The Gilded Age - Mark Twain [121]
Mrs. O.—“I suppose you heard of the fright we had two weeks ago last Saturday? No? Why that is strange—but come to remember, you’ve all been away to Richmond. François tumbled from the sky light in the second-story hall clean down to the first floor—”
Everybody—“Mercy!”
Mrs. O.— “Yes indeed—and broke two of his ribs—” Everybody—“What!”
Mrs. O.— “Just as true as you live. First we thought he must be injured internally. It was fifteen minutes past 8 in the evening. Of course we were all distracted in a moment—everybody was flying everywhere, and nobody doing anything worth anything. By and by I flung out next door and dragged in Dr. Sprague, President of the Medical University—no time to go for our own doctor of course—and the minute he saw François he said, ‘Send for your own physician, madam’—said it as cross as a bear, too, and turned right on his heel and cleared out without doing a thing!”
Everybody—“The mean, contemptible brute!”
Mrs. O.— “Well you may say it. I was nearly out of my wits by this time. But we hurried off the servants after our own doctor and telegraphed mother—she was in New York and rushed down on the first train; and when the doctor got there, lo and behold you he found François had broke one of his legs, too!”
Everybody—“Goodness!”
Mrs. O.— “Yes. So he set his leg and bandaged it up, and fixed his ribs and gave him a dose of something to quiet down his excitement and put him to sleep—poor thing he was trembling and frightened to death and it was pitiful to see him. We had him in my bed—Mr. Oreillé slept in the guest room and I laid down beside François—but not to sleep—bless you no. Bridget and I set up all night, and the doctor staid till two in the morning, bless his old heart.—When mother got there she was so used up with anxiety that she had to go to bed and have the doctor; but when she found that François was not in immediate danger she rallied, and by night she was able to take a watch herself. Well for three days and nights we three never left that bedside only to take an hour’s nap at a time. And then the doctor said François was out of danger and if ever there was a thankful set, in this world, it was us.”
Laura’s respect for these women had augmented during this conversation, naturally enough; affection and devotion are qualities that are able to adorn and render beautiful a character that is otherwise unattractive, and even repulsive.
Mrs. Gashly—“I do believe I should a died if I had been in your place, Mrs. Oreillé. The time Hildebrand was so low with the pneumonia Emmeline and me were all alone with him most of the time and we never took a minute’s sleep for as much as two days and nights. It was at Newport and we wouldn’t trust hired nurses. One afternoon he had a fit, and jumped up and run out on the portico of the hotel with nothing in the world on and the wind a blowing like ice and we after him scared to death; and when the ladies and gentlemen saw that he had a fit, every lady scattered for her room and not a gentleman lifted his hand to help, the wretches! Well after that his life hung by a thread for as much as ten days, and the minute he was out of danger Emmeline and me just went to bed sick and worn out. I never want to pass through such a time again. Poor dear François—which leg did he break, Mrs. Oreillé?”
Mrs. O.— “It was his right hand hind leg. Jump down, François dear, and show the ladies what a cruel limp you’ve got yet.”
François demurred, but being coaxed and delivered gently upon the floor, he performed very satisfactorily, with his “right hand hind leg” in the air. All were affected—even Laura—but hers was an affection of the stomach. The country-bred girl had not suspected that the little whining ten-ounce black and tan reptile, clad in a red embroidered pigmy blanket and reposing in Mrs. Oreillé’s lap all through the visit was the individual whose sufferings had been stirring the dormant generosities of her nature. She said:
“Poor little creature! You might have lost him!”
Mrs. O.— “O pray don’t mention it, Miss