The Stark Munro Letters: Being series of twelve letters written by J. Stark Munro, M.B., to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884Doyle, Arthur Conan
General
The Stark Munro Letters: Being series of twelve letters written by J. Stark Munro, M.B., to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Epistolary fiction
“Just exactly in South America,” he cried, pacing with his quick little
steps up and down the dingy room. “Look here, laddie! There’s a great
continent from the equator to the icebergs, and not a man in it who
could correct an astigmatism. What do they know of modern eye-surgery
and refraction? Why, dammy, they don’t know much about it in the
provinces of England yet, let alone Brazil. Man, if you could only see
it, there’s a fringe of squinting millionaires sitting ten deep round
the whole continent with their money in their hands waiting for
an oculist. Eh, Munro, what? By Crums, I’ll come back and I’ll buy
Bradfield, and I’ll give it away as a tip to a waiter.”
“You propose to settle in some large city, then?”
“City! What use would a city be to me? I’m there to squeeze the
continent. I work a town at a time. I send on an agent to the next to
say that I am coming. I ‘Here’s the chance of a lifetime,’ says he,
‘no need to go back to Europe. Here’s Europe come to you. Squints,
cataracts, iritis, refractions, what you like; here’s the great Signor
Cullingworth, right up to date and ready for anything!’ In they come of
course, droves of them, and then I arrive and take the money. Here’s
my luggage!” he pointed to two great hampers in the corner of the room.
“Those are glasses, my boy, concave and convex, hundreds of them. I test
an eye, fit him on the spot, and send him away shouting. Then I load
up a steamer and come home, unless I elect to buy one of their little
States and run it.”
Of course it sounded absurd as he put it; but I could soon see that he
had worked out his details, and that there was a very practical side to
his visions.
“I work Bahia,” said he. “My agent prepares Pernambuco. When Bahia
is squeezed dry I move on to Pernambuco, and the agent ships to Monte
Video. So we work our way round with a trail of spectacles behind us.
It’ll go like clock-work.”
“You will need to speak Spanish,” said I.
“Tut, it does not take any Spanish to stick a knife into a man’s eye.
All I shall want to know is, ‘Money down--no credit.’ That’s Spanish
enough for me.”
We had a long and interesting talk about all that had happened to both
of us, without, however, any allusion to our past quarrel. He would
not admit that he had left Bradfield on account of a falling-off in his
practice, or for any reason except that he found the place too small.
His spring-screen invention had, he said, been favourably reported upon
by one of the first private shipbuilding firms on the Clyde, and there
was every probability of their adopting it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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