Mad: A Story of Dust and AshesFenn, George Manville
General
Mad: A Story of Dust and Ashes
Fenn, George Manville
Fiction
The old man paused again, and his lean, bony fingers clutched and clawed
restlessly to get at the flowers. But his old train of thought now
seemed to have returned, for he continued: "Don't often see anything
about hospital operations, but I have had copy about them--`Death from
the Administration of Chloroform.' What an ugly word that first is, and
what a shiver it seems to give one when we think of it in connection
with ourselves, though it seems so little when it has to do with anyone
else! Wonder whether any of the old 'stab or piece hands would get hold
of it to set, and feel sorry for the battered old stamp they used to
laugh at, and whether it would get into the papers if I was to--"
The old man stopped once more, and wiped the dew from his wet forehead.
"Well, well," he said half-aloud, "what is to be will be. God help me
well through it all, for I'm a miserable coward; and if it's to be the
end of old Matt, why, I don't think I've been so very bad, and--there,
hang it!" he whined, "they might have left me a pinch of snuff. Here, I
say, though," he cried, rousing up, "this won't do. I'm on the wrong
folio, and shall have to re-set."
"I wonder whether it's hard to die?" he muttered, after another pause.
"Don't seem as if it was, for they look almost as if they were asleep,
and wanting to be woke up again. One must go sometime or another; but
it would have been happier like to have had hold of someone's hand, and
seen two or three faces round one's bed, faces of people sorry I was
going--going. There, there," he gasped, "I can't stand it. They
sha'n't touch me. It's like running headlong into one's grave. They
sha'n't touch me, for I must live and find out about the doctor, for
that poor helpless fellow in the Rents; or he'll never do it himself.
They sha'n't touch me, for I am nearly clear now, and I can grub on as I
am; while, if my chronics kill me in time, why they do, and there's an
end of it. They sha'n't--"
"Now, Number 19," said a voice, and to his dismay poor old Matt saw a
couple of porters enter the ward with a stretcher.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account