Dr. Sevier Part 41

"Yes," said Richling, "that's one thing that I have noticed, that you're very fertile in devices."

"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."

She beamed upon her husband. Narcisse laughed with pure pleasure.

"Well, I am compel' to say you ah co'ect. I am continually makin' some discove'ies. 'Necessity's the motheh of inventions.' Now tha.s.s 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."

CHAPTER x.x.x.

LIGHTING SHIP.

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.

"Why you don't advertise in papers?" asked Ristofalo.

"Advertise? Oh, I didn't think it would be of any use. I advertised a whole week, last summer."

"You put advertis.e.m.e.nt in wrong time and keep it out wrong time," said the Italian.

"I have a place in prospect, now, without advertising," said Richling, with an elated look.

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:--

"Business man don't promise but once."

"You lookin' for book-keeper's place?" asked the Italian at another time. "Why don't dress like a book-keeper?"

"On borrowed money?" asked Richling, evidently looking upon that question as a poser.

"Yes."

"Oh, no," said Richling, with a smile of superiority; but the other one smiled too, and shook his head.

"Borrow mo', if you don't."

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.

"John," said Mary, dropping into her lap the sewing that hardly paid for her candle, "isn't it hard to realize that it isn't twelve months since your hardships commenced? They _can't_ last much longer, darling."

"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."

"Yes," rejoined Mary, "I know your patience will be rewarded."

"But what I want is work now, Mary. The bread of idleness is getting _too_ bitter. But never mind; I'm going to work to-morrow;--never mind where. It's all right. You'll see."

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.

"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!'"

"Did he say he would?" asked Richling.

"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."

"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 them out was bread without yeast, meat without salt, as far as their own powers of speech were concerned.

"I thought, the other day," he began again, with an effort, "when it blew up cool, that the warm weather was over."

"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 la.s.s 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, tha.s.s 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.

The Doctor shook hands with Richling and sank into the chair at his desk. "Anything turned up yet, Richling?"

"Doctor," began Richling, drawing his chair near and speaking low.

"Good-mawnin', Doctah," said Narcisse, showing himself with a graceful flourish.

The Doctor nodded, then turned again to Richling. "You were saying"--

"I 'ope you well, seh," insisted the Creole, and as the Doctor glanced toward him impatiently, repeated the sentiment, "'Ope you well, seh."

The Doctor said he was, and turned once more to 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:--

"If I don't get work within a day or two I shall have to come to you for money."

"That's all right, Richling." The Doctor spoke aloud; Richling answered low.

"Oh, no, Doctor, it's all wrong! Indeed, I can't do it any more unless you will let me earn the money."

"My dear sir, I would most gladly do it; but I have nothing that you can do."

"Yes, you have, Doctor."

"What is it?"

"Why, it's this: you have a slave boy driving your carriage."

"Well?"

"Give him some other work, and let me do that."

Dr. Sevier started in his seat. "Richling, I can't do that. I should ruin you. If you drive my carriage"--