At this melting crisis, a slight noise caused him to turn his head; the apparent corpse was drawing up one foot, and making some other feeble movements, which showed that life was not entirely extinct.
At this sight the eyes of Boanerges flew open as wide, in a stare of ecstacy, as they had before been stretched in horror, until their suffusion “with the briny,” as Mr. Richard Swiveller would say, had caused them to momentarily wink.
“Why, he ain’t dead yet! my speculation is safe. Some water! Where’s some water? Get some water!” and he ran peering and dodging around the room with an uncertain air, as if the new influx of joy had bewildered his seraphic mind. After some little delay he found the pitcher, which had been standing all the time in full view, within three feet of him; he wildly dashed more than half the contents into the face of the victim, who instantly drew a long sobbing breath, and in a moment or two opened his eyes.
This so increased the ecstacy of the Professor, that he now ventured to kneel beside him, and, in his eagerness, forgetting to use the tumbler that was standing near, he nearly crushed the poor student’s teeth down his throat, in his awkward endeavors to administer drink to him from the heavy pitcher—exclaiming, during the process, “Drink! drink! my son. Don’t die, for Heaven’s sake! Remember my liberality—my generous sacrifices to advance you in the world. Remember our almanac—your great work, that is to make your fortune. Remember how you have been saved!”
“Starved, you mean,” feebly whispered the young man, whom a few draughts of the precious fluid had rapidly revived.
“St-a-a-r-r-ved! does he say?” yelled Boanerges, shrinking back as if horrified, and nearly dropping the body he was supporting from his arms. Then, suddenly releasing one arm, he smoothed back his hair gently; that radiant, angelic expression of sweet humility, for which it was so famous among the female part of his select and nightly audiences, overcame his face as with a halo, and leaning down, so as to look into the eyes of his victim, he asked, in a liquid voice, “My son, have I—have I—thy spiritual father, starved thee?” and then tenderly he gazed into his eyes. With a look of assured self-satisfaction that those siren tones had done the business, he silently awaited the answer to the gentle and rebukeful question. But no answer came to the sweet, lingering look; the young man only closed his eyes heavily, and shuddered.
“My son, my son!” continued the Professor, in yet more grieved and meek, and dulcet tones. “My spiritual son, have I starved thee? have I not been generous to a fault, and even to wronging the beloved child of my own loins? This room, these writing materials, this tumbler, this pitcher, that delightful bed, are they not all my free-will gifts to thee for thy own advancement, to enable thee to glorify God in thy works? Have I not rather saved thee from starving? You had nothing when I took you up, to patronise your genius, and bring you before the world; and now you have plenty! See, see, your mantel is even now crowded with bread and cheese, that you are wasting here in the midst of such superlative abundance.”
The young man, at the mention of the bread and cheese, turned his head aside with an expression of bitter loathing and disgust.
“Pah!” he muttered; “the very name of it makes me sick; I have tasted nothing else for the last six months. That is what is killing me; my stomach can retain it no longer! Who can keep body and soul together on thirty cents a week?”
“Horror!” exclaimed the Professor, rolling up his eyes meekly. “To think of such frantic extravagance! And besides, my son, your spiritual strength should have sustained you—the success of your great work, the prospect of future glory! A man starve on bread and cheese! Why, who ever heard of such a thing? Why, when I was a boy of ten years of age, I started alone, on foot, to cross the Alleghanies, to make my way to the North to school. My father had moved West when I was very young. I started with only one loaf of white bread in my bundle, when the whole country was wild and full of bears and wolves. The wolves chased me, and I climbed a tree; they surrounded it, barking and gnashing their teeth, to get at me; there were five hundred wolves at least, but I in my faith kept my strength, and remained cool as Daniel in the lion’s den, until at last they kept me there so long, I fell asleep, when the limb broke, and I fell down into the midst of them; the wolves were so frightened, that they all took to their heels and ran away, leaving me safe. There is a specimen of the spiritual strength that faith gives, and should encourage you never to give up and faint by the way. Had you possessed more of such faith, my son, you would never have been stretched here, upon this floor, in such a condition, and talking about starving on bread and cheese. It is the soul, my son, the regenerate soul, that sustains the heroic man on earth, as I have so often endeavored to teach you.”