‘Was there no one with her—not a soul?’ inquired Harson, earnestly, as he rose; ‘not one human being, to breathe a word of comfort in her ear, or to whisper a kind word to cheer her on her long journey?’
The doctor shook his head: ‘No one.’ Harson’s lips quivered, but he pressed them tightly together, and turning to Kornicker said:
‘Come, my good fellow, you must struggle against your feelings; you must not be downcast about it. She’s better off than if she had lived—much better off.’
‘I’m not in the least downcast,’ replied Kornicker, in a very resolute manner; ‘I don’t care a straw about it. She was nothing to me; only it’s a little disagreeable to be living in this world without a soul to care for, or a soul that cares for you; and then there was some satisfaction in being of use to some one, and in feeling it was your duty to see that no one imposed on her, or ill treated her; but no matter; it’s all over now. I suppose it’s all right; and I feel quite cheerful, I assure you. But you’ll look to her, will you? I can be of no farther use here, and I’d rather go.’
‘I will,’ said Harson.
‘You won’t let her be buried as a pauper, I hope?’
‘No, upon my honor she shall not,’ replied Harry.
‘Very well—good night.’
Harson followed him down the stairs, and again endeavored to force a sum of money upon him; but Kornicker was resolute in his refusal, nor could he be induced to go home with Harson that evening. He said that he was not hungry.
After several ineffectual efforts, the old man permitted him to depart, with the internal resolution of keeping his eye on him, and of giving him a helping hand in the world; a resolution which we may as well mention that he carried out; so that in a few years Mr. Kornicker became a very vivacious gentleman, of independent property, who frequented a small ale-house in a retired corner of the city, where he snuffed prodigally, and became a perfect oracle, and of much reputed knowledge, from the sagacious manner in which he shook his head and winked on all subjects.