A Vision Of The Dining-Room
Came Before Me, And I Shook My Head.
"Still," he urged, "it would be
well to eat something." And, turning to the hostess, "He had better
have a beefsteak and a glass of Marsala." The look of amazement with
which I heard this caught the Doctor's eye.
"Don't you like
bistecca?" he inquired. I suggested that, for one in a very high
fever, with a good deal of lung congestion, beefsteak seemed a
trifle solid, and Marsala somewhat heating. "Oh!" cried he, "but we
must keep the machine going." And thereupon he took his genial
leave.
I had some fear that my hostess might visit upon me her resentment
of the Doctor's reproaches; but nothing of the kind. When we were
alone, she sat down by me, and asked what I should really like to
eat. If I did not care for a beefsteak of veal, could I eat a
beefsteak of mutton? It was not the first time that such a choice
had been offered me, for, in the South, bistecca commonly means a
slice of meat done on the grill or in the oven. Never have I sat
down to a bistecca which was fit for man's consumption, and, of
course, at the Concordia it would be rather worse than anywhere
else. I persuaded the good woman to supply me with a little broth.
Then I lay looking at the patch of cloudy sky which showed above the
houses opposite, and wondering whether I should have a second
fearsome night. I wondered, too, how long it would be before I could
quit Cotrone. The delay here was particularly unfortunate, as my
letters were addressed to Catanzaro, the next stopping-place, and
among them I expected papers which would need prompt attention. The
thought of trying to get my correspondence forwarded to Cotrone was
too disturbing; it would have involved an enormous amount of
trouble, and I could not have felt the least assurance that things
would arrive safely. So I worried through the hours of daylight, and
worried still more when, at nightfall, the fever returned upon me as
badly as ever.
Dr. Sculco had paid his evening visit, and the first horror of
ineffectual drowsing had passed over me, when my door was flung
violently open, and in rushed a man (plainly of the commercial
species), hat on head and bag in hand. I perceived that the
diligenza had just arrived, and that travellers were seizing upon
their bedrooms. The invader, aware of his mistake, discharged a
volley of apologies, and rushed out again. Five minutes later the
door again banged open, and there entered a tall lad with an armful
of newspapers; after regarding me curiously, he asked whether I
wanted a paper. I took one with the hope of reading it next morning.
Then he began conversation. I had the fever? Ah! everybody had fever
at Cotrone. He himself would be laid up with it in a day or two.
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