PAGE 4
Almost A Tragedy
by
“Homœopathic medicines?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In powders, I suppose?”
“No, sir; in little, grains or pellets, like these.”
And he drew from his pocket a diminutive vial, the smallest I had ever seen, in which were a number of little white granules, about the size of the head of a pin. A printed label was wound around the vial, and it bore the word “Arsenicum.” It passed from hand to hand, and all read it.
“You gave this?” said the volunteer spokesman.
“Yes, sir; that and aconite.”
“How much is a dose?”
“From one to five or six grains.”
“Or granules?”
“Yes.”
The little bottle was returned to the man, who placed it in his pocket. A pause ensued. The truth was plain enough to us all. The individual whose sagacity, or better information about what was going on in the world, had saved a most painful denouement to this affair, said to the man, in a way as little as possible calculated to wound his feelings–
“You are, of course, surprised at this proceeding–this seemingly wanton intrusion upon your grief. But you will understand it when I tell you, that a lodger, in a room adjoining yours, who knew nothing of homœopathy, heard you speak of giving your child several grains of aconite and arsenic. You can easily infer the impression upon his mind. This morning, he related what he had heard, when an individual here present, who suspected the truth, suggested that you be sent for and asked the questions which you have so satisfactorily answered. Do not, let me beg of you, feel hurt. What we have done was but an act of justice to yourself.”
The man smiled sadly, and, thanking us with eyes fast filling with tears, rose up quickly to conceal his emotion, and retired from the room.
“Landlord,” said I, an hour afterwards, “I want my valise taken out of No. 10, and put into some other room.”
“Why so? Isn’t the room a pleasant one?”
“Oh, yes; but I’d like a change.”
“Very well; we’ll put you in No. 16.”
I was the “lodger in the room adjoining,” and didn’t, therefore, wish to appear on the premises and be known by the man, as the getter up of a suspicion against him. I did not come home to dinner, and kept out of the way till after dark.
When I returned to the hotel, I was relieved to find that the bereaved parents had departed with the dead body of their child. But the whole company were now at liberty to laugh at what had occurred to their hearts’ content, and to laugh at me in particular. I stood it that evening, as well as I could; but finding, on the next day, that it was renewed with as keen a zest as ever, concluded to close up my business on the spot, and leave the place–which I did.