Part 63 (2/2)
”True. And it entirely absorbs you. What time would you have at your fireside, or even at your family table? None. It's--well you know what it is--it's a bakery, you know. You couldn't expect to lodge _your_ wife and little girl in a bakery in Benjamin street; you know you couldn't.
Now, _you_--you don't mind it--or, I mean, you can stand it. Those things never need damage a gentleman. But with your wife it would be different. You smile, but--why, you know she couldn't go there. And if you put her anywhere where a lady ought to be, in New Orleans, she would be--well, don't you see she would be about as far away as if she were in Milwaukee? Richling, I don't know how it looks to you for me to be so meddlesome, and I believe you think I'm making a very poor argument; but you see this is only one point and the smallest. Now”--
Richling raised his thin hand, and said pleasantly:--
”It's no use. You can't understand; it wouldn't be possible to explain; for you simply don't know Mary.”
”But there are some things I do know. Just think; she's with her mother where she is. Imagine her falling ill here,--as you've told me she used to do,--and you with that bakery on your hands.”
Richling looked grave.
”Oh no,” continued the little man. ”You've been so brave and patient, you and your wife, both,--do be so a little bit longer! Live close; save your money; go on rising in value in your business; and after a little you'll rise clear out of the sphere you're now in. You'll command your own time; you'll build your own little home; and life and happiness and usefulness will be fairly and broadly open before you.” Richling gave heed with a troubled face, and let his companion draw him into the shadow of that ”St. Charles” from the foot of whose stair-way he had once been dragged away as a vagrant.
”See, Richling! Every few weeks you may read in some paper of how a man on some ferry-boat jumps for the wharf before the boat has touched it, falls into the water, and-- Make sure! Be brave a little longer--only a little longer! Wait till you're sure!”
”I'm sure enough!”
”Oh, no, you're not! Wait till this political broil is over. They say Lincoln is elected. If so, the South is not going to submit to it.
n.o.body can tell what the consequences are to be. Suppose we should have war? I don't think we shall, but suppose we should? There would be a general upheaval, commercial stagnation, industrial collapse, shrinkage everywhere! Wait till it's over. It may not be two weeks hence; it can hardly be more than ninety days at the outside. If it should the North would be ruined, and you may be sure they are not going to allow _that_.
Then, when all starts fair again, bring your wife and baby. I'll tell you what to do, Richling!”
”Will you?” responded the listener, with an amiable laugh that the little man tried to echo.
”Yes. Ask Dr. Sevier! He's right here in the next street. He was on your side last time; maybe he'll be so now.”
”Done!” said Richling. They went. The rector said he would do an errand in Ca.n.a.l street, while Richling should go up and see the physician.
Dr. Sevier was in.
”Why, Richling!” He rose to receive him. ”How are you?” He cast his eye over his visitor with professional scrutiny. ”What brings _you_ here?”
”To tell you that I've written for Mary,” said Richling, sinking wearily into a chair.
”Have you mailed the letter?”
”I'm taking it to the post-office now.”
The Doctor threw one leg energetically over the other, and picked up the same paper-knife that he had handled when, two years and a half before, he had sat thus, talking to Mary and John on the eve of their separation.
”Richling, I'll tell you. I've been thinking about this thing for some time, and I've decided to make you a proposal. I look at you and at Mary and at the times--the condition of the country--the probable future--everything. I know you, physically and mentally, better than anybody else does. I can say the same of Mary. So, of course, I don't make this proposal impulsively, and I don't want it rejected.
”Richling, I'll lend you two thousand to twenty-five hundred dollars, payable at your convenience, if you will just go to your room, pack up, go home, and take from six to twelve months' holiday with your wife and child.”
The listener opened his mouth in blank astonishment.
”Why, Doctor, you're jesting! You can't suppose”--
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