MY OLD FRIEND NICK 55 



mattresses or haircloth sofas, completed a per- 

 sonality at once grotesque and pathetic. 



Nick's voice was of a queer, high-pitched qual- 

 ity, his pronunciation of the broadest cockney, 

 and his profanity picturesque and voluble almost 

 beyond belief. Like the steamboat mate in the 

 book : 



" He would curse things with an emphasis 



So extremely rich and rare, 

 As to savor of the fervency 

 And eloquence of prayer." 



And yet despite the physical disabilities under 

 which Nick labored I liked him, respected him, 

 and was genuinely amused whenever I saw or 

 spoke with him. And I was not alone in this. 

 No child feared him, no dog passed him without 

 a wag of the tail, and no human being ever re- 

 ceived other than kindness at his hands. 



He was a weaver by trade, and years before 

 had come from England with his brother 'Any, 

 whose faithful shadow he was until 'Arry's tragic 

 death years later. 'Arry, also a weaver, had 

 prospered, and was a person of considerable im- 

 portance in the community. 



Nick had not prospered. He had worked, like 

 'Arry, faithfully and hard, but his earnings went 

 like smoke. What 'Arry expressed a desire for, 

 Nick would get for him. What 'Arry's son and 

 daughter desired, Nick gave freely and without 



