Such was "Old Shep" as the papers painted him. I felt that the story of
his life must be a sad one--a story of suffering, disappointment, and
exile--a story of man's inhumanity to man in some shape or other--and I
longed to persuade the secret from him.
.....................
"Since you say you are a member of the press," said the wild man, "I am
willing to tell you all you wish to know. Bye and bye you will
comprehend why it is that I wish to unbosom myself to a newspaper man
when I have so studiously avoided conversation with other people. I will
now unfold my strange story. I was born with the world we live upon,
almost. I am the son of Cain."
"What?"
"I was present when the flood was announced."
"Which?"
"I am the father of the Wandering Jew."
"Sir?"
I moved out of range of his club, and went on taking notes, but keeping a
wary eye on him all the while. He smiled a melancholy smile and resumed:
"When I glance back over the dreary waste of ages, I see many a
glimmering and mark that is familiar to my memory. And oh, the leagues
I have travelled! the things I have seen! the events I have helped to
emphasise! I was at the assassination of Caesar. I marched upon Mecca
with Mahomet. I was in the Crusades, and stood with Godfrey when he
planted the banner of the cross on the battlements of Jerusalem.
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