Fan : The Story of a Young Girl's LifeHudson, W. H. (William Henry)
General
Fan : The Story of a Young Girl's Life
Hudson, W. H. (William Henry)
Fiction
Not all the street scenes were ghastly or painful. She came to
one crowd, ranged motionless and silent before a large, fat,
dignified-looking man, in good broad-cloth garments, white tie, and
wearing a fez; he was calmly sitting on a camp-stool, and held a small
phial in one hand. Not a word did he speak for a long time. At length
one of the onlookers, a tipsy working-man, becoming impatient, addressed
him:
“Ain't you going to do nothing, mister? Here I've been a-waiting with
these other ladies and gentl'men more'n ten minutes, and you ain't done
nothing yet, nor yet said nothing.”
The fat man placed a hand on his broad shirt-front, rolled up his eyes,
and solemnly shook his head.
“Fools, fools!” he said, as if speaking to himself. “But what does
it matter to me if they won't be saved--if they'd rather die of their
complaints? In the East it's different, because I'm known there. I've
been to Constantinople, and Morocco, and everywhere. Let them ask the
heathen what I have done for them. Do they think I cure them for the
sake of their dirty pence? No, no; those that like gold, and jewels, and
elephants to ride on, can have it all in the East, and I came away from
there. Because why? I care more for these. _I_ don't ask them what's the
matter with them! Is there such a thing as a leper in this crowd? Let
them bring me a leper here, and I'll cure him for nothing, just to show
them what this medicine is. As for rheumatics, consumption, toothache,
palpitations of the 'art--what you like, that's all nothing. One drop
and it's gone. Sarsaparilla, and waters this, and pills that, what they
give their pence for, and expect it's going to do them good. Rubbish, I
call it. They buy it, as much as they can put in their insides, and die
just the same. This is different. Twenty years in the East, and this is
what I got. Doctors! I laugh at such people.”
Here, with a superior smile, he cast down his eyes again and relapsed
into silence.
No one laughed. Then Fan heard someone near her remark: “He has
book-learning, that's what he has”; to which another voice replied, “Ah,
you may say it, and he has more'n that.”
Next to Fan stood a gaunt, aged woman, miserably dressed, and she, too,
listened to these remarks; and presently she pushed her way to the wise
man of the East, and began, “Oh, sir, my heart's that bad--”
“Hush, hush! don't say another word,” he interrupted with a majestic
wave of his hand. “You needn't tell me what you have. I saw it all
before you spoke.”
He uncorked the phial. “One drop on your tongue will make you whole for
ever. Poor woman! poor woman! how much you have suffered. I know it all.
Sixpence first, if you please. If you were rich I would say a hundred
pounds; but you are poor, and your sixpence shall be more to you in the
Day of Judgment than the hundred pounds of the rich man.”
With trembling fingers she brought out her money and counted out
fivepence-halfpenny.
“It's ahl I have,” she sorrowfully said, offering it to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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