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One day in August Doctor Parcival had an adventure in Winesburg.  For a month George Willard had been going each morning to spend an hour in the doctor’s office.  The visits came about through a desire on the part of the doctor to read to the boy from the pages of a book he was in the process of writing.  To write the book Doctor Parcival declared was the object of his coming to Winesburg to live.

On the morning in August before the coming of the boy, an incident had happened in the doctor’s office.  There had been an accident on Main Street.  A team of horses had been frightened by a train and had run away.  A little girl, the daughter of a farmer, had been thrown from a buggy and killed.

On Main Street everyone had become excited and a cry for doctors had gone up.  All three of the active practitioners of the town had come quickly but had found the child dead.  From the crowd someone had run to the office of Doctor Parcival who had bluntly refused to go down out of his office to the dead child.  The useless cruelty of his refusal had passed unnoticed.  Indeed, the man who had come up the stairway to summon him had hurried away without hearing the refusal.

All of this, Doctor Parcival did not know and when George Willard came to his office he found the man shaking with terror.  “What I have done will arouse the people of this town,” he declared excitedly.  “Do I not know human nature?  Do I not know what will happen?  Word of my refusal will be whispered about.  Presently men will get together in groups and talk of it.  They will come here.  We will quarrel and there will be talk of hanging.  Then they will come again bearing a rope in their hands.”

Doctor Parcival shook with fright.  “I have a presentiment,” he declared emphatically.  “It may be that what I am talking about will not occur this morning.  It may be put off until tonight but I will be hanged.  Everyone will get excited.  I will be hanged to a lamp-post on Main Street.”

Going to the door of his dirty office, Doctor Parcival looked timidly down the stairway leading to the street.  When he returned the fright that had been in his eyes was beginning to be replaced by doubt.  Coming on tiptoe across the room he tapped George Willard on the shoulder.  “If not now, sometime,” he whispered, shaking his head.  “In the end I will be crucified, uselessly crucified.”

Doctor Parcival began to plead with George Willard.  “You must pay attention to me,” he urged.  “If something happens perhaps you will be able to write the book that I may never get written.  The idea is very simple, so simple that if you are not careful you will forget it.  It is this—­that everyone in the world is Christ and they are all crucified.  That’s what I want to say.  Don’t you forget that.  Whatever happens, don’t you dare let yourself forget.”

NOBODY KNOWS