"What disorder?" exclaimed the notary, with a movement of surprise.

   "Two died yesterday, and three to-day," continued the apothecary, without answering the question. "Very sickly time, sir,—very."

   "But what disorder is it? What disease has carried off my friend here so suddenly?"

   "What disease? Why, scarlet fever, to be sure."

   "And is it contagious?"

   "Certainly!"

   "Then I am a dead man!" exclaimed the notary, putting his pipe into his waistcoat-pocket, and beginning to walk up and down the room in despair. "I am a dead man! Now don't deceive me,—don't, will you? What—what are the symptoms?"

   "A sharp, burning pain in the right side," said the apothecary.

   "O, what a fool I was to come here!"

   In vain did the housekeeper and the apothecary strive to pacify him;—he was not a man to be reasoned with;

   he answered that he knew his own constitution better than they did, and insisted upon going home without delay. Unfortunately, the vehicle he came in had returned to the city, and the whole neighborhood was abed and asleep. What was to be done? Nothing in the world but to take the apothecary's horse, which stood hitched at the door, patiently waiting his master's will.

   Well, gentlemen, as there was no remedy, our notary mounted this raw-boned steed and set forth upon his homeward journey. The night was cold and gusty, and the wind right in his teeth. Overhead the leaden clouds were beating to and fro, and through them the newly-risen moon seemed to be tossing and drifting along like a cock-boat in the surf; now swallowed up in a huge billow of cloud, and now lifted upon its bosom and dashed with silvery spray. The trees by the road-side groaned with a sound of evil omen; and before him lay three mortal miles, beset with a thousand imaginary perils. Obedient to the whip and spur, the steed leaped forward by fits and starts, now dashing away in a tremendous gallop, and now relaxing into a long, hard trot; while the rider, filled with symptoms of disease and dire presentiments of death, urged him on, as if he were fleeing before the pestilence.

   In this way, by dint of whistling 

 Prev. P 21/105 next