Read Ebook: Doctor Izard by Green Anna Katharine Bardwell George Willis Illustrator
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"Just for signing your name to a will which will bequeath the rest of your belongings, namely, this little package, to an equally young and equally unfortunate girl."
"It seems right. I do not see anything wrong in it," murmured the dying father in a voice that had strangely strengthened. "Will you assure me that it is all right, and that no one will suffer by my action?"
"Did I not tell you who I was?" asked the stranger, "and cannot you trust one of my reputation? You will be doing a good act, a retributive act; one that will have the blessing of Providence upon it."
"She is who she is," was the somewhat stern interruption. "You do not know her; no one here knows her. Will you do what I ask or must I turn to your companion who seems as ill as yourself?"
"I--I want to do it, sir. Five thousand dollars! Let me feel of the bills that represent so much."
There was a movement, and the sick and feeble voice rose again in a tone of ecstatic delight. "And I need not worry any more about her feet without shoes and her pretty head without shelter. She will be a lady and go to school, and by and by can learn a trade and live respectably. Oh, thank God, sir! I know who I would like to have made her guardian."
"Then you consent?" cried the stranger, with a thrill of some strong feeling in his voice.
"I do, sir, and thank you; only you must be quick, for there is no knowing how soon the end may come." The stranger, who seemed to be equally apprehensive of the results of this strong excitement, raised himself upright and motioned to the doctor and the nurse.
"You will say nothing of our compact," he enjoined in a final whisper, as the two summoned ones approached. "Nor will you express surprise at the wording of the will or, indeed, at anything I may say."
"No," came in an almost undistinguishable murmur, and then there was silence, till the doctor and the nurse were within hearing, when the stranger said:
"Our friend here has a small matter of business on his mind. It has been my pleasure, as I perhaps intimated to you, to bring him a considerable sum of money which he had quite despaired of ever having paid him; and as for reasons he is not willing to communicate, he desires to bequeath a portion of it to a person not related to him, he naturally finds it necessary to leave a will. Foreseeing this, I had the draft of one drawn up, which, if agreeable to you, I will read to him in your presence."
The amazement in the nurse's eye gave way to a look of deference, and she bowed slightly. The doctor nodded his head, and both took their stand at the foot of the small cot. The man in the adjoining bed neither murmured nor moved. Had they looked at him, they would have doubtless thought his sleep was doing him but little good, for his pallor had increased and an icy sweat glistened on his forehead.
"Mr. Hazlitt's property," continued the stranger in a low and mechanical tone, "consists entirely of money. Is that not so?" he asked, smiling upon the dazed but yet strangely happy face of the patient lying before him. "Namely, this roll of bills, amounting as you see to five thousand dollars, and this small package of banknotes, of which the amount is not stated, but of whose value he is probably aware. Are you willing," and he turned to the doctor, "to take charge of these valuables, and see that they are forthcoming at the proper time?"
The doctor bowed, glanced at his patient, and meeting his eager eye, took the roll of bills and the package, and putting them into his breast pocket, remarked, "I will have them placed in the safe deposit vaults to-morrow."
"Very well," cried the stranger; "that will be all right, will it not?" he asked, consulting in his turn the man before him.
Mr. Hazlitt, as they called him, gave him a short look, smiled again, and said: "You know best; anything, so that my Lucy gets her five thousand."
The stranger, straightening himself, asked if he could not have more light, at which the nurse brought a candle. Immediately the stranger took a paper from under his cloak and opened it. The nurse held the candle and the stranger began to read:
The last will and testament of Abram Hazlitt of Chicago, Cook county, Illinois.
First: I direct all my just debts and funeral expenses to be paid.
"Is your daughter's name Lucy, and is the sum you wish given her five thousand dollars exact?" asked the stranger, sitting down at the small table near by and taking out a pen from his pocket.
"Yes," was the feeble response, "five thousand dollars to Lucy Ellen, my only and much-beloved child."
The stranger rapidly wrote in the words, adding, "she lives in Chicago, I suppose."
It was the nurse who answered:
"She is in this hospital, too, sir; but not for any mortal complaint. Time and care will restore her."
The stranger went on reading:
I give, devise, and bequeath to my only and much-loved child, Lucy Ellen of Chicago, Cook county, Illinois, the sum of five thousand dollars.
"Yes, yes," was the hurried, almost faint answer. "You know, you know; go on quickly, for I'm feeling very weak."
They gave him stimulants, while the stranger rapidly wrote in certain words, which he as rapidly read in what one listener thought to be a much relieved tone.
Third: I appoint Dr. Cusack of the Chicago General Hospital sole executor of this, my last will and testament.
Witness my hand this thirteenth day of April in the year eighteen hundred and ninety-two.
Signed, published, and declared by the testator to be his last will and testament, in our presence, who at his request and in his presence and in the presence of each other have subscribed our names hereto as witnesses on this thirteenth day of April, 1892.
"Does this paper express your wishes and all your wishes?" asked the stranger pausing. "Is there any change you would like made or is the will as it stands right?"
"Right! right!" came in more feeble tones from the fast sinking sufferer.
"Then if you will call in another witness, I will submit the paper to him to sign," said the stranger turning toward the doctor. "As executor you cannot act as witness."
The doctor turned to the nurse and a momentary consultation passed between them. Then she quietly withdrew, and in a few minutes returned with a man who from his appearance evidently occupied some such position as watchman. The sick man was raised higher in his bed and a pen put in his hand.
"Mr. Hazlitt is about to sign his will," explained the stranger; and turning to the sick man, he put the formal question: "Is this paper which I here place before you, your last will and testament? And do you accept these two persons now before you as witnesses to your signing of the same?"
A feeble assent followed both these questions, whereupon the stranger put his finger on the place where the dying man was expected to write his name. As he did so a strange sensation seemed to affect every one present, for the men with an involuntary movement all raised their eyes to the ceiling upon which the stooping form of the stranger made such a weird shadow, while the nurse gave evident signs of momentary perturbation, which she as a woman of many experiences would doubtless have found it hard to explain even to herself.
A short silence followed, which was presently broken by the scratching of a pen. The patient was writing his name, but how slowly! He seemed to be minutes in doing it. Suddenly he fell back, a smile of perfect peace lighting up his shrunken features.
"Lucy's future is assured," he murmured, and lost or seemed to lose all connection with the scene in which he had just played such an important part.
A deep sigh answered him. Whose? It had the sound of relief in it, a great soul-satisfying relief. Had the stranger uttered it? It would seem so, but his manner was too professional to be the cloak of so much emotion, or so it seemed to all eyes but one.
The witnesses' signatures were soon in place, and the stranger rose to go. As he did so his eyes flashed suddenly over his shoulder and rested for an instant on the man who occupied the neighboring cot. The movement was so quick that No. Thirteen had scarcely time to close his eyes undetected. Indeed, some glint of the half-hidden eyeball must have met the stranger's eye, for he turned quickly and bent over the seemingly unconscious man with a gaze of such intentness that it took all the strength of what had once been called a most obstinate will for the man thus surveyed not to respond to it.
Suddenly the stranger thrust his hand out and laid it on the unknown sufferer's heart, and a slight smile crossed his features.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" were the words he dropped, cold and stinging, into the apparently deaf ear.
But the man's will was indomitable and an icy silence was the sole answer which the intruder received.
"I have still a thousand to give away," was whispered so close into his face that he felt the hot breath that conveyed it.
But even these words fell, or seemed to fall, upon ears of stony deafness, and the stranger rising, moved quietly away, saying as he did so, "This case here is on the mend. His heart has a very normal beat."
Some few more words were said, and he and his companion were left alone again with the nurse.
At three o'clock No. Twelve called feebly for some water; as the nurse returned from giving it to him she felt her dress pulled slightly by a feeble hand. Turning to No. Thirteen she was astonished to see that his eyes were burning with quite an eager light.
"I could drink some broth," said he.
"Why, you are better!" she cried.
He had found the interest which had been lacking to his recovery.
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