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or by sight alone, smiled always, meeting
him, and thought, "What an odd man he is! " Not
that there was anything extremely or ridiculously
obtrusive in Mr. Clark's peculiarities either of
feature, dress, or deportment, by which a graded
estimate of his really quaint character might aptly be
given; but rather, perhaps, it was the curious
combination of all these things that had gained
for Mr. Clark the transient celebrity of being a
very eccentric man.
busy metropolis in which he lived, seemed least
conscious of the fact of his local prominence. True
it was that when familiarly addressed as "Clark,
old boy," by sportive individuals he never recollected
having seen before, he would oftentimes stare
blankly in return, and with evident embarrassment;
but as these actions may have been attributable to
weak eyes, or to the confusion consequent upon
being publicly recognized by the quondam associates
of bacchanalian hours, the suggestive facts only
served to throw his eccentricities in new relief.
dissipation, there was but little
doubt; for, although in no way, and at no time,
derelict in the rigid duties imposed upon him as
an accountant in a wholesale liquor house on South
John Street, a grand majority of friends had long
ago conceded that a certain puffiness of flesh and
a soiled-like pallor of complexion were in nowise
the legitimate result of over-application simply in
the counting-room of the establishment in which he
found employment; but as to the complicity of Mr.
Clark's direct associates in this belief, it is only
justice to the gentleman to state that by them
he was held above all such suspicion, from the
gray-haired senior of the firm, down to the pink-
nosed porter of the warerooms, who, upon every
available occasion, would point out the eccentric
Mr. Clark as "the on'y man in the biznez 'at never
sunk a 'thief' er drunk a drop o' 'goods' o' any
kind, under no consideration!"
approached on the subject, would quietly assert that
never, under any circumstances, had the taste of
intoxicating liquors passed his lips, though at such
asseverations it was a noticeable fact that Mr.
Clark's complexion invariably grew more sultry
than its wont, and that his eyes, forever moist, grew
dewier, and that his lips and tongue would seem
covertly entering upon some lush conspiracy, which
in its incipiency he would be forced to smother with
his hastily drawn handkerchief. Then the eccentric
Mr. Clark would laugh nervously, and pouncing
on some subject so vividly unlike the one just
preceding it as to daze the listener, he would ripple
ahead with a tide of eloquence that positively
overflowed and washed away all remembrance of the
opening topic.
thirty-five, or even forty years, were one to venture
an opinion solely by outward appearance and under
certain circumstances and surroundings. As, for
example, when a dozen years ago the writer of this
sketch rode twenty miles in a freight-caboose with
Mr. Clark as the only other passenger, he seemed
in age at first not less than thirty-five; but on
opening a conversation with him, in which he joined
with wonderful vivacity, a nearer view, and a
prolonged and studious one as well, revealed the rather
curious fact that, at the very limit of all allowable
supposition, his age could not possibly have exceeded
twenty-five.
eccentric at that time I have never been wholly
able to define, but I recall accurately the most
trivial occurrences of our meeting and the very
subject-matter of our conversation. I even remember
the very words in which he declined a drink
from my traveling-flask -- for "It's a raw day," I
said, by way of gratuitous excuse for offering it.
"Yes," he said, smilingly motioning the temptation
aside; "it is a raw day; but you're rather young in
years to be doctoring the weather -- at least you'd
better change the treatment -- they'll all be raw days
for you after a while! " I confess that I even
felt an inward pity for the man as I laughingly
drained his health and returned the flask to my
valise. But when I asked him, ten minutes later,
the nature of the business in which he was engaged,
and he handed me, in response and without comment,
the card of a wholesale liquor house, with
his own name in crimson letters struck diagonally
across the surface, I winked naively to myself and
thought "Ah-ha! " And as if reading my very
musings, he said: "Why, certainly, I carry a full
line of samples; but, my dear young friend, don't
imagine for a minute that I refuse your brand on
that account. You can rest assured that I have
nothing better in my cases. Whisky is whisky
wherever it is found, and there is no 'best'
whisky -- not in all the world!"
quietly, "as inheriting a business -- the same as
inheriting an appetite? However, one advances by
gradations: I shall SELL no more. This is my last
trip on the road in that capacity: I am coming in
now to take charge of the firm's books. Would be
glad to have you call on me any time you're in the
city. Good-by. " And, as he swung off the slowly
moving train, now entering the city, and I stood
watching him from the open door of the caboose
as he rapidly walked down a suburban street, I
was positive his gait was anything but steady -- that
the step -- the figure -- the whole air of the man was
that of one then laboring under the effects of
partial intoxication.
where I met them, no matter who they were; if
once impressed with an eccentricity of character
which I have reason to believe purely unaffected, I
never quite forget the person, name or place of
our first meeting, or where the interesting party
may be found again. And so it was in the customary
order of things that, during hasty visits to the
city, I often called on the eccentric Mr. Clark, and,
as he had promised on our first acquaintance, he
seemed always glad to see and welcome me in his
new office. The more I knew of him the more I
liked him, but I think I never fully understood him.
No one seemed to know him quite so well as that.
the senior partner of the firm for which he worked.
Mr. Clark, just prior to my call, had gone to lunch --
would be back in half an hour. Would I wait there
in the office until his return? Certainly. And the
chatty senior entertained me: -- Queer fellow -- Mr.
Clark! -- as his father was before him. Used to be
a member of the firm -- his father; in fact, founded
the business -- made a fortune at it -- failed, for an
unfortunate reason, and went "up the flume. " Paid
every dollar that he owed, however, sacrificing the
very home that sheltered his wife and children --
but never rallied. He had quite a family, then?
Oh, yes; had a family -- not a large one, but a
bright one -- only they all seemed more or less
unfortunate. The father was unfortunate -- very; and
died so, leaving his wife and two boys -- the older
son much like the father -- splendid business
capacities, but lacked will -- couldn't resist some things
-- even weaker than the father in that regard, and
died at half his age.
remained, and he was sterling -- "straight goods" in
all respects. Lived with his mother -- was her
sole support. A proud woman, Mrs. Clark --
a proud woman, with a broken spirit -- withdrawn
entirely from the world, and had been
so for years and years. The Clarks, as had been
mentioned, were all peculiar -- even the younger Mr.
Clark, our friend, I had doubtless noticed was an
odd genius, but he had stamina -- something solid
about him, for all his eccentricities -- could be relied
on. Had been with the house there since a boy
of twelve -- took him for the father's sake; had never
missed a day's time in any line of work that ever
had been given in his charge -- was weakly-looking,
too. Had worked his way from the cellar up -- from
the least pay to the highest -- had saved enough to
buy and pay for a comfortable house for his mother
and himself, and, still a lad, maintained the
expense of companion, attendant and maid servant for
the mother. Yet, with all this burden on his
shoulders, the boy had worried through some way, with
a jolly smile and a good word for every one. "A
boy, sir," the enthusiastic senior concluded -- "a boy,
sir, that never was a boy, and never had a taste of
genuine boyhood in his life -- no more than he ever
took a taste of whisky, and you couldn't get that
in him with a funnel!"
in a particularly happy frame of mind. For an
hour the delighted senior and myself sat laughing at
the fellow's quaint conceits and witty sayings, the
conversation at last breaking up with an abrupt
proposition from Mr. Clark that I remain in the
city overnight and accompany him to the theater,
an invitation I rather eagerly accepted. Mr. Clark,
thanking me, and pivoting himself around on his
high stool, with a mechanical "Good afternoon! "
was at once submerged in his books, while the senior,
following me out and stepping into a carriage that
stood waiting for him at the curb, waved me adieu,
and was driven away. I turned my steps up the
street, but remembering that my friend had fixed no
place to meet me in the evening, I stepped back into
the storeroom and again pushed open the glass door
of the office.
touch of youthful sentiment affecting me. -- "Poor
man! Working himself into his very grave, and
with never a sign or murmur of complaint -- worn
and weighed down with the burden of his work, and
yet with a nobleness of spirit and resolve that still
conceals behind glad smiles and laughing words
the cares that lie so heavily upon him!"
came; and, as promptly as my note requested, the
jovial Mr. Clark appeared, laughing heartily, as
we walked off down the street, at my explanation
of the reason I had written my desires instead of
verbally addressing him; and laughing still louder
when I told him of my fears that he was overworking
himself.
"there's no occasion for anxiety on that account. --
But the fact is, old man," he went on, half apologetically,
"the fact is, I haven't been so overworked,
of late, as over-wakeful. There's something in the
night I think, that does it. Do you know that the
night is a great mystery to me -- a great mystery!
And it seems to be growing on me all the time.
There's the trouble. The night to me is like some
vast incomprehensible being. When I write the
name 'night' I instinctively write it with a capital.
And I like my night deep, and dark, and swarthy,
don't you know. Now some like clear and starry
nights, but they're too pale for me -- too weak and
fragile altogether! They're popular with the
masses, of course, these blue-eyed, golden-haired,
'moonlight-on-the-lake' nights; but, somehow, I
don't 'stand in' with them. My favorite night is
the pronounced brunette -- the darker the better. To-
night is one of my kind, and she's growing more
and more like it all the time. If it were not for
depriving you of the theater, I'd rather just drift
off now in the deepening gloom till swallowed up
in it -- lost utterly. Come with me, anyhow!"
who for an hour had been drawing closer to me
as we walked. His arm, thrust through my own,
clung almost affectionately. We were now in some
strange suburb of the city, evidently, too, in a low
quarter, for from the windows of such business
rooms and shops as bore any evidence of respectability
the lights had been turned out and the doors
locked for the night. Only a gruesome green light
was blazing in a little drug-store just opposite,
while at our left, as we turned the corner, a tumble-
down saloon sent out on the night a mingled
sound of clicking billiard-balls, discordant voices,
the harsher rasping of a violin, together with the
sullen plunkings of a banjo.
friend, abruptly breaking a long silence, and loosening
my arm. "The druggist over there is a patron
of our house, and I am reminded of a little business
I have with him. He is about closing, too, and
I'll see him now, as I may not be down this way
again soon. No; you wait here for me -- right here,"
and he playfully but firmly pushed me back, ran
across the street, and entered the store. Through
the open door I saw him shake hands with the man
who stood behind the counter, and stand talking
in the same position for some minutes -- both still
clasping hands, as it seemed; but as I mechanically
bent with closer scrutiny, the druggist seemed to be
examining the hand of Mr. Clark and working at
it, as though picking at a splinter in the palm -- I
I could not quite determine what was being done,
for a glass show-case blurred an otherwise clear
view of the arms of both from the elbows down.
cuffs, and the druggist wrapping up some minute
article he took from an upper show-case, and handing
it to my friend, who placed it in the pocket of
his vest and turned away. At this moment my
attention was withdrawn by an extra tumult of jeers
and harsh laughter in the saloon, from the door of
which, even as my friend turned from the door
opposite, a drunken woman reeled, and staggering
round the corner as my friend came up, fell
violently forward on the pavement, not ten steps in
our advance. Instinctively, we both sprang to her
aid, and bending over the senseless figure, peered
curiously at the bruised and bleeding features. My
friend was trembling with excitement. He clutched
wildly at the limp form, trying, but vainly, to lift the
woman to her feet. "Why don't you take hold of
her? " he whispered hoarsely. "Help me with her --
quick! quick! Lift her up! " I obeyed without a
word, though with a shudder of aversion as a drop
of hot red blood stung me on the hand.
kept me silent. And so we hurried on, and on, and
on, our course directed by my now wholly reticent
companion. Where he was going, what his purpose
was, I could not but vaguely surmise. I only recognized
that his intentions were humane, which fact
was emphasized by the extreme caution he took to
avoid the two or three late pedestrians that passed
us on our way as we stood crowded in concealment
-- once behind a low shed, once in an entry-way;
and once, at the distant rattle of a police whistle,
we hurried through the blackness of a narrow alley
into the silent street beyond. And on up this we
passed, until at last we paused at the gateway of a
cottage on our left. On to the door of that we went,
my friend first violently jerking the bell, then opening
the door with a night-key, and with me lifting
the still senseless woman through the hall into a
dimly lighted room upon the right, and laying her
upon a clean white bed that glimmered in the corner.
He reached and turned the gas on in a flaring jet,
and as he did so, "This is my home," he whispered,
"and this woman is -- my mother! " He flung himself
upon his knees beside her as he spoke. He laid
his quivering lips against the white hair and the
ruddy wound upon the brow; then dappled with his
kisses the pale face, and stroked and petted and
caressed the faded hands. "O God! " he moaned, "if
I might only weep!"
she was going out again. She told me she was very
sleepy and wanted to retire, and I helped her to
undress before I went. But she ain't bad hurt, is
she? " she continued, stooping over the still figure
and tenderly smoothing back the disheveled hair.
-- "It's only the cheek bruised and the forehead cut
a little -- it's the blood that makes it look like a bad
hurt. See, when I bathe it, it is not a bad hurt, sir.
She's just been -- she's just worn out, poor thing --
and she's asleep -- that's all."
turned toward me. "Five doors from here," he
said, "and to your left as you go out, you will find
the residence of Dr. Worrel. Go to him for me, and
tell him he is wanted here at once. Tell him my
mother is much worse. He will understand. I
would go myself, but must see about arranging for
your comfort upon your return, for you will not
leave me till broad daylight -- you must not! " I
bowed in silent acceptance of his wishes, and turned
upon my errand.
returned at once with me to my friend, where, after a
careful examination of his patient, he assured the
anxious son that the wounds were only slight, and
that her unconscious condition was simply "the result
of over-stimulation, perhaps," as he delicately
put it. She would doubtless waken in her usual
rational state -- an occurrence really more to be
feared than desired, since her peculiar sensitiveness
might feel too keenly the unfortunate happening.
"Anyway," he continued, "I will call early in the
morning, and, in the event of her awakening before
that time, I will leave a sedative with Mary, with
directions she will attend to. She will remain here
at her side. And as to yourself, Mr. Clark," the
doctor went on in an anxious tone, as he marked the
haggard face and hollow eyes, "I insist that you
retire. You must rest, sir -- worrying for the past
week as you have been doing is telling on you
painfully. You need rest -- and you must take it."
now, my friend," he said, as he waved me to an easy
chair, "I have but two other favors to ask of you:
The first is, that you talk to me, or read to me, or
tell me fairy tales, or riddles -- anything, so that you
keep it up incessantly, and never leave off till you
find me fast asleep. Then in the next room you
will find a comfortable bed. Leave me sleeping
here, and you sleep there. And the second favor,"
he continued, with a slow smile and an affected air
of great deliberation -- "oh, well, I'll not ask the
second favor of you now. I'll keep it for you till
to-morrow. " And as he turned laughingly away and
paced three or four times across the room, in his
step, his gait, the general carriage of the figure, I
was curiously reminded of the time, years before,
that I had watched him from the door of the caboose,
as he walked up the suburban street till the
movement of the train had hidden him from view.
perhaps an hour, my companion never stirring from
his first position, but although my eyes were never
lifted from the book, I knew by the occasional sound
of his pencil that he had not yet dropped asleep.
And so, without a pause, I read monotonously on.
At last he turned heavily. I paused. With his eyes
closed he groped his hand across my knees and
grasped my own. "Go on with the reading," he
said drowsily -- "Guess I'm going to sleep now -- but
you go right on with the story. -- Good night! " His
hand fumbled lingeringly a moment, then was withdrawn
and folded with the other on his breast.
paused again to look at my companion. He was
sleeping heavily, and although the features in their
repose appeared unusually pale, a wholesome perspiration,
as it seemed, pervaded all the face, while the
breathing, though labored, was regular. I bent
above him to lower the pillow for his head, and the
movement half aroused him, as I thought at first,
for he muttered something as though impatiently;
but listening to catch his mutterings, I knew that
he was dreaming. "It's what killed father," I heard
him say. "And it's what killed Tom," he went on,
in a smothered voice; "killed both -- killed both! It
shan't kill me; I swear it. I could bottle it -- case
after case -- and never touch a drop. If you never
take the first drink, you'll never want it. Mother
taught me that. What made her ever take the first?
Mother! mother! When I get to be a man, I'll
buy her all the fine things she used to have when
father was alive. Maybe I can buy back the old
home, with the roses up the walk and the sunshine
slanting in the hall."
the voice was thick and discordant, sometimes low
and clear and tuneful as a child's. "Never touch
whisky! " he went on, almost harshly. "Never --
never! Drop in the street first. I did. The doctor
will come then, and he knows what you want. Not
whisky. -- Medicine; the kind that makes you warm
again -- makes you want to live; but don't ever dare
touch whisky. Let other people drink it if they
want it. Sell it to them; they'll get it anyhow; but
don't you touch it! It killed your father, it killed
Tom, and -- oh! -- mother! mother! mother! " Tears
actually teemed from underneath the sleeper's lids,
and glittered down the pallid and distorted features.
"There's a medicine that's good for you when you
want whisky," he went on. -- "When you are weak,
and everybody else is strong -- and always when the
flagstones give way beneath your feet, and the long
street undulates and wavers as you walk; why,
that's a sign for you to take that medicine -- and
take it quick! Oh, it will warm you till the little
pale blue streaks in your white hands will bulge out
again with tingling blood, and it will start up from
its stagnant pools and leap from vein to vein till it
reaches your being's furthest height and droops and
falls and folds down over icy brow and face like a
soft veil moistened with pure warmth. Ah! it is
so deliriously sweet and restful!"
pushing the maid from the room. -- "Take her back;
I will come down to your assistance in a moment. "
Then I turned hastily to see if the sleeper had been
disturbed by the woman's cries; but all was peaceful
with him yet; and so, throwing a coverlet over
him, I drew the door to silently and went below.
state, and her increasing violence alarmed
me so that I thought it best to summon the physician
again; and bidding the servant not to leave
her for an instant, I hurried for the help so badly
needed. This time the doctor was long delayed,
although he joined me with all possible haste, and
with all speed accompanied me back to the unhappy
home. Entering the door, our ears were greeted
with a shriek that came piercing down the hall till
the very echoes shuddered as with fear. It was the
patient's voice shrilling from the sleeper's room up
stairs: -- "O God! My boy! my boy! I want my
boy, and he will not waken for me! " An instant
later we were both upon the scene.
dragged his still sleeping form upon the floor. He
would not waken, even though she gripped him to
her heart and shrieked her very soul out in his ears.
He would not waken. The face, though whiter
than her own, betokened only utter rest and peace.
We drew her, limp and voiceless, from his side.
"We are too late," the doctor whispered, lifting with
his finger one of the closed lids, and letting it drop
to again. -- "See here! " He had been feeling at the
wrist; and, as he spoke, he slipped the sleeve up,
bared the sleeper's arm. From the wrist to elbow it
was livid purple, and pitted and scarred with minute
wounds -- some scarcely scaled as yet with clotted
blood.
like a far-off tune. To drop asleep, though, as I
am doing now, is sweeter music -- but read on. -- I
have taken something to make me sleep, and by
mistake I have taken too much; but you will read
right on. Now, mind you, this is not suicide, as
God listens to the whisper of this pencil as I write!
I did it by mistake. For years and years I have
taken the same thing. This time I took too much --
much more than I meant to -- but I am glad. This
is the second favor I would ask: Go to my employers
to-morrow, show them this handwriting, and
say I know for my sake they will take charge of
my affairs and administer all my estate in the best
way suited to my mother's needs. Good-by, my
friend -- I can only say 'good night' to you when I
shall take your hand an instant later and turn away
forever."
name in full, I turned and looked down on the face
of this man that I had learned to love, and the
full measure of his needed rest was with him; and
the rainy day that glowered and drabbled at the
eastern window of the room was as drearily stared
back at by a hopeless woman's dull demented eyes.
End of title
