Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West
"
He made a little grimace. There was humor in the boy, despite his
dyspepsia.
"I understand there is a law forbidding suicide," he replied. "But I
asked your advice in an attempt to discover what you thought of my absurd
condition. Now that you call my attention to it, I believe I _am_
starving myself. I need stronger and more nourishing food; and yet the
best specialist in your progressive country has regulated my diet."
"I don't believe much in specialists," asserted Patsy. "If _you_ do, go
ahead and kill yourself, in defiance of the law. According to common
sense you ought to eat plenty of good, wholesome food, but you may be so
disordered--in your interior--that even that would prove fatal. So I
won't recommend it."
"I'm doomed, either way," he said quietly. "I know that."
"_How_ do you know it?" demanded Maud in a tone of resentment.
He was silent a moment. Then he replied:
"I cannot remember how we drifted into this very personal argument. It
seems wrong for me to be talking about myself to those who are
practically strangers, and you will realize how unused I am to the
society of ladies by considering my rudeness in this interview."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Uncle John; "we are merely considering you as a
friend. You must believe that we are really interested in you," he
continued, laying a kindly hand on the young fellow's shoulder. "You seem
in a bad way, it's true, but your condition is far from desperate.
Patsy's frankness--it's her one fault and her chief virtue--led you to
talk about yourself, and I'm surprised to find you so despondent
and--and--what do you call it, Beth?"
"Pessimistic?"
"That's it--pessimistic."
"But you're wrong, sir!" said the boy with a smile; "I may not be elated
over my fatal disease, but neither am I despondent. I force myself to
keep going when I wonder how the miserable machine responds to my urging,
and I shall keep it going, after a fashion, until the final breakdown.
Fate weaves the thread of our lives, I truly believe, and she didn't use
very good material when she started mine.
- Page:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- 138
- 139
- 140
- 141
There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
© 2013-2019 FairyTales
Almost all texts on this website are from the Public Domain.