To give a boy self-respect." He said his wife had
died several months before. I congratulated myself that the
occupant of the upper berth was at least a gentleman.
The next day, as we sat opposite each other chatting, always in
German, he paused, and fixing his eyes rather steadily upon me he
remarked: "Do you think I put on mourning when my wife died? no
indeed, I put on white kid gloves and had a fiddler and danced at
the grave. All this mourning that people have is utter nonsense."
I was amazed at the turn his conversation had taken and sat quite
still, not knowing just what to say or to do.
After awhile, he looked at me steadily, and said, very
deferentially, "Madame, the spirit of my dead wife is looking at
me from out your eyes."
By this time I realized that the man was a maniac, and I had
always heard that one must agree with crazy people, so I nodded,
and that seemed to satisfy him, and bye and bye after some
minutes which seemed like hours to me, he went off to the smoking
room.
The tension was broken and I appealed to a very nice looking
woman who happened to be going to some place in Nevada near which
this Doctor lived, and she said, when I told her his name, "Why,
yes, I heard of him before I left home, he lives in Silver City,
and at the death of his wife, he went hopelessly insane, but,"
she added, "he is harmless, I believe."
This was a nice fix, to be sure, and I staid over in her section
all day, and late that night the Doctor arrived at the junction
where he was to take another train.
