- end_line
- 10665
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.726Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10583
- text
- can you be surprised at my uneasiness in reading passages so charged
with the spirit of distrust?"
"No, sir, I am not surprised," said the old man; then added: "from what
you say, I see you are something of my way of thinking--you think that
to distrust the creature, is a kind of distrusting of the Creator. Well,
my young friend, what is it? This is rather late for you to be about.
What do you want of me?"
These questions were put to a boy in the fragment of an old linen coat,
bedraggled and yellow, who, coming in from the deck barefooted on the
soft carpet, had been unheard. All pointed and fluttering, the rags of
the little fellow's red-flannel shirt, mixed with those of his yellow
coat, flamed about him like the painted flames in the robes of a victim
in _auto-da-fe_. His face, too, wore such a polish of seasoned grime,
that his sloe-eyes sparkled from out it like lustrous sparks in fresh
coal. He was a juvenile peddler, or _marchand_, as the polite French
might have called him, of travelers' conveniences; and, having no
allotted sleeping-place, had, in his wanderings about the boat, spied,
through glass doors, the two in the cabin; and, late though it was,
thought it might never be too much so for turning a penny.
Among other things, he carried a curious affair--a miniature mahogany
door, hinged to its frame, and suitably furnished in all respects but
one, which will shortly appear. This little door he now meaningly held
before the old man, who, after staring at it a while, said: "Go thy ways
with thy toys, child."
"Now, may I never get so old and wise as that comes to," laughed the boy
through his grime; and, by so doing, disclosing leopard-like teeth, like
those of Murillo's wild beggar-boy's.
"The divils are laughing now, are they?" here came the brogue from the
berth. "What do the divils find to laugh about in wisdom, begorrah? To
bed with ye, ye divils, and no more of ye."
"You see, child, you have disturbed that person," said the old man; "you
mustn't laugh any more."
"Ah, now," said the cosmopolitan, "don't, pray, say that; don't let him
think that poor Laughter is persecuted for a fool in this world."
"Well," said the old man to the boy, "you must, at any rate, speak very
low."
"Yes, that wouldn't be amiss, perhaps," said the cosmopolitan; "but, my
fine fellow, you were about saying something to my aged friend here;
what was it?"
"Oh," with a lowered voice, coolly opening and shutting his little door,
"only this: when I kept a toy-stand at the fair in Cincinnati last
month, I sold more than one old man a child's rattle."
"No doubt of it," said the old man. "I myself often buy such things for
my little grandchildren."
"But these old men I talk of were old bachelors."
The old man stared at him a moment; then, whispering to the
cosmopolitan: "Strange boy, this; sort of simple, ain't he? Don't know
much, hey?"
"Not much," said the boy, "or I wouldn't be so ragged."
"Why, child, what sharp ears you have!" exclaimed the old man.
"If they were duller, I would hear less ill of myself," said the boy.
"You seem pretty wise, my lad," said the cosmopolitan; "why don't you
sell your wisdom, and buy a coat?"
"Faith," said the boy, "that's what I did to-day, and this is the coat
that the price of my wisdom bought. But won't you trade? See, now, it
is not the door I want to sell; I only carry the door round for a
specimen, like. Look now, sir," standing the thing up on the table,
"supposing this little door is your state-room door; well," opening it,
"you go in for the night; you close your door behind you--thus. Now, is
all safe?"
"I suppose so, child," said the old man.
"Of course it is, my fine fellow," said the cosmopolitan.
- title
- Chunk 4