Dr. Sevier Part 42

"Just for a time, Doctor, till I find something else."

"No! no! If you drive my carriage in New Orleans you'll never do anything else."

"Why, Doctor, there are men standing in the front ranks to-day, who"--

"Yes, yes," replied the Doctor, impatiently, "I know,--who began with menial labor; but--I can't explain it to you, Richling, but you're not of the same sort; that's all. I say it without praise or blame; you must have work adapted to your abilities."

"My abilities!" softly echoed Richling. Tears sprang to his eyes. He held out his open palms,--"Doctor, look there." They were lacerated. He started to rise, but the Doctor prevented him.

"Let me go," said Richling, pleadingly, and with averted face. "Let me go. I'm sorry I showed them. It was mean and foolish and weak. Let me go."

But Dr. Sevier kept a hand on him, and he did not resist. The Doctor took one of the hands and examined it. "Why, Richling, you've been handling freight!"

"There was nothing else."

"Oh, bah!"

"Let me go," whispered Richling. But the Doctor held him.

"You didn't do this on the steam-boat landing, did you, Richling?"

The young man nodded. The Doctor dropped the hand and looked upon its owner with set lips and steady severity. When he spoke he said:--

"Among the negro and green Irish deck-hands, and under the oaths and blows of steam-boat mates! Why, Richling!" He turned half away in his rotary chair with an air of patience worn out.

"You thought I had more sense," said Richling.

The Doctor put his elbows upon his desk and slowly drew his face upward through his hands. "Mr. Richling, what is the matter with you?" They gazed at each other a long moment, and then Dr. Sevier continued: "Your trouble isn't want of sense. I know that very well, Richling." His voice was low and became kind. "But you don't get the use of the sense you have. It isn't available." He bent forward: "Some men, Richling, carry their folly on the surface and their good sense at the bottom,"--he jerked his thumb backward toward the distant Narcisse, and added, with a stealthy frown,--"like that little fool in yonder. He's got plenty of sense, but he doesn't load any of it on deck. Some men carry their sense on top and their folly down below"--

Richling smiled broadly through his dejection, and touched his own chest. "Like this big fool here," he said.

"Exactly," said Dr. Sevier. "Now you've developed a defect of the memory. Your few merchantable qualities have been so long out of the market, and you've suffered such humiliation under the pressure of adversity, that you've--you've done a very bad thing."

"Say a dozen," responded Richling, with bitter humor. But the Doctor swung his head in resentment of the levity.

"One's enough. You've allowed yourself to forget your true value."

"I'm worth whatever I'll bring."

The Doctor tossed his head in impatient disdain.

"Pshaw! You'll never bring what you're worth any more than some men are worth what they bring. You don't know how. You never will know."

"Well, Doctor, I do know that I'm worth more than I ever was before.

I've learned a thousand things in the last twelvemonth. If I can only get a chance to prove it!" Richling turned red and struck his knee with his fist.

"Oh, yes," said Dr. Sevier; "that's your sense, on top. And then you go--in a fit of the merest impatience, as I do suspect--and offer yourself as a deck-hand and as a carriage-driver. That's your folly, at the bottom. What ought to be done to such a man?" He gave a low, harsh laugh. Richling dropped his eyes. A silence followed.

"You say all you want is a chance," resumed the Doctor.

"Yes," quickly answered Richling, looking up.

"I'm going to give it to you." They looked into each other's eyes. The Doctor nodded. "Yes, sir." He nodded again.

"Where did you come from, Richling,--when you came to New Orleans,--you and your wife? Milwaukee?"

"Yes."

"Do your relatives know of your present condition?"

"No."

"Is your wife's mother comfortably situated?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll tell you what you must do."

"The only thing I can't do," said Richling.

"Yes, you can. You must. You must send Mrs. Richling back to her mother."

Richling shook his head.

"Well," said the Doctor, warmly, "I say you must. I will lend you the pa.s.sage-money."

Richling's eye kindled an instant at the Doctor's compulsory tone, but he said, gently:--

"Why, Doctor, Mary will never consent to leave me."

"Of course she will not. But you must make her do it! That's what you must do. And when that's done then you must start out and go systematically from door to door,--of business houses, I mean,--offering yourself for work befitting your station--ahem!--station, I say--and qualifications. I will lend you money to live on until you find permanent employment. Now, now, don't get alarmed! I'm not going to help you any more than I absolutely must!"

"But, Doctor, how can you expect"-- But the Doctor interrupted.

"Come, now, none of that! You and your wife are brave; I must say that for you. She has the courage of a gladiator. You can do this if you will."

"Doctor," said Richling, "you are the best of friends; but, you know, the fact is, Mary and I--well, we're still lovers."

"Oh!" The Doctor turned away his head with fresh impatience. Richling bit his lip, but went on:--

"We can bear anything on earth together; but we have sworn to stay together through better and worse"--

"Oh, pf-f-f-f!" said the doctor, closing his eyes and swinging his head away again.

"--And we're going to do it," concluded Richling.

"But you can't do it!" cried the Doctor, so loudly that Narcisse stood up on the rungs of his stool and peered.