- end_line
- 3337
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.722Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3247
- text
- Suddenly there is a rustling, then a creaking, one of the cradles swings
out from a murky nook, a sort of wasted penguin-flipper is
supplicatingly put forth, while a wail like that of Dives is
heard:--"Water, water!"
It was the miser of whom the merchant had spoken.
Swift as a sister-of-charity, the stranger hovers over him:--
"My poor, poor sir, what can I do for you?"
"Ugh, ugh--water!"
Darting out, he procures a glass, returns, and, holding it to the
sufferer's lips, supports his head while he drinks: "And did they let
you lie here, my poor sir, racked with this parching thirst?"
The miser, a lean old man, whose flesh seemed salted cod-fish, dry as
combustibles; head, like one whittled by an idiot out of a knot; flat,
bony mouth, nipped between buzzard nose and chin; expression, flitting
between hunks and imbecile--now one, now the other--he made no response.
His eyes were closed, his cheek lay upon an old white moleskin coat,
rolled under his head like a wizened apple upon a grimy snow-bank.
Revived at last, he inclined towards his ministrant, and, in a voice
disastrous with a cough, said:--"I am old and miserable, a poor beggar,
not worth a shoestring--how can I repay you?"
"By giving me your confidence."
"Confidence!" he squeaked, with changed manner, while the pallet swung,
"little left at my age, but take the stale remains, and welcome."
"Such as it is, though, you give it. Very good. Now give me a hundred
dollars."
Upon this the miser was all panic. His hands groped towards his
waist, then suddenly flew upward beneath his moleskin pillow, and
there lay clutching something out of sight. Meantime, to himself he
incoherently mumbled:--"Confidence? Cant, gammon! Confidence? hum,
bubble!--Confidence? fetch, gouge!--Hundred dollars?--hundred devils!"
Half spent, he lay mute awhile, then feebly raising himself, in a voice
for the moment made strong by the sarcasm, said, "A hundred dollars?
rather high price to put upon confidence. But don't you see I am a poor,
old rat here, dying in the wainscot? You have served me; but, wretch
that I am, I can but cough you my thanks,--ugh, ugh, ugh!"
This time his cough was so violent that its convulsions were imparted to
the plank, which swung him about like a stone in a sling preparatory to
its being hurled.
"Ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"What a shocking cough. I wish, my friend, the herb-doctor was here now;
a box of his Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator would do you good."
"Ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"I've a good mind to go find him. He's aboard somewhere. I saw his long,
snuff-colored surtout. Trust me, his medicines are the best in the
world."
"Ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"Oh, how sorry I am."
"No doubt of it," squeaked the other again, "but go, get your charity
out on deck. There parade the pursy peacocks; they don't cough down here
in desertion and darkness, like poor old me. Look how scaly a pauper I
am, clove with this churchyard cough. Ugh, ugh, ugh!"
"Again, how sorry I feel, not only for your cough, but your poverty.
Such a rare chance made unavailable. Did you have but the sum named, how
I could invest it for you. Treble profits. But confidence--I fear that,
even had you the precious cash, you would not have the more precious
confidence I speak of."
"Ugh, ugh, ugh!" flightily raising himself. "What's that? How, how? Then
you don't want the money for yourself?"
"My dear, _dear_ sir, how could you impute to me such preposterous
self-seeking? To solicit out of hand, for my private behoof, an hundred
dollars from a perfect stranger? I am not mad, my dear sir."
"How, how?" still more bewildered, "do you, then, go about the world,
gratis, seeking to invest people's money for them?"
"My humble profession, sir. I live not for myself; but the world will
not have confidence in me, and yet confidence in me were great gain."
- title
- Chunk 2