Part 79 (1/2)
”Why, yes, my poor boy, I have tried. But I only make out its use to me.”
The sick man's eye brightened.
”Has it been?”
The Doctor nodded. He reached out and took the wasted hand in his. It tried to answer his pressure. The invalid spoke.
”I'm glad you told me that before--before it was too late.”
”Are you, my dear boy? Shall I tell you more?”
”Yes,” the sick man huskily replied; ”oh, yes.”
”Well, Richling,--you know we're great cowards about saying such things; it's a part of our poor human weakness and distrust of each other, and the emptiness of words,--but--lately--only just here, very lately, I've learned to call the meekest, lovingest One that ever trod our earth, Master; and it's been your life, my dear fellow, that has taught me.” He pressed the sick man's hand slowly and tremulously, then let it go, but continued to caress it in a tender, absent way, looking on the floor as he spoke on.
”Richling, Nature herself appoints some men to poverty and some to riches. G.o.d throws the poor upon our charge--in mercy to _us_. Couldn't he take care of them without us if he wished? Are they not his? It's easy for the poor to feel, when they are helped by us, that the rich are a G.o.dsend to them; but they don't see, and many of their helpers don't see, that the poor are a G.o.dsend to the rich. They're set over against each other to keep pity and mercy and charity in the human heart. If every one were entirely able to take care of himself we'd turn to stone.” The speaker ceased.
”Go on,” whispered the listener.
”That will never be,” continued the Doctor. ”G.o.d Almighty will never let us find a way to quite abolish poverty. Riches don't always bless the man they come to, but they bless the world. And so with poverty; and it's no contemptible commission, Richling, to be appointed by G.o.d to bear that blessing to mankind which keeps its brotherhood universal.
See, now,”--he looked up with a gentle smile,--”from what a distance he brought our two hearts together. Why, Richling, the man that can make the rich and poor love each other will make the world happier than it has ever been since man fell!”
”Go on,” whispered Richling.
”No,” said the Doctor.
”Well, now, Doctor--_I_ want to say--something.” The invalid spoke with a weak and broken utterance, with many breaks and starts that we may set aside.
”For a long time,” he said, beginning as if half in soliloquy, ”I couldn't believe I was coming to this early end, simply because I didn't see why I should. I know that was foolish. I thought my hards.h.i.+ps”-- He ceased entirely, and, when his strength would allow, resumed:--
”I thought they were sent in order that when I should come to fortune I might take part in correcting some evils that are strangely overlooked.”
The Doctor nodded, and, after a moment of rest, Richling said again:--
”But now I see--that is not my work. May be it is Mary's. May be it's my little girl's.”
”Or mine,” murmured the Doctor.
”Yes, Doctor, I've been lying here to-day thinking of something I never thought of before, though I dare say you have, often. There could be no art of healing till the earth was full of graves. It is by s.h.i.+pwreck that we learn to build s.h.i.+ps. All our safety--all our betterment--is secured by our knowledge of others' disasters that need not have happened had they only _known_. Will you--finish my mission?” The sick man's hand softly grasped the hand that lay upon it. And the Doctor responded:--
”How shall I do that, Richling?”
”Tell my story.”
”But I don't know it all, Richling.”
”I'll tell you all that's behind. You know I'm a native of Kentucky.
My name is not Richling. I belong to one of the proudest, most distinguished families in that State or in all the land. Until I married I never knew an ungratified wish. I think my bringing-up, not to be wicked, was as bad as could be. It was based upon the idea that I was always to be master, and never servant. I was to go through life with soft hands. I was educated to know, but not to do. When I left school my parents let me travel. They would have let me do anything except work. In the West--in Milwaukee--I met Mary. It was by mere chance. She was poor, but cultivated and refined; trained--you know--for knowing, not doing. I loved her and courted her, and she encouraged my suit, under the idea, you know, again,”--he smiled faintly and sadly,--”that it was n.o.body's business but ours. I offered my hand and was accepted.