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The April Fool
by
“A poor prospect here,” he murmured despondingly. “Ah, if there were none in the world to care for but myself, I would be content on bread and water while making my way into the confidence of the people. But others are suffering while I wait for practice. What hinders my progress? I understand my profession. In not a single instance yet have I failed to give relief, when called to the bed of sickness. Ah me! I feel wretched.”
Just then, the letter-carrier of the village came in and handed him two letters. The first one he opened was from a dearly loved, widowed sister, who wrote to know if he could possibly help her in her poverty and distress.
“I would not trouble you, my dear, kind brother,” she wrote, “knowing as I do how poor your own prospects are, and how patiently you are trying to wait for practice, did not want press on me and my babes so closely. If you can spare me a little–ever so little–brother, it will come as a blessing; for my extremity is great. Forgive me for thus troubling you. Necessity often prompts to acts, from the thought of which, in brighter moments, we turn with a feeling of pain.”
For many minutes after reading this letter, Doctor Grimes sat with his eyes upon the floor.
“My poor Mary!” he said at length, “how much you have suffered; and yet more drops of bitterness are given to your cup! Oh that it was in my power to relieve you! But my hands are stricken down with paralysis. What can I do? Thus far, I have gone in debt instead of clearing my expenses.”
He took out his pocket-book and searched it over.
“Nothing–nothing,” he murmured as he refolded it. “Ah, what curse is there like the curse of poverty?”
He then referred to the other letter, the receipt of which he had almost forgotten. Breaking the seal, he read, with surprise, its contents, which were as follows:–
“To DOCTOR GRIMES.–Dear Sir: Please call, as early as possible, at Messrs. L—- & P—-‘s, No. — Wall Street, New York; where you will hear of something to your advantage.”
“What can this mean?” exclaimed the doctor, as he hurriedly perused the letter again. “Can it be possible that a relative of my father, in England, has died, and left us property? Yes; it must be so. Several members of his family there are in good circumstances. Oh, if it should be thus, how timely has relief come! For your sake, my dear sister, more than for my own, will I be thankful! But how am I to go to New York? I have not a dollar in my pocket, and will receive nothing for a week or two.”
The only resource was in borrowing; and to this the doctor resorted with considerable reluctance. From a gentleman who had always shown an interest in him, he obtained five dollars. Within an hour after the receipt of the letter, he was on his way to the city. The more he pondered the matter, the more likely did it seem to him that his first conclusion was the true one. There was an uncle of his father’s, a miser, reputed to be very rich, from whom, some years before, the family had received letters; and it seemed not at all improbable that his death had occurred, and that he and his sister had been remembered in the will. This idea so fully possessed his mind by the time he arrived in the city, that he was already beginning to make, in imagination, sundry dispositions of the property soon to come into his hands.
“Can I see one of the gentlemen belonging to the firm?” asked the doctor, on entering the store of Messrs. L—- & P—-.
“Here is Mr. L—-,” said the individual he had addressed, referring him to a middle-aged, thoughtful-looking man, with something prepossessing in his face.