The Mathews journal. (Mathews C.H. [Court House]) 1903-1937, 1912-03-21
WEEKLY SHORT STORY
THE ACCIDENT.
By Paul Harrnarif.

just as we had settled down in the
SSomPatment, the tovial red facn of
spring. ~ PeA-
Hello. Doctor! This way."
broad smile illuminated his fea-
lures and, while we took care of his
instrument case, a bulky. red, worn
out anair, he hoisted himself uD the
steps, not without considerable effort.
Inc train was already moving.
L was almost sure I was going 20
miss It, he gasped, stroking his long.
patrl archal grey beard, which was
known for twenty miles around. Trim
sci was splendid old fellow and pop
ular everywhere.
With his keen blue eyes he exam
tned everything-the narrow compart-
ment the arched ceiling with the large
lamp in the center, the grey corduroy
OF the seats, the emergency brake and
the telegraph wires flying past the
window as the train gained speed.
You may not believe me-" he said,
but / have never got into a train az
this station during the last twenty
years without feeling of anxiety and
premoni1ion OF sudden death"
But what has then happened 70
you here?"
''oh. just escaped being killed.
that's ALL"
And after a moments silence. he
edded:
Accident! Fate! That grim beast
which lies in ambush waiting for us
when We least expect IL! Accident,
which lies hiding in the green grass,
crouching behind the corner OF a wall.
which floats invisible in the air! To
say nothing about disease. death is
lurking everywhere. Still one lives
and grows old. And there are even
people who live to be a hundred. That
is, indeed, a miracle"
With a malicious smile in his stern
blue eyes Trinsel went on:
"Yes, is Is a miracle, as we are
not made from iron, platinum or gold.
We are made from flesh, soft and frail
flesh. If 1t gets near the fire it burns.
IN water 1t browns, q knife cuts 1t
like a sausage. Our eyes are vulner-
able in many ways, our bones break
easily, and If our throat is squeezed
a little We suffocate. There is not a
single part of our body that is in any
way protected. And I who am talk
ing-who have brought hundreds of
babies into the world, who have set
bones, mended broken legs, scraped
intestines and sewed up stomachs, who
been exposed to all kinds of infection
have worked in hospitals and who have
i am chattering away here 60 years
old and 20 more to come.
1--WE find it so natural that we are
living. 1t is extraordinary, unheard
of, when death is stalking among us
like a ferOcious, Unsuitable monster
And we escape il one time after the
other
"A personal ought to be a fatalist.
What is written, is writeenl Now this
is what happened to me at Marenne
20 years ago on this very same little
station. which has not changed at all.
Il had an amputation in a village
near here and arrived at the station.
Il buy my ticket. My servant, Bap-
tistin, who looks after my horse and
dog-cart, hands me my instrument
case, and l start to walk across the
track to the platform opposite with
out undue hurry. Just as / am ready
to climb it, my foot is saught in a
switch and 1 am trapped, held fast
by the heel of my shoe.
'At first I did not mind it at all.
did not think it would be difficult to
get loose. But no, the iron jaws held
me firmly. pull with all my strength
upwards, sideways, back and forth
The feel does not bulge. And the
train i>fn a moment l will see it turn
ing the curve half a mile away, look
ing not larger than man smoking
his cigar.
Monster! Oh. Monster" my servant |
shouts and comes running toward me, |
having tied the horse to a fence.
II remember saying to him: