"Fine skipping with these 'ere horse-posts — ha ha!"
"Pardon; I forgot the crutches. My mind, figuring you after receiving the benefit of my art, overlooked you as you stand before me."
"Your art? You call yourself a bone-setter — a natural bone-setter, do ye? Go, bone-set the crooked world, and then come bone-set crooked me."
"Truly, my honest friend, I thank you for again recalling me to my original object. Let me examine you," bending down; "ah, I see, I see; much such a case as the negro's. Did you see him? Oh no, you came aboard since. Well, his case was a little something like yours. I prescribed for him, and I shouldn't wonder at all if, in a very short time, he were able to walk almost as well as myself. Now, have you no confidence in my art?"
"Ha, ha!"
The herb-doctor averted himself; but, the wild laugh dying away, resumed:
"I will not force confidence on you. Still, I would fain do the friendly thing by you. Here, take this box; just rub that liniment on the joints night and morning. Take it. Nothing to pay. God bless you. Good-bye."
"Stay," pausing in his swing, not untouched by so unexpected an act; "stay — thank'ee — but will this really do me good? Honor bright, now; will it? Don't deceive a poor fellow," with changed mien and glistening eye.
"Try it. Good-bye."
"Stay, stay! Sure it will do me good?"
"Possibly, possibly; no harm in trying. Good-bye."
"Stay, stay; give me three more boxes, and here's the money."
"My friend," returning towards him with a sadly pleased sort of air, "I rejoice in the birth of your confidence and hopefulness. Believe me that, like your crutches, confidence and hopefulness will long support a man when his own legs will not. Stick to confidence and hopefulness, then, since how mad for the cripple to throw his crutches away. You ask for three more boxes of my liniment. Luckily, I have just that number remaining. Here they are. I sell them at half-a-dollar apiece. But I shall take nothing from you. There; God bless you again; good-bye."
"Stay," in a convulsed voice, and rocking himself, "stay, stay! You have made a better man of me. You have borne with me like a good Christian, and talked to me like one, and all that is enough without making me a present of these boxes. Here is the money. I won't take nay. There, there; and may Almighty goodness go with you."
As the herb-doctor withdrew, the cripple gradually subsided from his hard rocking into a gentle oscillation. It expressed, perhaps, the soothed mood of his reverie.
Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX. REAPPEARANCE OF ONE WHO MAY BE REMEMBERED
THE herb-doctor had not moved far away, when, in advance of him, this spectacle met his eye. A dried-up old man, with the stature of a boy of twelve, was tottering about like one out of his mind, in rumpled clothes of old moleskin, showing recent contact with bedding, his ferret eyes, blinking in the sunlight of the snowy boat, as imbecilely eager, and, at intervals, coughing, he peered hither and thither as if in alarmed search for his nurse. He presented the aspect of one who, bed-rid, has, through overruling excitement, like that of a fire, been stimulated to his feet.
"You seek some one," said the herb-doctor, accosting him. "Can I assist you?"
"Do do; I am so old and miserable," coughed the old man. "Where is he? This long time I've been trying to get up and find him. But I haven't any friends, and couldn't get up till now. Where is he?"
"Who do you mean?" drawing closer, to stay the further wanderings of one so weakly.
"Why, why, why," now marking the other's dress, "why you, yes you — you, you — ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"I?"
"Ugh, ugh, ugh! — you are the man he spoke of. Who is he?"
"Faith, that is just what I want to know."
"Mercy, mercy!" coughed the old man, bewildered, "ever since seeing him, my head spins round so. I ought to have a guardeean. Is this a snuff-colored surtout of yours, or ain't it? Somehow, can't trust my senses any more, since trusting him — ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"Oh, you have trusted somebody? Glad to hear it. Glad to hear of any instance of that sort. Reflects well upon all men. But you inquire whether this is a snuff-colored surtout. I answer it is; and will add that a herb-doctor wears it."
Upon this the old man, in his broken way, replied that then he (the herb-doctor) was the person he sought — the person spoken of by the other person as yet unknown. He then, with flighty eagerness, wanted to know who this last person was, and where he was, and whether he could be trusted with money to treble it.
"Aye, now, I begin to understand; ten to one you mean my worthy friend, who, in pure goodness of heart, makes people's fortunes for them — their everlasting fortunes, as the phrase goes — only charging his one small commission of confidence. Aye, aye; before intrusting funds with my friend, you want to know about him. Very proper — and, I am glad to assure you, you need have no hesitation; none, none, just none in the world; bona fide, none. Turned me in a trice a hundred dollars the other day into as many eagles."
"Did he? did he? But where is he? Take me to him."
"Pray, take my arm! The boat is large! We may have something of a hunt! Come on! Ah, is that he?"
"Where? where?"
"O, no; I took yonder coat-skirts for his. But no, my honest friend would never turn tail that way. Ah! — »
"Where? where?"
"Another mistake. Surprising resemblance. I took yonder clergyman for him. Come on!"
Having searched that part of the boat without success, they went to another part, and, while exploring that, the boat sided up to a landing, when, as the two were passing by the open guard, the herb-doctor suddenly rushed towards the disembarking throng, crying out: "Mr. Truman, Mr. Truman! There he goes — that's he. Mr. Truman, Mr. Truman! — Confound that steam-pipe. Mr. Truman! for God's sake, Mr. Truman! — No, no. - There, the plank's in — too late — we're off."
With that, the huge boat, with a mighty, walrus wallow, rolled away from the shore, resuming her course.
"How vexatious!" exclaimed the herb-doctor, returning. "Had we been but one single moment sooner. - There he goes, now, towards yon hotel, his portmanteau following. You see him, don't you?"
"Where? where?"
"Can't see him any more. Wheel-house shot between. I am very sorry. I should have so liked you to have let him have a hundred or so of your money. You would have been pleased with the investment, believe me."
"Oh, I have let him have some of my money," groaned the old man.
"You have? My dear sir," seizing both the miser's hands in both his own and heartily shaking them. "My dear sir, how I congratulate you. You don't know."
"Ugh, ugh! I fear I don't," with another groan. His name is Truman, is it?"
"John Truman."
"Where does he live?"
"In St. Louis."
"Where's his office?"
"Let me see. Jones street, number one hundred and — no, no — anyway, it's somewhere or other up-stairs in Jones street."
"Can't you remember the number? Try, now."
"One hundred — two hundred — three hundred —»
"Oh, my hundred dollars! I wonder whether it will be one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, with them! Ugh, ugh! Can't remember the number?"
"Positively, though I once knew, I have forgotten, quite forgotten it. Strange. But never mind. You will easily learn in St. Louis. He is well known there."
"But I have no receipt — ugh, ugh! Nothing to show — don't know where I stand — ought to have a guardeean — ugh, ugh! Don't know anything. Ugh, ugh!"
"Why, you know that you gave him your confidence, don't you?"
"Oh, yes."
"Well, then?"
"But what, what — how, how — ugh, ugh!"
"Why, didn't he tell you?"
"No."
"What! Didn't he tell you that it was a secret, a mystery?"
"Oh — yes."
"Well, then?"
"But I have no bond."
"Don't need any w
ith Mr. Truman. Mr. Truman's word is his bond."
"But how am I to get my profits — ugh, ugh! — and my money back? Don't know anything. Ugh, ugh!"
"Oh, you must have confidence."
"Don't say that word again. Makes my head spin so. Oh, I'm so old and miserable, nobody caring for me, everybody fleecing me, and my head spins so — ugh, ugh! — and this cough racks me so. I say again, I ought to have a guardeean."
"So you ought; and Mr. Truman is your guardian to the extent you invested with him. Sorry we missed him just now. But you'll hear from him. All right. It's imprudent, though, to expose yourself this way. Let me take you to your berth."
Forlornly enough the old miser moved slowly away with him. But, while descending a stairway, he was seized with such coughing that he was fain to pause.
"That is a very bad cough."
"Church-yard — ugh, ugh! — church-yard cough. - Ugh!"
"Have you tried anything for it?"
"Tired of trying. Nothing does me any good — ugh! ugh! Not even the Mammoth Cave. Note: [20.1] Ugh! ugh! Denned there six months, but coughed so bad the rest of the coughers — ugh! ugh! — black-balled me out. Ugh, ugh! Nothing does me good."
"But have you tried the Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator, sir?"
"That's what that Truman — ugh, ugh! — said I ought to take. Yarb-medicine; you are that yarb-doctor, too?"
"The same. Suppose you try one of my boxes now. Trust me, from what I know of Mr. Truman, he is not the gentleman to recommend, even in behalf of a friend, anything of whose excellence he is not conscientiously satisfied."
"Ugh! — how much?"
"Only two dollars a box."
"Two dollars? Why don't you say two millions? ugh, ugh! Two dollars, that's two hundred cents; that's eight hundred farthings; that's two thousand mills; and all for one little box of yarb-medicine. My head, my head! — oh, I ought to have a guardeean for my head. Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"Well, if two dollars a box seems too much, take a dozen boxes at twenty dollars; and that will be getting four boxes for nothing, and you need use none but those four, the rest you can retail out at a premium, and so cure your cough, and make money by it. Come, you had better do it. Cash down. Can fill an order in a day or two. Here now," producing a box; "pure herbs."
At that moment, seized with another spasm, the miser snatched each interval to fix his half distrustful, half hopeful eye upon the medicine, held alluringly up. "Sure — ugh! Sure it's all nat'ral? Nothing but yarbs? If I only thought it was a purely nat'ral medicine now — all yarbs — ugh, ugh! — oh this cough, this cough — ugh, ugh! — shatters my whole body. Ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"For heaven's sake try my medicine, if but a single box. That it is pure nature you may be confident. Refer you to Mr. Truman."
"Don't know his number — ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh! Oh this cough. He did speak well of this medicine though; said solemnly it would cure me — ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh! — take off a dollar and I'll have a box."
"Can't sir, can't."
"Say a dollar-and-half. Ugh!"
"Can't. Am pledged to the one-price system, only honorable one."
"Take off a shilling — ugh, ugh!"
"Can't."
"Ugh, ugh, ugh — I'll take it. - There."
Grudgingly he handed eight silver coins, but while still in his hand, his cough took him, and they were shaken upon the deck.
One by one, the herb-doctor picked them up, and, examining them, said: "these are not quarters, these are pistareens; and clipped, and sweated, at that." Note: [20.2]
"Oh don't be so miserly — ugh, ugh! — better a beast than a miser — ugh, ugh!"
"Well, let it go. Anything rather than the idea of your not being cured of such a cough. And I hope, for the credit of humanity, you have not made it appear worse than it is, merely with a view to working upon the weak point of my pity, and so getting my medicine the cheaper. Now, mind, don't take it till night. Just before retiring is the time. There, you can get along now, can't you? I would attend you further, but I land presently, and must go hunt up my luggage."
Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI. A HARD CASE
"YARBS, yarbs; natur, natur; you foolish old file you! He diddled you with that hocus-pocus, did he? Yarbs and natur will cure your incurable cough, you think."
It was a rather eccentric-looking person who spoke; somewhat ursine in aspect; sporting a shaggy spencer Note: [21.1] of the cloth called bear's-skin; Note: [21.2] a high-peaked cap of raccoon-skin, the long bushy tail switching over behind; raw-hide leggings; grim stubble chin; and to end, a double-barreled gun in hand — a Missouri bachelor, Note: [21.3] a Hoosier gentleman, of Spartan leisure and fortune, and equally Spartan manners and sentiments; and, as the sequel may show, not less acquainted, in a Spartan way of his own, with philosophy and books, than with wood-craft and rifles.
He must have overheard some of the talk between the miser and the herb-doctor; for, just after the withdrawal of the one, he made up to the other — now at the foot of the stairs leaning against the baluster there — with the greeting above.
"Think it will cure me?" coughed the miser in echo; "why shouldn't it? The medicine is nat'ral yarbs, pure yarbs; yarbs must cure me."
"Because a thing is nat'ral, as you call it, you think it must be good. But who gave you that cough? Was it, or was it not, nature?"
"Sure, you don't think that natur, Dame Natur, will hurt a body, do you?"
"Natur is good Queen Bess; Note: [21.4] but who's responsible for the cholera?"
"But yarbs, yarbs; yarbs are good?"
"What's deadly-nightshade? Yarb, ain't it?"
"Oh, that a Christian man should speak agin natur and yarbs — ugh, ugh, ugh! — ain't sick men sent out into the country; sent out to natur and grass?"
"Aye, and poets send out the sick spirit to green pastures, like lame horses turned out unshod to the turf to renew their hoofs. A sort of yarb-doctors in their way, poets have it that for sore hearts, as for sore lungs, nature is the grand cure. But who froze to death my teamster on the prairie? And who made an idiot of Peter the Wild Boy?" Note: [21.5]
"Then you don't believe in these 'ere yarb-doctors?"
"Yarb-doctors? I remember the lank yarb-doctor I saw once on a hospital-cot in Mobile. One of the faculty passing round and seeing who lay there, said with professional triumph, "Ah, Dr. Green, your yarbs don't help ye now, Dr. Green. Have to come to us and the mercury now, Dr. Green. - Natur! Y-a-r-b-s!"
"Did I hear something about herbs and herb-doctors?" here said a flute-like voice, advancing.
It was the herb-doctor in person. Carpet-bag in hand, he happened to be strolling back that way.
"Pardon me," addressing the Missourian, "but if I caught your words aright, you would seem to have little confidence in nature; which, really, in my way of thinking, looks like carrying the spirit of distrust pretty far."
"And who of my sublime species may you be?" turning short round upon him, clicking his rifle-lock, with an air which would have seemed half cynic, half wild-cat, were it not for the grotesque excess of the expression, which made its sincerity appear more or less dubious.
"One who has confidence in nature, and confidence in man, with some little modest confidence in himself."
"That's your Confession of Faith, is it? Confidence in man, eh? Pray, which do you think are most, knaves or fools?"
"Having met with few or none of either, I hardly think I am competent to answer."
"I will answer for you. Fools are most."
"Why do you think so?"
"For the same reason that I think oats are numerically more than horses. Don't knaves munch up fools just as horses do oats?"
"A droll, sir; you are a droll. I can appreciate drollery — ha, ha, ha!"
"But I'm in earnest."
"That's the drollery, to deliver droll extravagance with an earnest air — knaves munching up fools as horses oats. - Faith, very droll, indeed, ha, ha, ha! Yes, I think I underst
and you now, sir. How silly I was to have taken you seriously, in your droll conceits, too, about having no confidence in nature. In reality you have just as much as I have."
"I have confidence in nature? I? I say again there is nothing I am more suspicious of. I once lost ten thousand dollars by nature. Nature embezzled that amount from me; absconded with ten thousand dollars' worth of my property; a plantation on this stream, swept clean away by one of those sudden shiftings of the banks in a freshet; ten thousand dollars' worth of alluvion thrown broad off upon the waters."
"But have you no confidence that by a reverse shifting that soil will come back after many days? Note: [21.6] — ah, here is my venerable friend," observing the old miser, "not in your berth yet? Pray, if you will keep afoot, don't lean against that baluster; take my arm."
It was taken; and the two stood together; the old miser leaning against the herb-doctor with something of that air of trustful fraternity with which, when standing, the less strong of the Siamese twinsNote: [21.7] habitually leans against the other.
The Missourian eyed them in silence, which was broken by the herb-doctor.
"You look surprised, sir. Is it because I publicly take under my protection a figure like this? But I am never ashamed of honesty, whatever his coat."
"Look you," said the Missourian, after a scrutinizing pause, "you are a queer sort of chap. Don't know exactly what to make of you. Upon the whole though, you somewhat remind me of the last boy I had on my place."
"Good, trustworthy boy, I hope?"
"Oh, very! I am now started to get me made some kind of machine to do the sort of work which boys are supposed to be fitted for."
"Then you have passed a veto upon boys?"
"And men, too."
"But, my dear sir, does not that again imply more or less lack of confidence? — (Stand up a little, just a very little, my venerable friend; you lean rather hard.) — No confidence in boys, no confidence in men, no confidence in nature. Pray, sir, who or what may you have confidence in?"