Mark Gildersleeve Part 3

"Ever since I was a child. I was knocked down by a runaway horse and run over by a wagon. My ankle was broken, I believe."

"Hum--um. Take off your shoe and stocking. Lie down on that sofa, and let me look at your ankle."

Mark did as he was bid, and the doctor drew up a chair and sat down by him to examine the defective joint. The boy's black eyes were fixed with a searching gaze on the doctor's face, as if to read his thoughts, but there was nothing to be derived from the grave, sphinx-like countenance. The eager, inquisitive look of the lad, however, did not escape the physician's notice.

"What is your name, my boy?" inquired the doctor.

"Mark Gildersleeve, sir."

"Ah, you're Mr. Gildersleeve the iron-master's son, are you?"

"No, sir, his brother."

"His brother, eh! Who attended you when you received the injury?"

"Dr. Pokemore, sir."

"Dr. Pokemore, eh! He is your brother's family physician, is he not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who sent you to me?"

"No one, sir. I came myself."

"Why did you not go to Dr. Pokemore?"

"Because he said I could not be cured."

The doctor after some reflection gave a doubtful nod, and said, "If anything can be done it will only be after a painful operation."

"I'll stand anything, doctor, if you will only cure me. You may cut me, or do anything you like, only make me walk like other boys."

The doctor took from a case of surgical instruments a bright bistoury, which he caused to glitter before the boy's eyes, as he felt its edge.

A plucky little fellow, thought the doctor, (struck by the unflinching look of determination in the boy's countenance,) and seems to be in earnest. "You say that you have been this way from infancy; why are you so anxious to be helped now?"

"Because--because--they worry me about it," replied Mark.

"Worry you--that's very unkind. Come, tell me all about it. I suspect there's a little history behind this, and you must make me your confidant."

Led on by the doctor's kind way, Mark exposed the wound his pride had received; related the story of his fight with Jack Heath (omitting, however, any mention of Edna's interference), and again begged the doctor to remove the impediment in his walk, a.s.serting his willingness to submit to any operation, however painful, that might be deemed necessary to effect the object. Pleased with the boy's frankness and resolution, and desirous to help him, the doctor again examined the maimed ankle. A slow, fixed pursing of his lips expressed doubt, and the boy's countenance fell. There was a glimpse of hope, though, in the doctor's words, who told Mark that although he could not say anything encouraging now, he would talk the matter over with his (Mark's) brother, "And if he is willing, I will take you to New York with me, where we can consult the best skill, and if there be a probability of helping you, it shall be done."

A fine head, thought the doctor, pa.s.sing his hand over Mark's broad forehead; there should be something there. "Stop a bit, Mark; what do you intend to be when you grow up, my boy?"

"I don't know, sir."

"What would you like to be, then?"

"I'd like," replied Mark, after some hesitation, "I think--I'd like to be a hero."

"A hero, eh! Come, that's modest and laudable. But what kind of a hero, pray?"

"Like--like Jack Sheppard."

"Jack Sheppard, umph! Why so?" said the doctor, rather surprised at this example and selection.

"Oh he was such a smart, brave fellow! They couldn't keep him in prison," replied Mark, wagging his head in admiration.

"But didn't he drive his poor mother crazy by his conduct, or something of that sort?" inquired the doctor. "That wasn't brave or smart, I take it, but rather mean and contemptible for a hero, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that was mean and bad," echoed Mark, reflectively; "I think I'd rather be a Crusader."

"Better, much better. But where did you hear of Jack Sheppard?"

"Jerry Cook lent me the book, and I am reading it."

"Fond of reading, Mark?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, tell me what you have read."

"I've read 'The Three Spaniards,' and 'Rinaldo Rinaldini,' 'Ill.u.s.trious Highwaymen,' 'Three-fingered Jack,' and--"

"I see--I see. Now, my boy, as you are fond of reading, I'll lend you a book to read that's worth all the books that were ever written, except, perhaps, the plays of Shakespeare. It is called 'The Adventures of the Ingenious Knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha.' Now, after you have read it, I'll lend you the plays of William Shakespeare, and after you have read those, you will have read the very best product of human intellect in the way of fiction. I do not expect that you will understand those books fully; it may take you all your life to do that, but if you can get but an idea of their contents, or rather, acquire but a taste for them, it will be sufficient for the present."

Mark thanked the doctor, and trudged away, delighted, with the Don Quixote under his arm. This was the beginning of an intimacy, and close friendship between the two. As he had promised, Dr. Wattletop took the boy, with his brother's consent, to New York, and consulted the best chirurgical authority on his case; but, as the doctor had feared, without being able to obtain any encouragement as to the possibility of relieving him from the imperfection in his gait. Mark, for a time, was greatly disappointed at this result; but finally this feeling wore away, and grateful for all the kindness shown to him by the doctor, became attached to him, and was never more happy than when able to reciprocate with some slight service. The doctor's slender stock of literature was soon devoured by the boy, but as the books were choice, they bore re-reading and study. They consisted chiefly of poetry and a few standard novels. Histories there were none, the doctor in regard to these being of Walpole's opinion, "Lies, my boy, lies, mere records of men's prejudices and self-glorification. Sound, wholesome truth is found in a good poem or n.o.ble novel."

Thus did Mark imbibe his taste for the ideal, and thus was his mental growth fashioned by the eccentric physician. His moral training, too, was not overlooked by this teacher, but the code inculcated was a simple one, and merely this: "Be just. There is but one virtue--justice,"

a.s.serted Dr. Wattletop; "men resort to makeshifts, such as generosity, or charity, but they are but confessions of their shortcomings in respect to justice. If men were not unjust, there would be no need of generosity, or charity, and forgiveness would be either uncalled for, or a crime."

There was doubtless a deal of the stoic in these teachings, but it was on such philosophy that Mark was nourished.

As for his boyish pa.s.sion for Edna Heath, that grew apace, but accompanied with the bitter remembrance that the sympathy she had shown him was prompted simply by commiseration. He was made none the less unhappy also, by noticing that since the eventful party Edna was not as cordial as formerly, but inclined to be distant; for the little beauty thought, perhaps, that she had been too pointed in her sympathy and desired, like older maidens, to set matters aright by an excess of reserve in the future. Very soon after this, however, she was sent to a seminary at Burlington, and during an interval of several years made but short and infrequent visits home. In this way the intercourse between the two gradually became less familiar, until now, Edna having attained young lady-hood, it was formal, and restricted to what is called a bowing acquaintance. Mark finally imagined he detected an intention on her part to repel him, and met it by a.s.suming an att.i.tude of corresponding hauteur. Still, the secret pa.s.sion burned within his breast with steady fervor. It was his greatest joy to see her, although he never did so without those bitter words recurring to him: _You ought to be thankful you are not lame as he is, and ought to pity him_. Each word a thorn pressed to the quick! Meaning to be kind, how cruel she had been! How much sharper those words had stung than the mean taunt of her brother! _that_ he could forgive and forget, for it came from one he despised, but could he ever forgive or forget the wound inflicted by her expressions of pity? Nothing but a complete and voluntary retraction on her part could compensate for that, and he resolved to toil with energy, and patience--to strain nerve and brain--to undergo, and brave everything until he had achieved distinction enough to excite her admiration, and wonder that she could ever have deemed him an object of compa.s.sion. Ridiculous, self-tormenting resolutions these will appear to common sense; yet were they but the natural impulses of a proud, sensitive, and we may add rather conceited youth, full of the illusions of life, and pushing every sentiment to extremes.

V.

Now that the intelligent reader is better acquainted with our hero's history and aspirations, he will at once conceive that Mark was rather alarmed for more reasons than one at the possible consequences of his second altercation with John Peter Heath, as related in a previous chapter.

Dr. Wattletop had relieved his fears in relation to any serious injury's resulting to the brother; but, reflected Mark, what will the sister think of it, and how has the affair been represented to her? Most likely, I am held up as a ruffian, who brutally and causelessly a.s.sailed her brother. Shall I submit, and let the future explain, or had I better seek an interview, and set myself right? I must do it, and I'll do it at once, was his decision--a decision he arrived at the more readily, as it afforded him an excellent pretext to see and converse with the object of his secret and constant adoration. But, on consideration, fearing that such a step might be misinterpreted, he concluded reluctantly to address himself to her father, and offer a frank explanation of the occurrence. It required an effort to come to this decision, for Mark dreaded Mr. Heath's patronizing politeness, and invariably avoided meeting him. But he conquered his repugnance on reflecting that that gentleman was fortunate enough to be Edna's father, and, moreover, that there was a likelihood of meeting and conversing with that young lady in compensation. In view of the latter probability, he prepared himself by making a more than usual neat and careful toilet, and by the time he was ready to start, his thoughts were far more occupied with Miss Edna's eyes, than with her brother's broken head. Off he started for the "Cliff," but soon his courage failed him, as he imagined the reception he was likely to meet with. Twice or thrice he stopped, hesitated, and only continued after much cogitation. Resolutely he walked past the gate-lodge, and up the avenue that led to the house. He rang the bell with a thumping heart. It was the first time he had crossed that threshold since he had been to Jack Heath's birthday party, and he remembered the colored servant who now ushered him into a reception room, as the same one--with a gray poll now, however--who had a.s.sisted the pianist in stopping the fight on that memorable occasion. Mark sent his name up to Mr. Heath, with the wish to be allowed a few moments'

conversation with him. That gentleman, evidently, was in no haste to see his visitor, for he kept him waiting a long time. Meanwhile, Mark amused himself by staring at the pictures on the wall, and looking over some books that lay on the pier-table, when he heard light tripping footsteps coming towards him, and, turning suddenly, beheld Edna standing in the doorway in a startled att.i.tude--a charming picture of a surprised maiden, lithe figure poised forward, with slightly parted lips, and fine, large eyes opened in full wonder. "Oh, I beg pardon--excuse me, I thought it was father;" and advancing, she added in a frank, pleasant way, "Why, this is Mark Gildersleeve."