When next Richard went to Mulberry Street, it was to notify Dido Morgan of a position he had secured for her with a prominent photographer. Her duties would be light and not unpleasant, as she was merely required to take charge of the reception room.
Dido was delighted; nothing could have suited her better. Before her father died, she had devoted a great deal of time and study to sketching, and now this work seemed as though it might lead her nearer to her old life.
While Richard was talking to the girls he heard a scraping noise in the hall, and presently the door opened, and an old man, with such a decided roundness of the shoulders that it was almost a hump, felt with his cane the way before him and apparently finding everything all right entered and closed the door. A little, short-tailed, spotted dog, with a world of affection bound up in his black-and-white hide, slid in beside the man’s uncertain legs, and now stood wiggling his body with a wiggle that bespoke affection for the man.
“Maggie, is you ready for me and Fritz?” he asked, timidly.
“Yes, Gilbert,” she replied, gently, and she went to him and guided his uncertain feet to a chair which stood before the table.
“The young gentleman who was so good to Dido is here,” she explained, and he lifted his head quickly as if he would like to see. At this, Richard very thoughtfully came forward and taking the old man’s shaking hand, gave it a warm pressure.
“I’m glad to know you, sir,” Blind Gilbert said, deferentially. “May be you know me, sir. It’s sixteen years this coming August since I’ve had a stand on Broadway. I don’t do much business, but I’m thankful for all I have. The Lord, in all this mercy, seen fit to afflict me, but he never let old Gilbert starve.”
“How did you lose your sight?” Richard asked awkwardly, not wishing to express any opinion concerning the mercy of making a man blind.
“Well, it came very sudden like. I had a little shop in this very room, sir, and I lived in the one back, where I’ve lived ever since I lost my shop. I done a good business, as I had done ever since me and me old woman came out from Ireland, these forty years ago. Me old woman fell sick and after running up a long doctor bill, she died, the Lord bless her soul, for if we had our fights, she was a good woman to me. One mornin’ after she had been put in her grave, I started out to go across Mulberry Street. The sun was shinin’ bright when I started out the door and it was as fine a mornin’ as I ever seen. When I got to the middle of the street, everything got as dark as night and I yelled for help. They took me to the doctor’s but he said I had gone blind and nothing could help me. Then they took me to a hospital, and after a while I could see some light with one eye, but then it left and they said nothing could be done. I couldn’t stay shut up, so I came back. Me little shop was gone and everything I owned, so I got a license and went on to Broadway and begged until I got enough to rent the back room again and there I’ve lived ever since.”
“Does what you get pay all your expenses?” Richard asked.