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Updated: June 26, 2025
"I c'n tell you she ain't afraid of anythin', that Mrs. Barrett," the post-master was saying; "neither th' cayuse she rides or a critter on two legs. An' that fancy little drug-clerk from 'Frisco got it straight from th' shoulder." "S-s-sh!" admonished his wife, from the back of the office. "Isn't there some one outside?" "Naw, just th' chink from Kennedy's.
I do not know what has become of him, but if he is like the rest of the strange group of my guides, philosophers, and friends in literature the printer, the organ-builder, the machinist, the drug-clerk, and the bookbinder I am afraid he is dead.
Suppose I go and see." "Do," said his wife. She sat alone for half an hour, watching that sudden going out of the day peculiar to the latitude. "That moon is ghost enough for one house," she said, as her husband returned. "It has gone right down the chimney." "Patty," said little White, "the drug-clerk says the boys are going to shivaree old Poquelin to-night. I'm going to try to stop it."
I sent my office-boy out to buy a handful of buckshot, and, when he brought it, set about loading both barrels of the fowling-piece that stood in my office. While I was so occupied, my friend the drug-clerk came in, and wanted to know what I was up to. Shooting a dog, I said, and he laughed: "Looks as though you were going gunning for your beats."
He caught at the skirt of Fong Wu's blouse. The Chinese retreated a little, scowling. "What do you want?" he asked. A paroxysm of pain seized Barrett. He half rose and stumbled forward. "You know," he panted, "you know. And if I don't have some, I'll die. I can't get it anywhere else. She's found me out, and scared the drug-clerk. Oh, just a little, old man, just a little!"
Behind the fountain counter, with its serried rows of crystal glasses in artistic silver holders, there lurked on watch, now, the factotum, the thieving London-bred drug-clerk who had escaped "transportation," at Her Gracious Majesty's behest, by slipping over to New York City disguised as a stoker.
There was one person, at least, in the village who had viewed the success of the new drug-clerk in carrying off the belle of Newville with entire complacency, and that was Ida Lewis, the girl with a poor complexion and beautiful brown eyes, who had cherished a rather hopeless inclination for Henry; now that he had lost that bold girl, she tremulously assured herself, perhaps it was not quite so hopeless.
Born in Albany, a teacher's son, brought up on books and in many cities, Harte emigrated to California in 1854 at the age of sixteen. He became in turn a drug-clerk, teacher, type-setter, editor, and even Secretary of the California Mint his nearest approach, apparently, to the actual work of the mines.
And so, while half the village was agog over the flirtation of the new drug-clerk with Madeline Brand, and Laura was lying awake nights fretting about it, Henry went gaily to and from his work in a state of blissful ignorance. And it was very blissful. He was exultant over the progress he had made in his courtship at the picnic. He had told his love he had kissed her.
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