within the southern +bound of Tennessee, or the extreme north-eastern corner +of Mississippi, or else the north-western corner of Alabama. +She was aware, too, that she had crossed the +Tennessee river; that the sun had risen on her left and +had set on her right, and that by and by this beautiful +day would fade and pass from this unknown land, and +the fire-light and lamp-light draw around them the home-groups +under the roof-trees, here where she was a homeless +stranger, the same as in the home-lands where she had +once loved and been beloved.</p> + +<p>She was seated in a small, light buggy drawn by one +good horse. Beside her the reins were held by a rather +tall man, of middle age, gray, dark, round-shouldered, +and dressed in the loose blue flannel so much worn by +followers of the Federal camp. Under the stiff brim of +his soft-crowned black hat a pair of clear eyes gave a +continuous playful twinkle. Between this person and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> +Mary protruded, at the edge of the buggy-seat, two +small bootees that have already had mention, and from +his elbow to hers, and back to his, continually swayed +drowsily the little golden head to which the bootees bore +a certain close relation. The dust of the highway was +on the buggy and the blue flannel and the bootees. It +showed with special boldness on a black sun-bonnet that +covered Mary’s head, and that somehow lost all its +homeliness whenever it rose sufficiently in front to show +the face within. But the highway itself was not there; +it had been left behind some hours earlier. The buggy +was moving at a quiet jog along a “neighborhood road,” +with unploughed fields on the right and a darkling woods +pasture on the left. By the feathery softness and paleness +of the sweet-smelling foliage you might have guessed +it was not far from the middle of April, one way or +another; and, by certain allusions to Pittsburg Landing +as a place of conspicuous note, you might have known +that Shiloh had been fought. There was that feeling of +desolation in the land that remains after armies have +passed over, let them tread never so lightly.</p> + +<p>“D’you know what them rails is put that way fur?” +asked the man. He pointed down with his buggy-whip +just off the roadside, first on one hand and then on the +other.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mary, turning the sun-bonnet’s limp front +toward the questioner and then to the disjointed fence +on her nearer side; “that’s what I’ve been wondering +for days. They’ve been ordinary worm fences, haven’t +they?”</p> + +<p>“Jess so,” responded the man, with his accustomed +twinkle. “But I think I see you oncet or twicet lookin’ +at ’em and sort o’ tryin’ to make out how come they got +into that shape.” The long-reiterated W’s of the rail-fence +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> +had been pulled apart into separate V’s, and the two +sides of each of these had been drawn narrowly together, +so that what had been two parallel lines of fence, +with the lane between, was now a long double row of +wedge-shaped piles of rails, all pointing into the woods +on the left.</p> + +<p>“How did it happen?” asked Mary, with a smile of +curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t happen at all, ’twas jess <em>done</em> by live men, +and in a powerful few minutes at that. Sort o’ shows +what we’re approachin’ unto, as it were, eh? Not but +they’s plenty behind us done the same way, all the way +back into Kentuck’, as you already done see; but this’s +been done sence the last rain, and it rained night afore +last.”</p> + +<p>“Still I’m not sure what it means,” said Mary; +“has there been fighting here?”</p> + +<p>“Go up head,” said the man, with a facetious gesture. +“See? The fight came through these here woods, +here. ’Taint been much over twenty-four hours, I +reckon, since every one o’ them-ah sort o’ shut-up-fan-shape +sort o’ fish-traps had a gray-jacket in it layin’ flat +down an’ firin’ through the rails, sort o’ random-like, +only not much so.” His manner of speech seemed a sort +of harlequin patchwork from the bad English of many +sections, the outcome of a humorous and eclectic fondness +for verbal deformities. But his lightness received a +sudden check.</p> + +<p>“Heigh-h-h!” he gravely and softly exclaimed, gathering +the reins closer, as the horse swerved and dashed +ahead. Two or three buzzards started up from the roadside, +with their horrid flapping and whiff of quills, and +circled low overhead. “Heigh-h-h!” he continued soothingly. +“Ho-o-o-o! somebody lost a good nag there,—a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> +six-pound shot right through his head and neck. Whoever +made that shot killed two birds with one stone, +sho!” He was half risen from his seat, looking back. +As he turned again, and sat down, the drooping black +sun-bonnet quite concealed the face within. He looked +at it a moment. “If you think you don’t like the risks +we can still turn back.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the voice from out the sun-bonnet; “go on.”</p> + +<p>“If we don’t turn back now we can’t turn back at all.”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” said Mary; “I can’t turn back.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a good soldier,” said the man, playfully +again. “You’re a better one than me, I reckon; I kin +turn back frequently, as it were. I’ve done it ‘many a +time and oft,’ as the felleh says.”</p> + +<p>Mary looked up with feminine surprise. He made a +pretence of silent laughter, that showed a hundred crows’ +feet in his twinkling eyes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t you fret; I’m not goin’ to run the wrong +way with you in charge. Didn’t you hear me promise +Mr. Thornton? Well, you see, I’ve got a sort o’ bad +memory, that kind o’ won’t let me forgit when I make a +promise;—bothers me that way a heap sometimes.” +He smirked in a self-deprecating way, and pulled his +hat-brim down in front. Presently he spoke again, +looking straight ahead over the horse’s ears:—</p> + +<p>“Now, that’s the mischief about comin’ with me—got +to run both blockades at oncet. Now, if you’d been a +good Secesh and could somehow or ’nother of got a pass +through the Union lines you’d of been all gay. But bein’ +Union, the fu’ther you git along the wuss off you air, +’less-n I kin take you and carry you ’way ’long yonder to +where you kin jess jump onto a south-bound Rebel railroad +and light down amongst folks that’ll never think o’ +you havin’ run through the lines.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> +“But you can’t do that,” said Mary, not in the form +of a request. “You know you agreed with Mr. Thornton +that you would simply”—</p> + +<p>“Put you down in a safe place,” said the man, +jocosely; “that’s what it meant, and don’t you get +nervous”— His face suddenly changed; he raised his +whip and held it up for attention and silence, looking at +Mary, and smiling while he listened. “Do you hear anything?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary, in a hushed tone. There were +some old fields on the right-hand now, and a wood on +the left. Just within the wood a turtle-dove was cooing.</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean that,” said the man, softly.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mary, “you mean this, away over here.” +She pointed across the fields, almost straight away in +front.</p> + +<p>“’Taint so scandalous far ‘awa-a-ay’ as you talk like,” +murmured the man, jestingly; and just then a fresh +breath of the evening breeze brought plainer and nearer +the soft boom of a bass-drum.</p> + +<p>“Are they coming this way?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“No; they’re sort o’ dress-paradin’ in camp, I reckon.” +He began to draw rein. “We turn off here, anyway,” +he said, and drove slowly, but point blank into the +forest.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any road,” said Mary. It was so dark in +the wood that even her child, muffled in a shawl and +asleep in her arms, was a dim shape.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the reply; “we have to sort o’ smell out +the way here; but my smellers is good, at times, and +pretty soon we’ll strike a little sort o’ somepnuther like a +road, about a quarter from here.”</p> + +<p>Pretty soon they did so. It started suddenly from the +edge of an old field in the forest, and ran gradually down, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> +winding among the trees, into a densely wooded bottom, +where even Mary’s short form often had to bend low to +avoid the boughs of beech-trees and festoons of grape-vine. +Under one beech the buggy stood still a moment. +The man drew and opened a large clasp-knife and cut +one of the long, tough withes. He handed it to Mary, as +they started on again.</p> + +<p>“With compliments,” he said, “and hoping you won’t +find no use for it.”</p> + +<p>“What is it for?”</p> + +<p>“Why, you see, later on we’ll be in the saddle; and +if such a thing should jess accidentally happen to happen, +which I hope it won’t, to be sho’, that I should happen to +sort o’ absent-mindedly yell out ‘Go!’ like as if a hornet +had stabbed me, you jess come down with that switch, +and make the critter under you run like a scared dog, as +it were.”</p> + +<p>“Must I?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t say you <em>must</em>, but you’d better, I bet you. +You needn’t if you don’t want to.”</p> + +<p>Presently the dim path led them into a clear, rippling +creek, and seemed to Mary to end; but when the buggy +wheels had crunched softly along down stream over some +fifty or sixty yards of gravelly shallow, the road showed +itself faintly again on the other bank, and the horse, with +a plunge or two and a scramble, jerked them safely over +the top, and moved forward in the direction of the rising +moon. They skirted a small field full of ghostly dead +trees, where corn was beginning to make a show, turned +its angle, and saw the path under their feet plain to view, +smooth and hard.</p> + +<p>“See that?” said the man, in a tone of playful +triumph, as the animal started off at a brisk trot, lifted +his head and neighed. “‘My day’s work’s done,’ sezee; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> +‘I done hoed my row.’” A responsive neigh came out +of the darkness ahead. “That’s the trick!” said the +man. “Thanks, as the felleh says.” He looked to +Mary for her appreciation of his humor.</p> + +<p>“I suppose that means a good deal; does it?” asked +she, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Jess so! It means, first of all, fresh hosses. And +then it means a house what aint been burnt by jayhawkers +yit, and a man and woman a-waitin’ in it, and some bacon +and cornpone, and maybe a little coffee; and milk, anyhow, +till you can’t rest, and buttermilk to fare-you-well. +Now, have you ever learned the trick o’ jess sort o’ +qui’lin’<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +up, cloze an’ all, dry so, and puttin’ half a night’s rest +into an hour’s sleep? ’Caze why, in one hour we must +be in the saddle. No mo’ buggy, and powerful few +roads. Comes as nigh coonin’ it as I reckon you ever +’lowed you’d like to do, don’t it?”</p> + +<p>He smiled, pretending to hold back much laughter, +and Mary smiled too. At mention of a woman she had +removed her bonnet and was smoothing her hair with +her hand.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care,” she said, “if only you’ll bring us through.”</p> + +<p>The man made a ludicrous gesture of self-abasement.</p> + +<p>“Not knowin’, can’t say, as the felleh says; but what +I can tell you—I always start out to make a spoon or +spoil a horn, and which one I’ll do I seldom ever promise +till it’s done. But I have a sneakin’ notion, as it were, +that I’m the clean sand, and no discount, as Mr. Lincoln +says, and I do my best. Angels can do no more, as the +felleh says.”</p> + +<p>He drew rein. “Whoa!” Mary saw a small log +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> +cabin, and a fire-light shining under the bottom of the +door.</p> + +<p>“The woods seem to be on fire just over there in three +or four places, are they not?” she asked, as she passed +the sleeping Alice down to the man, who had got out of +the buggy.</p> + +<p>“Them’s the camps,” said another man, who had come +out of the house and was letting the horse out of the +shafts.</p> + +<p>“If we was on the rise o’ the hill yonder we could see +the Confedick camps, couldn’t we, Isaiah?” asked Mary’s +guide.</p> + +<p>“Easy,” said that prophet. “I heer ’em to-day two, +three times, plain, cheerin’ at somethin’.”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>About the middle of that night Mary Richling was +sitting very still and upright on a large dark horse that +stood champing his Mexican bit in the black shadow of a +great oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep against +her bosom. Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose +naked saddle-tree was empty. A few steps in front of +her the light of the full moon shone almost straight down +upon a narrow road that just there emerged from the +shadow of woods on either side, and divided into a main +right fork and a much smaller one that curved around to +Mary’s left. Off in the direction of the main fork the sky +was all aglow with camp-fires. Only just here on the left +there was a cool and grateful darkness.</p> + +<p>She lifted her head alertly. A twig crackled under a +tread, and the next moment a man came out of the bushes +at the left, and without a word took the bridle of the led +horse from her fingers and vaulted into the saddle. The +hand that rested a moment on the cantle as he rose +grasped a “navy-six.” He was dressed in dull homespun +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> +but he was the same who had been dressed in blue. +He turned his horse and led the way down the lesser road.</p> + +<p>“If we’d of gone three hundred yards further,” he +whispered, falling back and smiling broadly, “we’d ’a’ +run into the pickets. I went nigh enough to see the +videttes settin’ on their hosses in the main road. This +here aint no road; it just goes up to a nigger quarters. +I’ve got one o’ the niggers to show us the way.”</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” whispered Mary; but, before her companion +could answer, a tattered form moved from behind +a bush a little in advance and started ahead in the path, +walking and beckoning. Presently they turned into a +clear, open forest and followed the long, rapid, swinging +stride of the negro for nearly an hour. Then they halted +on the bank of a deep, narrow stream. The negro made +a motion for them to keep well to the right when they +should enter the water. The white man softly lifted Alice +to his arms, directed and assisted Mary to kneel in her +saddle, with her skirts gathered carefully under her, and +so they went down into the cold stream, the negro first, +with arms outstretched above the flood; then Mary, and +then the white man,—or, let us say plainly the spy,—with +the unawakened child on his breast. And so they +rose out of it on the farther side without a shoe or garment +wet save the rags of their dark guide.</p> + +<p>Again they followed him, along a line of stake-and-rider +fence, with the woods on one side and the bright +moonlight flooding a field of young cotton on the other. +Now they heard the distant baying of house-dogs, now +the doleful call of the chuck-will’s-widow; and once Mary’s +blood turned, for an instant, to ice, at the unearthly shriek +of the hoot-owl just above her head. At length they +found themselves in a dim, narrow road, and the negro +stopped.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> +“Dess keep dish yeh road fo’ ’bout half mile an’ you +strak ’pon the broad, main road. Tek de right, an’ you +go whah yo’ fancy tek you.”</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” whispered Mary.</p> + +<p>“Good-by, miss,” said the negro, in the same low +voice; “good-by, boss; don’t you fo’git you promise tek +me thoo to de Yankee’ when you come back. I ’feered +you gwine fo’git it, boss.”</p> + +<p>The spy said he would not, and they left him. The +half-mile was soon passed, though it turned out to be a +mile and a half, and at length Mary’s companion looked +back, as they rode single file, with Mary in the rear, and +said softly, “There’s the road,” pointing at its broad, +pale line with his six-shooter.</p> + +<p>As they entered it and turned to the right, Mary, with +Alice again in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her +companion, her indifferent horsemanship having compelled +him to drop back to avoid a prickly bush. His horse was +just quickening his pace to regain the lost position when +a man sprang up from the ground on the farther side of +the highway, snatched a carbine from the earth and cried, +“Halt!”</p> + +<p>The dark, recumbent forms of six or eight others could +be seen, enveloped in their blankets, lying about a few +red coals. Mary turned a frightened look backward and +met the eyes of her companion.</p> + +<p>“Move a little faster,” said he, in a low, clear voice. +As she promptly did so she heard him answer the challenge. +His horse trotted softly after hers.</p> + +<p>“Don’t stop us, my friend; we’re taking a sick child to +the doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Halt, you hound!” the cry rang out; and as Mary +glanced back three or four men were just leaping into the +road. But she saw, also, her companion, his face suffused +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> +with an earnestness that was almost an agony, rise in his +stirrups, with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, and +wildly cry:—</p> + +<p>“Go!”</p> + +<p>She smote the horse and flew. Alice awoke and +screamed.</p> + +<p>“Hush, my darling!” said the mother, laying on the +withe; “mamma’s here. Hush, darling!—mamma’s here. +Don’t be frightened, darling baby! O God, spare my +child!” and away she sped.</p> + +<p>The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away +in a thousand echoes through the wood. Two others +followed in sharp succession, and there went close by +Mary’s ear the waspish whine of a minie-ball. At the +same moment she recognized, once,—twice,—thrice,—just +at her back where the hoofs of her companion’s horse +were clattering,—the tart rejoinders of his navy-six.</p> + +<p>“Go!” he cried again. “Lay low! lay low! cover the +child!” But his words were needless. With head +bowed forward and form crouched over the crying, clinging +child, with slackened rein and fluttering dress, and +sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back upon her +shoulders, with lips compressed and silent prayers, Mary +was riding for life and liberty and her husband’s bedside.</p> + +<p>“O mamma! mamma!” wailed the terrified little one.</p> + +<p>“Go on! Go on!” cried the voice behind; “they’re +saddling—up! Go! go! We’re goin’ to make it. We’re +goin’ to <em>make</em> it! Go-o-o!”</p> + +<p>Half an hour later they were again riding abreast, at a +moderate gallop. Alice’s cries had been quieted, but she +still clung to her mother in a great tremor. Mary and +her companion conversed earnestly in the subdued tone +that had become their habit.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> +“No, I don’t think they followed us fur,” said the spy. +“Seem like they’s jess some scouts, most likely a-comin’ +in to report, feelin’ pooty safe and sort o’ takin’ it easy +and careless; ‘dreamin’ the happy hours away,’ as the +felleh says. I reckon they sort o’ believed my story, too, +the little gal yelled so sort o’ skilful. We kin slack up +some more now; we want to get our critters lookin’ cool +and quiet ag’in as quick as we kin, befo’ we meet up with +somebody.” They reined into a gentle trot. He drew +his revolver, whose emptied chambers he had already refilled. +“D’d you hear this little felleh sing, ‘Listen to +the mockin’-bird’?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary; “but I hope it didn’t hit any of them.”</p> + +<p>He made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He grinned.</p> + +<p>“D’you want a felleh to wish he was a bad shot?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Well, seein’ as you’re along, I do. For they wouldn’t +give us up so easy if I’d a hit one. Oh,—mine was only +sort o’ complimentary shots,—much as to say, ‘Same to +you, gents,’ as the felleh says.”</p> + +<p>Mary gave him a pleasant glance by way of courtesy, +but was busy calming the child. The man let his weapon +into its holster under his homespun coat and lapsed into +silence. He looked long and steadily at the small feminine +figure of his companion. His eyes passed slowly +from the knee thrown over the saddle’s horn to the gentle +forehead slightly bowed, as her face sank to meet the uplifted +kisses of the trembling child, then over the crown +and down the heavy, loosened tresses that hid the sun-bonnet +hanging back from her throat by its strings and +flowed on down to the saddle-bow. His admiring eyes, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> +grave for once, had made the journey twice before he +noticed that the child was trying to comfort the mother, +and that the light of the sinking moon was glistening +back from Mary’s falling tears.</p> + +<p>“Better let me have the little one,” he said, “and you +sort o’ fix up a little, befo’ we happen to meet up with +somebody, as I said. It’s lucky we haven’t done it +already.”</p> + +<p>A little coaxing prevailed with Alice, and the transfer +was made. Mary turned away her wet eyes, smiling for +shame of them, and began to coil her hair, her companion’s +eye following.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you aint got no business to be ashamed of a few +tears. I knowed you was a good soldier, befo’ ever we +started; I see’ it in yo’ eye. Not as I want to be complimentin’ +of you jess now. ‘I come not here to talk,’ as +they used to say in school. D’d you ever hear that piece?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“That’s taken from Romans, aint it?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mary again, with a broad smile.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know,” said the man; “I aint no brag Bible +scholar.” He put on a look of droll modesty. “I used +to could say the ten commandments of the decalogue, +oncet, and I still tries to keep ’em, in ginerally. There’s +another burnt house. That’s the third one we done +passed inside a mile. Raiders was along here about two +weeks back. Hear that rooster crowin’? When we pass +the plantation whar he is and rise the next hill, we’ll be +in sight o’ the little town whar we stop for refresh<em>ments</em>, +as the railroad man says. You must begin to feel jess +about everlastin’ly wore out, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mary; but he made a movement of the +head to indicate that he had his belief to the contrary.</p> + +<p>At an abrupt angle of the road Mary’s heart leaped +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> +into her throat to find herself and her companion suddenly +face to face with two horsemen in gray, journeying leisurely +toward them on particularly good horses. One +wore a slouched hat, the other a Federal officer’s cap. +They were the first Confederates she had ever seen eye to +eye.</p> + +<p>“Ride on a little piece and stop,” murmured the spy. +The strangers lifted their hats respectfully as she passed +them.</p> + +<p>“Gents,” said the spy, “good-morning!” He threw a +leg over the pommel of his saddle and the three men +halted in a group. One of them copied the spy’s attitude. +They returned the greeting in kind.</p> + +<p>“What command do you belong to?” asked the lone +stranger.</p> + +<p>“Simmons’s battery,” said one. “Whoa!”—to his +horse.</p> + +<p>“Mississippi?” asked Mary’s guardian.</p> + +<p>“Rackensack,” said the man in the blue cap.</p> + +<p>“Arkansas,” said the other in the same breath. +“What is your command?”</p> + +<p>“Signal service,” replied the spy. “Reckon I look +mighty like a citizen jess about now, don’t I?” He gave +them his little laugh of self-depreciation and looked +toward Mary, where she had halted and was letting her +horse nip the new grass of the roadside.</p> + +<p>“See any troops along the way you come?” asked the +man in the hat.</p> + +<p>“No; on’y a squad o’ fellehs back yonder who was all +unsaddled and fast asleep, and jumped up worse scared’n +a drove o’ wile hogs. We both sort o’ got a little mad +and jess swapped a few shots, you know, kind o’ tit for +tat, as it were. Enemy’s loss unknown.” He stooped +more than ever in the shoulders, and laughed. The men +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> +were amused. “If you see ’em, I’d like you to mention +me”— He paused to exchange smiles again. “And +tell ’em the next time they see a man hurryin’ along with a +lady and sick child to see the doctor, they better hold their +fire till they sho he’s on’y a citizen.” He let his foot +down into the stirrup again and they all smiled broadly. +“Good-morning!” The two parties went their ways.</p> + +<p>“Jess as leave not of met up with them two buttermilk +rangers,” said the spy, once more at Mary’s side; +“but seein’ as thah we was the oniest thing was to put +on all the brass I had.”</p> + +<p>From the top of the next hill the travellers descended +into a village lying fast asleep, with the morning star +blazing over it, the cocks calling to each other from their +roosts, and here and there a light twinkling from a +kitchen window, or a lazy axe-stroke smiting the logs at +a wood-pile. In the middle of the village one lone old +man, half-dressed, was lazily opening the little wooden +“store” that monopolized its commerce. The travellers +responded to his silent bow, rode on through the place, +passed over and down another hill, met an aged negro, +who passed on the roadside, lifting his forlorn hat and +bowing low; and, as soon as they could be sure they had +gone beyond his sight and hearing, turned abruptly into a +dark wood on the left. Twice again they turned to the +left, going very warily through the deep shadows of the +forest, and so returned half around the village, seeing no +one. Then they stopped and dismounted at a stable-door, +on the outskirts of the place. The spy opened it +with a key from his own pocket, went in and came out +again with a great armful of hay, which he spread for the +horses’ feet to muffle their tread, led them into the stable, +removed the hay again, and closed and locked the door.</p> + +<p>“Make yourself small,” he whispered, “and walk +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> +fast.” They passed by a garden path up to the back +porch and door of a small unpainted cottage. He +knocked, three soft, measured taps.</p> + +<p>“Day’s breakin’,” he whispered again, as he stood +with Alice asleep in his arms, while somebody was heard +stirring within.</p> + +<p>“Sam?” said a low, wary voice just within the unopened +door.</p> + +<p>“Sister,” softly responded the spy, and the door swung +inward, and revealed a tall woman, with an austere but +good face, that could just be made out by the dim light +of a tallow candle shining from the next room. The +travellers entered and the door was shut.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the spy, standing and smiling foolishly, +and bending playfully in the shoulders, “well, Mrs. +Richlin’,”—he gave his hand a limp wave abroad and +smirked,—“‘In Dixie’s land you take yo’ stand.’ This +is it. You’re in it!—Mrs. Richlin’, my sister; sister, +Mrs. Richlin’.”</p> + +<p>“Pleased to know ye,” said the woman, without the +faintest ray of emotion. “Take a seat and sit down.” +She produced a chair bottomed with raw-hide.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” was all Mary could think of to reply as +she accepted the seat, and “Thank you” again when the +woman brought a glass of water. The spy laid Alice on +a bed in sight of Mary in another chamber. He came +back on tiptoe.</p> + +<p>“Now, the next thing is to git you furder south. +Wust of it is that, seein’ as you got sich a weakness fur +tellin’ the truth, we’ll jess have to sort o’ slide you along +fum one Union man to another; sort o’ hole fass what I +give ye, as you used to say yourself, I reckon. But +you’ve got one strong holt.” His eye went to his sister’s, +and he started away without a word, and was presently +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> +heard making a fire, while the woman went about spreading +a small table with cold meats and corn-bread, milk +and butter. Her brother came back once more.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said to Mary, “you’ve got one mighty good +card, and that’s it in yonder on the bed. ‘Humph!’ +folks’ll say; ‘didn’t come fur with that there baby, +sho!’”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t go far without her,” said Mary, brightly.</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> say,” responded the hostess, with her back turned, +and said no more.</p> + +<p>“Sister,” said the spy, “we’ll want the buggy.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” responded the sister.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go feed the hosses,” said he, and went out. In +a few minutes he returned. “Joe must give ’em a good +rubbin’ when he comes, sister,” he said.</p> + +<p>“All right,” replied the woman, and then turning to +Mary, “Come.”</p> + +<p>“What, ma’m?”</p> + +<p>“Eat.” She touched the back of a chair. “Sam, bring the baby.” +She stood and waited on the table.</p> + +<p>Mary was still eating, when suddenly she rose up, saying:—</p> + +<p>“Why, where is Mr. ——, your brother?”</p> + +<p>“He’s gone to take a sleep outside,” said his sister. +“It’s too resky for him to sleep in a house.”</p> + +<p>She faintly smiled, for the first time, at the end of this +long speech.</p> + +<p>“But,” said Mary, “oh, I haven’t uttered a word of +thanks. What will he think of me?”</p> + +<p>She sank into her chair again with an elbow on the +table, and looked up at the tall standing figure on the +other side, with a little laugh of mortification.</p> + +<p>“You kin thank God,” replied the figure. “<em>He</em> aint +gone.” Another ghost of a smile was seen for a moment +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> +on the grave face. “Sam aint thinkin’ about that. You +hurry and finish and lay down and sleep, and when you +wake up he’ll be back here ready, to take you along +furder. That’s a healthy little one. She wants some +more buttermilk. Give it to her. If she don’t drink it +the pigs’ll git it, as the ole woman says.... Now you +better lay down on the bed in yonder and go to sleep. +Jess sort o’ loosen yo’ cloze; don’t take off noth’n’ but +dress and shoes. You needn’t be afeard to sleep sound; +I’m goin’ to keep a lookout.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LV.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>DIXIE.</strong></p> + + +<p>In her sleep Mary dreamed over again the late rencontre. +Again she heard the challenging outcry, and +again was lashing her horse to his utmost speed; but +this time her enemy seemed too fleet for her. He +overtook—he laid his hand upon her. A scream was just at +her lips, when she awoke with a wild start, to find the tall +woman standing over her, and bidding her in a whisper +rise with all stealth and dress with all speed.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Alice?” asked Mary. “Where’s my little girl?”</p> + +<p>“She’s there. Never mind her yit, till you’re dressed. +Here; not them cloze; these here homespun things. +Make haste, but don’t get excited.”</p> + +<p>“How long have I slept?” asked Mary, hurriedly obeying.</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t ’a’ more’n got to sleep. Sam oughtn’t +to have shot back at ’em. They’re after ’im, hot; four of +’em jess now passed through on the road, right here past +my front gate.”</p> + +<p>“What kept them back so long?” asked Mary, tremblingly +attempting to button her dress in the back.</p> + +<p>“Let me do that,” said the woman. “They couldn’t +come very fast; had to kind o’ beat the bushes every +hundred yards or so. If they’d of been more of ’em +they’d a-come faster, ’cause they’d a-left one or two +behind at each turn-out, and come along with the rest. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> +There; now that there hat, there, on the table.” As +Mary took the hat the speaker stepped to a window and +peeped into the early day. A suppressed exclamation +escaped her. “O you poor boy!” she murmured. Mary +sprang toward her, but the stronger woman hurried her +away from the spot.</p> + +<p>“Come; take up the little one ’thout wakin’ her. +Three more of ’em’s a-passin’. The little young feller in +the middle reelin’ and swayin’ in his saddle, and t’others +givin’ him water from his canteen.”</p> + +<p>“Wounded?” asked Mary, with a terrified look, bringing +the sleeping child.</p> + +<p>“Yes, the last wound he’ll ever git, I reckon. Jess +take the baby, so. Sam’s already took her cloze. He’s +waitin’ out in the woods here behind the house. He’s got +the critters down in the hollow. Now, here! This here +bundle’s a ridin’-skirt. It’s not mournin’, but you mustn’t +mind. It’s mighty green and cottony-lookin’, but—anyhow, +you jess put it on when you git into the woods. +Now it’s good sun-up outside. The way you must do—you +jess keep on the lef’ side o’ me, close, so as when I +jess santer out e-easy todes the back gate you’ll be hid +from all the other houses. Then when we git to the back +gate I’ll kind o’ stand like I was lookin’ into the pig-pen, +and you jess slide away on a line with me into the woods, +and there’ll be Sam. No, no; take your hat off and sort +o’ hide it. Now; you ready?”</p> + +<p>Mary threw her arms around the woman’s neck and +kissed her passionately.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t stop for that!” said the woman, smiling +with an awkward diffidence. “Come!”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“What is the day of the month?” asked Mary of the spy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> +They had been riding briskly along a mere cattle-path +in the woods for half an hour, and had just struck into an +old, unused road that promised to lead them presently into +and through some fields of cotton. Alice, slumbering +heavily, had been, little by little, dressed, and was now +in the man’s arms. As Mary spoke they slackened pace +to a quiet trot, and crossed a broad highway nearly at +right angles.</p> + +<p>“That would ’a’ been our road with the buggy,” said +the man, “if we could of took things easy.” They were +riding almost straight away from the sun. His dress had +been changed again, and in a suit of new, dark brown +homespun wool, over a pink calico shirt and white cuffs +and collar, he presented the best possible picture of +spruce gentility that the times would justify. “‘What +day of the month,’ did you ask? <em>I</em>’ll never tell you, but +I know it’s Friday.”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s the eighteenth,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>They met an old negro driving three yoke of oxen +attached to a single empty cart.</p> + +<p>“Uncle,” said the spy, “I don’t reckon the boss will +mind our sort o’ ridin’ straight thoo his grove, will he?”</p> + +<p>“Not ’tall, boss; on’y dess be so kyine an’ shet de +gates behine you, sah.”</p> + +<p>They passed those gates and many another, shutting +them faithfully, and journeying on through miles of fragrant +lane and fields of young cotton and corn, and +stretches of wood where the squirrel scampered before +them and reaches of fallow grounds still wet with dew, +and patches of sedge, and old fields grown up with +thickets of young trees; now pushing their horses to a +rapid gallop, where they were confident of escaping +notice, and now ambling leisurely, where the eyes of men +afield, or of women at home, followed them with rustic +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> +scrutiny; or some straggling Confederate soldier on foot +or in the saddle met them in the way.</p> + +<p>“How far must we go before we can stop?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Jess as far’s the critters’ll take us without showin’ distress.”</p> + +<p>“South is out that way, isn’t it?” she asked again, +pointing off to the left.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” said the spy, with a look that was humorous, +but not only humorous.</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Two or three times last night, and now ag’in, you +gimme a sort o’ sneakin’ notion you don’t trust me,” +said he.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed she, “I do! Only I’m so anxious +to be going south.”</p> + +<p>“Jess so,” said the man. “Well, we’re goin’ sort o’ +due west right now. You see we dassent take this railroad +anywheres about here,”—they were even then crossing +the track of the Mobile and Ohio Railway—“because +that’s jess where they <em>sho</em> to be on the lookout fur us. +And I can’t take you straight south on the dirt roads, +because I don’t know the country down that way. But +this way I know it like your hand knows the way to your +mouth, as the felleh says. Learned it most all sence the +war broke out, too. And so the whole thing is we got to +jess keep straight across the country here till we strike the +Mississippi Central.”</p> + +<p>“What time will that be?”</p> + +<p>“Time! You don’t mean time o’ day, do you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Why, we’ll be lucky to make it in two whole days. +Won’t we, Alice!” The child had waked, and was staring +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> +into her mother’s face. Mary caressed her. The spy +looked at them silently. The mother looked up, as if to +speak, but was silent.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” said the man, softly; for a tear shone +through her smile. Whereat she laughed.</p> + +<p>“I ought to be ashamed to be so unreasonable,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, I’d like to contradict you for once,” +responds the spy; “but the fact is, how kin I, when Noo +Orleens is jest about south-west frum here, anyhow?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary, pleasantly, “it’s between south and +south-west.”</p> + +<p>The spy made a gesture of mock amazement.</p> + +<p>“Well, you air partickly what you say. I never hear +o’ but one party that was more partickly than you. I +reckon you never hear’ tell o’ him, did you?”</p> + +<p>“Who was he?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Well, I never got his name, nor his habitation, as the +felleh says; but he was so conscientious that when a +highwayman attackted him onct, he wouldn’t holla murder +nor he wouldn’t holla thief, ’cause he wasn’t certain +whether the highwayman wanted to kill him or rob him. +He was something like George Washington, who couldn’t +tell a lie. Did you ever hear that story about George +Washington?”</p> + +<p>“About his chopping the cherry-tree with his hatchet?” +asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see you done heard the story!” said the spy, +and left it untold; but whether he was making game of +his auditor or not she did not know, and never found out. +But on they went, by many a home; through miles of +growing crops, and now through miles of lofty pine +forests, and by log-cabins and unpainted cottages, from +within whose open doors came often the loud feline growl +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> +of the spinning-wheel. So on and on, Mary spending the +first night in a lone forest cabin of pine poles, whose +master, a Confederate deserter, fed his ague-shaken wife +and cotton-headed children oftener with the spoils of his +rifle than with the products of the field. The spy and the +deserter lay down together, and together rose again with +the dawn, in a deep thicket, a few hundred yards away.</p> + +<p>The travellers had almost reached the end of this toilsome +horseback journey, when rains set in, and, for +forty-eight hours more, swollen floods and broken bridges +held them back, though within hearing of the locomotive’s +whistle.</p> + +<p>But at length, one morning, Mary stepped aboard the +train that had not long before started south from the +town of Holly Springs, Mississippi, assisted with decorous +alacrity by the conductor, and followed by the station-agent +with Alice in his arms, and by the telegraph-operator +with a home-made satchel or two of luggage and +luncheon. It was disgusting,—to two thin, tough-necked +women, who climbed aboard, unassisted, at the other end of +the same coach.</p> + +<p>“You kin just bet she’s a widder, and them fellers +knows it,” said one to the other, taking a seat and spitting +expertly through the window.</p> + +<p>“If she aint,” responded the other, putting a peeled +snuff-stick into her cheek, “then her husband’s got the +brass buttons, and they knows that. Look at ’er a-smi-i-ilin’!”</p> + +<p>“What you reckon makes her look so wore out?” +asked the first. And the other replied promptly, with +unbounded loathing, “Dayncin’,” and sent her emphasis +out of the window in liquid form without disturbing her +intervening companion.</p> + +<p>During the delay caused by the rain Mary had found +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> +time to refit her borrowed costume. Her dress was a +stout, close-fitting homespun of mixed cotton and wool, +woven in a neat plaid of walnut-brown, oak-red, and the +pale olive dye of the hickory. Her hat was a simple +round thing of woven pine straw, with a slightly drooping +brim, its native brown gloss undisturbed, and the low +crown wrapped about with a wreath of wild grasses +plaited together with a bit of yellow cord. Alice wore a +much-washed pink calico frock and a hood of the same +stuff.</p> + +<p>“Some officer’s wife,” said two very sweet and lady-like +persons, of unequal age and equal good taste in dress, as +their eyes took an inventory of her apparel. They wore +bonnets that were quite handsome, and had real false +flowers and silk ribbons on them.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she’s been to camp somewhere to see him.”</p> + +<p>“Beautiful child she’s got,” said one, as Alice began +softly to smite her mother’s shoulder for private attention, +and to whisper gravely as Mary bent down.</p> + +<p>Two or three soldiers took their feet off the seats, and +one of them, at the amiably murmured request of the conductor, +put his shoes on.</p> + +<p>“The car in front is your car,” said the conductor to +another man, in especially dirty gray uniform.</p> + +<p>“You kin hev it,” said the soldier, throwing his palm +open with an air of happy extravagance, and a group of +gray-headed “citizens,” just behind, exploded a loud +country laugh.</p> + +<p>“D’ I onderstaynd you to lafe at me, saw?” drawled the +soldier, turning back with a pretence of heavy gloom on +his uncombed brow.</p> + +<p>“Laughin’ at yo’ friend yondeh,” said one of the +citizens, grinning and waving his hand after the departing +conductor.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> +“’Caze if you lafe at me again, saw,”—the frown +deepened,—“I’ll thess go ’ight straight out iss +caw.”<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<p>The laugh that followed this dreadful threat was loud +and general, the victims laughing loudest of all, and the +soldier smiling about benignly, and slowly scratching his +elbows. Even the two ladies smiled. Alice’s face remained +impassive. She looked twice into her mother’s to +see if there was no smile there. But the mother smiled +at her, took off her hood and smoothed back the fine gold, +then put the hood on again, and tied its strings under the +upstretched chin.</p> + +<p>Presently Alice pulled softly at the hollow of her +mother’s elbow.</p> + +<p>“Mamma—mamma!” she whispered. Mary bowed +her ear. The child gazed solemnly across the car at another +stranger, then pulled the mother’s arm again, +“That man over there—winked at me.”</p> + +<p>And thereupon another man, sitting sidewise on the +seat in front, and looking back at Alice, tittered softly, +and said to Mary, with a raw drawl:—</p> + +<p>“She’s a-beginnin’ young.”</p> + +<p>“She means some one on the other side,” said Mary, +quite pleasantly, and the man had sense enough to hush.</p> + +<p>The jest and the laugh ran to and fro everywhere. It +seemed very strange to Mary to find it so. There were +two or three convalescent wounded men in the car, going +home on leave, and they appeared never to weary of the +threadbare joke of calling their wounds “furloughs.” +There was one little slip of a fellow—he could hardly +have been seventeen—wounded in the hand, whom they +kept teazed to the point of exasperation by urging him to +confess that he had shot himself for a furlough, and of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> +whom they said, later, when he had got off at a flag +station, that he was the bravest soldier in his company. +No one on the train seemed to feel that he had got all +that was coming to him until the conductor had exchanged +a jest with him. The land laughed. On the right hand +and on the left it dimpled and wrinkled in gentle depressions +and ridges, and rolled away in fields of young corn +and cotton. The train skipped and clattered along at a +happy-go-lucky, twelve-miles-an-hour gait, over trestles +and stock-pits, through flowery cuts and along slender, +rain-washed embankments where dewberries were ripening, +and whence cattle ran down and galloped off across the +meadows on this side and that, tails up and heads down, +throwing their horns about, making light of the screaming +destruction, in their dumb way, as the people made +light of the war. At stations where the train stopped—and +it stopped on the faintest excuse—a long line of +heads and gray shoulders was thrust out of the windows +of the soldiers’ car, in front, with all manner of masculine +head-coverings, even bloody handkerchiefs; and woe to +the negro or negress or “citizen” who, by any conspicuous +demerit or excellence of dress, form, stature, speech, +or bearing, drew the fire of that line! No human power +of face or tongue could stand the incessant volley of stale +quips and mouldy jokes, affirmative, interrogative, and +exclamatory, that fell about their victim.</p> + +<p>At one spot, in a lovely natural grove, where the air +was spiced with the gentle pungency of the young hickory +foliage, the train paused a moment to let off a man in fine +gray cloth, whose yellow stripes and one golden star on +the coat-collar indicated a major of cavalry. It seemed +as though pandemonium had opened. Mules braying, +negroes yodling, axes ringing, teamsters singing, men +shouting and howling, and all at nothing; mess-fires +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span> +smoking all about in the same hap-hazard, but roomy, disorder +in which the trees of the grove had grown; the +railroad side lined with a motley crowd of jolly fellows +in spurs, and the atmosphere between them and the line +of heads in the car-windows murky with the interchange +of compliments that flew back and forth from the +“web-foots”<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> +to the “critter company,” and from the “critter +company” to the “web-foots.” As the train moved off, +“I say, boys,” drawled a lank, coatless giant on the +roadside, with but one suspender and one spur, “tha-at’s +right! Gen’l Beerygyard told you to strike fo’ yo’ homes, +an’ I see you’ a-doin’ it ez fass as you kin git thah.” +And the “citizens” in the rear car-windows giggled even +at that; while the “web-foots” he-hawed their derision, +and the train went on, as one might say, with its hands +in its pockets, whooping and whistling over the fields—after +the cows; for the day was declining.</p> + +<p>Mary was awed. As she had been forewarned to do, +she tried not to seem unaccustomed to, or out of harmony +with, all this exuberance. But there was something so +brave in it, coming from a people who were playing a losing +game with their lives and fortunes for their stakes; +something so gallant in it, laughing and gibing in the +sight of blood, and smell of fire, and shortness of food and +raiment, that she feared she had betrayed a stranger’s +wonder and admiration every time the train stopped, and +the idlers of the station platform lingered about her window +and silently paid their ungraceful but complimentary +tribute of simulated casual glances.</p> + +<p>For, with all this jest, it was very plain there was but +little joy. It was not gladness; it was bravery. It was +the humor of an invincible spirit—the gayety of defiance. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> +She could easily see the grim earnestness beneath +the jocund temper, and beneath the unrepining smile the +privation and the apprehension. What joy there was, was +a martial joy. The people were confident of victory at +last,—a victorious end, whatever might lie between, +and of even what lay between they would confess no +fear. Richmond was safe, Memphis safer, New Orleans +safest. Yea, notwithstanding Porter and Farragut were +pelting away at Forts Jackson and St. Philip. Indeed, +if the rumor be true, if Farragut’s ships had passed those +forts, leaving Porter behind, then the Yankee sea-serpent +was cut in two, and there was an end of him in that direction. +Ha! ha!</p> + +<p>“Is to-day the twenty-sixth?” asked Mary, at last, of +one of the ladies in real ribbons, leaning over toward +her.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>It was the younger one who replied. As she did so she +came over and sat by Mary.</p> + +<p>“I judge, from what I heard your little girl asking you, +that you are going beyond Jackson.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>“Do you live there?” The lady’s interest seemed +genuine and kind.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I am going to join my husband there.”</p> + +<p>Mary saw by the reflection in the lady’s face that a +sudden gladness must have overspread her own.</p> + +<p>“He’ll be mighty glad, I’m sure,” said the pleasant +stranger, patting Alice’s cheek, and looking, with a pretty +fellow-feeling, first into the child’s face and then into +Mary’s.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he will,” said Mary, looking down upon the +curling locks at her elbow with a mother’s happiness.</p> + +<p>“Is he in the army?” asked the lady.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> +Mary’s face fell.</p> + +<p>“His health is bad,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“I know some nice people down in New Orleans,” said +the lady again.</p> + +<p>“We haven’t many acquaintances,” rejoined Mary, +with a timidity that was almost trepidation. Her eyes +dropped, and she began softly to smooth Alice’s collar and +hair.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know,” said the lady, “but you might know +some of them. For instance, there’s Dr. Sevier.”</p> + +<p>Mary gave a start and smiled.</p> + +<p>“Why, is he your friend too?” she asked. She looked +up into the lady’s quiet, brown eyes and down again into +her own lap, where her hands had suddenly knit together, +and then again into the lady’s face. “We have no friend +like Dr. Sevier.”</p> + +<p>“Mother,” called the lady softly, and beckoned. The +senior lady leaned toward her. “Mother, this lady is +from New Orleans and is an intimate friend of Dr. Sevier.”</p> + +<p>The mother was pleased.</p> + +<p>“What might one call your name?” she asked, taking +a seat behind Mary and continuing to show her pleasure.</p> + +<p>“Richling.”</p> + +<p>The mother and daughter looked at each other. They +had never heard the name before.</p> + +<p>Yet only a little while later the mother was saying to +Mary,—they were expecting at any moment to hear the +whistle for the terminus of the route, the central Mississippi +town of Canton:—</p> + +<p>“My dear child, no! I couldn’t sleep to-night if I +thought you was all alone in one o’ them old hotels in +Canton. No, you must come home with us. We’re +barely two mile’ from town, and we’ll have the carriage +ready for you bright and early in the morning, and our +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> +coachman will put you on the cars just as nice—Trouble?” +She laughed at the idea. “No; I tell you +what would trouble me,—that is, if we’d allow it; that’d +be for you to stop in one o’ them hotels all alone, child, +and like’ as not some careless servant not wake you in +time for the cars to-morrow.” At this word she saw +capitulation in Mary’s eyes. “Come, now, my child, +we’re not going to take no for an answer.”</p> + +<p>Nor did they.</p> + +<p>But what was the result? The next morning, when +Mary and Alice stood ready for the carriage, and it was +high time they were gone, the carriage was not ready; +the horses had got astray in the night. And while the +black coachman was on one horse, which he had found +and caught, and was scouring the neighboring fields and +lanes and meadows in search of the other, there came out +from townward upon the still, country air the long whistle +of the departing train; and then the distant rattle and roar +of its far southern journey began, and then its warning +notes to the scattering colts and cattle.</p> + +<p>“Look away!”—it seemed to sing—“Look away!”—the +notes fading, failing, on the ear,—“away—away—away +down south in Dixie,”—the last train that left +for New Orleans until the war was over.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVI.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>FIRE AND SWORD.</strong></p> + + +<p>The year the war began dates also, for New Orleans, +the advent of two better things: street-cars and the +fire-alarm telegraph. The frantic incoherence of the old +alarum gave way to the few solemn, numbered strokes that +called to duty in the face of hot danger, like the electric +voice of a calm commander. The same new system also +silenced, once for all, the old nine-o’clock gun. For there +were not only taps to signify each new fire-district,—one +for the first, two for the second, three, four, five, six +seven, eight, and nine,—but there was also one lone toll +at mid-day for the hungry mechanic, and nine at the +evening hour when the tired workman called his children +in from the street and turned to his couch, and the slave +must show cause in a master’s handwriting why he or she +was not under that master’s roof.</p> + +<p>And then there was one signal more. Fire is a dreadful +thing, and all the alarm signals were for fire except +this one. Yet the profoundest wish of every good man +and tender women in New Orleans, when this pleasing +novelty of electro-magnetic warnings was first published +for the common edification, was that mid-day or midnight, +midsummer or midwinter, let come what might of +danger or loss or distress, that one particular signal might +not sound. Twelve taps. Anything but that.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier and Richling had that wish together. They +had many wishes that were greatly at variance the one’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> +from the other’s. The Doctor had struggled for the +Union until the very smoke of war began to rise into the +sky; but then he “went with the South.” He was the +only one in New Orleans who knew—whatever some +others may have suspected—that Richling’s heart was +on the other side. Had Richling’s bodily strength remained, +so that he could have been a possible factor, +however small, in the strife, it is hard to say whether +they could have been together day by day and night by +night, as they came to be when the Doctor took the failing +man into his own home, and have lived in amity, as +they did. But there is this to be counted; they were +both, though from different directions, for peace, and +their gentle forbearance toward each other taught them +a moderation of sentiment concerning the whole great +issue. And, as I say, they both together held the one +longing hope that, whatever war should bring of final +gladness or lamentation, the steeples of New Orleans +might never toll—twelve.</p> + +<p>But one bright Thursday April morning, as Richling +was sitting, half dressed, by an open window of his room +in Dr. Sevier’s house, leaning on the arm of his soft chair +and looking out at the passers on the street, among whom +he had begun to notice some singular evidences of excitement, +there came from a slender Gothic church-spire that +was highest of all in the city, just beyond a few roofs in +front of him, the clear, sudden, brazen peal of its one +great bell.</p> + +<p>“Fire,” thought Richling; and yet, he knew not why, +wondered where Dr. Sevier might be. He had not seen +him that morning. A high official had sent for him at +sunrise and he had not returned.</p> + +<p>“Clang,” went the bell again, and the softer ding—dang—dong +of others, struck at the same instant, came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> +floating in from various distances. And then it clanged +again—and again—and again—the loud one near, the +soft ones, one by one, after it—six, seven, eight, nine—ah! +stop there! stop there! But still the alarm pealed +on; ten—alas! alas!—eleven—oh, oh, the women and +children!—twelve! And then the fainter, final asseverations +of the more distant bells—twelve! twelve! twelve!—and +a hundred and seventy thousand souls knew by +that sign that the foe had passed the forts. New Orleans +had fallen.</p> + +<p>Richling dressed himself hurriedly and went out. +Everywhere drums were beating to arms. Couriers and +aides-de-camp were galloping here and there. Men in +uniform were hurrying on foot to this and that rendezvous. +Crowds of the idle and poor were streaming out +toward the levee. Carriages and cabs rattled frantically +from place to place; men ran out-of-doors and leaped +into them and leaped out of them and sprang up stair-ways; +hundreds of all manner of vehicles, fit and unfit to +carry passengers and goods, crowded toward the railroad +depots and steam-boat landings; women ran into the +streets wringing their hands and holding their brows; +and children stood in the door-ways and gate-ways and +trembled and called and cried.</p> + +<p>Richling took the new Dauphine street-car. Far down +in the Third district, where there was a silence like that +of a village lane, he approached a little cottage painted +with Venetian red, setting in its garden of oranges, pomegranates, +and bananas, and marigolds, and coxcombs +behind its white paling fence and green gate.</p> + +<p>The gate was open. In it stood a tall, strong woman, +good-looking, rosy, and neatly dressed. That she was +tall you could prove by the gate, and that she was strong, +by the graceful muscularity with which she held two +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> +infants,—pretty, swarthy little fellows, with joyous black +eyes, and evidently of one age and parentage,—each in +the hollow of a fine, round arm. There was just a hint +of emotional disorder in her shining hair and a trace of +tears about her eyes. As the visitor drew near, a fresh +show of distressed exaltation was visible in the slight +play of her form.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Mr. Richlin’,” she cried, the moment he came +within hearing, “‘the dispot’s heels is on our shores!’” +Tears filled her eyes again. Mike, the bruiser, in his +sixth year, who had been leaning backward against her +knees and covering his legs with her skirts, ran forward +and clasped the visitor’s lower limbs with the nerve and +intention of a wrestler. Kate followed with the cherubs. +They were Raphael’s.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s terrible,” said Richling.</p> + +<p>“Ah! no, Mr. Richlin’,” replied Kate, lifting her head +proudly as she returned with him toward the gate, “it’s +outrageouz; but it’s not terrible. At least it’s not for +me, Mr. Richlin’. I’m only Mrs. Captain Ristofalah; +and whin I see the collonels’ and gin’r’ls’ ladies a-prancin’ +around in their carridges I feel my <em>humility</em>; but it’s my +djuty to be <em>brave</em>, sur! An’ I’ll help to <em>fight</em> thim, sur, if +the min can’t do ud. Mr. Richlin’, my husband is the +intimit frind of Gin’r’l Garrybaldy, sur! I’ll help to +burrin the cittee, sur!—rather nor give ud up to thim +vandjals! Come in, Mr. Richlin’; come in.” She led the +way up the narrow shell-walk. “Come ’n, sur, it may +be the last time ye’ do ud before the flames is leppin’ +from the roof! Ah! I knowed ye’d come. I was a-lookin’ +for ye. I knowed <em>ye’d</em> prove yerself that frind in need +that he’s the frind indeed! Take a seat an’ sit down.” +She faced about on the vine-covered porch, and dropped +into a rocking-chair, her eyes still at the point of overflow. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> +“But ah! Mr. Richlin’, where’s all thim flatterers +that fawned around uz in the days of tytled prosperity?”</p> + +<p>Richling said nothing; he had not seen any throngs of +that sort.</p> + +<p>“Gone, sur! and it’s a relief; it’s a relief, Mr. Richlin’!” +She marshalled the twins on her lap, Carlo commanding +the right, Francisco the left.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t expect too much of them,” said Richling, +drawing Mike between his knees, “in such a time +of alarm and confusion as this.” And Kate responded +generously:—</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose you’re right, sur.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve come down,” resumed the visitor, letting Mike +count off “Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,” on +the buttons of his coat, “to give you any help I can in +getting ready to leave town. For you mustn’t think of +staying. It isn’t possible to be anything short of dreadful +to stay in a city occupied by hostile troops. It’s +almost certain the Confederates will try to hold the city, +and there may be a bombardment. The city may be +taken and retaken half-a-dozen times before the war is +over.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Richlin’,” said Kate, with a majestic lifting of +the hand, “I’ll nivver rin away from the Yanks.”</p> + +<p>“No, but you must <em>go</em> away from them. You mustn’t +put yourself in such a position that you can’t go to your +husband if he needs you, Mrs. Ristofalo; don’t get separated +from him.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Mr. Richlin’, it’s you as has the right to say +so; and I’ll do as you say. Mr. Richlin’, my husband”—her +voice trembled—“may be wounded this hour. +I’ll go, sur, indeed I will; but, sur, if Captain Raphael +Ristofalah wor <em>here</em>, sur, he’d be ad the <em>front</em>, sur, and +Kate Ristofalah would be at his galliant side!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> +“Well, then, I’m glad he’s not here,” rejoined Richling, +“for I’d have to take care of the children.”</p> + +<p>“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Kate. “No, sur! I’d take +the lion’s whelps with me, sur! Why, that little Mike +theyre can han’le the dthrum-sticks to beat the felley in +the big hat!” And she laughed again.</p> + +<p>They made arrangements for her and the three children +to go “out into the confederacy” within two or three +days at furthest; as soon as she and her feeble helper +could hurry a few matters of business to completion at and +about the Picayune Tier. Richling did not get back to +the Doctor’s house until night had fallen and the sky was +set aglare by seven miles’ length of tortuous harbor front +covered with millions’ worth of burning merchandise. +The city was being evacuated.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier and he had but few words. Richling was +dejected from weariness, and his friend weary with dejections.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been all day?” asked the Doctor, +with a touch of irritation.</p> + +<p>“Getting Kate Ristofalo ready to leave the city.”</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t have left the house; but it’s no use to +tell you anything. Has she gone?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Well, in the name of common-sense, then, when is she going?”</p> + +<p>“In two or three days,” replied Richling, almost in retort.</p> + +<p>The Doctor laughed with impatience.</p> + +<p>“If you feel responsible for her going get her off by +to-morrow afternoon at the furthest.” He dropped his +tired head against the back of his chair.</p> + +<p>“Why,” said Richling, “I don’t suppose the fleet can +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> +fight its way through all opposition and get here short of +a week.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor laid his long fingers upon his brow and +rolled his head from side to side. Then, slowly raising +it:—</p> + +<p>“Well, Richling!” he said, “there must have been +some mistake made when you was put upon the earth.”</p> + +<p>Richling’s thin cheek flushed. The Doctor’s face confessed +the bitterest resentment.</p> + +<p>“Why, the fleet is only eighteen miles from here now.” +He ceased, and then added, with sudden kindness of tone, +“I want you to do something for me, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, go to bed; I’m going. You’ll need every +grain of strength you’ve got for to-morrow. I’m afraid +then it will not be enough. This is an awful business, +Richling.”</p> + +<p>They went upstairs together. As they were parting at +its top Richling said:—</p> + +<p>“You told me a few days ago that if the city should +fall, which we didn’t expect”—</p> + +<p>“That I’d not leave,” said the Doctor. “No; I shall +stay. I haven’t the stamina to take the field, and I can’t +be a runaway. Anyhow, I couldn’t take you along. +You couldn’t bear the travel, and I wouldn’t go and leave +you here, Richling—old fellow!”</p> + +<p>He laid his hand gently on the sick man’s shoulder, +who made no response, so afraid was he that another word +would mar the perfection of the last.</p> + +<p>When Richling went out the next morning the whole +city was in an ecstasy of rage and terror. Thousands +had gathered what they could in their hands, and were +flying by every avenue of escape. Thousands ran hither +and thither, not knowing where or how to fly. He saw +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> +the wife and son of the silver-haired banker rattling and +bouncing away toward one of the railway depots in a +butcher’s cart. A messenger from Kate by good chance +met him with word that she would be ready for the +afternoon train of the Jackson Railroad, and asking anew +his earliest attention to her interests about the lugger +landing.</p> + +<p>He hastened to the levee. The huge, writhing river, +risen up above the town, was full to the levee’s top, and, +as though the enemy’s fleet was that much more than it +could bear, was silently running over by a hundred rills +into the streets of the stricken city.</p> + +<p>As far as the eye could reach, black smoke, white smoke, +brown smoke, and red flames rolled and spread, and licked +and leaped, from unnumbered piles of cotton bales, and +wooden wharves, and ships cut adrift, and steam-boats +that blazed like shavings, floating down the harbor as they +blazed. He stood for a moment to see a little revenue +cutter,—a pretty topsail schooner,—lying at the foot of +Canal street, sink before his eyes into the turbid yellow +depths of the river, scuttled. Then he hurried on. Huge +mobs ran to and fro in the fire and smoke, howling, breaking, +and stealing. Women and children hurried back and +forth like swarms of giant ants, with buckets and baskets, +and dippers and bags, and bonnets, hats, petticoats, +anything,—now empty, and now full of rice and sugar +and meal and corn and syrup,—and robbed each other, +and cursed and fought, and slipped down in pools of +molasses, and threw live pigs and coops of chickens into +the river, and with one voiceless rush left the broad levee +a smoking, crackling desert, when some shells exploded +on a burning gunboat, and presently were back again like +a flock of evil birds.</p> + +<p>It began to rain, but Richling sought no shelter. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> +men he was in search of were not to be found. But the +victorious ships, with bare black arms stretched wide, +boarding nettings up, and the dark muzzles of their guns +bristling from their sides, came, silently as a nightmare, +slowly around the bend at Slaughterhouse Point and +moved up the middle of the harbor. At the French +market he found himself, without forewarning, witness +of a sudden skirmish between some Gascon and Sicilian +market-men, who had waved a welcome to the fleet, and +some Texan soldiers who resented the treason. The +report of a musket rang out, a second and third reëchoed +it, a pistol cracked, and another, and another; there was +a rush for cover; another shot, and another, resounded in +the market-house, and presently in the street beyond. +Then, in a moment, all was silence and emptiness, into +which there ventured but a single stooping, peeping +Sicilian, glancing this way and that, with his finger on +trigger, eager to kill, gliding from cover to cover, and +presently gone again from view, leaving no human life +visible nearer than the swarming mob that Richling, by +mounting a pile of ship’s ballast, could see still on the +steam-boat landing, pillaging in the drenching rain, and +the long fleet casting anchor before the town in line of +battle.</p> + +<p>Late that afternoon Richling, still wet to the skin, +amid pushing and yelling and the piping calls of distracted +women and children, and scuffling and cramming +in, got Kate Ristofalo, trunks, baskets, and babes, safely +off on the cars. And when, one week from that day, the +sound of drums, that had been hushed for a while, fell +upon his ear again,—no longer the jaunty rataplan of +Dixie’s drums, but the heavy, monotonous roar of the +conqueror’s at the head of his dark-blue columns,—Richling +could not leave his bed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> +Dr. Sevier sat by him and bore the sound in silence. +As it died away and ceased, Richling said:—</p> + +<p>“May I write to Mary?”</p> + +<p>Then the Doctor had a hard task.</p> + +<p>“I wrote for her yesterday,” he said. “But, Richling, +I—don’t think she’ll get the letter.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think she has already started?” asked the +sick man, with glad eagerness.</p> + +<p>“Richling, I did the best I knew how”—</p> + +<p>“Whatever you did was all right, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I wrote to her months ago, by the hand of Ristofalo. +He knows she got the letter. I’m afraid she’s somewhere +in the Confederacy, trying to get through. I meant it for +the best, my dear boy.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all right, Doctor,” said the invalid; but the +physician could see the cruel fact slowly grind him.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, may I ask one favor?”</p> + +<p>“One or a hundred, Richling.”</p> + +<p>“I want you to let Madame Zénobie come and nurse me.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Richling, can’t I nurse you well enough?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor was jealous.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the sick man. “But I’ll need a +good deal of attention. She wants to do it. She was +here yesterday, you knew. She wanted to ask you, but +was afraid.”</p> + +<p>His wish was granted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>ALMOST IN SIGHT.</strong></p> + + +<p>In St. Tammany Parish, on the northern border of +Lake Ponchartrain, about thirty miles from New +Orleans, in a straight line across the waters of the lake, +stood in time of the war, and may stand yet, an old +house, of the Creole colonial fashion, all of cypress from +sills to shingles, standing on brick pillars ten feet from +the ground, a wide veranda in front, and a double flight +of front steps running up to it sidewise and meeting in a +balustraded landing at its edge. Scarcely anything short +of a steamer’s roof or a light-house window could have +offered a finer stand-point from which to sweep a glass +round the southern semi-circle of water and sky than did +this stair-landing; and here, a long ship’s-glass in her +hands, and the accustomed look of care on her face, faintly +frowning against the glare of noonday, stood Mary +Richling. She still had on the pine-straw hat, and the +skirt—stirring softly in a breeze that had to come around +from the north side of the house before it reached her—was +the brown and olive homespun.</p> + +<p>“No use,” said an old, fat, and sun-tanned man from +his willow chair on the veranda behind her. There was a +slight palsied oscillation in his head. He leaned forward +somewhat on a staff, and as he spoke his entire shapeless +and nearly helpless form quaked with the effort. But +Mary, for all his advice, raised the glass and swung it +slowly from east to west.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span> +The house was near the edge of a slightly rising ground, +close to the margin of a bayou that glided around toward +the left from the woods at its back, and ran, deep and +silent, under the shadows of a few huge, wide-spreading, +moss-hung live-oaks that stood along its hither shore, +laving their roots in its waters, and throwing their vast +green images upon its glassy surface. As the dark stream +slipped away from these it flashed a little while in the +bright open space of a marsh, and, just entering the shade +of a spectral cypress wood, turned as if to avoid it, swung +more than half about, and shone sky-blue, silver, and +green as it swept out into the unbroken sunshine of the +prairie.</p> + +<p>It was over this flowery savanna, broadening out on +either hand, and spreading far away until its bright green +margin joined, with the perfection of a mosaic, the distant +blue of the lake, that Mary, dallying a moment with hope, +passed her long glass. She spoke with it still raised and +her gaze bent through it:—</p> + +<p>“There’s a big alligator crossing the bayou down in the bend.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the aged man, moving his flat, carpet-slippered +feet a laborious inch; “alligator. Alligator not +goin’ take you ’cross lake. No use lookin’. ’Ow Peter +goin’ come when win’ dead ahead? Can’t do it.”</p> + +<p>Yet Mary lifted the glass a little higher, beyond the +green, beyond the crimpling wavelets of the nearer distance +that seemed drawn by the magical lens almost into +her hand, out to the fine, straight line that cut the cool +blue below from the boundless blue above. Round swung +the glass, slowly, waveringly, in her unpractised hand, +from the low cypress forests of Manchac on the west, to +the skies that glittered over the unseen marshes of the +Rigolets on the farthest east.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span> +“You see sail yondeh?” came the slow inquiry from +behind.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mary, letting the instrument down, and +resting it on the balustrade.</p> + +<p>“Humph! No! Dawn’t I tell you is no use look?”</p> + +<p>“He was to have got here three days ago,” said Mary, +shutting the glass and gazing in anxious abstraction across +the prairie.</p> + +<p>The Spanish Creole grunted.</p> + +<p>“When win’ change, he goin’ start. He dawn’t start +till win’ change. Win’ keep ligue dat, he dawn’t start +’t all.” He moved his orange-wood staff an inch, to suit +the previous movement of his feet, and Mary came and +laid the glass on its brackets in the veranda, near the +open door of a hall that ran through the dwelling to +another veranda in the rear.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the hall a small woman, as dry as the +peppers that hung in strings on the wall behind her, sat +in a rush-bottomed rocking-chair plaiting a palmetto hat, +and with her elbow swinging a tattered manilla hammock, +in whose bulging middle lay Alice, taking her compulsory +noonday nap. Mary came, expressed her thanks in +sprightly whispers, lifted the child out, and carried her +to a room. How had Mary got here?</p> + +<p>The morning after that on which she had missed the +cars at Canton she had taken a south-bound train for +Camp Moore, the camp of the forces that had evacuated +New Orleans, situated near the railway station of Tangipahoa, +some eighty miles north of the captured city. +Thence, after a day or two of unavoidable delay, and of +careful effort to know the wisest step, she had taken stage,—a +crazy ambulance,—with some others, two women, +three children, and an old man, and for two days had travelled +through a beautiful country of red and yellow clays +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> +and sands below and murmuring pines above,—vast colonnades +of towering, branchless brown columns holding +high their green, translucent roof, and opening up their +wide, bright, sunshot vistas of gentle, grassy hills that +undulated far away under the balsamic forest, and melted +at length into luminous green unity and deer-haunted +solitudes. Now she went down into richer bottom-lands, +where the cotton and corn were growing tall and pretty +to look upon, like suddenly grown girls, and the sun +was beginning to shine hot. Now she passed over rustic +bridges, under posted warnings to drive slow or pay a fine, +or through sandy fords across purling streams, hearing +the monotone of some unseen mill-dam, or scaring the +tall gray crane from his fishing, or the otter from his +pranks. Again she went up into leagues of clear pine +forest, with stems as straight as lances; meeting now a +farmer, and now a school-girl or two, and once a squad +of scouts, ill-mounted, worse clad, and yet more sorrily +armed; bivouacking with the jolly, tattered fellows, Mary +and one of the other women singing for them, and the +“boys” singing for Mary, and each applauding each +about the pine-knot fire, and the women and children by +and by lying down to slumber, in soldier fashion, with +their feet to the brands, under the pines and the stars, +while the gray-coats stood guard in the wavering fire-light; +but Mary lying broad awake staring at the great +constellation of the Scorpion, and thinking now of him +she sought, and now remorsefully of that other scout, that +poor boy whom the spy had shot far away yonder to the +north and eastward. Now she rose and journeyed again. +Rare hours were those for Alice. They came at length +into a low, barren land, of dwarfed and scrawny pines, +with here and there a marshy flat; thence through a +narrow strip of hickories, oaks, cypresses, and dwarf +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> +palmetto, and so on into beds of white sand and oyster-shells, +and then into one of the villages on the north +shore of Lake Pontchartrain.</p> + +<p>Her many little adventures by the way, the sayings +and doings and seeings of Alice, and all those little +adroitnesses by which Mary from time to time succeeded +in avoiding or turning aside the suspicions that hovered +about her, and the hundred times in which Alice was her +strongest and most perfect protection, we cannot pause +to tell. But we give a few lines to one matter.</p> + +<p>Mary had not yet descended from the ambulance at +her journey’s end; she and Alice only were in it; its +tired mules were dragging it slowly through the sandy +street of the village, and the driver was praising the +milk, eggs, chickens, and genteel seclusion of Mrs. —— ’s +“hotel,” at that end of the village toward which he was +driving, when a man on horseback met them, and, in +passing, raised his hat to Mary. The act was only the +usual courtesy of the highway; yet Mary was startled, +disconcerted, and had to ask the unobservant, loquacious +driver to repeat what he had said. Two days afterward +Mary was walking at the twilight hour, in a narrow, sandy +road, that ran from the village out into the country to the +eastward. Alice walked beside her, plying her with +questions. At a turn of the path, without warning, she +confronted this horseman again. He reined up and lifted +his hat. An elated look brightened his face.</p> + +<p>“It’s all fixed,” he said. But Mary looked distressed, +even alarmed.</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t have done this,” she replied.</p> + +<p>The man waved his hand downward repressively, but +with a countenance full of humor.</p> + +<p>“Hold on. It’s <em>still</em> my deal. This is the last time, +and then I’m done. Make a spoon or spoil a horn, you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> +know. When you commence to do a thing, do it. +Them’s the words that’s inscribed on my banner, as the +felleh says; only I, Sam, aint got much banner. And +if I sort o’ use about this low country a little while for +my health, as it were, and nibble around sort o’ <em>pro bono +pūblico</em> takin’ notes, why you aint a-carin’, is you? For +wherefore shouldest thou?” He put on a yet more ludicrous +look, and spread his hand off at one side, working +his outstretched fingers.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded Mary, with severe gravity; “I +must care. You did finish at Holly Springs. I was to +find the rest of the way as best I could. That was the +understanding. Go away!” She made a commanding +gesture, though she wore a pleading look. He looked +grave; but his habitual grimace stole through his gravity +and invited her smile. But she remained fixed. He +gathered the rein and straightened up in the saddle.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she insisted, answering his inquiring attitude; +“go! I shall be grateful to you as long as I live. It +wasn’t because I mistrusted you that I refused your aid +at Camp Moore or at——that other place on this side. +I don’t mistrust you. But don’t you see—you must see—it’s +your duty to see—that this staying +and—and—foll—following—is—is—wrong.” +She stood, holding her skirt in one hand, and Alice’s hand in +the other, not upright, but in a slightly shrinking attitude, +and as she added once more, “Go! I implore you—go!” her +eyes filled.</p> + +<p>“I will; I’ll go,” said the man, with a soft chuckle +intended for self-abasement. “I go, thou goest, he goes. +‘I’ll skedaddle,’ as the felleh says. And yit it do seem +to me sorter like,—if my moral sense is worthy of any +consideration, which is doubtful, may be,—seems to me +like it’s sort o’ jumpin’ the bounty for you to go and go +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> +back on an arrangement that’s been all fixed up nice and +tight, and when it’s on’y jess to sort o’ ’jump into the +wagon’ that’s to call for you to-morrow, sun-up, drove by +a nigger boy, and ride a few mile’ to a house on the +bayou, and wait there till a man comes with a nice little +schooner, and take you on bode and sail off, and ‘good-by, +Sally,’ and me never in sight from fust to last, +‘and no questions axed.’”</p> + +<p>“I don’t reject the arrangement,” replied Mary, with +tearful pleasantness. “If you’ll do as I say, I’ll do as +you say; and that will be final proof to you that I believe +you’re”—she fell back a step, laughingly—“‘the clean +sand!’” She thought the man would have perpetrated +some small antic; but he did not. He did not even smile, +but lifted the rein a little till the horse stepped forward, +and, putting out his hand, said:—</p> + +<p>“Good-by. You don’t need no directions. Jess tell +the lady where you’ boardin’ that you’ve sort o’ consented +to spend a day or two with old Adrien Sanchez, and get +into the wagon when it comes for you.” He let go her +hand. “Good-by, Alice.” The child looked up in +silence and pressed herself against her mother. “Good-by,” +said he once more.</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” replied Mary.</p> + +<p>His eyes lingered as she dropped her own.</p> + +<p>“Come, Alice,” she said, resisting the little one’s +effort to stoop and pick a wild-pea blossom, and the +mother and child started slowly back the way they +had come. The spy turned his horse, and moved +still more slowly in the opposite direction. But before +he had gone many rods he turned the animal’s head again, +rode as slowly back, and, beside the spot where Mary had +stood, got down, and from the small imprint of her shoe in +the damp sand took the pea-blossom, which, in turning to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> +depart, she had unawares trodden under foot. He looked +at the small, crushed thing for a moment, and then thrust +it into his bosom; but in a moment, as if by a counter +impulse, drew it forth again, let it flutter to the ground, +following it with his eyes, shook his head with an amused +air, half of defiance and half of discomfiture, turned, drew +himself into the saddle, and with one hand laid upon +another on the saddle-bow and his eyes resting on them +in meditation, passed finally out of sight.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Here, then, in this lone old Creole cottage, Mary was +tarrying, prisoner of hope, coming out all hours of the +day, and scanning the wide view, first, only her hand to +shade her brow, and then with the old ship’s-glass, Alice +often standing by and looking up at this extraordinary +toy with unspoken wonder. All that Mary could tell her +of things seeable through it could never persuade the +child to risk her own eye at either end of it. So Mary +would look again and see, out in the prairie, in the morning, +the reed birds, the marsh hen, the blackbirds, the +sparrows, the starlings, with their red and yellow epaulets, +rising and fluttering and sinking again among the lilies +and mallows, and the white crane, paler than a ghost, +wading in the grassy shallows. She saw the ravening +garfish leap from the bayou, and the mullet in shining +hundreds spatter away to left and right; and the fisherman +and the shrimp-catcher in their canoes come gliding +up the glassy stream, riding down the water-lilies, that +rose again behind and shook the drops from their crowns, +like water-sprites. Here and there, farther out, she saw +the little cat-boats of the neighboring village crawling along +the edge of the lake, taking their timid morning cruises. +And far away she saw the titanic clouds; but on the horizon, +no sail.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span> +In the evening she would see mocking-birds coming out +of the savanna and flying into the live-oaks. A summer +duck might dart from the cypresses, speed across the +wide green level, and become a swerving, vanishing speck +on the sky. The heron might come round the bayou’s +bend, and suddenly take fright and fly back again. The +rattling kingfisher might come up the stream, and the +blue crane sail silently through the purple haze that hung +between the swamp and the bayou. She would see the +gulls, gray and white, on the margin of the lake, the sun +setting beyond its western end, and the sky and water +turning all beautiful tints; and every now and then, low +down along the cool, wrinkling waters, passed across the +round eye of the glass the broad, downward-curved wing +of the pelican. But when she ventured to lift the glass +to the horizon, she swept it from east to west in vain. +No sail.</p> + +<p>“Dawn’t I tell you no use look? Peter dawn’t comin’ +in day-time, nohow.”</p> + +<p>But on the fifth morning Mary had hardly made her +appearance on the veranda, and had not ventured near +the spy-glass yet, when the old man said:—</p> + +<p>“She rain back in swamp las’ night; can smell.”</p> + +<p>“How do you feel this morning?” asked Mary, facing +around from her first glance across the waters. He did +not heed.</p> + +<p>“See dat win’?” he asked, lifting one hand a little +from the top of his staff.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded Mary, eagerly; “why, it’s—hasn’t +it—changed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, change’ las’ night ’fo’ went to bed.”</p> + +<p>The old man’s manner betrayed his contempt for one +who could be interested in such a change, and yet not +know when it took place.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> +“Why, then,” began Mary, and started as if to take +down the glass.</p> + +<p>“What you doin’?” demanded its owner. “Better let +glass ’lone; fool’ wid him enough.”</p> + +<p>Mary flushed, and, with a smile of resentful apology, +was about to reply, when he continued:—</p> + +<p>“What you want glass for? Dare Peter’ schooner—right +dare in bayou. What want glass for? Can’t see +schooner hundred yard’ off ’dout glass?” And he turned +away his poor wabbling head in disgust.</p> + +<p>Mary looked an instant at two bare, rakish, yellow +poles showing out against the clump of cypresses, and the +trim little white hull and apple-green deck from which +they sprang, then clasped her hands and ran into the +house.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>A GOLDEN SUNSET.</strong></p> + + +<p>Dr. Sevier came to Richling’s room one afternoon, +and handed him a sealed letter. The postmark +was blurred, but it was easy still to read the abbreviation +of the State’s name,—Kentucky. It had come by way +of New York and the sea. The sick man reached out for +it with avidity from the large bed in which he sat bolstered +up. He tore it open with unsteady fingers, and +sought the signature.</p> + +<p>“It’s from a lawyer.”</p> + +<p>“An old acquaintance?” asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” responded Richling, his eyes glancing eagerly +along the lines. “Mary’s in the Confederate lines!—Mary +and Alice!” The hand that held the letter dropped +to his lap. “It doesn’t say a word about how she got through!”</p> + +<p>“But <em>where</em> did she get through?” asked the physician. +“Whereabouts is she now?”</p> + +<p>“She got through away up to the eastward of Corinth, +Mississippi. Doctor, she may be within fifty miles of us +this very minute! Do you think they’ll give her a pass +to come in?”</p> + +<p>“They may, Richling; I hope they will.”</p> + +<p>“I think I’d get well if she’d come,” said the invalid. +But his friend made no answer.</p> + +<p>A day or two afterward—it was drawing to the close +of a beautiful afternoon in early May—Dr. Sevier came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> +into the room and stood at a window looking out. Madame +Zénobie sat by the bedside softly fanning the patient. +Richling, with his eyes, motioned her to retire. She +smiled and nodded approvingly, as if to say that that was +just what she was about to propose, and went out, shutting +the door with just sound enough to announce her departure +to Dr. Sevier.</p> + +<p>He came from the window to the bedside and sat down. +The sick man looked at him, with a feeble eye, and said, +in little more than a whisper:—</p> + +<p>“Mary and Alice”—</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“If they don’t come to-night they’ll be too late.”</p> + +<p>“God knows, my dear boy!”</p> + +<p>“Doctor”—</p> + +<p>“What, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever try to guess”—</p> + +<p>“Guess what, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“<em>His</em> use of my life.”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, my poor boy, I have tried. But I only +make out its use to me.”</p> + +<p>The sick man’s eye brightened.</p> + +<p>“Has it been?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor nodded. He reached out and took the +wasted hand in his. It tried to answer his pressure. +The invalid spoke.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you told me that before—before it was too late.”</p> + +<p>“Are you, my dear boy? Shall I tell you more?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the sick man huskily replied; “oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Richling,—you know we’re great cowards about +saying such things; it’s a part of our poor human weakness +and distrust of each other, and the emptiness of +words,—but—lately—only just here, very lately, I’ve +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span> +learned to call the meekest, lovingest One that ever trod +our earth, Master; and it’s been your life, my dear fellow, +that has taught me.” He pressed the sick man’s hand +slowly and tremulously, then let it go, but continued to +caress it in a tender, absent way, looking on the floor as +he spoke on.</p> + +<p>“Richling, Nature herself appoints some men to poverty +and some to riches. God throws the poor upon our +charge—in mercy to <em>us</em>. Couldn’t he take care of them +without us if he wished? Are they not his? It’s easy +for the poor to feel, when they are helped by us, that the +rich are a godsend to them; but they don’t see, and +many of their helpers don’t see, that the poor are a godsend +to the rich. They’re set over against each other to +keep pity and mercy and charity in the human heart. +If every one were entirely able to take care of himself +we’d turn to stone.” The speaker ceased.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” whispered the listener.</p> + +<p>“That will never be,” continued the Doctor. “God +Almighty will never let us find a way to quite abolish +poverty. Riches don’t always bless the man they come +to, but they bless the world. And so with poverty; and +it’s no contemptible commission, Richling, to be appointed +by God to bear that blessing to mankind which +keeps its brotherhood universal. See, now,”—he looked +up with a gentle smile,—“from what a distance he +brought our two hearts together. Why, Richling, the man +that can make the rich and poor love each other will make +the world happier than it has ever been since man fell!”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” whispered Richling.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Doctor—<em>I</em> want to say—something.” +The invalid spoke with a weak and broken utterance, with +many breaks and starts that we may set aside.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span> +“For a long time,” he said, beginning as if half in +soliloquy, “I couldn’t believe I was coming to this early +end, simply because I didn’t see why I should. I know +that was foolish. I thought my hardships”— He ceased +entirely, and, when his strength would allow, resumed:—</p> + +<p>“I thought they were sent in order that when I should +come to fortune I might take part in correcting some +evils that are strangely overlooked.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor nodded, and, after a moment of rest, +Richling said again:—</p> + +<p>“But now I see—that is not my work. May be it is +Mary’s. May be it’s my little girl’s.”</p> + +<p>“Or mine,” murmured the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Doctor, I’ve been lying here to-day thinking of +something I never thought of before, though I dare say +you have, often. There could be no art of healing till +the earth was full of graves. It is by shipwreck that we +learn to build ships. All our safety—all our betterment—is +secured by our knowledge of others’ disasters that +need not have happened had they only <em>known</em>. Will you—finish +my mission?” The sick man’s hand softly grasped the hand that +lay upon it. And the Doctor responded:—</p> + +<p>“How shall I do that, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Tell my story.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t know it all, Richling.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you all that’s behind. You know I’m a +native of Kentucky. My name is not Richling. I belong +to one of the proudest, most distinguished families in +that State or in all the land. Until I married I never +knew an ungratified wish. I think my bringing-up, not +to be wicked, was as bad as could be. It was based +upon the idea that I was always to be master, and never +servant. I was to go through life with soft hands. I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> +was educated to know, but not to do. When I left +school my parents let me travel. They would have let +me do anything except work. In the West—in Milwaukee—I +met Mary. It was by mere chance. She was poor, but +cultivated and refined; trained—you know—for +knowing, not doing. I loved her and courted her, +and she encouraged my suit, under the idea, you know, +again,”—he smiled faintly and sadly,—“that it was +nobody’s business but ours. I offered my hand and was +accepted. But, when I came to announce our engagement +to my family, they warned me that if I married her +they would disinherit and disown me.”</p> + +<p>“What was their reason, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing.”</p> + +<p>“But, Richling, they had a reason of some sort.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing in the world but that Mary was a Northern +girl. Simple sectional prejudice. I didn’t tell Mary. +I didn’t think they would do it; but I knew Mary would +refuse to put me to the risk. We married, and they +carried out their threat.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor uttered a low exclamation, and both were +silent.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” began the sick man once more.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Richling.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you never looked into the case of a man +who needed help, but you were sure to find that some one +thing was the key to all his troubles; did you?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor was silent again.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you the key to mine, Doctor: I took up the +gage thrown down by my family as though it were +thrown down by society at large. I said I would match +pride with pride. I said I would go among strangers, +take a new name, and make it as honorable as the old. +I saw Mary didn’t think it wise; but she believed whatever +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span> +I did was best, and”—he smiled and whispered—“I +thought so too. I suppose my troubles have more +than one key; but that’s the outside one. Let me rest a +little.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, I die nameless. I had a name, a good name, +and only too proud a one. It’s mine still. I’ve never +tarnished it—not even in prison. I will not stain it now +by disclosing it. I carry it with me to God’s throne.”</p> + +<p>The whisperer ceased, exhausted. The Doctor rested an +elbow on a knee and laid his face in his hand. Presently +Richling moved, and he raised a look of sad inquiry.</p> + +<p>“Bury me here in New Orleans, Doctor, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Richling?”</p> + +<p>“Well—this has been—my—battle-ground. I’d +like to be buried on the field,—like the other soldiers. +Not that I’ve been a good one; but—I want to lie where +you can point to me as you tell my story. If it could be +so, I should like to lie in sight—of that old prison.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor brushed his eyes with his handkerchief and +wiped his brow.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” said the invalid again, “will you read me +just four verses in the Bible?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, my boy, as many as you wish to hear.”</p> + +<p>“No, only four.” His free hand moved for the book +that lay on the bed, and presently the Doctor read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“‘My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations;</p> + +<p>“‘Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.</p> + +<p>“‘But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect +and entire, wanting nothing.</p> + +<p>“‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to +all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.’”</p></div> + +<p>“There,” whispered the sick man, and rested with a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> +peaceful look in all his face. “It—doesn’t mean wisdom +in general, Doctor,—such as Solomon asked for.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it?” said the other, meekly.</p> + +<p>“No. It means the wisdom necessary to let—patience—have +her perf— I was a long time—getting +any where near that.</p> + +<p>“Doctor—do you remember how fond—Mary was +of singing—all kinds of—little old songs?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I do, my dear boy.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever sing—Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“O my dear fellow! I never did really sing, and I +haven’t uttered a note since—for twenty years.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you sing—ever so softly—just a verse—of—‘I’m +a Pilgrim’?”</p> + +<p>“I—I—it’s impossible, Richling, old fellow. I don’t +know either the words or the tune. I never sing.” He +smiled at himself through his tears.</p> + +<p>“Well, all right,” whispered Richling. He lay with +closed eyes for a moment, and then, as he opened them, +breathed faintly through his parted lips the words, spoken, +not sung, while his hand feebly beat the imagined cadence:—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.4em;">“‘The sun shines bright in my old Kentucky home;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">‘Tis summer, the darkies are gay;</span><br /> + The corn-tops are ripe, and the meadows are in bloom,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the birds make music all the day.’”</span></p> + +<p>The Doctor hid his face in his hands, and all was still.</p> + +<p>By and by there came a whisper again. The Doctor +raised his head.</p> + +<p>“Doctor, there’s one thing”—</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know there is, Richling.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor,—I’ve been a poor stick of a husband.”</p> + +<p>“I never knew a good one, Richling.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> +“Doctor, you’ll be a friend to Mary?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor nodded; his eyes were full.</p> + +<p>The sick man drew from his breast a small ambrotype, +pressed it to his lips, and poised it in his trembling fingers. +It was the likeness of the little Alice. He turned his eyes +to his friend.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t need Mary’s. But this is all I’ve ever seen of +my little girl. To-morrow, at daybreak,—it will be just +at daybreak,—when you see that I’ve passed, I want you +to lay this here on my breast. Then fold my hands upon +it”—</p> + +<p>His speech was arrested. He seemed to hearken an instant.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” he said, with excitement in his eye and +sudden strength of voice, “what is that I hear?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” replied his friend; “one of the servants +probably down in the hall.” But he, too, seemed to +have been startled. He lifted his head. There was a +sound of some one coming up the stairs in haste.</p> + +<p>“Doctor.” The Doctor was rising from his chair.</p> + +<p>“Lie still, Richling.”</p> + +<p>But the sick man suddenly sat erect.</p> + +<p>“Doctor—it’s—O Doctor, I”—</p> + +<p>The door flew open; there was a low outcry from the +threshold, a moan of joy from the sick man, a throwing +wide of arms, and a rush to the bedside, and John and +Mary Richling—and the little Alice, too—</p> + +<p>Come, Doctor Sevier; come out and close the door.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“Strangest thing on earth!” I once heard a physician +say,—“the mysterious power that the dying so often +have to fix the very hour of their approaching end!” It +was so in John Richling’s case. It was as he said. Had +Mary and Alice not come when they did, they would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> +have been too late. He “tarried but a night;” and at +the dawn Mary uttered the bitter cry of the widow, and +Doctor Sevier closed the eyes of the one who had committed +no fault,—against this world, at least,—save +that he had been by nature a pilgrim and a stranger in it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LIX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>AFTERGLOW.</strong></p> + + +<p>Mary, with Alice holding one hand, flowers in the +other, was walking one day down the central +avenue of the old Girod Cemetery, breaking the silence +of the place only by the soft grinding of her footsteps on +the shell-walk, and was just entering a transverse alley, +when she stopped.</p> + +<p>Just at hand a large, broad woman, very plainly +dressed, was drawing back a single step from the front +of a tomb, and dropping her hands from a coarse vase of +flowers that she had that moment placed on the narrow +stone shelf under the tablet. The blossoms touched, +without hiding, the newly cut name. She had hung a +little plaster crucifix against it from above. She must +have heard the footfall so near by, and marked its stoppage; +but, with the oblivion common to the practisers of +her religion, she took no outward notice. She crossed +herself, sank upon her knees, and with her eyes upon the +shrine she had made remained thus. The tears ran down +Mary’s face. It was Madame Zénobie. They went and +lived together.</p> + +<p>The name of the street where their house stood has +slipped me, as has that of the clean, unfrequented, round-stoned +way up which one looked from the small cottage’s +veranda, and which, running down to their old arched +gate, came there to an end, as if that were a pretty place +to stop at in the shade until evening. Grass grows now, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> +as it did then, between the round stones; and in the towering +sycamores of the reddened brick sidewalk the long, +quavering note of the cicada parts the wide summer noonday +silence. The stillness yields to little else, save now and +then the tinkle of a mule-bell, where in the distance the +softly rumbling street-car invites one to the centre of the +town’s activities, or the voice of some fowl that, having +laid an egg, is asserting her right to the credit of it. +Some forty feet back, within a mossy brick wall that +stands waist-high, surmounted by a white, open fence, the +green wooden balls on top of whose posts are full eight +feet above the sidewalk, the cottage stands high up among +a sweet confusion of pale purple and pink crape myrtles, +oleanders white and red, and the bristling leaves and +plumes of white bells of the Spanish bayonet, all in the +shade of lofty magnolias, and one great pecan.</p> + +<p>“And this is little Alice,” said Doctor Sevier with +gentle gravity, as, on his first visit to the place, he shook +hands with Mary at the top of the veranda stairs, and laid +his fingers upon the child’s forehead. He smiled into her +uplifted face as her eyes examined his, and stroked the little +crown as she turned her glance silently upon her mother, +as if to inquire if this were a trustworthy person. Mary +led the way to chairs at the veranda’s end where the south +breeze fanned them, and Alice retreated to her mother’s +side until her silent question should be settled.</p> + +<p>It was still May. They spoke the praises of the day +whose sun was just setting. And Mary commended the +house, the convenience of its construction, its salubrity; +and also, and especially, the excellence and goodness of +Madame Zénobie. What a complete and satisfactory +arrangement! Was it not? Did not the Doctor think so?</p> + +<p>But the Doctor’s affirmative responses were unfrequent, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span> +and quite without enthusiasm; and Mary’s face, wearing +more cheer than was felt within, betrayed, moreover, the +feeling of one who, having done the best she knew, falls +short of commendation.</p> + +<p>She was once more in deep black. Her face was pale, +and some of its lines had yielded up a part of their +excellence. The outward curves of the rose had given +place to the inward curves of the lily—nay, hardly all +that; for as she had never had the full red queenliness of +the one, neither had she now the severe sanctitude of the +other; that soft glow of inquiry, at once so blithe and so +self-contained, so modest and so courageous, humble, yet +free, still played about her saddened eyes and in her +tones. Through the glistening sadness of those eyes +smiled resignation; and although the Doctor plainly read +care about them and about the mouth, it was a care that +was forbearing to feed upon itself, or to take its seat on +her brow. The brow was the old one; that is, the young. +The joy of life’s morning was gone from it forever; but a +chastened hope was there, and one could see peace hovering +just above it, as though it might in time alight. +Such were the things that divided her austere friend’s attention +as she sat before him, seeking, with timid smiles +and interrogative argument, for this new beginning of life +some heartiness of approval from him.</p> + +<p>“Doctor,” she plucked up courage to say at last, with +a geniality that scantily hid the inner distress, “you +don’t seem pleased.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say I am, Mary. You’ve provided for things +in sight; but I see no provision for unseen contingencies. +They’re sure to come, you know. How are you going to +meet them?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mary, with slow, smiling caution, “there’s +my two thousand dollars that you’ve put at interest for me.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span> +“Why, no; you’ve already counted the interest on +that as part of your necessary income.”</p> + +<p>“Doctor, ‘the Lord will provide,’ will he not?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Doctor!”—</p> + +<p>“No, Mary; you’ve got to provide. He’s not going +to set aside the laws of nature to cover our improvidence. +That would be to break faith with all creation for the sake +of one or two creatures.”</p> + +<p>“No; but still, Doctor, without breaking the laws +of nature, he will provide. It’s in his word.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and it ought to be in his word—not in ours. +It’s for him to say to us, not for us to say to him. But +there’s another thing, Mary.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“It’s this. But first I’ll say plainly you’ve passed +through the fires of poverty, and they haven’t hurt you. +You have one of those imperishable natures that fire +can’t stain or warp.”</p> + +<p>“O Doctor, how absurd!” said Mary, with bright +genuineness, and a tear in either eye. She drew Alice +closer.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I do see two ill effects,” replied the Doctor. +“In the first place, as I’ve just tried to show you, +you have caught a little of the <em>recklessness</em> of the poor.”</p> + +<p>“I was born with it,” exclaimed Mary, with amusement.</p> + +<p>“Maybe so,” replied her friend; “at any rate you +show it.” He was silent.</p> + +<p>“But what is the other?” asked Mary.</p> + +<p>“Why, as to that, I may mistake; but—you seem +inclined to settle down and be satisfied with poverty.”</p> + +<p>“Having food and raiment,” said Mary, smiling with +some archness, “to be therewith content.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span> +“Yes, but”—the physician shook his head—“that +doesn’t mean to be satisfied. It’s one thing to be content +with God’s providence, and it’s another to be satisfied +with poverty. There’s not one in a thousand that I’d +venture to say it to. He wouldn’t understand the fine +difference. But you will. I’m sure you do.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> + +<p>“I know you do. You know poverty has its temptations, +and warping influences, and debasing effects, just +as truly as riches have. See how it narrows our usefulness. +Not always, it is true. Sometimes our best usefulness +keeps us poor. That’s poverty with a good +excuse. But that’s not poverty satisfying, Mary”—</p> + +<p>“No, of course not,” said Mary, exhibiting a degree +of distress that the Doctor somehow overlooked.</p> + +<p>“It’s merely,” said he, half-extending his open palm,—“it’s +merely poverty accepted, as a good soldier accepts +the dust and smut that are a necessary part of the battle. +Now, here’s this little girl.”—As his open white hand +pointed toward Alice she shrank back; but the Doctor +seemed blind this afternoon and drove on.—“In a few +years—it will not seem like any time at all—she’ll be +half grown up; she’ll have wants that ought to be supplied.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! don’t,” exclaimed Mary, and burst into a flood +of tears; and the Doctor, while she hid them from her +child, sat silently loathing his own stupidity.</p> + +<p>“Please, don’t mind it,” said Mary, stanching the flow. +“You were not so badly mistaken. I wasn’t satisfied, +but I was about to surrender.” She smiled at herself +and her warlike figure of speech.</p> + +<p>He looked away, passed his hand across his forehead +and must have muttered audibly his self-reproach: for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> +Mary looked up again with a faint gleam of the old +radiance in her face, saying:—</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you didn’t let me do it. I’ll not do it. I’ll +take up the struggle again. Indeed, I had already thought +of one thing I could do, but I—I—in fact, Doctor, I +thought you might not like it.”</p> + +<p>“What was it?”</p> + +<p>“It was teaching in the public schools. They’re in +the hands of the military government, I am told. Are +they not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Still,” said Mary, speaking rapidly, “I say I’ll keep +up the”—</p> + +<p>But the Doctor lifted his hand.</p> + +<p>“No, no. There’s to be no more struggle.”</p> + +<p>“No?” Mary tried to look pleasantly incredulous.</p> + +<p>“No; and you’re not going to be put upon anybody’s +bounty, either. No. What I was going to say about +this little girl here was this,—her name is Alice, is it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The mother dropped an arm around the child, and both +she and Alice looked timidly at the questioner.</p> + +<p>“Well, by that name, Mary, I claim the care of her.”</p> + +<p>The color mounted to Mary’s brows, but the Doctor +raised a finger.</p> + +<p>“I mean, of course, Mary, only in so far as such care +can go without molesting your perfect motherhood, and +all its offices and pleasures.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled again, and her lips parted; but the +Doctor was not going to let her reply.</p> + +<p>“Don’t try to debate it, Mary. You must see you +have no case. Nobody’s going to take her from you, +nor do any other of the foolish things, I hope, that are +so often done in such cases. But you’ve called her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> +Alice, and Alice she must be. I don’t propose to take +care of her for you”—</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; of course not,” interjected Mary.</p> + +<p>“No,” said the Doctor; “you’ll take care of her for +me. I intended it from the first. And that brings up +another point. You mustn’t teach school. No. I have +something else—something better—to suggest. Mary, +you and John have been a kind of blessing to me”—</p> + +<p>She would have interrupted with expressions of astonishment +and dissent, but he would not hear them.</p> + +<p>“I think I ought to know best about that,” he said. +“Your husband taught me a great deal, I think. I want +to put some of it into practice. We had a—an understanding, +you might say—one day toward the—end—that +I should do for him some of the things he had so +longed and hoped to do—for the poor and the unfortunate.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Mary, the tears dropping down her face.</p> + +<p>“He told you?” asked the Doctor.</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well,” resumed the Doctor, “those may not be his +words precisely, but it’s what they meant to me. And I +said I’d do it. But I shall need assistance. I’m a medical +practitioner. I attend the sick. But I see a great +deal of other sorts of sufferers; and I can’t stop for them.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” said Mary, softly.</p> + +<p>“No,” said he; “I can’t make the inquiries and +investigations about them and study them, and all that +kind of thing, as one should if one’s help is going to be +help. I can’t turn aside for all that. A man must have +one direction, you know. But you could look after +those things”—</p> + +<p>“I?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. You could do it just as I—just as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span> +John—would wish to see it done. You’re just the kind +of person to do it right.”</p> + +<p>“O Doctor, don’t say so! I’m not fitted for it at all.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure you are, Mary. You’re fitted by character +and outward disposition, and by experience. You’re full +of cheer”—</p> + +<p>She tearfully shook her head. But he insisted.</p> + +<p>“You will be—for <em>his</em> sake, as you once said to me. +Don’t you remember?”</p> + +<p>She remembered. She recalled all he wished her to: +the prayer she had made that, whenever death should part +her husband and her, he might not be the one left behind. +Yes, she remembered; and the Doctor spoke again:—</p> + +<p>“Now, I invite you to make this your principal business. +I’ll pay you for it, regularly and well, what I +think it’s worth; and it’s worth no trifle. There’s not +one in a thousand that I’d trust to do it, woman or +man; but I know you will do it all, and do it well, +without any nonsense. And if you want to look at +it so, Mary, you can just consider that it’s John doing it, +all the time; for, in fact, that’s just what it is. It beats +sewing, Mary, or teaching school, or making preserves, +I think.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary, looking down on Alice, and stroking +her head.</p> + +<p>“You can stay right here where you are, with Madame +Zénobie, as you had planned; but you’ll give yourself to +this better work. I’ll give you a <em>carte blanche</em>. Only +one mistake I charge you not to make; don’t go and come +from day to day on the assumption that only the poor are +poor, and need counsel and attention.”</p> + +<p>“I know that would be a mistake,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“But I mean more than that,” continued the Doctor. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span> +“You must keep a hold on the rich and comfortable and +happy. You want to be a medium between the two, +identified with both as completely as possible. It’s a +hard task, Mary. It will take all your cunning.”</p> + +<p>“And more, too,” replied she, half-musing.</p> + +<p>“You know,” said the Doctor, “I’m not to appear in +the matter, of course; I’m not to be mentioned: that +must be one of the conditions.”</p> + +<p>Mary smiled at him through her welling eyes.</p> + +<p>“I’m not fit to do it,” she said, folding the wet spots +of her handkerchief under. “But still, I’d rather not +refuse. If I might try it, I’d like to do so. If I could +do it well, it would be a finer monument—to <em>him</em>”—</p> + +<p>“Than brass or marble,” said Dr. Sevier. “Yes, +more to his liking.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mary again, “if you think I can do it +I’ll try it.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. There’s one place you can go to, to begin +with, to-morrow morning, if you choose. I’ll give you +the number. It’s just across here in Casa Calvo street.”</p> + +<p>“Narcisse’s aunt?” asked Mary, with a soft gleam of +amusement.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Have you been there already?”</p> + +<p>She had; but she only said:—</p> + +<p>“There’s one thing that I’m afraid will go against me, +Doctor, almost everywhere.” She lifted a timid look.</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked at her inquiringly, and in his private +thought said that it was certainly not her face or voice.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he said, as he suddenly recollected. “Yes; I +had forgotten. You mean your being a Union woman.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It seems to me they’ll be sure to find it out. +Don’t you think it will interfere?”</p> + +<p>The Doctor mused.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span> +“I forgot that,” he repeated and mused again. +“You can’t blame us, Mary; we’re at white heat”—</p> + +<p>“Indeed I don’t!” said Mary, with eager earnestness.</p> + +<p>He reflected yet again.</p> + +<p>“But—I don’t know, either. It may be not as great +a drawback as you think. Here’s Madame Zénobie, for +instance”—</p> + +<p>Madame Zénobie was just coming up the front steps +from the garden, pulling herself up upon the veranda +wearily by the balustrade. She came forward, and, with +graceful acknowledgment, accepted the physician’s outstretched +hand and courtesied.</p> + +<p>“Here’s Madame Zénobie, I say; you seem to get along with her.”</p> + +<p>Mary smiled again, looked up at the standing quadroon, +and replied in a low voice:—</p> + +<p>“Madame Zénobie is for the Union herself.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! no-o-o!” exclaimed the good woman, with an +alarmed face. She lifted her shoulders and extended +what Narcisse would have called the han’ +of rep-u-diation; then turned away her face, lifted up +her underlip with disrelish, and asked the surrounding +atmosphere,—“What I got to do wid Union? Nuttin’ +do wid Union—nuttin’ do wid Confédéracie!” She +moved away, addressing the garden and the house by +turns. “Ah! no!” She went in by the front door, +talking Creole French, until she was beyond hearing.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sevier reached out toward the child at Mary’s knee. +Here was one who was neither for nor against, nor yet a +fear-constrained neutral. Mary pushed her persuasively +toward the Doctor, and Alice let herself be lifted to +his lap.</p> + +<p>“I used to be for it myself,” he said, little dreaming +he would one day be for it again. As the child sank +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span> +back into his arm, he noticed a miniature of her father +hanging from her neck. He took it into his fingers, and +all were silent while he looked long upon the face.</p> + +<p>By and by he asked Mary for an account of her wanderings. +She gave it. Many of the experiences, that +had been hard and dangerous enough when she was +passing through them, were full of drollery when they +came to be told, and there was much quiet amusement +over them. The sunlight faded out, the cicadas hushed +their long-drawn, ear-splitting strains, and the moon had +begun to shine in the shadowy garden when Dr. Sevier +at length let Alice down and rose to take his lonely homeward +way, leaving Mary to Alice’s prattle, and, when +that was hushed in slumber, to gentle tears and whispered +thanksgivings above the little head.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LX.</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>“YET SHALL HE LIVE.”</strong></p> + + +<p>We need not follow Mary through her ministrations. +Her office was no sinecure. It took not only much +labor, but, as the Doctor had expected, it took all her +cunning. True, nature and experience had equipped her +for such work; but for all that there was an art to be +learned, and time and again there were cases of mental +and moral decrepitude or deformity that baffled all her skill +until her skill grew up to them, which in some cases it +never did. The greatest tax of all was to seem, and to +be, unprofessional; to avoid regarding her work in quantity, +and to be simply, merely, in every case, a personal +friend; not to become known as a benevolent itinerary, +but only a kind and thoughtful neighbor. Blessed word! +not benefactor—neighbor!</p> + +<p>She had no schemes for helping the unfortunate by +multitude. Possibly on that account her usefulness was +less than it might have been. But I am not sure; for +they say her actual words and deeds were but the seed +of ultimate harvests; and that others, moreover, seeing +her light shine so brightly along this seemingly narrow +path, and moved to imitate her, took that other and +broader way, and so both fields were reaped.</p> + +<p>But, I say, we need not follow her steps. They would +lead deviously through ill-smelling military hospitals, +and into buildings that had once been the counting-rooms +of Carondelet-street cotton merchants, but were now become +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span> +the prisons of soldiers in gray. One of these places, +restored after the war as a cotton factor’s counting-room +again, had, until a few years ago, a queer, clumsy patch +in the plastering of one wall, near the base-board. Some +one had made a rough inscription on it with a cotton +sampler’s marking-brush. It commemorates an incident. +Mary by some means became aware beforehand that this +incident was going to occur; and one of the most trying +struggles of conscience she ever had in her life was that +in which she debated with herself one whole night whether +she ought to give her knowledge to others or keep it to +herself. She kept it. In fact, she said nothing until +the war was all over and done, and she never was quite +sure whether her silence was right or wrong. And +when she asked Dr. Sevier if he thought she had +done wrong, he asked:—</p> + +<p>“You knew it was going to take place, and kept silence?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“And you want to know whether you did right?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I’d like to know what you think.”</p> + +<p>He sat very straight, and said not a word, nor changed +a line of his face. She got no answer at all.</p> + +<p>The inscription was as follows; I used to see it every +work-day of the week for years—it may be there yet—190 +Common street, first flight, back office:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 309px;"> +<img src="images/img1.png" width="309" height="273" alt="Oct 14 1864 17 Confederate Prisoners escaped Through this hole" title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span> +But we move too fast. Let us go back into the war for +a moment longer. Mary pursued her calling. The most +of it she succeeded in doing in a very sunshiny way. +She carried with her, and left behind her, cheer, courage, +hope. Yet she had a widow’s heart, and whenever she +took a widow’s hand in hers, and oftentimes, alone or +against her sleeping child’s bedside, she had a widow’s +tears. But this work, or these works,—she made each +particular ministration seem as if it were the only one,—these +works, that she might never have had the opportunity +to perform had her nest-mate never been taken from +her, seemed to keep John near. Almost, sometimes, he +seemed to walk at her side in her errands of mercy, or to +spread above her the arms of benediction. And so even +the bitter was sweet, and she came to believe that never +before had widow such blessed commutation.</p> + +<p>One day, a short, slight Confederate prisoner, newly +brought in, and hobbling about the place where he was +confined, with a vile bullet-hole in his foot, came up to +her and said:—</p> + +<p>“Allow me, madam,—did that man call you by your +right name, just now?”</p> + +<p>Mary looked at him. She had never seen him before.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” she said.</p> + +<p>She could see the gentleman, under much rags and dirt.</p> + +<p>“Are you Mrs. John Richling?”</p> + +<p>A look of dismay came into his face as he asked the +grave question.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Mary.</p> + +<p>His voice dropped, and he asked, with subdued haste:—</p> + +<p>“Ith it pothible you’re in mourning for him?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>It was the little rector. He had somehow got it into +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span> +his head that preachers ought to fight, and this was one +of the results. Mary went away quickly, and told Dr. +Sevier. The Doctor went to the commanding general. +It was a great humiliation to do so, he thought. There +was none worse, those days, in the eyes of the people. +He craved and got the little man’s release on parole. A +fortnight later, as Dr. Sevier was sitting at the breakfast +table, with the little rector at its opposite end, he all at +once rose to his full attenuated height, with a frown and +then a smile, and, tumbling the chair backward behind +him, exclaimed:—</p> + +<p>“Why, Laura!”—for it was that one of his two gay +young nieces who stood in the door-way. The banker’s +wife followed in just behind, and was presently saying, +with the prettiest heartiness, that Dr. Sevier looked no +older than the day they met the Florida general at dinner +years before. She had just come in from the Confederacy, +smuggling her son of eighteen back to the city, to +save him from the conscript officers, and Laura had come +with her. And when the clergyman got his crutches +into his armpits and stood on one foot, and he and Laura +both blushed as they shook hands, the Doctor knew that +she had come to nurse her wounded lover. That she +might do this without embarrassment, they got married, +and were thereupon as vexed with themselves as they +could be under the circumstances that they had not done +it four or five years before. Of course there was no +parade; but Dr. Sevier gave a neat little dinner. Mary +and Laura were its designers; Madame Zénobie was the +master-builder and made the gumbo. One word about +the war, whose smoke was over all the land, would have +spoiled the broth. But no such word was spoken.</p> + +<p>It happened that the company was almost the same as +that which had sat down in brighter days to that other dinner, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span> +which the banker’s wife recalled with so much pleasure. +She and her husband and son were guests; also that +Sister Jane, of whom they had talked, a woman of real +goodness and rather unrelieved sweetness; also her sister +and bankrupted brother-in-law. The brother-in-law mentioned +several persons who, he said, once used to be very +cordial to him and his wife, but now did not remember +them; and his wife chid him, with the air of a fellow-martyr; +but they could not spoil the tender gladness of +the occasion.</p> + +<p>“Well, Doctor,” said the banker’s wife, looking quite +the old lady now, “I suppose your lonely days are over, +now that Laura and her husband are to keep house for you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>But the very thought of it made him more lonely than +ever.</p> + +<p>“It’s a very pleasant and sensible arrangement,” said +the lady, looking very practical and confidential; “Laura +has told me all about it. It’s just the thing for them and +for you.”</p> + +<p>“I think so, ma’am,” replied Dr. Sevier, and tried to +make his statement good.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure of it,” said the lady, very sweetly and gayly, +and made a faint time-to-go beckon with a fan to her +husband, to whom, in the farther drawing-room, Laura +and Mary stood talking, each with an arm about the +other’s waist.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LXI</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>PEACE.</strong></p> + + +<p>It came with tears. But, ah! it lifted such an awful +load from the hearts even of those who loved the lost +cause. Husbands snatched their wives once more to their +bosoms, and the dear, brave, swarthy, rough-bearded, +gray-jacketed boys were caught again in the wild arms of +mothers and sisters. Everywhere there was glad, tearful +kissing. Everywhere? Alas for the silent lips that remained +unkissed, and the arms that remained empty! +And alas for those to whom peace came too suddenly +and too soon! Poor Narcisse!</p> + +<p>His salary still continues. So does his aunt.</p> + +<p>The Ristofalos came back all together. How delighted +Mrs. Colonel Ristofalo—I say Mrs. <em>Colonel</em> Ristofalo—was +to see Mary! And how impossible it was, when they +sat down together for a long talk, to avoid every moment +coming back to the one subject of “him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ye see, there bees thim as is <em>called</em> col-o-nels, +whin in fact they bees only <em>liftinent</em> col-o-nels. Yes. +But it’s not so wid him. And he’s no different from the +plain Raphael Ristofalah of eight year ago—the same +perfict gintleman that he was when he sold b’iled eggs!”</p> + +<p>And the colonel’s “lady” smiled a gay triumph that +gave Mary a new affection for her.</p> + +<p>Sister Jane bowed to the rod of an inscrutable +Providence. She could not understand how the Confederacy +could fail, and justice still be justice; so, without +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span> +understanding, she left it all to Heaven, and clung to her +faith. Her brother-in-law never recovered his fortunes +nor his sweetness. He could not bend his neck to the +conqueror’s yoke; he went in search of liberty to Brazil—or +was it Honduras? Little matter which, now, for +he died there, both he and his wife, just as their faces +were turning again homeward, and it was dawning upon +them once more that there is no land like Dixie in all the +wide world over.</p> + +<p>The little rector—thanks, he says, to the skill of Dr. +Sevier!—recovered perfectly the use of his mangled foot, +so that he even loves long walks. I was out walking +with him one sunset hour in the autumn of—if I remember +aright—1870, when whom should we spy but our +good Kate Ristofalo, out driving in her family carriage? +The cherubs were beside her,—strong, handsome boys. +Mike held the reins; he was but thirteen, but he looked +full three years better than that, and had evidently employed +the best tailor in St. Charles street to fit his rather +noticeable clothes. His mother had changed her mind +about his being a bruiser, though there isn’t a doubt he +had a Derringer in one or another of his pockets. No, +she was proposing to make him a doctor—“a surgeon,” +she said; “and thin, if there bees another war”— She +was for making every edge cut.</p> + +<p>She did us the honor to stop the carriage, and drive up +to the curb-stone for a little chat. Her spirits were up, +for Colonel Ristofalo had just been made a city councilman +by a rousing majority.</p> + +<p>We expressed our regret not to see Raphael himself in +the family group enjoying the exquisite air.</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha! He ride out for pleasure?”—And then, +with sudden gravity,—“Aw, naw, sur! He’s too busy. +Much use ut is to be married to a public man! Ah! surs, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span> +I’m mighty tired of ut, now I tell ye!” Yet she laughed +again, without betraying much fatigue. “And how’s Dr. Sevier?”</p> + +<p>“He’s well,” said the clergyman.</p> + +<p>“And Mrs. Richling?”</p> + +<p>“She’s well, too.”</p> + +<p>Kate looked at the little rector out of the corners of her +roguish Irish eyes, a killing look, and said:—</p> + +<p>“Ye’re sure the both o’ thim bees well?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, quite well,” replied he, ignoring the inane effort +at jest. She nodded a blithe good-day, and rolled on +toward the lake, happy as the harvest weather, and with +a kind heart for all the world. We walked on, and after +the walk I dined with the rector. Dr. Sevier’s place was +vacant, and we talked of him. The prettiest piece of +furniture in the dining-room was an extremely handsome +child’s high chair that remained, unused, against the +wall. It was Alice’s, and Alice was an almost daily visitor. +It had come in almost simultaneously with Laura’s +marriage, and more and more frequently, as time had +passed, the waiter had set it up to the table, at the Doctor’s +right hand, and lifted Goldenhair into it, until by +and by she had totally outgrown it. But she had not +grown out of the place of favor at the table. In these +later days she had become quite a school-girl, and the +Doctor, in his place at the table, would often sit with a +faint, continuous smile on his face that no one could bring +there but her, to hear her prattle about Madame Locquet, +and the various girls at Madame Locquet’s school.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>“It’s actually pathetic,” said Laura, as we sat sipping +our coffee after the meal, “to see how he idolizes that +child.” Alice had just left the room.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t he idolize the child’s”—began her husband, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span> +in undertone, and did not have to finish to make us +understand.</p> + +<p>“He does,” murmured the smiling wife.</p> + +<p>“Then why shouldn’t he tell her so?”</p> + +<p>“My dear!” objected the wife, very softly and prettily.</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean to speak lightly,” responded the husband, +“but—they love each other; they suit each other; +they complete each other; they don’t feel their disparity +of years; they’re both so linked to Alice that it would +break either heart over again to be separated from her. +I don’t see why”—</p> + +<p>Laura shook her head, smiling in the gentle way that +only the happy wives of good men have.</p> + +<p>“It will never be.”</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>What changes!</p> + +<p class="center"> +“The years creep slowly by”—</p> + +<p>We seem to hear the old song yet. What changes! +Laura has put two more leaves into her dining-table. +Children fill three seats. Alice has another. It is she, +now, not her chair, that is tall—and fair. Mary, too, +has a seat at the same board. This is their home now. +Her hair is turning all to silver. So early? Yes; but +she is—she never was—so beautiful! They all see it—feel +it; Dr. Sevier—the gentle, kind, straight old +Doctor—most of all. And oh! when they two, who +have never joined hands on this earth, go to meet John +and Alice,—which God grant may be at one and the +same time,—what weeping there will be among God’s poor!</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><strong>THE END.</strong></p> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> +“Yeh”—<em>ye</em>, as in <em>yearn</em>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> +Coiling.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> +Out of this car.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> +Infantry.</p></div> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Sevier, by George W. 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