David Lockwin has fallen upon a low place. But he would perish if jealousy must be added.
"Corkey's plan is a good one, but why does he not push it faster? And Corkey has not spoken of the matter for three weeks. One night he said he would soon be 'where he could talk.'"
The prescription clerk is very busy. A customer wants a cigar. The druggist goes in to make a profit of three and a half cents. He returns to his window, wets it once more, begins the wiping, and is frightened by the thought of five millions of money.
"Davy's tonsils swelled, and Tarpion was to cut them off. I wonder if it is my tonsils. I wonder if my nose could be straightened. I have no doubt my skin could be cleared."
Once more the supporting forces of nature have come to the rescue of David Lockwin. It is clear that he must be rejuvenated. He must exercise and regain an appetite. He must recover twenty-five pounds of flesh that have left him since that cursed night of the Africa.
"Strange fate!" he ejaculates, remembering the almost comatose condition in which he walked on deck, and was saved.
His eyes grow sightless. The dull, little, trivial street has palled upon his view. He sees a crowd gathering at a corner and making demonstrations in a cross street.
The next moment his own horses dash around the corner into State street, driverless and running away.
A lady's head protrudes from the window. Yes, it is Esther!
The druggist grasps his long pole lightly. He takes the middle of the street. He holds his pole like a fence before the team.