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Updated: May 26, 2025
He gained patients, and cured them too; made money; invested successfully; bought a brown-stone front a house, not a wiglet then bought other real estate; began to put his name on charity subscription lists, and to be made vice-president of various things. Chiefest of all, it must have been by some superhuman aid that Dr. Hicok married his wife, the then and present Mrs. Hicok. Dear me!
Hicok had not the unfailing moral stamina of a native American, and therefore was comparatively easily beset by sin.
Upon this she was looking with much delight. “See, dear!” she said: “how perfectly lovely!” Both gentlemen started, and the lady started too. She had not known of the visit; and she had not, until this instant, seen that her husband was not alone. Dr. Hicok, of course, had never given her the key to his skeleton-closet; for he was a shrewd man.
Partly out of devotion to her and partly also because he could not obtain the sacramental blessing of the Church, Satan was forced to remain single. In the story “Devil-Puzzlers” by Fred B. Perkins the demon Apollyon appears as an old bachelor. “I have a mother, but no wife,” he tells the charming Mrs. Hicok. The synagogue was more lenient towards the devil.
Hicok set down and classified. He compiled a set of rules on the subject, and indeed developed a whole philosophy of it, by which he struck off, as soluble, questions or classes of them. Some he thought out himself; others were now and then answered in some learned book, that led the way through the very heart of one or another of his biggest mill-stones.
Hicok, memorandum in hand, sat in his comfortable library about three o’clock on one beautiful warm summer afternoon, as pale as a sheet, his heart thumping away like Mr.
Hicok, with steadiness: “Reconcile the foreknowledge and the fore-ordination of God with the free will of man?” “I thought so, of course,” remarked the other. Then he looked straight into the doctor’s keen little grey eyes with his deep melancholy black ones, and raised his slender fore-finger. “Most readily. The reconciliation is your own conscience, doctor!
It must have been a bonnet, because Mrs. Hicok called it so. I shouldn’t have known it from the collection of things in a kaleidoscope, bunched up together. The lady stood before him, and twirled the wondrous fabric round and round, with the prettiest possible unconscious roguish look of defiance. The doctor’s very heart stood still. “Put it on, please,” said Mr.
The doctor nodded; he sat down; he took a glass of water, and pressed his hand to his heart. “Now, then,” he said to himself, “once more! If I have to stand this fifteen minutes I shall be in some other world!” The door from the inner room opened; and Mrs. Hicok came singing in, carrying balanced upon her pretty pink fore-finger something or other of an airy bouquet-like fabric.
Hicok confessed the whole story to me himself: he had made a bargain with the Evil One! And indeed he was such an uncommonly disagreeable-looking fellow, that, unless on some such hypothesis, it is impossible to imagine how he could have prospered as he did.
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