A Strange Discovery | Page 3

man, with black eyes,
rather long black hair, and a full beard; extremely restless, and

constantly moving back and forth. He addressed many passers-by, a
fair proportion of whom stopped to exchange a word with him. In the
latter instance, however, the exchange was scarcely equitable, as he did
the talking, and his remarks, judging by his gestures of head and hand,
were generally emphatic.
One of the apparently favorite positions which he assumed was to
throw an arm around the corner gas-post, and swing his body back and
forth, occasionally, when alone, taking a swing entirely around the post.
Another favorite position was to stand with his fists each boring into
the hollow of his back over the corresponding hip, with his chest and
shoulders thrown well back, and his head erect, looking steadily off
into the distance. With regard to this man's station in life, I took little
credit to myself for a correct guess; for, in addition to other aids to
correct guessing, the store-room on that corner was occupied by an
apothecary. When I asked Arthur whether the man was not a physician,
"Yes, sir," he replied; "physician, surgeon, and obstetrician; George F.
Castleton, A.M., M.D. He ought to get a dry-goods box and a
torch-light, and sell 'Hindoo Bitters' in the Public-square. If you jest
want to die quick, you know where to go to get it. That fellow salivated
me till my teeth can't keep quiet. Oh, he knows it all! Medicine ain't
enough to fill his intellecty. He runs the Government and declares war
to suit himself. 'Moves around a great deal,' you say? Well, I believe
you; but when you see his idees move around you'll quit sighing about
his body. Why, sir, that man in a campaign changes his politics every
day; nobody ever yet caught up with his religion; and besides, he's a
prophet. You jest get back home without touchin' him, if you love me,
now, please do."
All of this was said in a quiet, instructive tone, without much show of
feeling even when the teeth were mentioned, and only such emphasis as
has been indicated by my italics. Arthur's advice for me to get home
without "touching" the doctor, I had no intention of following. My
curiosity regarding the man was aroused, and I had determined, if
possible, to know him. So far as one could be influenced from a
third-story window, I was favorably impressed with him. I judged him
to be superlatively erratic, but without an atom of real evil in his being.

I had observed from my window an incident that gave me a glance into
the man's heart. A poor, dilapidated, distressed negro, evidently seeking
help, had come running up to him as he stood near his buggy, at the
corner; and the manner in which he pushed the negro into the buggy,
himself followed, and then started off at a break-neck speed, left no
doubt in my mind that the doctor had a heart as large as the whole
world. Once or twice during the long, warm afternoons, his words came
to me through the open windows. I was aware that his almost
preternaturally bright, quick eyes flashed a glance or two at me as I
once or twice stepped rather close to an open window looking out over
the lower roof-tops beyond; and I felt that he had given me a niche in
his mind, as I had him in mine. I wondered if he had formed mental
estimates of my status, and if so whether he had attempted to
corroborate them as did I mine, through Arthur. Once I heard him say
to a small, craven-looking man, apparently feeble in mind and in body,
with red, contracted, watering eyes, "Yes, sir, if I had been Sam Tilden,
the blood in these streets would have touched your stirrups"--the little
man had no stirrups--"This country is trembling over an abyss deeper'n
the infernal regions. Ha, ha! What a ghastly burlesque on human
freedom! Now, hark you, Pickles"--the small man was not only
listening, but, I could imagine, trembling. He would now and then look
furtively around, as if fearing that somebody else might hear the doctor,
and that war would begin--"listen to me: 'Hell has no fury like a nation
scorned.'" Here Doctor Castleton shot a glance at the little man, to see
whether or not so fine a stroke was appreciated, and whether his
quotation was or was not passing as original. "I repeat, 'Hell has no fury
like a nation scorned'--Nation, you hear, Pickles--nation, not woman.
There is just one thing to save this crumbling Republic; give us more
paper money--greenbacks on greenbacks, mountain high. Let the
Government rent by the month or lease by the year every printing-press
in the country--let