Dr. Sevier Part 23

"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.

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, surpa.s.sed, humbled. Still he said, "Come, don't you want this again? You needn't pay me for the use of it."

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 bananas. He had bought the cargo, and was reselling to small fruiterers.

"Make fifty dolla' to-day," said the Italian, marking his tally-board with a piece of chalk.

Richling clapped him joyfully on the shoulder, but turned around with inward distress and hurried away. He had not found work.

Events followed of which we have already taken knowledge. Mary, we have seen, fell sick and was taken to the hospital.

"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.

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 _hadn't_ his senses. The more he needed a helping hand the more unreasonably shy he became of those who might help him.

"Will n.o.body come and find us?" Yet he would not cry "Whoop!" and how, then, was anybody to come?

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.

"And now you'll _not_ be cast down, _will_ you?" she said, sliding into her husband's lap. She was in an uncommonly playful mood.

"Not a bit of it," said John. "Every dog has his day. I'll come to the top. You'll see."

"Don't I know that?" she responded, "Look here, now," she exclaimed, starting to her feet and facing him, "_I'll_ recommend you to anybody.

_I've_ 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, 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 st.u.r.dily 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.

"Ah!" sighed the widow to herself, "wasn't it Kate Riley that used to get the sweet, haird knocks!" Her grief was mellowing.

Richling went out on the old search, which the advancing summer made more nearly futile each day than the day before.

Stop. What sound was that?

"Richling! Richling!"

Richling, walking in a commercial street, turned. A member of the firm that had last employed him beckoned him to halt.

"What are you doing now, Richling? Still acting deputy a.s.sistant city surveyor _pro tem._?"

"Yes."

"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?"

"I"--Richling dropped his eyes with an embarra.s.sed smile--"_I was_ afraid I was in the way--or should be."

"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."

"How's that?" asked Richling, as they started off abreast.

"There's a house around the corner here that will give you some work,--temporary anyhow, and may be permanent."

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.

"All the recommendation I've got," said he, with timid elation. There was a laugh all round.

"Well, madam, if you say he's all right, we don't doubt he is!"

CHAPTER XIX.

ANOTHER PATIENT.

"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'."

The unresponding Doctor closed his eyes in unutterable weariness of the innocent young gentleman's prepared speeches.

"Yesseh. 'Tis a beaucheouz notiz. I fine that w'itten with the gweatez ac_cu_'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"--

The Doctor looked up fiercely.

"Bank," said Narcisse, getting near the door.

"All right!" grumbled the Doctor, more politely.

"Yesseh--befo' I go ad the poss-office."

A great many other persons had seen the advertis.e.m.e.nt. 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 n.o.body advertised for information concerning them, and who wished, yes, "wished to G.o.d," 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.

Time pa.s.sed. 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.

"Good-morning, Doctor," said a voice, hurriedly, behind the veil.

"Doctor," it continued, choking,--"Doctor"--

"Why, Mrs. Richling!"

He sprang and gave her a chair. She sank into it.

"Doctor,--O Doctor! John is in the Charity Hospital!"

She buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed aloud. The Doctor was silent a moment, and then asked:--

"What's the matter with him?"