The Argosy — page 390: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

My Saturdays. 367 “Oh, perfectly. I should think he would like to see you, if you would go up.” **T should wish it very much indeed.” Dr. Carfield returned to the house, and the matter was soon arranged. I was taken along the thickly-carpeted passages to Her- man’s cosy little sitting-room, once an artistic snuggery, where only the profusion of smoking material betrayed the sex of the owner. Now the pipes and tobacco were all neatly stowed away; a table covered with a white cloth bore glasses and medicines ; and all the parapher- nalia of scientific nursing stood ready in obtrusive order and cleanli- ness. A double curtain hung before the door, to deaden the sounds of the outer world, which at one time the tortured nerves of the sick man had not been able to bear. We passed through into the bed- room ; a quiet nurse in uniform rose and left it as we entered, and in another minute I was alone with Herman. He did not look as much changed as I had expected. His face had always been thin and pale, and his eyes large; and it did not make much difference in him, but now he was thinner, paler, and larger-eyed. I clasped his hand (what a skeleton it was, and what a feeble pressure it gave! ), and said a few cheerful words about being glad that he was well enough to see me. “Yes!” he said brightly, “‘soam I. Nurse Piper is the best of company for a mind disposed to reflection! for she takes the body thereto appertaining so completely under her charge that the proprie- tor feels no responsibility, and she never interferes with the higher mental exercises by frivolous remarks; nevertheless, do you know, I find her a trifle dull.” “IT should think so,” I said. ‘‘ Now that you are well enough, I will come every day, if you like, and tell you everything that goes on in the world.” “Do, like a dear woman. I have not read a paper, nor heard a bit of gossip for thirteen days, and I still care about news from this world more than I ought, but I can’t help it. So go ahead now, and tell me about everything.” I sat and chatted away to the best of my ability, Herman occa- sionally making remarks. At last I thought he ought to be quiet, and rose to leave. “Are you going?” he said. ‘* Well, you have been very good ; and uow I want you to do something more for me.” “‘T will do it, if possible,” I answered. “Ask Miss Stamwood if she will come with you to morrow.” “Charlotte ! My dear Herman, I am not sure that she would, or that she ought.” “What do conventionalities matter now?” he demanded. “She is braver than that.” “Yes, if it were to do you any real good. But I fear it will only do you harm.” EONNIE DOO KS (E() m