SWEET BELLS JANGLED.
Those who knew New Orleans just before the civil war, even though they
saw it only along its riverfront from the deck of some steam-boat, may
easily recall a large sign painted high up on the side of the old
"Triangle Building," which came to view through the dark web of masts
and cordage as one drew near St. Mary's Market. "Steam Bakery" it read.
And such as were New Orleans householders, or by any other chance
enjoyed the experience of making their way in the early morning among
the hundreds of baskets that on hundreds of elbows moved up and down
along and across the quaint gas-lit arcades of any of the market-houses,
must remember how, about this time or a little earlier, there began
to appear on one of the tidiest of bread-stalls in each of these
market-houses a new kind of bread. It was a small, densely compacted
loaf of the size and shape of a badly distorted brick. When broken,
it divided into layers, each of which showed--"teh bprindt of teh
kkneading-mutcheen," said Reisen to Narcisse; "yoost like a tsoda
crecker!"
These two persons had met by chance at a coffee-stand one beautiful
summer dawn in one of the markets,--the Treine, most likely,--where,
perched on high stools at a zinc-covered counter, with the smell of
fresh blood on the right and of stale fish on the left, they had
finished half their cup of _cafe au lait_ before they awoke to the
exhilarating knowledge of each other's presence.
"Yesseh," said Narcisse, "now since you 'ave wemawk the mention of it, I
think I have saw that va'iety of bwead."
"Oh, surely you poundt to a-seedt udt. A uckly little prown dting"--
"But cook well," said Narcisse.
"Yayss," drawled the baker. It was a fact that he had to admit.
"An' good flou'," persisted the Creole.
"Yayss," said the smiling manufacturer. He could not deny that either.
"An' honness weight!" said Narcisse, planting his empty cup in his
saucer, with the energy of his asservation; "an', Mr. Bison, thass a
ve'y seldom thing."
"Yayss," assented Reisen, "ovver tat prate is mighdy dtry, undt
shtickin' in ten dtroat."
"No, seh!" said the flatterer, with a generous smile. "Egscuse me--I
diffeh fum you. 'Tis a beaucheouz bwead. Yesseh. And eve'y loaf got the
name beaucheouzly pwint on the top, with 'Patent'--sich an' sich a time.
'Tis the tooth, Mr. Bison, I'm boun' to congwatu_late_ you on that
bwead."
"O-o-oh! tat iss not _mine_ prate," exclaimed the baker. "Tat iss not
fun mine etsteplitchmendt. Oh, no! Tatt iss te prate--I'm yoost dtellin'
you--tat iss te prate fun tat fellah py teh Sunk-Mary's Morrikit-house!
Tat's teh 'shteam prate'. I to-undt know for vot effrapotty puys tat
prate annahow! Ovver you yoost vait dtill you see _mine_ prate!"
"Mr. Bison," said Narcisse, "Mr. Bison,"--he had been trying to stop
him and get in a word of his own, but could not,--"I don't know if
you--Mr.--Mr. Bison, in fact, you din unde'stood me. Can that be
poss'ble that you din notiz that I was speaking in my i'ony about that
bwead? Why, of co'se! Thass juz my i'onious cuztom, Mr. Bison. Thass one
thing I dunno if you 'ave notiz about that 'steam bwead,' Mr. Bison, but
with me that bwead always stick in my th'oat; an' yet I kin swallow mose
anything, in fact. No, Mr. Bison, yo' bwead is deztyned to be the bwead;
and I tell you how 'tis with me, I juz gladly eat yo' bwead eve'y time I
kin git it! Mr. Bison, in fact you don't know me ve'y in_tim_itly, but
you will oblige me ve'y much indeed to baw me five dollahs till
tomaw--save me fum d'awing a check!"
The German thrust his hand slowly and deeply into his pocket. "I alvayss
like to oplyche a yendleman,"--he smiled benignly, drew out a toothpick,
and added,--"ovver I nivveh bporrah or lend to ennabodda."
"An' then," said Narcisse, promptly, "'tis imposs'ble faw anybody to be
offended. Thass the bess way, Mr. Bison."
"Yayss," said the baker, "I tink udt iss." As they were parting, he
added: "Ovver you vait dtill you see _mine_ prate!"
"I'll do it, seh!-- And, Mr. Bison, you muzn't think anything
about that, my not bawing that five dollars fum you, Mr. Bison, because
that don't make a bit o' dif'ence; an' thass one thing I like about you,
Mr. Bison, you don't baw yo' money to eve'y Dick, Tom, an' Hawwy, do
you?"
"No, I dtoandt. Ovver, you yoost vait"--
And certainly, after many vexations, difficulties, and delays, that
took many a pound of flesh from Reisen's form, the pretty, pale-brown,
fragrant white loaves of "aerated bread" that issued from the Star
Bakery in Benjamin street were something pleasant to see, though they
did not lower the price.
Richling's old liking for mechanical apparatus came into play. He only,
in the establishment, thoroughly understood the new process, and could
be certain of daily, or rather nightly, uniform results. He even made
one or two slight improvements in it, which he contemplated with
ecstatic pride, and long accounts of which he wrote to Mary.
In a generous and innocent way Reisen grew a little jealous of his
accountant, and threw himself into his business as he had not done
before since he was young, and in the ardor of his emulation ignored
utterly a state of health that was no better because of his great length
and breadth.
"Toctor Tseweer!" he said, as the physician appeared one day in his
office. "Vell, now, I yoost pet finfty tawllars tat iss Mississ Reisen
sendts for you tat I'm sick! Ven udt iss not such a dting!" He laughed
immoderately. "Ovver I'm gladt you come, Toctor, ennahow, for you pin
yoost in time to see ever'ting runnin'. I vish you yoost come undt see
udt!" He grinned in his old, broad way; but his face was anxious, and
his bared arms were lean. He laid his hand on the Doctor's arm, and then
jerked it away, and tried to blow off the floury print of his fingers.
"Come!" He beckoned. "Come; I show you somedting putiful. Toctor, I
_vizh_ you come!"
The Doctor yielded. Richling had to be called upon at last to explain
the hidden parts and processes.
"It's yoost like putt'n' te shpirudt into teh potty," said the laughing
German. "Now, tat prate kot life in udt yoost teh same like your own
selluf, Toctor. Tot prate kot yoost so much sense ass Reisen kot.
Ovver, Toctor--Toctor"--the Doctor was giving his attention to
Richling, who was explaining something--"Toctor, toandt you come here
uxpectin' to see nopoty sick, less-n udt iss Mr. Richlun." He caught
Richling's face roughly between his hands, and then gave his back a
caressing thwack. "Toctor, vot you dtink? Ve goin' teh run prate-cawts
mit copponic-essut kass. Tispense mit hawses!" He laughed long but
softly, and smote Richling again as the three walked across the bakery
yard abreast.
"Well?" said Dr. Sevier to Richling, in a low tone, "always working
toward the one happy end."
Richling had only time to answer with his eyes, when the baker, always
clinging close to them, said, "Yes; if I toandt look oudt yet, he pe
rich pefore Reisen."
The Doctor looked steadily at Richling, stood still, and said, "Don't
hurry."
But Richling swung playfully half around on his heel, dropped his
glance, and jerked his head sidewise, as one who neither resented the
advice nor took it. A minute later he drew from his breast-pocket a
small, thick letter stripped of its envelope, and handed it to the
Doctor, who put it into his pocket, neither of them speaking. The action
showed practice. Reisen winked one eye laboriously at the Doctor and
chuckled.
"See here, Reisen," said the Doctor, "I want you to pack your trunk,
take the late boat, and go to Biloxi or Pascagoula, and spend a month
fishing and sailing."
The baker pushed his fingers up under his hat, scratched his head,
smiled widely, and pointed at Richling.
"Sendt him."
The Doctor went and sat down with Reisen, and used every form of
inducement that could be brought to bear; but the German had but one
answer: Richling, Richling, not he. The Doctor left a prescription,
which the baker took until he found it was making him sleep while
Richling was at work, whereupon he amiably threw it out of his window.
It was no surprise to Dr. Sevier that Richling came to him a few days
later with a face all trouble.
"How are you, Richling? How's Reisen?"
"Doctor," said Richling, "I'm afraid Mr. Reisen is"--Their eyes met.
"Insane," said the Doctor.
"Yes."
"Does his wife know whether he has ever had such symptoms before--in his
life?"
"She says he hasn't."
"I suppose you know his pecuniary condition perfectly; has he money?"
"Plenty."
"He'll not consent to go away anywhere, I suppose, will he?"
"Not an inch."
"There's but one sensible and proper course, Richling; he must be taken
at once, by force if necessary, to a first-class insane hospital."
"Why, Doctor, why? Can't we treat him better at home?"
The Doctor gave his head its well-known swing of impatience. "If you
want to be _criminally_ in error try that!"
"I don't want to be in error at all," retorted Richling.
"Then don't lose twelve hours that you can save, but send him off as
soon as process of court will let you."
"Will you come at once and see him?" asked Richling, rising up.
"Yes, I'll be there nearly as soon as you will. Stop; you had better
ride with me; I have something special to say." As the carriage started
off, the Doctor leaned back in its cushions, folded his arms, and took a
long, meditative breath. Richling glanced at him and said:--
"We're both thinking of the same person."
"Yes," replied the Doctor; "and the same day, too, I suppose: the first
day I ever saw her; the only other time that we ever got into this
carriage together. Hmm! hmm! With what a fearful speed time flies!"
"Sometimes," said the yearning husband, and apologized by a laugh. The
Doctor grunted, looked out of the carriage window, and, suddenly
turning, asked:--
"Do you know that Reisen instructed his wife about six months ago, in
the event of his death or disability, to place all her interests in your
hands, and to be guided by your advice in everything?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Richling, "he can't do that! He should have asked my
consent."
"I suppose he knew he wouldn't get it. He's a cunning simpleton."
"But, Doctor, if you knew this"--Richling ceased.
"Six months ago. Why didn't I tell you?" said the physician. "I thought
I would, Richling, though Reisen bade me not, when he told me; I made no
promise. But time, that you think goes slow, was too fast for me."
"I shall refuse to serve," said Richling, soliloquizing aloud. "Don't
you see, Doctor, the delicacy of the position?"
"Yes, I do; but you don't. Don't you see it would be just as delicate a
matter for you to refuse?"
Richling pondered, and presently said, quite slowly:--
"It will look like coming down out of the tree to catch the apples as
they fall," he said. "Why," he added with impatience, "it lays me wide
open to suspicion and slander."
"Does it?" asked the Doctor, heartlessly. "There's nothing remarkable in
that. Did any one ever occupy a responsible position without those
conditions?"
"But, you know, I have made some unscrupulous enemies by defending
Reisen's interests."
"Um-hmm; what did you defend them for?"
Richling was about to make a reply; but the Doctor wanted none.
"Richling," he said, "the most of men have burrows. They never let
anything decoy them so far from those burrows but they can pop into them
at a moment's notice. Do you take my meaning?"
"Oh, yes!" said Richling, pleasantly; "no trouble to understand you this
time. I'll not run into any burrow just now. I'll face my duty and think
of Mary."
He laughed.
"Excellent pastime," responded Dr. Sevier.
They rode on in silence.
"As to"--began Richling again,--"as to such matters as these, once a man
confronts the question candidly, there is really no room, that I can
see, for a man to choose: a man, at least, who is always guided by
conscience."
"If there were such a man," responded the Doctor.
"True," said John.
"But for common stuff, such as you and I are made of, it must sometimes
be terrible."
"I dare say," said Richling. "It sometimes requires cold blood to choose
aright."
"As cold as granite," replied the other.
They arrived at the bakery.
"O Doctor," said Mrs. Reisen, proffering her hand as he entered the
house, "my poor hussband iss crazy!" She dropped into a chair and burst
into tears. She was a large woman, with a round, red face and triple
chin, but with a more intelligent look and a better command of English
than Reisen. "Doctor, I want you to cure him ass quick ass possible."
"Well, madam, of course; but will you do what I say?"
"I will, certain shure. I do it yust like you tellin' me."
The Doctor gave her such good advice as became a courageous physician.
A look of dismay came upon her. Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, no,
Doctor!" She began to shake her head. "I'll never do tha-at; oh, no;
I'll never send my poor hussband to the crazy-house! Oh, no, sir; I'll
do not such a thing!" There was some resentment in her emotion. Her
nether lip went up like a crying babe's, and she breathed through her
nostrils audibly.
"Oh, yes, I know!" said the poor creature, turning her face away from
the Doctor's kind attempts to explain, and lifting it incredulously as
she talked to the wall,--"I know all about it. I'm not a-goin' to put no
sich a disgrace on my poor hussband; no, indeed!" She faced around
suddenly and threw out her hand to Richling, who leaned against a door
twisting a bit of string between his thumbs. "Why, he wouldn't go,
nohow, even if I gave my consents. You caynt coax him out of his room
yet. Oh, no, Doctor! It's my duty to keep him wid me an' try to cure him
first a little while here at home. That aint no trouble to me; I don't
never mind no trouble if I can be any help to my hussband." She
addressed the wall again.
"Well, madam," replied the physician, with unusual tenderness of tone,
and looking at Richling while he spoke, "of course you'll do as you
think best."
"Oh! my poor Reisen!" exclaimed the wife, wringing her hands.
"Yes," said the physician, rising and looking out of the window, "I am
afraid it will be ruin to Reisen."
"No, it won't be such a thing," said Mrs. Reisen, turning this way and
that in her chair as the physician moved from place to place. "Mr.
Richlin',"--turning to him,--"Mr. Richlin' and me kin run the business
yust so good as Reisen." She shifted her distressed gaze back and forth
from Richling to the Doctor. The latter turned to Richling:--
"I'll have to leave this matter to you."
Richling nodded.
"Where is Reisen?" asked the Doctor. "In his own room, upstairs?" The
three passed through an inner door.