A Man Who Had No EyesAbeggar was coming down the avenue just as Mr. Parsons emerged from h
A Man Who Had No Eyes
Abeggar was coming down the avenue just as Mr. Parsons emerged from his hotel.
He was a blind beggar, carrying the traditional battered cane, and thumping his way before him with the cautious, half-furtive effort of the sightless. He was a shaggy, thick-necked fellow; his coat was greasy about the lapels and pockets, and his hand splayed over the cane's crook with a futile sort of clinging. He wore a black pouch slung over his shoulder. Apparently he had something to sell.
The air was rich with spring; the sun was warm and yellowed on the asphalt. Mr. Parsons, standing there in front of his hotel and noting the clack-clack approach of the sightless man, felt a sudden and foolish sort of pity for all blind creatures.
And, thought Mr. Parsons, he was very glad to be alive. A few years ago he had been little more than a skilled laborer; now he was successful, respected, admired... Insurance ... And he had done it alone, unaided, struggling beneath handicaps . .. And he was still young. The blue air of spring, fresh from its memories of windy pools and lush shrubbery, could thrill him with eagerness.
He took a step forward just as the tap-tapping blind man passed him by. Quickly tike shabby fellow turned.
"Listen, guv'nor. Just a minute of your time."
Mr. Parsons said, "It's late. I have an appointment. Do you want me to give you something？"
"1 ain't no beggar, guv'nore. You bet I ain't. I got a handy little article here"--he fumbled until he could press a small object into Mr. Parsons' hand--" that I sell. One buck. Best cigarette lighter made."
Mr. Parsons stood there, somewhat annoyed and embarrassed. He was a handsome figure with his immaculate gray suit and gray hat and malacca stick. Of course the man with the cigarette lighters could not see him ..."But I don't smoke," he said.
"Listen. I bet you know plenty people who smoke. Nice little present," wheedled the man. "And, mister, you woudn't mind helping a poor guy out？" He clung to Mr. Parsons' sleeve.
Mr. Parsons sighed and felt in his vest pocket. He brought out two half dollars and pressed them into the man's hand. "Certainly. I'll help you out. As you say, I can give it to someone. Maybe the elevator boy would--" He hesitated, not wishing to be boorish and inquisitive, even with a blind peddler. "Have you lost your sight entirely？"
The shabby man pocketed the two half dollars. "Fourteen years, guv'nor." Then he added with an insane sort of pride: "Westbury, sir. I was one of' em."
"Westbury," repeated Mr. Parsons. "Ah, yes. The chemical explosion ..The papers haven't mentioned it for years. But at the time it was supposed to be one of the greatest disasters in--"
"They've all forgot about it." The fellow shifted his feet wearily. "I tell you, guv'nor, a man who was in it don't forget about it. Last thing I ever saw was C shop going up in one grand smudge, 'and that damn' gas pouring in at all the busted windows."
Mr. Parsons coughed. But the blind peddler was caught up with the train of his one dramatic reminiscence. And, also, he was thinking that there might be more half dollars in Mr. Parsons' pocket.
"Just think about it, guv'nor. There was a hundred and eight people killed, about two hundred injured, and over fifty of them lost their eyes. Blind as bats--" He groped forward until his dirty hand rested against Mr. Parsons' coat. "I tell you, sir, there wasn't nothing worse than that in the war. If I had lost my eyes in the war, okay. I would have been well took care of. But I was just a workman, working for what was in it. And I got it. You're damn' right I got it, while the capitalists were making their dough! They was insured, don't worry about that. They--"
"Insured," rep
A．Y
B．N
C．NG
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