The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley, vol 10 | Page 8

read," I said, as I picked up a book to begin my vigil.
"Hold just a minute, then," he said, drawing a card and pencil from his
vest.--"I may want to jot down a note or two.--Now, go ahead."
I had been reading in a low voice steadily for perhaps an hour, my
companion never stirring from his first position, but although my eyes
were never lifted from the book, I knew by the occasional sound of his
pencil that he had not yet dropped asleep. And so, without a pause, I
read monotonously on. At last he turned heavily. I paused. With his
eyes closed he groped his hand across my knees and grasped my own.
"Go on with the reading," he said drowsily--"Guess I'm going to sleep
now--but you go right on with the story.--Good night!" His hand
fumbled lingeringly a moment, then was withdrawn and folded with the
other on his breast.
I read on in a lower tone an hour longer, then paused again to look at
my companion. He was sleeping heavily, and although the features in
their repose appeared unusually pale, a wholesome perspiration, as it
seemed, pervaded all the face, while the breathing, though labored, was

regular. I bent above him to lower the pillow for his head, and the
movement half aroused him, as I thought at first, for he muttered
something as though impatiently; but listening to catch his mutterings, I
knew that he was dreaming. "It's what killed father," I heard him say.
"And it's what killed Tom," he went on, in a smothered voice; "killed
both--killed both! It shan't kill me; I swear it. I could bottle it--case
after case--and never touch a drop. If you never take the first drink,
you'll never want it. Mother taught me that. What made her ever take
the first? Mother! mother! When I get to be a man, I'll buy her all the
fine things she used to have when father was alive. Maybe I can buy
back the old home, with the roses up the walk and the sunshine slanting
in the hall."
And so the sleeper murmured on. Sometimes the voice was thick and
discordant, sometimes low and clear and tuneful as a child's. "Never
touch whisky!" he went on, almost harshly. "Never-- never! Drop in the
street first. I did. The doctor will come then, and he knows what you
want. Not whisky.--Medicine; the kind that makes you warm
again--makes you want to live; but don't ever dare touch whisky. Let
other people drink it if they want it. Sell it to them; they'll get it anyhow;
but don't you touch it! It killed your father, it killed Tom,
and--oh!--mother! mother! mother!" Tears actually teemed from
underneath the sleeper's lids, and glittered down the pallid and distorted
features. "There's a medicine that's good for you when you want
whisky," he went on.--"When you are weak, and everybody else is
strong--and always when the flagstones give way beneath your feet,
and the long street undulates and wavers as you walk; why, that's a sign
for you to take that medicine--and take it quick! Oh, it will warm you
till the little pale blue streaks in your white hands will bulge out again
with tingling blood, and it will start up from its stagnant pools and leap
from vein to vein till it reaches your being's furthest height and droops
and falls and folds down over icy brow and face like a soft veil
moistened with pure warmth. Ah! it is so deliriously sweet and restful!"
I heard a moaning in the room below, and then steps on the stairs, and a
tapping at the door. It was Mary. Mrs. Clark had awakened and was
crying for her son. "But we must not waken him," I said. "Give Mrs.
Clark the medicine the doctor left for her--that will quiet her."
"But she won't take it, sir. She won't do anything at all for me--and if

Mr. Clark could only come to her, for just a minute, she would--"
The woman's speech was broken by a shrill cry in the hall, and then the
thud of naked feet on the stairway. "I want my boy--my boy!" wailed
the hysterical woman from without.
"Go to your mistress--quick," I said sternly, pushing the maid from the
room.--"Take her back; I will come down to your assistance in a
moment." Then I turned hastily to see if the sleeper had been disturbed
by the woman's cries; but all was peaceful with him yet; and so,
throwing a coverlet over him, I drew the door to silently and went
below.
I found the wretched mother in an almost frenzied state, and her
increasing violence alarmed me so that I thought it best to summon the
physician again; and