I
looked upon myself as a victim rather than as a criminal, and for
what I had done, and much that I had not done, I had more than paid
the penalty. So far as all my business transactions were concerned,
my course had always been honorable, and in my profession, for my
cures and for my medicines, I enjoyed a good reputation which all my
efforts were directed to deserve.
Of course, now and then, I met people in Portland, and especially in
Boston, who had known me in former years, and who knew something of
my past life; but these were generally my friends who sympathized
with my sufferings, or who, at least, were willing to blot out the
past in my better behavior of the present. One day in Boston a young
man came up to me and said:
"How do you do, Doctor?"
"Quite well," I replied; "but you have the advantage of me; I am
sure I do not remember you, if I ever knew you."
"You don't remember me! Why, I am the son of the jailer in Montpelier
with whom you spent so many months before you went to Windsor; I
knew you in a minute, and Doctor, I've been in Boston a week and
have got 'strapped;' how to get back to Montpelier I don't know,
unless you will lend me five or six dollars which I will send back
to you the moment I get home."
"I remember you well, now," said I; "you are the little rascal who
wouldn't even go and buy me a cigar unless I gave you a dime for
doing it; and then, sometimes, you cheated me out of my money; I
wouldn't lend you a dollar now if it would save you from six month's
imprisonment in your father's filthy jail.
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