"Shut it."
"John, where are you living now?"
Of this question he took no notice.
"Do you like to live here?"
"Yes."
"Where did you live before you came here?"
No answer, but a look of half inquiry flitted over John's face.
"Did you not live at Fourth and Lombard Streets?"
"Oh, yes."
"For how long a time?"
No reply, but the same thoughtful look as before.
A variety of other questions was put to the imbecile, to all of which he
invariably gave quick and correct replies, provided the reply could be
made in monosyllables. But if it required an answer of several words he
would remain silent, or apparently trying to think what he should say.
After several days residence at the almshouse he began to lose a
considerable amount of his former animal stupidity, and if ordered to do
anything in the same way as when he was first admitted to the institution,
he would not do it at all, but remain perfectly motionless. This shows
that his mental feebleness results not so much from natural causes as the
artificial ones of his long confinement, and a withering isolation from
the outer world. He will never be himself again, for that would be
impossible, but it is quite likely that he will recover so far as to
permit him to enjoy the ease and have that care of kind attendants that
his share of the property will command.
Comment on the conduct of those relatives from whose charge he has been
taken is entirely unnecessary. If they have consciences, their feelings
must be of a rather terrible nature. One thing is certain; poor John will
be taken good care of in the future, and in Furman Sheppard, Esq., he has
a friend who will not allow justice to be hoodwinked.