The Broad Highway by Jeffery Farnol (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) đ
- Author: Jeffery Farnol
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Presently, his eye being off me for the moment, I edged my way out of the throng and so came to where a man stood mounted upon a cart. Beside him was a fellow in a clownâs habit who blew loudly three times upon a trumpet, which done, the man took off his hat and began to harangue the crowd, something in this wise:
âI come before you, ladies and gentlemen, not for vulgar gainâor, as I might sayâkudos, which is Eyetalian for the sameânot to put my hands into your pockets and rifle âem of your honestly earned money; no, I come before you for the good of each one of you, for the easing of suffering mankindâas I might sayâthe ha-melioration of stricken humanity. In a word, I am here to introduce to you what I call my Elixir AnthroposâAnthropos, ladies and gentlemen, is an old and very ancient Egyptian word meaning manâor woman, for that matter,â etc.
During this exordium I had noticed a venerable man in a fine blue surtout and a wide-brimmed hat, who sat upon the shaft of a cart and puffed slowly at a great pipe. And as he puffed, he listened intently to the quack-salverâs address, and from time to time his eyes would twinkle and his lips curve in an ironic smile. The cart, upon the shaft of which he sat, stood close to a very small, dirty, and disreputable-looking tent, towards which the old gentlemanâs back was turned. Now, as I watched, I saw the point of a knife gleam through the dirty canvas, which, vanishing, gave place to a hand protruded through the slit thus madeâa very large hand with bony knuckles, and long fingers, upon one of which was a battered ring. For an instant the hand hovered undecidedly, then darted forwardâthe long skirts of the old gentlemanâs coat hardly stirred, yet, even as I watched, I saw the hand vanish with a fat purse in its clutches.
Skirting the tent, I came round to the opening, and stooping, peered cautiously inside. There, sure enough, was my pickpocket gazing intently into the open purse, and chuckling as he gazed. Then he slipped it into his pocket, and out he cameâwhere I immediately pinned him by the neckerchief.
And, after a while, finding he could not again break my hold, he lay still, beneath me, panting, and, as he lay, his one eye glared more balefully and his other leered more waggishly than ever, as I, thrusting my hand into his pocket, took thence the purse, and transferred it to my own.
âHalves, mate!â he panted, âhalves, and weâll cry âquits.ââ
âBy no means,â said I, rising to my feet, but keeping my grip upon him.
âThen whatâs your game?â
âI intend to hand you over as a pickpocket.â
âThat means âTransportationâ!â said he, wiping the blood from his face, for the struggle, though short, had been sharp enough.
âWell?â said I.
âItâll go âard with the babby.â
âBaby!â I exclaimed.
âAh!âor the hinfant, if you like it betterâone as I found in a shawl, a-laying on the steps oâ my van one night, sleeping like a aldermanâand it were snowing too.â
âYet you are a thief!â
âWe calls it âfaking.ââ
âAnd ought to be given up to the authorities.â
âAnd whoâs to look arter the babby?â
âAre you married?â
âNo,â
âWhere is the baby?â
âIn my van.â
âAnd where is that?â
âYonder!â and he pointed to a gayly-painted caravan that stood near by. ââeâs asleep now, but if youâd like to take a peep at âimââ
âI should,â said I. Whereupon the fellow led me to his van, and, following him up the steps, I entered a place which, though confined, was wonderfully neat and clean, with curtains at the open windows, a rug upon the floor, and an ornamental; brass lamp pendent from the roof. At the far end was a bed, or rather, berth, curtained with chintz, and upon this bed, his chubby face pillowed upon a dimpled fist, lay a very small man indeed. And, looking up from him to the very large, bony man, bending over him, I surprised a look upon the hardened faceâa tenderness that seemed very much out of place.
âNice and fat, ainât âe?â said the man, touching the babyâs applelike cheek with a grimy finger.
âYes.â
âAhâand so âe should be, James! But âyou should see âim eat, a aldermanâs nothing to LewisâI calls âim Lewis, for âtwere at Lewisham I found âim, on a Christmas Eveâsnowing it was, but, by James! it didnât bother âimânot a bit.â
âAnd why did you keep him?âthere was the parish.â
âParish!â repeated the man bitterly. âI were brought up by the parish myselfâand a nice job they made oâ me!â
âDonât you find him a great trouble?â
âTrouble!â exclaimed the man. âLewis ainât no troubleânot a bitânever was, and heâs great company when Iâm on the move from one town to another larning to talk aâready.â
âNow,â said I, when we had descended from the van, âI propose to return this purse to the owner, if he is to be found; if not, I shall hand it to the proper authorities.â
âWalker!â exclaimed the man.
âYou shall yourself witness the restitution,â said I, unheeding his remark, âafter whichââ
âWell!â said he, glancing back toward his caravan, and moistening his lips as I tightened my grip upon his arm, âwhat about me?â
âYou can goâfor Lewisâs sakeâif you will give me your word to live honestly henceforth.â
âYou have it, sirâI swear itâon the Bible if you like.â
âThen let us seek the owner of this purse.â So, coming in a while to where the quack doctor was still holding forthâthere, yet seated upon the shaft of the cart, puffing at his great pipe, was the venerable man. At sight of him the pickpocket stopped and caught my arm.
âCome, master,â said he, âcome, you never mean to give up all that good moneyâthereâs fifty guineas, and more, in that purse!â
âAll the more reason to return it,â said I.
âNo, donâtâdonât go a-wasting good money like thatâitâs like throwing it away!â But shaking off the fellowâs importunate hand, I approached, and saluted the venerable man.
âSir,â said I, âyou have had your pocket picked.â
He turned and regarded me with a pair of deep-set, very bright eyes, and blew a whiff of smoke slowly into the air.
âSir,â he replied, âI found that out five minutes ago.â
âThe fact seems to trouble you very little,â said I.
âThere, sir, being young, and judging exteriorly, you are wrong. There is recounted somewhere in the classics an altogether incredible story of a Spartan youth and a fox: the boy, with the animal hid beneath his cloak, preserved an unruffled demeanor despite the animalâs tearing teeth, until he fell down and died. In the same way, young sir, no man can lose fifty-odd guineas from his pocket and remain unaffected by the loss.â
âThen, sir,â said I, âI am happy to be able to return your purse to you.â He took it, opened it, glanced over its contents, looked at me, took out two guineas, looked at me again, put the money back, closed the purse, and, dropping it into his pocket, bowed his acknowledgment. Having done which, he made room for me to sit beside him.
âSir,â said he, chuckling, âhark to that lovely rascal in the cart, yonderâhark to him; Galen was an ass and Hippocrates a dunce beside this fellowâhark to him.â
âThereâs nothing like pills!â the Quack-salver was saying at the top of his voice; âplace one upon the tip oâ the tongueâin this fashionâtake a drink oâ water, beer, or wine, as the case may be, give a couple oâ swallers, and there you are. Oh, thereâs nothing in the world like pills, and thereâs nothing like my Elixir Anthropos for coughs, colds, and the rheumatics, for sore throats, sore eyes, sore backsâgood for the croup, measles, and chicken-poxâa certain cure for dropsy, scurvy, and the kingâs evil; thereâs no disease or ailment, discovered or invented, as my pills wonât soothe, heal, ha-meliorate, and charm away, and all I charge is one shilling a box. Hand âem round, Jonas.â Whereupon the fellow in the clownâs dress, stepping down from the cart, began handing out the boxes of pills and taking in the shillings as fast as he conveniently could.
âA thriving trade!â said my venerable companion; âit always has been, and always will, for Humanity is a many-headed fool, and loves to be âbamboozled.â These honest folk are probably paying for bread pellets compounded with a little soap, yet will go home, swallow them in all good faith, and think themselves a great deal better for them.â
âAnd therefore,â said I, âprobably derive as much benefit from them as from any drug yet discovered.â
âYoung man,â said my companion, giving me a sharp glance, âwhat do you mean?â
âPlainly, sir, that a man who believes himself cured of a disease is surely on the high road to recovery.â
âBut a belief in the efficacy of that rascalâs bread pellets cannot make them anything but bread pellets.â
âNo,â said I, âbut it may effect great things with the disease.â
âYoung man, donât tell me that you are a believer in Faith Healing, and such-like tomfoolery; disease is a great and terrible reality, and must be met and overcome by a real means.â
âOn the contrary, sir, may it not be rather the outcome of a preconceived ideaâof a belief that has been held universally for many ages and generations of men? I do not deny diseaseâwho could? but suffering and disease have been looked upon from the earliest days as punishments wrought out upon a man for his sins. Now, may not the haunting fear of this retributive justice be greatly responsible for suffering and disease of all kinds, since the mind unquestionably reacts upon the body?â
âProbably, sir, probably, but since disease is with us, how would you propose to remedy it?â
âBy disbelieving in it; by regarding it as something abnormal and utterly foreign to the divine order of things.â
âPooh!â exclaimed my venerable companion. âBah!âquite, quite impracticable!â
âThey say the same of âThe Sermon on the Mount,â sir,â I retorted.
âCan a man, wasting away in a decline, discredit the fact that he is dying with every breath he draws?â
âHad you, or I, or any man, the Christ-power to teach him a disbelief in his sickness, then would he be hale and well. The Great Physician healed all diseases thus, without the aid of drugs, seeking only to implant in the mind of each sufferer the knowledge that he was whole and soundâthat is to say, a total disbelief in his malady. How many times do we read the words: âThy faith hath made thee wholeâ? All He demanded of them was faithâor, as I say, a disbelief in their disease.â
âThen the cures of Christ were not miracles?â
âNo more so than any great and noble work is a miracle.â
âAnd do you,â inquired my companion, removing his pipe from his lips, and staring at me very hard, âdo you believe that Jesus Christ was the Son of God?â
âYes,â said I, âin the
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