The Argosy — page 255: what you’re looking at

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

234 Letters from Majorca. the father the best medicines to give him ; advised him as to the best way of bringing him up. ‘ Delicate, and needing great care,” he said, in reply to the father’s anxious desire for a frank opinion. ‘‘ But if you can get him through the next three years, you may save him.” To-night, I say, all is quiet at the photographer’s, wrapt in dark- » ness. Herests from his labour, and probably in sleep has found oblivion from a haunting fear that by day robs him of half his working power. By the time we reached the telegraph office, the doctor has made up his mind and the message goes forth. “James down with typhoid. Must have more help. Send out another nurse.” The clock pointed to midnight as the words were handed in. Another day had begun for Palma: another day in the race of life. The message was sent. It was done, and we felt that it was well done. When it was beyond recall, this came over us with conviction—at all times a pretty sure sign that we have done wisely. We returned to the Consulate, where I stayed until two o’clock. Then, as usual, I set out on my walk to the dungeon. The doctor accompanies me as far as the photographer’s, but no farther. Up to this point the way is plain sailing. After that it becomes intricate, with impossible turnings and windings. A comparative stranger would hopelessly lose himself. I lose myself, sometimes, though never hopelessly. In this respect I am like a cat and always fall on my feet. Besides this, it is soon after passing the photographer’s (when the fashionable portion of the town commences) that picturesque Romeos are whispering love vows to graceful and confiding Juliets. The ladies are generally drooping over balconies, beautiful with wrought iron work of delicate design. Now I am quite sure of myself, as I have told you before ; but how feel sure of the doctor? He might murder one of these gay Lotharios; entangle himself in an affair of the heart; bring forth a tragedy greater, and certainly more em- barrassing, than that which overtook the Houses of Capulet and Montagu. In short, land us in an all-round state of confusion worse confounded. So at the photographer’s I wisely part from him, and pursue my solitary way alone. I reach the dungeon, unmolested, unmolesting. I enter the great gates and grope my way through the courtyard. I narrowly escape breaking my neck by climbing outside the first flight of stairs instead of inside. As you have heard, there is a fathomless abyss here, a bottomless pit. It is pitch dark; inky black; Egyptian darkness. The other nine plagues of Egypt are not here; but mosquitoes may count as three or four of them rolled into one. H. C., at Manacor, I remember, declared they were the whole ten distilled into a concentrated essence for his especial torment. Perhaps they were, and the results they brought forth were as mar- CORMIELIOO_ KS, (EC) m