- end_line
- 6624
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T07:57:45.584Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 6523
- text
- "Dear uncle, it is tipped already as far as it can be. Don't you see it
rests now square on its bottom?"
"You, Yorpy, take your black hoof from under the box!"
This gust of passion on the part of my uncle made the matter seem still
more dubious and dark. It was a bad symptom, I thought.
"Surely you _can_ tip it just a _leetle_ more!"
"Not a hair, uncle."
"Blast and blister the cursed box then!" roared my uncle, in a terrific
voice, sudden as a squall. Running at the box, he dashed his bare foot
into it, and with astonishing power all but crushed in the side. Then
seizing the whole box, he disemboweled it of all its anacondas and
adders, and, tearing and wrenching them, flung them right and left over
the water.
"Hold, hold, my dear, dear uncle!--do for heaven's sake desist. Don't
destroy so, in one frantic moment, all your long calm years of devotion
to one darling scheme. Hold, I conjure!"
Moved by my vehement voice and uncontrollable tears, he paused in his
work of destruction, and stood steadfastly eyeing me, or rather blankly
staring at me, like one demented.
"It is not yet wholly ruined, dear uncle; come put it together now. You
have hammer and wrench; put it together again, and try it once more.
While there is life there is hope."
"While there is life hereafter there is _despair_," he howled.
"Do, do now, dear uncle--here, here, put those pieces together; or, if
that can't be done without more tools, try a _section_ of it--that will
do just as well. Try it once; try, uncle."
My persistent persuasiveness told upon him. The stubborn stump of hope,
plowed at and uprooted in vain, put forth one last miraculous green
sprout.
Steadily and carefully pulling out of the wreck some of the more
curious-looking fragments, he mysteriously involved them together, and
then, clearing out the box, slowly inserted them there, and ranging
Yorpy and me as before, bade us tip the box once again.
We did so; and as no perceptible effect yet followed, I was each moment
looking for the previous command to tip the box over yet more, when,
glancing into my uncle's face, I started aghast. It seemed pinched,
shriveled into mouldy whiteness, like a mildewed grape. I dropped the
box, and sprang toward him just in time to prevent his fall.
Leaving the woeful box where we had dropped it, Yorpy and I helped the
old man into the skiff and silently pulled from Quash Isle.
How swiftly the current now swept us down! How hardly before had we
striven to stem it! I thought of my poor uncle's saying, not an hour
gone by, about the universal drift of the mass of humanity toward utter
oblivion.
"Boy!" said my uncle at last, lifting his head. I looked at him
earnestly, and was gladdened to see that the terrible blight of his
face had almost departed.
"Boy, there's not much left in an old world for an old man to invent."
I said nothing.
"Boy, take my advice, and never try to invent anything but--happiness."
I said nothing.
"Boy, about ship, and pull back for the box."
"Dear uncle!"
"It will make a good wood-box, boy. And faithful old Yorpy can sell the
old iron for tobacco-money."
"Dear massa! dear old massa! dat be very fust time in de ten long 'ear
yoo hab mention kindly old Yorpy. I tank yoo, dear old massa; I tank
yoo so kindly. Yoo is yourself agin in de ten long 'ear."
"Ay, long ears enough," sighed my uncle; "Esopian ears. But it's all
over now. Boy, I'm glad I've failed. I say, boy, failure has made a
good old man of me. It was horrible at first, but I'm glad I've failed.
Praise be to God for the failure!"
His face kindled with a strange, rapt earnestness. I have never
forgotten that look. If the event made my uncle a good old man as he
called it, it made me a wise young one. Example did for me the work of
experience.
When some years had gone by, and my dear old uncle began to fail, and,
after peaceful days of autumnal content, was gathered gently to his
fathers--faithful old Yorpy closing his eyes--as I took my last look at
his venerable face, the pale resigned lips seemed to move. I seemed to
hear again his deep, fervent cry--"Praise be to God for the failure!"
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