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Riis, Jacob A., 1849-1914

"The Making of an American"


As it happened, I was very busy the next day and for several days
after. The week was nearly spent when I found myself on the boat
going up to the island. At the hospital office they reassured me
with a queer look. Yes; my man was there, likely to stay there for
a little while. The doctor would presently take me to see him on
his rounds. In one of the big wards I found him at last, numbered
in the row of beds among a score of other human wrecks, a little
old man, bent and haggard, but with some of the dignity, I fancied,
of his noble descent upon his white and wrinkled brow. He sat up
in bed, propped by pillows, and listened with hungry eyes as, in
French which I had most carefully polished up for the occasion,
I told him my errand. When at last I paused, waiting anxiously
for an answer, he laid one trembling hand on mine--I noticed that
the other hung limp from the shoulder--and made, as it seemed, a
superhuman effort to speak; but only inarticulate, pitiful sounds
came forth. I looked appealingly at the doctor.
"Dumb," he said, and shook his head.


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