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 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 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.
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.
"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?"
"Chills."
It seemed as though she must break down again, but the Doctor stopped
her savagely.
"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."
She was still, but shook her head. She couldn't agree to that.
"Doctor, will you attend him?"
"Mine is a female ward."
"I know; but"--
"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.
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.
Mary explained the location and arrangement of her residence.
"Yes," she said, "that's the way your clerk must have overlooked us. We
live behind--down the alleyway."
"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.
There was a quick gesture of remonstrance and a look of pleading.
"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!"
"I don't know about that," he replied; "why do you do it?"
"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.
"Why, I don't care if you never pay it back!" The Doctor reddened
angrily.
Mary raised her veil.
"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.
"Say on, madam," responded the Doctor.
"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?"
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."
The Doctor's face did not respond to her smile.
"Why, you are not," he said.
"No." Her eyes sparkled, but their softer light quickly returned. She
smiled and said:--
"I will ask a favor of you now, Doctor."
They had risen, and she stood leaning sidewise against his low desk and
looking up into his face.
"Can you get me some sewing? John says I may take some."
The Doctor was about to order two dozen shirts instanter, but common
sense checked him, and he only said:--
"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.
"What, sir?" she asked, looking back.
But the Doctor was reading.