‘I don’t care what sort of a reception you give me,’ replied Kornicker; ‘you may kick me if it will be any comfort to you, provided you only do what I ask. Michael Rust is dead, and his daughter is now dying, with scarcely clothes to cover her, or a bed to lie in; without a cent to buy her food or medicine; without a soul to say a single word of comfort to her. I wouldn’t have troubled you, old fellow,’ continued he, with some warmth, at the same time turning out his pockets, ‘if I had a cent to give her. The last I had I spent in getting a breakfast this morning; and although it’s the only meal I’ve eaten to day, damme if I would have touched it if I had thought to have found her in such circumstances. But since you won’t help her, you may let it alone; I’m not so hard run but that I can do something for her yet.’
Kornicker had worked himself up into such an excitement, owing to Harson’s cold reception of him, that he took it for granted his request was to be refused; and having thus vented his feelings he turned on his heel to go, when the old man laid his hand on his shoulder.
‘Nature puts noble hearts in very rough cases,’ said Harson, his eyes glistening as he spoke. ‘You’re a good fellow, but rather hasty. I didn’t say I would not assist the poor girl; on the contrary, you shall see that I will. She has no doctor?’
‘No.’
‘No nurse?’
‘No.’
Harson rang the bell. The house-keeper answered it.
‘Martha, put on your things,’ said Harson; ‘I want you to sit up with a sick person to-night. Bring a basket, and lights, and cups, and every thing that’s necessary for one who has nothing. I’ll return in five minutes; you must be ready by that time. Now then, Sir, come along; you shall see what I’ll do next.’
He went into the street, and walked rapidly on, turning one or two corners, but without going far, and at last knocked at the door of a small house.
‘A very excellent fellow lives here,’ said he to Kornicker; ‘he’s a doctor; and if this girl can be saved he’ll do it. Hark! there he comes. I hear his step.’