The Ape, the Idiot Other People | Page 8

chickens' feathers, but this served only to bring out in bolder relief the elevating influences of a healthy morality and a generous prosperity that environed them. There are many boots that would have been spoiled by so sudden an elevation into a higher sphere of life; but the good traits of Baker's boots were strengthened not only by a rooting up of certain weaknesses, but also by the gaining of many good qualities which proved beneficial; and to the full extent of their limited capability did they appreciate the advantages which their surroundings afforded, and looked up with humble gratitude whenever they would meet a friend.
There were six hundred guests at the hotel, and they all knew Baker and had a kind word to give him. But they could never learn anything about him other than that his name was Baker--"jess Baker, that's all"--and that he came from Georgia--"jess Georgy." Occasionally a stranger would ask him with urgent particularity concerning his past history, but he then would merely look helpless and puzzled and would say nothing. As to his name, it was "jess Baker;" but on rare occasions, when pressed with hard cruelty, his lips could be seen to form the words, "Hunder'd'n One," as though wondering how they would sound if he should utter them, and then the old blank, suffering look would come into his face. It had become quite seldom that he dodged an imaginary blow, and the memory of the ball and chain was buried with other bitter recollections of the past. He had free access to every part of the house, and was discreet, diligent, faithful, and honest. Sometimes the porters would impose upon his unfailing willingness and great strength by making him carry the heaviest trunks up three or four flights of stairs.
One day the shadow of death that was stealing southward passed over the house containing so much life, and happiness, and wealth, and beauty. The train passed as usual, and among the passengers who alighted was a man who walked to the counter in a weary, uncertain manner. One or two persons were present who knew him, and upon grasping his hand they found that it was cold. This was strange, for the day was very hot. In his eyes was a look of restlessness and anxiety, but he said that he had only a pain across the forehead, and that after needed rest it would pass away. He was conducted to a room, and there he fell across the bed, quite worn out, he said. He complained of slight cramps in the legs and thought that they had been caused by climbing the stairs. After a half-hour had passed he rang his bell violently and sent for the resident physician. That gentleman went to see him, and after remaining a few minutes went to the office, looking anxious and pale. He was a tall, quiet man, with white hair. He asked for Mr. Clayton, but when he was informed that that gentleman was temporarily absent he asked for Baker.
"Is your patient very ill, doctor?" inquired the cashier, privately and with a certain dread.
"I want Baker," said the doctor, somewhat shortly.
"Nothing serious, I hope."
"Send me Baker instantly."
The physician had a secret of life and death. To treat it wisely he required confidants of courage, sagacity, patience, tact, and prompt action. There were only two to whom he should impart it,--one was the proprietor and the other the man from Georgia.
When Baker had come the physician led him up-stairs to the floor which held the patient's room, brought him to the window at the end of the corridor and turned him so that the light fell full upon his face.
"Baker, can you keep a secret?"
"Me?"
"Yes; can you keep a secret?"
"Well, let me tell you about it; I don't know; mebbe I can."
"Have you ever seen people die?"
"Oh, yes, sir!"
"A great many in the same house?"
"Yes, sir; yes, sir."
"Baker," said the physician, placing his hand gently on the broad shoulder before him, and looking the man earnestly in the eyes, and speaking very impressively--"Baker, are you afraid to die?"
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Die?"
"Yes."
There was no expression whatever upon his patient, gentle face. He gazed past the physician through the window and made no reply.
"Are you afraid of death, Baker?"
"Who? Me?"
"Yes."
There was no sign that he would answer the question or even that he comprehended it. He shifted his gaze to his upturned boot-toes and communed with them, but still kept silence.
"There is a man here, Baker, who is very ill, and I think that he will die. I want some one to help me take care of him. If you go into his room, perhaps you, too, will die. Are you afraid to go?"
"Was you a-talkin' 'bout wantin' me to wait on him?"
"Yes."
A brighter look came into Baker's