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Updated: June 5, 2025
Never so poor and shabby as at first indeed, Nat's wanderings had prospered more or less but still remote, somewhat mysterious, touched by new habits of life, new ways of speech. The countryside, remembering the manner of his first return, shook its head darkly. A tramp a burglar, even. God knew what!
A name being wanted for it, he christened it "lethodyne." It was the best pain-luller yet invented. For the next few weeks, at Nat's, we heard of nothing but lethodyne. Patients recovered and patients died; but their deaths or recoveries were as dross to lethodyne, an anaesthetic that might revolutionise surgery, and even medicine!
Then: "I was afraid what I said would sound queer to you, sir," he ventured "that you mightn't understand that I'm not here to do you out of your invention..." "There's nothing on earth, my boy," Graham's hand fell on Nat's arm "could make me think that. But five hundred dollars, you see, would have repaid you for taking up that note, and and I could have bought Betty a new dress for the party.
He talked so well, and painted Nat's patient and pathetic shifts so vividly, that Mrs Meg was half won; though if she had learned of the Minna episode and the fiddling in beer-gardens and streets, she might not have relented so soon.
This left only Captain Slack against them. "By Heaven, we've beat them," the boy cried. "Yes, lad, we've beat them," grinned Quinn, leaning heavily against the door. "But it's Nat's last fight. I've got a bellyful more than I can carry. The old man is bound for Davy Jones's locker." Slowly he slid to the deck. Robert carried him into the cabin, bleeding from a dozen wounds.
"So he can get it easier," muttered Jack. Nat's berth was right opposite that of Mr. Post, so it was arranged he was to do the main work. In a little while the sleeping car became a quiet place, and deep breathing from one berth after another told that the occupants were slumbering soundly. Pretty soon Nat heard a snore from the berth of the miner.
How he could do all this with only one hand for he could not bend himself in his chair enough to use the hand farthest from the bed nobody could understand; but he did, and the very last mouthful of wine papa swallowed he took, the morning he died, from poor Nat's brave little hand, which did not shake nor falter, though the tears were rolling down his cheeks.
Just then Fred remembered that he had a little bread in the wallet at his side; and breaking it up, he soaked a small piece in the water, and placed it between poor Nat's lips. This was eaten, and a few more scraps, the refreshment seeming to revive the sufferer wonderfully, and he looked up now in Fred's eyes, as he whispered faintly "I was dying of thirst.
Then we went to the nigger cabins, and while I got Nat's notice off, Tom shoved a piece of candlestick into the middle of a corn-pone that was in Jim's pan, and we went along with Nat to see how it would work, and it just worked noble; when Jim bit into it it most mashed all his teeth out; and there warn't ever anything could a worked better. Tom said so himself.
"Little Patrick soon grew fond of Nat, as everybody did who came into close contact with him; and he used often to stay at our house till late at night, hearing Nat's stories, and watching him draw pictures on the blackboard. One of the things I had kept was a great blackboard which papa had made for him.
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