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Updated: May 19, 2025
MacGentle, who, at the departure of his confidential clerk, had relapsed into his unofficial position and manner. "By the way, do you contemplate that step?" "It is said to be an impediment to great enterprises. I could learn little by domestic life that I could not learn better otherwise." "Hm, we could not do without woman, you know."
But he could only open his mouth and stare at this Helwyse. "Mr. MacGentle is an old friend; run in and tell him I'm here, and you will see." The young man put his hand kindly on the elderly clerk's shoulder, much as though the latter were a gaping school-boy, and directed him gently towards the inner door. Mr. Dyke regained his voice by an effort, though still lacking complete self-command.
He shall have a temple, and an altar, and Isis and Osiris, and papyri and palm-trees and a crocodile; and when he dies I will embalm him like a Pharaoh. 'But suppose you die first? said one of us. 'Then he shall embalm me! cried Hiero, and I will be the first American mummy." Mr. MacGentle seemed to find a dreamy enjoyment in working this vein of reminiscence.
But when Mr. MacGentle spoke, it was with more assurance. Either from mortification at his illusion, or more probably from imperfect perception of it, he made no reference to what had passed. Old age possesses a kind of composure, arising from dulled sensibilities, which the most self-possessed youth can never rival.
"I trust you may live to see it, Mr. MacGentle, sir!" said the confidential clerk, shifting his ground in a truly masterly manner; and before the President could recover, he had bowed and gone out. Ten minutes afterwards MacGentle opened the door, and lo! Dyke himself on the threshold. "Mr. Dyke!" "Mr. MacGentle!" in the same breath. "I Mr.
He was full of sympathy at the spectacle of poor Amos MacGentle, blindly groping after the phantom of a flower whose bloom and fragrance had vanished so terribly long ago; and yet, for some reason or other he could hardly forbear a smile. When anything is utterly out of place, it is no more pathetic than absurd; moreover, young men are always secretly inclined to laugh at old ones!
His worst enemy, had he one, would not call him that. Nevertheless, Mr. MacGentle finds a pathetic comfort in this small mirror. No one, not even he, could tell wherefore; but we fancy it to be like that an exile feels, seeing a picture of his birthplace, or hearing a strain of his native music. The mirror shows him something more real, to his sense, than is anything outside of it!
The former, with its usual happy temperament, was little affected by the separation, smiled good-naturedly upon the latter, and never troubled itself about the difficulties in the way of shaking hands. But Mr. MacGentle, being only a single man, perhaps felt lonely and sad. Either he was a ghost, or the world was.
MacGentle, are you again the tall and graceful youth, full of romance and fire, who roamed abroad in quest of adventures with your trusty friend Thor Helwyse, the yellow-bearded Scandinavian? Do you fancy this fresh, unwrinkled face a mate to your own? and is it but the vision of a restless night, this long-drawn life of dull routine and gradual disappointment and decay?
Open those dim eyes of yours, good sir! stir those thin old legs! inflate that sunken chest! Ha! is that cough imaginary? those trembling muscles, are they a delusion is that misty glance only a momentary weakness There is no youth left in you, Mr. MacGentle; not so much as would keep a rose in bloom for an hour. "Have you seen Doctor Glyphic lately?" inquired Helwyse, after a pause.
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