University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
INQUEST INTO THE TRUE CHARACTER OF THE HERB-DOCTOR.

“Sha'n't see that fellow again in a hurry,” remarked
an auburn-haired gentleman, to his neighbor with a hook-nose.
“Never knew an operator so completely unmasked.”

“But do you think it the fair thing to unmask an
operator that way?”

“Fair? It is right.”

“Supposing that at high 'change on the Paris Bourse,
Asmodeus should lounge in, distributing hand-bills, revealing
the true thoughts and designs of all the operators
present—would that be the fair thing in Asmodeus?
Or, as Hamlet says, were it `to consider the thing too
curiously?'”

“We won't go into that. But since you admit the
fellow to be a knave—”

“I don't admit it. Or, if I did, I take it back.
Shouldn't wonder if, after all, he is no knave at all, or,
but little of one. What can you prove against him?”

“I can prove that he makes dupes.”

“Many held in honor do the same; and many, not
wholly knaves, do it too.”

“How about that last?”

“He is not wholly at heart a knave, I fancy, among
whose dupes is himself. Did you not see our quack
friend apply to himself his own quackery? A fanatic
quack; essentially a fool, though effectively a
knave.”

Bending over, and looking down between his knees
on the floor, the auburn-haired gentleman meditatively
scribbled there awhile with his cane, then, glancing up,
said:

“I can't conceive how you, in any way, can hold
him a fool. How he talked—so glib, so pat, so
well.”

“A smart fool always talks well: takes a smart fool
to be tonguey.”

In much the same strain the discussion continued—
the hook-nosed gentleman talking at large and excellently,
with a view of demonstrating that a smart fool
always talks just so. Ere long he talked to such purpose
as almost to convince.

Presently, back came the person of whom the auburn-haired
gentleman had predicted that he would not
return. Conspicuous in the door-way he stood, saying,
in a clear voice, “Is the agent of the Seminole Widow
and Orphan Asylum within here?”

No one replied.

“Is there within here any agent or any member of
any charitable institution whatever?”

No one seemed competent to answer, or, no one
thought it worth while to.

“If there be within here any such person, I have in
my hand two dollars for him.”

Some interest was manifested.

“I was called away so hurriedly, I forgot this part of
my duty. With the proprietor of the Samaritan Pain
Dissuader it is a rule, to devote, on the spot, to some
benevolent purpose, the half of the proceeds of sales.
Eight bottles were disposed of among this company.
Hence, four half-dollars remain to charity. Who, as
steward, takes the money?”

One or two pair of feet moved upon the floor, as with
a sort of itching; but nobody rose.

“Does diffidence prevail over duty? If, I say, there
be any gentleman, or any lady, either, here present, who
is in any connection with any charitable institution
whatever, let him or her come forward. He or she
happening to have at hand no certificate of such connection,
makes no difference. Not of a suspicious
temper, thank God, I shall have confidence in whoever
offers to take the money.”

A demure-looking woman, in a dress rather tawdry
and rumpled, here drew her veil well down and rose;
but, marking every eye upon her, thought it advisable,
upon the whole, to sit down again.

“Is it to be believed that, in this Christian company,
there is no one charitable person? I mean, no one connected
with any charity? Well, then, is there no object
of charity here?”

Upon this, an unhappy-looking woman, in a sort of
mourning, neat, but sadly worn, hid her face behind a

meagre bundle, and was heard to sob. Meantime, as
not seeing or hearing her, the herb-doctor again spoke,
and this time not unpathetically:

“Are there none here who feel in need of help, and
who, in accepting such help, would feel that they, in
their time, have given or done more than may ever be
given or done to them? Man or woman, is there none
such here?”

The sobs of the woman were more audible, though
she strove to repress them. While nearly every one's
attention was bent upon her, a man of the appearance of
a day-laborer, with a white bandage across his face, concealing
the side of the nose, and who, for coolness' sake,
had been sitting in his red-flannel shirt-sleeves, his coat
thrown across one shoulder, the darned cuffs drooping
behind—this man shufflingly rose, and, with a pace that
seemed the lingering memento of the lock-step of convicts,
went up for a duly-qualified claimant.

“Poor wounded huzzar!” sighed the herb-doctor, and
dropping the money into the man's clam-shell of a hand
turned and departed.

The recipient of the alms was about moving after,
when the auburn-haired gentleman staid him: “Don't
be frightened, you; but I want to see those coins.
Yes, yes; good silver, good silver. There, take them
again, and while you are about it, go bandage the rest
of yourself behind something. D'ye hear? Consider
yourself, wholly, the scar of a nose, and be off with
yourself.”

Being of a forgiving nature, or else from emotion not

daring to trust his voice, the man silently, but not
without some precipitancy, withdrew.

“Strange,” said the auburn-haired gentleman, returning
to his friend, “the money was good money.”

“Aye, and where your fine knavery now? Knavery
to devote the half of one's receipts to charity? He's a
fool I say again.”

“Others might call him an original genius.”

“Yes, being original in his folly. Genius? His
genius is a cracked pate, and, as this age goes, not
much originality about that.”

“May he not be knave, fool, and genius altogether?”

“I beg pardon,” here said a third person with a gossiping
expression who had been listening, “but you are
somewhat puzzled by this man, and well you may be.”

“Do you know anything about him?” asked the
hooked-nosed gentleman.

“No, but I suspect him for something.”

“Suspicion. We want knowledge.”

“Well, suspect first and know next. True knowledge
comes but by suspicion or revelation. That's my
maxim.”

“And yet,” said the auburn-haired gentleman, since
a wise man will keep even some certainties to himself,
much more some suspicions, at least he will at all events
so do till they ripen into knowledge.”

“Do you hear that about the wise man?” said the
hook-nosed gentleman, turning upon the new comer.
“Now what is it you suspect of this fellow?”

“I shrewdly suspect him,” was the eager response,

“for one of those Jesuit emissaries prowling all over our
country. The better to accomplish their secret designs,
they assume, at times, I am told, the most singular
masques; sometimes, in appearance, the absurdest.”

This, though indeed for some reason causing a droll
smile upon the face of the hook-nosed gentleman, added
a third angle to the discussion, which now became a
sort of triangular duel, and ended, at last, with but a
triangular result.