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He was in bed some days, and was robbed of much sleep by a cough. Mrs. Reisen found occasion to tell Dr. Sevier of Mary's desire, as communicated to her by "Mr. Richlin'," and of the advice she had given him. "And he didn't send for her, I suppose." "No, sir." "Well, Mrs. Reisen, I wish you had kept your advice to yourself." The Doctor went to Richling's bedside.
"Well, Richling!" he said, "there must have been some mistake made when you was put upon the earth." Richling's thin cheek flushed. The Doctor's face confessed the bitterest resentment. "Why, the fleet is only eighteen miles from here now." He ceased, and then added, with sudden kindness of tone, "I want you to do something for me, will you?" "Yes." "Well, then, go to bed; I'm going.
I advertised a whole week, last summer." "You put advertisement in wrong time and keep it out wrong time," said the Italian. "I have a place in prospect, now, without advertising," said Richling, with an elated look. It was just here that a new mistake of Richling's emerged.
By and by, at Richling's earnest and restless desire, they moved their lodgings again. And thus we return by a circuit to the morning when Dr. Sevier, taking up his slate, read the summons that bade him call at the corner of St. Mary and Prytania streets. The house stands there to-day. A small, pinched, frame, ground-floor-and-attic, double tenement, with its roof sloping toward St.
"Clementina," he entreated, "why do you think you are not religious?" "Why, I have never belonged to chu'ch," she answered simply. He looked so daunted, that she tried to soften the blow after she had dealt it. "Of course, I always went to chu'ch, though father and motha didn't. I went to the Episcopal to Mr. Richling's. But I neva was confirmed." "But-you believe in God?" "Why, certainly!"
The canoe came straight on with the speed of a fish. Its dexterous occupant was no other than Narcisse. There was a grace in his movement that kept Richling's eyes on him, when he would rather have withdrawn into the house.
The Creole pressed suddenly forward with a joyous smile, seized Richling's hand, and, lifting his hat to Mary as John presented him, brought his heels together and bowed from the hips. "I wuz juz coming at yo' 'ouse, Mistoo Itchlin. Yesseh.
As he was driving up at the sidewalk's edge before his patient's door, the Richlings came out of theirs, the husband talking with animation, and the wife, all sunshine, skipping up to his side, and taking his arm with both hands, and attending eagerly to his words. "Heels!" muttered the Doctor to himself, for the sound of Mrs. Richling's gaiters betrayed that fact.
Down behind the French market, in a short, obscure street that runs from Ursulines to Barracks street, and is named in honor of Albert Gallatin, are some old buildings of three or four stories' height, rented, in John Richling's day, to a class of persons who got their livelihood by sub-letting the rooms, and parts of rooms, to the wretchedest poor of New Orleans, organ-grinders, chimney-sweeps, professional beggars, street musicians, lemon-peddlers, rag-pickers, with all the yet dirtier herd that live by hook and crook in the streets or under the wharves; a room with a bed and stove, a room without, a half-room with or without ditto, a quarter-room with or without a blanket or quilt, and with only a chalk-mark on the floor instead of a partition.
Unfortunately it had not been Richling's habit to show this pertinacity, else life might have been easier to him as a problem; but these two young men, his equals in age, were casting amused doubts upon his ability to make good his professions. The case was peculiar. He reached a hand out toward the books.
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