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Sevier found occasion, one morning, to speak at some length, and very harshly, to his book-keeper. He had hardly ceased when John Richling came briskly in. "Doctor," he said, with great buoyancy, "how do you do?" The physician slightly frowned. "Good-morning, Mr. Richling."
"Yes," said Richling, "I've seen specimens of it." "Yesseh. He was ve'y complimenta'y, in fact, the Doctah. 'Tis the trooth. He says, 'She'll make a man of Witchlin if anythin' can. Juz in his jocose way, you know." The Creole's smile had returned in concentrated sweetness. He stood silent, his face beaming with what seemed his confidence that Richling would be delighted.
He turned abruptly, went to his desk, and, sitting down half-hidden by it, took up an open letter. "I bought that coffee, Sam," he said, rising again and moving farther away. "Um-hum," said Sam; and all was still. Richling stood expecting every instant to turn on the next and go. Yet he went not. Under the dusty front windows of the counting-room the street was roaring below.
"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."
Send some bread to my wife!" "Lie down," said the Italian, pressing softly on his shoulders; but Richling as quietly resisted. "She is near here, Ristofalo. You can send with the greatest ease! You can do anything, Ristofalo, if you only choose!" "Lay down," said the Italian again, and pressed more heavily.
"But maybe you couldn't take care of her as well as I can," said the happy Richling. "Oh, tdat's a tdifferendt. A voman kin tek care herself." Visiting the French market on one of these glad mornings, as his business often required him to do, he fell in with Narcisse, just withdrawing from the celebrated coffee-stand of Rose Nicaud.
If I didn't get one pretty soon, I'd drop that for the time being, and turn in and render the accounts of everybody on the books, asking them to examine and report." "All right," said the merchant, carelessly; "we'll try you." "Sir?" Richling bent his ear. "All right; we'll try you! I don't care much about recommendations. I generally most always make up my opinion about a man from looking at him.
Richling had, in a moment of gloom, tipped the bowl a little too high, as her dear lost husband, the best man that ever walked, had often done, and had been locked up at night to be let out in the morning, why, give him a chance! Let him invent his own little fault-hiding romance and come home with it. Mary was frantic. She could not be kept in; but Mrs.
"God grant you the heart to do it, sir, and bless you." The man laughed. Her eyes fell, she blushed, and, saying not a word, turned toward the door and had reached the threshold when the officer called, with a certain ringing energy: "Mrs. Richling!" She wheeled as if he had struck her, and answered: "What, sir!"
"'But still!" exclaimed the little preacher; "why must everybody say 'but still'? Don't you see that that 'but still' is the refusal of Christians to practise Christianity?" Richling looked, but said nothing; and his friend hoped the word had taken effect. But Richling was too deeply bitten to be cured by one or two good sayings. After a moment he said:
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