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diff --git a/10947-h/10947-h.htm b/10947-h/10947-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b916057 --- /dev/null +++ b/10947-h/10947-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12310 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta charset="UTF-8" /> + <title> + /* The best American humorous short stories, by Various—A Project Gutenberg eBook + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> + <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +h1 { + font-weight: bold; + font-size: 200%; +} + +h2 { + margin-top: 4em; + font-weight: bold; +} + +h3 { + font-weight: bold; +} + + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.p15 {margin-top: 1.5em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +.fs200 {font-size: 200%;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 30%; margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 35%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +x-ebookmaker hr.chap {width: 0%; display: none;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse;} + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right; padding-right: 1em;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +/* for spacing */ +.padr4 {padding-right: 4em;} + +.lht {line-height: 1.5em;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} +.wide90 {width: 90%;} +.hang {padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} +.noindent {text-indent: 0em;} +.right {text-align: right;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +img.w70 {width: 70%;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.footnotes { + border: dashed 1px; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 3em; + padding-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; +} + +.footnote { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 90%; +} + +.footnote p {text-indent: 0em;} + +.footnote .label { + position: absolute; + right: 70%; + text-align: right; +} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none; +} + +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em 0 0 0;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry { + display: inline-block; + font-size: 80% + } + +.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: 0em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: 2em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: 4em;} +.poetry .indent5 {text-indent: 5em;} +.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 6em;} +.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: 8em;} + +.illowp70 {width: 70%;} + +x-ebookmaker-drop, .x-ebookmaker-drop {} + + + /* ]]> */ </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10947 ***</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="figcenter illowp70" id="cover"> + <img class="w70" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover created by the transcriber" /> +</div> + + +<h1 class="p4">THE BEST<br /> +AMERICAN HUMOROUS<br /> +SHORT STORIES</h1> + + +<p class="center p4"><em>Edited by</em><br /> +ALEXANDER JESSUP</p> + +<p class="center"><em>Editor of “Representative American Short Stories,”<br /> +“The Book of the Short Story,” the “Little<br /> +French Masterpieces” Series, etc.</em></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p>This volume does not aim to contain all “the best American humorous +short stories”; there are many other stories equally as good, I +suppose, in much the same vein, scattered through the range of +American literature. I have tried to keep a certain unity of aim and +impression in selecting these stories. In the first place I determined +that the pieces of brief fiction which I included must first of all be +not merely good stories, but good short stories. I put myself in the +position of one who was about to select the best short stories in the +whole range of American literature,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> but who, just before he started +to do this, was notified that he must refrain from selecting any of +the best American short stories that did not contain the element of +humor to a marked degree. But I have kept in mind the wide boundaries +of the term humor, and also the fact that the humorous standard should +be kept second—although a close second—to the short story standard.</p> + +<p>In view of the necessary limitations as to the volume’s size, I could +not hope to represent all periods of American literature adequately, +nor was this necessary in order to give examples of the best that has +been done in the short story in a humorous vein in American +literature. Probably all types of the short story of humor are +included here, at any rate. Not only copyright restrictions but in a +measure my own opinion have combined to exclude anything by Joel +Chandler Harris—<cite>Uncle Remus</cite>—from the collection. Harris is +primarily—in his best work—a humorist, and only secondarily a short +story writer. As a humorist he is of the first rank; as a writer of +short stories his place is hardly so high. His humor is not mere +funniness and diversion; he is a humorist in the fundamental and large +sense, as are Cervantes, Rabelais, and Mark Twain.</p> + +<p>No book is duller than a book of jokes, for what is refreshing in +small doses becomes nauseating when perused in large assignments. +Humor in literature is at its best not when served merely by itself +but when presented along with other ingredients of literary force in +order to give a wide representation of life. Therefore “professional +literary humorists,” as they may be called, have not been much +considered in making up this collection. In the history of American +humor there are three names which stand out more prominently than all +others before Mark Twain, who, however, also belongs to a wider +classification: “Josh Billings” (Henry Wheeler Shaw, 1815–1885), +“Petroleum V. Nasby” (David Ross Locke, 1833–1888), and “Artemus Ward” +(Charles Farrar Browne, 1834–1867). In the history of American humor +these names rank high; in the field of American literature and the +American short story they do not rank so high. I have found nothing of +theirs that was first-class both as humor and as short story. Perhaps +just below these three should be mentioned George Horatio Derby +(1823–1861), author of <cite>Phoenixiana</cite> (1855) and the <cite>Squibob Papers</cite> +(1859), who wrote under the name “John Phoenix.” As has been justly +said, “Derby, Shaw, Locke and Browne carried to an extreme numerous +tricks already invented by earlier American humorists, particularly +the tricks of gigantic exaggeration and calm-faced mendacity, but they +are plainly in the main channel of American humor, which had its +origin in the first comments of settlers upon the conditions of the +frontier, long drew its principal inspiration from the differences +between that frontier and the more settled and compact regions of the +country, and reached its highest development in Mark Twain, in his +youth a child of the American frontier, admirer and imitator of Derby +and Browne, and eventually a man of the world and one of its greatest +humorists.”<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Nor have such later writers who were essentially +humorists as “Bill Nye” (Edgar Wilson Nye, 1850–1896) been considered, +because their work does not attain the literary standard and the short +story standard as creditably as it does the humorous one. When we come +to the close of the nineteenth century the work of such men as “Mr. +Dooley” (Finley Peter Dunne, 1867- ) and George Ade (1866- ) stands +out. But while these two writers successfully conform to the exacting +critical requirements of good humor and—especially the former—of +good literature, neither—though Ade more so—attains to the greatest +excellence of the short story. Mr. Dooley of the Archey Road is +essentially a wholesome and wide-poised humorous philosopher, and the +author of <cite>Fables in Slang</cite> is chiefly a satirist, whether in fable, +play or what not.</p> + +<p>This volume might well have started with something by Washington +Irving, I suppose many critics would say. It does not seem to me, +however, that Irving’s best short stories, such as <cite>The Legend of +Sleepy Hollow</cite> and <cite>Rip Van Winkle</cite>, are essentially humorous stories, +although they are o’erspread with the genial light of reminiscence. It +is the armchair geniality of the eighteenth century essayists, a +constituent of the author rather than of his material and product. +Irving’s best humorous creations, indeed, are scarcely short stories +at all, but rather essaylike sketches, or sketchlike essays. James +Lawson (1799–1880) in his <cite>Tales and Sketches: by a Cosmopolite</cite> +(1830), notably in <cite>The Dapper Gentleman’s Story</cite>, is also plainly a +follower of Irving. We come to a different vein in the work of such +writers as William Tappan Thompson (1812–1882), author of the amusing +stories in letter form, <cite>Major Jones’s Courtship</cite> (1840); Johnson +Jones Hooper (1815–1862), author of <cite>Widow Rugby’s Husband, and Other +Tales of Alabama</cite> (1851); Joseph G. Baldwin (1815–1864), who wrote +<cite>The Flush Times of Alabama and Mississippi</cite> (1853); and Augustus +Baldwin Longstreet (1790–1870), whose <cite>Georgia Scenes</cite> (1835) are as +important in “local color” as they are racy in humor. Yet none of +these writers yield the excellent short story which is also a good +piece of humorous literature. But they opened the way for the work of +later writers who did attain these combined excellences.</p> + +<p>The sentimental vein of the midcentury is seen in the work of Seba +Smith (1792–1868), Eliza Leslie (1787–1858), Frances Miriam Whitcher +(“Widow Bedott,” 1811–1852), Mary W. Janvrin (1830–1870), and Alice +Bradley Haven Neal (1828–1863). The well-known work of Joseph Clay +Neal (1807–1847) is so all pervaded with caricature and humor that it +belongs with the work of the professional humorist school rather than +with the short story writers. To mention his <cite>Charcoal Sketches, or +Scenes in a Metropolis</cite> (1837–1849) must suffice. The work of Seba +Smith is sufficiently expressed in his title, <cite>Way Down East, or +Portraitures of Yankee Life</cite> (1854), although his <cite>Letters of Major +Jack Downing</cite> (1833) is better known. Of his single stories may be +mentioned <cite>The General Court and Jane Andrews’ Firkin of Butter</cite> +(October, 1847, <cite>Graham’s Magazine</cite>). The work of Frances Miriam +Whitcher (“Widow Bedott”) is of somewhat finer grain, both as humor +and in other literary qualities. Her stories or sketches, such as +<cite>Aunt Magwire’s Account of Parson Scrantum’s Donation Party</cite> (March, +1848, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>) and <cite>Aunt Magwire’s Account of the +Mission to Muffletegawmy</cite> (July, 1859, <cite>Godey’s</cite>), were afterwards +collected in <cite>The Widow Bedott Papers</cite> (1855-56-80). The scope of the +work of Mary B. Haven is sufficiently suggested by her story, <cite>Mrs. +Bowen’s Parlor and Spare Bedroom</cite> (February, 1860, <cite>Godey’s</cite>), while +the best stories of Mary W. Janvrin include <cite>The Foreign Count; or, +High Art in Tattletown</cite> (October, 1860, <cite>Godey’s</cite>) and <cite>City +Relations; or, the Newmans’ Summer at Clovernook</cite> (November, 1861, +<cite>Godey’s</cite>). The work of Alice Bradley Haven Neal is of somewhat +similar texture. Her book, <cite>The Gossips of Rivertown, with Sketches in +Prose and Verse</cite> (1850) indicates her field, as does the single title, +<cite>The Third-Class Hotel</cite> (December, 1861, <cite>Godey’s</cite>). Perhaps the most +representative figure of this school is Eliza Leslie (1787–1858), who +as “Miss Leslie” was one of the most frequent contributors to the +magazines of the 1830’s, 1840’s and 1850’s. One of her best stories is +<cite>The Watkinson Evening</cite> (December, 1846, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>), +included in the present volume; others are <cite>The Batson Cottage</cite> +(November, 1846, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>) and <cite>Juliet Irwin; or, the +Carriage People</cite> (June, 1847, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>). One of her chief +collections of stories is <cite>Pencil Sketches</cite> (1833–1837). “Miss +Leslie,” wrote Edgar Allan Poe, “is celebrated for the homely +naturalness of her stories and for the broad satire of her comic +style.” She was the editor of <cite>The Gift</cite> one of the best annuals of +the time, and in that position perhaps exerted her chief influence on +American literature When one has read three or four representative +stories by these seven authors one can grasp them all. Their titles as +a rule strike the keynote. These writers, except “the Widow Bedott,” +are perhaps sentimentalists rather than humorists in intention, but +read in the light of later days their apparent serious delineations of +the frolics and foibles of their time take on a highly humorous +aspect.</p> + +<p>George Pope Morris (1802–1864) was one of the founders of <cite>The New +York Mirror</cite>, and for a time its editor. He is best known as the +author of the poem, <cite>Woodman, Spare That Tree</cite>, and other poems and +songs. <cite>The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots</cite> (1839), the first +story in the present volume, is selected not because Morris was +especially prominent in the field of the short story or humorous prose +but because of this single story’s representative character. Edgar +Allan Poe (1809–1849) follows with <cite>The Angel of the Odd</cite> (October, +1844, <cite>Columbian Magazine</cite>), perhaps the best of his humorous stories. +<cite>The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether</cite> (November, 1845, <cite>Graham’s +Magazine</cite>) may be rated higher, but it is not essentially a humorous +story. Rather it is incisive satire, with too biting an undercurrent +to pass muster in the company of the genial in literature. Poe’s +humorous stories as a whole have tended to belittle rather than +increase his fame, many of them verging on the inane. There are some, +however, which are at least excellent fooling; few more than that.</p> + +<p>Probably this is hardly the place for an extended discussion of Poe, +since the present volume covers neither American literature as a whole +nor the American short story in general, and Poe is not a humorist in +his more notable productions. Let it be said that Poe invented or +perfected—more exactly, perfected his own invention of—the modern +short story; that is his general and supreme achievement. He also +stands superlative for the quality of three varieties of short +stories, those of terror, beauty and ratiocination. In the first class +belong <cite>A Descent into the Maelstrom</cite> (1841), <cite>The Pit and the +Pendulum</cite> (1842), <cite>The Black Cat</cite> (1843), and <cite>The Cask of +Amontillado</cite> (1846). In the realm of beauty his notable productions +are <cite>The Assignation</cite> (1834), <cite>Shadow: a Parable</cite> (1835), <cite>Ligeia</cite> +(1838), <cite>The Fall of the House of Usher</cite> (1839), <cite>Eleonora</cite> (1841), +and <cite>The Masque of the Red Death</cite> (1842). The tales of +ratiocination—what are now generally termed detective +stories—include <cite>The Murders in the Rue Morgue</cite> (1841) and its +sequel, <cite>The Mystery of Marie Rogêt</cite> (1842–1843), <cite>The Gold-Bug</cite> +(1843), <cite>The Oblong Box</cite> (1844), “<cite>Thou Art the Man</cite>” (1844), and <cite>The +Purloined Letter</cite> (1844).</p> + +<p>Then, too, Poe was a master of style, one of the greatest in English +prose, possibly the greatest since De Quincey, and quite the most +remarkable among American authors. Poe’s influence on the short story +form has been tremendous. Although the <cite>effects</cite> of structure may be +astounding in their power or unexpectedness, yet the <em>means</em> by which +these effects are brought about are purely mechanical. Any student of +fiction can comprehend them, almost any practitioner of fiction with a +bent toward form can fairly master them. The merit of any short story +production depends on many other elements as well—the value of the +structural element to the production as a whole depends first on the +selection of the particular sort of structural scheme best suited to +the story in hand, and secondly, on the way in which this is +<em>combined</em> with the piece of writing to form a well-balanced whole. +Style is more difficult to imitate than structure, but on the other +hand <em>the origin of structural influence</em> is more difficult to trace +than that of style. So while, in a general way, we feel that Poe’s +influence on structure in the short story has been great, it is +difficult rather than obvious to trace particular instances. It is +felt in the advance of the general level of short story art. There is +nothing personal about structure—there is everything personal about +style. Poe’s style is both too much his own and too superlatively good +to be successfully imitated—whom have we had who, even if he were a +master of structural effects, could be a second Poe? Looking at the +matter in another way, Poe’s style is not his own at all. There is +nothing “personal” about it in the petty sense of that term. Rather we +feel that, in the case of this author, universality has been attained. +It was Poe’s good fortune to be himself in style, as often in content, +on a plane of universal appeal. But in some general characteristics of +his style his work can be, not perhaps imitated, but emulated. Greater +vividness, deft impressionism, brevity that strikes instantly to a +telling effect—all these an author may have without imitating any +one’s style but rather imitating excellence. Poe’s “imitators” who +have amounted to anything have not tried to imitate him but to vie +with him. They are striving after perfectionism. Of course the sort of +good style in which Poe indulged is not the kind of style—or the +varieties of style—suited for all purposes, but for the purposes to +which it is adapted it may well be called supreme.</p> + +<p>Then as a poet his work is almost or quite as excellent in a somewhat +more restricted range. In verse he is probably the best artist in +American letters. Here his sole pursuit was beauty, both of form and +thought; he is vivid and apt, intensely lyrical but without much range +of thought. He has deep intuitions but no comprehensive grasp of life.</p> + +<p>His criticism is, on the whole, the least important part of his work. +He had a few good and brilliant ideas which came at just the right +time to make a stir in the world, and these his logical mind and +telling style enabled him to present to the best advantage. As a +critic he is neither broad-minded, learned, nor comprehensive. Nor is +he, except in the few ideas referred to, deep. He is, however, +limitedly original—perhaps intensely original within his narrow +scope. But the excellences and limitations of Poe in any one part of +his work were his limitations and excellences in all.</p> + +<p>As Poe’s best short stories may be mentioned: <cite>Metzengerstein</cite> (Jan. +14, 1832, Philadelphia <cite>Saturday Courier</cite>), <cite>Ms. Found in a Bottle</cite> +(October 19, 1833, <cite>Baltimore Saturday Visiter</cite>), <cite>The Assignation</cite> +(January, 1834, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>), <cite>Berenice</cite> (March, 1835, +<cite>Southern Literary Messenger</cite>), <cite>Morella</cite> (April, 1835, <cite>Southern +Literary Messenger</cite>), <cite>The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall</cite> +(June, 1835, <cite>Southern Literary Messenger</cite>), <cite>King Pest: a Tale +Containing an Allegory</cite> (September, 1835, <cite>Southern Literary +Messenger</cite>), <cite>Shadow: a Parable</cite> (September, 1835, <cite>Southern Literary +Messenger</cite>), <cite>Ligeia</cite> (September, 1838, <cite>American Museum</cite>), <cite>The Fall +of the House of Usher</cite> (September, 1839, <cite>Burton’s Gentleman’s +Magazine</cite>), <cite>William Wilson</cite> (1839: <cite>Gift for</cite> 1840), <cite>The +Conversation of Eiros and Charmion</cite> (December, 1839, <cite>Burton’s +Gentleman’s Magazine</cite>), <cite>The Murders in the Rue Morgue</cite> (April, 1841, +<cite>Graham’s Magazine</cite>), <cite>A Descent into the Maelstrom</cite> (May, 1841, +<cite>Graham’s Magazine</cite>), <cite>Eleonora</cite> (1841: <cite>Gift</cite> for 1842), <cite>The Masque +of the Red Death</cite> (May, 1842, <cite>Graham’s Magazine</cite>), <cite>The Pit and the +Pendulum</cite> (1842: <cite>Gift for 1843</cite>), <cite>The Tell-Tale Heart</cite> (January, +1843, <cite>Pioneer</cite>), <cite>The Gold-Bug</cite> (June 21 and 28, 1843, <cite>Dollar +Newspaper</cite>), <cite>The Black Cat</cite> (August 19, 1843, <cite>United States Saturday +Post</cite>), <cite>The Oblong Box</cite> (September, 1844, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>), +<cite>The Angel of the Odd</cite> (October, 1844, <cite>Columbian Magazine</cite>), “<cite>Thou +Art the Man</cite>” (November, 1844, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>), <cite>The Purloined +Letter</cite> (1844: <cite>Gift</cite> for 1845), <cite>The Imp of the Perverse</cite> (July, +1845, <cite>Graham’s Magazine</cite>), <cite>The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether</cite> +(November, 1845, <cite>Graham’s Magazine</cite>), <cite>The Facts in the Case of M. +Valdemar</cite> (December, 1845, <cite>American Whig Review</cite>), <cite>The Cask of +Amontillado</cite> (November, 1846, <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>), and <cite>Lander’s +Cottage</cite> (June 9, 1849, <cite>Flag of Our Union</cite>). Poe’s chief collections +are: <cite>Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque</cite> (1840), <cite>Tales</cite> (1845), +and <cite>The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe</cite> (1850–56). These titles +have been dropped from recent editions of his works, however, and the +stories brought together under the title <cite>Tales</cite>, or under +subdivisions furnished by his editors, such as <cite>Tales of +Ratiocination</cite>, etc.</p> + +<p>Caroline Matilda Stansbury Kirkland (1801–1864) wrote of the frontier +life of the Middle West in the mid-nineteenth century. Her principal +collection of short stories is <cite>Western Clearings</cite> (1845), from which +<cite>The Schoolmaster’s Progress</cite>, first published in <cite>The Gift</cite> for 1845 +(out in 1844), is taken. Other stories republished in that collection +are <cite>The Ball at Thram’s Huddle</cite> (April, 1840, <cite>Knickerbocker +Magazine</cite>), <cite>Recollections of the Land-Fever</cite> (September, 1840, +<cite>Knickerbocker Magazine</cite>), and <cite>The Bee-Tree</cite> (<cite>The Gift</cite> for 1842; +out in 1841). Her description of the country schoolmaster, “a puppet +cut out of shingle and jerked by a string,” and the local color in +general of this and other stories give her a leading place among the +writers of her period who combined fidelity in delineating frontier +life with sufficient fictional interest to make a pleasing whole of +permanent value.</p> + +<p>George William Curtis (1824–1892) gained his chief fame as an +essayist, and probably became best known from the department which he +conducted, from 1853, as <cite>The Editor’s Easy Chair</cite> for <cite>Harper’s +Magazine</cite> for many years. His volume, <cite>Prue and I</cite> (1856), contains +many fictional elements, and a story from it, <cite>Titbottom’s +Spectacles</cite>, which first appeared in Putnam’s Monthly for December, +1854, is given in this volume because it is a good humorous short +story rather than because of its author’s general eminence in this +field. Other stories of his worth noting are <cite>The Shrouded Portrait</cite> +(in <cite>The Knickerbocker Gallery</cite>, 1855) and <cite>The Millenial Club</cite> +(November, 1858, <cite>Knickerbocker Magazine</cite>).</p> + +<p>Edward Everett Hale (1822–1909) is chiefly known as the author of the +short story, <cite>The Man Without a Country</cite> (December, 1863, <cite>Atlantic +Monthly</cite>), but his venture in the comic vein, <cite>My Double; and How He +Undid Me</cite> (September, 1859, <cite>Atlantic Monthly</cite>), is equally worthy of +appreciation. It was his first published story of importance. Other +noteworthy stories of his are: <cite>The Brick Moon</cite> (October, November and +December, 1869, <cite>Atlantic Monthly</cite>), <cite>Life in the Brick Moon</cite> +(February, 1870, <cite>Atlantic Monthly</cite>), and <cite>Susan’s Escort</cite> (May, 1890, +<cite>Harper’s Magazine</cite>). His chief volumes of short stories are: <cite>The Man +Without a Country, and Other Tales</cite> (1868); <cite>The Brick Moon, and Other +Stories</cite> (1873); <cite>Crusoe in New York, and Other Tales</cite> (1880); and +<cite>Susan’s Escort, and Others</cite> (1897). The stories by Hale which have +made his fame all show ability of no mean order; but they are +characterized by invention and ingenuity rather than by suffusing +imagination. There is not much homogeneity about Hale’s work. Almost +any two stories of his read as if they might have been written by +different authors. For the time being perhaps this is an +advantage—his stories charm by their novelty and individuality. In +the long run, however, this proves rather a handicap. True +individuality, in literature as in the other arts, consists not in +“being different” on different occasions—in different works—so much +as in being <em>samely</em> different from other writers; in being +<em>consistently</em> one’s self, rather than diffusedly various selves. This +does not lessen the value of particular stories, of course. It merely +injures Hale’s fame as a whole. Perhaps some will chiefly feel not so +much that his stories are different among themselves, but that they +are not strongly anything—anybody’s—in particular, that they lack +strong personality. The pathway to fame is strewn with stray +exhibitions of talent. Apart from his purely literary productions, +Hale was one of the large moral forces of his time, through “uplift” +both in speech and the written word.</p> + +<p>Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–1894), one of the leading wits of American +literature, is not at all well known as a short story writer, nor did +he write many brief pieces of fiction. His fame rests chiefly on his +poems and on the <cite>Breakfast-Table</cite> books (1858-1860-1872-1890). <cite>Old +Ironsides</cite>, <cite>The Last Leaf</cite>, <cite>The Chambered Nautilus</cite> and <cite>Homesick in +Heaven</cite> are secure of places in the anthologies of the future, while +his lighter verse has made him one of the leading American writers of +“familiar verse.” Frederick Locker-Lampson in the preface to the first +edition of his <cite>Lyra Elegantiarum</cite> (1867) declared that Holmes was +“perhaps the best living writer of this species of verse.” His +trenchant attack on <cite>Homeopathy and Its Kindred Delusions</cite> (1842) +makes us wonder what would have been his attitude toward some of the +beliefs of our own day; Christian Science, for example. He might have +“exposed” it under some such title as <cite>The Religio-Medical +Masquerade</cite>, or brought the batteries of his humor to bear on it in +the manner of Robert Louis Stevenson’s fable, <cite>Something In It</cite>: +“Perhaps there is not much in it, as I supposed; but there is +something in it after all. Let me be thankful for that.” In Holmes’ +long works of fiction, Elsie Venner (1861), <cite>The Guardian Angel</cite> +(1867) and <cite>A Mortal Antipathy</cite> (1885), the method is still somewhat +that of the essayist. I have found a short piece of fiction by him in +the March, 1832, number of <cite>The New England Magazine</cite>, called <cite>The +Début</cite>, signed O.W.H. <cite>The Story of Iris</cite> in <cite>The Professor at the +Breakfast Table</cite>, which ran in <cite>The Atlantic</cite> throughout 1859, and <cite>A +Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters</cite> (January, 1861, +<cite>Atlantic</cite>) are his only other brief fictions of which I am aware. The +last named has been given place in the present selection because it is +characteristic of a certain type and period of American humor, +although its short story qualities are not particularly strong.</p> + +<p>Samuel Langhorne Clemens (1835–1910), who achieved fame as “Mark +Twain,” is only incidentally a short story writer, although he wrote +many short pieces of fiction. His humorous quality, I mean, is so +preponderant, that one hardly thinks of the form. Indeed, he is never +very strong in fictional construction, and of the modern short story +art he evidently knew or cared little. He is a humorist in the large +sense, as are Rabelais and Cervantes, although he is also a humorist +in various restricted applications of the word that are wholly +American. <cite>The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County</cite> was his +first publication of importance, and it saw the light in the Nov. 18, +1865, number of <cite>The Saturday Press</cite>. It was republished in the +collection, <cite>The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and +Other Sketches</cite>, in 1867. Others of his best pieces of short fiction +are: <cite>The Canvasser’s Tale</cite> (December, 1876, <cite>Atlantic Monthly</cite>), <cite>The +£1,000,000 Bank Note</cite> (January, 1893, <cite>Century Magazine</cite>), <cite>The +Esquimau Maiden’s Romance</cite> (November, 1893, <cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), +<cite>Traveling with a Reformer</cite> (December, 1893, <cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), <cite>The Man +That Corrupted Hadleyburg</cite> (December, 1899, <cite>Harper’s</cite>), <cite>A +Double-Barrelled Detective Story</cite> (January and February, 1902, +<cite>Harper’s</cite>) <cite>A Dog’s Tale</cite> (December, 1903, <cite>Harper’s</cite>), and <cite>Eve’s +Diary</cite> (December, 1905, <cite>Harper’s</cite>). Among Twain’s chief collections +of short stories are: <cite>The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras +County, and Other Sketches</cite> (1867); <cite>The Stolen White Elephant</cite> +(1882), <cite>The £1,000,000 Bank Note</cite> (1893), and <cite>The Man That Corrupted +Hadleyburg, and Other Stories and Sketches</cite> (1900).</p> + +<p>Harry Stillwell Edwards (1855– ), a native of Georgia, together with +Sarah Barnwell Elliott (? – ) and Will N. Harben (1858–1919) have +continued in the vein of that earlier writer, Augustus Baldwin +Longstreet (1790–1870), author of <cite>Georgia Scenes</cite> (1835). Edwards’ +best work is to be found in his short stories of black and white life +after the manner of Richard Malcolm Johnston. He has written several +novels, but he is essentially a writer of human-nature sketches. “He +is humorous and picturesque,” says Fred Lewis Pattee, “and often he is +for a moment the master of pathos, but he has added nothing new and +nothing commandingly distinctive.”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> An exception to this might be +made in favor of <cite>Elder Brown’s Backslide</cite> (August, 1885, <cite>Harper’s</cite>), +a story in which all the elements are so nicely balanced that the +result may well be called a masterpiece of objective humor and pathos. +Others of his short stories especially worthy of mention are: <cite>Two +Runaways</cite> (July, 1886, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>Sister Todhunter’s Heart</cite> (July, +1887, <cite>Century</cite>), “<cite>De Valley an’ de Shadder</cite>” (January, 1888, +<cite>Century</cite>), <cite>An Idyl of “Sinkin’ Mount’in”</cite> (October, 1888, +<cite>Century</cite>), <cite>The Rival Souls</cite> (March, 1889, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>The Woodhaven +Goat</cite> (March, 1899, <cite>Century</cite>), and <cite>The Shadow</cite> (December, 1906, +<cite>Century</cite>). His chief collections are <cite>Two Runaways, and Other +Stories</cite> (1889) and <cite>His Defense, and Other Stories</cite> (1898).</p> + +<p>The most notable, however, of the group of short story writers of +Georgia life is perhaps Richard Malcolm Johnston (1822–1898). He +stands between Longstreet and the younger writers of Georgia life. His +first book was <cite>Georgia Sketches, by an Old Man</cite> (1864). <cite>The Goose +Pond School</cite>, a short story, had been written in 1857; it was not +published, however, till it appeared in the November and December, +1869, numbers of a Southern magazine, <cite>The New Eclectic</cite>, over the +pseudonym “Philemon Perch.” His famous <cite>Dukesborough Tales</cite> +(1871–1874) was largely a republication of the earlier book. Other +noteworthy collections of his are: <cite>Mr. Absalom Billingslea and Other +Georgia Folk</cite> (1888), <cite>Mr. Fortner’s Marital Claims, and Other +Stories</cite> (1892), and <cite>Old Times in Middle Georgia</cite> (1897). Among +individual stories stand out: <cite>The Organ-Grinder</cite> (July, 1870, <cite>New +Eclectic</cite>), <cite>Mr. Neelus Peeler’s Conditions</cite> (June, 1879, <cite>Scribner’s +Monthly</cite>), <cite>The Brief Embarrassment of Mr. Iverson Blount</cite> (September, +1884, <cite>Century</cite>); <cite>The Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker</cite> (June, +1886, <cite>Century</cite>), republished in the present collection; <cite>The Wimpy +Adoptions</cite> (February, 1887, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>The Experiments of Miss Sally +Cash</cite> (September, 1888, <cite>Century</cite>), and <cite>Our Witch</cite> (March, 1897, +<cite>Century</cite>). Johnston must be ranked almost with Bret Harte as a +pioneer in “local color” work, although his work had little +recognition until his <cite>Dukesborough Tales</cite> were republished by Harper +& Brothers in 1883.</p> + +<p>Bret Harte (1839–1902) is mentioned here owing to the late date of his +story included in this volume, <cite>Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff</cite> +(March, 1901, <cite>Harper’s</cite>), although his work as a whole of course +belongs to an earlier period of our literature. It is now well-thumbed +literary history that <cite>The Luck of Roaring Camp</cite> (August, 1868, +<cite>Overland</cite>) and <cite>The Outcasts of Poker Flat</cite> (January, 1869, +<cite>Overland</cite>) brought him a popularity that, in its suddenness and +extent, had no precedent in American literature save in the case of +Mrs. Stowe and <cite>Uncle Tom’s Cabin</cite>. According to Harte’s own +statement, made in the retrospect of later years, he set out +deliberately to add a new province to American literature. Although +his work has been belittled because he has chosen exceptional and +theatric happenings, yet his real strength came from his contact with +Western life.</p> + +<p>Irving and Dickens and other models served only to teach him his art. +“Finally,” says Prof. Pattee, “Harte was the parent of the modern form +of the short story. It was he who started Kipling and Cable and Thomas +Nelson Page. Few indeed have surpassed him in the mechanics of this +most difficult of arts. According to his own belief, the form is an +American product ... Harte has described the genesis of his own art. +It sprang from the Western humor and was developed by the +circumstances that surrounded him. Many of his short stories are +models. They contain not a superfluous word, they handle a single +incident with grapic power, they close without moral or comment. The +form came as a natural evolution from his limitations and powers. With +him the story must of necessity be brief.... Bret Harte was the artist +of impulse, the painter of single burning moments, the flashlight +photographer who caught in lurid detail one dramatic episode in the +life of a man or a community and left the rest in darkness.”<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p>Harte’s humor is mostly “Western humor” There is not always uproarious +merriment, but there is a constant background of humor. I know of no +more amusing scene in American literature than that in the courtroom +when the Colonel gives his version of the deacon’s method of signaling +to the widow in Harte’s story included in the present volume, <cite>Colonel +Starbottle for the Plaintiff</cite>. Here is part of it:</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>True to the instructions she had received from him, her lips part in +the musical utterance (the Colonel lowered his voice in a faint +falsetto, presumably in fond imitation of his fair client) “Kerree!” +Instantly the night becomes resonant with the impassioned reply (the +Colonel here lifted his voice in stentorian tones), “Kerrow!” Again, +as he passes, rises the soft “Kerree!”; again, as his form is lost in +the distance, comes back the deep “Kerrow!”</p> +</div> + + +<p>While Harte’s stories all have in them a certain element or background +of humor, yet perhaps the majority of them are chiefly romantic or +dramatic even more than they are humorous.</p> + +<p>Among the best of his short stories may be mentioned: <cite>The Luck of +Roaring Camp</cite> (August, 1868, <cite>Overland</cite>), <cite>The Outcasts of Poker Flat</cite> +(January, 1869, <cite>Overland</cite>), <cite>Tennessee’s Partner</cite> (October, 1869, +<cite>Overland</cite>), <cite>Brown of Calaveras</cite> (March, 1870, <cite>Overland</cite>), <cite>Flip: a +California Romance</cite> (in <cite>Flip, and Other Stories</cite>, 1882), <cite>Left Out on +Lone Star Mountain</cite> (January, 1884, <cite>Longman’s</cite>), <cite>An Ingenue of the +Sierras</cite> (July, 1894, <cite>McClure’s</cite>), <cite>The Bell-Ringer of Angel’s</cite> (in +<cite>The Bell-Ringer of Angel’s, and Other Stories</cite>, 1894), <cite>Chu Chu</cite> (in +<cite>The Bell-Ringer of Angel’s, and Other Stories</cite>, 1894), <cite>The Man and +the Mountain</cite> (in <cite>The Ancestors of Peter Atherly, and Other Tales</cite>, +1897), <cite>Salomy Jane’s Kiss</cite> (in <cite>Stories in Light and Shadow</cite>, 1898), +<cite>The Youngest Miss Piper</cite> (February, 1900, <cite>Leslie’s Monthly</cite>), +<cite>Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff</cite> (March, 1901, <cite>Harper’s</cite>), <cite>A +Mercury of the Foothills</cite> (July, 1901, <cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), <cite>Lanty +Foster’s Mistake</cite> (December, 1901, <cite>New England</cite>), <cite>An Ali Baba of the +Sierras</cite> (January 4, 1902, <cite>Saturday Evening Post</cite>), and <cite>Dick Boyle’s +Business Card</cite> (in <cite>Trent’s Trust, and Other Stories</cite>, 1903). Among +his notable collections of stories are: <cite>The Luck of Roaring Camp, and +Other Sketches</cite> (1870), <cite>Flip, and Other Stories</cite> (1882), <cite>On the +Frontier</cite> (1884), <cite>Colonel Starbottle’s Client, and Some Other People</cite> +(1892), <cite>A Protégé of Jack Hamlin’s, and Other Stories</cite> (1894), <cite>The +Bell-Ringer of Angel’s, and Other Stories</cite> (1894), <cite>The Ancestors of +Peter Atherly, and Other Tales</cite> (1897), <cite>Openings in the Old Trail</cite> +(1902), and <cite>Trent’s Trust, and Other Stories</cite> (1903). The titles and +makeup of several of his collections were changed when they came to be +arranged in the complete edition of his works.<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> + +<p>Henry Cuyler Bunner (1855–1896) is one of the humorous geniuses of +American literature. He is equally at home in clever verse or the +brief short story. Prof. Fred Lewis Pattee has summed up his +achievement as follows: “Another [than Stockton] who did much to +advance the short story toward the mechanical perfection it had +attained to at the close of the century was Henry Cuyler Bunner, +editor of <cite>Puck</cite> and creator of some of the most exquisite <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vers de +société</i> of the period. The title of one of his collections, <cite>Made in +France: French Tales Retold with a U.S. Twist</cite> (1893), forms an +introduction to his fiction. Not that he was an imitator; few have +been more original or have put more of their own personality into +their work. His genius was Gallic. Like Aldrich, he approached the +short story from the fastidious standpoint of the lyric poet. With +him, as with Aldrich, art was a matter of exquisite touches, of +infinite compression, of almost imperceptible shadings. The lurid +splashes and the heavy emphasis of the local colorists offended his +sensitive taste: he would work with suggestion, with microscopic +focussings, and always with dignity and elegance. He was more American +than Henry James, more even than Aldrich. He chose always +distinctively American subjects—New York City was his favorite +theme—and his work had more depth of soul than Stockton’s or +Aldrich’s. The story may be trivial, a mere expanded anecdote, yet it +is sure to be so vitally treated that, like Maupassant’s work, it +grips and remains, and, what is more, it lifts and chastens or +explains. It may be said with assurance that <cite>Short Sixes</cite> marks one +of the high places which have been attained by the American short +story.”<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> + +<p>Among Bunner’s best stories are: <cite>Love in Old Cloathes</cite> (September, +1883, <cite>Century), A Successful Failure</cite> (July, 1887, <cite>Puck</cite>), <cite>The +Love-Letters of Smith</cite> (July 23, 1890, <cite>Puck</cite>) <cite>The Nice People</cite> (July +30, 1890, <cite>Puck</cite>), <cite>The Nine Cent-Girls</cite> (August 13, 1890, <cite>Puck</cite>), +<cite>The Two Churches of ’Quawket</cite> (August 27, 1890, <cite>Puck</cite>), <cite>A Round-Up</cite> +(September 10, 1890, <cite>Puck</cite>), <cite>A Sisterly Scheme</cite> (September 24, 1890, +<cite>Puck</cite>), <cite>Our Aromatic Uncle</cite> (August, 1895, <cite>Scribner’s</cite>), <cite>The +Time-Table Test</cite> (in <cite>The Suburban Sage</cite>, 1896). He collaborated with +Prof. Brander Matthews in several stories, notably in <cite>The Documents +in the Case</cite> (Sept., 1879, <cite>Scribner’s Monthly</cite>). His best collections +are: <cite>Short Sixes: Stories to be Read While the Candle Burns</cite> (1891), +<cite>More Short Sixes</cite> (1894), and <cite>Love in Old Cloathes, and Other +Stories</cite> (1896).</p> + +<p>After Poe and Hawthorne almost the first author in America to make a +vertiginous impression by his short stories was Bret Harte. The wide +and sudden popularity he attained by the publication of his two short +stories, <cite>The Luck of Roaring Camp</cite> (1868) and <cite>The Outcasts of Poker +Flat</cite> (1869), has already been noted.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> But one story just before +Harte that astonished the fiction audience with its power and art was +Harriet Prescott Spofford’s (1835– ) <cite>The Amber Gods</cite> (January and +February, 1860, Atlantic), with its startling ending, “I must have +died at ten minutes past one.” After Harte the next story to make a +great sensation was Thomas Bailey Aldrich’s <cite>Marjorie Daw</cite> (April, +1873, <cite>Atlantic</cite>), a story with a surprise at the end, as had been his +<cite>A Struggle for Life</cite> (July, 1867, <cite>Atlantic</cite>), although it was only +<cite>Marjorie Daw</cite> that attracted much attention at the time. Then came +George Washington Cable’s (1844– ) “<cite>Posson Jone’</cite>,” (April 1, 1876, +<cite>Appleton’s Journal</cite>) and a little later Charles Egbert Craddock’s +(1850– ) <cite>The Dancin’ Party at Harrison’s Cove</cite> (May, 1878, +<cite>Atlantic</cite>) and <cite>The Star in the Valley</cite> (November, 1878, <cite>Atlantic</cite>). +But the work of Cable and Craddock, though of sterling worth, won its +way gradually. Even Edward Everett Hale’s (1822–1909) <cite>My Double; and +How He Undid Me</cite> (September, 1859, <cite>Atlantic</cite>) and <cite>The Man Without a +Country</cite> (December, 1863, <cite>Atlantic</cite>) had fallen comparatively +still-born. The truly astounding short story successes, after Poe and +Hawthorne, then, were Spofford, Bret Harte and Aldrich. Next came +Frank Richard Stockton (1834–1902). “The interest created by the +appearance of <cite>Marjorie Daw</cite>,” says Prof. Pattee, “was mild compared +with that accorded to Frank R. Stockton’s <cite>The Lady or the Tiger?</cite> +(1884). Stockton had not the technique of Aldrich nor his naturalness +and ease. Certainly he had not his atmosphere of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beau monde</i> and +his grace of style, but in whimsicality and unexpectedness and in that +subtle art that makes the obviously impossible seem perfectly +plausible and commonplace he surpassed not only him but Edward Everett +Hale and all others. After Stockton and <cite>The Lady or the Tiger?</cite> it +was realized even by the uncritical that short story writing had +become a subtle art and that the master of its subtleties had his +reader at his mercy.”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> The publication of Stockton’s short stories +covers a period of over forty years, from <cite>Mahala’s Drive</cite> (November, +1868, <cite>Lippincott’s</cite>) to <cite>The Trouble She Caused When She Kissed</cite> +(December, 1911, <cite>Ladies’ Home Journal</cite>), published nine years after +his death. Among the more notable of his stories may be mentioned: +<cite>The Transferred Ghost</cite> (May, 1882, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>The Lady or the +Tiger?</cite> (November, 1882, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>The Reversible Landscape</cite> (July, +1884, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>The Remarkable Wreck of the “Thomas Hyke”</cite> (August, +1884, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>“His Wife’s Deceased Sister”</cite> (January, 1884, +<cite>Century</cite>), <cite>A Tale of Negative Gravity</cite> (December, 1884, <cite>Century</cite>), +<cite>The Christmas Wreck</cite> (in <cite>The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories</cite>, +1886), <cite>Amos Kilbright</cite> (in <cite>Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious +Experiences, with Other Stories</cite>, 1888), <cite>Asaph</cite> (May, 1892, +<cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), <cite>My Terminal Moraine</cite> (April 26, 1892, Collier’s +<cite>Once a Week Library</cite>), <cite>The Magic Egg</cite> (June, 1894, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>The +Buller-Podington Compact</cite> (August, 1897, <cite>Scribner’s</cite>), and <cite>The +Widow’s Cruise</cite> (in <cite>A Story-Teller’s Pack</cite>, 1897). Most of his best +work was gathered into the collections: <cite>The Lady or the Tiger?, and +Other Stories</cite> (1884), <cite>The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales</cite> +(1887), <cite>Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious Experiences, with Other +Stories</cite> (1888), <cite>The Clocks of Rondaine, and Other Stories</cite> (1892), +<cite>A Chosen Few</cite> (1895), <cite>A Story-Teller’s Pack</cite> (1897), and <cite>The +Queen’s Museum, and Other Fanciful Tales</cite> (1906).</p> + +<p>After Stockton and Bunner come O. Henry (1862–1910) and Jack London +(1876–1916), apostles of the burly and vigorous in fiction. Beside or +above them stand Henry James (1843–1916)—although he belongs to an +earlier period as well—Edith Wharton (1862– ), Alice Brown (1857– ), +Margaret Wade Deland (1857– ), and Katharine Fullerton Gerould +(1879– ), practitioners in all that O. Henry and London are not, of +the finer fields, the more subtle nuances of modern life. With O. +Henry and London, though perhaps less noteworthy, are to be grouped +George Randolph Chester (1869– ) and Irvin Shrewsbury Cobb (1876– ). +Then, standing rather each by himself, are Melville Davisson Post +(1871– ), a master of psychological mystery stories, and Wilbur Daniel +Steele (1886– ), whose work it is hard to classify. These ten names +represent much that is best in American short story production since +the beginning of the twentieth century (1900). Not all are notable for +humor; but inasmuch as any consideration of the American humorous +short story cannot be wholly dissociated from a consideration of the +American short story in general, it has seemed not amiss to mention +these authors here. Although Sarah Orne Jewett (1849–1909) lived on +into the twentieth century and Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (1862– ) is +still with us, the best and most typical work of these two writers +belongs in the last two decades of the previous century. To an earlier +period also belong Charles Egbert Craddock (1850– ), George Washington +Cable (1844– ), Thomas Nelson Page (1853– ), Constance Fenimore +Woolson (1848–1894), Harriet Prescott Spofford (1835– ), Hamlin +Garland (1860– ), Ambrose Bierce (1842–?), Rose Terry Cooke +(1827–1892), and Kate Chopin (1851–1904).</p> + +<p>“O. Henry” was the pen name adopted by William Sydney Porter. He began +his short story career by contributing <cite>Whistling Dick’s Christmas +Stocking</cite> to <cite>McClure’s Magazine</cite> in 1899. He followed it with many +stories dealing with Western and South- and Central-American life, and +later came most of his stories of the life of New York City, in which +field lies most of his best work. He contributed more stories to the +<cite>New York World</cite> than to any other one publication—as if the stories +of the author who later came to be hailed as “the American Maupassant” +were not good enough for the “leading” magazines but fit only for the +sensation-loving public of the Sunday papers! His first published +story that showed distinct strength was perhaps <cite>A Blackjack +Bargainer</cite> (August, 1901, <cite>Munsey’s</cite>). He followed this with such +masterly stories as: <cite>The Duplicity of Hargraves</cite> (February, 1902, +<cite>Junior Munsey</cite>), <cite>The Marionettes</cite> (April, 1902, <cite>Black Cat</cite>), <cite>A +Retrieved Reformation</cite> (April, 1903, <cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), <cite>The Guardian of +the Accolade</cite> (May, 1903, <cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), <cite>The Enchanted Kiss</cite> +(February, 1904, <cite>Metropolitan</cite>), <cite>The Furnished Room</cite> (August 14, +1904, <cite>New York World</cite>), <cite>An Unfinished Story</cite> (August, 1905, +<cite>McClure’s</cite>), <cite>The Count and the Wedding Guest</cite> (October 8, 1905, <cite>New +York World</cite>), <cite>The Gift of the Magi</cite> (December 10, 1905, <cite>New York +World</cite>), <cite>The Trimmed Lamp</cite> (August, 1906, <cite>McClure’s</cite>), <cite>Phoebe</cite> +(November, 1907, <cite>Everybody’s</cite>), <cite>The Hiding of Black Bill</cite> (October, +1908, <cite>Everybody’s</cite>), <cite>No Story</cite> (June, 1909, <cite>Metropolitan</cite>), <cite>A +Municipal Report</cite> (November, 1909, <cite>Hampton’s</cite>), <cite>A Service of Love</cite> +(in <cite>The Four Million</cite>, 1909), <cite>The Pendulum</cite> (in <cite>The Trimmed Lamp</cite>, +1910), <cite>Brickdust Row</cite> (in <cite>The Trimmed Lamp</cite>, 1910), and <cite>The +Assessor of Success</cite> (in <cite>The Trimmed Lamp</cite>, 1910). Among O. Henry’s +best volumes of short stories are: <cite>The Four Million</cite> (1909), +<cite>Options</cite> (1909), <cite>Roads of Destiny</cite> (1909), <cite>The Trimmed Lamp</cite> +(1910), <cite>Strictly Business: More Stories of the Four Million</cite> (1910), +<cite>Whirligigs</cite> (1910), and <cite>Sixes and Sevens</cite> (1911).</p> + +<p>“Nowhere is there anything just like them. In his best work—and his +tales of the great metropolis are his best—he is unique. The soul of +his art is unexpectedness. Humor at every turn there is, and sentiment +and philosophy and surprise. One never may be sure of himself. The end +is always a sensation. No foresight may predict it, and the sensation +always is genuine. Whatever else O. Henry was, he was an artist, a +master of plot and diction, a genuine humorist, and a philosopher. His +weakness lay in the very nature of his art. He was an entertainer bent +only on amusing and surprising his reader. Everywhere brilliancy, but +too often it is joined to cheapness; art, yet art merging swiftly into +caricature. Like Harte, he cannot be trusted. Both writers on the +whole may be said to have lowered the standards of American +literature, since both worked in the surface of life with theatric +intent and always without moral background, O. Henry moves, but he +never lifts. All is fortissimo; he slaps the reader on the back and +laughs loudly as if he were in a bar-room. His characters, with few +exceptions, are extremes, caricatures. Even his shop girls, in the +limning of whom he did his best work, are not really individuals; +rather are they types, symbols. His work was literary vaudeville, +brilliant, highly amusing, and yet vaudeville.”<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> <cite>The Duplicity of +Hargraves</cite>, the story by O. Henry given in this volume, is free from +most of his defects. It has a blend of humor and pathos that puts it +on a plane of universal appeal.</p> + +<p>George Randolph Chester (1869– ) gained distinction by creating the +genial modern business man of American literature who is not content +to “get rich quick” through the ordinary channels. Need I say that I +refer to that amazing compound of likeableness and sharp practices, +Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford? The story of his included in this volume, +<cite>Bargain Day at Tutt House</cite> (June, 1905, <cite>McClure’s</cite>), was nearly his +first story; only two others, which came out in <cite>The Saturday Evening +Post</cite> in 1903 and 1904, preceded it. Its breathless dramatic action is +well balanced by humor. Other stories of his deserving of special +mention are: <cite>A Corner in Farmers</cite> (February, 29, 1908, <cite>Saturday +Evening Post</cite>), <cite>A Fortune in Smoke</cite> (March 14, 1908, <cite>Saturday +Evening Post</cite>), <cite>Easy Money</cite> (November 14, 1908, <cite>Saturday Evening +Post</cite>), <cite>The Triple Cross</cite> (December 5, 1908, <cite>Saturday Evening +Post</cite>), <cite>Spoiling the Egyptians</cite> (December 26, 1908, <cite>Saturday Evening +Post</cite>), <cite>Whipsawed!</cite> (January 16, 1909, <cite>Saturday Evening Post</cite>), <cite>The +Bubble Bank</cite> (January 30 and February 6, 1909, <cite>Saturday Evening +Post</cite>), <cite>Straight Business</cite> (February 27, 1909, <cite>Saturday Evening +Post</cite>), <cite>Sam Turner: a Business Man’s Love Story</cite> (March 26, April 2 +and 9, 1910, <cite>Saturday Evening Post</cite>), <cite>Fundamental Justice</cite> (July 25, +1914, <cite>Saturday Evening Post</cite>), <cite>A Scropper Patcher</cite> (October, 1916, +<cite>Everybody’s</cite>), and <cite>Jolly Bachelors</cite> (February, 1918, +<cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>). His best collections are: <cite>Get-Rich-Quick +Wallingford</cite> (1908), <cite>Young Wallingford</cite> (1910), <cite>Wallingford in His +Prime</cite> (1913), and <cite>Wallingford and Blackie Daw</cite> (1913). It is often +difficult to find in his books short stories that one may be looking +for, for the reason that the titles of the individual stories have +been removed in order to make the books look like novels subdivided +into chapters.</p> + +<p>Grace MacGowan Cooke (1863– ) is a writer all of whose work has +interest and perdurable stuff in it, but few are the authors whose +achievements in the American short story stand out as a whole. In <cite>A +Call</cite> (August, 1906, <cite>Harper’s</cite>) she surpasses herself and is not +perhaps herself surpassed by any of the humorous short stories that +have come to the fore so far in America in the twentieth century. The +story is no less delightful in its fidelity to fact and understanding +of young human nature than in its relish of humor. Some of her stories +deserving of special mention are: <cite>The Capture of Andy Proudfoot</cite> +(June, 1904, <cite>Harper’s</cite>), <cite>In the Strength of the Hills</cite> (December, +1905, <cite>Metropolitan</cite>), <cite>The Machinations of Ocoee Gallantine</cite> (April, +1906, <cite>Century</cite>), <cite>A Call</cite> (August, 1906, <cite>Harper’s</cite>), <cite>Scott +Bohannon’s Bond </cite>(May 4, 1907, <cite>Collier’s</cite>), and <cite>A Clean Shave</cite> +(November, 1912, <cite>Century</cite>). Her best short stories do not seem to +have been collected in volumes as yet, although she has had several +notable long works of fiction published, such as <cite>The Power and the +Glory</cite> (1910), and several good juveniles.</p> + +<p>William James Lampton (?–1917), who was known to many of his admirers +as Will Lampton or as W.J.L. merely, was one of the most unique and +interesting characters of literary and Bohemian New York from about +1895 to his death in 1917. I remember walking up Fifth Avenue with him +one Sunday afternoon just after he had shown me a letter from the man +who was then Comptroller of the Currency. The letter was signed so +illegibly that my companion was in doubts as to the sender, so he +suggested that we stop at a well-known hotel at the corner of 59th +Street, and ask the manager who the Comptroller of the Currency then +was, so that he might know whom the letter was from. He said that the +manager of a big hotel like that, where many prominent people stayed, +would be sure to know. When this problem had been solved to our +satisfaction, John Skelton Williams proving to be the man, Lampton +said, “Now you’ve told me who he is, I’ll show you who I am.” So he +asked for a copy of <cite>The American Magazine</cite> at a newsstand in the +hotel corridor, opened it, and showed the manager a full-page picture +of himself clad in a costume suggestive of the time of Christopher +Columbus, with high ruffs around his neck, that happened to appear in +the magazine the current month. I mention this incident to illustrate +the lack of conventionality and whimsical originality of the man, that +stood out no less forcibly in his writings than in his daily life. He +had little use for “doing the usual thing in the usual sort of way.” +He first gained prominence by his book of verse, <cite>Yawps</cite> (1900). His +poems were free from convention in technique as well as in spirit, +although their chief innovation was simply that as a rule there was no +regular number of syllables in a line; he let the lines be any length +they wanted to be, to fit the sense or the length of what he had to +say. He once said to me that if anything of his was remembered he +thought it would be his poem, <cite>Lo, the Summer Girl</cite>. His muse often +took the direction of satire, but it was always good-natured even when +it hit the hardest. He had in his makeup much of the detached +philosopher, like Cervantes and Mark Twain.</p> + +<p>There was something cosmic about his attitude to life, and this showed +in much that he did. He was the only American writer of humorous verse +of his day whom I always cared to read, or whose lines I could +remember more than a few weeks. This was perhaps because his work was +never <em>merely</em> humorous, but always had a big sweep of background to +it, like the ruggedness of the Kentucky mountains from which he came. +It was Colonel George Harvey, then editor of <cite>Harper’s Weekly</cite>, who +had started the boom to make Woodrow Wilson President. Wilson +afterwards, at least seemingly, repudiated his sponsor, probably +because of Harvey’s identification with various moneyed interests. +Lampton’s poem on the subject, with its refrain, “Never again, said +Colonel George,” I remember as one of the most notable of his poems on +current topics. But what always seemed to me the best of his poems +dealing with matters of the hour was one that I suggested he write, +which dealt with gift-giving to the public, at about the time that +Andrew Carnegie was making a big stir with his gifts for libraries, +beginning:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Dunno, perhaps</div> + <div class="verse indent0">One of the yaps</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like me would make</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A holy break</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Doing his turn</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With money to burn.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Anyhow, I</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Wouldn’t shy</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Making a try!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">and containing, among many effective touches, the pathetic lines,</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">. . . I’d help</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The poor who try to help themselves,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who have to work so hard for bread</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They can’t get very far ahead.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">When James Lane Allen’s novel, <cite>The Reign of Law</cite>, came out (1900), a +little quatrain by Lampton that appeared in <cite>The Bookman</cite> (September, +1900) swept like wildfire across the country, and was read by a +hundred times as many people as the book itself:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The Reign of Law”?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Well, Allen, you’re lucky;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It’s the first time it ever</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Rained law in Kentucky!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">The reader need not be reminded that at that period Kentucky family +feuds were well to the fore. As Lampton had started as a poet, the +editors were bound to keep him pigeon-holed as far as they could, and +his ambition to write short stories was not at first much encouraged +by them. His predicament was something like that of the chief +character of Frank R. Stockton’s story, “<cite>His Wife’s Deceased Sister</cite>” +(January, 1884, <cite>Century</cite>), who had written a story so good that +whenever he brought the editors another story they invariably answered +in substance, “We’re afraid it won’t do. Can’t you give us something +like ‘<cite>His Wife’s Deceased Sister</cite>’?” This was merely Stockton’s +turning to account his own somewhat similar experience with the +editors after his story, <cite>The Lady or the Tiger</cite>? (November, 1882, +<cite>Century</cite>) appeared. Likewise the editors didn’t want Lampton’s short +stories for a while because they liked his poems so well.</p> + +<p>Do I hear some critics exclaiming that there is nothing remarkable +about <cite>How the Widow Won the Deacon</cite>, the story by Lampton included in +this volume? It handles an amusing situation lightly and with grace. +It is one of those things that read easily and are often difficult to +achieve. Among his best stories are: <cite>The People’s Number of the +Worthyville Watchman</cite> (May 12, 1900, <cite>Saturday Evening Post</cite>), <cite>Love’s +Strange Spell</cite> (April 27, 1901, <cite>Saturday Evening Post</cite>), <cite>Abimelech +Higgins’ Way</cite> (August 24, 1001, <cite>Saturday Evening Post</cite>), <cite>A Cup of +Tea</cite> (March, 1902, <cite>Metropolitan</cite>), <cite>Winning His Spurs</cite> (May, 1904, +<cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), <cite>The Perfidy of Major Pulsifer</cite> (November, 1909, +<cite>Cosmopolitan</cite>), <cite>How the Widow Won the Deacon</cite> (April, 1911, +<cite>Harper’s Bazaar</cite>), and <cite>A Brown Study</cite> (December, 1913, +<cite>Lippincott’s</cite>). There is no collection as yet of his short stories. +Although familiarly known as “Colonel” Lampton, and although of +Kentucky, he was not merely a “Kentucky Colonel,” for he was actually +appointed Colonel on the staff of the governor of Kentucky. At the +time of his death he was about to be made a brigadier-general and was +planning to raise a brigade of Kentucky mountaineers for service in +the Great War. As he had just struck his stride in short story +writing, the loss to literature was even greater than the patriotic +loss.</p> + +<p><cite>Gideon</cite> (April, 1914, <cite>Century</cite>), by Wells Hastings (1878– ), the +story with which this volume closes, calls to mind the large number of +notable short stories in American literature by writers who have made +no large name for themselves as short story writers, or even otherwise +in letters. American literature has always been strong in its “stray” +short stories of note. In Mr. Hastings’ case, however, I feel that the +fame is sure to come. He graduated from Yale in 1902, collaborated +with Brian Hooker (1880- ) in a novel, <cite>The Professor’s Mystery</cite> +(1911) and alone wrote another novel, <cite>The Man in the Brown Derby</cite> +(1911). His short stories include: <cite>The New Little Boy</cite> (July, 1911, +<cite>American</cite>), <cite>That Day</cite> (September, 1911, <cite>American</cite>), <cite>The Pick-Up</cite> +(December, 1911, <cite>Everybody’s</cite>), and <cite>Gideon</cite> (April, 1914, +<cite>Century</cite>). The last story stands out. It can be compared without +disadvantage to the best work, or all but the very best work, of +Thomas Nelson Page, it seems to me. And from the reader’s standpoint +it has the advantage—is this not also an author’s advantage?—of a +more modern setting and treatment. Mr. Hastings is, I have been told, +a director in over a dozen large corporations. Let us hope that his +business activities will not keep him too much away from the +production of literature—for to rank as a piece of literature, +something of permanent literary value, <cite>Gideon</cite> is surely entitled.</p> + +<p class="right padr4">ALEXANDER JESSUP.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> This I have attempted in <cite>Representative American Short +Stories</cite> (Allyn & Bacon: Boston, 1922).</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Will D. Howe, in <cite>The Cambridge History of American +Literature</cite>, Vol. II, pp. 158–159 (G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1918).</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> <cite>A History of American Literature Since 1870</cite>, p. 317 +(The Century Co.: 1915).</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> <cite>A History of American Literature Since 1870</cite>, pp 79–81.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> “The Works of Bret Harte,” twenty volumes. The Houghton +Mifflin Company, Boston.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> <cite>The Cambridge History of American Literature</cite>, Vol. II, +p. 386.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> See this Introduction.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> <cite>The Cambridge History of American Literature</cite>, Vol. II, +p. 385.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Fred Lewis Pattee, in The Cambridge History of American +Literature, Vol. II, p. 394.</p> +</div> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> + +<table class="autotable wide90"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang smcap">Introduction</td> +<td class="tdr"> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">v</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Alexander Jessup</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots</td> +<td class="tdr">(1839)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_LITTLE_FRENCHMAN_AND_HIS_WATER_LOTS">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>George Pope Morris</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Angel of the Odd</td> +<td class="tdr">(1844)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_ANGEL_OF_THE_ODD">7</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Edgar Allan Poe</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Schoolmaster’s Progress</td> +<td class="tdr">(1844)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_SCHOOLMASTERS_PROGRESS">18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Caroline M.S. Kirkland</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Watkinson Evening</td> +<td class="tdr">(1846)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_WATKINSON_EVENING">34</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Eliza Leslie</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">Titbottom’s Spectacles</td> +<td class="tdr">(1854)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TITBOTTOMS_SPECTACLES">52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>George William Curtis</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">My Double; and How He Undid Me</td> +<td class="tdr">(1859)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_DOUBLE_AND_HOW_HE_UNDID_ME">75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Edward Everett Hale</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">A Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters</td> +<td class="tdr">(1861)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_VISIT_TO_THE_ASYLUM_FOR_AGED_AND_DECAYED_PUNSTERS">94</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County</td> +<td class="tdr">(1865)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_CELEBRATED_JUMPING_FROG_OF_CALAVERAS_COUNTY">102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Mark Twain</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">Elder Brown’s Backslide</td> +<td class="tdr">(1885)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#ELDER_BROWNS_BACKSLIDE">109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Harry Stillwell Edwards</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker</td> +<td class="tdr">(1886)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_HOTEL_EXPERIENCE_OF_MR_PINK_FLUKER">128</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Richard Malcolm Johnston</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Nice People</td> +<td class="tdr">(1890)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_NICE_PEOPLE">141</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Henry Cuyler Bunner</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Buller-Podington Compact</td> +<td class="tdr">(1897)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_BULLER-PODINGTON_COMPACT">151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Frank Richard Stockton</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff</td> +<td class="tdr">(1901)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#COLONEL_STARBOTTLE_FOR_THE_PLAINTIFF">170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Bret Harte</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">The Duplicity of Hargraves</td> +<td class="tdr">(1902)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_DUPLICITY_OF_HARGRAVES">199</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>O. Henry</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">Bargain Day at Tutt House</td> +<td class="tdr">(1905)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#BARGAIN_DAY_AT_TUTT_HOUSE">213</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>George Randolph Chester</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">A Call</td> +<td class="tdr">(1906)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_CALL">237</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Grace MacGowan Cooke</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">How the Widow Won the Deacon</td> +<td class="tdr">(1911)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#HOW_THE_WIDOW_WON_THE_DEACON">252</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>William James Lampton</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl hang lht smcap">Gideon</td> +<td class="tdr">(1914)</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#GIDEON">260</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc" colspan="3"><i>Wells Hastings</i></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ACKNOWLEDGMENTS">ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</h2> + +<p><cite>The Nice People</cite>, by Henry Cuyler Bunner, is republished from his +volume, <cite>Short Sixes</cite>, by permission of its publishers, Charles +Scribner’s Sons. <cite>The Buller-Podington Compact</cite>, by Frank Richard +Stockton, is from his volume, <cite>Afield and Afloat</cite>, and is republished +by permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons. <cite>Colonel Starbottle for the +Plaintiff</cite>, by Bret Harte, is from the collection of his stories +entitled <cite>Openings in the Old Trail</cite>, and is republished by permission +of the Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret +Harte’s complete works. <cite>The Duplicity of Hargraves</cite>, by O. Henry, is +from his volume, <cite>Sixes and Sevens</cite>, and is republished by permission +of its publishers, Doubleday, Page & Co. These stories are fully +protected by copyright, and should not be republished except by +permission of the publishers mentioned. Thanks are due Mrs. Grace +MacGowan Cooke for permission to use her story, <cite>A Call</cite>, republished +here from <cite>Harper’s Magazine</cite>; Wells Hastings, for permission to +reprint his story, <cite>Gideon</cite>, from <cite>The Century Magazine</cite>; and George +Randolph Chester, for permission to include <cite>Bargain Day at Tutt +House</cite>, from <cite>McClure’s Magazine</cite>. I would also thank the heirs of the +late lamented Colonel William J. Lampton for permission to use his +story, <cite>How the Widow Won the Deacon</cite>, from <cite>Harper’s Bazaar</cite>. These +stories are all copyrighted, and cannot be republished except by +authorization of their authors or heirs. The editor regrets that their +publishers have seen fit to refuse him permission to include George W. +Cable’s story, “<cite>Posson Jone’</cite>,” and Irvin S. Cobb’s story, <cite>The Smart +Aleck</cite>. He also regrets he was unable to obtain a copy of Joseph C. +Duport’s story, <cite>The Wedding at Timber Hollow</cite>, in time for inclusion, +to which its merits—as he remembers them—certainly entitle it. Mr. +Duport, in addition to his literary activities, has started an +interesting “back to Nature” experiment at Westfield, Massachusetts.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p class="center fs200">To<br /> +<span class="smcap">Charles Goodrich Whiting</span><br /> +Critic, Poet, Friend</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_LITTLE_FRENCHMAN_AND_HIS_WATER_LOTS">THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By George Pope Morris</span> (1802–1864)</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Look into those they call unfortunate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, closer view’d, you’ll find they are unwise.—<i>Young.</i></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Let wealth come in by comely thrift,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And not by any foolish shift:</div> + <div class="verse indent8">’Tis haste</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Makes waste:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who gripes too hard the dry and slippery sand</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.—<i>Herrick</i>.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent8">Let well alone.—<i>Proverb</i>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>How much real comfort every one might enjoy if he would be contented +with the lot in which heaven has cast him, and how much trouble would +be avoided if people would only “let well alone.” A moderate +independence, quietly and honestly procured, is certainly every way +preferable even to immense possessions achieved by the wear and tear +of mind and body so necessary to procure them. Yet there are very few +individuals, let them be doing ever so well in the world, who are not +always straining every nerve to do better; and this is one of the many +causes why failures in business so frequently occur among us. The +present generation seem unwilling to “realize” by slow and sure +degrees; but choose rather to set their whole hopes upon a single +cast, which either makes or mars them forever!</p> + +<p>Gentle reader, do you remember Monsieur Poopoo? He used to keep a +small toy-store in Chatham, near the corner of Pearl Street. You must +recollect him, of course. He lived there for many years, and was one +of the most polite and accommodating of shopkeepers. When a juvenile, +you have bought tops and marbles of him a thousand times. To be sure +you have; and seen his vinegar-visage lighted up with a smile as you +flung him the coppers; and you have laughed at his little straight +queue and his dimity breeches, and all the other oddities that made up +the everyday apparel of my little Frenchman. Ah, I perceive you +recollect him now.</p> + +<p>Well, then, there lived Monsieur Poopoo ever since he came from “dear, +delightful Paris,” as he was wont to call the city of his +nativity—there he took in the pennies for his kickshaws—there he +laid aside five thousand dollars against a rainy day—there he was as +happy as a lark—and there, in all human probability, he would have +been to this very day, a respected and substantial citizen, had he +been willing to “let well alone.” But Monsieur Poopoo had heard +strange stories about the prodigious rise in real estate; and, having +understood that most of his neighbors had become suddenly rich by +speculating in lots, he instantly grew dissatisfied with his own lot, +forthwith determined to shut up shop, turn everything into cash, and +set about making money in right-down earnest. No sooner said than +done; and our quondam storekeeper a few days afterward attended an +extensive sale of real estate, at the Merchants’ Exchange.</p> + +<p>There was the auctioneer, with his beautiful and inviting lithographic +maps—all the lots as smooth and square and enticingly laid out as +possible—and there were the speculators—and there, in the midst of +them, stood Monsieur Poopoo.</p> + +<p>“Here they are, gentlemen,” said he of the hammer, “the most valuable +lots ever offered for sale. Give me a bid for them!”</p> + +<p>“One hundred each,” said a bystander.</p> + +<p>“One hundred!” said the auctioneer, “scarcely enough to pay for the +maps. One hundred—going—and fifty—gone! Mr. H., they are yours. A +noble purchase. You’ll sell those same lots in less than a fortnight +for fifty thousand dollars profit!”</p> + +<p>Monsieur Poopoo pricked up his ears at this, and was lost in +astonishment. This was a much easier way certainly of accumulating +riches than selling toys in Chatham Street, and he determined to buy +and mend his fortune without delay.</p> + +<p>The auctioneer proceeded in his sale. Other parcels were offered and +disposed of, and all the purchasers were promised immense advantages +for their enterprise. At last came a more valuable parcel than all the +rest. The company pressed around the stand, and Monsieur Poopoo did +the same.</p> + +<p>“I now offer you, gentlemen, these magnificent lots, delightfully +situated on Long Island, with valuable water privileges. Property in +fee—title indisputable—terms of sale, cash—deeds ready for delivery +immediately after the sale. How much for them? Give them a start at +something. How much?” The auctioneer looked around; there were no +bidders. At last he caught the eye of Monsieur Poopoo. “Did you say +one hundred, sir? Beautiful lots—valuable water privileges—shall I +say one hundred for you?”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Oui, monsieur</i>; I will give you von hundred dollar apiece, for de +lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege; <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">c’est ça</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Only one hundred apiece for these sixty valuable lots—only one +hundred—going—going—going—gone!”</p> + +<p>Monsieur Poopoo was the fortunate possessor. The auctioneer +congratulated him—the sale closed—and the company dispersed.</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Pardonnez-moi, monsieur</i>,” said Poopoo, as the auctioneer descended +his pedestal, “you shall <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">excusez-moi</i>, if I shall go to <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">votre +bureau</i>, your counting-house, ver quick to make every ting sure wid +respec to de lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege. Von leetle bird in +de hand he vorth two in de tree, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">c’est vrai</i>—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Vell den, <i>allons</i>.”</p> + +<p>And the gentlemen repaired to the counting-house, where the six +thousand dollars were paid, and the deeds of the property delivered. +Monsieur Poopoo put these carefully in his pocket, and as he was about +taking his leave, the auctioneer made him a present of the +lithographic outline of the lots, which was a very liberal thing on +his part, considering the map was a beautiful specimen of that +glorious art. Poopoo could not admire it sufficiently. There were his +sixty lots, as uniform as possible, and his little gray eyes sparkled +like diamonds as they wandered from one end of the spacious sheet to +the other.</p> + +<p>Poopoo’s heart was as light as a feather, and he snapped his fingers +in the very wantonness of joy as he repaired to Delmonico’s, and +ordered the first good French dinner that had gladdened his palate +since his arrival in America.</p> + +<p>After having discussed his repast, and washed it down with a bottle of +choice old claret, he resolved upon a visit to Long Island to view his +purchase. He consequently immediately hired a horse and gig, crossed +the Brooklyn ferry, and drove along the margin of the river to the +Wallabout, the location in question.</p> + +<p>Our friend, however, was not a little perplexed to find his property. +Everything on the map was as fair and even as possible, while all the +grounds about him were as undulated as they could well be imagined, +and there was an elbow of the East River thrusting itself quite into +the ribs of the land, which seemed to have no business there. This +puzzled the Frenchman exceedingly; and, being a stranger in those +parts, he called to a farmer in an adjacent field.</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon ami</i>, are you acquaint vid dis part of de country—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was born here, and know every inch of it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">c’est bien</i>, dat vill do,” and the Frenchman got out of the gig, +tied the horse, and produced his lithographic map.</p> + +<p>“Den maybe you vill have de kindness to show me de sixty lot vich I +have bought, vid de valuarble vatare privalege?”</p> + +<p>The farmer glanced his eye over the paper.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, with pleasure; if you will be good enough to <em>get into my +boat, I will row you out to them</em>!”</p> + +<p>“Vat dat you say, sure?”</p> + +<p>“My friend,” said the farmer, “this section of Long Island has +recently been bought up by the speculators of New York, and laid out +for a great city; but the principal street is only visible <em>at low +tide</em>. When this part of the East River is filled up, it will be just +there. Your lots, as you will perceive, are beyond it; <em>and are now +all under water</em>.”</p> + +<p>At first the Frenchman was incredulous. He could not believe his +senses. As the facts, however, gradually broke upon him, he shut one +eye, squinted obliquely at the heavens—-the river—the farmer—and +then he turned away and squinted at them all over again! There was his +purchase sure enough; but then it could not be perceived for there was +a river flowing over it! He drew a box from his waistcoat pocket, +opened it, with an emphatic knock upon the lid, took a pinch of snuff +and restored it to his waistcoat pocket as before. Poopoo was +evidently in trouble, having “thoughts which often lie too deep for +tears”; and, as his grief was also too big for words, he untied his +horse, jumped into his gig, and returned to the auctioneer in hot +haste.</p> + +<p>It was near night when he arrived at the auction-room—his horse in a +foam and himself in a fury. The auctioneer was leaning back in his +chair, with his legs stuck out of a low window, quietly smoking a +cigar after the labors of the day, and humming the music from the last +new opera.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur, I have much plaisir to fin’ you, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chez vous</i>, at home.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Poopoo! glad to see you. Take a seat, old boy.”</p> + +<p>“But I shall not take de seat, sare.”</p> + +<p>“No—why, what’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beaucoup</i> de matter. I have been to see de gran lot vot you sell +me to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, I hope you like your purchase?”</p> + +<p>“No, monsieur, I no like him.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry for it; but there is no ground for your complaint.”</p> + +<p>“No, sare; dare is no <em>ground</em> at all—de ground is all vatare!”</p> + +<p>“You joke!”</p> + +<p>“I no joke. I nevare joke; <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">je n’entends pas la raillerie</i>, Sare, +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">voulez-vous</i> have de kindness to give me back de money vot I pay!”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not.”</p> + +<p>“Den vill you be so good as to take de East River off de top of my +lot?”</p> + +<p>“That’s your business, sir, not mine.”</p> + +<p>“Den I make von <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mauvaise affaire</i>—von gran mistake!”</p> + +<p>“I hope not. I don’t think you have thrown your money away in the +<em>land</em>.”</p> + +<p>“No, sare; but I tro it avay in de <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vatare!</i>”</p> + +<p>“That’s not my fault.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sare, but it is your fault. You’re von ver gran rascal to +swindle me out of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">de l’argent</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Hello, old Poopoo, you grow personal; and if you can’t keep a civil +tongue in your head, you must go out of my counting-room.”</p> + +<p>“Vare shall I go to, eh?”</p> + +<p>“To the devil, for aught I care, you foolish old Frenchman!” said the +auctioneer, waxing warm.</p> + +<p>“But, sare, I vill not go to de devil to oblige you!” replied the +Frenchman, waxing warmer. “You sheat me out of all de dollar vot I +make in Shatham Street; but I vill not go to de devil for all dat. I +vish you may go to de devil yourself you dem yankee-doo-dell, and I +vill go and drown myself, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tout de suite</i>, right avay.”</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t make a better use of your water privileges, old boy!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">miséricorde</i>! Ah, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon dieu, je suis abîmé</i>. I am ruin! I am +done up! I am break all into ten sousan leetle pieces! I am von lame +duck, and I shall vaddle across de gran ocean for Paris, vish is de +only valuarble vatare privalege dat is left me <i>à present</i>!”</p> + +<p>Poor Poopoo was as good as his word. He sailed in the next packet, and +arrived in Paris almost as penniless as the day he left it.</p> + +<p>Should any one feel disposed to doubt the veritable circumstances here +recorded, let him cross the East River to the Wallabout, and farmer +J—— will <em>row him out</em> to the very place where the poor Frenchman’s +lots still remain <em>under water</em>.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> From <cite>The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots, with Other +Sketches of the Times</cite> (1839), by George Pope Morris.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_ANGEL_OF_THE_ODD">THE ANGEL OF THE ODD<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Edgar Allan Poe</span> (1809–1849)</p> + +<p>It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an +unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">truffe</i> formed not +the least important item, and was sitting alone in the dining-room +with my feet upon the fender and at my elbow a small table which I had +rolled up to the fire, and upon which were some apologies for dessert, +with some miscellaneous bottles of wine, spirit, and <em>liqueur</em>. In the +morning I had been reading Glover’s <cite>Leonidas</cite>, Wilkie’s <cite>Epigoniad</cite>, +Lamartine’s <cite>Pilgrimage</cite>, Barlow’s <cite>Columbiad</cite>, Tuckerman’s <cite>Sicily</cite>, +and Griswold’s <cite>Curiosities</cite>, I am willing to confess, therefore, that +I now felt a little stupid. I made effort to arouse myself by frequent +aid of Lafitte, and all failing, I betook myself to a stray newspaper +in despair. Having carefully perused the column of “Houses to let,” +and the column of “Dogs lost,” and then the columns of “Wives and +apprentices runaway,” I attacked with great resolution the editorial +matter, and reading it from beginning to end without understanding a +syllable, conceived the possibility of its being Chinese, and so +re-read it from the end to the beginning, but with no more +satisfactory result. I was about throwing away in disgust</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">This folio of four pages, happy work</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which not even critics criticise,</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">when I felt my attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which +follows:</p> + +<p>“The avenues to death are numerous and strange. A London paper +mentions the decease of a person from a singular cause. He was playing +at ‘puff the dart,’ which is played with a long needle inserted in +some worsted, and blown at a target through a tin tube. He placed the +needle at the wrong end of the tube, and drawing his breath strongly +to puff the dart forward with force, drew the needle into his throat. +It entered the lungs, and in a few days killed him.”</p> + +<p>Upon seeing this I fell into a great rage, without exactly knowing +why. “This thing,” I exclaimed, “is a contemptible falsehood—a poor +hoax—the lees of the invention of some pitiable penny-a-liner, of +some wretched concocter of accidents in Cocaigne. These fellows +knowing the extravagant gullibility of the age set their wits to work +in the imagination of improbable possibilities, of odd accidents as +they term them, but to a reflecting intellect (like mine, I added, in +parenthesis, putting my forefinger unconsciously to the side of my +nose), to a contemplative understanding such as I myself possess, it +seems evident at once that the marvelous increase of late in these +‘odd accidents’ is by far the oddest accident of all. For my own part, +I intend to believe nothing henceforward that has anything of the +‘singular’ about it.”</p> + +<p>“Mein Gott, den, vat a vool you bees for dat!” replied one of the most +remarkable voices I ever heard. At first I took it for a rumbling in +my ears—such as a man sometimes experiences when getting very +drunk—but upon second thought, I considered the sound as more nearly +resembling that which proceeds from an empty barrel beaten with a big +stick; and, in fact, this I should have concluded it to be, but for +the articulation of the syllables and words. I am by no means +naturally nervous, and the very few glasses of Lafitte which I had +sipped served to embolden me a little, so that I felt nothing of +trepidation, but merely uplifted my eyes with a leisurely movement and +looked carefully around the room for the intruder. I could not, +however, perceive any one at all.</p> + +<p>“Humph!” resumed the voice as I continued my survey, “you mus pe so +dronk as de pig den for not zee me as I zit here at your zide.”</p> + +<p>Hereupon I bethought me of looking immediately before my nose, and +there, sure enough, confronting me at the table sat a personage +nondescript, although not altogether indescribable. His body was a +wine-pipe or a rum puncheon, or something of that character, and had a +truly Falstaffian air. In its nether extremity were inserted two kegs, +which seemed to answer all the purposes of legs. For arms there +dangled from the upper portion of the carcass two tolerably long +bottles with the necks outward for hands. All the head that I saw the +monster possessed of was one of those Hessian canteens which resemble +a large snuff-box with a hole in the middle of the lid. This canteen +(with a funnel on its top like a cavalier cap slouched over the eyes) +was set on edge upon the puncheon, with the hole toward myself; and +through this hole, which seemed puckered up like the mouth of a very +precise old maid, the creature was emitting certain rumbling and +grumbling noises which he evidently intended for intelligible talk.</p> + +<p>“I zay,” said he, “you mos pe dronk as de pig, vor zit dare and not +zee me zit ere; and I zay, doo, you mos pe pigger vool as de goose, +vor to dispelief vat iz print in de print. ’Tiz de troof—dat it +iz—ebery vord ob it.”</p> + +<p>“Who are you, pray?” said I with much dignity, although somewhat +puzzled; “how did you get here? and what is it you are talking about?”</p> + +<p>“As vor ow I com’d ere,” replied the figure, “dat iz none of your +pizziness; and as vor vat I be talking apout, I be talk apout vat I +tink proper; and as vor who I be, vy dat is de very ting I com’d here +for to let you zee for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“You are a drunken vagabond,” said I, “and I shall ring the bell and +order my footman to kick you into the street.”</p> + +<p>“He! he! he!” said the fellow, “hu! hu! hu! dat you can’t do.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t do!” said I, “what do you mean? I can’t do what?”</p> + +<p>“Ring de pell,” he replied, attempting a grin with his little +villainous mouth.</p> + +<p>Upon this I made an effort to get up in order to put my threat into +execution, but the ruffian just reached across the table very +deliberately, and hitting me a tap on the forehead with the neck of +one of the long bottles, knocked me back into the armchair from which +I had half arisen. I was utterly astounded, and for a moment was quite +at a loss what to do. In the meantime he continued his talk.</p> + +<p>“You zee,” said he, “it iz te bess vor zit still; and now you shall +know who I pe. Look at me! zee! I am te <i>Angel ov te Odd</i>.”</p> + +<p>“And odd enough, too,” I ventured to reply; “but I was always under +the impression that an angel had wings.”</p> + +<p>“Te wing!” he cried, highly incensed, “vat I pe do mit te wing? Mein +Gott! do you take me for a shicken?”</p> + +<p>“No—oh, no!” I replied, much alarmed; “you are no chicken—certainly +not.”</p> + +<p>“Well, den, zit still and pehabe yourself, or I’ll rap you again mid +me vist. It iz te shicken ab te wing, und te owl ab te wing, und te +imp ab te wing, und te head-teuffel ab te wing. Te angel ab <em>not</em> te +wing, and I am te <em>Angel ov te Odd</em>.”</p> + +<p>“And your business with me at present is—is——”</p> + +<p>“My pizziness!” ejaculated the thing, “vy vat a low-bred puppy you mos +pe vor to ask a gentleman und an angel apout his pizziness!”</p> + +<p>This language was rather more than I could bear, even from an angel; +so, plucking up courage, I seized a salt-cellar which lay within +reach, and hurled it at the head of the intruder. Either he dodged, +however, or my aim was inaccurate; for all I accomplished was the +demolition of the crystal which protected the dial of the clock upon +the mantelpiece. As for the Angel, he evinced his sense of my assault +by giving me two or three hard, consecutive raps upon the forehead as +before. These reduced me at once to submission, and I am almost +ashamed to confess that, either through pain or vexation, there came a +few tears into my eyes.</p> + +<p>“Mein Gott!” said the Angel of the Odd, apparently much softened at my +distress; “mein Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry zorry. You +mos not trink it so strong—you mos put te water in te wine. Here, +trink dis, like a good veller, and don’t gry now—don’t!”</p> + +<p>Hereupon the Angel of the Odd replenished my goblet (which was about a +third full of port) with a colorless fluid that he poured from one of +his hand-bottles. I observed that these bottles had labels about their +necks, and that these labels were inscribed “Kirschenwässer.”</p> + +<p>The considerate kindness of the Angel mollified me in no little +measure; and, aided by the water with which he diluted my port more +than once, I at length regained sufficient temper to listen to his +very extraordinary discourse. I cannot pretend to recount all that he +told me, but I gleaned from what he said that he was a genius who +presided over the <em>contretemps</em> of mankind, and whose business it was +to bring about the <em>odd accidents</em> which are continually astonishing +the skeptic. Once or twice, upon my venturing to express my total +incredulity in respect to his pretensions, he grew very angry indeed, +so that at length I considered it the wiser policy to say nothing at +all, and let him have his own way. He talked on, therefore, at great +length, while I merely leaned back in my chair with my eyes shut, and +amused myself with munching raisins and filiping the stems about the +room. But, by and by, the Angel suddenly construed this behavior of +mine into contempt. He arose in a terrible passion, slouched his +funnel down over his eyes, swore a vast oath, uttered a threat of some +character, which I did not precisely comprehend, and finally made me a +low bow and departed, wishing me, in the language of the archbishop in +“Gil Bias,” <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beaucoup de bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens</i>.</p> + +<p>His departure afforded me relief. The <em>very</em> few glasses of Lafitte +that I had sipped had the effect of rendering me drowsy, and I felt +inclined to take a nap of some fifteen or twenty minutes, as is my +custom after dinner. At six I had an appointment of consequence, which +it was quite indispensable that I should keep. The policy of insurance +for my dwelling-house had expired the day before; and some dispute +having arisen it was agreed that, at six, I should meet the board of +directors of the company and settle the terms of a renewal. Glancing +upward at the clock on the mantelpiece (for I felt too drowsy to take +out my watch), I had the pleasure to find that I had still twenty-five +minutes to spare. It was half-past five; I could easily walk to the +insurance office in five minutes; and my usual siestas had never been +known to exceed five-and-twenty. I felt sufficiently safe, therefore, +and composed myself to my slumbers forthwith.</p> + +<p>Having completed them to my satisfaction, I again looked toward the +timepiece, and was half inclined to believe in the possibility of odd +accidents when I found that, instead of my ordinary fifteen or twenty +minutes, I had been dozing only three; for it still wanted +seven-and-twenty of the appointed hour. I betook myself again to my +nap, and at length a second time awoke, when, to my utter amazement, +it still wanted twenty-seven minutes of six. I jumped up to examine +the clock, and found that it had ceased running. My watch informed me +that it was half-past seven; and, of course, having slept two hours, I +was too late for my appointment. “It will make no difference,” I said: +“I can call at the office in the morning and apologize; in the +meantime what can be the matter with the clock?” Upon examining it I +discovered that one of the raisin stems which I had been filiping +about the room during the discourse of the Angel of the Odd had flown +through the fractured crystal, and lodging, singularly enough, in the +keyhole, with an end projecting outward, had thus arrested the +revolution of the minute hand.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said I, “I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A +natural accident, such as will happen now and then!”</p> + +<p>I gave the matter no further consideration, and at my usual hour +retired to bed. Here, having placed a candle upon a reading stand at +the bed head, and having made an attempt to peruse some pages of the +<cite>Omnipresence of the Deity</cite>, I unfortunately fell asleep in less than +twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was.</p> + +<p>My dreams were terrifically disturbed by visions of the Angel of the +Odd. Methought he stood at the foot of the couch, drew aside the +curtains, and in the hollow, detestable tones of a rum puncheon, +menaced me with the bitterest vengeance for the contempt with which I +had treated him. He concluded a long harangue by taking off his +funnel-cap, inserting the tube into my gullet, and thus deluging me +with an ocean of Kirschenwässer, which he poured in a continuous +flood, from one of the long-necked bottles that stood him instead of +an arm. My agony was at length insufferable, and I awoke just in time +to perceive that a rat had run off with the lighted candle from the +stand, but <em>not</em> in season to prevent his making his escape with it +through the hole, Very soon a strong, suffocating odor assailed my +nostrils; the house, I clearly perceived, was on fire. In a few +minutes the blaze broke forth with violence, and in an incredibly +brief period the entire building was wrapped in flames. All egress +from my chamber, except through a window, was cut off. The crowd, +however, quickly procured and raised a long ladder. By means of this I +was descending rapidly, and in apparent safety, when a huge hog, about +whose rotund stomach, and indeed about whose whole air and +physiognomy, there was something which reminded me of the Angel of the +Odd—when this hog, I say, which hitherto had been quietly slumbering +in the mud, took it suddenly into his head that his left shoulder +needed scratching, and could find no more convenient rubbing-post than +that afforded by the foot of the ladder. In an instant I was +precipitated, and had the misfortune to fracture my arm.</p> + +<p>This accident, with the loss of my insurance, and with the more +serious loss of my hair, the whole of which had been singed off by the +fire, predisposed me to serious impressions, so that finally I made up +my mind to take a wife. There was a rich widow disconsolate for the +loss of her seventh husband, and to her wounded spirit I offered the +balm of my vows. She yielded a reluctant consent to my prayers. I +knelt at her feet in gratitude and adoration. She blushed and bowed +her luxuriant tresses into close contact with those supplied me +temporarily by Grandjean. I know not how the entanglement took place +but so it was. I arose with a shining pate, wigless; she in disdain +and wrath, half-buried in alien hair. Thus ended my hopes of the widow +by an accident which could not have been anticipated, to be sure, but +which the natural sequence of events had brought about.</p> + +<p>Without despairing, however, I undertook the siege of a less +implacable heart. The fates were again propitious for a brief period, +but again a trivial incident interfered. Meeting my betrothed in an +avenue thronged with the elite of the city, I was hastening to greet +her with one of my best considered bows, when a small particle of some +foreign matter lodging in the corner of my eye rendered me for the +moment completely blind. Before I could recover my sight, the lady of +my love had disappeared—irreparably affronted at what she chose to +consider my premeditated rudeness in passing her by ungreeted. While I +stood bewildered at the suddenness of this accident (which might have +happened, nevertheless, to any one under the sun), and while I still +continued incapable of sight, I was accosted by the Angel of the Odd, +who proffered me his aid with a civility which I had no reason to +expect. He examined my disordered eye with much gentleness and skill, +informed me that I had a drop in it, and (whatever a “drop” was) took +it out, and afforded me relief.</p> + +<p>I now considered it high time to die (since fortune had so determined +to persecute me), and accordingly made my way to the nearest river. +Here, divesting myself of my clothes (for there is no reason why we +cannot die as we were born), I threw myself headlong into the current; +the sole witness of my fate being a solitary crow that had been +seduced into the eating of brandy-saturated corn, and so had staggered +away from his fellows. No sooner had I entered the water than this +bird took it into his head to fly away with the most indispensable +portion of my apparel. Postponing, therefore, for the present, my +suicidal design, I just slipped my nether extremities into the sleeves +of my coat, and betook myself to a pursuit of the felon with all the +nimbleness which the case required and its circumstances would admit. +But my evil destiny attended me still. As I ran at full speed, with my +nose up in the atmosphere, and intent only upon the purloiner of my +property, I suddenly perceived that my feet rested no longer upon +<em>terra firma</em>; the fact is, I had thrown myself over a precipice, and +should inevitably have been dashed to pieces but for my good fortune +in grasping the end of a long guide-rope, which depended from a +passing balloon.</p> + +<p>As soon as I sufficiently recovered my senses to comprehend the +terrific predicament in which I stood, or rather hung, I exerted all +the power of my lungs to make that predicament known to the aeronaut +overhead. But for a long time I exerted myself in vain. Either the +fool could not, or the villain would not perceive me. Meanwhile the +machine rapidly soared, while my strength even more rapidly failed. I +was soon upon the point of resigning myself to my fate, and dropping +quietly into the sea, when my spirits were suddenly revived by hearing +a hollow voice from above, which seemed to be lazily humming an opera +air. Looking up, I perceived the Angel of the Odd. He was leaning, +with his arms folded, over the rim of the car; and with a pipe in his +mouth, at which he puffed leisurely, seemed to be upon excellent terms +with himself and the universe. I was too much exhausted to speak, so I +merely regarded him with an imploring air.</p> + +<p>For several minutes, although he looked me full in the face, he said +nothing. At length, removing carefully his meerschaum from the right +to the left corner of his mouth, he condescended to speak.</p> + +<p>“Who pe you,” he asked, “und what der teuffel you pe do dare?”</p> + +<p>To this piece of impudence, cruelty, and affectation, I could reply +only by ejaculating the monosyllable “Help!”</p> + +<p>“Elp!” echoed the ruffian, “not I. Dare iz te pottle—elp yourself, +und pe tam’d!”</p> + +<p>With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwässer, which, +dropping precisely upon the crown of my head, caused me to imagine +that my brains were entirely knocked out. Impressed with this idea I +was about to relinquish my hold and give up the ghost with a good +grace, when I was arrested by the cry of the Angel, who bade me hold +on.</p> + +<p>“’Old on!” he said: “don’t pe in te ’urry—don’t. Will you pe take de +odder pottle, or ’ave you pe got zober yet, and come to your zenzes?”</p> + +<p>I made haste, hereupon, to nod my head twice—once in the negative, +meaning thereby that I would prefer not taking the other bottle at +present; and once in the affirmative, intending thus to imply that I +<em>was</em> sober and <em>had</em> positively come to my senses. By these means I +somewhat softened the Angel.</p> + +<p>“Und you pelief, ten,” he inquired, “at te last? You pelief, ten, in +te possibility of te odd?”</p> + +<p>I again nodded my head in assent.</p> + +<p>“Und you ave pelief in <em>me</em>, te Angel of te Odd?”</p> + +<p>I nodded again.</p> + +<p>“Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk und te vool?”</p> + +<p>I nodded once more.</p> + +<p>“Put your right hand into your left preeches pocket, ten, in token ov +your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd.”</p> + +<p>This thing, for very obvious reasons, I found it quite impossible to +do. In the first place, my left arm had been broken in my fall from +the ladder, and therefore, had I let go my hold with the right hand I +must have let go altogether. In the second place, I could have no +breeches until I came across the crow. I was therefore obliged, much +to my regret, to shake my head in the negative, intending thus to give +the Angel to understand that I found it inconvenient, just at that +moment, to comply with his very reasonable demand! No sooner, however, +had I ceased shaking my head than—</p> + +<p>“Go to der teuffel, ten!” roared the Angel of the Odd.</p> + +<p>In pronouncing these words he drew a sharp knife across the guide-rope +by which I was suspended, and as we then happened to be precisely over +my own house (which, during my peregrinations, had been handsomely +rebuilt), it so occurred that I tumbled headlong down the ample +chimney and alit upon the dining-room hearth.</p> + +<p>Upon coming to my senses (for the fall had very thoroughly stunned me) +I found it about four o’clock in the morning. I lay outstretched where +I had fallen from the balloon. My head groveled in the ashes of an +extinguished fire, while my feet reposed upon the wreck of a small +table, overthrown, and amid the fragments of a miscellaneous dessert, +intermingled with a newspaper, some broken glasses and shattered +bottles, and an empty jug of the Schiedam Kirschenwässer. Thus +revenged himself the Angel of the Odd.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> From <cite>The Columbian Magazine</cite>, October, 1844.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SCHOOLMASTERS_PROGRESS">THE SCHOOLMASTER’S PROGRESS<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Caroline M.S. Kirkland</span> (1801–1864)</p> + + +<p>Master William Horner came to our village to school when he was about +eighteen years old: tall, lank, straight-sided, and straight-haired, +with a mouth of the most puckered and solemn kind. His figure and +movements were those of a puppet cut out of shingle and jerked by a +string; and his address corresponded very well with his appearance. +Never did that prim mouth give way before a laugh. A faint and misty +smile was the widest departure from its propriety, and this +unaccustomed disturbance made wrinkles in the flat, skinny cheeks like +those in the surface of a lake, after the intrusion of a stone. Master +Horner knew well what belonged to the pedagogical character, and that +facial solemnity stood high on the list of indispensable +qualifications. He had made up his mind before he left his father’s +house how he would look during the term. He had not planned any smiles +(knowing that he must “board round”), and it was not for ordinary +occurrences to alter his arrangements; so that when he was betrayed +into a relaxation of the muscles, it was “in such a sort” as if he was +putting his bread and butter in jeopardy.</p> + +<p>Truly he had a grave time that first winter. The rod of power was new +to him, and he felt it his “duty” to use it more frequently than might +have been thought necessary by those upon whose sense the privilege +had palled. Tears and sulky faces, and impotent fists doubled fiercely +when his back was turned, were the rewards of his conscientiousness; +and the boys—and girls too—were glad when working time came round +again, and the master went home to help his father on the farm.</p> + +<p>But with the autumn came Master Horner again, dropping among us as +quietly as the faded leaves, and awakening at least as much serious +reflection. Would he be as self-sacrificing as before, postponing his +own ease and comfort to the public good, or would he have become more +sedentary, and less fond of circumambulating the school-room with a +switch over his shoulder? Many were fain to hope he might have learned +to smoke during the summer, an accomplishment which would probably +have moderated his energy not a little, and disposed him rather to +reverie than to action. But here he was, and all the broader-chested +and stouter-armed for his labors in the harvest-field.</p> + +<p>Let it not be supposed that Master Horner was of a cruel and ogrish +nature—a babe-eater—a Herod—one who delighted in torturing the +helpless. Such souls there may be, among those endowed with the awful +control of the ferule, but they are rare in the fresh and natural +regions we describe. It is, we believe, where young gentlemen are to +be crammed for college, that the process of hardening heart and skin +together goes on most vigorously. Yet among the uneducated there is so +high a respect for bodily strength, that it is necessary for the +schoolmaster to show, first of all, that he possesses this +inadmissible requisite for his place. The rest is more readily taken +for granted. Brains he <em>may</em> have—a strong arm he <em>must</em> have: so he +proves the more important claim first. We must therefore make all due +allowance for Master Horner, who could not be expected to overtop his +position so far as to discern at once the philosophy of teaching.</p> + +<p>He was sadly brow-beaten during his first term of service by a great +broad-shouldered lout of some eighteen years or so, who thought he +needed a little more “schooling,” but at the same time felt quite +competent to direct the manner and measure of his attempts.</p> + +<p>“You’d ought to begin with large-hand, Joshuay,” said Master Horner to +this youth.</p> + +<p>“What should I want coarse-hand for?” said the disciple, with great +contempt; “coarse-hand won’t never do me no good. I want a fine-hand +copy.”</p> + +<p>The master looked at the infant giant, and did as he wished, but we +say not with what secret resolutions.</p> + +<p>At another time, Master Horner, having had a hint from some one more +knowing than himself, proposed to his elder scholars to write after +dictation, expatiating at the same time quite floridly (the ideas +having been supplied by the knowing friend), upon the advantages +likely to arise from this practice, and saying, among other things,</p> + +<p>“It will help you, when you write letters, to spell the words good.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh!” said Joshua, “spellin’ ain’t nothin’; let them that finds the +mistakes correct ’em. I’m for every one’s havin’ a way of their own.”</p> + +<p>“How dared you be so saucy to the master?” asked one of the little +boys, after school.</p> + +<p>“Because I could lick him, easy,” said the hopeful Joshua, who knew +very well why the master did not undertake him on the spot.</p> + +<p>Can we wonder that Master Horner determined to make his empire good as +far as it went?</p> + +<p>A new examination was required on the entrance into a second term, +and, with whatever secret trepidation, the master was obliged to +submit. Our law prescribes examinations, but forgets to provide for +the competency of the examiners; so that few better farces offer than +the course of question and answer on these occasions. We know not +precisely what were Master Horner’s trials; but we have heard of a +sharp dispute between the inspectors whether a-n-g-e-l spelt <em>angle</em> +or <em>angel</em>. <em>Angle</em> had it, and the school maintained that +pronunciation ever after. Master Horner passed, and he was requested +to draw up the certificate for the inspectors to sign, as one had left +his spectacles at home, and the other had a bad cold, so that it was +not convenient for either to write more than his name. Master Homer’s +exhibition of learning on this occasion did not reach us, but we know +that it must have been considerable, since he stood the ordeal.</p> + +<p>“What is orthography?” said an inspector once, in our presence.</p> + +<p>The candidate writhed a good deal, studied the beams overhead and the +chickens out of the window, and then replied,</p> + +<p>“It is so long since I learnt the first part of the spelling-book, +that I can’t justly answer that question. But if I could just look it +over, I guess I could.”</p> + +<p>Our schoolmaster entered upon his second term with new courage and +invigorated authority. Twice certified, who should dare doubt his +competency? Even Joshua was civil, and lesser louts of course +obsequious; though the girls took more liberties, for they feel even +at that early age, that influence is stronger than strength.</p> + +<p>Could a young schoolmaster think of feruling a girl with her hair in +ringlets and a gold ring on her finger? Impossible—and the immunity +extended to all the little sisters and cousins; and there were enough +large girls to protect all the feminine part of the school. With the +boys Master Horner still had many a battle, and whether with a view to +this, or as an economical ruse, he never wore his coat in school, +saying it was too warm. Perhaps it was an astute attention to the +prejudices of his employers, who love no man that does not earn his +living by the sweat of his brow. The shirt-sleeves gave the idea of a +manual-labor school in one sense at least. It was evident that the +master worked, and that afforded a probability that the scholars +worked too.</p> + +<p>Master Horner’s success was most triumphant that winter. A year’s +growth had improved his outward man exceedingly, filling out the limbs +so that they did not remind you so forcibly of a young colt’s, and +supplying the cheeks with the flesh and blood so necessary where +mustaches were not worn. Experience had given him a degree of +confidence, and confidence gave him power. In short, people said the +master had waked up; and so he had. He actually set about reading for +improvement; and although at the end of the term he could not quite +make out from his historical studies which side Hannibal was on, yet +this is readily explained by the fact that he boarded round, and was +obliged to read generally by firelight, surrounded by ungoverned +children.</p> + +<p>After this, Master Horner made his own bargain. When schooltime came +round with the following autumn, and the teacher presented himself for +a third examination, such a test was pronounced no longer necessary; +and the district consented to engage him at the astounding rate of +sixteen dollars a month, with the understanding that he was to have a +fixed home, provided he was willing to allow a dollar a week for it. +Master Horner bethought him of the successive “killing-times,” and +consequent doughnuts of the twenty families in which he had sojourned +the years before, and consented to the exaction.</p> + +<p>Behold our friend now as high as district teacher can ever hope to +be—his scholarship established, his home stationary and not +revolving, and the good behavior of the community insured by the fact +that he, being of age, had now a farm to retire upon in case of any +disgust.</p> + +<p>Master Horner was at once the preëminent beau of the neighborhood, +spite of the prejudice against learning. He brushed his hair straight +up in front, and wore a sky-blue ribbon for a guard to his silver +watch, and walked as if the tall heels of his blunt boots were +egg-shells and not leather. Yet he was far from neglecting the duties +of his place. He was beau only on Sundays and holidays; very +schoolmaster the rest of the time.</p> + +<p>It was at a “spelling-school” that Master Horner first met the +educated eyes of Miss Harriet Bangle, a young lady visiting the +Engleharts in our neighborhood. She was from one of the towns in +Western New York, and had brought with her a variety of city airs and +graces somewhat caricatured, set off with year-old French fashions +much travestied. Whether she had been sent out to the new country to +try, somewhat late, a rustic chance for an establishment, or whether +her company had been found rather trying at home, we cannot say. The +view which she was at some pains to make understood was, that her +friends had contrived this method of keeping her out of the way of a +desperate lover whose addresses were not acceptable to them.</p> + +<p>If it should seem surprising that so high-bred a visitor should be +sojourning in the wild woods, it must be remembered that more than one +celebrated Englishman and not a few distinguished Americans have +farmer brothers in the western country, no whit less rustic in their +exterior and manner of life than the plainest of their neighbors. When +these are visited by their refined kinsfolk, we of the woods catch +glimpses of the gay world, or think we do.</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">That great medicine hath</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With its tinct gilded—</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">many a vulgarism to the satisfaction of wiser heads than ours.</p> + +<p>Miss Bangle’s manner bespoke for her that high consideration which she +felt to be her due. Yet she condescended to be amused by the rustics +and their awkward attempts at gaiety and elegance; and, to say truth, +few of the village merry-makings escaped her, though she wore always +the air of great superiority.</p> + +<p>The spelling-school is one of the ordinary winter amusements in the +country. It occurs once in a fortnight, or so, and has power to draw +out all the young people for miles round, arrayed in their best +clothes and their holiday behavior. When all is ready, umpires are +elected, and after these have taken the distinguished place usually +occupied by the teacher, the young people of the school choose the two +best scholars to head the opposing classes. These leaders choose their +followers from the mass, each calling a name in turn, until all the +spellers are ranked on one side or the other, lining the sides of the +room, and all standing. The schoolmaster, standing too, takes his +spelling-book, and gives a placid yet awe-inspiring look along the +ranks, remarking that he intends to be very impartial, and that he +shall give out nothing <em>that is not in the spelling-book</em>. For the +first half hour or so he chooses common and easy words, that the +spirit of the evening may not be damped by the too early thinning of +the classes. When a word is missed, the blunderer has to sit down, and +be a spectator only for the rest of the evening. At certain intervals, +some of the best speakers mount the platform, and “speak a piece,” +which is generally as declamatory as possible.</p> + +<p>The excitement of this scene is equal to that afforded by any city +spectacle whatever; and towards the close of the evening, when +difficult and unusual words are chosen to confound the small number +who still keep the floor, it becomes scarcely less than painful. When +perhaps only one or two remain to be puzzled, the master, weary at +last of his task, though a favorite one, tries by tricks to put down +those whom he cannot overcome in fair fight. If among all the curious, +useless, unheard-of words which may be picked out of the +spelling-book, he cannot find one which the scholars have not noticed, +he gets the last head down by some quip or catch. “Bay” will perhaps +be the sound; one scholar spells it “bey,” another, “bay,” while the +master all the time means “ba,” which comes within the rule, being <em>in +the spelling-book</em>.</p> + +<p>It was on one of these occasions, as we have said, that Miss Bangle, +having come to the spelling-school to get materials for a letter to a +female friend, first shone upon Mr. Horner. She was excessively amused +by his solemn air and puckered mouth, and set him down at once as fair +game. Yet she could not help becoming somewhat interested in the +spelling-school, and after it was over found she had not stored up +half as many of the schoolmaster’s points as she intended, for the +benefit of her correspondent.</p> + +<p>In the evening’s contest a young girl from some few miles’ distance, +Ellen Kingsbury, the only child of a substantial farmer, had been the +very last to sit down, after a prolonged effort on the part of Mr. +Horner to puzzle her, for the credit of his own school. She blushed, +and smiled, and blushed again, but spelt on, until Mr. Horner’s cheeks +were crimson with excitement and some touch of shame that he should be +baffled at his own weapons. At length, either by accident or design, +Ellen missed a word, and sinking into her seat was numbered with the +slain.</p> + +<p>In the laugh and talk which followed (for with the conclusion of the +spelling, all form of a public assembly vanishes), our schoolmaster +said so many gallant things to his fair enemy, and appeared so much +animated by the excitement of the contest, that Miss Bangle began to +look upon him with rather more respect, and to feel somewhat indignant +that a little rustic like Ellen should absorb the entire attention of +the only beau. She put on, therefore, her most gracious aspect, and +mingled in the circle; caused the schoolmaster to be presented to her, +and did her best to fascinate him by certain airs and graces which she +had found successful elsewhere. What game is too small for the +close-woven net of a coquette?</p> + +<p>Mr. Horner quitted not the fair Ellen until he had handed her into her +father’s sleigh; and he then wended his way homewards, never thinking +that he ought to have escorted Miss Bangle to her uncle’s, though she +certainly waited a little while for his return.</p> + +<p>We must not follow into particulars the subsequent intercourse of our +schoolmaster with the civilized young lady. All that concerns us is +the result of Miss Bangle’s benevolent designs upon his heart. She +tried most sincerely to find its vulnerable spot, meaning no doubt to +put Mr. Homer on his guard for the future; and she was unfeignedly +surprised to discover that her best efforts were of no avail. She +concluded he must have taken a counter-poison, and she was not slow in +guessing its source. She had observed the peculiar fire which lighted +up his eyes in the presence of Ellen Kingsbury, and she bethought her +of a plan which would ensure her some amusement at the expense of +these impertinent rustics, though in a manner different somewhat from +her original more natural idea of simple coquetry.</p> + +<p>A letter was written to Master Horner, purporting to come from Ellen +Kingsbury, worded so artfully that the schoolmaster understood at once +that it was intended to be a secret communication, though its +ostensible object was an inquiry about some ordinary affair. This was +laid in Mr. Horner’s desk before he came to school, with an intimation +that he might leave an answer in a certain spot on the following +morning. The bait took at once, for Mr. Horner, honest and true +himself, and much smitten with the fair Ellen, was too happy to be +circumspect. The answer was duly placed, and as duly carried to Miss +Bangle by her accomplice, Joe Englehart, an unlucky pickle who “was +always for ill, never for good,” and who found no difficulty in +obtaining the letter unwatched, since the master was obliged to be in +school at nine, and Joe could always linger a few minutes later. This +answer being opened and laughed at, Miss Bangle had only to contrive a +rejoinder, which being rather more particular in its tone than the +original communication, led on yet again the happy schoolmaster, who +branched out into sentiment, “taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,” +talked of hills and dales and rivulets, and the pleasures of +friendship, and concluded by entreating a continuance of the +correspondence.</p> + +<p>Another letter and another, every one more flattering and encouraging +than the last, almost turned the sober head of our poor master, and +warmed up his heart so effectually that he could scarcely attend to +his business. The spelling-schools were remembered, however, and Ellen +Kingsbury made one of the merry company; but the latest letter had not +forgotten to caution Mr. Horner not to betray the intimacy; so that he +was in honor bound to restrict himself to the language of the eyes +hard as it was to forbear the single whisper for which he would have +given his very dictionary. So, their meeting passed off without the +explanation which Miss Bangle began to fear would cut short her +benevolent amusement.</p> + +<p>The correspondence was resumed with renewed spirit, and carried on +until Miss Bangle, though not overburdened with sensitiveness, began +to be a little alarmed for the consequences of her malicious +pleasantry. She perceived that she herself had turned schoolmistress, +and that Master Horner, instead of being merely her dupe, had become +her pupil too; for the style of his replies had been constantly +improving and the earnest and manly tone which he assumed promised any +thing but the quiet, sheepish pocketing of injury and insult, upon +which she had counted. In truth, there was something deeper than +vanity in the feelings with which he regarded Ellen Kingsbury. The +encouragement which he supposed himself to have received, threw down +the barrier which his extreme bashfulness would have interposed +between himself and any one who possessed charms enough to attract +him; and we must excuse him if, in such a case, he did not criticise +the mode of encouragement, but rather grasped eagerly the proffered +good without a scruple, or one which he would own to himself, as to +the propriety with which it was tendered. He was as much in love as a +man can be, and the seriousness of real attachment gave both grace and +dignity to his once awkward diction.</p> + +<p>The evident determination of Mr. Horner to come to the point of asking +papa brought Miss Bangle to a very awkward pass. She had expected to +return home before matters had proceeded so far, but being obliged to +remain some time longer, she was equally afraid to go on and to leave +off, a <em>dénouement</em> being almost certain to ensue in either case. +Things stood thus when it was time to prepare for the grand exhibition +which was to close the winter’s term.</p> + +<p>This is an affair of too much magnitude to be fully described in the +small space yet remaining in which to bring out our veracious history. +It must be “slubber’d o’er in haste”—its important preliminaries left +to the cold imagination of the reader—its fine spirit perhaps +evaporating for want of being embodied in words. We can only say that +our master, whose school-life was to close with the term, labored as +man never before labored in such a cause, resolute to trail a cloud of +glory after him when he left us. Not a candlestick nor a curtain that +was attainable, either by coaxing or bribery, was left in the village; +even the only piano, that frail treasure, was wiled away and placed in +one corner of the rickety stage. The most splendid of all the pieces +in the <cite>Columbian Orator</cite>, the <cite>American Speaker</cite>, the——but we must +not enumerate—in a word, the most astounding and pathetic specimens +of eloquence within ken of either teacher or scholars, had been +selected for the occasion; and several young ladies and gentlemen, +whose academical course had been happily concluded at an earlier +period, either at our own institution or at some other, had consented +to lend themselves to the parts, and their choicest decorations for +the properties, of the dramatic portion of the entertainment.</p> + +<p>Among these last was pretty Ellen Kingsbury, who had agreed to +personate the Queen of Scots, in the garden scene from Schiller’s +tragedy of <cite>Mary Stuart</cite>; and this circumstance accidentally afforded +Master Horner the opportunity he had so long desired, of seeing his +fascinating correspondent without the presence of peering eyes. A +dress-rehearsal occupied the afternoon before the day of days, and the +pathetic expostulations of the lovely Mary—</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Mine all doth hang—my life—my destiny—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Upon my words—upon the force of tears!—</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">aided by the long veil, and the emotion which sympathy brought into +Ellen’s countenance, proved too much for the enforced prudence of +Master Horner. When the rehearsal was over, and the heroes and +heroines were to return home, it was found that, by a stroke of witty +invention not new in the country, the harness of Mr. Kingsbury’s +horses had been cut in several places, his whip hidden, his +buffalo-skins spread on the ground, and the sleigh turned bottom +upwards on them. This afforded an excuse for the master’s borrowing a +horse and sleigh of somebody, and claiming the privilege of taking +Miss Ellen home, while her father returned with only Aunt Sally and a +great bag of bran from the mill—companions about equally interesting.</p> + +<p>Here, then, was the golden opportunity so long wished for! Here was +the power of ascertaining at once what is never quite certain until we +have heard it from warm, living lips, whose testimony is strengthened +by glances in which the whole soul speaks or—seems to speak. The time +was short, for the sleighing was but too fine; and Father Kingsbury, +having tied up his harness, and collected his scattered equipment, was +driving so close behind that there was no possibility of lingering for +a moment. Yet many moments were lost before Mr. Horner, very much in +earnest, and all unhackneyed in matters of this sort, could find a +word in which to clothe his new-found feelings. The horse seemed to +fly—the distance was half past—and at length, in absolute despair of +anything better, he blurted out at once what he had determined to +avoid—a direct reference to the correspondence.</p> + +<p>A game at cross-purposes ensued; exclamations and explanations, and +denials and apologies filled up the time which was to have made Master +Horner so blest. The light from Mr. Kingsbury’s windows shone upon the +path, and the whole result of this conference so longed for, was a +burst of tears from the perplexed and mortified Ellen, who sprang from +Mr. Horner’s attempts to detain her, rushed into the house without +vouchsafing him a word of adieu, and left him standing, no bad +personification of Orpheus, after the last hopeless flitting of his +Eurydice.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you ’light, Master?” said Mr. Kingsbury.</p> + +<p>“Yes—no—thank you—good evening,” stammered poor Master Horner, so +stupefied that even Aunt Sally called him “a dummy.”</p> + +<p>The horse took the sleigh against the fence, going home, and threw out +the master, who scarcely recollected the accident; while to Ellen the +issue of this unfortunate drive was a sleepless night and so high a +fever in the morning that our village doctor was called to Mr. +Kingsbury’s before breakfast.</p> + +<p>Poor Master Horner’s distress may hardly be imagined. Disappointed, +bewildered, cut to the quick, yet as much in love as ever, he could +only in bitter silence turn over in his thoughts the issue of his +cherished dream; now persuading himself that Ellen’s denial was the +effect of a sudden bashfulness, now inveighing against the fickleness +of the sex, as all men do when they are angry with any one woman in +particular. But his exhibition must go on in spite of wretchedness; +and he went about mechanically, talking of curtains and candles, and +music, and attitudes, and pauses, and emphasis, looking like a +somnambulist whose “eyes are open but their sense is shut,” and often +surprising those concerned by the utter unfitness of his answers.</p> + +<p>It was almost evening when Mr. Kingsbury, having discovered, through +the intervention of the Doctor and Aunt Sally the cause of Ellen’s +distress, made his appearance before the unhappy eyes of Master +Horner, angry, solemn and determined; taking the schoolmaster apart, +and requiring, an explanation of his treatment of his daughter. In +vain did the perplexed lover ask for time to clear himself, declare +his respect for Miss Ellen and his willingness to give every +explanation which she might require; the father was not to be put off; +and though excessively reluctant, Mr. Horner had no resource but to +show the letters which alone could account for his strange discourse +to Ellen. He unlocked his desk, slowly and unwillingly, while the old +man’s impatience was such that he could scarcely forbear thrusting in +his own hand to snatch at the papers which were to explain this +vexatious mystery. What could equal the utter confusion of Master +Horner and the contemptuous anger of the father, when no letters were +to be found! Mr. Kingsbury was too passionate to listen to reason, or +to reflect for one moment upon the irreproachable good name of the +schoolmaster. He went away in inexorable wrath; threatening every +practicable visitation of public and private justice upon the head of +the offender, whom he accused of having attempted to trick his +daughter into an entanglement which should result in his favor.</p> + +<p>A doleful exhibition was this last one of our thrice approved and most +worthy teacher! Stern necessity and the power of habit enabled him to +go through with most of his part, but where was the proud fire which +had lighted up his eye on similar occasions before? He sat as one of +three judges before whom the unfortunate Robert Emmet was dragged in +his shirt-sleeves, by two fierce-looking officials; but the chief +judge looked far more like a criminal than did the proper +representative. He ought to have personated Othello, but was obliged +to excuse himself from raving for “the handkerchief! the +handkerchief!” on the rather anomalous plea of a bad cold. <cite>Mary +Stuart</cite> being “i’ the bond,” was anxiously expected by the impatient +crowd, and it was with distress amounting to agony that the master was +obliged to announce, in person, the necessity of omitting that part of +the representation, on account of the illness of one of the young +ladies.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had the words been uttered, and the speaker hidden his +burning face behind the curtain, when Mr. Kingsbury started up in his +place amid the throng, to give a public recital of his grievance—no +uncommon resort in the new country. He dashed at once to the point; +and before some friends who saw the utter impropriety of his +proceeding could persuade him to defer his vengeance, he had laid +before the assembly—some three hundred people, perhaps—his own +statement of the case. He was got out at last, half coaxed, half +hustled; and the gentle public only half understanding what had been +set forth thus unexpectedly, made quite a pretty row of it. Some +clamored loudly for the conclusion of the exercises; others gave +utterances in no particularly choice terms to a variety of opinions as +to the schoolmaster’s proceedings, varying the note occasionally by +shouting, “The letters! the letters! why don’t you bring out the +letters?”</p> + +<p>At length, by means of much rapping on the desk by the president of +the evening, who was fortunately a “popular” character, order was +partially restored; and the favorite scene from Miss More’s dialogue +of David and Goliath was announced as the closing piece. The sight of +little David in a white tunic edged with red tape, with a calico scrip +and a very primitive-looking sling; and a huge Goliath decorated with +a militia belt and sword, and a spear like a weaver’s beam indeed, +enchained everybody’s attention. Even the peccant schoolmaster and his +pretended letters were forgotten, while the sapient Goliath, every +time that he raised the spear, in the energy of his declamation, to +thump upon the stage, picked away fragments of the low ceiling, which +fell conspicuously on his great shock of black hair. At last, with the +crowning threat, up went the spear for an astounding thump, and down +came a large piece of the ceiling, and with it—a shower of letters.</p> + +<p>The confusion that ensued beggars all description. A general scramble +took place, and in another moment twenty pairs of eyes, at least, were +feasting on the choice phrases lavished upon Mr. Horner. Miss Bangle +had sat through the whole previous scene, trembling for herself, +although she had, as she supposed, guarded cunningly against exposure. +She had needed no prophet to tell her what must be the result of a +tête-à-tête between Mr. Horner and Ellen; and the moment she saw them +drive off together, she induced her imp to seize the opportunity of +abstracting the whole parcel of letters from Mr. Horner’s desk; which +he did by means of a sort of skill which comes by nature to such +goblins; picking the lock by the aid of a crooked nail, as neatly as +if he had been born within the shadow of the Tombs.</p> + +<p>But magicians sometimes suffer severely from the malice with which +they have themselves inspired their familiars. Joe Englehart having +been a convenient tool thus far thought it quite time to torment Miss +Bangle a little; so, having stolen the letters at her bidding, he hid +them on his own account, and no persuasions of hers could induce him +to reveal this important secret, which he chose to reserve as a rod in +case she refused him some intercession with his father, or some other +accommodation, rendered necessary by his mischievous habits.</p> + +<p>He had concealed the precious parcels in the unfloored loft above the +school-room, a place accessible only by means of a small trap-door +without staircase or ladder; and here he meant to have kept them while +it suited his purposes, but for the untimely intrusion of the weaver’s +beam.</p> + +<p>Miss Bangle had sat through all, as we have said, thinking the letters +safe, yet vowing vengeance against her confederate for not allowing +her to secure them by a satisfactory conflagration; and it was not +until she heard her own name whispered through the crowd, that she was +awakened to her true situation. The sagacity of the low creatures whom +she had despised showed them at once that the letters must be hers, +since her character had been pretty shrewdly guessed, and the +handwriting wore a more practised air than is usual among females in +the country. This was first taken for granted, and then spoken of as +an acknowledged fact.</p> + +<p>The assembly moved like the heavings of a troubled sea. Everybody felt +that this was everybody’s business. “Put her out!” was heard from more +than one rough voice near the door, and this was responded to by loud +and angry murmurs from within.</p> + +<p>Mr. Englehart, not waiting to inquire into the merits of the case in +this scene of confusion, hastened to get his family out as quietly and +as quickly as possible, but groans and hisses followed his niece as +she hung half-fainting on his arm, quailing completely beneath the +instinctive indignation of the rustic public. As she passed out, a +yell resounded among the rude boys about the door, and she was lifted +into a sleigh, insensible from terror. She disappeared from that +evening, and no one knew the time of her final departure for “the +east.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Kingsbury, who is a just man when he is not in a passion, made all +the reparation in his power for his harsh and ill-considered attack +upon the master; and we believe that functionary did not show any +traits of implacability of character. At least he was seen, not many +days after, sitting peaceably at tea with Mr. Kingsbury, Aunt Sally, +and Miss Ellen; and he has since gone home to build a house upon his +farm. And people <em>do</em> say, that after a few months more, Ellen will +not need Miss Bangle’s intervention if she should see fit to +correspond with the schoolmaster.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> From <cite>The Gift</cite> for 1845, published late in 1844. Republished in the +volume, <cite>Western Clearings</cite> (1845), by Caroline M.S. Kirkland.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_WATKINSON_EVENING">THE WATKINSON EVENING<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Eliza Leslie</span> (1787–1858)</p> + + +<p>Mrs. Morland, a polished and accomplished woman, was the widow of a +distinguished senator from one of the western states, of which, also, +her husband had twice filled the office of governor. Her daughter +having completed her education at the best boarding-school in +Philadelphia, and her son being about to graduate at Princeton, the +mother had planned with her children a tour to Niagara and the lakes, +returning by way of Boston. On leaving Philadelphia, Mrs. Morland and +the delighted Caroline stopped at Princeton to be present at the +annual commencement, and had the happiness of seeing their beloved +Edward receive his diploma as bachelor of arts; after hearing him +deliver, with great applause, an oration on the beauties of the +American character. College youths are very prone to treat on subjects +that imply great experience of the world. But Edward Morland was full +of kind feeling for everything and everybody; and his views of life +had hitherto been tinted with a perpetual rose-color.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Morland, not depending altogether upon the celebrity of her late +husband, and wishing that her children should see specimens of the +best society in the northern cities, had left home with numerous +letters of introduction. But when they arrived at New York, she found +to her great regret, that having unpacked and taken out her small +traveling desk, during her short stay in Philadelphia, she had +strangely left it behind in the closet of her room at the hotel. In +this desk were deposited all her letters, except two which had been +offered to her by friends in Philadelphia. The young people, impatient +to see the wonders of Niagara, had entreated her to stay but a day or +two in the city of New York, and thought these two letters would be +quite sufficient for the present. In the meantime she wrote back to +the hotel, requesting that the missing desk should be forwarded to New +York as soon as possible.</p> + +<p>On the morning after their arrival at the great commercial metropolis +of America, the Morland family took a carriage to ride round through +the principal parts of the city, and to deliver their two letters at +the houses to which they were addressed, and which were both situated +in the region that lies between the upper part of Broadway and the +North River. In one of the most fashionable streets they found the +elegant mansion of Mrs. St. Leonard; but on stopping at the door, were +informed that its mistress was not at home. They then left the +introductory letter (which they had prepared for this mischance, by +enclosing it in an envelope with a card), and proceeding to another +street considerably farther up, they arrived at the dwelling of the +Watkinson family, to the mistress of which the other Philadelphia +letter was directed. It was one of a large block of houses all exactly +alike, and all shut up from top to bottom, according to a custom more +prevalent in New York than in any other city.</p> + +<p>Here they were also unsuccessful; the servant who came to the door +telling them that the ladies were particularly engaged and could see +no company. So they left their second letter and card and drove off, +continuing their ride till they reached the Croton water works, which +they quitted the carriage to see and admire. On returning to the +hotel, with the intention after an hour or two of rest to go out +again, and walk till near dinner-time, they found waiting them a note +from Mrs. Watkinson, expressing her regret that she had not been able +to see them when they called; and explaining that her family duties +always obliged her to deny herself the pleasure of receiving morning +visitors, and that her servants had general orders to that effect. But +she requested their company for that evening (naming nine o’clock as +the hour), and particularly desired an immediate answer.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said Mrs. Morland, “she intends asking some of her +friends to meet us, in case we accept the invitation; and therefore is +naturally desirous of a reply as soon as possible. Of course we will +not keep her in suspense. Mrs. Denham, who volunteered the letter, +assured me that Mrs. Watkinson was one of the most estimable women in +New York, and a pattern to the circle in which she moved. It seems +that Mr. Denham and Mr. Watkinson are connected in business. Shall we +go?”</p> + +<p>The young people assented, saying they had no doubt of passing a +pleasant evening.</p> + +<p>The billet of acceptance having been written, it was sent off +immediately, entrusted to one of the errand-goers belonging to the +hotel, that it might be received in advance of the next hour for the +dispatch-post—and Edward Morland desired the man to get into an +omnibus with the note that no time might be lost in delivering it. “It +is but right”—said he to his mother—“that we should give Mrs. +Watkinson an ample opportunity of making her preparations, and sending +round to invite her friends.”</p> + +<p>“How considerate you are, dear Edward”—said Caroline—“always so +thoughtful of every one’s convenience. Your college friends must have +idolized you.”</p> + +<p>“No”—said Edward—“they called me a prig.” Just then a remarkably +handsome carriage drove up to the private door of the hotel. From it +alighted a very elegant woman, who in a few moments was ushered into +the drawing-room by the head waiter, and on his designating Mrs. +Morland’s family, she advanced and gracefully announced herself as +Mrs. St. Leonard. This was the lady at whose house they had left the +first letter of introduction. She expressed regret at not having been +at home when they called; but said that on finding their letter, she +had immediately come down to see them, and to engage them for the +evening. “Tonight”—said Mrs. St. Leonard—“I expect as many friends +as I can collect for a summer party. The occasion is the recent +marriage of my niece, who with her husband has just returned from +their bridal excursion, and they will be soon on their way to their +residence in Baltimore. I think I can promise you an agreeable +evening, as I expect some very delightful people, with whom I shall be +most happy to make you acquainted.”</p> + +<p>Edward and Caroline exchanged glances, and could not refrain from +looking wistfully at their mother, on whose countenance a shade of +regret was very apparent. After a short pause she replied to Mrs. St. +Leonard—“I am truly sorry to say that we have just answered in the +affirmative a previous invitation for this very evening.”</p> + +<p>“I am indeed disappointed”—said Mrs. St. Leonard, who had been +looking approvingly at the prepossessing appearance of the two young +people. “Is there no way in which you can revoke your compliance with +this unfortunate first invitation—at least, I am sure, it is +unfortunate for me. What a vexatious <em>contretemps</em> that I should have +chanced to be out when you called; thus missing the pleasure of seeing +you at once, and securing that of your society for this evening? The +truth is, I was disappointed in some of the preparations that had been +sent home this morning, and I had to go myself and have the things +rectified, and was detained away longer than I expected. May I ask to +whom you are engaged this evening? Perhaps I know the lady—if so, I +should be very much tempted to go and beg you from her.”</p> + +<p>“The lady is Mrs. John Watkinson”—replied Mrs. Morland—“most +probably she will invite some of her friends to meet us.”</p> + +<p>“That of course”—answered Mrs. St. Leonard—“I am really very +sorry—and I regret to say that I do not know her at all.”</p> + +<p>“We shall have to abide by our first decision,” said Mrs. Morland. “By +Mrs. Watkinson, mentioning in her note the hour of nine, it is to be +presumed she intends asking some other company. I cannot possibly +disappoint her. I can speak feelingly as to the annoyance (for I have +known it by my own experience) when after inviting a number of my +friends to meet some strangers, the strangers have sent an excuse +almost at the eleventh hour. I think no inducements, however strong, +could tempt me to do so myself.”</p> + +<p>“I confess that you are perfectly right,” said Mrs. St. Leonard. “I +see you must go to Mrs. Watkinson. But can you not divide the evening, +by passing a part of it with her and then finishing with me?”</p> + +<p>At this suggestion the eyes of the young people sparkled, for they had +become delighted with Mrs. St. Leonard, and imagined that a party at +her house must be every way charming. Also, parties were novelties to +both of them.</p> + +<p>“If possible we will do so,” answered Mrs. Morland, “and with what +pleasure I need not assure you. We leave New York to-morrow, but we +shall return this way in September, and will then be exceedingly happy +to see more of Mrs. St. Leonard.”</p> + +<p>After a little more conversation Mrs. St. Leonard took her leave, +repeating her hope of still seeing her new friends at her house that +night; and enjoining them to let her know as soon as they returned to +New York on their way home.</p> + +<p>Edward Morland handed her to her carriage, and then joined his mother +and sister in their commendations of Mrs. St. Leonard, with whose +exceeding beauty were united a countenance beaming with intelligence, +and a manner that put every one at their ease immediately.</p> + +<p>“She is an evidence,” said Edward, “how superior our women of fashion +are to those of Europe.”</p> + +<p>“Wait, my dear son,” said Mrs. Morland, “till you have been in Europe, +and had an opportunity of forming an opinion on that point (as on many +others) from actual observation. For my part, I believe that in all +civilized countries the upper classes of people are very much alike, +at least in their leading characteristics.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! here comes the man that was sent to Mrs. Watkinson,” said +Caroline Morland. “I hope he could not find the house and has brought +the note back with him. We shall then be able to go at first to Mrs. +St. Leonard’s, and pass the whole evening there.”</p> + +<p>The man reported that he <em>had</em> found the house, and had delivered the +note into Mrs. Watkinson’s own hands, as she chanced to be crossing +the entry when the door was opened; and that she read it immediately, +and said “Very well.”</p> + +<p>“Are you certain that you made no mistake in the house,” said Edward, +“and that you really <em>did</em> give it to Mrs. Watkinson?”</p> + +<p>“And it’s quite sure I am, sir,” replied the man, “when I first came +over from the ould country I lived with them awhile, and though when +she saw me to-day, she did not let on that she remembered my doing +that same, she could not help calling me James. Yes, the rale words +she said when I handed her the billy-dux was, ‘Very well, James.’”</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” said Edward, when they found themselves alone, “let us +look on the bright side. If we do not find a large party at Mrs. +Watkinson’s, we may in all probability meet some very agreeable people +there, and enjoy the feast of reason and the flow of soul. We may find +the Watkinson house so pleasant as to leave it with regret even for +Mrs. St. Leonard’s.”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe Mrs. Watkinson is in fashionable society,” said +Caroline, “or Mrs. St. Leonard would have known her. I heard some of +the ladies here talking last evening of Mrs. St. Leonard, and I found +from what they said that she is among the <em>élite</em> of the <em>lite</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Even if she is,” observed Mrs. Morland, “are polish of manners and +cultivation of mind confined exclusively to persons of that class?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” said Edward, “the most talented and refined youth at +our college, and he in whose society I found the greatest pleasure, +was the son of a bricklayer.”</p> + +<p>In the ladies’ drawing-room, after dinner, the Morlands heard a +conversation between several of the female guests, who all seemed to +know Mrs. St. Leonard very well by reputation, and they talked of her +party that was to “come off” on this evening.</p> + +<p>“I hear,” said one lady, “that Mrs. St. Leonard is to have an unusual +number of lions.”</p> + +<p>She then proceeded to name a gallant general, with his elegant wife +and accomplished daughter; a celebrated commander in the navy; two +highly distinguished members of Congress, and even an ex-president. +Also several of the most eminent among the American literati, and two +first-rate artists.</p> + +<p>Edward Morland felt as if he could say, “Had I three ears I’d hear +thee.”</p> + +<p>“Such a woman as Mrs. St. Leonard can always command the best lions +that are to be found,” observed another lady.</p> + +<p>“And then,” said a third, “I have been told that she has such +exquisite taste in lighting and embellishing her always elegant rooms. +And her supper table, whether for summer or winter parties, is so +beautifully arranged; all the viands are so delicious, and the +attendance of the servants so perfect—and Mrs. St. Leonard does the +honors with so much ease and tact.”</p> + +<p>“Some friends of mine that visit her,” said a fourth lady, “describe +her parties as absolute perfection. She always manages to bring +together those persons that are best fitted to enjoy each other’s +conversation. Still no one is overlooked or neglected. Then everything +at her reunions is so well proportioned—she has just enough of music, +and just enough of whatever amusement may add to the pleasure of her +guests; and still there is no appearance of design or management on +her part.”</p> + +<p>“And better than all,” said the lady who had spoken firsts “Mrs. St. +Leonard is one of the kindest, most generous, and most benevolent of +women—she does good in every possible way.”</p> + +<p>“I can listen no longer,” said Caroline to Edward, rising to change +her seat. “If I hear any more I shall absolutely hate the Watkinsons. +How provoking that they should have sent us the first invitation. If +we had only thought of waiting till we could hear from Mrs. St. +Leonard!”</p> + +<p>“For shame, Caroline,” said her brother, “how can you talk so of +persons you have never seen, and to whom you ought to feel grateful +for the kindness of their invitation; even if it has interfered with +another party, that I must confess seems to offer unusual attractions. +Now I have a presentiment that we shall find the Watkinson part of the +evening very enjoyable.”</p> + +<p>As soon as tea was over, Mrs. Morland and her daughter repaired to +their toilettes. Fortunately, fashion as well as good taste, has +decided that, at a summer party, the costume of the ladies should +never go beyond an elegant simplicity. Therefore our two ladies in +preparing for their intended appearance at Mrs. St. Leonard’s, were +enabled to attire themselves in a manner that would not seem out of +place in the smaller company they expected to meet at the Watkinsons. +Over an under-dress of lawn, Caroline Morland put on a white organdy +trimmed with lace, and decorated with bows of pink ribbon. At the back +of her head was a wreath of fresh and beautiful pink flowers, tied +with a similar ribbon. Mrs. Morland wore a black grenadine over a +satin, and a lace cap trimmed with white.</p> + +<p>It was but a quarter past nine o’clock when their carriage stopped at +the Watkinson door. The front of the house looked very dark. Not a ray +gleamed through the Venetian shutters, and the glimmer beyond the +fan-light over the door was almost imperceptible. After the coachman +had rung several times, an Irish girl opened the door, cautiously (as +Irish girls always do), and admitted them into the entry, where one +light only was burning in a branch lamp. “Shall we go upstairs?” said +Mrs. Morland. “And what for would ye go upstairs?” said the girl in a +pert tone. “It’s all dark there, and there’s no preparations. Ye can +lave your things here a-hanging on the rack. It is a party ye’re +expecting? Blessed are them what expects nothing.”</p> + +<p>The sanguine Edward Morland looked rather blank at this intelligence, +and his sister whispered to him, “We’ll get off to Mrs. St. Leonard’s +as soon as we possibly can. When did you tell the coachman to come for +us?”</p> + +<p>“At half past ten,” was the brother’s reply.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Edward, Edward!” she exclaimed, “And I dare say he will not be +punctual. He may keep us here till eleven.”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Courage, mes enfants</i>,” said their mother, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">et parlez plus +doucement</i>.”</p> + +<p>The girl then ushered them into the back parlor, saying, “Here’s the +company.”</p> + +<p>The room was large and gloomy. A checquered mat covered the floor, and +all the furniture was encased in striped calico covers, and the lamps, +mirrors, etc. concealed under green gauze. The front parlor was +entirely dark, and in the back apartment was no other light than a +shaded lamp on a large centre table, round which was assembled a +circle of children of all sizes and ages. On a backless, cushionless +sofa sat Mrs. Watkinson, and a young lady, whom she introduced as her +daughter Jane. And Mrs. Morland in return presented Edward and +Caroline.</p> + +<p>“Will you take the rocking-chair, ma’am?” inquired Mrs. Watkinson.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Morland declining the offer, the hostess took it herself, and +see-sawed on it nearly the whole time. It was a very awkward, +high-legged, crouch-backed rocking-chair, and shamefully unprovided +with anything in the form of a footstool.</p> + +<p>“My husband is away, at Boston, on business,” said Mrs. Watkinson. “I +thought at first, ma’am, I should not be able to ask you here this +evening, for it is not our way to have company in his absence; but my +daughter Jane over-persuaded me to send for you.”</p> + +<p>“What a pity,” thought Caroline.</p> + +<p>“You must take us as you find us, ma’am,” continued Mrs. Watkinson. +“We use no ceremony with anybody; and our rule is never to put +ourselves out of the way. We do not give parties [looking at the +dresses of the ladies]. Our first duty is to our children, and we +cannot waste our substance on fashion and folly. They’ll have cause to +thank us for it when we die.”</p> + +<p>Something like a sob was heard from the centre table, at which the +children were sitting, and a boy was seen to hold his handkerchief to +his face.</p> + +<p>“Joseph, my child,” said his mother, “do not cry. You have no idea, +ma’am, what an extraordinary boy that is. You see how the bare mention +of such a thing as our deaths has overcome him.”</p> + +<p>There was another sob behind the handkerchief, and the Morlands +thought it now sounded very much like a smothered laugh.</p> + +<p>“As I was saying, ma’am,” continued Mrs. Watkinson, “we never give +parties. We leave all sinful things to the vain and foolish. My +daughter Jane has been telling me, that she heard this morning of a +party that is going on to-night at the widow St. Leonard’s. It is only +fifteen years since her husband died. He was carried off with a three +days’ illness, but two months after they were married. I have had a +domestic that lived with them at the time, so I know all about it. And +there she is now, living in an elegant house, and riding in her +carriage, and dressing and dashing, and giving parties, and enjoying +life, as she calls it. Poor creature, how I pity her! Thank heaven, +nobody that I know goes to her parties. If they did I would never wish +to see them again in my house. It is an encouragement to folly and +nonsense—and folly and nonsense are sinful. Do not you think so, +ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“If carried too far they may certainly become so,” replied Mrs. +Morland.</p> + +<p>“We have heard,” said Edward, “that Mrs. St. Leonard, though one of +the ornaments of the gay world, has a kind heart, a beneficent spirit +and a liberal hand.”</p> + +<p>“I know very little about her,” replied Mrs. Watkinson, drawing up her +head, “and I have not the least desire to know any more. It is well +she has no children; they’d be lost sheep if brought up in her fold. +For my part, ma’am,” she continued, turning to Mrs. Morland, “I am +quite satisfied with the quiet joys of a happy home. And no mother has +the least business with any other pleasures. My innocent babes know +nothing about plays, and balls, and parties; and they never shall. Do +they look as if they had been accustomed to a life of pleasure?”</p> + +<p>They certainly did not! for when the Morlands took a glance at them, +they thought they had never seen youthful faces that were less gay, +and indeed less prepossessing.</p> + +<p>There was not a good feature or a pleasant expression among them all. +Edward Morland recollected his having often read “that childhood is +always lovely.” But he saw that the juvenile Watkinsons were an +exception to the rule.</p> + +<p>“The first duty of a mother is to her children,” repeated Mrs. +Watkinson. “Till nine o’clock, my daughter Jane and myself are +occupied every evening in hearing the lessons that they have learned +for to-morrow’s school. Before that hour we can receive no visitors, +and we never have company to tea, as that would interfere too much +with our duties. We had just finished hearing these lessons when you +arrived. Afterwards the children are permitted to indulge themselves +in rational play, for I permit no amusement that is not also +instructive. My children are so well trained, that even when alone +their sports are always serious.”</p> + +<p>Two of the boys glanced slyly at each other, with what Edward Morland +comprehended as an expression of pitch-penny and marbles.</p> + +<p>“They are now engaged at their game of astronomy,” continued Mrs. +Watkinson. “They have also a sort of geography cards, and a set of +mathematical cards. It is a blessed discovery, the invention of these +educationary games; so that even the play-time of children can be +turned to account. And you have no idea, ma’am, how they enjoy them.”</p> + +<p>Just then the boy Joseph rose from the table, and stalking up to Mrs. +Watkinson, said to her, “Mamma, please to whip me.”</p> + +<p>At this unusual request the visitors looked much amazed, and Mrs. +Watkinson replied to him, “Whip you, my best Joseph—for what cause? I +have not seen you do anything wrong this evening, and you know my +anxiety induces me to watch my children all the time.”</p> + +<p>“You could not see me,” answered Joseph, “for I have not <em>done</em> +anything very wrong. But I have had a bad thought, and you know Mr. +Ironrule says that a fault imagined is just as wicked as a fault +committed.”</p> + +<p>“You see, ma’am, what a good memory he has,” said Mrs. Watkinson aside +to Mrs. Morland. “But my best Joseph, you make your mother tremble. +What fault have you imagined? What was your bad thought?”</p> + +<p>“Ay,” said another boy, “what’s your thought like?”</p> + +<p>“My thought,” said Joseph, “was ‘Confound all astronomy, and I could +see the man hanged that made this game.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh! my child,” exclaimed the mother, stopping her ears, “I am indeed +shocked. I am glad you repented so immediately.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” returned Joseph, “but I am afraid my repentance won’t last. If +I am not whipped, I may have these bad thoughts whenever I play at +astronomy, and worse still at the geography game. Whip me, ma, and +punish me as I deserve. There’s the rattan in the corner: I’ll bring +it to you myself.”</p> + +<p>“Excellent boy!” said his mother. “You know I always pardon my +children when they are so candid as to confess their faults.”</p> + +<p>“So you do,” said Joseph, “but a whipping will cure me better.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot resolve to punish so conscientious a child,” said Mrs. +Watkinson.</p> + +<p>“Shall I take the trouble off your hands?” inquired Edward, losing all +patience in his disgust at the sanctimonious hypocrisy of this young +Blifil. “It is such a rarity for a boy to request a whipping, that so +remarkable a desire ought by all means to be gratified.”</p> + +<p>Joseph turned round and made a face at him.</p> + +<p>“Give me the rattan,” said Edward, half laughing, and offering to take +it out of his hand. “I’ll use it to your full satisfaction.”</p> + +<p>The boy thought it most prudent to stride off and return to the table, +and ensconce himself among his brothers and sisters; some of whom were +staring with stupid surprise; others were whispering and giggling in +the hope of seeing Joseph get a real flogging.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Watkinson having bestowed a bitter look on Edward, hastened to +turn the attention of his mother to something else. “Mrs. Morland,” +said she, “allow me to introduce you to my youngest hope.” She pointed +to a sleepy boy about five years old, who with head thrown back and +mouth wide open, was slumbering in his chair.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Watkinson’s children were of that uncomfortable species who never +go to bed; at least never without all manner of resistance. All her +boasted authority was inadequate to compel them; they never would +confess themselves sleepy; always wanted to “sit up,” and there was a +nightly scene of scolding, coaxing, threatening and manoeuvring to get +them off.</p> + +<p>“I declare,” said Mrs. Watkinson, “dear Benny is almost asleep. Shake +him up, Christopher. I want him to speak a speech. His schoolmistress +takes great pains in teaching her little pupils to speak, and stands +up herself and shows them how.”</p> + +<p>The child having been shaken up hard (two or three others helping +Christopher), rubbed his eyes and began to whine. His mother went to +him, took him on her lap, hushed him up, and began to coax him. This +done, she stood him on his feet before Mrs. Morland, and desired him +to speak a speech for the company. The child put his thumb into his +mouth, and remained silent.</p> + +<p>“Ma,” said Jane Watkinson, “you had better tell him what speech to +speak.”</p> + +<p>“Speak Cato or Plato,” said his mother. “Which do you call it? Come +now, Benny—how does it begin? ‘You are quite right and reasonable, +Plato.’ That’s it.”</p> + +<p>“Speak Lucius,” said his sister Jane. “Come now, Benny—say ‘your +thoughts are turned on peace.’”</p> + +<p>The little boy looked very much as if they were <em>not</em>, and as if +meditating an outbreak.</p> + +<p>“No, no!” exclaimed Christopher, “let him say Hamlet. Come now, +Benny—‘To be or not to be.’”</p> + +<p>“It ain’t to be at all,” cried Benny, “and I won’t speak the least bit +of it for any of you. I hate that speech!”</p> + +<p>“Only see his obstinacy,” said the solemn Joseph. “And is he to be +given up to?”</p> + +<p>“Speak anything, Benny,” said Mrs. Watkinson, “anything so that it is +only a speech.”</p> + +<p>All the Watkinson voices now began to clamor violently at the +obstinate child—“Speak a speech! speak a speech! speak a speech!” But +they had no more effect than the reiterated exhortations with which +nurses confuse the poor heads of babies, when they require them to +“shake a day-day—shake a day-day!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Morland now interfered, and begged that the sleepy little boy +might be excused; on which he screamed out that “he wasn’t sleepy at +all, and would not go to bed ever.”</p> + +<p>“I never knew any of my children behave so before,” said Mrs. +Watkinson. “They are always models of obedience, ma’am. A look is +sufficient for them. And I must say that they have in every way +profited by the education we are giving them. It is not our way, +ma’am, to waste our money in parties and fooleries, and fine furniture +and fine clothes, and rich food, and all such abominations. Our first +duty is to our children, and to make them learn everything that is +taught in the schools. If they go wrong, it will not be for want of +education. Hester, my dear, come and talk to Miss Morland in French.”</p> + +<p>Hester (unlike her little brother that would not speak a speech) +stepped boldly forward, and addressed Caroline Morland with: +“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Parlez-vous Français, mademoiselle? Comment se va madame votre mère? +Aimez-vous la musique? Aimez-vous la danse? Bon jour—bon soir—bon +repos. Comprenez-vous?</i>”</p> + +<p>To this tirade, uttered with great volubility, Miss Morland made no +other reply than, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Oui—je comprens</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Hester—very well indeed,” said Mrs. Watkinson. “You see, +ma’am,” turning to Mrs. Morland, “how very fluent she is in French; +and she has only been learning eleven quarters.”</p> + +<p>After considerable whispering between Jane and her mother, the former +withdrew, and sent in by the Irish girl a waiter with a basket of soda +biscuit, a pitcher of water, and some glasses. Mrs. Watkinson invited +her guests to consider themselves at home and help themselves freely, +saying: “We never let cakes, sweetmeats, confectionery, or any such +things enter the house, as they would be very unwholesome for the +children, and it would be sinful to put temptation in their way. I am +sure, ma’am, you will agree with me that the plainest food is the best +for everybody. People that want nice things may go to parties for +them; but they will never get any with me.”</p> + +<p>When the collation was over, and every child provided with a biscuit, +Mrs. Watkinson said to Mrs. Morland: “Now, ma’am, you shall have some +music from my daughter Jane, who is one of Mr. Bangwhanger’s best +scholars.”</p> + +<p>Jane Watkinson sat down to the piano and commenced a powerful piece of +six mortal pages, which she played out of time and out of tune; but +with tremendous force of hands; notwithstanding which, it had, +however, the good effect of putting most of the children to sleep.</p> + +<p>To the Morlands the evening had seemed already five hours long. Still +it was only half past ten when Jane was in the midst of her piece. The +guests had all tacitly determined that it would be best not to let +Mrs. Watkinson know their intention to go directly from her house to +Mrs. St. Leonard’s party; and the arrival of their carriage would have +been the signal of departure, even if Jane’s piece had not reached its +termination. They stole glances at the clock on the mantel. It wanted +but a quarter of eleven, when Jane rose from the piano, and was +congratulated by her mother on the excellence of her music. Still no +carriage was heard to stop; no doorbell was heard to ring. Mrs. +Morland expressed her fears that the coachman had forgotten to come +for them.</p> + +<p>“Has he been paid for bringing you here?” asked Mrs. Watkinson.</p> + +<p>“I paid him when we came to the door,” said Edward. “I thought perhaps +he might want the money for some purpose before he came for us.”</p> + +<p>“That was very kind in you, sir,” said Mrs. Watkinson, “but not very +wise. There’s no dependence on any coachman; and perhaps as he may be +sure of business enough this rainy night he may never come at +all—being already paid for bringing you here.”</p> + +<p>Now, the truth was that the coachman <em>had</em> come at the appointed time, +but the noise of Jane’s piano had prevented his arrival being heard in +the back parlor. The Irish girl had gone to the door when he rang the +bell, and recognized in him what she called “an ould friend.” Just +then a lady and gentleman who had been caught in the rain came running +along, and seeing a carriage drawing up at a door, the gentleman +inquired of the driver if he could not take them to Rutgers Place. The +driver replied that he had just come for two ladies and a gentleman +whom he had brought from the Astor House.</p> + +<p>“Indeed and Patrick,” said the girl who stood at the door, “if I was +you I’d be after making another penny to-night. Miss Jane is pounding +away at one of her long music pieces, and it won’t be over before you +have time to get to Rutgers and back again. And if you do make them +wait awhile, where’s the harm? They’ve a dry roof over their heads, +and I warrant it’s not the first waiting they’ve ever had in their +lives; and it won’t be the last neither.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly so,” said the gentleman; and regardless of the propriety of +first sending to consult the persons who had engaged the carriage, he +told his wife to step in, and following her instantly himself, they +drove away to Rutgers Place.</p> + +<p>Reader, if you were ever detained in a strange house by the +non-arrival of your carriage, you will easily understand the excessive +annoyance of finding that you are keeping a family out of their beds +beyond their usual hour. And in this case, there was a double +grievance; the guests being all impatience to get off to a better +place. The children, all crying when wakened from their sleep, were +finally taken to bed by two servant maids, and Jane Watkinson, who +never came back again. None were left but Hester, the great French +scholar, who, being one of those young imps that seem to have the +faculty of living without sleep, sat bolt upright with her eyes wide +open, watching the uncomfortable visitors.</p> + +<p>The Morlands felt as if they could bear it no longer, and Edward +proposed sending for another carriage to the nearest livery stable.</p> + +<p>“We don’t keep a man now,” said Mrs. Watkinson, who sat nodding in the +rocking-chair, attempting now and then a snatch of conversation, and +saying “ma’am” still more frequently than usual. “Men servants are +dreadful trials, ma’am, and we gave them up three years ago. And I +don’t know how Mary or Katy are to go out this stormy night in search +of a livery stable.”</p> + +<p>“On no consideration could I allow the women to do so,” replied +Edward. “If you will oblige me by the loan of an umbrella, I will go +myself.”</p> + +<p>Accordingly he set out on this business, but was unsuccessful at two +livery stables, the carriages being all out. At last he found one, and +was driven in it to Mr. Watkinson’s house, where his mother and sister +were awaiting him, all quite ready, with their calashes and shawls on. +They gladly took their leave; Mrs. Watkinson rousing herself to hope +they had spent a pleasant evening, and that they would come and pass +another with her on their return to New York. In such cases how +difficult it is to reply even with what are called “words of course.”</p> + +<p>A kitchen lamp was brought to light them to the door, the entry lamp +having long since been extinguished. Fortunately the rain had ceased; +the stars began to reappear, and the Morlands, when they found +themselves in the carriage and on their way to Mrs. St. Leonard’s, +felt as if they could breathe again. As may be supposed, they freely +discussed the annoyances of the evening; but now those troubles were +over they felt rather inclined to be merry about them.</p> + +<p>“Dear mother,” said Edward, “how I pitied you for having to endure +Mrs. Watkinson’s perpetual ‘ma’aming’ and ‘ma’aming’; for I know you +dislike the word.”</p> + +<p>“I wish,” said Caroline, “I was not so prone to be taken with +ridiculous recollections. But really to-night I could not get that old +foolish child’s play out of my head—</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Here come three knights out of Spain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A-courting of your daughter Jane.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>“<em>I</em> shall certainly never be one of those Spanish knights,” said +Edward. “Her daughter Jane is in no danger of being ruled by any +‘flattering tongue’ of mine. But what a shame for us to be talking of +them in this manner.”</p> + +<p>They drove to Mrs. St. Leonard’s, hoping to be yet in time to pass +half an hour there; though it was now near twelve o’clock and summer +parties never continue to a very late hour. But as they came into the +street in which she lived they were met by a number of coaches on +their way home, and on reaching the door of her brilliantly lighted +mansion, they saw the last of the guests driving off in the last of +the carriages, and several musicians coming down the steps with their +instruments in their hands.</p> + +<p>“So there <em>has</em> been a dance, then!” sighed Caroline. “Oh, what we +have missed! It is really too provoking.”</p> + +<p>“So it is,” said Edward; “but remember that to-morrow morning we set +off for Niagara.”</p> + +<p>“I will leave a note for Mrs. St. Leonard,” said his mother, +“explaining that we were detained at Mrs. Watkinson’s by our coachman +disappointing us. Let us console ourselves with the hope of seeing +more of this lady on our return. And now, dear Caroline, you must draw +a moral from the untoward events of to-day. When you are mistress of a +house, and wish to show civility to strangers, let the invitation be +always accompanied with a frank disclosure of what they are to expect. +And if you cannot conveniently invite company to meet them, tell them +at once that you will not insist on their keeping their engagement +with <em>you</em> if anything offers afterwards that they think they would +prefer; provided only that they apprize you in time of the change in +their plan.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mamma,” replied Caroline, “you may be sure I shall always take +care not to betray my visitors into an engagement which they may have +cause to regret, particularly if they are strangers whose time is +limited. I shall certainly, as you say, tell them not to consider +themselves bound to me if they afterwards receive an invitation which +promises them more enjoyment. It will be a long while before I forget, +the Watkinson evening.”</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> From <cite>Godey’s Lady’s Book</cite>, December, 1846.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="TITBOTTOMS_SPECTACLES">TITBOTTOM’S SPECTACLES<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By George William Curtis</span> (1824–1892)</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>In my mind’s eye, Horatio.</p> +</div> + + +<p class="p15">Prue and I do not entertain much; our means forbid it. In truth, other +people entertain for us. We enjoy that hospitality of which no account +is made. We see the show, and hear the music, and smell the flowers of +great festivities, tasting as it were the drippings from rich dishes. +Our own dinner service is remarkably plain, our dinners, even on state +occasions, are strictly in keeping, and almost our only guest is +Titbottom. I buy a handful of roses as I come up from the office, +perhaps, and Prue arranges them so prettily in a glass dish for the +centre of the table that even when I have hurried out to see Aurelia +step into her carriage to go out to dine, I have thought that the +bouquet she carried was not more beautiful because it was more costly. +I grant that it was more harmonious with her superb beauty and her +rich attire. And I have no doubt that if Aurelia knew the old man, +whom she must have seen so often watching her, and his wife, who +ornaments her sex with as much sweetness, although with less splendor, +than Aurelia herself, she would also acknowledge that the nosegay of +roses was as fine and fit upon their table as her own sumptuous +bouquet is for herself. I have that faith in the perception of that +lovely lady. It is at least my habit—I hope I may say, my nature, to +believe the best of people, rather than the worst. If I thought that +all this sparkling setting of beauty—this fine fashion—these blazing +jewels and lustrous silks and airy gauzes, embellished with +gold-threaded embroidery and wrought in a thousand exquisite +elaborations, so that I cannot see one of those lovely girls pass me +by without thanking God for the vision—if I thought that this was +all, and that underneath her lace flounces and diamond bracelets +Aurelia was a sullen, selfish woman, then I should turn sadly +homewards, for I should see that her jewels were flashing scorn upon +the object they adorned, and that her laces were of a more exquisite +loveliness than the woman whom they merely touched with a superficial +grace. It would be like a gaily decorated mausoleum—bright to see, +but silent and dark within.</p> + +<p>“Great excellences, my dear Prue,” I sometimes allow myself to say, +“lie concealed in the depths of character, like pearls at the bottom +of the sea. Under the laughing, glancing surface, how little they are +suspected! Perhaps love is nothing else than the sight of them by one +person. Hence every man’s mistress is apt to be an enigma to everybody +else. I have no doubt that when Aurelia is engaged, people will say +that she is a most admirable girl, certainly; but they cannot +understand why any man should be in love with her. As if it were at +all necessary that they should! And her lover, like a boy who finds a +pearl in the public street, and wonders as much that others did not +see it as that he did, will tremble until he knows his passion is +returned; feeling, of course, that the whole world must be in love +with this paragon who cannot possibly smile upon anything so unworthy +as he.”</p> + +<p>“I hope, therefore, my dear Mrs. Prue,” I continue to say to my wife, +who looks up from her work regarding me with pleased pride, as if I +were such an irresistible humorist, “you will allow me to believe that +the depth may be calm although the surface is dancing. If you tell me +that Aurelia is but a giddy girl, I shall believe that you think so. +But I shall know, all the while, what profound dignity, and sweetness, +and peace lie at the foundation of her character.”</p> + +<p>I say such things to Titbottom during the dull season at the office. +And I have known him sometimes to reply with a kind of dry, sad humor, +not as if he enjoyed the joke, but as if the joke must be made, that +he saw no reason why I should be dull because the season was so.</p> + +<p>“And what do I know of Aurelia or any other girl?” he says to me with +that abstracted air. “I, whose Aurelias were of another century and +another zone.”</p> + +<p>Then he falls into a silence which it seems quite profane to +interrupt. But as we sit upon our high stools at the desk opposite +each other, I leaning upon my elbows and looking at him; he, with +sidelong face, glancing out of the window, as if it commanded a +boundless landscape, instead of a dim, dingy office court, I cannot +refrain from saying:</p> + +<p>“Well!”</p> + +<p>He turns slowly, and I go chatting on—a little too loquacious, +perhaps, about those young girls. But I know that Titbottom regards +such an excess as venial, for his sadness is so sweet that you could +believe it the reflection of a smile from long, long years ago.</p> + +<p>One day, after I had been talking for a long time, and we had put up +our books, and were preparing to leave, he stood for some time by the +window, gazing with a drooping intentness, as if he really saw +something more than the dark court, and said slowly:</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you would have different impressions of things if you saw +them through my spectacles.”</p> + +<p>There was no change in his expression. He still looked from the +window, and I said:</p> + +<p>“Titbottom, I did not know that you used glasses. I have never seen +you wearing spectacles.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t often wear them. I am not very fond of looking through +them. But sometimes an irresistible necessity compels me to put them +on, and I cannot help seeing.” Titbottom sighed.</p> + +<p>“Is it so grievous a fate, to see?” inquired I.</p> + +<p>“Yes; through my spectacles,” he said, turning slowly and looking at +me with wan solemnity.</p> + +<p>It grew dark as we stood in the office talking, and taking our hats we +went out together. The narrow street of business was deserted. The +heavy iron shutters were gloomily closed over the windows. From one or +two offices struggled the dim gleam of an early candle, by whose light +some perplexed accountant sat belated, and hunting for his error. A +careless clerk passed, whistling. But the great tide of life had +ebbed. We heard its roar far away, and the sound stole into that +silent street like the murmur of the ocean into an inland dell.</p> + +<p>“You will come and dine with us, Titbottom?”</p> + +<p>He assented by continuing to walk with me, and I think we were both +glad when we reached the house, and Prue came to meet us, saying:</p> + +<p>“Do you know I hoped you would bring Mr. Titbottom to dine?”</p> + +<p>Titbottom smiled gently, and answered:</p> + +<p>“He might have brought his spectacles with him, and I have been a +happier man for it.”</p> + +<p>Prue looked a little puzzled.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” I said, “you must know that our friend, Mr. Titbottom, is +the happy possessor of a pair of wonderful spectacles. I have never +seen them, indeed; and, from what he says, I should be rather afraid +of being seen by them. Most short-sighted persons are very glad to +have the help of glasses; but Mr. Titbottom seems to find very little +pleasure in his.”</p> + +<p>“It is because they make him too far-sighted, perhaps,” interrupted +Prue quietly, as she took the silver soup-ladle from the sideboard.</p> + +<p>We sipped our wine after dinner, and Prue took her work. Can a man be +too far-sighted? I did not ask the question aloud. The very tone in +which Prue had spoken convinced me that he might.</p> + +<p>“At least,” I said, “Mr. Titbottom will not refuse to tell us the +history of his mysterious spectacles. I have known plenty of magic in +eyes”—and I glanced at the tender blue eyes of Prue—“but I have not +heard of any enchanted glasses.”</p> + +<p>“Yet you must have seen the glass in which your wife looks every +morning, and I take it that glass must be daily enchanted.” said +Titbottom, with a bow of quaint respect to my wife.</p> + +<p>I do not think I have seen such a blush upon Prue’s cheek since—well, +since a great many years ago.</p> + +<p>“I will gladly tell you the history of my spectacles,” began +Titbottom. “It is very simple; and I am not at all sure that a great +many other people have not a pair of the same kind. I have never, +indeed, heard of them by the gross, like those of our young friend, +Moses, the son of the Vicar of Wakefield. In fact, I think a gross +would be quite enough to supply the world. It is a kind of article for +which the demand does not increase with use. If we should all wear +spectacles like mine, we should never smile any more. Oh—I am not +quite sure—we should all be very happy.”</p> + +<p>“A very important difference,” said Prue, counting her stitches.</p> + +<p>“You know my grandfather Titbottom was a West Indian. A large +proprietor, and an easy man, he basked in the tropical sun, leading +his quiet, luxurious life. He lived much alone, and was what people +call eccentric, by which I understand that he was very much himself, +and, refusing the influence of other people, they had their little +revenges, and called him names. It is a habit not exclusively +tropical. I think I have seen the same thing even in this city. But he +was greatly beloved—my bland and bountiful grandfather. He was so +large-hearted and open-handed. He was so friendly, and thoughtful, and +genial, that even his jokes had the air of graceful benedictions. He +did not seem to grow old, and he was one of those who never appear to +have been very young. He flourished in a perennial maturity, an +immortal middle-age.</p> + +<p>“My grandfather lived upon one of the small islands, St. Kit’s, +perhaps, and his domain extended to the sea. His house, a rambling +West Indian mansion, was surrounded with deep, spacious piazzas, +covered with luxurious lounges, among which one capacious chair was +his peculiar seat. They tell me he used sometimes to sit there for the +whole day, his great, soft, brown eyes fastened upon the sea, watching +the specks of sails that flashed upon the horizon, while the +evanescent expressions chased each other over his placid face, as if +it reflected the calm and changing sea before him. His morning costume +was an ample dressing-gown of gorgeously flowered silk, and his +morning was very apt to last all day.</p> + +<p>“He rarely read, but he would pace the great piazza for hours, with +his hands sunken in the pockets of his dressing-gown, and an air of +sweet reverie, which any author might be very happy to produce.</p> + +<p>“Society, of course, he saw little. There was some slight apprehension +that if he were bidden to social entertainments he might forget his +coat, or arrive without some other essential part of his dress; and +there is a sly tradition in the Titbottom family that, having been +invited to a ball in honor of the new governor of the island, my +grandfather Titbottom sauntered into the hall towards midnight, +wrapped in the gorgeous flowers of his dressing-gown, and with his +hands buried in the pockets, as usual. There was great excitement, and +immense deprecation of gubernatorial ire. But it happened that the +governor and my grandfather were old friends, and there was no +offense. But as they were conversing together, one of the distressed +managers cast indignant glances at the brilliant costume of my +grandfather, who summoned him, and asked courteously:</p> + +<p>“‘Did you invite me or my coat?’</p> + +<p>“‘You, in a proper coat,’ replied the manager.</p> + +<p>“The governor smiled approvingly, and looked at my grandfather.</p> + +<p>“‘My friend,” said he to the manager, ‘I beg your pardon, I forgot.’</p> + +<p>“The next day my grandfather was seen promenading in full ball dress +along the streets of the little town.</p> + +<p>“‘They ought to know,’ said he, ‘that I have a proper coat, and that +not contempt nor poverty, but forgetfulness, sent me to a ball in my +dressing-gown.’</p> + +<p>“He did not much frequent social festivals after this failure, but he +always told the story with satisfaction and a quiet smile.</p> + +<p>“To a stranger, life upon those little islands is uniform even to +weariness. But the old native dons like my grandfather ripen in the +prolonged sunshine, like the turtle upon the Bahama banks, nor know of +existence more desirable. Life in the tropics I take to be a placid +torpidity. During the long, warm mornings of nearly half a century, my +grandfather Titbottom had sat in his dressing-gown and gazed at the +sea. But one calm June day, as he slowly paced the piazza after +breakfast, his dreamy glance was arrested by a little vessel, +evidently nearing the shore. He called for his spyglass, and surveying +the craft, saw that she came from the neighboring island. She glided +smoothly, slowly, over the summer sea. The warm morning air was sweet +with perfumes, and silent with heat. The sea sparkled languidly, and +the brilliant blue hung cloudlessly over. Scores of little island +vessels had my grandfather seen come over the horizon, and cast anchor +in the port. Hundreds of summer mornings had the white sails flashed +and faded, like vague faces through forgotten dreams. But this time he +laid down the spyglass, and leaned against a column of the piazza, and +watched the vessel with an intentness that he could not explain. She +came nearer and nearer, a graceful spectre in the dazzling morning.</p> + +<p>“‘Decidedly I must step down and see about that vessel,’ said my +grandfather Titbottom.</p> + +<p>“He gathered his ample dressing-gown about him, and stepped from the +piazza with no other protection from the sun than the little smoking +cap upon his head. His face wore a calm, beaming smile, as if he +approved of all the world. He was not an old man, but there was almost +a patriarchal pathos in his expression as he sauntered along in the +sunshine towards the shore. A group of idle gazers was collected to +watch the arrival. The little vessel furled her sails and drifted +slowly landward, and as she was of very light draft, she came close to +the shelving shore. A long plank was put out from her side, and the +debarkation commenced. My grandfather Titbottom stood looking on to +see the passengers descend. There were but a few of them, and mostly +traders from the neighboring island. But suddenly the face of a young +girl appeared over the side of the vessel, and she stepped upon the +plank to descend. My grandfather Titbottom instantly advanced, and +moving briskly reached the top of the plank at the same moment, and +with the old tassel of his cap flashing in the sun, and one hand in +the pocket of his dressing gown, with the other he handed the young +lady carefully down the plank. That young lady was afterwards my +grandmother Titbottom.</p> + +<p>“And so, over the gleaming sea which he had watched so long, and which +seemed thus to reward his patient gaze, came his bride that sunny +morning.</p> + +<p>“‘Of course we are happy,’ he used to say: ‘For you are the gift of +the sun I have loved so long and so well.’ And my grandfather +Titbottom would lay his hand so tenderly upon the golden hair of his +young bride, that you could fancy him a devout Parsee caressing +sunbeams.</p> + +<p>“There were endless festivities upon occasion of the marriage; and my +grandfather did not go to one of them in his dressing-gown. The gentle +sweetness of his wife melted every heart into love and sympathy. He +was much older than she, without doubt. But age, as he used to say +with a smile of immortal youth, is a matter of feeling, not of years. +And if, sometimes, as she sat by his side upon the piazza, her fancy +looked through her eyes upon that summer sea and saw a younger lover, +perhaps some one of those graceful and glowing heroes who occupy the +foreground of all young maidens’ visions by the sea, yet she could not +find one more generous and gracious, nor fancy one more worthy and +loving than my grandfather Titbottom. And if in the moonlit midnight, +while he lay calmly sleeping, she leaned out of the window and sank +into vague reveries of sweet possibility, and watched the gleaming +path of the moonlight upon the water, until the dawn glided over +it—it was only that mood of nameless regret and longing, which +underlies all human happiness,—or it was the vision of that life of +society, which she had never seen, but of which she had often read, +and which looked very fair and alluring across the sea to a girlish +imagination which knew that it should never know that reality.</p> + +<p>“These West Indian years were the great days of the family,” said +Titbottom, with an air of majestic and regal regret, pausing and +musing in our little parlor, like a late Stuart in exile, remembering +England. Prue raised her eyes from her work, and looked at him with a +subdued admiration; for I have observed that, like the rest of her +sex, she has a singular sympathy with the representative of a reduced +family. Perhaps it is their finer perception which leads these +tender-hearted women to recognize the divine right of social +superiority so much more readily than we; and yet, much as Titbottom +was enhanced in my wife’s admiration by the discovery that his dusky +sadness of nature and expression was, as it were, the expiring gleam +and late twilight of ancestral splendors, I doubt if Mr. Bourne would +have preferred him for bookkeeper a moment sooner upon that account. +In truth, I have observed, down town, that the fact of your ancestors +doing nothing is not considered good proof that you can do anything. +But Prue and her sex regard sentiment more than action, and I +understand easily enough why she is never tired of hearing me read of +Prince Charlie. If Titbottom had been only a little younger, a little +handsomer, a little more gallantly dressed—in fact, a little more of +the Prince Charlie, I am sure her eyes would not have fallen again +upon her work so tranquilly, as he resumed his story.</p> + +<p>“I can remember my grandfather Titbottom, although I was a very young +child, and he was a very old man. My young mother and my young +grandmother are very distinct figures in my memory, ministering to the +old gentleman, wrapped in his dressing-gown, and seated upon the +piazza. I remember his white hair and his calm smile, and how, not +long before he died, he called me to him, and laying his hand upon my +head, said to me:</p> + +<p>“My child, the world is not this great sunny piazza, nor life the +fairy stories which the women tell you here as you sit in their laps. +I shall soon be gone, but I want to leave with you some memento of my +love for you, and I know nothing more valuable than these spectacles, +which your grandmother brought from her native island, when she +arrived here one fine summer morning, long ago. I cannot quite tell +whether, when you grow older, you will regard it as a gift of the +greatest value or as something that you had been happier never to have +possessed.’</p> + +<p>“‘But grandpapa, I am not short-sighted.’</p> + +<p>“‘My son, are you not human?’ said the old gentleman; and how shall I +ever forget the thoughtful sadness with which, at the same time he +handed me the spectacles.</p> + +<p>“Instinctively I put them on, and looked at my grandfather. But I saw +no grandfather, no piazza, no flowered dressing-gown: I saw only a +luxuriant palm-tree, waving broadly over a tranquil landscape. +Pleasant homes clustered around it. Gardens teeming with fruit and +flowers; flocks quietly feeding; birds wheeling and chirping. I heard +children’s voices, and the low lullaby of happy mothers. The sound of +cheerful singing came wafted from distant fields upon the light +breeze. Golden harvests glistened out of sight, and I caught their +rustling whisper of prosperity. A warm, mellow atmosphere bathed the +whole. I have seen copies of the landscapes of the Italian painter +Claude which seemed to me faint reminiscences of that calm and happy +vision. But all this peace and prosperity seemed to flow from the +spreading palm as from a fountain.</p> + +<p>“I do not know how long I looked, but I had, apparently, no power, as +I had no will, to remove the spectacles. What a wonderful island must +Nevis be, thought I, if people carry such pictures in their pockets, +only by buying a pair of spectacles! What wonder that my dear +grandmother Titbottom has lived such a placid life, and has blessed us +all with her sunny temper, when she has lived surrounded by such +images of peace.</p> + +<p>“My grandfather died. But still, in the warm morning sunshine upon the +piazza, I felt his placid presence, and as I crawled into his great +chair, and drifted on in reverie through the still, tropical day, it +was as if his soft, dreamy eye had passed into my soul. My grandmother +cherished his memory with tender regret. A violent passion of grief +for his loss was no more possible than for the pensive decay of the +year. We have no portrait of him, but I see always, when I remember +him, that peaceful and luxuriant palm. And I think that to have known +one good old man—one man who, through the chances and rubs of a long +life, has carried his heart in his hand, like a palm branch, waving +all discords into peace, helps our faith in God, in ourselves, and in +each other, more than many sermons. I hardly know whether to be +grateful to my grandfather for the spectacles; and yet when I remember +that it is to them I owe the pleasant image of him which I cherish, I +seem to myself sadly ungrateful.</p> + +<p>“Madam,” said Titbottom to Prue, solemnly, “my memory is a long and +gloomy gallery, and only remotely, at its further end, do I see the +glimmer of soft sunshine, and only there are the pleasant pictures +hung. They seem to me very happy along whose gallery the sunlight +streams to their very feet, striking all the pictured walls into +unfading splendor.”</p> + +<p>Prue had laid her work in her lap, and as Titbottom paused a moment, +and I turned towards her, I found her mild eyes fastened upon my face, +and glistening with happy tears.</p> + +<p>“Misfortunes of many kinds came heavily upon the family after the head +was gone. The great house was relinquished. My parents were both dead, +and my grandmother had entire charge of me. But from the moment that I +received the gift of the spectacles, I could not resist their +fascination, and I withdrew into myself, and became a solitary boy. +There were not many companions for me of my own age, and they +gradually left me, or, at least, had not a hearty sympathy with me; +for if they teased me I pulled out my spectacles and surveyed them so +seriously that they acquired a kind of awe of me, and evidently +regarded my grandfather’s gift as a concealed magical weapon which +might be dangerously drawn upon them at any moment. Whenever, in our +games, there were quarrels and high words, and I began to feel about +my dress and to wear a grave look, they all took the alarm, and +shouted, ‘Look out for Titbottom’s spectacles,’ and scattered like a +flock of scared sheep.</p> + +<p>“Nor could I wonder at it. For, at first, before they took the alarm, +I saw strange sights when I looked at them through the glasses. If two +were quarrelling about a marble or a ball, I had only to go behind a +tree where I was concealed and look at them leisurely. Then the scene +changed, and no longer a green meadow with boys playing, but a spot +which I did not recognize, and forms that made me shudder or smile. It +was not a big boy bullying a little one, but a young wolf with +glistening teeth and a lamb cowering before him; or, it was a dog +faithful and famishing—or a star going slowly into eclipse—or a +rainbow fading—or a flower blooming—or a sun rising—or a waning +moon. The revelations of the spectacles determined my feeling for the +boys, and for all whom I saw through them. No shyness, nor +awkwardness, nor silence, could separate me from those who looked +lovely as lilies to my illuminated eyes. If I felt myself warmly drawn +to any one I struggled with the fierce desire of seeing him through +the spectacles. I longed to enjoy the luxury of ignorant feeling, to +love without knowing, to float like a leaf upon the eddies of life, +drifted now to a sunny point, now to a solemn shade—now over +glittering ripples, now over gleaming calms,—and not to determined +ports, a trim vessel with an inexorable rudder.</p> + +<p>“But, sometimes, mastered after long struggles, I seized my spectacles +and sauntered into the little town. Putting them to my eyes I peered +into the houses and at the people who passed me. Here sat a family at +breakfast, and I stood at the window looking in. O motley meal! +fantastic vision! The good mother saw her lord sitting opposite, a +grave, respectable being, eating muffins. But I saw only a bank-bill, +more or less crumpled and tattered, marked with a larger or lesser +figure. If a sharp wind blew suddenly, I saw it tremble and flutter; +it was thin, flat, impalpable. I removed my glasses, and looked with +my eyes at the wife. I could have smiled to see the humid tenderness +with which she regarded her strange <em>vis-à-vis</em>. Is life only a game +of blind-man’s-buff? of droll cross-purposes?</p> + +<p>“Or I put them on again, and looked at the wife. How many stout trees +I saw,—how many tender flowers,—how many placid pools; yes, and how +many little streams winding out of sight, shrinking before the large, +hard, round eyes opposite, and slipping off into solitude and shade, +with a low, inner song for their own solace. And in many houses I +thought to see angels, nymphs, or at least, women, and could only find +broomsticks, mops, or kettles, hurrying about, rattling, tinkling, in +a state of shrill activity. I made calls upon elegant ladies, and +after I had enjoyed the gloss of silk and the delicacy of lace, and +the flash of jewels, I slipped on my spectacles, and saw a peacock’s +feather, flounced and furbelowed and fluttering; or an iron rod, thin, +sharp, and hard; nor could I possibly mistake the movement of the +drapery for any flexibility of the thing draped,—or, mysteriously +chilled, I saw a statue of perfect form, or flowing movement, it might +be alabaster, or bronze, or marble,—but sadly often it was ice; and I +knew that after it had shone a little, and frozen a few eyes with its +despairing perfection, it could not be put away in the niches of +palaces for ornament and proud family tradition, like the alabaster, +or bronze, or marble statues, but would melt, and shrink, and fall +coldly away in colorless and useless water, be absorbed in the earth +and utterly forgotten.</p> + +<p>“But the true sadness was rather in seeing those who, not having the +spectacles, thought that the iron rod was flexible, and the ice statue +warm. I saw many a gallant heart, which seemed to me brave and loyal +as the crusaders sent by genuine and noble faith to Syria and the +sepulchre, pursuing, through days and nights, and a long life of +devotion, the hope of lighting at least a smile in the cold eyes, if +not a fire in the icy heart. I watched the earnest, enthusiastic +sacrifice. I saw the pure resolve, the generous faith, the fine scorn +of doubt, the impatience of suspicion. I watched the grace, the ardor, +the glory of devotion. Through those strange spectacles how often I +saw the noblest heart renouncing all other hope, all other ambition, +all other life, than the possible love of some one of those statues. +Ah! me, it was terrible, but they had not the love to give. The Parian +face was so polished and smooth, because there was no sorrow upon the +heart,—and, drearily often, no heart to be touched. I could not +wonder that the noble heart of devotion was broken, for it had dashed +itself against a stone. I wept, until my spectacles were dimmed for +that hopeless sorrow; but there was a pang beyond tears for those icy +statues.</p> + +<p>“Still a boy, I was thus too much a man in knowledge,—I did not +comprehend the sights I was compelled to see. I used to tear my +glasses away from my eyes, and, frightened at myself, run to escape my +own consciousness. Reaching the small house where we then lived, I +plunged into my grandmother’s room and, throwing myself upon the +floor, buried my face in her lap; and sobbed myself to sleep with +premature grief. But when I awakened, and felt her cool hand upon my +hot forehead, and heard the low, sweet song, or the gentle story, or +the tenderly told parable from the Bible, with which she tried to +soothe me, I could not resist the mystic fascination that lured me, as +I lay in her lap, to steal a glance at her through the spectacles.</p> + +<p>“Pictures of the Madonna have not her rare and pensive beauty. Upon +the tranquil little islands her life had been eventless, and all the +fine possibilities of her nature were like flowers that never bloomed. +Placid were all her years; yet I have read of no heroine, of no woman +great in sudden crises, that it did not seem to me she might have +been. The wife and widow of a man who loved his own home better than +the homes of others, I have yet heard of no queen, no belle, no +imperial beauty, whom in grace, and brilliancy, and persuasive +courtesy, she might not have surpassed.</p> + +<p>“Madam,” said Titbottom to my wife, whose heart hung upon his story; +“your husband’s young friend, Aurelia, wears sometimes a camelia in +her hair, and no diamond in the ball-room seems so costly as that +perfect flower, which women envy, and for whose least and withered +petal men sigh; yet, in the tropical solitudes of Brazil, how many a +camelia bud drops from a bush that no eye has ever seen, which, had it +flowered and been noticed, would have gilded all hearts with its +memory.</p> + +<p>“When I stole these furtive glances at my grandmother, half fearing +that they were wrong, I saw only a calm lake, whose shores were low, +and over which the sky hung unbroken, so that the least star was +clearly reflected. It had an atmosphere of solemn twilight +tranquillity, and so completely did its unruffled surface blend with +the cloudless, star-studded sky, that, when I looked through my +spectacles at my grandmother, the vision seemed to me all heaven and +stars. Yet, as I gazed and gazed, I felt what stately cities might +well have been built upon those shores, and have flashed prosperity +over the calm, like coruscations of pearls.</p> + +<p>“I dreamed of gorgeous fleets, silken sailed and blown by perfumed +winds, drifting over those depthless waters and through those spacious +skies. I gazed upon the twilight, the inscrutable silence, like a +God-fearing discoverer upon a new, and vast, and dim sea, bursting +upon him through forest glooms, and in the fervor of whose impassioned +gaze, a millennial and poetic world arises, and man need no longer die +to be happy.</p> + +<p>“My companions naturally deserted me, for I had grown wearily grave +and abstracted: and, unable to resist the allurement of my spectacles, +I was constantly lost in a world, of which those companions were part, +yet of which they knew nothing. I grew cold and hard, almost morose; +people seemed to me blind and unreasonable. They did the wrong thing. +They called green, yellow; and black, white. Young men said of a girl, +‘What a lovely, simple creature!’ I looked, and there was only a +glistening wisp of straw, dry and hollow. Or they said, ‘What a cold, +proud beauty!’ I looked, and lo! a Madonna, whose heart held the +world. Or they said, ‘What a wild, giddy girl!’ and I saw a glancing, +dancing mountain stream, pure as the virgin snows whence it flowed, +singing through sun and shade, over pearls and gold dust, slipping +along unstained by weed, or rain, or heavy foot of cattle, touching +the flowers with a dewy kiss,—a beam of grace, a happy song, a line +of light, in the dim and troubled landscape.</p> + +<p>“My grandmother sent me to school, but I looked at the master, and saw +that he was a smooth, round ferule—or an improper noun—or a vulgar +fraction, and refused to obey him. Or he was a piece of string, a rag, +a willow-wand, and I had a contemptuous pity. But one was a well of +cool, deep water, and looking suddenly in, one day, I saw the stars. +He gave me all my schooling. With him I used to walk by the sea, and, +as we strolled and the waves plunged in long legions before us, I +looked at him through the spectacles, and as his eye dilated with the +boundless view, and his chest heaved with an impossible desire, I saw +Xerxes and his army tossing and glittering, rank upon rank, multitude +upon multitude, out of sight, but ever regularly advancing and with +the confused roar of ceaseless music, prostrating themselves in abject +homage. Or, as with arms outstretched and hair streaming on the wind, +he chanted full lines of the resounding Iliad, I saw Homer pacing the +AEgean sands in the Greek sunsets of forgotten times.</p> + +<p>“My grandmother died, and I was thrown into the world without +resources, and with no capital but my spectacles. I tried to find +employment, but men were shy of me. There was a vague suspicion that I +was either a little crazed, or a good deal in league with the Prince +of Darkness. My companions who would persist in calling a piece of +painted muslin a fair and fragrant flower had no difficulty; success +waited for them around every corner, and arrived in every ship. I +tried to teach, for I loved children. But if anything excited my +suspicion, and, putting on my spectacles, I saw that I was fondling a +snake, or smelling at a bud with a worm in it, I sprang up in horror +and ran away; or, if it seemed to me through the glasses that a cherub +smiled upon me, or a rose was blooming in my buttonhole, then I felt +myself imperfect and impure, not fit to be leading and training what +was so essentially superior in quality to myself, and I kissed the +children and left them weeping and wondering.</p> + +<p>“In despair I went to a great merchant on the island, and asked him to +employ me.</p> + +<p>“‘My young friend,’ said he, ‘I understand that you have some singular +secret, some charm, or spell, or gift, or something, I don’t know +what, of which people are afraid. Now, you know, my dear,’ said the +merchant, swelling up, and apparently prouder of his great stomach +than of his large fortune, ‘I am not of that kind. I am not easily +frightened. You may spare yourself the pain of trying to impose upon +me. People who propose to come to time before I arrive, are accustomed +to arise very early in the morning,’ said he, thrusting his thumbs in +the armholes of his waistcoat, and spreading the fingers, like two +fans, upon his bosom. ‘I think I have heard something of your secret. +You have a pair of spectacles, I believe, that you value very much, +because your grandmother brought them as a marriage portion to your +grandfather. Now, if you think fit to sell me those spectacles, I will +pay you the largest market price for glasses. What do you say?’</p> + +<p>“I told him that I had not the slightest idea of selling my +spectacles.</p> + +<p>“‘My young friend means to eat them, I suppose,’ said he with a +contemptuous smile.</p> + +<p>“I made no reply, but was turning to leave the office, when the +merchant called after me—</p> + +<p>“‘My young friend, poor people should never suffer themselves to get +into pets. Anger is an expensive luxury, in which only men of a +certain income can indulge. A pair of spectacles and a hot temper are +not the most promising capital for success in life, Master Titbottom.’</p> + +<p>“I said nothing, but put my hand upon the door to go out, when the +merchant said more respectfully,—</p> + +<p>“‘Well, you foolish boy, if you will not sell your spectacles, perhaps +you will agree to sell the use of them to me. That is, you shall only +put them on when I direct you, and for my purposes. Hallo! you little +fool!’ cried he impatiently, as he saw that I intended to make no +reply.</p> + +<p>“But I had pulled out my spectacles, and put them on for my own +purpose, and against his direction and desire. I looked at him, and +saw a huge bald-headed wild boar, with gross chops and a leering +eye—only the more ridiculous for the high-arched, gold-bowed +spectacles, that straddled his nose. One of his fore hoofs was thrust +into the safe, where his bills payable were hived, and the other into +his pocket, among the loose change and bills there. His ears were +pricked forward with a brisk, sensitive smartness. In a world where +prize pork was the best excellence, he would have carried off all the +premiums.</p> + +<p>“I stepped into the next office in the street, and a mild-faced, +genial man, also a large and opulent merchant, asked me my business in +such a tone, that I instantly looked through my spectacles, and saw a +land flowing with milk and honey. There I pitched my tent, and stayed +till the good man died, and his business was discontinued.</p> + +<p>“But while there,” said Titbottom, and his voice trembled away into a +sigh, “I first saw Preciosa. Spite of the spectacles, I saw Preciosa. +For days, for weeks, for months, I did not take my spectacles with me. +I ran away from them, I threw them up on high shelves, I tried to make +up my mind to throw them into the sea, or down the well. I could not, +I would not, I dared not look at Preciosa through the spectacles. It +was not possible for me deliberately to destroy them; but I awoke in +the night, and could almost have cursed my dear old grandfather for +his gift. I escaped from the office, and sat for whole days with +Preciosa. I told her the strange things I had seen with my mystic +glasses. The hours were not enough for the wild romances which I raved +in her ear. She listened, astonished and appalled. Her blue eyes +turned upon me with a sweet deprecation. She clung to me, and then +withdrew, and fled fearfully from the room. But she could not stay +away. She could not resist my voice, in whose tones burned all the +love that filled my heart and brain. The very effort to resist the +desire of seeing her as I saw everybody else, gave a frenzy and an +unnatural tension to my feeling and my manner. I sat by her side, +looking into her eyes, smoothing her hair, folding her to my heart, +which was sunken and deep—why not forever?—in that dream of peace. I +ran from her presence, and shouted, and leaped with joy, and sat the +whole night through, thrilled into happiness by the thought of her +love and loveliness, like a wind-harp, tightly strung, and answering +the airiest sigh of the breeze with music. Then came calmer days—the +conviction of deep love settled upon our lives—as after the hurrying, +heaving days of spring, comes the bland and benignant summer.</p> + +<p>“‘It is no dream, then, after all, and we are happy,’ I said to her, +one day; and there came no answer, for happiness is speechless.</p> + +<p>“We are happy then,” I said to myself, “there is no excitement now. +How glad I am that I can now look at her through my spectacles.”</p> + +<p>“I feared lest some instinct should warn me to beware. +I escaped from her arms, and ran home and seized the glasses and +bounded back again to Preciosa. As I entered the room I was heated, my +head was swimming with confused apprehension, my eyes must have +glared. Preciosa was frightened, and rising from her seat, stood with +an inquiring glance of surprise in her eyes. But I was bent with +frenzy upon my purpose. I was merely aware that she was in the room. I +saw nothing else. I heard nothing. I cared for nothing, but to see her +through that magic glass, and feel at once, all the fulness of +blissful perfection which that would reveal. Preciosa stood before the +mirror, but alarmed at my wild and eager movements, unable to +distinguish what I had in my hands, and seeing me raise them suddenly +to my face, she shrieked with terror, and fell fainting upon the +floor, at the very moment that I placed the glasses before my eyes, +and beheld—myself, reflected in the mirror, before which she had been +standing.</p> + +<p>“Dear madam,” cried Titbottom, to my wife, springing up and falling +back again in his chair, pale and trembling, while Prue ran to him and +took his hand, and I poured out a glass of water—“I saw myself.”</p> + +<p>There was silence for many minutes. Prue laid her hand gently upon the +head of our guest, whose eyes were closed, and who breathed softly, +like an infant in sleeping. Perhaps, in all the long years of anguish +since that hour, no tender hand had touched his brow, nor wiped away +the damps of a bitter sorrow. Perhaps the tender, maternal fingers of +my wife soothed his weary head with the conviction that he felt the +hand of his mother playing with the long hair of her boy in the soft +West Indian morning. Perhaps it was only the natural relief of +expressing a pent-up sorrow. When he spoke again, it was with the old, +subdued tone, and the air of quaint solemnity.</p> + +<p>“These things were matters of long, long ago, and I came to this +country soon after. I brought with me, premature age, a past of +melancholy memories, and the magic spectacles. I had become their +slave. I had nothing more to fear. Having seen myself, I was compelled +to see others, properly to understand my relations to them. The lights +that cheer the future of other men had gone out for me. My eyes were +those of an exile turned backwards upon the receding shore, and not +forwards with hope upon the ocean. I mingled with men, but with little +pleasure. There are but many varieties of a few types. I did not find +those I came to clearer sighted than those I had left behind. I heard +men called shrewd and wise, and report said they were highly +intelligent and successful. But when I looked at them through my +glasses, I found no halo of real manliness. My finest sense detected +no aroma of purity and principle; but I saw only a fungus that had +fattened and spread in a night. They all went to the theater to see +actors upon the stage. I went to see actors in the boxes, so +consummately cunning, that the others did not know they were acting, +and they did not suspect it themselves.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you wonder it did not make me misanthropical. My dear +friends, do not forget that I had seen myself. It made me +compassionate, not cynical. Of course I could not value highly the +ordinary standards of success and excellence. When I went to church +and saw a thin, blue, artificial flower, or a great sleepy cushion +expounding the beauty of holiness to pews full of eagles, half-eagles, +and threepences, however adroitly concealed in broadcloth and boots: +or saw an onion in an Easter bonnet weeping over the sins of Magdalen, +I did not feel as they felt who saw in all this, not only propriety, +but piety. Or when at public meetings an eel stood up on end, and +wriggled and squirmed lithely in every direction, and declared that, +for his part, he went in for rainbows and hot water—how could I help +seeing that he was still black and loved a slimy pool?</p> + +<p>“I could not grow misanthropical when I saw in the eyes of so many who +were called old, the gushing fountains of eternal youth, and the light +of an immortal dawn, or when I saw those who were esteemed +unsuccessful and aimless, ruling a fair realm of peace and plenty, +either in themselves, or more perfectly in another—a realm and +princely possession for which they had well renounced a hopeless +search and a belated triumph. I knew one man who had been for years a +by-word for having sought the philosopher’s stone. But I looked at him +through the spectacles and saw a satisfaction in concentrated +energies, and a tenacity arising from devotion to a noble dream, which +was not apparent in the youths who pitied him in the aimless +effeminacy of clubs, nor in the clever gentlemen who cracked their +thin jokes upon him over a gossiping dinner.</p> + +<p>“And there was your neighbor over the way, who passes for a woman who +has failed in her career, because she is an old maid. People wag +solemn heads of pity, and say that she made so great a mistake in not +marrying the brilliant and famous man who was for long years her +suitor. It is clear that no orange flower will ever bloom for her. The +young people make tender romances about her as they watch her, and +think of her solitary hours of bitter regret, and wasting longing, +never to be satisfied. When I first came to town I shared this +sympathy, and pleased my imagination with fancying her hard struggle +with the conviction that she had lost all that made life beautiful. I +supposed that if I looked at her through my spectacles, I should see +that it was only her radiant temper which so illuminated her dress, +that we did not see it to be heavy sables. But when, one day, I did +raise my glasses and glanced at her, I did not see the old maid whom +we all pitied for a secret sorrow, but a woman whose nature was a +tropic, in which the sun shone, and birds sang, and flowers bloomed +forever. There were no regrets, no doubts and half wishes, but a calm +sweetness, a transparent peace. I saw her blush when that old lover +passed by, or paused to speak to her, but it was only the sign of +delicate feminine consciousness. She knew his love, and honored it, +although she could not understand it nor return it. I looked closely +at her, and I saw that although all the world had exclaimed at her +indifference to such homage, and had declared it was astonishing she +should lose so fine a match, she would only say simply and quietly—</p> + +<p>“‘If Shakespeare loved me and I did not love him, how could I marry +him?’</p> + +<p>“Could I be misanthropical when I saw such fidelity, and dignity, and +simplicity?</p> + +<p>“You may believe that I was especially curious to look at that old +lover of hers, through my glasses. He was no longer young, you know, +when I came, and his fame and fortune were secure. Certainly I have +heard of few men more beloved, and of none more worthy to be loved. He +had the easy manner of a man of the world, the sensitive grace of a +poet, and the charitable judgment of a wide traveller. He was +accounted the most successful and most unspoiled of men. Handsome, +brilliant, wise, tender, graceful, accomplished, rich, and famous, I +looked at him, without the spectacles, in surprise, and admiration, +and wondered how your neighbor over the way had been so entirely +untouched by his homage. I watched their intercourse in society, I saw +her gay smile, her cordial greeting; I marked his frank address, his +lofty courtesy. Their manner told no tales. The eager world was +balked, and I pulled out my spectacles.</p> + +<p>“I had seen her, already, and now I saw him. He lived only in memory, +and his memory was a spacious and stately palace. But he did not +oftenest frequent the banqueting hall, where were endless hospitality +and feasting—nor did he loiter much in reception rooms, where a +throng of new visitors was forever swarming—nor did he feed his +vanity by haunting the apartment in which were stored the trophies of +his varied triumphs—nor dream much in the great gallery hung with +pictures of his travels. But from all these lofty halls of memory he +constantly escaped to a remote and solitary chamber, into which no one +had ever penetrated. But my fatal eyes, behind the glasses, followed +and entered with him, and saw that the chamber was a chapel. It was +dim, and silent, and sweet with perpetual incense that burned upon an +altar before a picture forever veiled. There, whenever I chanced to +look, I saw him kneel and pray; and there, by day and by night, a +funeral hymn was chanted.</p> + +<p>“I do not believe you will be surprised that I have been content to +remain deputy bookkeeper. My spectacles regulated my ambition, and I +early learned that there were better gods than Plutus. The glasses +have lost much of their fascination now, and I do not often use them. +Sometimes the desire is irresistible. Whenever I am greatly +interested, I am compelled to take them out and see what it is that I +admire.</p> + +<p>“And yet—and yet,” said Titbottom, after a pause, “I am not sure that +I thank my grandfather.”</p> + +<p>Prue had long since laid away her work, and had heard every word of +the story. I saw that the dear woman had yet one question to ask, and +had been earnestly hoping to hear something that would spare her the +necessity of asking. But Titbottom had resumed his usual tone, after +the momentary excitement, and made no further allusion to himself. We +all sat silently; Titbottom’s eyes fastened musingly upon the carpet: +Prue looking wistfully at him, and I regarding both.</p> + +<p>It was past midnight, and our guest arose to go. He shook hands +quietly, made his grave Spanish bow to Prue, and taking his hat, went +towards the front door. Prue and I accompanied him. I saw in her eyes +that she would ask her question. And as Titbottom opened the door, I +heard the low words:</p> + +<p>“And Preciosa?”</p> + +<p>Titbottom paused. He had just opened the door and the moonlight +streamed over him as he stood, turning back to us.</p> + +<p>“I have seen her but once since. It was in church, and she was +kneeling with her eyes closed, so that she did not see me. But I +rubbed the glasses well, and looked at her, and saw a white lily, +whose stem was broken, but which was fresh; and luminous, and +fragrant, still.”</p> + +<p>“That was a miracle,” interrupted Prue.</p> + +<p>“Madam, it was a miracle,” replied Titbottom, “and for that one sight +I am devoutly grateful for my grandfather’s gift. I saw, that although +a flower may have lost its hold upon earthly moisture, it may still +bloom as sweetly, fed by the dews of heaven.”</p> + +<p>The door closed, and he was gone. But as Prue put her arm in mine and +we went upstairs together, she whispered in my ear:</p> + +<p>“How glad I am that you don’t wear spectacles.”</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> From <cite>Putnam’s Monthly</cite>, December, 1854. Republished in the volume, +<cite>Prue and I</cite> (1856), by George William Curtis (Harper & Brothers).</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MY_DOUBLE_AND_HOW_HE_UNDID_ME">MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Edward Everett Hale</span> (1822–1909)</p> + + +<p>It is not often that I trouble the readers of <cite>The Atlantic Monthly</cite>. +I should not trouble them now, but for the importunities of my wife, +who “feels to insist” that a duty to society is unfulfilled, till I +have told why I had to have a double, and how he undid me. She is +sure, she says, that intelligent persons cannot understand that +pressure upon public servants which alone drives any man into the +employment of a double. And while I fear she thinks, at the bottom of +her heart, that my fortunes will never be re-made, she has a faint +hope, that, as another Rasselas, I may teach a lesson to future +publics, from which they may profit, though we die. Owing to the +behavior of my double, or, if you please, to that public pressure +which compelled me to employ him, I have plenty of leisure to write +this communication.</p> + +<p>I am, or rather was, a minister, of the Sandemanian connection. I was +settled in the active, wide-awake town of Naguadavick, on one of the +finest water-powers in Maine. We used to call it a Western town in the +heart of the civilization of New England. A charming place it was and +is. A spirited, brave young parish had I; and it seemed as if we might +have all “the joy of eventful living” to our hearts’ content.</p> + +<p>Alas! how little we knew on the day of my ordination, and in those +halcyon moments of our first housekeeping! To be the confidential +friend in a hundred families in the town—cutting the social trifle, +as my friend Haliburton says, “from the top of the whipped-syllabub to +the bottom of the sponge-cake, which is the foundation”—to keep +abreast of the thought of the age in one’s study, and to do one’s best +on Sunday to interweave that thought with the active life of an active +town, and to inspirit both and make both infinite by glimpses of the +Eternal Glory, seemed such an exquisite forelook into one’s life! +Enough to do, and all so real and so grand! If this vision could only +have lasted.</p> + +<p>The truth is, that this vision was not in itself a delusion, nor, +indeed, half bright enough. If one could only have been left to do his +own business, the vision would have accomplished itself and brought +out new paraheliacal visions, each as bright as the original. The +misery was and is, as we found out, I and Polly, before long, that, +besides the vision, and besides the usual human and finite failures in +life (such as breaking the old pitcher that came over in the +Mayflower, and putting into the fire the alpenstock with which her +father climbed Mont Blanc)—besides, these, I say (imitating the style +of Robinson Crusoe), there were pitchforked in on us a great +rowen-heap of humbugs, handed down from some unknown seed-time, in +which we were expected, and I chiefly, to fulfil certain public +functions before the community, of the character of those fulfilled by +the third row of supernumeraries who stand behind the Sepoys in the +spectacle of the <em>Cataract of the Ganges</em>. They were the duties, in a +word, which one performs as member of one or another social class or +subdivision, wholly distinct from what one does as A. by himself A. +What invisible power put these functions on me, it would be very hard +to tell. But such power there was and is. And I had not been at work a +year before I found I was living two lives, one real and one merely +functional—for two sets of people, one my parish, whom I loved, and +the other a vague public, for whom I did not care two straws. All this +was in a vague notion, which everybody had and has, that this second +life would eventually bring out some great results, unknown at +present, to somebody somewhere.</p> + +<p>Crazed by this duality of life, I first read Dr. Wigan on the <em>Duality +of the Brain</em>, hoping that I could train one side of my head to do +these outside jobs, and the other to do my intimate and real duties. +For Richard Greenough once told me that, in studying for the statue of +Franklin, he found that the left side of the great man’s face was +philosophic and reflective, and the right side funny and smiling. If +you will go and look at the bronze statue, you will find he has +repeated this observation there for posterity. The eastern profile is +the portrait of the statesman Franklin, the western of Poor Richard. +But Dr. Wigan does not go into these niceties of this subject, and I +failed. It was then that, on my wife’s suggestion, I resolved to look +out for a Double.</p> + +<p>I was, at first, singularly successful. We happened to be recreating +at Stafford Springs that summer. We rode out one day, for one of the +relaxations of that watering-place, to the great Monsonpon House. We +were passing through one of the large halls, when my destiny was +fulfilled! I saw my man!</p> + +<p>He was not shaven. He had on no spectacles. He was dressed in a green +baize roundabout and faded blue overalls, worn sadly at the knee. But +I saw at once that he was of my height, five feet four and a half. He +had black hair, worn off by his hat. So have and have not I. He +stooped in walking. So do I. His hands were large, and mine. +And—choicest gift of Fate in all—he had, not “a strawberry-mark on +his left arm,” but a cut from a juvenile brickbat over his right eye, +slightly affecting the play of that eyebrow. Reader, so have I!—My +fate was sealed!</p> + +<p>A word with Mr. Holley, one of the inspectors, settled the whole +thing. It proved that this Dennis Shea was a harmless, amiable fellow, +of the class known as shiftless, who had sealed his fate by marrying a +dumb wife, who was at that moment ironing in the laundry. Before I +left Stafford, I had hired both for five years. We had applied to +Judge Pynchon, then the probate judge at Springfield, to change the +name of Dennis Shea to Frederic Ingham. We had explained to the Judge, +what was the precise truth, that an eccentric gentleman wished to +adopt Dennis under this new name into his family. It never occurred to +him that Dennis might be more than fourteen years old. And thus, to +shorten this preface, when we returned at night to my parsonage at +Naguadavick, there entered Mrs. Ingham, her new dumb laundress, +myself, who am Mr. Frederic Ingham, and my double, who was Mr. +Frederic Ingham by as good right as I.</p> + +<p>Oh, the fun we had the next morning in shaving his beard to my +pattern, cutting his hair to match mine, and teaching him how to wear +and how to take off gold-bowed spectacles! Really, they were +electroplate, and the glass was plain (for the poor fellow’s eyes were +excellent). Then in four successive afternoons I taught him four +speeches. I had found these would be quite enough for the +supernumerary-Sepoy line of life, and it was well for me they were. +For though he was good-natured, he was very shiftless, and it was, as +our national proverb says, “like pulling teeth” to teach him. But at +the end of the next week he could say, with quite my easy and frisky +air:</p> + +<p>1. “Very well, thank you. And you?” This for an answer to casual +salutations.</p> + +<p>2. “I am very glad you liked it.”</p> + +<p>3. “There has been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that +I will not occupy the time.”</p> + +<p>4. “I agree, in general, with my friend on the other side of the +room.”</p> + +<p>At first I had a feeling that I was going to be at great cost for +clothing him. But it proved, of course, at once, that, whenever he was +out, I should be at home. And I went, during the bright period of his +success, to so few of those awful pageants which require a black +dress-coat and what the ungodly call, after Mr. Dickens, a white +choker, that in the happy retreat of my own dressing-gowns and jackets +my days went by as happily and cheaply as those of another Thalaba. +And Polly declares there was never a year when the tailoring cost so +little. He lived (Dennis, not Thalaba) in his wife’s room over the +kitchen. He had orders never to show himself at that window. When he +appeared in the front of the house, I retired to my sanctissimum and +my dressing-gown. In short, the Dutchman and, his wife, in the old +weather-box, had not less to do with, each other than he and I. He +made the furnace-fire and split the wood before daylight; then he went +to sleep again, and slept late; then came for orders, with a red silk +bandanna tied round his head, with his overalls on, and his dress-coat +and spectacles off. If we happened to be interrupted, no one guessed +that he was Frederic Ingham as well as I; and, in the neighborhood, +there grew up an impression that the minister’s Irishman worked +day-times in the factory village at New Coventry. After I had given +him his orders, I never saw him till the next day.</p> + +<p>I launched him by sending him to a meeting of the Enlightenment Board. +The Enlightenment Board consists of seventy-four members, of whom +sixty-seven are necessary to form a quorum. One becomes a member under +the regulations laid down in old Judge Dudley’s will. I became one by +being ordained pastor of a church in Naguadavick. You see you cannot +help yourself, if you would. At this particular time we had had four +successive meetings, averaging four hours each—wholly occupied in +whipping in a quorum. At the first only eleven men were present; at +the next, by force of three circulars, twenty-seven; at the third, +thanks to two days’ canvassing by Auchmuty and myself, begging men to +come, we had sixty. Half the others were in Europe. But without a +quorum we could do nothing. All the rest of us waited grimly for our +four hours, and adjourned without any action. At the fourth meeting we +had flagged, and only got fifty-nine together. But on the first +appearance of my double—whom I sent on this fatal Monday to the fifth +meeting—he was the <em>sixty-seventh</em> man who entered the room. He was +greeted with a storm of applause! The poor fellow had missed his +way—read the street signs ill through his spectacles (very ill, in +fact, without them)—and had not dared to inquire. He entered the +room—finding the president and secretary holding to their chairs two +judges of the Supreme Court, who were also members <em>ex officio</em>, and +were begging leave to go away. On his entrance all was changed. +<em>Presto</em>, the by-laws were amended, and the Western property was given +away. Nobody stopped to converse with him. He voted, as I had charged +him to do, in every instance, with the minority. I won new laurels as +a man of sense, though a little unpunctual—and Dennis, <em>alias</em> +Ingham, returned to the parsonage, astonished to see with how little +wisdom the world is governed. He cut a few of my parishioners in the +street; but he had his glasses off, and I am known to be nearsighted. +Eventually he recognized them more readily than I.</p> + +<p>I “set him again” at the exhibition of the New Coventry Academy; and +here he undertook a “speaking part”—as, in my boyish, worldly days, I +remember the bills used to say of Mlle. Celeste. We are all trustees +of the New Coventry Academy; and there has lately been “a good deal of +feeling” because the Sandemanian trustees did not regularly attend the +exhibitions. It has been intimated, indeed, that the Sandemanians are +leaning towards Free-Will, and that we have, therefore, neglected +these semi-annual exhibitions, while there is no doubt that Auchmuty +last year went to Commencement at Waterville. Now the head master at +New Coventry is a real good fellow, who knows a Sanskrit root when he +sees it, and often cracks etymologies with me—so that, in strictness, +I ought to go to their exhibitions. But think, reader, of sitting +through three long July days in that Academy chapel, following the +program from</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Tuesday Morning. English Composition.</span> Sunshine. Miss Jones,</p> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">round to</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Trio on Three Pianos. Duel from opera of Midshipman Easy. <span class="smcap">Marryatt.</span></p> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">coming in at nine, Thursday evening! Think of this, reader, for men +who know the world is trying to go backward, and who would give their +lives if they could help it on! Well! The double had succeeded so well +at the Board, that I sent him to the Academy. (Shade of Plato, +pardon!) He arrived early on Tuesday, when, indeed, few but mothers +and clergymen are generally expected, and returned in the evening to +us, covered with honors. He had dined at the right hand of the +chairman, and he spoke in high terms of the repast. The chairman had +expressed his interest in the French conversation. “I am very glad you +liked it,” said Dennis; and the poor chairman, abashed, supposed the +accent had been wrong. At the end of the day, the gentlemen present +had been called upon for speeches—the Rev. Frederic Ingham first, as +it happened; upon which Dennis had risen, and had said, “There has +been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that I will not +occupy the time.” The girls were delighted, because Dr. Dabney, the +year before, had given them at this occasion a scolding on impropriety +of behavior at lyceum lectures. They all declared Mr. Ingham was a +love—and <em>so</em> handsome! (Dennis is good-looking.) Three of them, with +arms behind the others’ waists, followed him up to the wagon he rode +home in; and a little girl with a blue sash had been sent to give him +a rosebud. After this debut in speaking, he went to the exhibition for +two days more, to the mutual satisfaction of all concerned. Indeed, +Polly reported that he had pronounced the trustees’ dinners of a +higher grade than those of the parsonage. When the next term began, I +found six of the Academy girls had obtained permission to come across +the river and attend our church. But this arrangement did not long +continue.</p> + +<p>After this he went to several Commencements for me, and ate the +dinners provided; he sat through three of our Quarterly Conventions +for me—always voting judiciously, by the simple rule mentioned above, +of siding with the minority. And I, meanwhile, who had before been +losing caste among my friends, as holding myself aloof from the +associations of the body, began to rise in everybody’s favor. +“Ingham’s a good fellow—always on hand”; “never talks much—but does +the right thing at the right time”; “is not as unpunctual as he used +to be—he comes early, and sits through to the end.” “He has got over +his old talkative habit, too. I spoke to a friend of his about it +once; and I think Ingham took it kindly,” etc., etc.</p> + +<p>This voting power of Dennis was particularly valuable at the quarterly +meetings of the Proprietors of the Naguadavick Ferry. My wife +inherited from her father some shares in that enterprise, which is not +yet fully developed, though it doubtless will become a very valuable +property. The law of Maine then forbade stockholders to appear by +proxy at such meetings. Polly disliked to go, not being, in fact, a +“hens’-rights hen,” and transferred her stock to me. I, after going +once, disliked it more than she. But Dennis went to the next meeting, +and liked it very much. He said the armchairs were good, the collation +good, and the free rides to stockholders pleasant. He was a little +frightened when they first took him upon one of the ferry-boats, but +after two or three quarterly meetings he became quite brave.</p> + +<p>Thus far I never had any difficulty with him. Indeed, being of that +type which is called shiftless, he was only too happy to be told daily +what to do, and to be charged not to be forthputting or in any way +original in his discharge of that duty. He learned, however, to +discriminate between the lines of his life, and very much preferred +these stockholders’ meetings and trustees’ dinners and commencement +collations to another set of occasions, from which he used to beg off +most piteously. Our excellent brother, Dr. Fillmore, had taken a +notion at this time that our Sandemanian churches needed more +expression of mutual sympathy. He insisted upon it that we were +remiss. He said, that, if the Bishop came to preach at Naguadavick, +all the Episcopal clergy of the neighborhood were present; if Dr. Pond +came, all the Congregational clergymen turned out to hear him; if Dr. +Nichols, all the Unitarians; and he thought we owed it to each other +that, whenever there was an occasional service at a Sandemanian +church, the other brethren should all, if possible, attend. “It looked +well,” if nothing more. Now this really meant that I had not been to +hear one of Dr. Fillmore’s lectures on the Ethnology of Religion. He +forgot that he did not hear one of my course on the Sandemanianism of +Anselm. But I felt badly when he said it; and afterwards I always made +Dennis go to hear all the brethren preach, when I was not preaching +myself. This was what he took exceptions to—the only thing, as I +said, which he ever did except to. Now came the advantage of his long +morning-nap, and of the green tea with which Polly supplied the +kitchen. But he would plead, so humbly, to be let off, only from one +or two! I never excepted him, however. I knew the lectures were of +value, and I thought it best he should be able to keep the connection.</p> + +<p>Polly is more rash than I am, as the reader has observed in the outset +of this memoir. She risked Dennis one night under the eyes of her own +sex. Governor Gorges had always been very kind to us; and when he gave +his great annual party to the town, asked us. I confess I hated to go. +I was deep in the new volume of Pfeiffer’s <cite>Mystics</cite>, which Haliburton +had just sent me from Boston. “But how rude,” said Polly, “not to +return the Governor’s civility and Mrs. Gorges’s, when they will be +sure to ask why you are away!” Still I demurred, and at last she, with +the wit of Eve and of Semiramis conjoined, let me off by saying that, +if I would go in with her, and sustain the initial conversations with +the Governor and the ladies staying there, she would risk Dennis for +the rest of the evening. And that was just what we did. She took +Dennis in training all that afternoon, instructed him in fashionable +conversation, cautioned him against the temptations of the +supper-table—and at nine in the evening he drove us all down in the +carryall. I made the grand star-entrée with Polly and the pretty +Walton girls, who were staying with us. We had put Dennis into a great +rough top-coat, without his glasses—and the girls never dreamed, in +the darkness, of looking at him. He sat in the carriage, at the door, +while we entered. I did the agreeable to Mrs. Gorges, was introduced +to her niece. Miss Fernanda—I complimented Judge Jeffries on his +decision in the great case of D’Aulnay <em>vs.</em> Laconia Mining Co.—I +stepped into the dressing-room for a moment—stepped out for +another—walked home, after a nod with Dennis, and tying the horse to +a pump—and while I walked home, Mr. Frederic Ingham, my double, +stepped in through the library into the Gorges’s grand saloon.</p> + +<p>Oh! Polly died of laughing as she told me of it at midnight! And even +here, where I have to teach my hands to hew the beech for stakes to +fence our cave, she dies of laughing as she recalls it—and says that +single occasion was worth all we have paid for it. Gallant Eve that +she is! She joined Dennis at the library door, and in an instant +presented him to Dr. Ochterlong, from Baltimore, who was on a visit in +town, and was talking with her, as Dennis came in. “Mr. Ingham would +like to hear what you were telling us about your success among the +German population.” And Dennis bowed and said, in spite of a scowl +from Polly, “I’m very glad you liked it.” But Dr. Ochterlong did not +observe, and plunged into the tide of explanation, Dennis listening +like a prime-minister, and bowing like a mandarin—which is, I +suppose, the same thing. Polly declared it was just like Haliburton’s +Latin conversation with the Hungarian minister, of which he is very +fond of telling. “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Quoene sit historia Reformationis in Ungariâ?</i>” +quoth Haliburton, after some thought. And his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">confrère</i> replied +gallantly, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">In seculo decimo tertio</i>,” etc., etc., etc.; and from +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">decimo tertio</i><a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> to the nineteenth century and a half lasted till the oysters came. So +was it that before Dr. Ochterlong came to the “success,” or near it, +Governor Gorges came to Dennis and asked him to hand Mrs. Jeffries +down to supper, a request which he heard with great joy.</p> + +<p>Polly was skipping round the room, I guess, gay as a lark. Auchmuty +came to her “in pity for poor Ingham,” who was so bored by the stupid +pundit—and Auchmuty could not understand why I stood it so long. But +when Dennis took Mrs. Jeffries down, Polly could not resist standing +near them. He was a little flustered, till the sight of the eatables +and drinkables gave him the same Mercian courage which it gave +Diggory. A little excited then, he attempted one or two of his +speeches to the Judge’s lady. But little he knew how hard it was to +get in even a <em>promptu</em> there edgewise. “Very well, I thank you,” said +he, after the eating elements were adjusted; “and you?” And then did +not he have to hear about the mumps, and the measles, and arnica, and +belladonna, and chamomile-flower, and dodecathem, till she changed +oysters for salad—and then about the old practice and the new, and +what her sister said, and what her sister’s friend said, and what the +physician to her sister’s friend said, and then what was said by the +brother of the sister of the physician of the friend of her sister, +exactly as if it had been in Ollendorff? There was a moment’s pause, +as she declined champagne. “I am very glad you liked it,” said Dennis +again, which he never should have said, but to one who complimented a +sermon. “Oh! you are so sharp, Mr. Ingham! No! I never drink any wine +at all—except sometimes in summer a little currant spirits—from our +own currants, you know. My own mother—that is, I call her my own +mother, because, you know, I do not remember,” etc., etc., etc.; till +they came to the candied orange at the end of the feast—when Dennis, +rather confused, thought he must say something, and tried No. 4—“I +agree, in general, with my friend the other side of the room”—which +he never should have said but at a public meeting. But Mrs. Jeffries, +who never listens expecting to understand, caught him up instantly +with, “Well, I’m sure my husband returns the compliment; he always +agrees with you—though we do worship with the Methodists—but you +know, Mr. Ingham,” etc., etc., etc., till the move was made upstairs; +and as Dennis led her through the hall, he was scarcely understood by +any but Polly, as he said, “There has been so much said, and, on the +whole, so well said, that I will not occupy the time.”</p> + +<p>His great resource the rest of the evening was standing in the +library, carrying on animated conversations with one and another in +much the same way. Polly had initiated him in the mysteries of a +discovery of mine, that it is not necessary to finish your sentence in +a crowd, but by a sort of mumble, omitting sibilants and dentals. +This, indeed, if your words fail you, answers even in public extempore +speech—but better where other talking is going on. Thus: “We missed +you at the Natural History Society, Ingham.” Ingham replies: “I am +very gligloglum, that is, that you were m-m-m-m-m.” By gradually +dropping the voice, the interlocutor is compelled to supply the +answer. “Mrs. Ingham, I hope your friend Augusta is better.” Augusta +has not been ill. Polly cannot think of explaining, however, and +answers: “Thank you, ma’am; she is very rearason wewahwewob,” in lower +and lower tones. And Mrs. Throckmorton, who forgot the subject of +which she spoke, as soon as she asked the question, is quite +satisfied. Dennis could see into the card-room, and came to Polly to +ask if he might not go and play all-fours. But, of course, she sternly +refused. At midnight they came home delightedly: Polly, as I said, +wild to tell me the story of victory; only both the pretty Walton +girls said: “Cousin Frederic, you did not come near me all the +evening.”</p> + +<p>We always called him Dennis at home, for convenience, though his real +name was Frederic Ingham, as I have explained. When the election day +came round, however, I found that by some accident there was only one +Frederic Ingham’s name on the voting-list; and, as I was quite busy +that day in writing some foreign letters to Halle, I thought I would +forego my privilege of suffrage, and stay quietly at home, telling +Dennis that he might use the record on the voting-list and vote. I +gave him a ticket, which I told him he might use, if he liked to. That +was that very sharp election in Maine which the readers of <cite>The +Atlantic</cite> so well remember, and it had been intimated in public that +the ministers would do well not to appear at the polls. Of course, +after that, we had to appear by self or proxy. Still, Naguadavick was +not then a city, and this standing in a double queue at townmeeting +several hours to vote was a bore of the first water; and so, when I +found that there was but one Frederic Ingham on the list, and that one +of us must give up, I stayed at home and finished the letters (which, +indeed, procured for Fothergill his coveted appointment of Professor +of Astronomy at Leavenworth), and I gave Dennis, as we called him, the +chance. Something in the matter gave a good deal of popularity to the +Frederic Ingham name; and at the adjourned election, next week, +Frederic Ingham was chosen to the legislature. Whether this was I or +Dennis, I never really knew. My friends seemed to think it was I; but +I felt, that, as Dennis had done the popular thing, he was entitled to +the honor; so I sent him to Augusta when the time came, and he took +the oaths. And a very valuable member he made. They appointed him on +the Committee on Parishes; but I wrote a letter for him, resigning, on +the ground that he took an interest in our claim to the stumpage in +the minister’s sixteenths of Gore A, next No. 7, in the 10th Range. He +never made any speeches, and always voted with the minority, which was +what he was sent to do. He made me and himself a great many good +friends, some of whom I did not afterwards recognize as quickly as +Dennis did my parishioners. On one or two occasions, when there was +wood to saw at home, I kept him at home; but I took those occasions to +go to Augusta myself. Finding myself often in his vacant seat at these +times, I watched the proceedings with a good deal of care; and once +was so much excited that I delivered my somewhat celebrated speech on +the Central School District question, a speech of which the State of +Maine printed some extra copies. I believe there is no formal rule +permitting strangers to speak; but no one objected.</p> + +<p>Dennis himself, as I said, never spoke at all. But our experience this +session led me to think, that if, by some such “general understanding” +as the reports speak of in legislation daily, every member of Congress +might leave a double to sit through those deadly sessions and answer +to roll-calls and do the legitimate party-voting, which appears +stereotyped in the regular list of Ashe, Bocock, Black, etc., we +should gain decidedly in working power. As things stand, the saddest +state prison I ever visit is that Representatives’ Chamber in +Washington. If a man leaves for an hour, twenty “correspondents” may +be howling, “Where was Mr. Prendergast when the Oregon bill passed?” +And if poor Prendergast stays there! Certainly, the worst use you can +make of a man is to put him in prison!</p> + +<p>I know, indeed, that public men of the highest rank have resorted to +this expedient long ago. Dumas’s novel of <cite>The Iron Mask</cite> turns on the +brutal imprisonment of Louis the Fourteenth’s double. There seems +little doubt, in our own history, that it was the real General Pierce +who shed tears when the delegate from Lawrence explained to him the +sufferings of the people there—and only General Pierce’s double who +had given the orders for the assault on that town, which was invaded +the next day. My charming friend, George Withers, has, I am almost +sure, a double, who preaches his afternoon sermons for him. This is +the reason that the theology often varies so from that of the +forenoon. But that double is almost as charming as the original. Some +of the most well-defined men, who stand out most prominently on the +background of history, are in this way stereoscopic men; who owe their +distinct relief to the slight differences between the doubles. All +this I know. My present suggestion is simply the great extension of +the system, so that all public machine-work may be done by it.</p> + +<p>But I see I loiter on my story, which is rushing to the plunge. Let me +stop an instant more, however, to recall, were it only to myself, that +charming year while all was yet well. After the double had become a +matter of course, for nearly twelve months before he undid me, what a +year it was! Full of active life, full of happy love, of the hardest +work, of the sweetest sleep, and the fulfilment of so many of the +fresh aspirations and dreams of boyhood! Dennis went to every +school-committee meeting, and sat through all those late wranglings +which used to keep me up till midnight and awake till morning. He +attended all the lectures to which foreign exiles sent me tickets +begging me to come for the love of Heaven and of Bohemia. He accepted +and used all the tickets for charity concerts which were sent to me. +He appeared everywhere where it was specially desirable that “our +denomination,” or “our party,” or “our class,” or “our family,” or +“our street,” or “our town,” or “our country,” or “our state,” should +be fully represented. And I fell back to that charming life which in +boyhood one dreams of, when he supposes he shall do his own duty and +make his own sacrifices, without being tied up with those of other +people. My rusty Sanskrit, Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, French, +Italian, Spanish, German and English began to take polish. Heavens! +how little I had done with them while I attended to my <em>public</em> +duties! My calls on my parishioners became the friendly, frequent, +homelike sociabilities they were meant to be, instead of the hard work +of a man goaded to desperation by the sight of his lists of arrears. +And preaching! what a luxury preaching was when I had on Sunday the +whole result of an individual, personal week, from which to speak to a +people whom all that week I had been meeting as hand-to-hand friend! I +never tired on Sunday, and was in condition to leave the sermon at +home, if I chose, and preach it extempore, as all men should do +always. Indeed, I wonder, when I think that a sensible people like +ours—really more attached to their clergy than they were in the lost +days, when the Mathers and Nortons were noblemen—should choose to +neutralize so much of their ministers’ lives, and destroy so much of +their early training, by this undefined passion for seeing them in +public. It springs from our balancing of sects. If a spirited +Episcopalian takes an interest in the almshouse, and is put on the +Poor Board, every other denomination must have a minister there, lest +the poorhouse be changed into St. Paul’s Cathedral. If a Sandemanian +is chosen president of the Young Men’s Library, there must be a +Methodist vice-president and a Baptist secretary. And if a +Universalist Sunday-School Convention collects five hundred delegates, +the next Congregationalist Sabbath-School Conference must be as large, +“lest ‘they’—whoever <em>they</em> may be—should think ‘we’—whoever <em>we</em> +may be—are going down.”</p> + +<p>Freed from these necessities, that happy year, I began to know my wife +by sight. We saw each other sometimes. In those long mornings, when +Dennis was in the study explaining to map-peddlers that I had eleven +maps of Jerusalem already, and to school-book agents that I would see +them hanged before I would be bribed to introduce their textbooks into +the schools—she and I were at work together, as in those old dreamy +days—and in these of our log-cabin again. But all this could not +last—and at length poor Dennis, my double, overtasked in turn, undid +me.</p> + +<p>It was thus it happened. There is an excellent fellow—once a +minister—I will call him Isaacs—who deserves well of the world till +he dies, and after—because he once, in a real exigency, did the right +thing, in the right way, at the right time, as no other man could do +it. In the world’s great football match, the ball by chance found him +loitering on the outside of the field; he closed with it, “camped” it, +charged, it home—yes, right through the other side—not disturbed, +not frightened by his own success—and breathless found himself a +great man—as the Great Delta rang applause. But he did not find +himself a rich man; and the football has never come in his way again. +From that moment to this moment he has been of no use, that one can +see, at all. Still, for that great act we speak of Isaacs gratefully +and remember him kindly; and he forges on, hoping to meet the football +somewhere again. In that vague hope, he had arranged a “movement” for +a general organization of the human family into Debating Clubs, County +Societies, State Unions, etc., etc., with a view of inducing all +children to take hold of the handles of their knives and forks, +instead of the metal. Children have bad habits in that way. The +movement, of course, was absurd; but we all did our best to forward, +not it, but him. It came time for the annual county-meeting on this +subject to be held at Naguadavick. Isaacs came round, good fellow! to +arrange for it—got the townhall, got the Governor to preside (the +saint!—he ought to have triplet doubles provided him by law), and +then came to get me to speak. “No,” I said, “I would not speak, if ten +Governors presided. I do not believe in the enterprise. If I spoke, it +should be to say children should take hold of the prongs of the forks +and the blades of the knives. I would subscribe ten dollars, but I +would not speak a mill.” So poor Isaacs went his way, sadly, to coax +Auchmuty to speak, and Delafield. I went out. Not long after, he came +back, and told Polly that they had promised to speak—the Governor +would speak—and he himself would close with the quarterly report, and +some interesting anecdotes regarding. Miss Biffin’s way of handling +her knife and Mr. Nellis’s way of footing his fork. “Now if Mr. Ingham +will only come and sit on the platform, he need not say one word; but +it will show well in the paper—it will show that the Sandemanians +take as much interest in the movement as the Armenians or the +Mesopotamians, and will be a great favor to me.” Polly, good soul! was +tempted, and she promised. She knew Mrs. Isaacs was starving, and the +babies—she knew Dennis was at home—and she promised! Night came, and +I returned. I heard her story. I was sorry. I doubted. But Polly had +promised to beg me, and I dared all! I told Dennis to hold his peace, +under all circumstances, and sent him down.</p> + +<p>It was not half an hour more before he returned, wild with +excitement—in a perfect Irish fury—which it was long before I +understood. But I knew at once that he had undone me!</p> + +<p>What happened was this: The audience got together, attracted by +Governor Gorges’s name. There were a thousand people. Poor Gorges was +late from Augusta. They became impatient. He came in direct from the +train at last, really ignorant of the object of the meeting. He opened +it in the fewest possible words, and said other gentlemen were present +who would entertain them better than he. The audience were +disappointed, but waited. The Governor, prompted by Isaacs, said, “The +Honorable Mr. Delafield will address you.” Delafield had forgotten the +knives and forks, and was playing the Ruy Lopez opening at the chess +club. “The Rev. Mr. Auchmuty will address you.” Auchmuty had promised +to speak late, and was at the school committee. “I see Dr. Stearns in +the hall; perhaps he will say a word.” Dr. Stearns said he had come to +listen and not to speak. The Governor and Isaacs whispered. The +Governor looked at Dennis, who was resplendent on the platform; but +Isaacs, to give him his due, shook his head. But the look was enough. +A miserable lad, ill-bred, who had once been in Boston, thought it +would sound well to call for me, and peeped out, “Ingham!” A few more +wretches cried, “Ingham! Ingham!” Still Isaacs was firm; but the +Governor, anxious, indeed, to prevent a row, knew I would say +something, and said, “Our friend Mr. Ingham is always prepared—and +though we had not relied upon him, he will say a word, perhaps.” +Applause followed, which turned Dennis’s head. He rose, flattered, and +tried No. 3: “There has been so much said, and, on the whole, so well +said, that I will not longer occupy the time!” and sat down, looking +for his hat; for things seemed squally. But the people cried, “Go on! +go on!” and some applauded. Dennis, still confused, but flattered by +the applause, to which neither he nor I are used, rose again, and this +time tried No. 2: “I am very glad you liked it!” in a sonorous, clear +delivery. My best friends stared. All the people who did not know me +personally yelled with delight at the aspect of the evening; the +Governor was beside himself, and poor Isaacs thought he was undone! +Alas, it was I! A boy in the gallery cried in a loud tone, “It’s all +an infernal humbug,” just as Dennis, waving his hand, commanded +silence, and tried No. 4: “I agree, in general, with my friend the +other side of the room.” The poor Governor doubted his senses, and +crossed to stop him—not in time, however. The same gallery-boy +shouted, “How’s your mother?”—and Dennis, now completely lost, tried, +as his last shot, No. 1, vainly: “Very well, thank you; and you?”</p> + +<p>I think I must have been undone already. But Dennis, like another +Lockhard chose “to make sicker.” The audience rose in a whirl of +amazement, rage, and sorrow. Some other impertinence, aimed at Dennis, +broke all restraint, and, in pure Irish, he delivered himself of an +address to the gallery, inviting any person who wished to fight to +come down and do so—stating, that they were all dogs and +cowards—that he would take any five of them single-handed, “Shure, I +have said all his Riverence and the Misthress bade me say,” cried he, +in defiance; and, seizing the Governor’s cane from his hand, +brandished it, quarter-staff fashion, above his head. He was, indeed, +got from the hall only with the greatest difficulty by the Governor, +the City Marshal, who had been called in, and the Superintendent of my +Sunday School.</p> + +<p>The universal impression, of course, was, that the Rev. Frederic +Ingham had lost all command of himself in some of those haunts of +intoxication which for fifteen years I have been laboring to destroy. +Till this moment, indeed, that is the impression in Naguadavick. This +number of <cite>The Atlantic</cite> will relieve from it a hundred friends of +mine who have been sadly wounded by that notion now for years—but I +shall not be likely ever to show my head there again.</p> + +<p>No! My double has undone me.</p> + +<p>We left town at seven the next morning. I came to No. 9, in the Third +Range, and settled on the Minister’s Lot, In the new towns in Maine, +the first settled minister has a gift of a hundred acres of land. I am +the first settled minister in No. 9. My wife and little Paulina are my +parish. We raise corn enough to live on in summer. We kill bear’s meat +enough to carbonize it in winter. I work on steadily on my <cite>Traces of +Sandemanianism in the Sixth and Seventh Centuries</cite>, which I hope to +persuade Phillips, Sampson & Co. to publish next year. We are very +happy, but the world thinks we are undone.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> From <cite>The Atlantic Monthly</cite>, September, 1859. Republished in the +volume, <cite>The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales</cite> (1868), by Edward +Everett Hale (Little, Brown & Co.).</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> Which means, “In the thirteenth century,” my dear +little bell-and-coral reader. You have rightly guessed that the +question means, “What is the history of the Reformation in Hungary?”</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_VISIT_TO_THE_ASYLUM_FOR_AGED_AND_DECAYED_PUNSTERS">A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Oliver Wendell Holmes</span> (1809–1894)</p> + + +<p>Having just returned from a visit to this admirable Institution in +company with a friend who is one of the Directors, we propose giving a +short account of what we saw and heard. The great success of the +Asylum for Idiots and Feeble-minded Youth, several of the scholars +from which have reached considerable distinction, one of them being +connected with a leading Daily Paper in this city, and others having +served in the State and National Legislatures, was the motive which +led to the foundation of this excellent charity. Our late +distinguished townsman, Noah Dow, Esquire, as is well known, +bequeathed a large portion of his fortune to this establishment— +“being thereto moved,” as his will expressed it, “by the desire of +<i>N. Dowing</i> some public Institution for the benefit of Mankind.” +Being consulted as to the Rules of the Institution and the selection +of a Superintendent, he replied, that “all Boards must construct +their own Platforms of operation. Let them select <em>anyhow</em> and he +should be pleased.” N.E. Howe, Esq., was chosen in compliance with +this delicate suggestion.</p> + +<p>The Charter provides for the support of “One hundred aged and decayed +Gentlemen-Punsters.” On inquiry if there way no provision for +<em>females</em>, my friend called my attention to this remarkable +psychological fact, namely:</p> + +<p class="smcap">There is no such thing as a female Punster.</p> + +<p>This remark struck me forcibly, and on reflection I found that <em>I +never knew nor heard of one</em>, though I have once or twice heard a +woman make a <em>single detached</em> pun, as I have known a hen to crow.</p> + +<p>On arriving at the south gate of the Asylum grounds, I was about to +ring, but my friend held my arm and begged me to rap with my stick, +which I did. An old man with a very comical face presently opened the +gate and put out his head.</p> + +<p>“So you prefer <cite>Cane</cite> to <cite>A bell</cite>, do you?” he said—and began +chuckling and coughing at a great rate.</p> + +<p>My friend winked at me.</p> + +<p>“You’re here still, Old Joe, I see,” he said to the old man.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes—and it’s very odd, considering how often I’ve <em>bolted</em>, +nights.”</p> + +<p>He then threw open the double gates for us to ride through.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said the old man, as he pulled the gates after us, “you’ve had +a long journey.”</p> + +<p>“Why, how is that, Old Joe?” said my friend.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you see?” he answered; “there’s the <em>East hinges</em> on the one +side of the gate, and there’s the <em>West hinges</em> on t’other side—haw! +haw! haw!”</p> + +<p>We had no sooner got into the yard than a feeble little gentleman, +with a remarkably bright eye, came up to us, looking very serious, as +if something had happened.</p> + +<p>“The town has entered a complaint against the Asylum as a gambling +establishment,” he said to my friend, the Director.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” said my friend.</p> + +<p>“Why, they complain that there’s a <em>lot o’ rye</em> on the premises,” he +answered, pointing to a field of that grain—and hobbled away, his +shoulders shaking with laughter, as he went.</p> + +<p>On entering the main building, we saw the Rules and Regulations for +the Asylum conspicuously posted up. I made a few extracts which may be +interesting:</p> + + +<p class="center p15"><span class="smcap">Sect. I. Of Verbal Exercises.</span></p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>5. Each Inmate shall be permitted to make Puns freely from eight in +the morning until ten at night, except during Service in the Chapel +and Grace before Meals.</p> + +<p>6. At ten o’clock the gas will be turned off, and no further Puns, +Conundrums, or other play on words will be allowed to be uttered, or +to be uttered aloud.</p> + +<p>9. Inmates who have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make +Puns shall be permitted to repeat such as may be selected for them by +the Chaplain out of the work of <i>Mr. Joseph Miller</i>.</p> + +<p>10. Violent and unmanageable Punsters, who interrupt others when +engaged in conversation, with Puns or attempts at the same, shall be +deprived of their <cite>Joseph Millers</cite>, and, if necessary, placed in +solitary confinement.</p> +</div> + + +<p class="center p15"><span class="smcap">Sect. III. Of Deportment at Meals.</span></p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>4. No Inmate shall make any Pun, or attempt at the same, until the +Blessing has been asked and the company are decently seated.</p> + +<p>7. Certain Puns having been placed on the <cite>Index Expurgatorius</cite> of the +Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them, on pain of +being debarred the perusal of <cite>Punch</cite> and <cite>Vanity Fair</cite>, and, if +repeated, deprived of his <i>Joseph Miller</i>.</p> + +<p>Among these are the following:</p> + +<p>Allusions to <em>Attic salt</em>, when asked to pass the salt-cellar.</p> + +<p>Remarks on the Inmates being <em>mustered</em>, etc., etc.</p> + +<p>Associating baked beans with the <em>bene</em>-factors of the Institution.</p> + +<p>Saying that beef-eating is <em>befitting</em>, etc., etc.</p> + +<p>The following are also prohibited, excepting to such Inmates as may +have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make Puns of their +own:</p> + +<p>“——your own <em>hair</em> or a wig”; “it will be <em>long enough</em>,” etc., +etc.; “little of its age,” etc., etc.; also, playing upon the +following words: <em>hos</em>pital; <em>mayor</em>; <em>pun</em>; <em>pitied</em>; <em>bread</em>; +<em>sauce</em>, etc., etc., etc. <em>See</em> INDEX EXPURGATORIUS, <em>printed for use +of Inmates</em>.</p> + +<p>The subjoined Conundrum is not allowed: Why is Hasty Pudding like the +Prince? Because it comes attended by its <em>sweet</em>; nor this variation +to it, <em>to wit</em>: Because the <em>’lasses runs after it</em>.</p> +</div> + + +<p class="p15">The Superintendent, who went round with us, had been a noted punster +in his time, and well known in the business world, but lost his +customers by making too free with their names—as in the famous story +he set afloat in ’29 <em>of four Jerries</em> attaching to the names of a +noted Judge, an eminent Lawyer, the Secretary of the Board of Foreign +Missions, and the well-known Landlord at Springfield. One of the <em>four +Jerries</em>, he added, was of gigantic magnitude. The play on words was +brought out by an accidental remark of Solomons, the well-known +Banker. “<em>Capital punishment</em>!” the Jew was overheard saying, with +reference to the guilty parties. He was understood, as saying, <em>A +capital pun is meant</em>, which led to an investigation and the relief of +the greatly excited public mind.</p> + +<p>The Superintendent showed some of his old tendencies, as he went round +with us.</p> + +<p>“Do you know”—he broke out all at once—“why they don’t take steppes +in Tartary for establishing Insane Hospitals?”</p> + +<p>We both confessed ignorance.</p> + +<p>“Because there are <em>nomad</em> people to be found there,” he said, with a +dignified smile.</p> + +<p>He proceeded to introduce us to different Inmates. The first was a +middle-aged, scholarly man, who was seated at a table with a +<cite>Webster’s Dictionary</cite> and a sheet of paper before him.</p> + +<p>“Well, what luck to-day, Mr. Mowzer?” said the Superintendent.</p> + +<p>“Three or four only,” said Mr. Mowzer. “Will you hear ’em now—now I’m +here?”</p> + +<p>We all nodded.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you see Webster <em>ers</em> in the words cent<em>er</em> and theat<em>er</em>?</p> + +<p>“If he spells leather <em>lether</em>, and feather <em>fether</em>, isn’t there +danger that he’ll give us a <em>bad spell of weather</em>?</p> + +<p>“Besides, Webster is a resurrectionist; he does not allow <em>u</em> to rest +quietly in the <em>mould</em>.</p> + +<p>“And again, because Mr. Worcester inserts an illustration in his text, +is that any reason why Mr. Webster’s publishers should hitch one on in +their appendix? It’s what I call a <em>Connect-a-cut</em> trick.</p> + +<p>“Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven? Because it is +<em>under bread</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Mowzer!” said the Superintendent, “that word is on the Index!”</p> + +<p>“I forgot,” said Mr. Mowzer; “please don’t deprive me of <cite>Vanity Fair</cite> +this one time, sir.”</p> + +<p>“These are all, this morning. Good day, gentlemen.” Then to the +Superintendent: “Add you, sir!”</p> + +<p>The next Inmate was a semi-idiotic-looking old man. He had a heap of +block-letters before him, and, as we came up, he pointed, without +saying a word, to the arrangements he had made with them on the table. +They were evidently anagrams, and had the merit of transposing the +letters of the words employed without addition or subtraction. Here +are a few of them:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Times.      Smite!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Post.         Stop!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">   </div> + <div class="verse indent4 smcap">Tribune.       True nib.</div> + <div class="verse indent4 smcap">World.         Dr. Owl.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">   </div> + <div class="verse indent2 smcap">Advertiser. { Res veri dat.</div> + <div class="verse indent2 smcap">                   { Is true. Read!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">   </div> + <div class="verse indent0 smcap">Allopathy.   All o’ th’ Pay.</div> + <div class="verse indent0 smcap">Homœopathy.   O, the ——! O! O, my! Pah!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>The mention of several New York papers led to two or three questions. +Thus: Whether the Editor of <cite>The Tribune</cite> was <em>H.G. really</em>? If the +complexion of his politics were not accounted for by his being <em>an +eager</em> person himself? Whether Wendell <i>Fillips</i> were not a reduced +copy of John <i>Knocks</i>? Whether a New York <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Feuilletoniste</i> is not the +same thing as a <em>Fellow down East</em>?</p> + +<p>At this time a plausible-looking, bald-headed man joined us, evidently +waiting to take a part in the conversation.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Mr. Riggles,” said the Superintendent, “Anything fresh +this morning? Any Conundrum?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t looked at the cattle,” he answered, dryly.</p> + +<p>“Cattle? Why cattle?”</p> + +<p>“Why, to see if there’s any <em>corn under ’em</em>!” he said; and +immediately asked, “Why is Douglas like the earth?”</p> + +<p>We tried, but couldn’t guess.</p> + +<p>“Because he was <em>flattened out at the polls</em>!” said Mr. Riggles.</p> + +<p>“A famous politician, formerly,” said the Superintendent. “His +grandfather was a <i>seize-Hessian-ist</i> in the Revolutionary War. By the +way, I hear the <i>freeze-oil</i> doctrines don’t go down at New Bedford.”</p> + +<p>The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor formerly.</p> + +<p>“Ask him what his calling was,” said the Superintendent.</p> + +<p>“Followed the sea,” he replied to the question put by one of us. “Went +as mate in a fishing-schooner.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you give it up?”</p> + +<p>“Because I didn’t like working for <em>two mast-ers</em>,” he replied.</p> + +<p>Presently we came upon a group of elderly persons, gathered about a +venerable gentleman with flowing locks, who was propounding questions +to a row of Inmates.</p> + +<p>“Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?” he said.</p> + +<p>Nobody responded for two or three minutes. At last one old man, whom I +at once recognized as a Graduate of our University (Anno 1800) held up +his hand.</p> + +<p>“Rem <em>a cue</em> tetigit.”</p> + +<p>“Go to the head of the class, Josselyn,” said the venerable patriarch.</p> + +<p>The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way, +pushing against two or three of the Class.</p> + +<p>“How is this?” said the Patriarch.</p> + +<p>“You told me to go up <em>jostlin’</em>,” he replied.</p> + +<p>The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the pun too much +to be angry.</p> + +<p>Presently the Patriarch asked again:</p> + +<p>“Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the +Prince?”</p> + +<p>The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself:</p> + +<p>“Because every one of his carroms was a <em>tick-it</em> to the ball.”</p> + +<p>“Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in +Italy?” asked the Patriarch.</p> + +<p>Here again the Class failed.</p> + +<p>“The war-cloud’s rolling <em>Dun</em>,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“And what is mulled wine made with?”</p> + +<p>Three or four voices exclaimed at once:</p> + +<p>“<i>Sizzle-y</i> Madeira!”</p> + +<p>Here a servant entered, and said, “Luncheon-time.” The old gentlemen, +who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one of them politely +asking us if we would not stop and have a bit of bread and a little +mite of cheese.</p> + +<p>“There is one thing I have forgotten to show you,” said the +Superintendent, “the cell for the confinement of violent and +unmanageable Punsters.”</p> + +<p>We were very curious to see it, particularly with reference to the +alleged absence of every object upon which a play of words could +possibly be made.</p> + +<p>The Superintendent led us up some dark stairs to a corridor, then +along a narrow passage, then down a broad flight of steps into another +passageway, and opened a large door which looked out on the main +entrance.</p> + +<p>“We have not seen the cell for the confinement of ‘violent and +unmanageable’ Punsters,” we both exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“This is the <em>sell</em>!” he exclaimed, pointing to the outside prospect.</p> + +<p>My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-naturedly that +I had to laugh.</p> + +<p>“We like to humor the Inmates,” he said. “It has a bad effect, we +find, on their health and spirits to disappoint them of their little +pleasantries. Some of the jests to which we have listened are not new +to me, though I dare say you may not have heard them often before. The +same thing happens in general society, with this additional +disadvantage, that there is no punishment provided for ‘violent and +unmanageable’ Punsters, as in our Institution.”</p> + +<p>We made our bow to the Superintendent and walked to the place where +our carriage was waiting for us. On our way, an exceedingly decrepit +old man moved slowly toward us, with a perfectly blank look on his +face, but still appearing as if he wished to speak.</p> + +<p>“Look!” said the Director—“that is our Centenarian.”</p> + +<p>The ancient man crawled toward us, cocked one eye, with which he +seemed to see a little, up at us, and said:</p> + +<p>“Sarvant, young Gentlemen. Why is a—a—a—like a—a—a—? Give it up? +Because it’s a—a—a—a—.”</p> + +<p>He smiled a pleasant smile, as if it were all plain enough.</p> + +<p>“One hundred and seven last Christmas,” said the Director. “Of late +years he puts his whole Conundrums in blank—but they please him just +as well.”</p> + +<p>We took our departure, much gratified and instructed by our visit, +hoping to have some future opportunity of inspecting the Records of +this excellent Charity and making extracts for the benefit of our +Readers.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> From <cite>The Atlantic Monthly</cite>, January, 1861. Republished in <cite>Soundings +from the Atlantic</cite> (1864), by Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose authorized +publishers are the Houghton Mifflin Company.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_CELEBRATED_JUMPING_FROG_OF_CALAVERAS_COUNTY">THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Mark Twain</span> (1835–1910)</p> + + +<p>In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from +the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and +inquired after my friend’s friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to +do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that +<i>Leonidas W.</i> Smiley is a myth; and that my friend never knew such a +personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler +about him, it would remind him of his infamous <i>Jim Smiley</i>, and he +would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating +reminiscence of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to +me. If that was the design, it succeeded.</p> + +<p>I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove of the +dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel’s, and I +noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of +winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He +roused up, and gave me good-day. I told him a friend had commissioned +me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood +named <i>Leonidas W</i>. Smiley—<i>Rev. Leonidas W.</i> Smiley, a young +minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of +Angel’s Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me anything about +this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to +him.</p> + +<p>Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his +chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which +follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never +changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned his +initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of +enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a +vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly +that, so far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or +funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, +and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">finesse</i>. +I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once.</p> + +<p>“Rev. Leonidas W. H’m, Reverend Le—well, there was a feller here once +by the name of <i>Jim</i> Smiley, in the winter of ’49—or may be it was +the spring of ’50—I don’t recollect exactly, somehow, though what +makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big +flume warn’t finished when he first came to the camp; but any way, he +was the curiousest man about always betting on anything that turned up +you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if +he couldn’t he’d change sides. Any way that suited the other man would +suit <em>him</em>—any way just so’s he got a bet, <em>he</em> was satisfied. But +still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He +was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn’t be no +solit’ry thing mentioned but that feller’d offer to bet on it, and +take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a +horse-race, you’d find him flush or you’d find him busted at the end +of it; if there was a dog-fight, he’d bet on it; if there was a +cat-fight, he’d bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he’d bet on +it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you +which one would fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be +there reg’lar to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best +exhorter about here, and he was, too, and a good man. If he even see a +straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would +take him to get to—to wherever he <em>was</em> going to, and if you took him +up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find +out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of +the boys here has seen that Smiley and can tell you about him. Why, it +never made no difference to <em>him</em>—he’d bet on <em>any</em> thing—the +dangest feller. Parson Walker’s wife laid very sick once, for a good +while, and it seemed as if they warn’t going to save her; but one +morning he come in, and Smiley up and asked him how she was, and he +said she was considerable better—thank the Lord for his inf’nit’ +mercy—and coming on so smart that with the blessing of Prov’dence +she’d get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, Well, I’ll +risk two-and-a-half she don’t anyway.’”</p> + +<p>Thish-yer Smiley had a mare—the boys called her the fifteen-minute +nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was +faster than that—and he used to win money on that horse, for all she +was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the +consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or +three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always at +the fag-end of the race she’d get excited and desperate-like, and come +cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, +sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the +fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with +her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose—and always fetch up at +the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it +down.</p> + +<p>And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you’d think he +warn’t worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay for a +chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him he was a +different dog; his under-jaw’d begin to stick out like the fo’-castle +of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover and shine like the +furnaces. And a dog might tackle him and bully-rag him, and bite him, +and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew +Jackson—which was the name of the pup—Andrew Jackson would never let +on but what <em>he</em> was satisfied, and hadn’t expected nothing else—and +the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, +till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that +other dog jest by the j’int of his hind leg and freeze to it—not +chaw, you understand, but only just grip and hang on till they throwed +up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that +pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn’t have no hind legs, +because they’d been sawed off in a circular saw, and when the thing +had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to +make a snatch for his pet holt, he see in a minute how he’d been +imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, +and he ’peared surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, +and didn’t try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out +bad. He gave Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and +it was <em>his</em> fault, for putting up a dog that hadn’t no hind legs for +him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and +then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, +was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if +he’d lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius—I know it, +because he hadn’t no opportunities to speak of, and it don’t stand to +reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them +circumstances if he hadn’t no talent. It always makes me feel sorry +when I think of that last fight of his’n, and the way it turned out.</p> + +<p>Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and +tom-cats and all of them kind of things, till you couldn’t rest, and +you couldn’t fetch nothing for him to bet on but he’d match you. He +ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal’lated to +educate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in +his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he <em>did</em> +learn him, too. He’d give him a little punch behind, and the next +minute you’d see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut—see +him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start, +and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so +in the matter of ketching flies, and kep’ him in practice so constant, +that he’d nail a fly every time as fur as he could see him. Smiley +said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do ’most +anything—and I believe him. Why, I’ve seen him set Dan’l Webster down +here on this floor—Dan’l Webster was the name of the frog—and sing +out, “Flies, Dan’l, flies!” and quicker’n you could wink he’d spring +straight up and snake a fly off’n the counter there, and flop down on +the floor ag’in as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the +side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn’t no +idea he’d been doin’ any more’n any frog might do. You never see a +frog so modest and straightfor’ard as he was, for all he was so +gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, +he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his +breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you +understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on +him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, +and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been +everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever <em>they</em> see.</p> + +<p>Well, Smiley kep’ the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to +fetch him downtown sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller—a +stranger in the camp, he was—come acrost him with his box, and says:</p> + +<p>“What might be that you’ve got in the box?”</p> + +<p>And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, “It might be a parrot, or it +might be a canary, maybe, but it ain’t—it’s only just a frog.”</p> + +<p>And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round +this way and that, and says, “H’m—so ’tis. Well, what’s <em>he</em> good +for?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” Smiley says, easy and careless, “he’s good enough for <em>one</em> +thing, I should judge—he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.”</p> + +<p>The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, +and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, “Well,” he +says, “I don’t see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any +other frog.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe you don’t,” Smiley says. “Maybe you understand frogs and maybe +you don’t understand ’em; maybe you’ve had experience, and maybe you +ain’t only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I’ve got <em>my</em> opinion and +I’ll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras +County.”</p> + +<p>And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, +“Well, I’m only a stranger here, and I ain’t got no frog; but if I had +a frog, I’d bet you.”</p> + +<p>And then Smiley says, “That’s all right—that’s all right—if you’ll +hold my box a minute, I’ll go and get you a frog.” And so the feller +took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley’s, and +set down to wait.</p> + +<p>So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and +then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon +and filled him full of quail shot—filled! him pretty near up to his +chin—and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and +slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a +frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says:</p> + +<p>“Now, if you’re ready, set him alongside of Dan’l, with his forepaws +just even with Dan’l’s, and I’ll give the word.” Then he says, +“One—two—three—<em>git</em>!” and him and the feller touched up the frogs +from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively, but Dan’l give a +heave, and hysted up his shoulders—so—like a Frenchman, but it +warn’t no use—he couldn’t budge; he was planted as solid as a church, +and he couldn’t no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a +good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn’t have no +idea what the matter was, of course.</p> + +<p>The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out +at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder—so—at +Dan’l, and says again, very deliberate, “Well,” he says, “<em>I</em> don’t +see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any other frog.”</p> + +<p>Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan’l a long +time, and at last says, “I do wonder what in the nation that frog +throwed off for—I wonder if there ain’t something the matter with +him—he ’pears to look mighty baggy, somehow.” And he ketched Dan’l up +by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says, “Why blame my cats +if he don’t weigh five pounds!” and turned him upside down and he +belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and +he was the maddest man—he set the frog down and took out after that +feller, but he never ketched him. And——</p> + +<p>(Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got +up to see what was wanted.) And turning to me as he moved away, he +said: “Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy—I ain’t going +to be gone a second.”</p> + +<p>But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history +of the enterprising vagabond <em>Jim</em> Smiley would be likely to afford me +much information concerning the Rev. <i>Leonidas W.</i> Smiley, and so I +started away.</p> + +<p>At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed +me and recommenced:</p> + +<p>“Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller, one-eyed cow that didn’t have no +tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and——”</p> + +<p>However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear +about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> From <cite>The Saturday Press</cite>, Nov. 18, 1865. Republished in <cite>The +Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches</cite> +(1867), by Mark Twain, all of whose works are published by Harper & +Brothers.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ELDER_BROWNS_BACKSLIDE">ELDER BROWN’S BACKSLIDE<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Harry Stillwell Edwards</span> (1855- )</p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Elder Brown told his wife good-by at the farmhouse door as +mechanically as though his proposed trip to Macon, ten miles away, was +an everyday affair, while, as a matter of fact, many years had elapsed +since unaccompanied he set foot in the city. He did not kiss her. Many +very good men never kiss their wives. But small blame attaches to the +elder for his omission on this occasion, since his wife had long ago +discouraged all amorous demonstrations on the part of her liege lord, +and at this particular moment was filling the parting moments with a +rattling list of directions concerning thread, buttons, hooks, +needles, and all the many etceteras of an industrious housewife’s +basket. The elder was laboriously assorting these postscript +commissions in his memory, well knowing that to return with any one of +them neglected would cause trouble in the family circle.</p> + +<p>Elder Brown mounted his patient steed that stood sleepily motionless +in the warm sunlight, with his great pointed ears displayed to the +right and left, as though their owner had grown tired of the life +burden their weight inflicted upon him, and was, old soldier fashion, +ready to forego the once rigid alertness of early training for the +pleasures of frequent rest on arms.</p> + +<p>“And, elder, don’t you forgit them caliker scraps, or you’ll be +wantin’ kiver soon an’ no kiver will be a-comin’.”</p> + +<p>Elder Brown did not turn his head, but merely let the whip hand, which +had been checked in its backward motion, fall as he answered +mechanically. The beast he bestrode responded with a rapid whisking of +its tail and a great show of effort, as it ambled off down the sandy +road, the rider’s long legs seeming now and then to touch the ground.</p> + +<p>But as the zigzag panels of the rail fence crept behind him, and he +felt the freedom of the morning beginning to act upon his well-trained +blood, the mechanical manner of the old man’s mind gave place to a +mild exuberance. A weight seemed to be lifting from it ounce by ounce +as the fence panels, the weedy corners, the persimmon sprouts and +sassafras bushes crept away behind him, so that by the time a mile lay +between him and the life partner of his joys and sorrows he was in a +reasonably contented frame of mind, and still improving.</p> + +<p>It was a queer figure that crept along the road that cheery May +morning. It was tall and gaunt, and had been for thirty years or more. +The long head, bald on top, covered behind with iron-gray hair, and in +front with a short tangled growth that curled and kinked in every +direction, was surmounted by an old-fashioned stove-pipe hat, worn and +stained, but eminently impressive. An old-fashioned Henry Clay cloth +coat, stained and threadbare, divided itself impartially over the +donkey’s back and dangled on his sides. This was all that remained of +the elder’s wedding suit of forty years ago. Only constant care, and +use of late years limited to extra occasions, had preserved it so +long. The trousers had soon parted company with their friends. The +substitutes were red jeans, which, while they did not well match his +court costume, were better able to withstand the old man’s abuse, for +if, in addition to his frequent religious excursions astride his +beast, there ever was a man who was fond of sitting down with his feet +higher than his head, it was this selfsame Elder Brown.</p> + +<p>The morning expanded, and the old man expanded with it; for while a +vigorous leader in his church, the elder at home was, it must be +admitted, an uncomplaining slave. To the intense astonishment of the +beast he rode, there came new vigor into the whacks which fell upon +his flanks; and the beast allowed astonishment to surprise him into +real life and decided motion. Somewhere in the elder’s expanding soul +a tune had begun to ring. Possibly he took up the far, faint tune that +came from the straggling gang of negroes away off in the field, as +they slowly chopped amid the threadlike rows of cotton plants which +lined the level ground, for the melody he hummed softly and then sang +strongly, in the quavering, catchy tones of a good old country +churchman, was “I’m glad salvation’s free.”</p> + +<p>It was during the singing of this hymn that Elder Brown’s regular +motion-inspiring strokes were for the first time varied. He began to +hold his hickory up at certain pauses in the melody, and beat the +changes upon the sides of his astonished steed. The chorus under this +arrangement was:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I’m <em>glad</em> salvation’s <em>free</em>,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’m <em>glad</em> salvation’s <em>free</em>,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’m <em>glad</em> salvation’s <em>free</em> for <em>all</em>,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’m <em>glad</em> salvation’s <em>free</em>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>Wherever there is an italic, the hickory descended. It fell about as +regularly and after the fashion of the stick beating upon the bass +drum during a funeral march. But the beast, although convinced that +something serious was impending, did not consider a funeral march +appropriate for the occasion. He protested, at first, with vigorous +whiskings of his tail and a rapid shifting of his ears. Finding these +demonstrations unavailing, and convinced that some urgent cause for +hurry had suddenly invaded the elder’s serenity, as it had his own, he +began to cover the ground with frantic leaps that would have surprised +his owner could he have realized what was going on. But Elder Brown’s +eyes were half closed, and he was singing at the top of his voice. +Lost in a trance of divine exaltation, for he felt the effects of the +invigorating motion, bent only on making the air ring with the lines +which he dimly imagined were drawing upon him the eyes of the whole +female congregation, he was supremely unconscious that his beast was +hurrying.</p> + +<p>And thus the excursion proceeded, until suddenly a shote, surprised in +his calm search for roots in a fence corner, darted into the road, and +stood for an instant gazing upon the newcomers with that idiotic stare +which only a pig can imitate. The sudden appearance of this +unlooked-for apparition acted strongly upon the donkey. With one +supreme effort he collected himself into a motionless mass of matter, +bracing his front legs wide apart; that is to say, he stopped short. +There he stood, returning the pig’s idiotic stare with an interest +which must have led to the presumption that never before in all his +varied life had he seen such a singular little creature. End over end +went the man of prayer, finally bringing up full length in the sand, +striking just as he should have shouted “free” for the fourth time in +his glorious chorus.</p> + +<p>Fully convinced that his alarm had been well founded, the shote sped +out from under the gigantic missile hurled at him by the donkey, and +scampered down the road, turning first one ear and then the other to +detect any sounds of pursuit. The donkey, also convinced that the +object before which he had halted was supernatural, started back +violently upon seeing it apparently turn to a man. But seeing that it +had turned to nothing but a man, he wandered up into the deserted +fence corner, and began to nibble refreshment from a scrub oak.</p> + +<p>For a moment the elder gazed up into the sky, half impressed with the +idea that the camp-meeting platform had given way. But the truth +forced its way to the front in his disordered understanding at last, +and with painful dignity he staggered into an upright position, and +regained his beaver. He was shocked again. Never before in all the +long years it had served him had he seen it in such shape. The truth +is, Elder Brown had never before tried to stand on his head in it. As +calmly as possible he began to straighten it out, caring but little +for the dust upon his garments. The beaver was his special crown of +dignity. To lose it was to be reduced to a level with the common +woolhat herd. He did his best, pulling, pressing, and pushing, but the +hat did not look natural when he had finished. It seemed to have been +laid off into counties, sections, and town lots. Like a well-cut +jewel, it had a face for him, view it from whatever point he chose, a +quality which so impressed him that a lump gathered in his throat, and +his eyes winked vigorously.</p> + +<p>Elder Brown was not, however, a man for tears. He was a man of action. +The sudden vision which met his wandering gaze, the donkey calmly +chewing scrub buds, with the green juice already oozing from the +corners of his frothy mouth, acted upon him like magic. He was, after +all, only human, and when he got hands upon a piece of brush he +thrashed the poor beast until it seemed as though even its already +half-tanned hide would be eternally ruined. Thoroughly exhausted at +last, he wearily straddled his saddle, and with his chin upon his +breast resumed the early morning tenor of his way.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>“Good-mornin’, sir.”</p> + +<p>Elder Brown leaned over the little pine picket which divided the +bookkeepers’ department of a Macon warehouse from the room in general, +and surveyed the well-dressed back of a gentleman who was busily +figuring at a desk within. The apartment was carpetless, and the dust +of a decade lay deep on the old books, shelves, and the familiar +advertisements of guano and fertilizers which decorated the room. An +old stove, rusty with the nicotine contributed by farmers during the +previous season while waiting by its glowing sides for their cotton to +be sold, stood straight up in a bed of sand, and festoons of cobwebs +clung to the upper sashes of the murky windows. The lower sash of one +window had been raised, and in the yard without, nearly an acre in +extent, lay a few bales of cotton, with jagged holes in their ends, +just as the sampler had left them. Elder Brown had time to notice all +these familiar points, for the figure at the desk kept serenely at its +task, and deigned no reply.</p> + +<p>“Good-mornin’, sir,” said Elder Brown again, in his most dignified +tones. “Is Mr. Thomas in?”</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, sir,” said the figure. “I’ll wait on you in a minute.” +The minute passed, and four more joined it. Then the desk man turned.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, what can I do for you?”</p> + +<p>The elder was not in the best of humor when he arrived, and his state +of mind had not improved. He waited full a minute as he surveyed the +man of business.</p> + +<p>“I thought I mout be able to make some arrangements with you to git +some money, but I reckon I was mistaken.” The warehouse man came +nearer.</p> + +<p>“This is Mr. Brown, I believe. I did not recognize you at once. You +are not in often to see us.”</p> + +<p>“No; my wife usually ’tends to the town bizness, while I run the +church and farm. Got a fall from my donkey this morning,” he said, +noticing a quizzical, interrogating look upon the face before him, +“and fell squar’ on the hat.” He made a pretense of smoothing it. The +man of business had already lost interest.</p> + +<p>“How much money will you want, Mr. Brown?”</p> + +<p>“Well, about seven hundred dollars,” said the elder, replacing his +hat, and turning a furtive look upon the warehouse man. The other was +tapping with his pencil upon the little shelf lying across the rail.</p> + +<p>“I can get you five hundred.”</p> + +<p>“But I oughter have seven.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t arrange for that amount. Wait till later in the season, and +come again. Money is very tight now. How much cotton will you raise?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I count on a hundr’d bales. An’ you can’t git the sev’n hundr’d +dollars?”</p> + +<p>“Like to oblige you, but can’t right now; will fix it for you later +on.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the elder, slowly, “fix up the papers for five, an’ I’ll +make it go as far as possible.”</p> + +<p>The papers were drawn. A note was made out for $552.50, for the +interest was at one and a half per cent. for seven months, and a +mortgage on ten mules belonging to the elder was drawn and signed. The +elder then promised to send his cotton to the warehouse to be sold in +the fall, and with a curt “Anything else?” and a “Thankee, that’s +all,” the two parted.</p> + +<p>Elder Brown now made an effort to recall the supplemental commissions +shouted to him upon his departure, intending to execute them first, +and then take his written list item by item. His mental resolves had +just reached this point when a new thought made itself known. +Passersby were puzzled to see the old man suddenly snatch his +headpiece off and peer with an intent and awestruck air into its +irregular caverns. Some of them were shocked when he suddenly and +vigorously ejaculated:</p> + +<p>“Hannah-Maria-Jemimy! goldarn an’ blue blazes!”</p> + +<p>He had suddenly remembered having placed his memoranda in that hat, +and as he studied its empty depths his mind pictured the important +scrap fluttering along the sandy scene of his early-morning tumble. It +was this that caused him to graze an oath with less margin that he had +allowed himself in twenty years. What would the old lady say?</p> + +<p>Alas! Elder Brown knew too well. What she would not say was what +puzzled him. But as he stood bareheaded in the sunlight a sense of +utter desolation came and dwelt with him. His eye rested upon sleeping +Balaam anchored to a post in the street, and so as he recalled the +treachery that lay at the base of all his affliction, gloom was added +to the desolation.</p> + +<p>To turn back and search for the lost paper would have been worse than +useless. Only one course was open to him, and at it went the leader of +his people. He called at the grocery; he invaded the recesses of the +dry-goods establishments; he ransacked the hardware stores; and +wherever he went he made life a burden for the clerks, overhauling +show-cases and pulling down whole shelves of stock. Occasionally an +item of his memoranda would come to light, and thrusting his hand into +his capacious pocket, where lay the proceeds of his check, he would +pay for it upon the spot, and insist upon having it rolled up. To the +suggestion of the slave whom he had in charge for the time being that +the articles be laid aside until he had finished, he would not listen.</p> + +<p>“Now you look here, sonny,” he said, in the dry-goods store, “I’m +conducting this revival, an’ I don’t need no help in my line. Just you +tie them stockin’s up an’ lemme have ’em. Then I <em>know</em> I’ve <em>got</em> +’em.” As each purchase was promptly paid for, and change had to be +secured, the clerk earned his salary for that day at least.</p> + +<p>So it was when, near the heat of the day, the good man arrived at the +drugstore, the last and only unvisited division of trade, he made his +appearance equipped with half a hundred packages, which nestled in his +arms and bulged out about the sections of his clothing that boasted of +pockets. As he deposited his deck-load upon the counter, great drops +of perspiration rolled down his face and over his waterlogged collar +to the floor.</p> + +<p>There was something exquisitely refreshing in the great glasses of +foaming soda that a spruce young man was drawing from a marble +fountain, above which half a dozen polar bears in an ambitious print +were disporting themselves. There came a break in the run of +customers, and the spruce young man, having swept the foam from the +marble, dexterously lifted a glass from the revolving rack which had +rinsed it with a fierce little stream of water, and asked +mechanically, as he caught the intense look of the perspiring elder, +“What syrup, sir?”</p> + +<p>Now it had not occurred to the elder to drink soda, but the +suggestion, coming as it did in his exhausted state, was overpowering. +He drew near awkwardly, put on his glasses, and examined the list of +syrups with great care. The young man, being for the moment at +leisure, surveyed critically the gaunt figure, the faded bandanna, the +antique clawhammer coat, and the battered stove-pipe hat, with a +gradually relaxing countenance. He even called the prescription +clerk’s attention by a cough and a quick jerk of the thumb. The +prescription clerk smiled freely, and continued his assaults upon a +piece of blue mass.</p> + +<p>“I reckon,” said the elder, resting his hands upon his knees and +bending down to the list, “you may gimme sassprilla an’ a little +strawberry. Sassprilla’s good for the blood this time er year, an’ +strawberry’s good any time.”</p> + +<p>The spruce young man let the syrup stream into the glass as he smiled +affably. Thinking, perhaps, to draw out the odd character, he ventured +upon a jest himself, repeating a pun invented by the man who made the +first soda fountain. With a sweep of his arm he cleared away the swarm +of insects as he remarked, “People who like a fly in theirs are easily +accommodated.”</p> + +<p>It was from sheer good-nature only that Elder Brown replied, with his +usual broad, social smile, “Well, a fly now an’ then don’t hurt +nobody.”</p> + +<p>Now if there is anybody in the world who prides himself on knowing a +thing or two, it is the spruce young man who presides over a soda +fountain. This particular young gentleman did not even deem a reply +necessary. He vanished an instant, and when he returned a close +observer might have seen that the mixture in the glass he bore had +slightly changed color and increased in quantity. But the elder saw +only the whizzing stream of water dart into its center, and the rosy +foam rise and tremble on the glass’s rim. The next instant he was +holding his breath and sipping the cooling drink.</p> + +<p>As Elder Brown paid his small score he was at peace with the world. I +firmly believe that when he had finished his trading, and the little +blue-stringed packages had been stored away, could the poor donkey +have made his appearance at the door, and gazed with his meek, +fawnlike eyes into his master’s, he would have obtained full and free +forgiveness.</p> + +<p>Elder Brown paused at the door as he was about to leave. A +rosy-cheeked schoolgirl was just lifting a creamy mixture to her lips +before the fountain. It was a pretty picture, and he turned back, +resolved to indulge in one more glass of the delightful beverage +before beginning his long ride homeward.</p> + +<p>“Fix it up again, sonny,” he said, renewing his broad, confiding +smile, as the spruce young man poised a glass inquiringly. The living +automaton went through the same motions as before, and again Elder +Brown quaffed the fatal mixture.</p> + +<p>What a singular power is habit! Up to this time Elder Brown had been +entirely innocent of transgression, but with the old alcoholic fire in +his veins, twenty years dropped from his shoulders, and a feeling came +over him familiar to every man who has been “in his cups.” As a matter +of fact, the elder would have been a confirmed drunkard twenty years +before had his wife been less strong-minded. She took the reins into +her own hands when she found that his business and strong drink did +not mix well, worked him into the church, sustained his resolutions by +making it difficult and dangerous for him to get to his toddy. She +became the business head of the family, and he the spiritual. Only at +rare intervals did he ever “backslide” during the twenty years of the +new era, and Mrs. Brown herself used to say that the “sugar in his’n +turned to gall before the backslide ended.” People who knew her never +doubted it.</p> + +<p>But Elder Brown’s sin during the remainder of the day contained an +element of responsibility. As he moved majestically down toward where +Balaam slept in the sunlight, he felt no fatigue. There was a glow +upon his cheek-bones, and a faint tinge upon his prominent nose. He +nodded familiarly to people as he met them, and saw not the look of +amusement which succeeded astonishment upon the various faces. When he +reached the neighborhood of Balaam it suddenly occurred to him that he +might have forgotten some one of his numerous commissions, and he +paused to think. Then a brilliant idea rose in his mind. He would +forestall blame and disarm anger with kindness—he would purchase +Hannah a bonnet.</p> + +<p>What woman’s heart ever failed to soften at sight of a new bonnet?</p> + +<p>As I have stated, the elder was a man of action. He entered a store +near at hand.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning,” said an affable gentleman with a Hebrew countenance, +approaching.</p> + +<p>“Good-mornin’, good-mornin’,” said the elder, piling his bundles on +the counter. “I hope you are well?” Elder Brown extended his hand +fervidly.</p> + +<p>“Quite well, I thank you. What—”</p> + +<p>“And the little wife?” said Elder Brown, affectionately retaining the +Jew’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Quite well, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And the little ones—quite well, I hope, too?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; all well, thank you. Something I can do for you?”</p> + +<p>The affable merchant was trying to recall his customer’s name.</p> + +<p>“Not now, not now, thankee. If you please to let my bundles stay +untell I come back—”</p> + +<p>“Can’t I show you something? Hat, coat—”</p> + +<p>“Not now. Be back bimeby.”</p> + +<p>Was it chance or fate that brought Elder Brown in front of a bar? The +glasses shone bright upon the shelves as the swinging door flapped +back to let out a coatless clerk, who passed him with a rush, chewing +upon a farewell mouthful of brown bread and bologna. Elder Brown +beheld for an instant the familiar scene within. The screws of his +resolution had been loosened. At sight of the glistening bar the whole +moral structure of twenty years came tumbling down. Mechanically he +entered the saloon, and laid a silver quarter upon the bar as he said:</p> + +<p>“A little whiskey an’ sugar.” The arms of the bartender worked like a +faker’s in a side show as he set out the glass with its little quota +of “short sweetening” and a cut-glass decanter, and sent a +half-tumbler of water spinning along from the upper end of the bar +with a dime in change.</p> + +<p>“Whiskey is higher’n used to be,” said Elder Brown; but the bartender +was taking another order, and did not hear him. Elder Brown stirred +away the sugar, and let a steady stream of red liquid flow into the +glass. He swallowed the drink as unconcernedly as though his morning +tod had never been suspended, and pocketed the change. “But it ain’t +any better than it was,” he concluded, as he passed out. He did not +even seem to realize that he had done anything extraordinary.</p> + +<p>There was a millinery store up the street, and thither with uncertain +step he wended his way, feeling a little more elate, and altogether +sociable. A pretty, black-eyed girl, struggling to keep down her +mirth, came forward and faced him behind the counter. Elder Brown +lifted his faded hat with the politeness, if not the grace, of a +Castilian, and made a sweeping bow. Again he was in his element. But +he did not speak. A shower of odds and ends, small packages, thread, +needles, and buttons, released from their prison, rattled down about +him.</p> + +<p>The girl laughed. She could not help it. And the elder, leaning his +hand on the counter, laughed, too, until several other girls came +half-way to the front. Then they, hiding behind counters and suspended +cloaks, laughed and snickered until they reconvulsed the elder’s +vis-à-vis, who had been making desperate efforts to resume her demure +appearance.</p> + +<p>“Let me help you, sir,” she said, coming from behind the counter, upon +seeing Elder Brown beginning to adjust his spectacles for a search. He +waved her back majestically. “No, my dear, no; can’t allow it. You +mout sile them purty fingers. No, ma’am. No gen’l’man’ll ’low er lady +to do such a thing.” The elder was gently forcing the girl back to her +place. “Leave it to me. I’ve picked up bigger things ’n them. Picked +myself up this mornin’. Balaam—you don’t know Balaam; he’s my +donkey—he tumbled me over his head in the sand this mornin’.” And +Elder Brown had to resume an upright position until his paroxysm of +laughter had passed. “You see this old hat?” extending it, half full +of packages; “I fell clear inter it; jes’ as clean inter it as them +things thar fell out’n it.” He laughed again, and so did the girls. +“But, my dear, I whaled half the hide off’n him for it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir! how could you? Indeed, sir. I think you did wrong. The poor +brute did not know what he was doing, I dare say, and probably he has +been a faithful friend.” The girl cast her mischievous eyes towards +her companions, who snickered again. The old man was not conscious of +the sarcasm. He only saw reproach. His face straightened, and he +regarded the girl soberly.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe you’re right, my dear; mebbe I oughtn’t.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure of it,” said the girl. “But now don’t you want to buy a +bonnet or a cloak to carry home to your wife?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re whistlin’ now, birdie; that’s my intention; set ’em all +out.” Again the elder’s face shone with delight. “An’ I don’t want no +one-hoss bonnet neither.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. Now here is one; pink silk, with delicate pale blue +feathers. Just the thing for the season. We have nothing more elegant +in stock.” Elder Brown held it out, upside down, at arm’s-length.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, that’s suthin’ like. Will it soot a sorter redheaded +’ooman?”</p> + +<p>A perfectly sober man would have said the girl’s corsets must have +undergone a terrible strain, but the elder did not notice her dumb +convulsion. She answered, heroically:</p> + +<p>“Perfectly, sir. It is an exquisite match.”</p> + +<p>“I think you’re whistlin’ again. Nancy’s head’s red, red as a +woodpeck’s. Sorrel’s only half-way to the color of her top-knot, an’ +it do seem like red oughter to soot red. Nancy’s red an’ the hat’s +red; like goes with like, an’ birds of a feather flock together.” The +old man laughed until his cheeks were wet.</p> + +<p>The girl, beginning to feel a little uneasy, and seeing a customer +entering, rapidly fixed up the bonnet, took fifteen dollars out of a +twenty-dollar bill, and calmly asked the elder if he wanted anything +else. He thrust his change somewhere into his clothes, and beat a +retreat. It had occurred to him that he was nearly drunk.</p> + +<p>Elder Brown’s step began to lose its buoyancy. He found himself +utterly unable to walk straight. There was an uncertain straddle in +his gait that carried him from one side of the walk to the other, and +caused people whom he met to cheerfully yield him plenty of room.</p> + +<p>Balaam saw him coming. Poor Balaam. He had made an early start that +day, and for hours he stood in the sun awaiting relief. When he opened +his sleepy eyes and raised his expressive ears to a position of +attention, the old familiar coat and battered hat of the elder were +before him. He lifted up his honest voice and cried aloud for joy.</p> + +<p>The effect was electrical for one instant. Elder Brown surveyed the +beast with horror, but again in his understanding there rang out the +trumpet words.</p> + +<p>“Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, -er-unc, -unc, -unc.”</p> + +<p>He stooped instinctively for a missile with which to smite his +accuser, but brought up suddenly with a jerk and a handful of sand. +Straightening himself up with a majestic dignity, he extended his +right hand impressively.</p> + +<p>“You’re a goldarn liar, Balaam, and, blast your old buttons, you kin +walk home by yourself, for I’m danged if you sh’ll ride me er step.”</p> + +<p>Surely Coriolanus never turned his back upon Rome with a grander +dignity than sat upon the old man’s form as he faced about and left +the brute to survey with anxious eyes the new departure of his master.</p> + +<p>He saw the elder zigzag along the street, and beheld him about to turn +a friendly corner. Once more he lifted up his mighty voice:</p> + +<p>“Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, drer-unc, -erunc, -unc, -unc.”</p> + +<p>Once more the elder turned with lifted hand and shouted back:</p> + +<p>“You’re a liar, Balaam, goldarn you! You’re er iffamous liar.” Then he +passed from view.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Brown stood upon the steps anxiously awaiting the return of her +liege lord. She knew he had with him a large sum of money, or should +have, and she knew also that he was a man without business methods. +She had long since repented of the decision which sent him to town. +When the old battered hat and flour-covered coat loomed up in the +gloaming and confronted her, she stared with terror. The next instant +she had seized him.</p> + +<p>“For the Lord sakes, Elder Brown, what ails you? As I live, if the man +ain’t drunk! Elder Brown! Elder Brown! for the life of me can’t I make +you hear? You crazy old hypocrite! you desavin’ old sinner! you +black-hearted wretch! where have you ben?”</p> + +<p>The elder made an effort to wave her off.</p> + +<p>“Woman,” he said, with grand dignity, “you forgit yus-sef; shu know +ware I’ve ben ’swell’s I do. Ben to town, wife, an’ see yer wat I’ve +brought—the fines’ hat, ole woman, I could git. Look’t the color. +Like goes ’ith like; it’s red an’ you’re red, an’ it’s a dead match. +What yer mean? Hey! hole on! ole woman!—you! Hannah!—you.” She +literally shook him into silence.</p> + +<p>“You miserable wretch! you low-down drunken sot! what do you mean by +coming home and insulting your wife?” Hannah ceased shaking him from +pure exhaustion.</p> + +<p>“Where is it, I say? where is it?”</p> + +<p>By this time she was turning his pockets wrong side out. From one she +got pills, from another change, from another packages.</p> + +<p>“The Lord be praised, and this is better luck than I hoped! Oh, elder! +elder! elder! what did you do it for? Why, man, where is Balaam?”</p> + +<p>Thought of the beast choked off the threatened hysterics.</p> + +<p>“Balaam? Balaam?” said the elder, groggily. “He’s in town. The +infernal ole fool ’sulted me, an’ I lef’ him to walk home.”</p> + +<p>His wife surveyed him. Really at that moment she did think his mind +was gone; but the leer upon the old man’s face enraged her beyond +endurance.</p> + +<p>“You did, did you? Well, now, I reckon you’ll laugh for some cause, +you will. Back you go, sir—straight back; an’ don’t you come home +’thout that donkey, or you’ll rue it, sure as my name is Hannah Brown. +Aleck!—you Aleck-k-k!”</p> + +<p>A black boy darted round the corner, from behind which, with several +others, he had beheld the brief but stirring scene.</p> + +<p>“Put a saddle on er mule. The elder’s gwine back to town. And don’t +you be long about it neither.”</p> + +<p>“Yessum.” Aleck’s ivories gleamed in the darkness as he disappeared.</p> + +<p>Elder Brown was soberer at that moment than he had been for hours.</p> + +<p>“Hannah, you don’t mean it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, I do. Back you go to town as sure as my name is Hannah +Brown.”</p> + +<p>The elder was silent. He had never known his wife to relent on any +occasion after she had affirmed her intention, supplemented with “as +sure as my name is Hannah Brown.” It was her way of swearing. No +affidavit would have had half the claim upon her as that simple +enunciation.</p> + +<p>So back to town went Elder Brown, not in the order of the early morn, +but silently, moodily, despairingly, surrounded by mental and actual +gloom.</p> + +<p>The old man had turned a last appealing glance upon the angry woman, +as he mounted with Aleck’s assistance, and sat in the light that +streamed from out the kitchen window. She met the glance without a +waver.</p> + +<p>“She means it, as sure as my name is Elder Brown,” he said, thickly. +Then he rode on.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>To say that Elder Brown suffered on this long journey back to Macon +would only mildly outline his experience. His early morning’s fall had +begun to make itself felt. He was sore and uncomfortable. Besides, his +stomach was empty, and called for two meals it had missed for the +first time in years.</p> + +<p>When, sore and weary, the elder entered the city, the electric lights +shone above it like jewels in a crown. The city slept; that is, the +better portion of it did. Here and there, however, the lower lights +flashed out into the night. Moodily the elder pursued his journey, and +as he rode, far off in the night there rose and quivered a plaintive +cry. Elder Brown smiled wearily: it was Balaam’s appeal, and he +recognized it. The animal he rode also recognized it, and replied, +until the silence of the city was destroyed. The odd clamor and +confusion drew from a saloon near by a group of noisy youngsters, who +had been making a night of it. They surrounded Elder Brown as he began +to transfer himself to the hungry beast to whose motion he was more +accustomed, and in the “hail fellow well met” style of the day began +to bandy jests upon his appearance. Now Elder Brown was not in a +jesting humor. Positively he was in the worst humor possible. The +result was that before many minutes passed the old man was swinging +several of the crowd by their collars, and breaking the peace of the +city. A policeman approached, and but for the good-humored party, upon +whom the elder’s pluck had made a favorable impression, would have run +the old man into the barracks. The crowd, however, drew him laughingly +into the saloon and to the bar. The reaction was too much for his +half-rallied senses. He yielded again. The reviving liquor passed his +lips. Gloom vanished. He became one of the boys.</p> + +<p>The company into which Elder Brown had fallen was what is known as +“first-class.” To such nothing is so captivating as an adventure out +of the common run of accidents. The gaunt countryman, with his +battered hat and clawhammer coat, was a prize of an extraordinary +nature. They drew him into a rear room, whose gilded frames and +polished tables betrayed the character and purpose of the place, and +plied him with wine until ten thousand lights danced about him. The +fun increased. One youngster made a political speech from the top of +the table; another impersonated Hamlet; and finally Elder Brown was +lifted into a chair, and sang a camp-meeting song. This was rendered +by him with startling effect. He stood upright, with his hat jauntily +knocked to one side, and his coat tails ornamented with a couple of +show-bills, kindly pinned on by his admirers. In his left hand he +waved the stub of a cigar, and on his back was an admirable +representation of Balaam’s head, executed by some artist with billiard +chalk.</p> + +<p>As the elder sang his favorite hymn, “I’m glad salvation’s free,” his +stentorian voice awoke the echoes. Most of the company rolled upon the +floor in convulsions of laughter.</p> + +<p>The exhibition came to a close by the chair overturning. Again Elder +Brown fell into his beloved hat. He arose and shouted: “Whoa, Balaam!” +Again he seized the nearest weapon, and sought satisfaction. The young +gentleman with political sentiments was knocked under the table, and +Hamlet only escaped injury by beating the infuriated elder into the +street.</p> + +<p>What next? Well, I hardly know. How the elder found Balaam is a +mystery yet: not that Balaam was hard to find, but that the old man +was in no condition to find anything. Still he did, and climbing +laboriously into the saddle, he held on stupidly while the hungry +beast struck out for home.</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Hannah Brown did not sleep that night. Sleep would not come. Hour +after hour passed, and her wrath refused to be quelled. She tried +every conceivable method, but time hung heavily. It was not quite peep +of day, however, when she laid her well-worn family Bible aside. It +had been her mother’s, and amid all the anxieties and tribulations +incident to the life of a woman who had free negroes and a miserable +husband to manage, it had been her mainstay and comfort. She had +frequently read it in anger, page after page, without knowing what was +contained in the lines. But eventually the words became intelligible +and took meaning. She wrested consolation from it by mere force of +will.</p> + +<p>And so on this occasion when she closed the book the fierce anger was +gone.</p> + +<p>She was not a hard woman naturally. Fate had brought her conditions +which covered up the woman heart within her, but though it lay deep, +it was there still. As she sat with folded hands her eyes fell +upon—what?</p> + +<p>The pink bonnet with the blue plume!</p> + +<p>It may appear strange to those who do not understand such natures, but +to me her next action was perfectly natural. She burst into a +convulsive laugh; then, seizing the queer object, bent her face upon +it and sobbed hysterically. When the storm was over, very tenderly she +laid the gift aside, and bareheaded passed out into the night.</p> + +<p>For a half-hour she stood at the end of the lane, and then hungry +Balaam and his master hove in sight. Reaching out her hand, she +checked the beast.</p> + +<p>“William,” said she, very gently, “where is the mule?”</p> + +<p>The elder had been asleep. He woke and gazed upon her blankly.</p> + +<p>“What mule, Hannah?”</p> + +<p>“The mule you rode to town.”</p> + +<p>For one full minute the elder studied her face. Then it burst from his +lips:</p> + +<p>“Well, bless me! if I didn’t bring Balaam and forgit the mule!”</p> + +<p>The woman laughed till her eyes ran water.</p> + +<p>“William,” said she, “you’re drunk.”</p> + +<p>“Hannah,” said he, meekly, “I know it. The truth is, Hannah, I—”</p> + +<p>“Never mind, now, William,” she said, gently. “You are tired and +hungry. Come into the house, husband.”</p> + +<p>Leading Balaam, she disappeared down the lane; and when, a few minutes +later, Hannah Brown and her husband entered through the light that +streamed out of the open door her arms were around him, and her face +upturned to his.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> From <cite>Harper’s Magazine</cite>, August, 1885; copyright, 1885, by Harper & +Bros.; republished in the volume, <cite>Two Runaways, and Other Stories</cite> +(1889), by Harry Stillwell Edwards (The Century Co.).</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HOTEL_EXPERIENCE_OF_MR_PINK_FLUKER">THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Richard Malcolm Johnston</span> (1822–1898)</p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Mr. Peterson Fluker, generally called Pink, for his fondness for as +stylish dressing as he could afford, was one of that sort of men who +habitually seem busy and efficient when they are not. He had the +bustling activity often noticeable in men of his size, and in one way +and another had made up, as he believed, for being so much smaller +than most of his adult acquaintance of the male sex. Prominent among +his achievements on that line was getting married to a woman who, +among other excellent gifts, had that of being twice as big as her +husband.</p> + +<p>“Fool who?” on the day after his marriage he had asked, with a look at +those who had often said that he was too little to have a wife.</p> + +<p>They had a little property to begin with, a couple of hundreds of +acres, and two or three negroes apiece. Yet, except in the natural +increase of the latter, the accretions of worldly estate had been +inconsiderable till now, when their oldest child, Marann, was some +fifteen years old. These accretions had been saved and taken care of +by Mrs. Fluker, who was as staid and silent as he was mobile and +voluble.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fluker often said that it puzzled him how it was that he made +smaller crops than most of his neighbors, when, if not always +convincing, he could generally put every one of them to silence in +discussions upon agricultural topics. This puzzle had led him to not +unfrequent ruminations in his mind as to whether or not his vocation +might lie in something higher than the mere tilling of the ground. +These ruminations had lately taken a definite direction, and it was +after several conversations which he had held with his friend Matt +Pike.</p> + +<p>Mr. Matt Pike was a bachelor of some thirty summers, a foretime clerk +consecutively in each of the two stores of the village, but latterly a +trader on a limited scale in horses, wagons, cows, and similar objects +of commerce, and at all times a politician. His hopes of holding +office had been continually disappointed until Mr. John Sanks became +sheriff, and rewarded with a deputyship some important special service +rendered by him in the late very close canvass. Now was a chance to +rise, Mr. Pike thought. All he wanted, he had often said, was a start. +Politics, I would remark, however, had been regarded by Mr. Pike as a +means rather than an end. It is doubtful if he hoped to become +governor of the state, at least before an advanced period in his +career. His main object now was to get money, and he believed that +official position would promote him in the line of his ambition faster +than was possible to any private station, by leading him into more +extensive acquaintance with mankind, their needs, their desires, and +their caprices. A deputy sheriff, provided that lawyers were not too +indulgent in allowing acknowledgment of service of court processes, in +postponing levies and sales, and in settlement of litigated cases, +might pick up three hundred dollars, a good sum for those times, a +fact which Mr. Pike had known and pondered long.</p> + +<p>It happened just about then that the arrears of rent for the village +hotel had so accumulated on Mr. Spouter, the last occupant, that the +owner, an indulgent man, finally had said, what he had been expected +for years and years to say, that he could not wait on Mr. Spouter +forever and eternally. It was at this very nick, so to speak, that Mr. +Pike made to Mr. Fluker the suggestion to quit a business so far +beneath his powers, sell out, or rent out, or tenant out, or do +something else with his farm, march into town, plant himself upon the +ruins of Jacob Spouter, and begin his upward soar.</p> + +<p>Now Mr. Fluker had many and many a time acknowledged that he had +ambition; so one night he said to his wife:</p> + +<p>“You see how it is here, Nervy. Farmin’ somehow don’t suit my talons. +I need to be flung more ’mong people to fetch out what’s in me. Then +thar’s Marann, which is gittin’ to be nigh on to a growd-up woman; an’ +the child need the s’iety which you ’bleeged to acknowledge is sca’ce +about here, six mile from town. Your brer Sam can stay here an’ raise +butter, chickens, eggs, pigs, an’—an’—an’ so forth. Matt Pike say he +jes’ know they’s money in it, an’ special with a housekeeper keerful +an’ equinomical like you.”</p> + +<p>It is always curious the extent of influence that some men have upon +wives who are their superiors. Mrs. Fluker, in spite of accidents, had +ever set upon her husband a value that was not recognized outside of +his family. In this respect there seems a surprising compensation in +human life. But this remark I make only in passing. Mrs. Fluker, +admitting in her heart that farming was not her husband’s forte, +hoped, like a true wife, that it might be found in the new field to +which he aspired. Besides, she did not forget that her brother Sam had +said to her several times privately that if his brer Pink wouldn’t +have so many notions and would let him alone in his management, they +would all do better. She reflected for a day or two, and then said:</p> + +<p>“Maybe it’s best, Mr. Fluker. I’m willin’ to try it for a year, +anyhow. We can’t lose much by that. As for Matt Pike, I hain’t the +confidence in him you has. Still, he bein’ a boarder and deputy +sheriff, he might accidentally do us some good. I’ll try it for a year +providin’ you’ll fetch me the money as it’s paid in, for you know I +know how to manage that better’n you do, and you know I’ll try to +manage it and all the rest of the business for the best.”</p> + +<p>To this provision Mr. Fluker gave consent, qualified by the claim that +he was to retain a small margin for indispensable personal exigencies. +For he contended, perhaps with justice, that no man in the responsible +position he was about to take ought to be expected to go about, or sit +about, or even lounge about, without even a continental red in his +pocket.</p> + +<p>The new house—I say <em>new</em> because tongue could not tell the amount of +scouring, scalding, and whitewashing that that excellent housekeeper +had done before a single stick of her furniture went into it—the new +house, I repeat, opened with six eating boarders at ten dollars a +month apiece, and two eating and sleeping at eleven, besides Mr. Pike, +who made a special contract. Transient custom was hoped to hold its +own, and that of the county people under the deputy’s patronage and +influence to be considerably enlarged.</p> + +<p>In words and other encouragement Mr. Pike was pronounced. He could +commend honestly, and he did so cordially.</p> + +<p>“The thing to do, Pink, is to have your prices reg’lar, and make +people pay up reg’lar. Ten dollars for eatin’, jes’ so; eleb’n for +eatin’ <em>an</em>’ sleepin’; half a dollar for dinner, jes’ so; quarter +apiece for breakfast, supper, and bed, is what I call reason’ble bo’d. +As for me, I sca’cely know how to rig’late, because, you know, I’m a’ +officer now, an’ in course I natchel <em>has</em> to be away sometimes an’ on +expenses at ’tother places, an’ it seem like some ’lowance ought by +good rights to be made for that; don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>“Why, matter o’ course, Matt; what you think? I ain’t so powerful good +at figgers. Nervy is. S’posen you speak to her ’bout it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s perfec’ unuseless, Pink. I’m a’ officer o’ the law, Pink, +an’ the law consider women—well, I may say the law, <em>she</em> deal ’ith +<em>men</em>, not women, an’ she expect her officers to understan’ figgers, +an’ if I hadn’t o’ understood figgers Mr. Sanks wouldn’t or darsnt’ to +’p’int me his dep’ty. Me ’n’ you can fix them terms. Now see here, +reg’lar bo’d—eatin’ bo’d, I mean—is ten dollars, an’ sleepin’ and +singuil meals is ’cordin’ to the figgers you’ve sot for ’em. Ain’t +that so? Jes’ so. Now, Pink, you an’ me’ll keep a runnin’ account, you +a-chargin’ for reg’lar bo’d, an’ I a’lowin’ to myself credics for my +absentees, accordin’ to transion customers an’ singuil mealers an’ +sleepers. Is that fa’r, er is it not fa’r?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Fluker turned his head, and after making or thinking he had made a +calculation, answered:</p> + +<p>“That’s—that seem fa’r, Matt.”</p> + +<p>“Cert’nly ’tis, Pink; I knowed you’d say so, an’ you know I’d never +wish to be nothin’ but fa’r ’ith people I like, like I do you an’ your +wife. Let that be the understandin’, then, betwix’ us. An’ Pink, let +the understandin’ be jes’ betwix’ <em>us</em>, for I’ve saw enough o’ this +world to find out that a man never makes nothin’ by makin’ a blowin’ +horn o’ his business. You make the t’others pay up spuntial, monthly. +You ’n’ me can settle whensomever it’s convenant, say three months +from to-day. In course I shall talk up for the house whensomever and +wharsomever I go or stay. You know that. An’ as for my bed,” said Mr. +Pike finally, “whensomever I ain’t here by bed-time, you welcome to +put any transion person in it, an’ also an’ likewise, when transion +custom is pressin’, and you cramped for beddin’, I’m willin’ to give +it up for the time bein’; an’ rather’n you should be cramped too bad, +I’ll take my chances somewhars else, even if I has to take a pallet at +the head o’ the sta’r-steps.”</p> + +<p>“Nervy,” said Mr. Fluker to his wife afterwards, “Matt Pike’s a +sensibler an’ a friendlier an’ a ’commodatiner feller’n I thought.”</p> + +<p>Then, without giving details of the contract, he mentioned merely the +willingness of their boarder to resign his bed on occasions of +pressing emergency.</p> + +<p>“He’s talked mighty fine to me and Marann,” answered Mrs. Fluker. +“We’ll see how he holds out. One thing I do not like of his doin’, an’ +that’s the talkin’ ’bout Sim Marchman to Marann, an’ makin’ game o’ +his country ways, as he call ’em. Sech as that ain’t right.”</p> + +<p>It may be as well to explain just here that Simeon Marchman, the +person just named by Mrs. Fluker, a stout, industrious young farmer, +residing with his parents in the country near by where the Flukers had +dwelt before removing to town, had been eying Marann for a year or +two, and waiting upon her fast-ripening womanhood with intentions +that, he believed to be hidden in his own breast, though he had taken +less pains to conceal them from Marann than from the rest of his +acquaintance. Not that he had ever told her of them in so many words, +but—Oh, I need not stop here in the midst of this narration to +explain how such intentions become known, or at least strongly +suspected by girls, even those less bright than Marann Fluker. Simeon +had not cordially indorsed the movement into town, though, of course, +knowing it was none of his business, he had never so much as hinted +opposition. I would not be surprised, also, if he reflected that there +might be some selfishness in his hostility, or at least that it was +heightened by apprehensions personal to himself.</p> + +<p>Considering the want of experience in the new tenants, matters went on +remarkably well. Mrs. Fluker, accustomed to rise from her couch long +before the lark, managed to the satisfaction of all,—regular +boarders, single-meal takers, and transient people. Marann went to the +village school, her mother dressing her, though with prudent economy, +as neatly and almost as tastefully as any of her schoolmates; while, +as to study, deportment, and general progress, there was not a girl in +the whole school to beat her, I don’t care who she was.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>During a not inconsiderable period Mr. Fluker indulged the honorable +conviction that at last he had found the vein in which his best +talents lay, and he was happy in foresight of the prosperity and +felicity which that discovery promised to himself and his family. His +native activity found many more objects for its exertion than before. +He rode out to the farm, not often, but sometimes, as a matter of +duty, and was forced to acknowledge that Sam was managing better than +could have been expected in the absence of his own continuous +guidance. In town he walked about the hotel, entertained the guests, +carved at the meals, hovered about the stores, the doctors’ offices, +the wagon and blacksmith shops, discussed mercantile, medical, +mechanical questions with specialists in all these departments, +throwing into them all more and more of politics as the intimacy +between him and his patron and chief boarder increased.</p> + +<p>Now as to that patron and chief boarder. The need of extending his +acquaintance seemed to press upon Mr. Pike with ever-increasing +weight. He was here and there, all over the county; at the +county-seat, at the county villages, at justices’ courts, at +executors’ and administrators’ sales, at quarterly and protracted +religious meetings, at barbecues of every dimension, on hunting +excursions and fishing frolics, at social parties in all +neighborhoods. It got to be said of Mr. Pike that a freer acceptor of +hospitable invitations, or a better appreciator of hospitable +intentions, was not and needed not to be found possibly in the whole +state. Nor was this admirable deportment confined to the county in +which he held so high official position. He attended, among other +occasions less public, the spring sessions of the supreme and county +courts in the four adjoining counties: the guest of acquaintance old +and new over there. When starting upon such travels, he would +sometimes breakfast with his traveling companion in the village, and, +if somewhat belated in the return, sup with him also.</p> + +<p>Yet, when at Flukers’, no man could have been a more cheerful and +otherwise satisfactory boarder than Mr. Matt Pike. He praised every +dish set before him, bragged to their very faces of his host and +hostess, and in spite of his absences was the oftenest to sit and chat +with Marann when her mother would let her go into the parlor. Here and +everywhere about the house, in the dining-room, in the passage, at the +foot of the stairs, he would joke with Marann about her country beau, +as he styled poor Sim Marchman, and he would talk as though he was +rather ashamed of Sim, and wanted Marann to string her bow for higher +game.</p> + +<p>Brer Sam did manage well, not only the fields, but the yard. Every +Saturday of the world he sent in something or other to his sister. I +don’t know whether I ought to tell it or not, but for the sake of what +is due to pure veracity I will. On as many as three different +occasions Sim Marchman, as if he had lost all self-respect, or had not +a particle of tact, brought in himself, instead of sending by a negro, +a bucket of butter and a coop of spring chickens as a free gift to +Mrs. Fluker. I do think, on my soul, that Mr. Matt Pike was much +amused by such degradation—however, he must say that they were all +first-rate. As for Marann, she was very sorry for Sim, and wished he +had not brought these good things at all.</p> + +<p>Nobody knew how it came about; but when the Flukers had been in town +somewhere between two and three months, Sim Marchman, who (to use his +own words) had never bothered her a great deal with his visits, began +to suspect that what few he made were received by Marann lately with +less cordiality than before; and so one day, knowing no better, in his +awkward, straightforward country manners, he wanted to know the reason +why. Then Marann grew distant, and asked Sim the following question:</p> + +<p>“You know where Mr. Pike’s gone, Mr. Marchman?”</p> + +<p>Now the fact was, and she knew it, that Marann Fluker had never +before, not since she was born, addressed that boy as <em>Mister</em>.</p> + +<p>The visitor’s face reddened and reddened.</p> + +<p>“No,” he faltered in answer; “no—no—<em>ma’am</em>, I should say. I—I +don’t know where Mr. Pike’s gone.”</p> + +<p>Then he looked around for his hat, discovered it in time, took it into +his hands, turned it around two or three times, then, bidding good-bye +without shaking hands, took himself off.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fluker liked all the Marchmans, and she was troubled somewhat +when she heard of the quickness and manner of Sim’s departure; for he +had been fully expected by her to stay to dinner.</p> + +<p>“Say he didn’t even shake hands, Marann? What for? What you do to +him?”</p> + +<p>“Not one blessed thing, ma; only he wanted to know why I wasn’t +gladder to see him.” Then Marann looked indignant.</p> + +<p>“Say them words, Marann?”</p> + +<p>“No, but he hinted ’em.”</p> + +<p>“What did you say then?”</p> + +<p>“I just asked, a-meaning nothing in the wide world, ma—I asked him if +he knew where Mr. Pike had gone.”</p> + +<p>“And that were answer enough to hurt his feelin’s. What you want to +know where Matt Pike’s gone for, Marann?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t care about knowing, ma, but I didn’t like the way Sim +talked.”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Marann. Look straight at me. You’ll be mighty fur off your +feet if you let Matt Pike put things in your head that hain’t no +business a-bein’ there, and special if you find yourself a-wantin’ to +know where he’s a-perambulatin’ in his everlastin’ meanderin’s. Not a +cent has he paid for his board, and which your pa say he have a’ +understandin’ with him about allowin’ for his absentees, which is all +right enough, but which it’s now goin’ on to three mont’s, and what is +comin’ to us I need and I want. He ought, your pa ought to let me +bargain with Matt Pike, because he know he don’t understan’ figgers +like Matt Pike. He don’t know exactly what the bargain were; for I’ve +asked him, and he always begins with a multiplyin’ of words and never +answers me.”</p> + +<p>On his next return from his travels Mr. Pike noticed a coldness in +Mrs. Fluker’s manner, and this enhanced his praise of the house. The +last week of the third month came. Mr. Pike was often noticed, before +and after meals, standing at the desk in the hotel office (called in +those times the bar-room) engaged in making calculations. The day +before the contract expired Mrs. Fluker, who had not indulged herself +with a single holiday since they had been in town, left Marann in +charge of the house, and rode forth, spending part of the day with +Mrs. Marchman, Sim’s mother. All were glad to see her, of course, and +she returned smartly, freshened by the visit. That night she had a +talk with Marann, and oh, how Marann did cry!</p> + +<p>The very last day came. Like insurance policies, the contract was to +expire at a certain hour. Sim Marchman came just before dinner, to +which he was sent for by Mrs. Fluker, who had seen him as he rode into +town.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Sim,” said Mr. Pike as he took his seat opposite him. “You +here? What’s the news in the country? How’s your health? How’s crops?”</p> + +<p>“Jest mod’rate, Mr. Pike. Got little business with you after dinner, +ef you can spare time.”</p> + +<p>“All right. Got a little matter with Pink here first. ’Twon’t take +long. See you arfter amejiant, Sim.”</p> + +<p>Never had the deputy been more gracious and witty. He talked and +talked, outtalking even Mr. Fluker; he was the only man in town who +could do that. He winked at Marann as he put questions to Sim, some of +the words employed in which Sim had never heard before. Yet Sim held +up as well as he could, and after dinner followed Marann with some +little dignity into the parlor. They had not been there more than ten +minutes when Mrs. Fluker was heard to walk rapidly along the passage +leading from the dining-room, to enter her own chamber for only a +moment, then to come out and rush to the parlor door with the gig-whip +in her hand. Such uncommon conduct in a woman like Mrs. Pink Fluker of +course needs explanation.</p> + +<p>When all the other boarders had left the house, the deputy and Mr. +Fluker having repaired to the bar-room, the former said:</p> + +<p>“Now, Pink, for our settlement, as you say your wife think we better +have one. I’d ’a’ been willin’ to let accounts keep on a-runnin’, +knowin’ what a straightforrards sort o’ man you was. Your count, ef I +ain’t mistakened, is jes’ thirty-three dollars, even money. Is that +so, or is it not?”</p> + +<p>“That’s it, to a dollar, Matt. Three times eleben make thirty-three, +don’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It do, Pink, or eleben times three, jes’ which you please. Now here’s +my count, on which you’ll see, Pink, that not nary cent have I charged +for infloonce. I has infloonced a consider’ble custom to this house, +as you know, bo’din’ and transion. But I done that out o’ my respects +of you an’ Missis Fluker, an’ your keepin’ of a fa’r—I’ll say, as +I’ve said freckwent, a <em>very</em> fa’r house. I let them infloonces go to +friendship, ef you’ll take it so. Will you, Pink Fluker?”</p> + +<p>“Cert’nly, Matt, an’ I’m a thousand times obleeged to you, an’—”</p> + +<p>“Say no more, Pink, on that p’int o’ view. Ef I like a man, I know how +to treat him. Now as to the p’ints o’ absentees, my business as dep’ty +sheriff has took me away from this inconsider’ble town freckwent, +hain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It have, Matt, er somethin’ else, more’n I were a expectin’, an’—”</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so. But a public officer, Pink, when jooty call on him to go, he +got to go; in fack he got to <em>goth</em>, as the Scripture say, ain’t that +so?”</p> + +<p>“I s’pose so, Matt, by good rights, a—a official speakin’.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Fluker felt that he was becoming a little confused.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so. Now, Pink, I were to have credics for my absentees ’cordin’ +to transion an’ single-meal bo’ders an’ sleepers; ain’t that so?”</p> + +<p>“I—I—somethin’ o’ that sort, Matt,” he answered vaguely.</p> + +<p>“Jes’ so. Now look here,” drawing from his pocket a paper. “Itom one. +Twenty-eight dinners at half a dollar makes fourteen dollars, don’t +it? Jes’ so. Twenty-five breakfasts at a quarter makes six an’ a +quarter, which make dinners an’ breakfasts twenty an’ a quarter. +Foller me up, as I go up, Pink. Twenty-five suppers at a quarter makes +six an’ a quarter, an’ which them added to the twenty an’ a quarter +makes them twenty-six an’ a half. Foller, Pink, an’ if you ketch me in +any mistakes in the kyarin’ an’ addin’, p’int it out. Twenty-two an’ a +half beds—an’ I say <em>half</em>, Pink, because you ’member one night when +them A’gusty lawyers got here ’bout midnight on their way to co’t, +rather’n have you too bad cramped, I ris to make way for two of ’em; +yit as I had one good nap, I didn’t think I ought to put that down but +for half. Them makes five dollars half an’ seb’n pence, an’ which +kyar’d on to the t’other twenty-six an’ a half, fetches the whole +cabool to jes’ thirty-two dollars an’ seb’n pence. But I made up my +mind I’d fling out that seb’n pence, an’ jes’ call it a dollar even +money, an’ which here’s the solid silver.”</p> + +<p>In spite of the rapidity with which this enumeration of +counter-charges was made, Mr. Fluker commenced perspiring at the first +item, and when the balance was announced his face was covered with +huge drops.</p> + +<p>It was at this juncture that Mrs. Fluker, who, well knowing her +husband’s unfamiliarity with complicated accounts, had felt her duty +to be listening near the bar-room door, left, and quickly afterwards +appeared before Marann and Sim as I have represented.</p> + +<p>“You think Matt Pike ain’t tryin’ to settle with your pa with a +dollar? I’m goin’ to make him keep his dollar, an’ I’m goin’ to give +him somethin’ to go ’long with it.”</p> + +<p>“The good Lord have mercy upon us!” exclaimed Marann, springing up and +catching hold of her mother’s skirts, as she began her advance towards +the bar-room. “Oh, ma! for the Lord’s sake!—Sim, Sim, Sim, if you +care <em>any</em>thing for me in this wide world, don’t let ma go into that +room!”</p> + +<p>“Missis Fluker,” said Sim, rising instantly, “wait jest two minutes +till I see Mr. Pike on some pressin’ business; I won’t keep you over +two minutes a-waitin’.”</p> + +<p>He took her, set her down in a chair trembling, looked at her a moment +as she began to weep, then, going out and closing the door, strode +rapidly to the bar-room.</p> + +<p>“Let me help you settle your board-bill, Mr. Pike, by payin’ you a +little one I owe you.”</p> + +<p>Doubling his fist, he struck out with a blow that felled the deputy to +the floor. Then catching him by his heels, he dragged him out of the +house into the street. Lifting his foot above his face, he said:</p> + +<p>“You stir till I tell you, an’ I’ll stomp your nose down even with the +balance of your mean face. ’Tain’t exactly my business how you cheated +Mr. Fluker, though, ’pon my soul, I never knowed a trifliner, +lowdowner trick. But <em>I</em> owed you myself for your talkin’ ’bout and +your lyin’ ’bout me, and now I’ve paid you; an’ ef you only knowed it, +I’ve saved you from a gig-whippin’. Now you may git up.”</p> + +<p>“Here’s his dollar, Sim,” said Mr. Fluker, throwing it out of the +window. “Nervy say make him take it.”</p> + +<p>The vanquished, not daring to refuse, pocketed the coin, and slunk +away amid the jeers of a score of villagers who had been drawn to the +scene.</p> + +<p>In all human probability the late omission of the shaking of Sim’s and +Marann’s hands was compensated at their parting that afternoon. I am +more confident on this point because at the end of the year those +hands were joined inseparably by the preacher. But this was when they +had all gone back to their old home; for if Mr. Fluker did not become +fully convinced that his mathematical education was not advanced quite +enough for all the exigencies of hotel-keeping, his wife declared that +she had had enough of it, and that she and Marann were going home. Mr. +Fluker may be said, therefore, to have followed, rather than led, his +family on the return.</p> + +<p>As for the deputy, finding that if he did not leave it voluntarily he +would be drummed out of the village, he departed, whither I do not +remember if anybody ever knew.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> From <cite>The Century Magazine</cite>, June, 1886; copyright, 1886, by The +Century Co.; republished in the volume, <cite>Mr. Absalom Billingslea, and +Other Georgia Folk</cite> (1888), by Richard Malcolm Johnston (Harper & +Brothers).</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_NICE_PEOPLE">THE NICE PEOPLE<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Henry Cuyler Bunner</span> (1855–1896)</p> + + +<p>“They certainly are nice people,” I assented to my wife’s observation, +using the colloquial phrase with a consciousness that it was anything +but “nice” English, “and I’ll bet that their three children are better +brought up than most of——”</p> + +<p>“<em>Two</em> children,” corrected my wife.</p> + +<p>“Three, he told me.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, she said there were <em>two</em>.”</p> + +<p>“He said three.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve simply forgotten. I’m <em>sure</em> she told me they had only two—a +boy and a girl.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I didn’t enter into particulars.”</p> + +<p>“No, dear, and you couldn’t have understood him. Two children.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” I said; but I did not think it was all right. As a +nearsighted man learns by enforced observation to recognize persons +at a distance when the face is not visible to the normal eye, so the +man with a bad memory learns, almost unconsciously, to listen +carefully and report accurately. My memory is bad; but I had not had +time to forget that Mr. Brewster Brede had told me that afternoon that +he had three children, at present left in the care of his +mother-in-law, while he and Mrs. Brede took their summer vacation.</p> + +<p>“Two children,” repeated my wife; “and they are staying with his aunt +Jenny.”</p> + +<p>“He told me with his mother-in-law,” I put in. My wife looked at me +with a serious expression. Men may not remember much of what they are +told about children; but any man knows the difference between an aunt +and a mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>“But don’t you think they’re nice people?” asked my wife.</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly,” I replied. “Only they seem to be a little mixed up +about their children.”</p> + +<p>“That isn’t a nice thing to say,” returned my wife. I could not deny +it.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>And yet, the next morning, when the Bredes came down and seated +themselves opposite us at table, beaming and smiling in their natural, +pleasant, well-bred fashion, I knew, to a social certainty, that they +were “nice” people. He was a fine-looking fellow in his neat +tennis-flannels, slim, graceful, twenty-eight or thirty years old, +with a Frenchy pointed beard. She was “nice” in all her pretty +clothes, and she herself was pretty with that type of prettiness which +outwears most other types—the prettiness that lies in a rounded +figure, a dusky skin, plump, rosy cheeks, white teeth and black eyes. +She might have been twenty-five; you guessed that she was prettier +than she was at twenty, and that she would be prettier still at forty.</p> + +<p>And nice people were all we wanted to make us happy in Mr. Jacobus’s +summer boarding-house on top of Orange Mountain. For a week we had +come down to breakfast each morning, wondering why we wasted the +precious days of idleness with the company gathered around the Jacobus +board. What joy of human companionship was to be had out of Mrs. Tabb +and Miss Hoogencamp, the two middle-aged gossips from Scranton, +Pa.—out of Mr. and Mrs. Biggle, an indurated head-bookkeeper and his +prim and censorious wife—out of old Major Halkit, a retired business +man, who, having once sold a few shares on commission, wrote for +circulars of every stock company that was started, and tried to induce +every one to invest who would listen to him? We looked around at those +dull faces, the truthful indices of mean and barren minds, and decided +that we would leave that morning. Then we ate Mrs. Jacobus’s biscuit, +light as Aurora’s cloudlets, drank her honest coffee, inhaled the +perfume of the late azaleas with which she decked her table, and +decided to postpone our departure one more day. And then we wandered +out to take our morning glance at what we called “our view”; and it +seemed to us as if Tabb and Hoogencamp and Halkit and the Biggleses +could not drive us away in a year.</p> + +<p>I was not surprised when, after breakfast, my wife invited the Bredes +to walk with us to “our view.” The Hoogencamp-Biggle-Tabb-Halkit +contingent never stirred off Jacobus’s veranda; but we both felt that +the Bredes would not profane that sacred scene. We strolled slowly +across the fields, passed through the little belt of woods and, as I +heard Mrs. Brede’s little cry of startled rapture, I motioned to Brede +to look up.</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” he cried, “heavenly!”</p> + +<p>We looked off from the brow of the mountain over fifteen miles of +billowing green, to where, far across a far stretch of pale blue lay a +dim purple line that we knew was Staten Island. Towns and villages lay +before us and under us; there were ridges and hills, uplands and +lowlands, woods and plains, all massed and mingled in that great +silent sea of sunlit green. For silent it was to us, standing in the +silence of a high place—silent with a Sunday stillness that made us +listen, without taking thought, for the sound of bells coming up from +the spires that rose above the tree-tops—the tree-tops that lay as +far beneath us as the light clouds were above us that dropped great +shadows upon our heads and faint specks of shade upon the broad sweep +of land at the mountain’s foot.</p> + +<p>“And so that is <em>your</em> view?” asked Mrs. Brede, after a moment; “you +are very generous to make it ours, too.”</p> + +<p>Then we lay down on the grass, and Brede began to talk, in a gentle +voice, as if he felt the influence of the place. He had paddled a +canoe, in his earlier days, he said, and he knew every river and creek +in that vast stretch of landscape. He found his landmarks, and pointed +out to us where the Passaic and the Hackensack flowed, invisible to +us, hidden behind great ridges that in our sight were but combings of +the green waves upon which we looked down. And yet, on the further +side of those broad ridges and rises were scores of villages—a little +world of country life, lying unseen under our eyes.</p> + +<p>“A good deal like looking at humanity,” he said; “there is such a +thing as getting so far above our fellow men that we see only one side +of them.”</p> + +<p>Ah, how much better was this sort of talk than the chatter and gossip +of the Tabb and the Hoogencamp—than the Major’s dissertations upon +his everlasting circulars! My wife and I exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>“Now, when I went up the Matterhorn” Mr. Brede began.</p> + +<p>“Why, dear,” interrupted his wife, “I didn’t know you ever went up the +Matterhorn.”</p> + +<p>“It—it was five years ago,” said Mr. Brede, hurriedly. “I—I didn’t +tell you—when I was on the other side, you know—it was rather +dangerous—well, as I was saying—it looked—oh, it didn’t look at all +like this.”</p> + +<p>A cloud floated overhead, throwing its great shadow over the field +where we lay. The shadow passed over the mountain’s brow and +reappeared far below, a rapidly decreasing blot, flying eastward over +the golden green. My wife and I exchanged glances once more.</p> + +<p>Somehow, the shadow lingered over us all. As we went home, the Bredes +went side by side along the narrow path, and my wife and I walked +together.</p> + +<p>“<em>Should you think</em>,” she asked me, “that a man would climb the +Matterhorn the very first year he was married?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, my dear,” I answered, evasively; “this isn’t the first +year I have been married, not by a good many, and I wouldn’t climb +it—for a farm.”</p> + +<p>“You know what I mean,” she said.</p> + +<p>I did.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When we reached the boarding-house, Mr. Jacobus took me aside.</p> + +<p>“You know,” he began his discourse, “my wife she uset to live in N’ +York!”</p> + +<p>I didn’t know, but I said “Yes.”</p> + +<p>“She says the numbers on the streets runs criss-cross-like. +Thirty-four’s on one side o’ the street an’ thirty-five on t’other. +How’s that?”</p> + +<p>“That is the invariable rule, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Then—I say—these here new folk that you ’n’ your wife seem so +mighty taken up with—d’ye know anything about ’em?”</p> + +<p>“I know nothing about the character of your boarders, Mr. Jacobus,” I +replied, conscious of some irritability. “If I choose to associate +with any of them——”</p> + +<p>“Jess so—jess so!” broke in Jacobus. “I hain’t nothin’ to say ag’inst +yer sosherbil’ty. But do ye <em>know</em> them?”</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly not,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“Well—that was all I wuz askin’ ye. Ye see, when <em>he</em> come here to +take the rooms—you wasn’t here then—he told my wife that he lived at +number thirty-four in his street. An’ yistiddy <em>she</em> told her that +they lived at number thirty-five. He said he lived in an +apartment-house. Now there can’t be no apartment-house on two sides of +the same street, kin they?”</p> + +<p>“What street was it?” I inquired, wearily.</p> + +<p>“Hundred ’n’ twenty-first street.”</p> + +<p>“May be,” I replied, still more wearily. “That’s Harlem. Nobody knows +what people will do in Harlem.”</p> + +<p>I went up to my wife’s room.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think it’s queer?” she asked me.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll have a talk with that young man to-night,” I said, “and +see if he can give some account of himself.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear,” my wife said, gravely, “<em>she</em> doesn’t know whether +they’ve had the measles or not.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Great Scott!” I exclaimed, “they must have had them when they +were children.”</p> + +<p>“Please don’t be stupid,” said my wife. “I meant <em>their</em> children.”</p> + +<p>After dinner that night—or rather, after supper, for we had dinner in +the middle of the day at Jacobus’s—I walked down the long verandah to +ask Brede, who was placidly smoking at the other end, to accompany me +on a twilight stroll. Half way down I met Major Halkit.</p> + +<p>“That friend of yours,” he said, indicating the unconscious figure at +the further end of the house, “seems to be a queer sort of a Dick. He +told me that he was out of business, and just looking round for a +chance to invest his capital. And I’ve been telling him what an +everlasting big show he had to take stock in the Capitoline Trust +Company—starts next month—four million capital—I told you all about +it. ‘Oh, well,’ he says, ‘let’s wait and think about it.’ ‘Wait!’ says +I, ‘the Capitoline Trust Company won’t wait for <em>you</em>, my boy. This is +letting you in on the ground floor,’ says I, ‘and it’s now or never.’ +‘Oh, let it wait,’ says he. I don’t know what’s in-<em>to</em> the man.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how well he knows his own business, Major,” I said as I +started again for Brede’s end of the veranda. But I was troubled none +the less. The Major could not have influenced the sale of one share of +stock in the Capitoline Company. But that stock was a great +investment; a rare chance for a purchaser with a few thousand dollars. +Perhaps it was no more remarkable that Brede should not invest than +that I should not—and yet, it seemed to add one circumstance more to +the other suspicious circumstances.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When I went upstairs that evening, I found my wife putting her hair to +bed—I don’t know how I can better describe an operation familiar to +every married man. I waited until the last tress was coiled up, and +then I spoke:</p> + +<p>“I’ve talked with Brede,” I said, “and I didn’t have to catechize him. +He seemed to feel that some sort of explanation was looked for, and he +was very outspoken. You were right about the children—that is, I must +have misunderstood him. There are only two. But the Matterhorn episode +was simple enough. He didn’t realize how dangerous it was until he had +got so far into it that he couldn’t back out; and he didn’t tell her, +because he’d left her here, you see, and under the circumstances——”</p> + +<p>“Left her here!” cried my wife. “I’ve been sitting with her the whole +afternoon, sewing, and she told me that he left her at Geneva, and +came back and took her to Basle, and the baby was born there—now I’m +sure, dear, because I asked her.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I was mistaken when I thought he said she was on this side of +the water,” I suggested, with bitter, biting irony.</p> + +<p>“You poor dear, did I abuse you?” said my wife. “But, do you know, +Mrs. Tabb said that <em>she</em> didn’t know how many lumps of sugar he took +in his coffee. Now that seems queer, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>It did. It was a small thing. But it looked queer, Very queer.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The next morning, it was clear that war was declared against the +Bredes. They came down to breakfast somewhat late, and, as soon as +they arrived, the Biggleses swooped up the last fragments that +remained on their plates, and made a stately march out of the +dining-room, Then Miss Hoogencamp arose and departed, leaving a whole +fish-ball on her plate. Even as Atalanta might have dropped an apple +behind her to tempt her pursuer to check his speed, so Miss Hoogencamp +left that fish-ball behind her, and between her maiden self and +contamination.</p> + +<p>We had finished our breakfast, my wife and I, before the Bredes +appeared. We talked it over, and agreed that we were glad that we had +not been obliged to take sides upon such insufficient testimony.</p> + +<p>After breakfast, it was the custom of the male half of the Jacobus +household to go around the corner of the building and smoke their +pipes and cigars where they would not annoy the ladies. We sat under a +trellis covered with a grapevine that had borne no grapes in the +memory of man. This vine, however, bore leaves, and these, on that +pleasant summer morning, shielded from us two persons who were in +earnest conversation in the straggling, half-dead flower-garden at the +side of the house.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want,” we heard Mr. Jacobus say, “to enter in no man’s +<em>pry</em>-vacy; but I do want to know who it may be, like, that I hev in +my house. Now what I ask of <em>you</em>, and I don’t want you to take it as +in no ways <em>personal</em>, is—hev you your merridge-license with you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” we heard the voice of Mr. Brede reply. “Have you yours?”</p> + +<p>I think it was a chance shot; but it told all the same. The Major (he +was a widower) and Mr. Biggle and I looked at each other; and Mr. +Jacobus, on the other side of the grape-trellis, looked at—I don’t +know what—and was as silent as we were.</p> + +<p>Where is <em>your</em> marriage-license, married reader? Do you know? Four +men, not including Mr. Brede, stood or sat on one side or the other of +that grape-trellis, and not one of them knew where his +marriage-license was. Each of us had had one—the Major had had three. +But where were they? Where is <em>yours</em>? Tucked in your best-man’s +pocket; deposited in his desk—or washed to a pulp in his white +waistcoat (if white waistcoats be the fashion of the hour), washed out +of existence—can you tell where it is? Can you—unless you are one of +those people who frame that interesting document and hang it upon +their drawing-room walls?</p> + +<p>Mr. Brede’s voice arose, after an awful stillness of what seemed like +five minutes, and was, probably, thirty seconds:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Jacobus, will you make out your bill at once, and let me pay it? +I shall leave by the six o’clock train. And will you also send the +wagon for my trunks?”</p> + +<p>“I hain’t said I wanted to hev ye leave——” began Mr. Jacobus; but +Brede cut him short.</p> + +<p>“Bring me your bill.”</p> + +<p>“But,” remonstrated Jacobus, “ef ye ain’t——”</p> + +<p>“Bring me your bill!” said Mr. Brede.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>My wife and I went out for our morning’s walk. But it seemed to us, +when we looked at “our view,” as if we could only see those invisible +villages of which Brede had told us—that other side of the ridges and +rises of which we catch no glimpse from lofty hills or from the +heights of human self-esteem. We meant to stay out until the Bredes +had taken their departure; but we returned just in time to see Pete, +the Jacobus darkey, the blacker of boots, the brasher of coats, the +general handy-man of the house, loading the Brede trunks on the +Jacobus wagon.</p> + +<p>And, as we stepped upon the verandah, down came Mrs. Brede, leaning on +Mr. Brede’s arm, as though she were ill; and it was clear that she had +been crying. There were heavy rings about her pretty black eyes.</p> + +<p>My wife took a step toward her.</p> + +<p>“Look at that dress, dear,” she whispered; “she never thought anything +like this was going to happen when she put <em>that</em> on.”</p> + +<p>It was a pretty, delicate, dainty dress, a graceful, narrow-striped +affair. Her hat was trimmed with a narrow-striped silk of the same +colors—maroon and white—and in her hand she held a parasol that +matched her dress.</p> + +<p>“She’s had a new dress on twice a day,” said my wife, “but that’s the +prettiest yet. Oh, somehow—I’m <em>awfully</em> sorry they’re going!”</p> + +<p>But going they were. They moved toward the steps. Mrs. Brede looked +toward my wife, and my wife moved toward Mrs. Brede. But the +ostracized woman, as though she felt the deep humiliation of her +position, turned sharply away, and opened her parasol to shield her +eyes from the sun. A shower of rice—a half-pound shower of rice—fell +down over her pretty hat and her pretty dress, and fell in a +spattering circle on the floor, outlining her skirts—and there it lay +in a broad, uneven band, bright in the morning sun.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brede was in my wife’s arms, sobbing as if her young heart would +break.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you poor, dear, silly children!” my wife cried, as Mrs. Brede +sobbed on her shoulder, “why <em>didn’t</em> you tell us?”</p> + +<p>“W-W-W-We didn’t want to be t-t-taken for a b-b-b-b-bridal couple,” +sobbed Mrs. Brede; “and we d-d-didn’t <em>dream</em> what awful lies we’d +have to tell, and all the aw-awful mixed-up-ness of it. Oh, dear, +dear, dear!”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>“Pete!” commanded Mr. Jacobus, “put back them trunks. These folks +stays here’s long’s they wants ter. Mr. Brede”—he held out a large, +hard hand—“I’d orter’ve known better,” he said. And my last doubt of +Mr. Brede vanished as he shook that grimy hand in manly fashion.</p> + +<p>The two women were walking off toward “our view,” each with an arm +about the other’s waist—touched by a sudden sisterhood of sympathy.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Brede, addressing Jacobus, Biggle, the Major and +me, “there is a hostelry down the street where they sell honest New +Jersey beer. I recognize the obligations of the situation.”</p> + +<p>We five men filed down the street. The two women went toward the +pleasant slope where the sunlight gilded the forehead of the great +hill. On Mr. Jacobus’s veranda lay a spattered circle of shining +grains of rice. Two of Mr. Jacobus’s pigeons flew down and picked up +the shining grains, making grateful noises far down in their throats.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> From <cite>Puck</cite>, July 30, 1890. Republished in the volume, <cite>Short Sixes: +Stories to Be Read While the Candle Burns</cite> (1891), by Henry Cuyler +Bunner; copyright, 1890, by Alice Larned Bunner; reprinted by +permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner’a Sons.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_BULLER-PODINGTON_COMPACT">THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Frank Richard Stockton</span> (1834–1902)</p> + + +<p>“I tell you, William,” said Thomas Buller to his friend Mr. Podington, +“I am truly sorry about it, but I cannot arrange for it this year. +Now, as to <em>my</em> invitation—that is very different.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it is different,” was the reply, “but I am obliged to say, +as I said before, that I really cannot accept it.”</p> + +<p>Remarks similar to these had been made by Thomas Buller and William +Podington at least once a year for some five years. They were old +friends; they had been schoolboys together and had been associated in +business since they were young men. They had now reached a vigorous +middle age; they were each married, and each had a house in the +country in which he resided for a part of the year. They were warmly +attached to each other, and each was the best friend which the other +had in this world. But during all these years neither of them had +visited the other in his country home.</p> + +<p>The reason for this avoidance of each other at their respective rural +residences may be briefly stated. Mr. Buller’s country house was +situated by the sea, and he was very fond of the water. He had a good +cat-boat, which he sailed himself with much judgment and skill, and it +was his greatest pleasure to take his friends and visitors upon little +excursions on the bay. But Mr. Podington was desperately afraid of the +water, and he was particularly afraid of any craft sailed by an +amateur. If his friend Buller would have employed a professional +mariner, of years and experience, to steer and manage his boat, +Podington might have been willing to take an occasional sail; but as +Buller always insisted upon sailing his own boat, and took it ill if +any of his visitors doubted his ability to do so properly, Podington +did not wish to wound the self-love of his friend, and he did not wish +to be drowned. Consequently he could not bring himself to consent to +go to Buller’s house by the sea.</p> + +<p>To receive his good friend Buller at his own house in the beautiful +upland region in which he lived would have been a great joy to Mr. +Podington; but Buller could not be induced to visit him. Podington was +very fond of horses and always drove himself, while Buller was more +afraid of horses than he was of elephants or lions. To one or more +horses driven by a coachman of years and experience he did not always +object, but to a horse driven by Podington, who had much experience +and knowledge regarding mercantile affairs, but was merely an amateur +horseman, he most decidedly and strongly objected. He did not wish to +hurt his friend’s feelings by refusing to go out to drive with him, +but he would not rack his own nervous system by accompanying him. +Therefore it was that he had not yet visited the beautiful upland +country residence of Mr. Podington.</p> + +<p>At last this state of things grew awkward. Mrs. Buller and Mrs. +Podington, often with their families, visited each other at their +country houses, but the fact that on these occasions they were never +accompanied by their husbands caused more and more gossip among their +neighbors both in the upland country and by the sea.</p> + +<p>One day in spring as the two sat in their city office, where Mr. +Podington had just repeated his annual invitation, his friend replied +to him thus:</p> + +<p>“William, if I come to see you this summer, will you visit me? The +thing is beginning to look a little ridiculous, and people are talking +about it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington put his hand to his brow and for a few moments closed +his eyes. In his mind he saw a cat-boat upon its side, the sails +spread out over the water, and two men, almost entirely immersed in +the waves, making efforts to reach the side of the boat. One of these +was getting on very well—that was Buller. The other seemed about to +sink, his arms were uselessly waving in the air—that was himself. But +he opened his eyes and looked bravely out of the window; it was time +to conquer all this; it was indeed growing ridiculous. Buller had been +sailing many years and had never been upset.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he; “I will do it; I am ready any time you name.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller rose and stretched out his hand.</p> + +<p>“Good!” said he; “it is a compact!”</p> + +<p>Buller was the first to make the promised country visit. He had not +mentioned the subject of horses to his friend, but he knew through +Mrs. Buller that Podington still continued to be his own driver. She +had informed him, however, that at present he was accustomed to drive +a big black horse which, in her opinion, was as gentle and reliable as +these animals ever became, and she could not imagine how anybody could +be afraid of him. So when, the next morning after his arrival, Mr. +Buller was asked by his host if he would like to take a drive, he +suppressed a certain rising emotion and said that it would please him +very much.</p> + +<p>When the good black horse had jogged along a pleasant road for half an +hour Mr. Buller began to feel that, perhaps, for all these years he +had been laboring under a misconception. It seemed to be possible that +there were some horses to which surrounding circumstances in the shape +of sights and sounds were so irrelevant that they were to a certain +degree entirely safe, even when guided and controlled by an amateur +hand. As they passed some meadow-land, somebody behind a hedge fired a +gun; Mr. Buller was frightened, but the horse was not.</p> + +<p>“William,” said Buller, looking cheerfully around him,</p> + +<p>“I had no idea that you lived in such a pretty country. In fact, I +might almost call it beautiful. You have not any wide stretch of +water, such as I like so much, but here is a pretty river, those +rolling hills are very charming, and, beyond, you have the blue of the +mountains.”</p> + +<p>“It is lovely,” said his friend; “I never get tired of driving through +this country. Of course the seaside is very fine, but here we have +such a variety of scenery.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller could not help thinking that sometimes the seaside was a +little monotonous, and that he had lost a great deal of pleasure by +not varying his summers by going up to spend a week or two with +Podington.</p> + +<p>“William,” said he, “how long have you had this horse?”</p> + +<p>“About two years,” said Mr. Podington; “before I got him, I used to +drive a pair.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens!” thought Buller, “how lucky I was not to come two years +ago!” And his regrets for not sooner visiting his friend greatly +decreased.</p> + +<p>Now they came to a place where the stream, by which the road ran, had +been dammed for a mill and had widened into a beautiful pond.</p> + +<p>“There now!” cried Mr. Buller. “That’s what I like. William, you seem +to have everything! This is really a very pretty sheet of water, and +the reflections of the trees over there make a charming picture; you +can’t get that at the seaside, you know.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington was delighted; his face glowed; he was rejoiced at the +pleasure of his friend. “I tell you, Thomas,” said he, “that——”</p> + +<p>“William!” exclaimed Buller, with a sudden squirm in his seat, “what +is that I hear? Is that a train?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Podington, “that is the ten-forty, up.”</p> + +<p>“Does it come near here?” asked Mr. Buller, nervously. “Does it go +over that bridge?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Podington, “but it can’t hurt us, for our road goes under +the bridge; we are perfectly safe; there is no risk of accident.”</p> + +<p>“But your horse! Your horse!” exclaimed Buller, as the train came +nearer and nearer. “What will he do?”</p> + +<p>“Do?” said Podington; “he’ll do what he is doing now; he doesn’t mind +trains.”</p> + +<p>“But look here, William,” exclaimed Buller, “it will get there just as +we do; no horse could stand a roaring up in the air like that!”</p> + +<p>Podington laughed. “He would not mind it in the least,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Come, come now,” cried Buller. “Really, I can’t stand this! Just stop +a minute, William, and let me get out. It sets all my nerves +quivering.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington smiled with a superior smile. “Oh, you needn’t get out,” +said he; “there’s not the least danger in the world. But I don’t want +to make you nervous, and I will turn around and drive the other way.”</p> + +<p>“But you can’t!” screamed Buller. “This road is not wide enough, and +that train is nearly here. Please stop!”</p> + +<p>The imputation that the road was not wide enough for him to turn was +too much for Mr. Podington to bear. He was very proud of his ability +to turn a vehicle in a narrow place.</p> + +<p>“Turn!” said he; “that’s the easiest thing in the world. See; a little +to the right, then a back, then a sweep to the left and we will be +going the other way.” And instantly he began the maneuver in which he +was such an adept.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Thomas!” cried Buller, half rising in his seat, “that train is +almost here!”</p> + +<p>“And we are almost——” Mr. Podington was about to say “turned +around,” but he stopped. Mr. Buller’s exclamations had made him a +little nervous, and, in his anxiety to turn quickly, he had pulled +upon his horse’s bit with more energy than was actually necessary, and +his nervousness being communicated to the horse, that animal backed +with such extraordinary vigor that the hind wheels of the wagon went +over a bit of grass by the road and into the water. The sudden jolt +gave a new impetus to Mr. Buller’s fears.</p> + +<p>“You’ll upset!” he cried, and not thinking of what he was about, he +laid hold of his friend’s arm. The horse, startled by this sudden jerk +upon his bit, which, combined with the thundering of the train, which +was now on the bridge, made him think that something extraordinary was +about to happen, gave a sudden and forcible start backward, so that +not only the hind wheels of the light wagon, but the fore wheels and +his own hind legs went into the water. As the bank at this spot sloped +steeply, the wagon continued to go backward, despite the efforts of +the agitated horse to find a footing on the crumbling edge of the +bank.</p> + +<p>“Whoa!” cried Mr. Buller.</p> + +<p>“Get up!” exclaimed Mr. Podington, applying his whip upon the plunging +beast.</p> + +<p>But exclamations and castigations had no effect upon the horse. The +original bed of the stream ran close to the road, and the bank was so +steep and the earth so soft that it was impossible for the horse to +advance or even maintain his footing. Back, back he went, until the +whole equipage was in the water and the wagon was afloat.</p> + +<p>This vehicle was a road wagon, without a top, and the joints of its +box-body were tight enough to prevent the water from immediately +entering it; so, somewhat deeply sunken, it rested upon the water. +There was a current in this part of the pond and it turned the wagon +downstream. The horse was now entirely immersed in the water, with the +exception of his head and the upper part of his neck, and, unable to +reach the bottom with his feet, he made vigorous efforts to swim.</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington, the reins and whip in his hands, sat horrified and +pale; the accident was so sudden, he was so startled and so frightened +that, for a moment, he could not speak a word. Mr. Buller, on the +other hand, was now lively and alert. The wagon had no sooner floated +away from the shore than he felt himself at home. He was upon his +favorite element; water had no fears for him. He saw that his friend +was nearly frightened out of his wits, and that, figuratively +speaking, he must step to the helm and take charge of the vessel. He +stood up and gazed about him.</p> + +<p>“Put her across stream!” he shouted; “she can’t make headway against +this current. Head her to that clump of trees on the other side; the +bank is lower there, and we can beach her. Move a little the other +way, we must trim boat. Now then, pull on your starboard rein.”</p> + +<p>Podington obeyed, and the horse slightly changed his direction.</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Buller, “it won’t do to sail straight across, because +the current would carry us down and land us below that spot.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington said not a word; he expected every moment to see the +horse sink into a watery grave.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t so bad after all, is it, Podington? If we had a rudder and a +bit of a sail it would be a great help to the horse. This wagon is not +a bad boat.”</p> + +<p>The despairing Podington looked at his feet. “It’s coming in,” he said +in a husky voice. “Thomas, the water is over my shoes!”</p> + +<p>“That is so,” said Buller. “I am so used to water I didn’t notice it. +She leaks. Do you carry anything to bail her out with?”</p> + +<p>“Bail!” cried Podington, now finding his voice. “Oh, Thomas, we are +sinking!”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” said Buller; “she leaks like a sieve.”</p> + +<p>The weight of the running-gear and of the two men was entirely too +much for the buoyancy of the wagon body. The water rapidly rose toward +the top of its sides.</p> + +<p>“We are going to drown!” cried Podington, suddenly rising.</p> + +<p>“Lick him! Lick him!” exclaimed Buller. “Make him swim faster!”</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing to lick,” cried Podington, vainly lashing at the +water, for he could not reach the horse’s head. The poor man was +dreadfully frightened; he had never even imagined it possible that he +should be drowned in his own wagon.</p> + +<p>“Whoop!” cried Buller, as the water rose over the sides. “Steady +yourself, old boy, or you’ll go overboard!” And the next moment the +wagon body sunk out of sight.</p> + +<p>But it did not go down very far. The deepest part of the channel of +the stream had been passed, and with a bump the wheels struck the +bottom.</p> + +<p>“Heavens!” exclaimed Buller, “we are aground.”</p> + +<p>“Aground!” exclaimed Podington, “Heaven be praised!”</p> + +<p>As the two men stood up in the submerged wagon the water was above +their knees, and when Podington looked out over the surface of the +pond, now so near his face, it seemed like a sheet of water he had +never seen before. It was something horrible, threatening to rise and +envelop him. He trembled so that he could scarcely keep his footing.</p> + +<p>“William,” said his companion, “you must sit down; if you don’t, +you’ll tumble overboard and be drowned. There is nothing for you to +hold to.”</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” said Podington, gazing blankly at the water around him, “I +can’t do that!”</p> + +<p>At this moment the horse made a slight movement. Having touched bottom +after his efforts in swimming across the main bed of the stream, with +a floating wagon in tow, he had stood for a few moments, his head and +neck well above water, and his back barely visible beneath the +surface. Having recovered his breath, he now thought it was time to +move on.</p> + +<p>At the first step of the horse Mr. Podington began to totter. +Instinctively he clutched Buller.</p> + +<p>“Sit down!” cried the latter, “or you’ll have us both overboard.” +There was no help for it; down sat Mr. Podington; and, as with a great +splash he came heavily upon the seat, the water rose to his waist.</p> + +<p>“Ough!” said he. “Thomas, shout for help.”</p> + +<p>“No use doing that,” replied Buller, still standing on his nautical +legs; “I don’t see anybody, and I don’t see any boat. We’ll get out +all right. Just you stick tight to the thwart.”</p> + +<p>“The what?” feebly asked the other.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the seat, I mean. We can get to the shore all right if you steer +the horse straight. Head him more across the pond.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t head him,” cried Podington. “I have dropped the reins!”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious!” cried Mr. Buller, “that’s bad. Can’t you steer him by +shouting ‘Gee’ and ‘Haw’?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Podington, “he isn’t an ox; but perhaps I can stop him.” +And with as much voice as he could summon, he called out: “Whoa!” and +the horse stopped.</p> + +<p>“If you can’t steer him any other way,” said Buller, “we must get the +reins. Lend me your whip.”</p> + +<p>“I have dropped that too,” said Podington; “there it floats.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear,” said Buller, “I guess I’ll have to dive for them; if he +were to run away, we should be in an awful fix.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t get out! Don’t get out!” exclaimed Podington. “You can reach +over the dashboard.”</p> + +<p>“As that’s under water,” said Buller, “it will be the same thing as +diving; but it’s got to be done, and I’ll try it. Don’t you move now; +I am more used to water than you are.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller took off his hat and asked his friend to hold it. He +thought of his watch and other contents of his pockets, but there was +no place to put them, so he gave them no more consideration. Then +bravely getting on his knees in the water, he leaned over the +dashboard, almost disappearing from sight. With his disengaged hand +Mr. Podington grasped the submerged coat-tails of his friend.</p> + +<p>In a few seconds the upper part of Mr. Buller rose from the water. He +was dripping and puffing, and Mr. Podington could not but think what a +difference it made in the appearance of his friend to have his hair +plastered close to his head.</p> + +<p>“I got hold of one of them,” said the sputtering Buller, “but it was +fast to something and I couldn’t get it loose.”</p> + +<p>“Was it thick and wide?” asked Podington.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the answer; “it did seem so.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that was a trace,” said Podington; “I don’t want that; the reins +are thinner and lighter.”</p> + +<p>“Now I remember they are,” said Buller. “I’ll go down again.”</p> + +<p>Again Mr. Buller leaned over the dashboard, and this time he remained +down longer, and when he came up he puffed and sputtered more than +before.</p> + +<p>“Is this it?” said he, holding up a strip of wet leather.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Podington, “you’ve got the reins.”</p> + +<p>“Well, take them, and steer. I would have found them sooner if his +tail had not got into my eyes. That long tail’s floating down there +and spreading itself out like a fan; it tangled itself all around my +head. It would have been much easier if he had been a bob-tailed +horse.”</p> + +<p>“Now then,” said Podington, “take your hat, Thomas, and I’ll try to +drive.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller put on his hat, which was the only dry thing about him, and +the nervous Podington started the horse so suddenly that even the +sea-legs of Buller were surprised, and he came very near going +backward into the water; but recovering himself, he sat down.</p> + +<p>“I don’t wonder you did not like to do this, William,” said he. “Wet +as I am, it’s ghastly!”</p> + +<p>Encouraged by his master’s voice, and by the feeling of the familiar +hand upon his bit, the horse moved bravely on.</p> + +<p>But the bottom was very rough and uneven. Sometimes the wheels struck +a large stone, terrifying Mr. Buller, who thought they were going to +upset; and sometimes they sank into soft mud, horrifying Mr. +Podington, who thought they were going to drown.</p> + +<p>Thus proceeding, they presented a strange sight. At first Mr. +Podington held his hands above the water as he drove, but he soon +found this awkward, and dropped them to their usual position, so that +nothing was visible above the water but the head and neck of a horse +and the heads and shoulders of two men.</p> + +<p>Now the submarine equipage came to a low place in the bottom, and even +Mr. Buller shuddered as the water rose to his chin. Podington gave a +howl of horror, and the horse, with high, uplifted head, was obliged +to swim. At this moment a boy with a gun came strolling along the +road, and hearing Mr. Podington’s cry, he cast his eyes over the +water. Instinctively he raised his weapon to his shoulder, and then, +in an instant, perceiving that the objects he beheld were not aquatic +birds, he dropped his gun and ran yelling down the road toward the +mill.</p> + +<p>But the hollow in the bottom was a narrow one, and when it was passed +the depth of the water gradually decreased. The back of the horse came +into view, the dashboard became visible, and the bodies and the +spirits of the two men rapidly rose. Now there was vigorous splashing +and tugging, and then a jet black horse, shining as if he had been +newly varnished, pulled a dripping wagon containing two well-soaked +men upon a shelving shore.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am chilled to the bones!” said Podington.</p> + +<p>“I should think so,” replied his friend; “if you have got to be wet, +it is a great deal pleasanter under the water.”</p> + +<p>There was a field-road on this side of the pond which Podington well +knew, and proceeding along this they came to the bridge and got into +the main road.</p> + +<p>“Now we must get home as fast as we can,” cried Podington, “or we +shall both take cold. I wish I hadn’t lost my whip. Hi now! Get +along!”</p> + +<p>Podington was now full of life and energy, his wheels were on the hard +road, and he was himself again.</p> + +<p>When he found his head was turned toward his home, the horse set off +at a great rate.</p> + +<p>“Hi there!” cried Podington. “I am so sorry I lost my whip.”</p> + +<p>“Whip!” said Buller, holding fast to the side of the seat; “surely you +don’t want him to go any faster than this. And look here, William,” he +added, “it seems to me we are much more likely to take cold in our wet +clothes if we rush through the air in this way. Really, it seems to me +that horse is running away.”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it,” cried Podington. “He wants to get home, and he +wants his dinner. Isn’t he a fine horse? Look how he steps out!”</p> + +<p>“Steps out!” said Buller, “I think I’d like to step out myself. Don’t +you think it would be wiser for me to walk home, William? That will +warm me up.”</p> + +<p>“It will take you an hour,” said his friend. “Stay where you are, and +I’ll have you in a dry suit of clothes in less than fifteen minutes.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you, William,” said Mr. Buller, as the two sat smoking after +dinner, “what you ought to do; you should never go out driving without +a life-preserver and a pair of oars; I always take them. It would make +you feel safer.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller went home the next day, because Mr. Podington’s clothes did +not fit him, and his own outdoor suit was so shrunken as to be +uncomfortable. Besides, there was another reason, connected with the +desire of horses to reach their homes, which prompted his return. But +he had not forgotten his compact with his friend, and in the course of +a week he wrote to Podington, inviting him to spend some days with +him. Mr. Podington was a man of honor, and in spite of his recent +unfortunate water experience he would not break his word. He went to +Mr. Buller’s seaside home at the time appointed.</p> + +<p>Early on the morning after his arrival, before the family were up, Mr. +Podington went out and strolled down to the edge of the bay. He went +to look at Buller’s boat. He was well aware that he would be asked to +take a sail, and as Buller had driven with him, it would be impossible +for him to decline sailing with Buller; but he must see the boat. +There was a train for his home at a quarter past seven; if he were not +on the premises he could not be asked to sail. If Buller’s boat were a +little, flimsy thing, he would take that train—but he would wait and +see.</p> + +<p>There was only one small boat anchored near the beach, and a +man—apparently a fisherman—informed Mr. Podington that it belonged +to Mr. Buller. Podington looked at it eagerly; it was not very small +and not flimsy.</p> + +<p>“Do you consider that a safe boat?” he asked the fisherman.</p> + +<p>“Safe?” replied the man. “You could not upset her if you tried. Look +at her breadth of beam! You could go anywhere in that boat! Are you +thinking of buying her?”</p> + +<p>The idea that he would think of buying a boat made Mr. Podington +laugh. The information that it would be impossible to upset the little +vessel had greatly cheered him, and he could laugh.</p> + +<p>Shortly after breakfast Mr. Buller, like a nurse with a dose of +medicine, came to Mr. Podington with the expected invitation to take a +sail.</p> + +<p>“Now, William,” said his host, “I understand perfectly your feeling +about boats, and what I wish to prove to you is that it is a feeling +without any foundation. I don’t want to shock you or make you nervous, +so I am not going to take you out to-day on the bay in my boat. You are +as safe on the bay as you would be on land—a little safer, perhaps, +under certain circumstances, to which we will not allude—but still it +is sometimes a little rough, and this, at first, might cause you some +uneasiness, and so I am going to let you begin your education in the +sailing line on perfectly smooth water. About three miles back of us +there is a very pretty lake several miles long. It is part of the +canal system which connects the town with the railroad. I have sent my +boat to the town, and we can walk up there and go by the canal to the +lake; it is only about three miles.”</p> + +<p>If he had to sail at all, this kind of sailing suited Mr. Podington. A +canal, a quiet lake, and a boat which could not be upset. When they +reached the town the boat was in the canal, ready for them.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said Mr. Buller, “you get in and make yourself comfortable. My +idea is to hitch on to a canal-boat and be towed to the lake. The +boats generally start about this time in the morning, and I will go +and see about it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington, under the direction of his friend, took a seat in the +stern of the sailboat, and then he remarked:</p> + +<p>“Thomas, have you a life-preserver on board? You know I am not used to +any kind of vessel, and I am clumsy. Nothing might happen to the boat, +but I might trip and fall overboard, and I can’t swim.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Buller; “here’s a life-preserver, and you can put it +on. I want you to feel perfectly safe. Now I will go and see about the +tow.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Buller found that the canal-boats would not start at their +usual time; the loading of one of them was not finished, and he was +informed that he might have to wait for an hour or more. This did not +suit Mr. Buller at all, and he did not hesitate to show his annoyance.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, sir, what you can do,” said one of the men in charge of +the boats; “if you don’t want to wait till we are ready to start, +we’ll let you have a boy and a horse to tow you up to the lake. That +won’t cost you much, and they’ll be back before we want ’em.”</p> + +<p>The bargain was made, and Mr. Buller joyfully returned to his boat +with the intelligence that they were not to wait for the canal-boats. +A long rope, with a horse attached to the other end of it, was +speedily made fast to the boat, and with a boy at the head of the +horse, they started up the canal.</p> + +<p>“Now this is the kind of sailing I like,” said Mr. Podington. “If I +lived near a canal I believe I would buy a boat and train my horse to +tow. I could have a long pair of rope-lines and drive him myself; then +when the roads were rough and bad the canal would always be smooth.”</p> + +<p>“This is all very nice,” replied Mr. Buller, who sat by the tiller to +keep the boat away from the bank, “and I am glad to see you in a boat +under any circumstances. Do you know, William, that although I did not +plan it, there could not have been a better way to begin your sailing +education. Here we glide along, slowly and gently, with no possible +thought of danger, for if the boat should suddenly spring a leak, as +if it were the body of a wagon, all we would have to do would be to +step on shore, and by the time you get to the end of the canal you +will like this gentle motion so much that you will be perfectly ready +to begin the second stage of your nautical education.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Podington. “How long did you say this canal is?”</p> + +<p>“About three miles,” answered his friend. “Then we will go into the +lock and in a few minutes we shall be on the lake.”</p> + +<p>“So far as I am concerned,” said Mr. Podington, “I wish the canal were +twelve miles long. I cannot imagine anything pleasanter than this. If +I lived anywhere near a canal—a long canal, I mean, this one is too +short—I’d—”</p> + +<p>“Come, come now,” interrupted Buller. “Don’t be content to stay in the +primary school just because it is easy. When we get on the lake I will +show you that in a boat, with a gentle breeze, such as we are likely +to have to-day, you will find the motion quite as pleasing, and ever so +much more inspiriting. I should not be a bit surprised, William, if +after you have been two or three times on the lake you will ask +me—yes, positively ask me—to take you out on the bay!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington smiled, and leaning backward, he looked up at the +beautiful blue sky.</p> + +<p>“You can’t give me anything better than this, Thomas,” said he; “but +you needn’t think I am weakening; you drove with me, and I will sail +with you.”</p> + +<p>The thought came into Buller’s mind that he had done both of these +things with Podington, but he did not wish to call up unpleasant +memories, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>About half a mile from the town there stood a small cottage where +house-cleaning was going on, and on a fence, not far from the canal, +there hung a carpet gaily adorned with stripes and spots of red and +yellow.</p> + +<p>When the drowsy tow-horse came abreast of the house, and the carpet +caught his eye, he suddenly stopped and gave a start toward the canal. +Then, impressed with a horror of the glaring apparition, he gathered +himself up, and with a bound dashed along the tow-path. The astounded +boy gave a shout, but was speedily left behind. The boat of Mr. Buller +shot forward as if she had been struck by a squall.</p> + +<p>The terrified horse sped on as if a red and yellow demon were after +him. The boat bounded, and plunged, and frequently struck the grassy +bank of the canal, as if it would break itself to pieces. Mr. +Podington clutched the boom to keep himself from being thrown out, +while Mr. Buller, both hands upon the tiller, frantically endeavored +to keep the boat from the bank.</p> + +<p>“William!” he screamed, “he is running away with us; we shall be +dashed to pieces! Can’t you get forward and cast off that line?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” cried Podington, as the boom gave a great jerk as +if it would break its fastenings and drag him overboard.</p> + +<p>“I mean untie the tow-line. We’ll be smashed if you don’t! I can’t +leave this tiller. Don’t try to stand up; hold on to the boom and +creep forward. Steady now, or you’ll be overboard!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington stumbled to the bow of the boat, his efforts greatly +impeded by the big cork life-preserver tied under his arms, and the +motion of the boat was so violent and erratic that he was obliged to +hold on to the mast with one arm and to try to loosen the knot with +the other; but there was a great strain on the rope, and he could do +nothing with one hand.</p> + +<p>“Cut it! Cut it!” cried Mr. Buller.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t a knife,” replied Podington.</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller was terribly frightened; his boat was cutting through the +water as never vessel of her class had sped since sail-boats were +invented, and bumping against the bank as if she were a billiard-ball +rebounding from the edge of a table. He forgot he was in a boat; he +only knew that for the first time in his life he was in a runaway. He +let go the tiller. It was of no use to him.</p> + +<p>“William,” he cried, “let us jump out the next time we are near enough +to shore!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t do that! Don’t do that!” replied Podington. “Don’t jump out in +a runaway; that is the way to get hurt. Stick to your seat, my boy; he +can’t keep this up much longer. He’ll lose his wind!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington was greatly excited, but he was not frightened, as +Buller was. He had been in a runaway before, and he could not help +thinking how much better a wagon was than a boat in such a case.</p> + +<p>“If he were hitched up shorter and I had a snaffle-bit and a stout +pair of reins,” thought he, “I could soon bring him up.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Buller was rapidly losing his wits. The horse seemed to be +going faster than ever. The boat bumped harder against the bank, and +at one time Buller thought they could turn over.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a thought struck him.</p> + +<p>“William,” he shouted, “tip that anchor over the side! Throw it in, +any way!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington looked about him, and, almost under his feet, saw the +anchor. He did not instantly comprehend why Buller wanted it thrown +overboard, but this was not a time to ask questions. The difficulties +imposed by the life-preserver, and the necessity of holding on with +one hand, interfered very much with his getting at the anchor and +throwing it over the side, but at last he succeeded, and just as the +boat threw up her bow as if she were about to jump on shore, the +anchor went out and its line shot after it. There was an irregular +trembling of the boat as the anchor struggled along the bottom of the +canal; then there was a great shock; the boat ran into the bank and +stopped; the tow-line was tightened like a guitar-string, and the +horse, jerked back with great violence, came tumbling in a heap upon +the ground.</p> + +<p>Instantly Mr. Podington was on the shore and running at the top of his +speed toward the horse. The astounded animal had scarcely begun to +struggle to his feet when Podington rushed upon him, pressed his head +back to the ground, and sat upon it.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” he cried, waving his hat above his head. “Get out, Buller; +he is all right now!”</p> + +<p>Presently Mr. Buller approached, very much shaken up.</p> + +<p>“All right?” he said. “I don’t call a horse flat in a road with a man +on his head all right; but hold him down till we get him loose from my +boat. That is the thing to do. William, cast him loose from the boat +before you let him up! What will he do when he gets up?”</p> + +<p>“Oh. he’ll be quiet enough when he gets up,” said Podington. “But if +you’ve got a knife you can cut his traces—-I mean that rope—but no, +you needn’t. Here comes the boy. We’ll settle this business in very +short order now.”</p> + +<p>When the horse was on his feet, and all connection between the animal +and the boat had been severed, Mr. Podington looked at his friend.</p> + +<p>“Thomas,” said he, “you seem to have had a hard time of it. You have +lost your hat and you look as if you had been in a wrestling-match.”</p> + +<p>“I have,” replied the other; “I wrestled with that tiller and I wonder +it didn’t throw me out.”</p> + +<p>Now approached the boy. “Shall I hitch him on again, sir?” said he. +“He’s quiet enough now.”</p> + +<p>“No,” cried Mr. Buller; “I want no more sailing after a horse, and, +besides, we can’t go on the lake with that boat; she has been battered +about so much that she must have opened a dozen seams. The best thing +we can do is to walk home.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Podington agreed with his friend that walking home was the best +thing they could do. The boat was examined and found to be leaking, +but not very badly, and when her mast had been unshipped and +everything had been made tight and right on board, she was pulled out +of the way of tow-lines and boats, and made fast until she could be +sent for from the town.</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller and Mr. Podington walked back toward the town. They had not +gone very far when they met a party of boys, who, upon seeing them, +burst into unseemly laughter.</p> + +<p>“Mister,” cried one of them, “you needn’t be afraid of tumbling into +the canal. Why don’t you take off your life-preserver and let that +other man put it on his head?”</p> + +<p>The two friends looked at each other and could not help joining in the +laughter of the boys.</p> + +<p>“By George! I forgot all about this,” said Podington, as he unfastened +the cork jacket. “It does look a little super-timid to wear a +life-preserver just because one happens to be walking by the side of a +canal.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Buller tied a handkerchief on his head, and Mr. Podington rolled +up his life-preserver and carried it under his arm. Thus they reached +the town, where Buller bought a hat, Podington dispensed with his +bundle, and arrangements were made to bring back the boat.</p> + +<p>“Runaway in a sailboat!” exclaimed one of the canal boatmen when he +had heard about the accident. “Upon my word! That beats anything that +could happen to a man!”</p> + +<p>“No, it doesn’t,” replied Mr. Buller, quietly. “I have gone to the +bottom in a foundered road-wagon.”</p> + +<p>The man looked at him fixedly.</p> + +<p>“Was you ever struck in the mud in a balloon?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” replied Mr. Buller.</p> + +<p>It required ten days to put Mr. Buller’s sailboat into proper +condition, and for ten days Mr. Podington stayed with his friend, and +enjoyed his visit very much. They strolled on the beach, they took +long walks in the back country, they fished from the end of a pier, +they smoked, they talked, and were happy and content.</p> + +<p>“Thomas,” said Mr. Podington, on the last evening of his stay, “I have +enjoyed myself very much since I have been down here, and now, Thomas, +if I were to come down again next summer, would you mind—would you +mind, not——”</p> + +<p>“I would not mind it a bit,” replied Buller, promptly. “I’ll never so +much as mention it; so you can come along without a thought of it. And +since you have alluded to the subject, William,” he continued, “I’d +like very much to come and see you again; you know my visit was a very +short one this year. That is a beautiful country you live in. Such a +variety of scenery, such an opportunity for walks and rambles! But, +William, if you could only make up your mind not to——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that is all right!” exclaimed Podington. “I do not need to make +up my mind. You come to my house and you will never so much as hear of +it. Here’s my hand upon it!”</p> + +<p>“And here’s mine!” said Mr. Buller.</p> + +<p>And they shook hands over a new compact.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> From <cite>Scribner’s Magazine</cite>, August, 1897. Republished in <cite>Afield and +Afloat</cite>, by Frank Richard Stockton; copyright, 1900, by Charles +Scribner’s Sons. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="COLONEL_STARBOTTLE_FOR_THE_PLAINTIFF">COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Bret Harte</span> (1839–1902)</p> + + +<p>It had been a day of triumph for Colonel Starbottle. First, for his +personality, as it would have been difficult to separate the Colonel’s +achievements from his individuality; second, for his oratorical +abilities as a sympathetic pleader; and third, for his functions as +the leading counsel for the Eureka Ditch Company <em>versus</em> the State of +California. On his strictly legal performances in this issue I prefer +not to speak; there were those who denied them, although the jury had +accepted them in the face of the ruling of the half-amused, +half-cynical Judge himself. For an hour they had laughed with the +Colonel, wept with him, been stirred to personal indignation or +patriotic exaltation by his passionate and lofty periods—what else +could they do than give him their verdict? If it was alleged by some +that the American eagle, Thomas Jefferson, and the Resolutions of ’98 +had nothing whatever to do with the contest of a ditch company over a +doubtfully worded legislative document; that wholesale abuse of the +State Attorney and his political motives had not the slightest +connection with the legal question raised—it was, nevertheless, +generally accepted that the losing party would have been only too glad +to have the Colonel on their side. And Colonel Starbottle knew this, +as, perspiring, florid, and panting, he rebuttoned the lower buttons +of his blue frock-coat, which had become loosed in an oratorical +spasm, and readjusted his old-fashioned, spotless shirt frill above it +as he strutted from the courtroom amidst the hand-shakings and +acclamations of his friends.</p> + +<p>And here an unprecedented thing occurred. The Colonel absolutely +declined spirituous refreshment at the neighboring Palmetto Saloon, +and declared his intention of proceeding directly to his office in the +adjoining square. Nevertheless the Colonel quitted the building alone, +and apparently unarmed except for his faithful gold-headed stick, +which hung as usual from his forearm. The crowd gazed after him with +undisguised admiration of this new evidence of his pluck. It was +remembered also that a mysterious note had been handed to him at the +conclusion of his speech—evidently a challenge from the State +Attorney. It was quite plain that the Colonel—a practised +duellist—was hastening home to answer it.</p> + +<p>But herein they were wrong. The note was in a female hand, and simply +requested the Colonel to accord an interview with the writer at the +Colonel’s office as soon as he left the court. But it was an +engagement that the Colonel—as devoted to the fair sex as he was to +the “code”—was no less prompt in accepting. He flicked away the dust +from his spotless white trousers and varnished boots with his +handkerchief, and settled his black cravat under his Byron collar as +he neared his office. He was surprised, however, on opening the door +of his private office to find his visitor already there; he was still +more startled to find her somewhat past middle age and plainly +attired. But the Colonel was brought up in a school of Southern +politeness, already antique in the republic, and his bow of courtesy +belonged to the epoch of his shirt frill and strapped trousers. No one +could have detected his disappointment in his manner, albeit his +sentences were short and incomplete. But the Colonel’s colloquial +speech was apt to be fragmentary incoherencies of his larger +oratorical utterances.</p> + +<p>“A thousand pardons—for—er—having kept a lady waiting—er! +But—er—congratulations of friends—and—er—courtesy due to +them—er—interfered with—though perhaps only heightened—by +procrastination—pleasure of—ha!” And the Colonel completed his +sentence with a gallant wave of his fat but white and well-kept hand.</p> + +<p>“Yes! I came to see you along o’ that speech of yours. I was in court. +When I heard you gettin’ it off on that jury, I says to myself that’s +the kind o’ lawyer <em>I</em> want. A man that’s flowery and convincin’! Just +the man to take up our case.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! It’s a matter of business, I see,” said the Colonel, inwardly +relieved, but externally careless. “And—er—may I ask the nature of +the case?”</p> + +<p>“Well! it’s a breach-o’-promise suit,” said the visitor, calmly.</p> + +<p>If the Colonel had been surprised before, he was now really startled, +and with an added horror that required all his politeness to conceal. +Breach-of-promise cases were his peculiar aversion. He had always held +them to be a kind of litigation which could have been obviated by the +prompt killing of the masculine offender—in which case he would have +gladly defended the killer. But a suit for damages!—<em>damages!</em>—with +the reading of love-letters before a hilarious jury and court, was +against all his instincts. His chivalry was outraged; his sense of +humor was small—and in the course of his career he had lost one or +two important cases through an unexpected development of this quality +in a jury.</p> + +<p>The woman had evidently noticed his hesitation, but mistook its cause. +“It ain’t me—but my darter.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel recovered his politeness. “Ah! I am relieved, my dear +madam! I could hardly conceive a man ignorant enough to—er—er—throw +away such evident good fortune—or base enough to deceive the +trustfulness of womanhood—matured and experienced only in the +chivalry of our sex, ha!”</p> + +<p>The woman smiled grimly. “Yes!—it’s my darter, Zaidee Hooker—so ye +might spare some of them pretty speeches for <em>her</em>—before the jury.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel winced slightly before this doubtful prospect, but +smiled. “Ha! Yes!—certainly—the jury. But—er—my dear lady, need +we go as far as that? Cannot this affair be settled—er—out of +court? Could not this—er—individual—be admonished—told that he +must give satisfaction—personal satisfaction—for his dastardly +conduct—to —er—near relative—or even valued personal friend? +The—er—arrangements necessary for that purpose I myself would +undertake.”</p> + +<p>He was quite sincere; indeed, his small black eyes shone with that +fire which a pretty woman or an “affair of honor” could alone kindle. +The visitor stared vacantly at him, and said, slowly:</p> + +<p>“And what good is that goin’ to do <em>us</em>?”</p> + +<p>“Compel him to—er—perform his promise,” said the Colonel, leaning +back in his chair.</p> + +<p>“Ketch him doin’ it!” said the woman, scornfully. “No—that ain’t wot +we’re after. We must make him <em>pay</em>! Damages—and nothin’ short o’ +<em>that</em>.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel bit his lip. “I suppose,” he said, gloomily, “you have +documentary evidence—written promises and protestations—er—er— +love-letters, in fact?”</p> + +<p>“No—nary a letter! Ye see, that’s jest it—and that’s where <em>you</em> +come in. You’ve got to convince that jury yourself. You’ve got to show +what it is—tell the whole story your own way. Lord! to a man like you +that’s nothin’.”</p> + +<p>Startling as this admission might have been to any other lawyer, +Starbottle was absolutely relieved by it. The absence of any +mirth-provoking correspondence, and the appeal solely to his own +powers of persuasion, actually struck his fancy. He lightly put aside +the compliment with a wave of his white hand.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said the Colonel, confidently, “there is strongly +presumptive and corroborative evidence? Perhaps you can give me—er—a +brief outline of the affair?”</p> + +<p>“Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon,” said the woman; “what +I want to know first is, kin you take the case?”</p> + +<p>The Colonel did not hesitate; his curiosity was piqued. “I certainly +can. I have no doubt your daughter will put me in possession of +sufficient facts and details—to constitute what we call—er—a +brief.”</p> + +<p>“She kin be brief enough—or long enough—for the matter of that,” +said the woman, rising. The Colonel accepted this implied witticism +with a smile.</p> + +<p>“And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?” he asked, politely.</p> + +<p>“Well, I reckon as soon as I can trot out and call her. She’s just +outside, meanderin’ in the road—kinder shy, ye know, at first.”</p> + +<p>She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel nevertheless gallantly +accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and called, +shrilly, “You Zaidee!”</p> + +<p>A young girl here apparently detached herself from a tree and the +ostentatious perusal of an old election poster, and sauntered down +towards the office door. Like her mother, she was plainly dressed; +unlike her, she had a pale, rather refined face, with a demure mouth +and downcast eyes. This was all the Colonel saw as he bowed profoundly +and led the way into his office, for she accepted his salutations +without lifting her head. He helped her gallantly to a chair, on which +she seated herself sideways, somewhat ceremoniously, with her eyes +following the point of her parasol as she traced a pattern on the +carpet. A second chair offered to the mother that lady, however, +declined. “I reckon to leave you and Zaidee together to talk it out,” +she said; turning to her daughter, she added, “Jest you tell him all, +Zaidee,” and before the Colonel could rise again, disappeared from the +room. In spite of his professional experience, Starbottle was for a +moment embarrassed. The young girl, however, broke the silence without +looking up.</p> + +<p>“Adoniram K. Hotchkiss,” she began, in a monotonous voice, as if it +were a recitation addressed to the public, “first began to take notice +of me a year ago. Arter that—off and on——”</p> + +<p>“One moment,” interrupted the astounded Colonel; “do you mean +Hotchkiss the President of the Ditch Company?” He had recognized the +name of a prominent citizen—a rigid ascetic, taciturn, middle-aged +man—a deacon—and more than that, the head of the company he had just +defended. It seemed inconceivable.</p> + +<p>“That’s him,” she continued, with eyes still fixed on the parasol and +without changing her monotonous tone—“off and on ever since. Most of +the time at the Free-Will Baptist church—at morning service, +prayer-meetings, and such. And at home—outside—er—in the road.”</p> + +<p>“Is it this gentleman—Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss—who—er—promised +marriage?” stammered the Colonel.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. “Most extraordinary! +for—you see—my dear young lady—this becomes—a—er—most delicate +affair.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what maw said,” returned the young woman, simply, yet with the +faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek.</p> + +<p>“I mean,” said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, “that +this—er—gentleman—is in fact—er—one of my clients.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what maw said, too, and of course your knowing him will make +it all the easier for you,” said the young woman.</p> + +<p>A slight flush crossed the Colonel’s cheek as he returned quickly and +a little stiffly, “On the contrary—er—it may make it impossible for +me to—er—act in this matter.”</p> + +<p>The girl lifted her eyes. The Colonel held his breath as the long +lashes were raised to his level. Even to an ordinary observer that +sudden revelation of her eyes seemed to transform her face with subtle +witchery. They were large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an +extraordinary penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an +experienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. What else +the Colonel saw there Heaven only knows! He felt his inmost secrets +plucked from him—his whole soul laid bare—his vanity, belligerency, +gallantry—even his medieval chivalry, penetrated, and yet +illuminated, in that single glance. And when the eyelids fell again, +he felt that a greater part of himself had been swallowed up in them.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said, hurriedly. “I mean—this matter may be +arranged—er—amicably. My interest with—and as you wisely +say—my—er—knowledge of my client—er—Mr. Hotchkiss—may affect—a +compromise.”</p> + +<p>“And <em>damages</em>,” said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if +she had never looked up.</p> + +<p>The Colonel winced. “And—er—undoubtedly <em>compensation</em>—if you do +not press a fulfilment of the promise. Unless,” he said, with an +attempted return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the +recollection of her eyes made difficult, “it is a question of—er—the +affections?”</p> + +<p>“Which?” said his fair client, softly.</p> + +<p>“If you still love him?” explained the Colonel, actually blushing.</p> + +<p>Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel’s breath away with +eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had +<em>said</em>, but of what he thought and had not said, and with an added +subtle suggestion of what he might have thought. “That’s tellin’,” she +said, dropping her long lashes again. The Colonel laughed vacantly. +Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he forced an equally weak +gravity. “Pardon me—I understand there are no letters; may I know the +way in which he formulated his declaration and promises?”</p> + +<p>“Hymn-books,” said the girl, briefly.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said the mystified lawyer.</p> + +<p>“Hymn-books—marked words in them with pencil—and passed ’em on to +me,” repeated Zaidee. “Like ‘love,’ ‘dear,’ ‘precious,’ ‘sweet,’ and +‘blessed,’” she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol +on the carpet. “Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady—and +<cite>Solomon’s Song</cite>, you know, and sich.”</p> + +<p>“I believe,” said the Colonel, loftily, “that the—er—phrases of +sacred psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But +in regard to the distinct promise of marriage—was there—er—no +<em>other</em> expression?”</p> + +<p>“Marriage Service in the prayer-book—lines and words outer that—all +marked,” said Zaidee. The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly. +“Very good. Were others cognizant of this? Were there any witnesses?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” said the girl. “Only me and him. It was generally at +church-time—or prayer-meeting. Once, in passing the plate, he slipped +one o’ them peppermint lozenges with the letters stamped on it ‘I love +you’ for me to take.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel coughed slightly. “And you have the lozenge?”</p> + +<p>“I ate it,” said the girl, simply.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said the Colonel. After a pause he added, delicately: +“But were these attentions—er—confined to—er—-sacred precincts? +Did he meet you elsewhere?”</p> + +<p>“Useter pass our house on the road,” returned the girl, dropping into +her monotonous recital, “and useter signal.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, signal?” repeated the Colonel, approvingly.</p> + +<p>“Yes! He’d say ‘Kerrow,’ and I’d say ‘Kerree.’ Suthing like a bird, +you know.”</p> + +<p>Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call the Colonel +thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least as <em>she</em> gave +it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the +melodiousness of <em>his</em> utterance. He gravely made her repeat it.</p> + +<p>“And after that signal?” he added, suggestively.</p> + +<p>“He’d pass on,” said the girl.</p> + +<p>The Colonel coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his pen-holder.</p> + +<p>“Were there any endearments—er—caresses—er—such as taking your +hand—er—clasping your waist?” he suggested, with a gallant yet +respectful sweep of his white hand and bowing of his head;—“er— +slight pressure of your fingers in the changes of a dance—I mean,” +he corrected himself, with an apologetic cough—“in the passing of +the plate?”</p> + +<p>“No;—he was not what you’d call ’fond,’” returned the girl.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not ’fond’ in the ordinary acceptance +of the word,” said the Colonel, with professional gravity.</p> + +<p>She lifted her disturbing eyes, and again absorbed his in her own. She +also said “Yes,” although her eyes in their mysterious prescience of +all he was thinking disclaimed the necessity of any answer at all. He +smiled vacantly. There was a long pause. On which she slowly +disengaged her parasol from the carpet pattern and stood up.</p> + +<p>“I reckon that’s about all,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Er—yes—but one moment,” said the Colonel, vaguely. He would have +liked to keep her longer, but with her strange premonition of him he +felt powerless to detain her, or explain his reason for doing so. He +instinctively knew she had told him all; his professional judgment +told him that a more hopeless case had never come to his knowledge. +Yet he was not daunted, only embarrassed. “No matter,” he said, +vaguely. “Of course I shall have to consult with you again.” Her eyes +again answered that she expected he would, but she added, simply, +“When?”</p> + +<p>“In the course of a day or two,” said the Colonel, quickly. “I will +send you word.” She turned to go. In his eagerness to open the door +for her he upset his chair, and with some confusion, that was actually +youthful, he almost impeded her movements in the hall, and knocked his +broad-brimmed Panama hat from his bowing hand in a final gallant +sweep. Yet as her small, trim, youthful figure, with its simple +Leghorn straw hat confined by a blue bow under her round chin, passed +away before him, she looked more like a child than ever.</p> + +<p>The Colonel spent that afternoon in making diplomatic inquiries. He +found his youthful client was the daughter of a widow who had a small +ranch on the cross-roads, near the new Free-Will Baptist church—the +evident theatre of this pastoral. They led a secluded life; the girl +being little known in the town, and her beauty and fascination +apparently not yet being a recognized fact. The Colonel felt a +pleasurable relief at this, and a general satisfaction he could not +account for. His few inquiries concerning Mr. Hotchkiss only confirmed +his own impressions of the alleged lover—a serious-minded, +practically abstracted man—abstentive of youthful society, and the +last man apparently capable of levity of the affections or serious +flirtation. The Colonel was mystified—but determined of +purpose—whatever that purpose might have been.</p> + +<p>The next day he was at his office at the same hour. He was alone—as +usual—the Colonel’s office really being his private lodgings, +disposed in connecting rooms, a single apartment reserved for +consultation. He had no clerk; his papers and briefs being taken by +his faithful body-servant and ex-slave “Jim” to another firm who did +his office-work since the death of Major Stryker—the Colonel’s only +law partner, who fell in a duel some years previous. With a fine +constancy the Colonel still retained his partner’s name on his +door-plate—and, it was alleged by the superstitious, kept a certain +invincibility also through the <em>manes</em> of that lamented and somewhat +feared man.</p> + +<p>The Colonel consulted his watch, whose heavy gold case still showed +the marks of a providential interference with a bullet destined for +its owner, and replaced it with some difficulty and shortness of +breath in his fob. At the same moment he heard a step in the passage, +and the door opened to Adoniram K. Hotchkiss. The Colonel was +impressed; he had a duellist’s respect for punctuality.</p> + +<p>The man entered with a nod and the expectant, inquiring look of a busy +man. As his feet crossed that sacred threshold the Colonel became all +courtesy; he placed a chair for his visitor, and took his hat from his +half-reluctant hand. He then opened a cupboard and brought out a +bottle of whiskey and two glasses.</p> + +<p>“A—er—slight refreshment, Mr. Hotchkiss,” he suggested, politely. “I +never drink,” replied Hotchkiss, with the severe attitude of a total +abstainer. “Ah—er—not the finest bourbon whiskey, selected by a +Kentucky friend? No? Pardon me! A cigar, then—the mildest Havana.”</p> + +<p>“I do not use tobacco nor alcohol in any form,” repeated Hotchkiss, +ascetically. “I have no foolish weaknesses.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel’s moist, beady eyes swept silently over his client’s +sallow face. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, and half +closing his eyes as in dreamy reminiscence, said, slowly: “Your +reply, Mr. Hotchkiss, reminds me of—er—sing’lar circumstances that +—er—occurred, in point of fact—at the St. Charles Hotel, New +Orleans. Pinkey Hornblower—personal friend—invited Senator +Doolittle to join him in social glass. Received, sing’larly enough, +reply similar to yours. ‘Don’t drink nor smoke?’ said Pinkey. ‘Gad, +sir, you must be mighty sweet on the ladies.’ Ha!” The Colonel paused +long enough to allow the faint flush to pass from Hotchkiss’s cheek, +and went on, half closing his eyes: “‘I allow no man, sir, to discuss +my personal habits,’ said Doolittle, over his shirt collar. ‘Then I +reckon shootin’ must be one of those habits,’ said Pinkey, coolly. +Both men drove out on the Shell Road back of cemetery next morning. +Pinkey put bullet at twelve paces through Doolittle’s temple. Poor +Doo never spoke again. Left three wives and seven children, they say +—two of ’em black.”</p> + +<p>“I got a note from you this morning,” said Hotchkiss, with badly +concealed impatience. “I suppose in reference to our case. You have +taken judgment, I believe.” The Colonel, without replying, slowly +filled a glass of whiskey and water. For a moment he held it dreamily +before him, as if still engaged in gentle reminiscences called up by +the act. Then tossing it off, he wiped his lips with a large white +handkerchief, and leaning back comfortably in his chair, said, with a +wave of his hand, “The interview I requested, Mr. Hotchkiss, concerns +a subject—which I may say is—er—er—at present <em>not</em> of a public +or business nature—although <em>later</em> it might become—er—er—both. +It is an affair of some—er—delicacy.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel paused, and Mr. Hotchkiss regarded him with increased +impatience. The Colonel, however, continued, with unchanged +deliberation: “It concerns—er—a young lady—a beautiful, +high-souled creature, sir, who, apart from her personal loveliness— +er—er—I may say is of one of the first families of Missouri, and— +er—not—remotely connected by marriage with one of—er—er—my +boyhood’s dearest friends. The latter, I grieve to say, was a pure +invention of the Colonel’s—an oratorical addition to the scanty +information he had obtained the previous day. The young lady,” he +continued, blandly, “enjoys the further distinction of being the +object of such attention from you as would make this interview— +really—a confidential matter—er—er—among friends and—er—er— +relations in present and future. I need not say that the lady I refer +to is Miss Zaidee Juno Hooker, only daughter of Almira Ann Hooker, +relict of Jefferson Brown Hooker, formerly of Boone County, Kentucky, +and latterly of—er—Pike County, Missouri.”</p> + +<p>The sallow, ascetic hue of Mr. Hotchkiss’s face had passed through a +livid and then a greenish shade, and finally settled into a sullen +red. “What’s all this about?” he demanded, roughly. The least touch of +belligerent fire came into Starbottle’s eye, but his bland courtesy +did not change. “I believe,” he said, politely, “I have made myself +clear as between—er—gentlemen, though perhaps not as clear as I +should to—er—er—jury.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hotchkiss was apparently struck with some significance in the +lawyer’s reply. “I don’t know,” he said, in a lower and more cautious +voice, “what you mean by what you call ‘my attentions’ to—any one—or +how it concerns you. I have not exhausted half a dozen words with—the +person you name—have never written her a line—nor even called at her +house.” He rose with an assumption of ease, pulled down his waistcoat, +buttoned his coat, and took up his hat. The Colonel did not move. “I +believe I have already indicated my meaning in what I have called +‘your attentions,’” said the Colonel, blandly, “and given you my +‘concern’ for speaking as—er—er mutual friend. As to <em>your</em> +statement of your relations with Miss Hooker, I may state that it is +fully corroborated by the statement of the young lady herself in this +very office yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Then what does this impertinent nonsense mean? Why am I summoned +here?” said Hotchkiss, furiously.</p> + +<p>“Because,” said the Colonel, deliberately, “that statement is +infamously—yes, damnably to your discredit, sir!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hotchkiss was here seized by one of those important and +inconsistent rages which occasionally betray the habitually cautious +and timid man. He caught up the Colonel’s stick, which was lying on +the table. At the same moment the Colonel, without any apparent +effort, grasped it by the handle. To Mr. Hotchkiss’s astonishment, the +stick separated in two pieces, leaving the handle and about two feet +of narrow glittering steel in the Colonel’s hand. The man recoiled, +dropping the useless fragment. The Colonel picked it up, fitting the +shining blade in it, clicked the spring, and then rising, with a face +of courtesy yet of unmistakably genuine pain, and with even a slight +tremor in his voice, said, gravely:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hotchkiss, I owe you a thousand apologies, sir, that—er— +a weapon should be drawn by me—even through your own inadvertence— +under the sacred protection of my roof, and upon an unarmed man. I +beg your pardon, sir, and I even withdraw the expressions which +provoked that inadvertence. Nor does this apology prevent you from +holding me responsible—personally responsible—<em>elsewhere</em> for an +indiscretion committed in behalf of a lady—my—er—client.”</p> + +<p>“Your client? Do you mean you have taken her case? You, the counsel +for the Ditch Company?” said Mr. Hotchkiss, in trembling indignation.</p> + +<p>“Having won <em>your</em> case, sir,” said the Colonel, coolly, +“the—er—usages of advocacy do not prevent me from espousing the +cause of the weak and unprotected.”</p> + +<p>“We shall see, sir,” said Hotchkiss, grasping the handle of the door +and backing into the passage. “There are other lawyers who—”</p> + +<p>“Permit me to see you out,” interrupted the Colonel, rising politely.</p> + +<p>“—will be ready to resist the attacks of blackmail,” continued +Hotchkiss, retreating along the passage.</p> + +<p>“And then you will be able to repeat your remarks to me <em>in the +street</em>,” continued the Colonel, bowing, as he persisted in following +his visitor to the door.</p> + +<p>But here Mr. Hotchkiss quickly slammed it behind him, and hurried +away. The Colonel returned to his office, and sitting down, took a +sheet of letter paper bearing the inscription “Starbottle and Stryker, +Attorneys and Counsellors,” and wrote the following lines:</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center p15">Hooker <em>versus</em> Hotchkiss.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—Having had a visit from the defendant in +above, we should be pleased to have an interview with you at +2 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> to-morrow. Your obedient servants,</p> + +<p class="smcap right padr4">Starbottle and Stryker.</p> +</div> + + +<p class="p15">This he sealed and despatched by his trusted servant Jim, and then +devoted a few moments to reflection. It was the custom of the Colonel +to act first, and justify the action by reason afterwards.</p> + +<p>He knew that Hotchkiss would at once lay the matter before rival +counsel. He knew that they would advise him that Miss Hooker had “no +case”—that she would be nonsuited on her own evidence, and he ought +not to compromise, but be ready to stand trial. He believed, however, +that Hotchkiss feared that exposure, and although his own instincts +had been at first against that remedy, he was now instinctively in +favor of it. He remembered his own power with a jury; his vanity and +his chivalry alike approved of this heroic method; he was bound by the +prosaic facts—he had his own theory of the case, which no mere +evidence could gainsay. In fact, Mrs. Hooker’s own words that “he was +to tell the story in his own way” actually appeared to him an +inspiration and a prophecy.</p> + +<p>Perhaps there was something else, due possibly to the lady’s wonderful +eyes, of which he had thought much. Yet it was not her simplicity that +affected him solely; on the contrary, it was her apparent intelligent +reading of the character of her recreant lover—and of his own! Of all +the Colonel’s previous “light” or “serious” loves none had ever before +flattered him in that way. And it was this, combined with the respect +which he had held for their professional relations, that precluded his +having a more familiar knowledge of his client, through serious +questioning, or playful gallantry. I am not sure it was not part of +the charm to have a rustic <em>femme incomprise</em> as a client.</p> + +<p>Nothing could exceed the respect with which he greeted her as she +entered his office the next day. He even affected not to notice that +she had put on her best clothes, and he made no doubt appeared as when +she had first attracted the mature yet faithless attentions of Deacon +Hotchkiss at church. A white virginal muslin was belted around her +slim figure by a blue ribbon, and her Leghorn hat was drawn around her +oval cheek by a bow of the same color. She had a Southern girl’s +narrow feet, encased in white stockings and kid slippers, which were +crossed primly before her as she sat in a chair, supporting her arm by +her faithful parasol planted firmly on the floor. A faint odor of +southernwood exhaled from her, and, oddly enough, stirred the Colonel +with a far-off recollection of a pine-shaded Sunday school on a +Georgia hillside and of his first love, aged ten, in a short, starched +frock. Possibly it was the same recollection that revived something of +the awkwardness he had felt then.</p> + +<p>He, however, smiled vaguely and, sitting down, coughed slightly, and +placed his fingertips together. “I have had an—er—interview with Mr. +Hotchkiss, but—I—er—regret to say there seems to be no prospect +of—er—compromise.” He paused, and to his surprise her listless +“company” face lit up with an adorable smile. “Of course!—ketch him!” +she said. “Was he mad when you told him?” She put her knees +comfortably together and leaned forward for a reply.</p> + +<p>For all that, wild horses could not have torn from the Colonel a word +about Hotchkiss’s anger. “He expressed his intention of employing +counsel—and defending a suit,” returned the Colonel, affably basking +in her smile. She dragged her chair nearer his desk. “Then you’ll +fight him tooth and nail?” she said eagerly; “you’ll show him up? +You’ll tell the whole story your own way? You’ll give him fits?—and +you’ll make him pay? Sure?” she went on, breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“I—er—will,” said the Colonel, almost as breathlessly.</p> + +<p>She caught his fat white hand, which was lying on the table, between +her own and lifted it to her lips. He felt her soft young fingers even +through the lisle-thread gloves that encased them and the warm +moisture of her lips upon his skin. He felt himself flushing—but was +unable to break the silence or change his position. The next moment +she had scuttled back with her chair to her old position.</p> + +<p>“I—er—certainly shall do my best,” stammered the Colonel, in an +attempt to recover his dignity and composure.</p> + +<p>“That’s enough! You’ll <em>do</em> it,” said the girl, enthusiastically. +“Lordy! Just you talk for <em>me</em> as ye did for <em>his</em> old Ditch Company, +and you’ll fetch it—every time! Why, when you made that jury sit up +the other day—when you got that off about the Merrikan flag waving +equally over the rights of honest citizens banded together in peaceful +commercial pursuits, as well as over the fortress of official +proflig—”</p> + +<p>“Oligarchy,” murmured the Colonel, courteously.</p> + +<p>“Oligarchy,” repeated the girl, quickly, “my breath was just took +away. I said to maw, ‘Ain’t he too sweet for anything!’ I did, honest +Injin! And when you rolled it all off at the end—never missing a +word—(you didn’t need to mark ’em in a lesson-book, but had ’em all +ready on your tongue), and walked out—Well! I didn’t know you nor the +Ditch Company from Adam, but I could have just run over and kissed you +there before the whole court!”</p> + +<p>She laughed, with her face glowing, although her strange eyes were +cast down. Alack! the Colonel’s face was equally flushed, and his own +beady eyes were on his desk. To any other woman he would have voiced +the banal gallantry that he should now, himself, look forward to that +reward, but the words never reached his lips. He laughed, coughed +slightly, and when he looked up again she had fallen into the same +attitude as on her first visit, with her parasol point on the floor.</p> + +<p>“I must ask you to—er—direct your memory—to—er—another point; the +breaking off of the—er—er—er—engagement. Did he—er—give any +reason for it? Or show any cause?”</p> + +<p>“No; he never said anything,” returned the girl.</p> + +<p>“Not in his usual way?—er—no reproaches out of the hymn-book?—or +the sacred writings?”</p> + +<p>“No; he just <em>quit</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Er—ceased his attentions,” said the Colonel, gravely. “And naturally +you—er—were not conscious of any cause for his doing so.” The girl +raised her wonderful eyes so suddenly and so penetratingly without +reply in any other way that the Colonel could only hurriedly say: “I +see! None, of course!”</p> + +<p>At which she rose, the Colonel rising also. “We—shall begin +proceedings at once. I must, however, caution you to answer no +questions nor say anything about this case to any one until you are in +court.”</p> + +<p>She answered his request with another intelligent look and a nod. He +accompanied her to the door. As he took her proffered hand he raised +the lisle-thread fingers to his lips with old-fashioned gallantry. As +if that act had condoned for his first omissions and awkwardness, he +became his old-fashioned self again, buttoned his coat, pulled out his +shirt frill, and strutted back to his desk.</p> + +<p>A day or two later it was known throughout the town that Zaidee Hooker +had sued Adoniram Hotchkiss for breach of promise, and that the +damages were laid at five thousand dollars. As in those bucolic days +the Western press was under the secure censorship of a revolver, a +cautious tone of criticism prevailed, and any gossip was confined to +personal expression, and even then at the risk of the gossiper. +Nevertheless, the situation provoked the intensest curiosity. The +Colonel was approached—until his statement that he should consider +any attempt to overcome his professional secrecy a personal reflection +withheld further advances. The community were left to the more +ostentatious information of the defendant’s counsel, Messrs. Kitcham +and Bilser, that the case was “ridiculous” and “rotten,” that the +plaintiff would be nonsuited, and the fire-eating Starbottle would be +taught a lesson that he could not “bully” the law—and there were some +dark hints of a conspiracy. It was even hinted that the “case” was the +revengeful and preposterous outcome of the refusal of Hotchkiss to pay +Starbottle an extravagant fee for his late services to the Ditch +Company. It is unnecessary to say that these words were not reported +to the Colonel. It was, however, an unfortunate circumstance for the +calmer, ethical consideration of the subject that the church sided +with Hotchkiss, as this provoked an equal adherence to the plaintiff +and Starbottle on the part of the larger body of non-church-goers, who +were delighted at a possible exposure of the weakness of religious +rectitude. “I’ve allus had my suspicions o’ them early candle-light +meetings down at that gospel shop,” said one critic, “and I reckon +Deacon Hotchkiss didn’t rope in the gals to attend jest for +psalm-singing.” “Then for him to get up and leave the board afore the +game’s finished and try to sneak out of it,” said another. “I suppose +that’s what they call <em>religious</em>.”</p> + +<p>It was therefore not remarkable that the courthouse three weeks later +was crowded with an excited multitude of the curious and sympathizing. +The fair plaintiff, with her mother, was early in attendance, and +under the Colonel’s advice appeared in the same modest garb in which +she had first visited his office. This and her downcast modest +demeanor were perhaps at first disappointing to the crowd, who had +evidently expected a paragon of loveliness—as the Circe of the grim +ascetic defendant, who sat beside his counsel. But presently all eyes +were fixed on the Colonel, who certainly made up in <em>his</em> appearance +any deficiency of his fair client. His portly figure was clothed in a +blue dress-coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat which permitted +his frilled shirt front to become erectile above it, a black satin +stock which confined a boyish turned-down collar around his full neck, +and immaculate drill trousers, strapped over varnished boots. A murmur +ran round the court. “Old ‘Personally Responsible’ had got his +war-paint on,” “The Old War-Horse is smelling powder,” were whispered +comments. Yet for all that the most irreverent among them recognized +vaguely, in this bizarre figure, something of an honored past in their +country’s history, and possibly felt the spell of old deeds and old +names that had once thrilled their boyish pulses. The new District +Judge returned Colonel Starbottle’s profoundly punctilious bow. The +Colonel was followed by his negro servant, carrying a parcel of +hymn-books and Bibles, who, with a courtesy evidently imitated from +his master, placed one before the opposite counsel. This, after a +first curious glance, the lawyer somewhat superciliously tossed aside. +But when Jim, proceeding to the jury-box, placed with equal politeness +the remaining copies before the jury, the opposite counsel sprang to +his feet.</p> + +<p>“I want to direct the attention of the Court to this unprecedented +tampering with the jury, by this gratuitous exhibition of matter +impertinent and irrelevant to the issue.”</p> + +<p>The Judge cast an inquiring look at Colonel Starbottle.</p> + +<p>“May it please the Court,” returned Colonel Starbottle with dignity, +ignoring the counsel, “the defendant’s counsel will observe that he is +already furnished with the matter—which I regret to say he has +treated—in the presence of the Court—and of his client, a deacon of +the church—with—er—-great superciliousness. When I state to your +Honor that the books in question are hymn-books and copies of the +<cite>Holy Scriptures</cite>, and that they are for the instruction of the jury, +to whom I shall have to refer them in the course of my opening, I +believe I am within my rights.”</p> + +<p>“The act is certainly unprecedented,” said the Judge, dryly, “but +unless the counsel for the plaintiff expects the jury to <em>sing</em> from +these hymn-books, their introduction is not improper, and I cannot +admit the objection. As defendant’s counsel are furnished with copies +also, they cannot plead ‘surprise,’ as in the introduction of new +matter, and as plaintiff’s counsel relies evidently upon the jury’s +attention to his opening, he would not be the first person to distract +it.” After a pause he added, addressing the Colonel, who remained +standing, “The Court is with you, sir; proceed.”</p> + +<p>But the Colonel remained motionless and statuesque, with folded arms.</p> + +<p>“I have overruled the objection,” repeated the Judge; “you may go on.”</p> + +<p>“I am waiting, your Honor, for the—er—withdrawal by the defendant’s +counsel of the word ‘tampering,’ as refers to myself, and of +‘impertinent,’ as refers to the sacred volumes.”</p> + +<p>“The request is a proper one, and I have no doubt will be acceded to,” +returned the Judge, quietly. The defendant’s counsel rose and mumbled +a few words of apology, and the incident closed. There was, however, a +general feeling that the Colonel had in some way “scored,” and if his +object had been to excite the greatest curiosity about the books, he +had made his point.</p> + +<p>But impassive of his victory, he inflated his chest, with his right +hand in the breast of his buttoned coat, and began. His usual high +color had paled slightly, but the small pupils of his prominent eyes +glittered like steel. The young girl leaned forward in her chair with +an attention so breathless, a sympathy so quick, and an admiration so +artless and unconscious that in an instant she divided with the +speaker the attention of the whole assemblage. It was very hot; the +court was crowded to suffocation; even the open windows revealed a +crowd of faces outside the building, eagerly following the Colonel’s +words.</p> + +<p>He would remind the jury that only a few weeks ago he stood there as +the advocate of a powerful company, then represented by the present +defendant. He spoke then as the champion of strict justice against +legal oppression; no less should he to-day champion the cause of the +unprotected and the comparatively defenseless—save for that paramount +power which surrounds beauty and innocence—even though the plaintiff +of yesterday was the defendant of to-day. As he approached the court a +moment ago he had raised his eyes and beheld the starry flag flying +from its dome—and he knew that glorious banner was a symbol of the +perfect equality, under the Constitution, of the rich and the poor, +the strong and the weak—an equality which made the simple citizen +taken from the plough in the veld, the pick in the gulch, or from +behind the counter in the mining town, who served on that jury, the +equal arbiters of justice with that highest legal luminary whom they +were proud to welcome on the bench to-day. The Colonel paused, with a +stately bow to the impassive Judge. It was this, he continued, which +lifted his heart as he approached the building. And yet—he had +entered it with an uncertain—he might almost say—a timid step. And +why? He knew, gentlemen, he was about to confront a profound—aye! a +sacred responsibility! Those hymn-books and holy writings handed to +the jury were <em>not</em>, as his Honor surmised, for the purpose of +enabling the jury to indulge in—er—preliminary choral exercise! He +might, indeed, say “alas not!” They were the damning, incontrovertible +proofs of the perfidy of the defendant. And they would prove as +terrible a warning to him as the fatal characters upon Belshazzar’s +wall. There was a strong sensation. Hotchkiss turned a sallow green. +His lawyers assumed a careless smile.</p> + +<p>It was his duty to tell them that this was not one of those ordinary +“breach-of-promise” cases which were too often the occasion of +ruthless mirth and indecent levity in the courtroom. The jury would +find nothing of that here, There were no love-letters with the +epithets of endearment, nor those mystic crosses and ciphers which, he +had been credibly informed, chastely hid the exchange of those mutual +caresses known as “kisses.” There was no cruel tearing of the veil +from those sacred privacies of the human affection—there was no +forensic shouting out of those fond confidences meant only for <em>one</em>. +But there was, he was shocked to say, a new sacrilegious intrusion. +The weak pipings of Cupid were mingled with the chorus of the +saints—the sanctity of the temple known as the “meeting-house” was +desecrated by proceedings more in keeping with the shrine of +Venus—and the inspired writings themselves were used as the medium of +amatory and wanton flirtation by the defendant in his sacred capacity +as Deacon.</p> + +<p>The Colonel artistically paused after this thunderous denunciation. +The jury turned eagerly to the leaves of the hymn-books, but the +larger gaze of the audience remained fixed upon the speaker and the +girl, who sat in rapt admiration of his periods. After the hush, the +Colonel continued in a lower and sadder voice: “There are, perhaps, +few of us here, gentlemen—with the exception of the defendant—who +can arrogate to themselves the title of regular churchgoers, or to +whom these humbler functions of the prayer-meeting, the Sunday-school, +and the Bible class are habitually familiar. Yet”—more +solemnly—“down in your hearts is the deep conviction of our +short-comings and failings, and a laudable desire that others at least +should profit by the teachings we neglect. Perhaps,” he continued, +closing his eyes dreamily, “there is not a man here who does not +recall the happy days of his boyhood, the rustic village spire, the +lessons shared with some artless village maiden, with whom he later +sauntered, hand in hand, through the woods, as the simple rhyme rose +upon their lips,</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Always make it a point to have it a rule</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Never to be late at the Sabbath-school.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">He would recall the strawberry feasts, the welcome annual picnic, +redolent with hunks of gingerbread and sarsaparilla. How would they +feel to know that these sacred recollections were now forever profaned +in their memory by the knowledge that the defendant was capable of +using such occasions to make love to the larger girls and teachers, +whilst his artless companions were innocently—the Court will pardon +me for introducing what I am credibly informed is the local expression +‘doing gooseberry’?” The tremulous flicker of a smile passed over the +faces of the listening crowd, and the Colonel slightly winced. But he +recovered himself instantly, and continued:</p> + +<p>“My client, the only daughter of a widowed mother—who has for years +stemmed the varying tides of adversity—in the western precincts of +this town—stands before you to-day invested only in her own innocence. +She wears no—er—rich gifts of her faithless admirer—is panoplied in +no jewels, rings, nor mementoes of affection such as lovers delight to +hang upon the shrine of their affections; hers is not the glory with +which Solomon decorated the Queen of Sheba, though the defendant, as I +shall show later, clothed her in the less expensive flowers of the +king’s poetry. No! gentlemen! The defendant exhibited in this affair a +certain frugality of—er—pecuniary investment, which I am willing to +admit may be commendable in his class. His only gift was +characteristic alike of his methods and his economy. There is, I +understand, a certain not unimportant feature of religious exercise +known as ‘taking a collection.’ The defendant, on this occasion, by +the mute presentation of a tip plate covered with baize, solicited the +pecuniary contributions of the faithful. On approaching the plaintiff, +however, he himself slipped a love-token upon the plate and pushed it +towards her. That love-token was a lozenge—a small disk, I have +reason to believe, concocted of peppermint and sugar, bearing upon its +reverse surface the simple words, ‘I love you!’ I have since +ascertained that these disks may be bought for five cents a dozen—or +at considerably less than one half-cent for the single lozenge. Yes, +gentlemen, the words ‘I love you!‘—the oldest legend of all; the +refrain, ‘when the morning stars sang together’—were presented to the +plaintiff by a medium so insignificant that there is, happily, no coin +in the republic low enough to represent its value.</p> + +<p>“I shall prove to you, gentlemen of the jury,” said the Colonel, +solemnly, drawing a <cite>Bible</cite> from his coat-tail pocket, “that the +defendant, for the last twelve months, conducted an amatory +correspondence with the plaintiff by means of underlined words of +sacred writ and church psalmody, such as ‘beloved,’ ‘precious,’ and +‘dearest,’ occasionally appropriating whole passages which seemed +apposite to his tender passion. I shall call your attention to one of +them. The defendant, while professing to be a total abstainer—a man +who, in my own knowledge, has refused spirituous refreshment as an +inordinate weakness of the flesh, with shameless hypocrisy underscores +with his pencil the following passage and presents it to the +plaintiff. The gentlemen of the jury will find it in the <cite>Song of +Solomon</cite>, page 548, chapter II, verse 5.” After a pause, in which the +rapid rustling of leaves was heard in the jury-box, Colonel +Starbottle declaimed in a pleading, stentorian voice, “‘Stay me with +—er—<em>flagons</em>, comfort me with—er—apples—for I am—er—sick of +love.’ Yes, gentlemen!—yes, you may well turn from those accusing +pages and look at the double-faced defendant. He desires—to—er—be +—‘stayed with flagons’! I am not aware, at present, what kind of +liquor is habitually dispensed at these meetings, and for which the +defendant so urgently clamored; but it will be my duty before this +trial is over to discover it, if I have to summon every barkeeper in +this district. For the moment, I will simply call your attention to +the <em>quantity</em>. It is not a single drink that the defendant asks for—not +a glass of light and generous wine, to be shared with his +inamorata—but a number of flagons or vessels, each possibly holding +a pint measure—<em>for himself</em>!”</p> + +<p>The smile of the audience had become a laugh. The Judge looked up +warningly, when his eye caught the fact that the Colonel had again +winced at this mirth. He regarded him seriously. Mr. Hotchkiss’s +counsel had joined in the laugh affectedly, but Hotchkiss himself was +ashy pale. There was also a commotion in the jury-box, a hurried +turning over of leaves, and an excited discussion.</p> + +<p>“The gentlemen of the jury,” said the Judge, with official gravity, +“will please keep order and attend only to the speeches of counsel. +Any discussion <em>here</em> is irregular and premature—and must be reserved +for the jury-room—after they have retired.”</p> + +<p>The foreman of the jury struggled to his feet. He was a powerful man, +with a good-humored face, and, in spite of his unfelicitous nickname +of “The Bone-Breaker,” had a kindly, simple, but somewhat emotional +nature. Nevertheless, it appeared as if he were laboring under some +powerful indignation.</p> + +<p>“Can we ask a question, Judge?” he said, respectfully, although his +voice had the unmistakable Western-American ring in it, as of one who +was unconscious that he could be addressing any but his peers.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Judge, good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>“We’re finding in this yere piece, out of which the Kernel hes just +bin a-quotin’, some language that me and my pardners allow hadn’t +orter to be read out afore a young lady in court—and we want to know +of you—ez a fair-minded and impartial man—ef this is the reg’lar +kind o’ book given to gals and babies down at the meetin’-house.”</p> + +<p>“The jury will please follow the counsel’s speech, without comment,” +said the Judge, briefly, fully aware that the defendant’s counsel +would spring to his feet, as he did promptly. “The Court will allow us +to explain to the gentlemen that the language they seem to object to +has been accepted by the best theologians for the last thousand years +as being purely mystic. As I will explain later, those are merely +symbols of the Church—”</p> + +<p>“Of wot?” interrupted the foreman, in deep scorn.</p> + +<p>“Of the Church!”</p> + +<p>“We ain’t askin’ any questions o’ <em>you</em>—and we ain’t takin’ any +answers,” said the foreman, sitting down promptly.</p> + +<p>“I must insist,” said the Judge, sternly, “that the plaintiff’s +counsel be allowed to continue his opening without interruption. You” +(to defendant’s counsel) “will have your opportunity to reply later.”</p> + +<p>The counsel sank down in his seat with the bitter conviction that the +jury was manifestly against him, and the case as good as lost. But his +face was scarcely as disturbed as his client’s, who, in great +agitation, had begun to argue with him wildly, and was apparently +pressing some point against the lawyer’s vehement opposal. The +Colonel’s murky eyes brightened as he still stood erect with his hand +thrust in his breast.</p> + +<p>“It will be put to you, gentlemen, when the counsel on the other side +refrains from mere interruption and confines himself to reply, that my +unfortunate client has no action—no remedy at law—because there were +no spoken words of endearment. But, gentlemen, it will depend upon +<em>you</em> to say what are and what are not articulate expressions of love. +We all know that among the lower animals, with whom you may possibly +be called upon to classify the defendant, there are certain signals +more or less harmonious, as the case may be. The ass brays, the horse +neighs, the sheep bleats—the feathered denizens of the grove call to +their mates in more musical roundelays. These are recognized facts, +gentlemen, which you yourselves, as dwellers among nature in this +beautiful land, are all cognizant of. They are facts that no one would +deny—and we should have a poor opinion of the ass who, at—er—such a +supreme moment, would attempt to suggest that his call was unthinking +and without significance. But, gentlemen, I shall prove to you that +such was the foolish, self-convicting custom of the defendant. With +the greatest reluctance, and the—er—greatest pain, I succeeded in +wresting from the maidenly modesty of my fair client the innocent +confession that the defendant had induced her to correspond with him +in these methods. Picture to yourself, gentlemen, the lonely moonlight +road beside the widow’s humble cottage. It is a beautiful night, +sanctified to the affections, and the innocent girl is leaning from +her casement. Presently there appears upon the road a slinking, +stealthy figure—the defendant, on his way to church. True to the +instruction she has received from him, her lips part in the musical +utterance” (the Colonel lowered his voice in a faint falsetto, +presumably in fond imitation of his fair client),“‘Kerree!’ Instantly +the night became resonant with the impassioned reply” (the Colonel +here lifted his voice in stentorian tones), “‘Kerrow.’ Again, as he +passes, rises the soft ‘Kerree’; again, as his form is lost in the +distance, comes back the deep ‘Kerrow.’”</p> + +<p>A burst of laughter, long, loud, and irrepressible, struck the whole +courtroom, and before the Judge could lift his half-composed face and +take his handkerchief from his mouth, a faint “Kerree” from some +unrecognized obscurity of the courtroom was followed by a loud +“Kerrow” from some opposite locality. “The sheriff will clear the +court,” said the Judge, sternly; but alas, as the embarrassed and +choking officials rushed hither and thither, a soft “Kerree” from the +spectators at the window, <em>outside</em> the courthouse, was answered by a +loud chorus of “Kerrows” from the opposite windows, filled with +onlookers. Again the laughter arose everywhere—even the fair +plaintiff herself sat convulsed behind her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>The figure of Colonel Starbottle alone remained erect—white and +rigid. And then the Judge, looking up, saw what no one else in the +court had seen—that the Colonel was sincere and in earnest; that what +he had conceived to be the pleader’s most perfect acting, and most +elaborate irony, were the deep, serious, mirthless <em>convictions</em> of a +man without the least sense of humor. There was a touch of this +respect in the Judge’s voice as he said to him, gently, “You may +proceed, Colonel Starbottle.”</p> + +<p>“I thank your Honor,” said the Colonel, slowly, “for recognizing and +doing all in your power to prevent an interruption that, during my +thirty years’ experience at the bar, I have never yet been subjected +to without the privilege of holding the instigators thereof +responsible—<em>personally</em> responsible. It is possibly my fault that I +have failed, oratorically, to convey to the gentlemen of the jury the +full force and significance of the defendant’s signals. I am aware +that my voice is singularly deficient in producing either the dulcet +tones of my fair client or the impassioned vehemence of the +defendant’s repose. I will,” continued the Colonel, with a fatigued +but blind fatuity that ignored the hurriedly knit brows and warning +eyes of the Judge, “try again. The note uttered by my client” +(lowering his voice to the faintest of falsettos) “was ‘Kerree’; the +response was ‘Kerrow’”—and the Colonel’s voice fairly shook the dome +above him.</p> + +<p>Another uproar of laughter followed this apparently audacious +repetition, but was interrupted by an unlooked-for incident. The +defendant rose abruptly, and tearing himself away from the withholding +hand and pleading protestations of his counsel, absolutely fled from +the courtroom, his appearance outside being recognized by a prolonged +“Kerrow” from the bystanders, which again and again followed him in +the distance. In the momentary silence which followed, the Colonel’s +voice was heard saying, “We rest here, your Honor,” and he sat down. +No less white, but more agitated, was the face of the defendant’s +counsel, who instantly rose.</p> + +<p>“For some unexplained reason, your Honor, my client desires to suspend +further proceedings, with a view to effect a peaceable compromise with +the plaintiff. As he is a man of wealth and position, he is able and +willing to pay liberally for that privilege. While I, as his counsel, +am still convinced of his legal irresponsibility, as he has chosen, +however, to publicly abandon his rights here, I can only ask your +Honor’s permission to suspend further proceedings until I can confer +with Colonel Starbottle.”</p> + +<p>“As far as I can follow the pleadings,” said the Judge, gravely, “the +case seems to be hardly one for litigation, and I approve of the +defendant’s course, while I strongly urge the plaintiff to accept it.”</p> + +<p>Colonel Starbottle bent over his fair client. Presently he rose, +unchanged in look or demeanor. “I yield, your Honor, to the wishes of +my client, and—er—lady. We accept.”</p> + +<p>Before the court adjourned that day it was known throughout the town +that Adoniram K. Hotchkiss had compromised the suit for four thousand +dollars and costs.</p> + +<p>Colonel Starbottle had so far recovered his equanimity as to strut +jauntily towards his office, where he was to meet his fair client. He +was surprised, however, to find her already there, and in company with +a somewhat sheepish-looking young man—a stranger. If the Colonel had +any disappointment in meeting a third party to the interview, his +old-fashioned courtesy did not permit him to show it. He bowed +graciously, and politely motioned them each to a seat.</p> + +<p>“I reckoned I’d bring Hiram round with me,” said the young lady, +lifting her searching eyes, after a pause, to the Colonel’s, “though +he was awful shy, and allowed that you didn’t know him from Adam—or +even suspected his existence. But I said, ‘That’s just where you slip +up, Hiram; a pow’ful man like the Colonel knows everything—and I’ve +seen it in his eye.’ Lordy!” she continued, with a laugh, leaning +forward over her parasol, as her eyes again sought the Colonel’s, +“don’t you remember when you asked me if I loved that old Hotchkiss, +and I told you ‘That’s tellin’,’ and you looked at me, Lordy! I knew +<em>then</em> you suspected there was a Hiram <em>somewhere</em>—as good as if I’d +told you. Now, you, jest get up, Hiram, and give the Colonel a good +handshake. For if it wasn’t for <em>him</em> and <em>his</em> searchin’ ways, and +<em>his</em> awful power of language, I wouldn’t hev got that four thousand +dollars out o’ that flirty fool Hotchkiss—enough to buy a farm, so as +you and me could get married! That’s what you owe to <em>him</em>. Don’t +stand there like a stuck fool starin’ at him. He won’t eat you—though +he’s killed many a better man. Come, have <em>I</em> got to do <em>all</em> the +kissin’!”</p> + +<p>It is of record that the Colonel bowed so courteously and so +profoundly that he managed not merely to evade the proffered hand of +the shy Hiram, but to only lightly touch the franker and more +impulsive fingertips of the gentle Zaidee. “I—er—offer my sincerest +congratulations—though I think you—er—overestimate—my—er—powers +of penetration. Unfortunately, a pressing engagement, which may oblige +me also to leave town to-night, forbids my saying more. I +have—er—left the—er—business settlement of this—er—case in the +hands of the lawyers who do my office-work, and who will show you +every attention. And now let me wish you a very good afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, the Colonel returned to his private room, and it was +nearly twilight when the faithful Jim entered, to find him sitting +meditatively before his desk. “‘Fo’ God! Kernel—I hope dey ain’t +nuffin de matter, but you’s lookin’ mightly solemn! I ain’t seen you +look dat way, Kernel, since de day pooh Marse Stryker was fetched home +shot froo de head.”</p> + +<p>“Hand me down the whiskey, Jim,” said the Colonel, rising slowly.</p> + +<p>The negro flew to the closet joyfully, and brought out the bottle. The +Colonel poured out a glass of the spirit and drank it with his old +deliberation.</p> + +<p>“You’re quite right, Jim,” he said, putting down his glass, “but +I’m—er—getting old—and—somehow—I am missing poor Stryker +damnably!”</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> From <cite>Harper’s Magazine</cite>, March, 1901. Republished in the volume, +<cite>Openings in the Old Trail</cite> (1902), by Bret Harte; copyright, 1902, by +Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret Harte’s +complete works; reprinted by their permission.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_DUPLICITY_OF_HARGRAVES">THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By O. Henry</span> (1862–1910)</p> + + +<p>When Major Pendleton Talbot, of Mobile, sir, and his daughter, Miss +Lydia Talbot, came to Washington to reside, they selected for a +boarding place a house that stood fifty yards back from one of the +quietest avenues. It was an old-fashioned brick building, with a +portico upheld by tall white pillars. The yard was shaded by stately +locusts and elms, and a catalpa tree in season rained its pink and +white blossoms upon the grass. Rows of high box bushes lined the fence +and walks. It was the Southern style and aspect of the place that +pleased the eyes of the Talbots.</p> + +<p>In this pleasant private boarding house they engaged rooms, including +a study for Major Talbot, who was adding the finishing chapters to his +book, <cite>Anecdotes and Reminiscences of the Alabama Army, Bench, and +Bar</cite>.</p> + +<p>Major Talbot was of the old, old South. The present day had little +interest or excellence in his eyes. His mind lived in that period +before the Civil War when the Talbots owned thousands of acres of fine +cotton land and the slaves to till them; when the family mansion was +the scene of princely hospitality, and drew its guests from the +aristocracy of the South. Out of that period he had brought all its +old pride and scruples of honor, an antiquated and punctilious +politeness, and (you would think) its wardrobe.</p> + +<p>Such clothes were surely never made within fifty years. The Major was +tall, but whenever he made that wonderful, archaic genuflexion he +called a bow, the corners of his frock coat swept the floor. That +garment was a surprise even to Washington, which has long ago ceased +to shy at the frocks and broad-brimmed hats of Southern Congressmen. +One of the boarders christened it a “Father Hubbard,” and it certainly +was high in the waist and full in the skirt.</p> + +<p>But the Major, with all his queer clothes, his immense area of +plaited, raveling shirt bosom, and the little black string tie with +the bow always slipping on one side, both was smiled at and liked in +Mrs. Vardeman’s select boarding house. Some of the young department +clerks would often “string him,” as they called it, getting him +started upon the subject dearest to him—the traditions and history of +his beloved Southland. During his talks he would quote freely from the +<cite>Anecdotes and Reminiscences</cite>. But they were very careful not to let +him see their designs, for in spite of his sixty-eight years he could +make the boldest of them uncomfortable under the steady regard of his +piercing gray eyes.</p> + +<p>Miss Lydia was a plump, little old maid of thirty-five, with smoothly +drawn, tightly twisted hair that made her look still older. +Old-fashioned, too, she was; but antebellum glory did not radiate from +her as it did from the Major. She possessed a thrifty common sense, +and it was she who handled the finances of the family, and met all +comers when there were bills to pay. The Major regarded board bills +and wash bills as contemptible nuisances. They kept coming in so +persistently and so often. Why, the Major wanted to know, could they +not be filed and paid in a lump sum at some convenient period—say +when the <cite>Anecdotes and Reminiscences</cite> had been published and paid +for? Miss Lydia would calmly go on with her sewing and say, “We’ll pay +as we go as long as the money lasts, and then perhaps they’ll have to +lump it.”</p> + +<p>Most of Mrs. Vardeman’s boarders were away during the day, being +nearly all department clerks and business men; but there was one of +them who was about the house a great deal from morning to night. This +was a young man named Henry Hopkins Hargraves—every one in the house +addressed him by his full name—who was engaged at one of the popular +vaudeville theaters. Vaudeville has risen to such a respectable plane +in the last few years, and Mr. Hargraves was such a modest and +well-mannered person, that Mrs. Vardeman could find no objection to +enrolling him upon her list of boarders.</p> + +<p>At the theater Hargraves was known as an all-round dialect comedian, +having a large repertoire of German, Irish, Swede, and black-face +specialties. But Mr. Hargraves was ambitious, and often spoke of his +great desire to succeed in legitimate comedy.</p> + +<p>This young man appeared to conceive a strong fancy for Major Talbot. +Whenever that gentleman would begin his Southern reminiscences, or +repeat some of the liveliest of the anecdotes, Hargraves could always +be found, the most attentive among his listeners.</p> + +<p>For a time the Major showed an inclination to discourage the advances +of the “play actor,” as he privately termed him; but soon the young +man’s agreeable manner and indubitable appreciation of the old +gentleman’s stories completely won him over.</p> + +<p>It was not long before the two were like old chums. The Major set +apart each afternoon to read to him the manuscript of his book. During +the anecdotes Hargraves never failed to laugh at exactly the right +point. The Major was moved to declare to Miss Lydia one day that young +Hargraves possessed remarkable perception and a gratifying respect for +the old régime. And when it came to talking of those old days—if +Major Talbot liked to talk, Mr. Hargraves was entranced to listen.</p> + +<p>Like almost all old people who talk of the past, the Major loved to +linger over details. In describing the splendid, almost royal, days of +the old planters, he would hesitate until he had recalled the name of +the negro who held his horse, or the exact date of certain minor +happenings, or the number of bales of cotton raised in such a year; +but Hargraves never grew impatient or lost interest. On the contrary, +he would advance questions on a variety of subjects connected with the +life of that time, and he never failed to extract ready replies.</p> + +<p>The fox hunts, the ’possum suppers, the hoe-downs and jubilees in the +negro quarters, the banquets in the plantation-house hall, when +invitations went for fifty miles around; the occasional feuds with the +neighboring gentry; the Major’s duel with Rathbone Culbertson about +Kitty Chalmers, who afterward married a Thwaite of South Carolina; and +private yacht races for fabulous sums on Mobile Bay; the quaint +beliefs, improvident habits, and loyal virtues of the old slaves—all +these were subjects that held both the Major and Hargraves absorbed +for hours at a time.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, at night, when the young man would be coming upstairs to +his room after his turn at the theater was over, the Major would +appear at the door of his study and beckon archly to him. Going in, +Hargraves would find a little table set with a decanter, sugar bowl, +fruit, and a big bunch of fresh green mint.</p> + +<p>“It occurred to me,” the Major would begin—he was always +ceremonious—“that perhaps you might have found your duties at the—at +your place of occupation—sufficiently arduous to enable you, Mr. +Hargraves, to appreciate what the poet might well have had in his mind +when he wrote, ‘tired Nature’s sweet restorer’—one of our Southern +juleps.”</p> + +<p>It was a fascination to Hargraves to watch him make it. He took rank +among artists when he began, and he never varied the process. With +what delicacy he bruised the mint; with what exquisite nicety he +estimated the ingredients; with what solicitous care he capped the +compound with the scarlet fruit glowing against the dark green fringe! +And then the hospitality and grace with which he offered it, after the +selected oat straws had been plunged into its tinkling depths!</p> + +<p>After about four months in Washington, Miss Lydia discovered one +morning that they were almost without money. The <cite>Anecdotes and +Reminiscences</cite> was completed, but publishers had not jumped at the +collected gems of Alabama sense and wit. The rental of a small house +which they still owned in Mobile was two months in arrears. Their +board money for the month would be due in three days. Miss Lydia +called her father to a consultation.</p> + +<p>“No money?” said he with a surprised look. “It is quite annoying to be +called on so frequently for these petty sums, Really, I—”</p> + +<p>The Major searched his pockets. He found only a two-dollar bill, which +he returned to his vest pocket.</p> + +<p>“I must attend to this at once, Lydia,” he said. “Kindly get me my +umbrella and I will go downtown immediately. The congressman from our +district, General Fulghum, assured me some days ago that he would use +his influence to get my book published at an early date. I will go to +his hotel at once and see what arrangement has been made.”</p> + +<p>With a sad little smile Miss Lydia watched him button his “Father +Hubbard” and depart, pausing at the door, as he always did, to bow +profoundly.</p> + +<p>That evening, at dark, he returned. It seemed that Congressman Fulghum +had seen the publisher who had the Major’s manuscript for reading. +That person had said that if the anecdotes, etc., were carefully +pruned down about one-half, in order to eliminate the sectional and +class prejudice with which the book was dyed from end to end, he might +consider its publication.</p> + +<p>The Major was in a white heat of anger, but regained his equanimity, +according to his code of manners, as soon as he was in Miss Lydia’s +presence.</p> + +<p>“We must have money,” said Miss Lydia, with a little wrinkle above her +nose. “Give me the two dollars, and I will telegraph to Uncle Ralph +for some to-night.”</p> + +<p>The Major drew a small envelope from his upper vest pocket and tossed +it on the table.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it was injudicious,” he said mildly, “but the sum was so +merely nominal that I bought tickets to the theater to-night. It’s a +new war drama, Lydia. I thought you would be pleased to witness its +first production in Washington. I am told that the South has very fair +treatment in the play. I confess I should like to see the performance +myself.”</p> + +<p>Miss Lydia threw up her hands in silent despair.</p> + +<p>Still, as the tickets were bought, they might as well be used. So that +evening, as they sat in the theater listening to the lively overture, +even Miss Lydia was minded to relegate their troubles, for the hour, +to second place. The Major, in spotless linen, with his extraordinary +coat showing only where it was closely buttoned, and his white hair +smoothly roached, looked really fine and distinguished. The curtain +went up on the first act of <cite>A Magnolia Flower</cite>, revealing a typical +Southern plantation scene. Major Talbot betrayed some interest.</p> + +<p>“Oh, see!” exclaimed Miss Lydia, nudging his arm, and pointing to her +program.</p> + +<p>The Major put on his glasses and read the line in the cast of +characters that her fingers indicated.</p> + +<p>Col. Webster Calhoun .... Mr. Hopkins Hargraves.</p> + +<p>“It’s our Mr. Hargraves,” said Miss Lydia. “It must be his first +appearance in what he calls ‘the legitimate.’ I’m so glad for him.”</p> + +<p>Not until the second act did Col. Webster Calhoun appear upon the +stage. When he made his entry Major Talbot gave an audible sniff, +glared at him, and seemed to freeze solid. Miss Lydia uttered a +little, ambiguous squeak and crumpled her program in her hand. For +Colonel Calhoun was made up as nearly resembling Major Talbot as one +pea does another. The long, thin white hair, curly at the ends, the +aristocratic beak of a nose, the crumpled, wide, raveling shirt front, +the string tie, with the bow nearly under one ear, were almost exactly +duplicated. And then, to clinch the imitation, he wore the twin to the +Major’s supposed to be unparalleled coat. High-collared, baggy, +empire-waisted, ample-skirted, hanging a foot lower in front than +behind, the garment could have been designed from no other pattern. +From then on, the Major and Miss Lydia sat bewitched, and saw the +counterfeit presentment of a haughty Talbot “dragged,” as the Major +afterward expressed it, “through the slanderous mire of a corrupt +stage.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hargraves had used his opportunities well. He had caught the +Major’s little idiosyncrasies of speech, accent, and intonation and +his pompous courtliness to perfection—exaggerating all to the purpose +of the stage. When he performed that marvelous bow that the Major +fondly imagined to be the pink of all salutations, the audience sent +forth a sudden round of hearty applause.</p> + +<p>Miss Lydia sat immovable, not daring to glance toward her father. +Sometimes her hand next to him would be laid against her cheek, as if +to conceal the smile which, in spite of her disapproval, she could not +entirely suppress.</p> + +<p>The culmination of Hargraves audacious imitation took place in the +third act. The scene is where Colonel Calhoun entertains a few of the +neighboring planters in his “den.”</p> + +<p>Standing at a table in the center of the stage, with his friends +grouped about him, he delivers that inimitable, rambling character +monologue so famous in <cite>A Magnolia Flower</cite>, at the same time that he +deftly makes juleps for the party.</p> + +<p>Major Talbot, sitting quietly, but white with indignation, heard his +best stories retold, his pet theories and hobbies advanced and +expanded, and the dream of the <cite>Anecdotes and Reminiscences</cite> served, +exaggerated and garbled. His favorite narrative—that of his duel with +Rathbone Culbertson—was not omitted, and it was delivered with more +fire, egotism, and gusto than the Major himself put into it.</p> + +<p>The monologue concluded with a quaint, delicious, witty little lecture +on the art of concocting a julep, illustrated by the act. Here Major +Talbot’s delicate but showy science was reproduced to a hair’s +breadth—from his dainty handling of the fragrant weed—“the +one-thousandth part of a grain too much pressure, gentlemen, and you +extract the bitterness, instead of the aroma, of this heaven-bestowed +plant”—to his solicitous selection of the oaten straws.</p> + +<p>At the close of the scene the audience raised a tumultuous roar of +appreciation. The portrayal of the type was so exact, so sure and +thorough, that the leading characters in the play were forgotten. +After repeated calls, Hargraves came before the curtain and bowed, his +rather boyish face bright and flushed with the knowledge of success.</p> + +<p>At last Miss Lydia turned and looked at the Major. His thin nostrils +were working like the gills of a fish. He laid both shaking hands upon +the arms of his chair to rise.</p> + +<p>“We will go, Lydia,” he said chokingly. “This is an +abominable—desecration.”</p> + +<p>Before he could rise, she pulled him back into his seat.</p> + +<p>“We will stay it out,” she declared. “Do you want to advertise the +copy by exhibiting the original coat?” So they remained to the end.</p> + +<p>Hargraves’s success must have kept him up late that night, for neither +at the breakfast nor at the dinner table did he appear.</p> + +<p>About three in the afternoon he tapped at the door of Major Talbot’s +study. The Major opened it, and Hargraves walked in with his hands +full of the morning papers—too full of his triumph to notice anything +unusual in the Major’s demeanor.</p> + +<p>“I put it all over ’em last night, Major,” he began exultantly. “I had +my inning, and, I think, scored. Here’s what <cite>The Post</cite> says:</p> + +<p>“‘His conception and portrayal of the old-time Southern colonel, with +his absurd grandiloquence, his eccentric garb, his quaint idioms and +phrases, his motheaten pride of family, and his really kind heart, +fastidious sense of honor, and lovable simplicity, is the best +delineation of a character role on the boards to-day. The coat worn by +Colonel Calhoun is itself nothing less than an evolution of genius. +Mr. Hargraves has captured his public.’</p> + +<p>“How does that sound, Major, for a first-nighter?”</p> + +<p>“I had the honor”—the Major’s voice sounded ominously frigid—“of +witnessing your very remarkable performance, sir, last night.”</p> + +<p>Hargraves looked disconcerted.</p> + +<p>“You were there? I didn’t know you ever—I didn’t know you cared for +the theater. Oh, I say, Major Talbot,” he exclaimed frankly, “don’t +you be offended. I admit I did get a lot of pointers from you that +helped out wonderfully in the part. But it’s a type, you know—not +individual. The way the audience caught on shows that. Half the +patrons of that theater are Southerners. They recognized it.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hargraves,” said the Major, who had remained standing, “you have +put upon me an unpardonable insult. You have burlesqued my person, +grossly betrayed my confidence, and misused my hospitality. If I +thought you possessed the faintest conception of what is the sign +manual of a gentleman, or what is due one, I would call you out, sir, +old as I am. I will ask you to leave the room, sir.”</p> + +<p>The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to +take in the full meaning of the old gentleman’s words.</p> + +<p>“I am truly sorry you took offense,” he said regretfully. “Up here we +don’t look at things just as you people do. I know men who would buy +out half the house to have their personality put on the stage so the +public would recognize it.”</p> + +<p>“They are not from Alabama, sir,” said the Major haughtily.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not. I have a pretty good memory, Major; let me quote a few +lines from your book. In response to a toast at a banquet given +in—Milledgeville, I believe—you uttered, and intend to have printed, +these words:</p> + +<p>“‘The Northern man is utterly without sentiment or warmth except in so +far as the feelings may be turned to his own commercial profit. He +will suffer without resentment any imputation cast upon the honor of +himself or his loved ones that does not bear with it the consequence +of pecuniary loss. In his charity, he gives with a liberal hand; but +it must be heralded with the trumpet and chronicled in brass.’</p> + +<p>“Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of Colonel +Calhoun last night?”</p> + +<p>“The description,” said the Major, frowning, “is—not without grounds. +Some exag—latitude must be allowed in public speaking.”</p> + +<p>“And in public acting,” replied Hargraves.</p> + +<p>“That is not the point,” persisted the Major, unrelenting. “It was a +personal caricature. I positively decline to overlook it, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Major Talbot,” said Hargraves, with a winning smile, “I wish you +would understand me. I want you to know that I never dreamed of +insulting you. In my profession, all life belongs to me. I take what I +want, and what I can, and return it over the footlights. Now, if you +will, let’s let it go at that. I came in to see you about something +else. We’ve been pretty good friends for some months, and I’m going to +take the risk of offending you again. I know you are hard up for +money—never mind how I found out, a boarding house is no place to +keep such matters secret—and I want you to let me help you out of the +pinch. I’ve been there often enough myself. I’ve been getting a fair +salary all the season, and I’ve saved some money. You’re welcome to a +couple hundred—or even more—until you get——”</p> + +<p>“Stop!” commanded the Major, with his arm outstretched. “It seems that +my book didn’t lie, after all. You think your money salve will heal +all the hurts of honor. Under no circumstances would I accept a loan +from a casual acquaintance; and as to you, sir, I would starve before +I would consider your insulting offer of a financial adjustment of the +circumstances we have discussed. I beg to repeat my request relative +to your quitting the apartment.”</p> + +<p>Hargraves took his departure without another word. He also left the +house the same day, moving, as Mrs. Vardeman explained at the supper +table, nearer the vicinity of the downtown theater, where <cite>A Magnolia +Flower</cite> was booked for a week’s run.</p> + +<p>Critical was the situation with Major Talbot and Miss Lydia. There was +no one in Washington to whom the Major’s scruples allowed him to apply +for a loan. Miss Lydia wrote a letter to Uncle Ralph, but it was +doubtful whether that relative’s constricted affairs would permit him +to furnish help. The Major was forced to make an apologetic address to +Mrs. Vardeman regarding the delayed payment for board, referring to +“delinquent rentals” and “delayed remittances” in a rather confused +strain.</p> + +<p>Deliverance came from an entirely unexpected source.</p> + +<p>Late one afternoon the door maid came up and announced an old colored +man who wanted to see Major Talbot. The Major asked that he be sent up +to his study. Soon an old darkey appeared in the doorway, with his hat +in hand, bowing, and scraping with one clumsy foot. He was quite +decently dressed in a baggy suit of black. His big, coarse shoes shone +with a metallic luster suggestive of stove polish. His bushy wool was +gray—almost white. After middle life, it is difficult to estimate the +age of a negro. This one might have seen as many years as had Major +Talbot.</p> + +<p>“I be bound you don’t know me, Mars’ Pendleton,” were his first words.</p> + +<p>The Major rose and came forward at the old, familiar style of address. +It was one of the old plantation darkeys without a doubt; but they had +been widely scattered, and he could not recall the voice or face.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe I do,” he said kindly—“unless you will assist my +memory.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you ’member Cindy’s Mose, Mars’ Pendleton, what ’migrated +’mediately after de war?”</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment,” said the Major, rubbing his forehead with the tips of +his fingers. He loved to recall everything connected with those +beloved days. “Cindy’s Mose,” he reflected. “You worked among the +horses—breaking the colts. Yes, I remember now. After the surrender, +you took the name of—don’t prompt me—Mitchell, and went to the +West—to Nebraska.”</p> + +<p>“Yassir, yassir,”—the old man’s face stretched with a delighted +grin—“dat’s him, dat’s it. Newbraska. Dat’s me—Mose Mitchell. Old +Uncle Mose Mitchell, dey calls me now. Old mars’, your pa, gimme a pah +of dem mule colts when I lef’ fur to staht me goin’ with. You ’member +dem colts, Mars’ Pendleton?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t seem to recall the colts,” said the Major. “You know. I was +married the first year of the war and living at the old Follinsbee +place. But sit down, sit down, Uncle Mose. I’m glad to see you. I hope +you have prospered.”</p> + +<p>Uncle Mose took a chair and laid his hat carefully on the floor beside +it.</p> + +<p>“Yessir; of late I done mouty famous. When I first got to Newbraska, +dey folks come all roun’ me to see dem mule colts. Dey ain’t see no +mules like dem in Newbraska. I sold dem mules for three hundred +dollars. Yessir—three hundred.</p> + +<p>“Den I open a blacksmith shop, suh, and made some money and bought +some lan’. Me and my old ’oman done raised up seb’m chillun, and all +doin’ well ’cept two of ’em what died. Fo’ year ago a railroad come +along and staht a town slam ag’inst my lan’, and, suh, Mars’ +Pendleton, Uncle Mose am worth leb’m thousand dollars in money, +property, and lan’.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to hear it,” said the Major heartily. “Glad to hear it.”</p> + +<p>“And dat little baby of yo’n, Mars’ Pendleton—one what you name Miss +Lyddy—I be bound dat little tad done growed up tell nobody wouldn’t +know her.”</p> + +<p>The Major stepped to the door and called: “Lydie, dear, will you +come?”</p> + +<p>Miss Lydia, looking quite grown up and a little worried, came in from +her room.</p> + +<p>“Dar, now! What’d I tell you? I knowed dat baby done be plum growed +up. You don’t ’member Uncle Mose, child?”</p> + +<p>“This is Aunt Cindy’s Mose, Lydia,” explained the Major. “He left +Sunnymead for the West when you were two years old.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Miss Lydia, “I can hardly be expected to remember you, +Uncle Mose, at that age. And, as you say, I’m ’plum growed up,’ and +was a blessed long time ago. But I’m glad to see you, even if I can’t +remember you.”</p> + +<p>And she was. And so was the Major. Something alive and tangible had +come to link them with the happy past. The three sat and talked over +the olden times, the Major and Uncle Mose correcting or prompting each +other as they reviewed the plantation scenes and days.</p> + +<p>The Major inquired what the old man was doing so far from his home.</p> + +<p>“Uncle Mose am a delicate,” he explained, “to de grand Baptis’ +convention in dis city. I never preached none, but bein’ a residin’ +elder in de church, and able fur to pay my own expenses, dey sent me +along.”</p> + +<p>“And how did you know we were in Washington?” inquired Miss Lydia.</p> + +<p>“Dey’s a cullud man works in de hotel whar I stops, what comes from +Mobile. He told me he seen Mars’ Pendleton comin’ outen dish here +house one mawnin’.</p> + +<p>“What I come fur,” continued Uncle Mose, reaching into his +pocket—“besides de sight of home folks—was to pay Mars’ Pendleton +what I owes him.</p> + +<p>“Yessir—three hundred dollars.” He handed the Major a roll of bills. +“When I lef’ old mars’ says: ‘‘Take dem mule colts, Mose, and, if it be +so you gits able, pay fur ’em.’ Yessir—dem was his words. De war had +done lef’ old mars’ po’ hisself. Old mars’ bein’ long ago dead, de +debt descends to Mars’ Pendleton. Three hundred dollars. Uncle Mose is +plenty able to pay now. When dat railroad buy my lan’ I laid off to +pay fur dem mules. Count de money, Mars’ Pendleton. Dat’s what I sold +dem mules fur. Yessir.”</p> + +<p>Tears were in Major Talbot’s eyes. He took Uncle Mose’s hand and laid +his other upon his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Dear, faithful, old servitor,” he said in an unsteady voice, “I don’t +mind saying to you that ‘‘Mars’ Pendleton spent his last dollar in the +world a week ago. We will accept this money, Uncle Mose, since, in a +way, it is a sort of payment, as well as a token of the loyalty and +devotion of the old régime. Lydia, my dear, take the money. You are +better fitted than I to manage its expenditure.”</p> + +<p>“Take it, honey,” said Uncle Mose. “Hit belongs to you. Hit’s Talbot +money.”</p> + +<p>After Uncle Mose had gone, Miss Lydia had a good cry—-for joy; and +the Major turned his face to a corner, and smoked his clay pipe +volcanically.</p> + +<p>The succeeding days saw the Talbots restored to peace and ease. Miss +Lydia’s face lost its worried look. The major appeared in a new frock +coat, in which he looked like a wax figure personifying the memory of +his golden age. Another publisher who read the manuscript of the +<cite>Anecdotes and Reminiscences</cite> thought that, with a little retouching +and toning down of the high lights, he could make a really bright and +salable volume of it. Altogether, the situation was comfortable, and +not without the touch of hope that is often sweeter than arrived +blessings.</p> + +<p>One day, about a week after their piece of good luck, a maid brought a +letter for Miss Lydia to her room. The postmark showed that it was +from New York. Not knowing any one there, Miss Lydia, in a mild +flutter of wonder, sat down by her table and opened the letter with +her scissors. This was what she read:</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="smcap noindent p15">Dear Miss Talbot:</p> + +<p>I thought you might be glad to learn of my good fortune. I have +received and accepted an offer of two hundred dollars per week by a +New York stock company to play Colonel Calhoun in <cite>A Magnolia Flower</cite>.</p> + +<p>There is something else I wanted you to know. I guess you’d better not +tell Major Talbot. I was anxious to make him some amends for the great +help he was to me in studying the part, and for the bad humor he was +in about it. He refused to let me, so I did it anyhow. I could easily +spare the three hundred.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="padr4">Sincerely yours,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">H. Hopkins Hargraves</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">P.S. How did I play Uncle Mose?</p> +</div> + + +<p class="p15">Major Talbot, passing through the hall, saw Miss Lydia’s door open and +stopped.</p> + +<p>“Any mail for us this morning, Lydia, dear?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Miss Lydia slid the letter beneath a fold of her dress.</p> + +<p>“<cite>The Mobile Chronicle</cite> came,” she said promptly. “It’s on the table +in your study.”</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> From <cite>The Junior Munsey</cite>, February, 1902. Republished in the volume, +<cite>Sixes and Sevens</cite> (1911), by O. Henry; copyright, 1911, by Doubleday, +Page & Co.; reprinted by their permission.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BARGAIN_DAY_AT_TUTT_HOUSE">BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By George Randolph Chester</span> (1869- )</p> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Just as the stage rumbled over the rickety old bridge, creaking and +groaning, the sun came from behind the clouds that had frowned all the +way, and the passengers cheered up a bit. The two richly dressed +matrons who had been so utterly and unnecessarily oblivious to the +presence of each other now suspended hostilities for the moment by +mutual and unspoken consent, and viewed with relief the little, +golden-tinted valley and the tree-clad road just beyond. The +respective husbands of these two ladies exchanged a mere glance, no +more, of comfort. They, too, were relieved, though more by the +momentary truce than by anything else. They regretted very much to be +compelled to hate each other, for each had reckoned up his vis-à-vis +as a rather proper sort of fellow, probably a man of some achievement, +used to good living and good company.</p> + +<p>Extreme iciness was unavoidable between them, however. When one +stranger has a splendidly preserved blonde wife and the other a +splendidly preserved brunette wife, both of whom have won social +prominence by years of hard fighting and aloofness, there remains +nothing for the two men but to follow the lead, especially when +directly under the eyes of the leaders.</p> + +<p>The son of the blonde matron smiled cheerfully as the welcome light +flooded the coach.</p> + +<p>He was a nice-looking young man, of about twenty-two, one might judge, +and he did his smiling, though in a perfectly impersonal and correct +sort of manner, at the pretty daughter of the brunette matron. The +pretty daughter also smiled, but her smile was demurely directed at +the trees outside, clad as they were in all the flaming glory of their +autumn tints, glistening with the recent rain and dripping with gems +that sparkled and flashed in the noonday sun as they fell.</p> + +<p>It is marvelous how much one can see out of the corner of the eye, +while seeming to view mere scenery.</p> + +<p>The driver looked down, as he drove safely off the bridge, and shook +his head at the swirl of water that rushed and eddied, dark and muddy, +close up under the rotten planking; then he cracked his whip, and the +horses sturdily attacked the little hill.</p> + +<p>Thick, overhanging trees on either side now dimmed the light again, +and the two plump matrons once more glared past the opposite +shoulders, profoundly unaware of each other. The husbands took on the +politely surly look required of them. The blonde son’s eyes still +sought the brunette daughter, but it was furtively done and quite +unsuccessfully, for the daughter was now doing a little glaring on her +own account. The blonde matron had just swept her eyes across the +daughter’s skirt, estimating the fit and material of it with contempt +so artistically veiled that it could almost be understood in the dark.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The big bays swung to the brow of the hill with ease, and dashed into +a small circular clearing, where a quaint little two-story building, +with a mossy watering-trough out in front, nestled under the shade of +majestic old trees that reared their brown and scarlet crowns proudly +into the sky. A long, low porch ran across the front of the structure, +and a complaining sign hung out announcing, in dim, weather-flecked +letters on a cracked board, that this was the “Tutt House.” A +gray-headed man, in brown overalls and faded blue jumper, stood on the +porch and shook his fist at the stage as it whirled by.</p> + +<p>“What a delightfully old-fashioned inn!” exclaimed the pretty +daughter. “How I should like to stop there over night!”</p> + +<p>“You would probably wish yourself away before morning, Evelyn,” +replied her mother indifferently. “No doubt it would be a mere siege +of discomfort.”</p> + +<p>The blonde matron turned to her husband. The pretty daughter had been +looking at the picturesque “inn” between the heads of this lady and +her son.</p> + +<p>“Edward, please pull down the shade behind me,” she directed. “There +is quite a draught from that broken window.”</p> + +<p>The pretty daughter bit her lip. The brunette matron continued to +stare at the shade in the exact spot upon which her gaze had been +before directed, and she never quivered an eyelash. The young man +seemed very uncomfortable, and he tried to look his apologies to the +pretty daughter, but she could not see him now, not even if her eyes +had been all corners.</p> + +<p>They were bowling along through another avenue of trees when the +driver suddenly shouted, “Whoa there!”</p> + +<p>The horses were brought up with a jerk that was well nigh fatal to the +assortment of dignity inside the coach. A loud roaring could be heard, +both ahead and in the rear, a sharp splitting like a fusillade of +pistol shots, then a creaking and tearing of timbers. The driver bent +suddenly forward.</p> + +<p>“Gid ap!” he cried, and the horses sprang forward with a lurch. He +swung them around a sharp bend with a skillful hand and poised his +weight above the brake as they plunged at terrific speed down a steep +grade. The roaring was louder than ever now, and it became deafening +as they suddenly emerged from the thick underbrush at the bottom of +the declivity.</p> + +<p>“Caught, by gravy!” ejaculated the driver, and, for the second time, +he brought the coach to an abrupt stop.</p> + +<p>“Do see what is the matter, Ralph,” said the blonde matron +impatiently.</p> + +<p>Thus commanded, the young man swung out and asked the driver about it.</p> + +<p>“Paintsville dam’s busted,” he was informed. “I been a-lookin’ fer it +this many a year, an’ this here freshet done it. You see the holler +there? Well, they’s ten foot o’ water in it, an’ it had ort to be +stone dry. The bridge is tore out behind us, an’ we’re stuck here till +that water runs out. We can’t git away till to-morry, anyways.”</p> + +<p>He pointed out the peculiar topography of the place, and Ralph got +back in the coach.</p> + +<p>“We’re practically on a flood-made island,” he exclaimed, with one eye +on the pretty daughter, “and we shall have to stop over night at that +quaint, old-fashioned inn we passed a few moments ago.”</p> + +<p>The pretty daughter’s eyes twinkled, and he thought he caught a swift, +direct gleam from under the long lashes—but he was not sure.</p> + +<p>“Dear me, how annoying,” said the blonde matron, but the brunette +matron still stared, without the slightest trace of interest in +anything else, at the infinitesimal spot she had selected on the +affronting window-shade.</p> + +<p>The two men gave sighs of resignation, and cast carefully concealed +glances at each other, speculating on the possibility of a cigar and a +glass, and maybe a good story or two, or possibly even a game of poker +after the evening meal. Who could tell what might or might not happen?</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>When the stage drew up in front of the little hotel, it found Uncle +Billy Tutt prepared for his revenge. In former days the stage had +always stopped at the Tutt House for the noonday meal. Since the new +railway was built through the adjoining county, however, the stage +trip became a mere twelve-mile, cross-country transfer from one +railroad to another, and the stage made a later trip, allowing the +passengers plenty of time for “dinner” before they started. Day after +day, as the coach flashed by with its money-laden passengers, Uncle +Billy had hoped that it would break down. But this was better, much +better. The coach might be quickly mended, but not the flood.</p> + +<p>“I’m a-goin’ t’ charge ’em till they squeal,” he declared to the +timidly protesting Aunt Margaret, “an’ then I’m goin’ t’ charge ’em a +least mite more, drat ’em!”</p> + +<p>He retreated behind the rough wooden counter that did duty as a desk, +slammed open the flimsy, paper-bound “cash book” that served as a +register, and planted his elbows uncompromisingly on either side of +it.</p> + +<p>“Let ’em bring in their own traps,” he commented, and Aunt Margaret +fled, ashamed and conscience-smitten, to the kitchen. It seemed awful.</p> + +<p>The first one out of the coach was the husband of the brunette matron, +and, proceeding under instructions, he waited neither for luggage nor +women folk, but hurried straight into the Tutt House. The other man +would have been neck and neck with him in the race, if it had not been +that he paused to seize two suitcases and had the misfortune to drop +one, which burst open and scattered a choice assortment of lingerie +from one end of the dingy coach to the other.</p> + +<p>In the confusion of rescuing the fluffery, the owner of the suitcase +had to sacrifice her hauteur and help her husband and son block up the +aisle, while the other matron had the ineffable satisfaction of being +<em>kept waiting</em>, at last being enabled to say, sweetly and with the +most polite consideration:</p> + +<p>“Will you kindly allow me to pass?”</p> + +<p>The blonde matron raised up and swept her skirts back perfectly flat. +She was pale but collected. Her husband was pink but collected. Her +son was crimson and uncollected. The brunette daughter could not have +found an eye anywhere in his countenance as she rustled out after her +mother.</p> + +<p>“I do hope that Belmont has been able to secure choice quarters,” the +triumphing matron remarked as her daughter joined her on the ground. +“This place looked so very small that there can scarcely be more than +one comfortable suite in it.”</p> + +<p>It was a vital thrust. Only a splendidly cultivated self-control +prevented the blonde matron from retaliating upon the unfortunate who +had muddled things. Even so, her eyes spoke whole shelves of volumes.</p> + +<p>The man who first reached the register wrote, in a straight black +scrawl, “J. Belmont Van Kamp, wife, and daughter.” There being no +space left for his address, he put none down.</p> + +<p>“I want three adjoining rooms, en suite if possible,” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Three!” exclaimed Uncle Billy, scratching his head. “Won’t two do ye? +I ain’t got but six bedrooms in th’ house. Me an’ Marg’t sleeps in +one, an’ we’re a-gittin’ too old fer a shake-down on th’ floor. I’ll +have t’ save one room fer th’ driver, an’ that leaves four. You take +two now—-”</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp cast a hasty glance out of the window, The other man was +getting out of the coach. His own wife was stepping on the porch.</p> + +<p>“What do you ask for meals and lodging until this time to-morrow?” he +interrupted.</p> + +<p>The decisive moment had arrived. Uncle Billy drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>“Two dollars a head!” he defiantly announced. There! It was out! He +wished Margaret had stayed to hear him say it.</p> + +<p>The guest did not seem to be seriously shocked, and Uncle Billy was +beginning to be sorry he had not said three dollars, when Mr. Van Kamp +stopped the landlord’s own breath.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you fifteen dollars for the three best rooms in the house,” +he calmly said, and Landlord Tutt gasped as the money fluttered down +under his nose.</p> + +<p>“Jis’ take yore folks right on up, Mr. Kamp,” said Uncle Billy, +pouncing on the money. “Th’ rooms is th’ three right along th’ hull +front o’ th’ house. I’ll be up and make on a fire in a minute. Jis’ +take th’ <cite>Jonesville Banner</cite> an’ th’ <cite>Uticky Clarion</cite> along with ye.”</p> + +<p>As the swish of skirts marked the passage of the Van Kamps up the wide +hall stairway, the other party swept into the room.</p> + +<p>The man wrote, in a round flourish, “Edward Eastman Ellsworth, wife, +and son.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like three choice rooms, en suite,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Gosh!” said Uncle Billy, regretfully. “That’s what Mr. Kamp wanted, +fust off, an’ he got it. They hain’t but th’ little room over th’ +kitchen left. I’ll have to put you an’ your wife in that, an’ let your +boy sleep with th’ driver.”</p> + +<p>The consternation in the Ellsworth party was past calculating by any +known standards of measurement. The thing was an outrage! It was not +to be borne! They would not submit to it!</p> + +<p>Uncle Billy, however, secure in his mastery of the situation, calmly +quartered them as he had said. “An’ let ’em splutter all they want +to,” he commented comfortably to himself.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The Ellsworths were holding a family indignation meeting on the broad +porch when the Van Ramps came contentedly down for a walk, and brushed +by them with unseeing eyes.</p> + +<p>“It makes a perfectly fascinating suite,” observed Mrs. Van Kamp, in a +pleasantly conversational tone that could be easily overheard by +anyone impolite enough to listen. “That delightful old-fashioned +fireplace in the middle apartment makes it an ideal sitting-room, and +the beds are so roomy and comfortable.”</p> + +<p>“I just knew it would be like this!” chirruped Miss Evelyn. “I +remarked as we passed the place, if you will remember, how charming it +would be to stop in this dear, quaint old inn over night. All my +wishes seem to come true this year.”</p> + +<p>These simple and, of course, entirely unpremeditated remarks were as +vinegar and wormwood to Mrs. Ellsworth, and she gazed after the +retreating Van Kamps with a glint in her eye that would make one +understand Lucretia Borgia at last.</p> + +<p>Her son also gazed after the retreating Van Kamp. She had an exquisite +figure, and she carried herself with a most delectable grace. As the +party drew away from the inn she dropped behind the elders and +wandered off into a side path to gather autumn leaves.</p> + +<p>Ralph, too, started off for a walk, but naturally not in the same +direction.</p> + +<p>“Edward!” suddenly said Mrs. Ellsworth. “I want you to turn those +people out of that suite before night!”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he replied with a sigh, and got up to do it. He had +wrecked a railroad and made one, and had operated successful corners +in nutmegs and chicory. No task seemed impossible. He walked in to see +the landlord.</p> + +<p>“What are the Van Kamps paying you for those three rooms?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Fifteen dollars,” Uncle Billy informed him, smoking one of Mr. Van +Kamp’s good cigars and twiddling his thumbs in huge content.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you thirty for them. Just set their baggage outside and +tell them the rooms are occupied.”</p> + +<p>“No sir-ree!” rejoined Uncle Billy. “A bargain’s a bargain, an’ I +allus stick to one I make.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Ellsworth withdrew, but not defeated. He had never supposed that +such an absurd proposition would be accepted. It was only a feeler, +and he had noticed a wince of regret in his landlord. He sat down on +the porch and lit a strong cigar. His wife did not bother him. She +gazed complacently at the flaming foliage opposite, and allowed him to +think. Getting impossible things was his business in life, and she had +confidence in him.</p> + +<p>“I want to rent your entire house for a week,” he announced to Uncle +Billy a few minutes later. It had occurred to him that the flood might +last longer than they anticipated.</p> + +<p>Uncle Billy’s eyes twinkled.</p> + +<p>“I reckon it kin be did,” he allowed. “I reckon a <em>ho</em>-tel man’s got a +right to rent his hull house ary minute.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he has. How much do you want?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Billy had made one mistake in not asking this sort of folks +enough, and he reflected in perplexity.</p> + +<p>“Make me a offer,” he proposed. “Ef it hain’t enough I’ll tell ye. You +want to rent th’ hull place, back lot an’ all?”</p> + +<p>“No, just the mere house. That will be enough,” answered the other +with a smile. He was on the point of offering a hundred dollars, when +he saw the little wrinkles about Mr. Tutt’s eyes, and he said +seventy-five.</p> + +<p>“Sho, ye’re jokin’!” retorted Uncle Billy. He had been considered a +fine horse-trader in that part of the country. “Make it a hundred and +twenty-five, an’ I’ll go ye.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Ellsworth counted out some bills.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a hundred,” he said. “That ought to be about right.”</p> + +<p>“Fifteen more,” insisted Uncle Billy.</p> + +<p>With a little frown of impatience the other counted off the extra +money and handed it over. Uncle Billy gravely handed it back.</p> + +<p>“Them’s the fifteen dollars Mr. Kamp give me,” he explained. “You’ve +got the hull house fer a week, an’ o’ course all th’ money that’s +tooken in is your’n. You kin do as ye please about rentin’ out rooms +to other folks, I reckon. A bargain’s a bargain, an’ I allus stick to +one I make.”</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Ralph Ellsworth stalked among the trees, feverishly searching for +squirrels, scarlet leaves, and the glint of a brown walking-dress, +this last not being so easy to locate in sunlit autumn woods. Time +after time he quickened his pace, only to find that he had been fooled +by a patch of dogwood, a clump of haw bushes or even a leaf-strewn +knoll, but at last he unmistakably saw the dress, and then he slowed +down to a careless saunter.</p> + +<p>She was reaching up for some brilliantly colored maple leaves, and was +entirely unconscious of his presence, especially after she had seen +him. Her pose showed her pretty figure to advantage, but, of course, +she did not know that. How should she?</p> + +<p>Ralph admired the picture very much. The hat, the hair, the gown, the +dainty shoes, even the narrow strip of silken hose that was revealed +as she stood a-uptoe, were all of a deep, rich brown that proved an +exquisite foil for the pink and cream of her cheeks. He remembered +that her eyes were almost the same shade, and wondered how it was that +women-folk happened on combinations in dress that so well set off +their natural charms. The fool!</p> + +<p>He was about three trees away, now, and a panic akin to that which +hunters describe as “buck ague” seized him. He decided that he really +had no excuse for coming any nearer. It would not do, either, to be +seen staring at her if she should happen to turn her head, so he +veered off, intending to regain the road. It would be impossible to do +this without passing directly in her range of vision, and he did not +intend to try to avoid it. He had a fine, manly figure of his own.</p> + +<p>He had just passed the nearest radius to her circle and was proceeding +along the tangent that he had laid out for himself, when the unwitting +maid looked carefully down and saw a tangle of roots at her very feet. +She was so unfortunate, a second later, as to slip her foot in this +very tangle and give her ankle ever so slight a twist.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Miss Van Kamp, and Ralph Ellsworth flew to the rescue. He +had not been noticing her at all, and yet he had started to her side +before she had even cried out, which was strange. She had a very +attractive voice.</p> + +<p>“May I be of assistance?” he anxiously inquired.</p> + +<p>“I think not, thank you,” she replied, compressing her lips to keep +back the intolerable pain, and half-closing her eyes to show the fine +lashes. Declining the proffered help, she extricated her foot, picked +up her autumn branches, and turned away. She was intensely averse to +anything that could be construed as a flirtation, even of the mildest, +he could certainly see that. She took a step, swayed slightly, dropped +the leaves, and clutched out her hand to him.</p> + +<p>“It is nothing,” she assured him in a moment, withdrawing the hand +after he had held it quite long enough. “Nothing whatever. I gave my +foot a slight wrench, and turned the least bit faint for a moment.”</p> + +<p>“You must permit me to walk back, at least to the road, with you,” he +insisted, gathering up her armload of branches. “I couldn’t think of +leaving you here alone.”</p> + +<p>As he stooped to raise the gay woodland treasures he smiled to +himself, ever so slightly. This was not <em>his</em> first season out, +either.</p> + +<p>“Delightful spot, isn’t it?” he observed as they regained the road and +sauntered in the direction of the Tutt House.</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” she reservedly answered. She had noticed that smile as he +stooped. He must be snubbed a little. It would be so good for him.</p> + +<p>“You don’t happen to know Billy Evans, of Boston, do you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I think not. I am but very little acquainted in Boston.”</p> + +<p>“Too bad,” he went on. “I was rather in hopes you knew Billy. All +sorts of a splendid fellow, and knows everybody.”</p> + +<p>“Not quite, it seems,” she reminded him, and he winced at the error. +In spite of the sly smile that he had permitted to himself, he was +unusually interested.</p> + +<p>He tried the weather, the flood, the accident, golf, books and three +good, substantial, warranted jokes, but the conversation lagged in +spite of him. Miss Van Kamp would not for the world have it understood +that this unconventional meeting, made allowable by her wrenched +ankle, could possibly fulfill the functions of a formal introduction.</p> + +<p>“What a ripping, queer old building that is!” he exclaimed, making one +more brave effort as they came in sight of the hotel.</p> + +<p>“It is, rather,” she assented. “The rooms in it are as quaint and +delightful as the exterior, too.”</p> + +<p>She looked as harmless and innocent as a basket of peaches as she said +it, and never the suspicion of a smile deepened the dimple in the +cheek toward him. The smile was glowing cheerfully away inside, +though. He could feel it, if he could not see it, and he laughed +aloud.</p> + +<p>“Your crowd rather got the better of us there,” he admitted with the +keen appreciation of one still quite close to college days.</p> + +<p>“Of course, the mater is furious, but I rather look on it as a lark.”</p> + +<p>She thawed like an April icicle.</p> + +<p>“It’s perfectly jolly,” she laughed with him. “Awfully selfish of us, +too, I know, but such loads of fun.”</p> + +<p>They were close to the Tutt House now, and her limp, that had entirely +disappeared as they emerged from the woods, now became quite +perceptible. There might be people looking out of the windows, though +it is hard to see why that should affect a limp.</p> + +<p>Ralph was delighted to find that a thaw had set in, and he made one +more attempt to establish at least a proxy acquaintance.</p> + +<p>“You don’t happen to know Peyson Kingsley, of Philadelphia, do you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t,” she replied. “I know so few Philadelphia people, +you see.” She was rather regretful about it this time. He really was a +clever sort of a fellow, in spite of that smile.</p> + +<p>The center window in the second floor of the Tutt House swung open, +its little squares of glass flashing jubilantly in the sunlight. Mrs. +Ellsworth leaned out over the sill, from the quaint old sitting-room +of the <em>Van Kamp apartments</em>!</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ralph!” she called in her most dulcet tones. “Kindly excuse +yourself and come right on up to our suite for a few moments!”</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>It is not nearly so easy to take a practical joke as to perpetrate +one. Evelyn was sitting thoughtfully on the porch when her father and +mother returned. Mrs. Ellsworth was sitting at the center window +above, placidly looking out. Her eyes swept carelessly over the Van +Kamps, and unconcernedly passed on to the rest of the landscape.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Van Kamp gasped and clutched the arm of her husband. There was no +need. He, too, had seen the apparition. Evelyn now, for the first +time, saw the real humor of the situation. She smiled as she thought +of Ralph. She owed him one, but she never worried about her debts. She +always managed to get them paid, principal and interest.</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp suddenly glowered and strode into the Tutt House. Uncle +Billy met him at the door, reflectively chewing a straw, and handed +him an envelope. Mr. Van Kamp tore it open and drew out a note. Three +five-dollar bills came out with it and fluttered to the porch floor. +This missive confronted him:</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="noindent smcap p15">Mr. J. Belmont Van Kamp,</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: This is to notify you that I have rented the entire Tutt +House for the ensuing week, and am compelled to assume possession of +the three second-floor front rooms. Herewith I am enclosing the +fifteen dollars you paid to secure the suite. You are quite welcome to +make use, as my guest, of the small room over the kitchen. You will +find your luggage in that room. Regretting any inconvenience that this +transaction may cause you, I am,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="padr4">Yours respectfully,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Edward Eastman Ellsworth</span>.</p> +</div> + + +<p class="p15">Mr. Van Kamp passed the note to his wife and sat down on a large +chair. He was glad that the chair was comfortable and roomy. Evelyn +picked up the bills and tucked them into her waist. She never +overlooked any of her perquisites. Mrs. Van Kamp read the note, and +the tip of her nose became white. She also sat down, but she was the +first to find her voice.</p> + +<p>“Atrocious!” she exclaimed. “Atrocious! Simply atrocious, Belmont. +This is a house of public entertainment. They <em>can’t</em> turn us out in +this high-minded manner! Isn’t there a law or something to that +effect?”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t matter if there was,” he thoughtfully replied. “This +fellow Ellsworth would be too clever to be caught by it. He would say +that the house was not a hotel but a private residence during the +period for which he has rented it.”</p> + +<p>Personally, he rather admired Ellsworth. Seemed to be a resourceful +sort of chap who knew how to make money behave itself, and do its +little tricks without balking in the harness.</p> + +<p>“Then you can make him take down the sign!” his wife declared.</p> + +<p>He shook his head decidedly.</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t do, Belle,” he replied. “It would be spite, not +retaliation, and not at all sportsmanlike. The course you suggest +would belittle us more than it would annoy them. There must be some +other way.”</p> + +<p>He went in to talk with Uncle Billy.</p> + +<p>“I want to buy this place,” he stated. “Is it for sale?”</p> + +<p>“It sartin is!” replied Uncle Billy. He did not merely twinkle this +time. He grinned.</p> + +<p>“How much?”</p> + +<p>“Three thousand dollars.” Mr. Tutt was used to charging by this time, +and he betrayed no hesitation.</p> + +<p>“I’ll write you out a check at once,” and Mr. Van Kamp reached in his +pocket with the reflection that the spot, after all, was an ideal one +for a quiet summer retreat.</p> + +<p>“Air you a-goin’ t’ scribble that there three thou-san’ on a piece o’ +paper?” inquired Uncle Billy, sitting bolt upright. “Ef you air +a-figgerin’ on that, Mr. Kamp, jis’ you save yore time. I give a man +four dollars fer one o’ them check things oncet, an’ I owe myself them +four dollars yit.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp retired in disorder, but the thought of his wife and +daughter waiting confidently on the porch stopped him. Moreover, the +thing had resolved itself rather into a contest between Ellsworth and +himself, and he had done a little making and breaking of men and +things in his own time. He did some gatling-gun thinking out by the +newel-post, and presently rejoined Uncle Billy.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Tutt, tell me just exactly what Mr. Ellsworth rented, please,” he +requested.</p> + +<p>“Th’ hull house,” replied Billy, and then he somewhat sternly added: +“Paid me spot cash fer it, too.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp took a wad of loose bills from his trousers pocket, +straightened them out leisurely, and placed them in his bill book, +along with some smooth yellowbacks of eye-bulging denominations. Uncle +Billy sat up and stopped twiddling his thumbs.</p> + +<p>“Nothing was said about the furniture, was there?” suavely inquired +Van Kamp.</p> + +<p>Uncle Billy leaned blankly back in his chair. Little by little the +light dawned on the ex-horse-trader. The crow’s feet reappeared about +his eyes, his mouth twitched, he smiled, he grinned, then he slapped +his thigh and haw-hawed.</p> + +<p>“No!” roared Uncle Billy. “No, there wasn’t, by gum!”</p> + +<p>“Nothing but the house?”</p> + +<p>“His very own words!” chuckled Uncle Billy. “‘‘Jis’ th’ mere house,’ +says he, an’ he gits it. A bargain’s a bargain, an’ I allus stick to +one I make.”</p> + +<p>“How much for the furniture for the week?”</p> + +<p>“Fifty dollars!” Mr. Tutt knew how to do business with this kind of +people now, you bet.</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp promptly counted out the money.</p> + +<p>“Drat it!” commented Uncle Billy to himself. “I could ’a’ got more!”</p> + +<p>“Now where can we make ourselves comfortable with this furniture?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Billy chirked up. All was not yet lost.</p> + +<p>“Waal,” he reflectively drawled, “there’s th’ new barn. It hain’t been +used for nothin’ yit, senct I built it two years ago. I jis’ hadn’t +th’ heart t’ put th’ critters in it as long as th’ ole one stood up.”</p> + +<p>The other smiled at this flashlight on Uncle Billy’s character, and +they went out to look at the barn.</p> + + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>Uncle Billy came back from the “Tutt House Annex,” as Mr. Van Kamp +dubbed the barn, with enough more money to make him love all the world +until he got used to having it. Uncle Billy belongs to a large family.</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp joined the women on the porch, and explained the +attractively novel situation to them. They were chatting gaily when +the Ellsworths came down the stairs. Mr. Ellsworth paused for a moment +to exchange a word with Uncle Billy.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Tutt,” said he, laughing, “if we go for a bit of exercise will +you guarantee us the possession of our rooms when we come back?”</p> + +<p>“Yes sir-ree!” Uncle Billy assured him. “They shan’t nobody take them +rooms away from you fer money, marbles, ner chalk. A bargain’s a +bargain, an’ I allus stick to one I make,” and he virtuously took a +chew of tobacco while he inspected the afternoon sky with a clear +conscience.</p> + +<p>“I want to get some of those splendid autumn leaves to decorate our +cozy apartments,” Mrs. Ellsworth told her husband as they passed in +hearing of the Van Kamps. “Do you know those old-time rag rugs are the +most oddly decorative effects that I have ever seen. They are so rich +in color and so exquisitely blended.”</p> + +<p>There were reasons why this poisoned arrow failed to rankle, but the +Van Kamps did not trouble to explain. They were waiting for Ralph to +come out and join his parents. Ralph, it seemed, however, had decided +not to take a walk. He had already fatigued himself, he had explained, +and his mother had favored him with a significant look. She could +readily believe him, she had assured him, and had then left him in +scorn.</p> + +<p>The Van Kamps went out to consider the arrangement of the barn. Evelyn +returned first and came out on the porch to find a handkerchief. It +was not there, but Ralph was. She was very much surprised to see him, +and she intimated as much.</p> + +<p>“It’s dreadfully damp in the woods,” he explained. “By the way, you +don’t happen to know the Whitleys, of Washington, do you? Most +excellent people.”</p> + +<p>“I’m quite sorry that I do not,” she replied. “But you will have to +excuse me. We shall be kept very busy with arranging our apartments.”</p> + +<p>Ralph sprang to his feet with a ludicrous expression.</p> + +<p>“Not the second floor front suite!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! Not at all,” she reassured him.</p> + +<p>He laughed lightly.</p> + +<p>“Honors are about even in that game,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Evelyn,” called her mother from the hall. “Please come and take those +front suite curtains down to the barn.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me while we take the next trick,” remarked Evelyn with a laugh +quite as light and gleeful as his own, and disappeared into the hall.</p> + +<p>He followed her slowly, and was met at the door by her father.</p> + +<p>“You are the younger Mr. Ellsworth, I believe,” politely said Mr. Van +Kamp.</p> + +<p>“Ralph Ellsworth. Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Here is a note for your father. It is unsealed. You are quite at +liberty to read it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp bowed himself away, and Ralph opened the note, which +read:</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="noindent smcap p15">Edward Eastman Ellsworth, Esq.,</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: This is to notify you that I have rented the entire +furniture of the Tutt House for the ensuing week, and am compelled to +assume possession of that in the three second floor front rooms, as +well as all the balance not in actual use by Mr. and Mrs. Tutt and the +driver of the stage. You are quite welcome, however, to make use of +the furnishings in the small room over the kitchen. Your luggage you +will find undisturbed. Regretting any inconvenience that this +transaction may cause you, I remain,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="padr4">Yours respectfully,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">J. Belmont Van Kamp</span>.</p> +</div> + + +<p class="p15">Ralph scratched his head in amused perplexity. It devolved upon him to +even up the affair a little before his mother came back. He must +support the family reputation for resourcefulness, but it took quite a +bit of scalp irritation before he aggravated the right idea into +being. As soon as the idea came, he went in and made a hide-bound +bargain with Uncle Billy, then he went out into the hall and waited +until Evelyn came down with a huge armload of window curtains.</p> + +<p>“Honors are still even,” he remarked. “I have just bought all the +edibles about the place, whether in the cellar, the house or any of +the surrounding structures, in the ground, above the ground, dead or +alive, and a bargain’s a bargain as between man and man.”</p> + +<p>“Clever of you, I’m sure,” commented Miss Van Kamp, reflectively. +Suddenly her lips parted with a smile that revealed a double row of +most beautiful teeth. He meditatively watched the curve of her lips.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that rather a heavy load?” he suggested. “I’d be delighted to +help you move the things, don’t you know.”</p> + +<p>“It is quite kind of you, and what the men would call ‘‘game,’ I +believe, under the circumstances,” she answered, “but really it will +not be necessary. We have hired Mr. Tutt and the driver to do the +heavier part of the work, and the rest of it will be really a pleasant +diversion.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt,” agreed Ralph, with an appreciative grin. “By the way, you +don’t happen to know Maud and Dorothy Partridge, of Baltimore, do you? +Stunning pretty girls, both of them, and no end of swells.”</p> + +<p>“I know so very few people in Baltimore,” she murmured, and tripped on +down to the barn.</p> + +<p>Ralph went out on the porch and smoked. There was nothing else that he +could do.</p> + + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<p>It was growing dusk when the elder Ellsworths returned, almost hidden +by great masses of autumn boughs.</p> + +<p>“You should have been with us, Ralph,” enthusiastically said his +mother. “I never saw such gorgeous tints in all my life. We have +brought nearly the entire woods with us.”</p> + +<p>“It was a good idea,” said Ralph. “A stunning good idea. They may come +in handy to sleep on.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ellsworth turned cold.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“Ralph,” sternly demanded his father, “you don’t mean to tell us that +you let the Van Kamps jockey us out of those rooms after all?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, no,” he airily responded. “Just come right on up and see.”</p> + +<p>He led the way into the suite and struck a match. One solitary candle +had been left upon the mantel shelf. Ralph thought that this had been +overlooked, but his mother afterwards set him right about that. Mrs. +Van Kamp had cleverly left it so that the Ellsworths could see how +dreadfully bare the place was. One candle in three rooms is drearier +than darkness anyhow.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ellsworth took in all the desolation, the dismal expanse of the +now enormous apartments, the shabby walls, the hideous bright spots +where pictures had hung, the splintered flooring, the great, gaunt +windows—and she gave in. She had met with snub after snub, and cut +after cut, in her social climb, she had had the cook quit in the +middle of an important dinner, she had had every disconcerting thing +possible happen to her, but this—this was the last <em>bale</em> of straw. +She sat down on a suitcase, in the middle of the biggest room, and +cried!</p> + +<p>Ralph, having waited for this, now told about the food transaction, +and she hastily pushed the last-coming tear back into her eye.</p> + +<p>“Good!” she cried. “They will be up here soon. They will be compelled +to compromise, and they must not find me with red eyes.”</p> + +<p>She cast a hasty glance around the room, then, in a sudden panic, +seized the candle and explored the other two. She went wildly out into +the hall, back into the little room over the kitchen, downstairs, +everywhere, and returned in consternation.</p> + +<p>“There’s not a single mirror left in the house!” she moaned.</p> + +<p>Ralph heartlessly grinned. He could appreciate that this was a +characteristic woman trick, and wondered admiringly whether Evelyn or +her mother had thought of it. However, this was a time for action.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get you some water to bathe your eyes,” he offered, and ran into +the little room over the kitchen to get a pitcher. A cracked +shaving-mug was the only vessel that had been left, but he hurried +down into the yard with it. This was no time for fastidiousness.</p> + +<p>He had barely creaked the pump handle when Mr. Van Kamp hurried up +from the barn.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Van Kamp, “but this water belongs +to us. My daughter bought it, all that is in the ground, above the +ground, or that may fall from the sky upon these premises.”</p> + + +<h3>IX</h3> + +<p>The mutual siege lasted until after seven o’clock, but it was rather +one-sided. The Van Kamps could drink all the water they liked, it made +them no hungrier. If the Ellsworths ate anything, however, they grew +thirstier, and, moreover, water was necessary if anything worth while +was to be cooked. They knew all this, and resisted until Mrs. +Ellsworth was tempted and fell. She ate a sandwich and choked. It was +heartbreaking, but Ralph had to be sent down with a plate of +sandwiches and an offer to trade them for water.</p> + +<p>Halfway between the pump and the house he met Evelyn coming with a +small pail of the precious fluid. They both stopped stock still; then, +seeing that it was too late to retreat, both laughed and advanced.</p> + +<p>“Who wins now?” bantered Ralph as they made the exchange.</p> + +<p>“It looks to me like a misdeal,” she gaily replied, and was moving +away when he called her back.</p> + +<p>“You don’t happen to know the Gately’s, of New York, do you?” he was +quite anxious to know.</p> + +<p>“I am truly sorry, but I am acquainted with so few people in New York. +We are from Chicago, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said he blankly, and took the water up to the Ellsworth suite.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ellsworth cheered up considerably when she heard that Ralph had +been met half-way, but her eyes snapped when he confessed that it was +Miss Van Kamp who had met him.</p> + +<p>“I hope you are not going to carry on a flirtation with that +overdressed creature,” she blazed.</p> + +<p>“Why mother,” exclaimed Ralph, shocked beyond measure. “What right +have you to accuse either this young lady or myself of flirting? +Flirting!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ellsworth suddenly attacked the fire with quite unnecessary +energy.</p> + + +<h3>X</h3> + +<p>Down at the barn, the wide threshing floor had been covered with gay +rag-rugs, and strewn with tables, couches, and chairs in picturesque +profusion. Roomy box-stalls had been carpeted deep with clean straw, +curtained off with gaudy bed-quilts, and converted into cozy sleeping +apartments. The mow and the stalls had been screened off with lace +curtains and blazing counterpanes, and the whole effect was one of +Oriental luxury and splendor. Alas, it was only an “effect”! The +red-hot parlor stove smoked abominably, the pipe carried other smoke +out through the hawmow window, only to let it blow back again. Chill +cross-draughts whistled in from cracks too numerous to be stopped up, +and the miserable Van Kamps could only cough and shiver, and envy the +Tutts and the driver, non-combatants who had been fed two hours +before.</p> + +<p>Up in the second floor suite there was a roaring fire in the big +fireplace, but there was a chill in the room that no mere fire could +drive away—the chill of absolute emptiness.</p> + +<p>A man can outlive hardships that would kill a woman, but a woman can +endure discomforts that would drive a man crazy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ellsworth went out to hunt up Uncle Billy, with an especial solace +in mind. The landlord was not in the house, but the yellow gleam of a +lantern revealed his presence in the woodshed, and Mr. Ellsworth +stepped in upon him just as he was pouring something yellow and clear +into a tumbler from a big jug that he had just taken from under the +flooring.</p> + +<p>“How much do you want for that jug and its contents?” he asked, with a +sigh of gratitude that this supply had been overlooked.</p> + +<p>Before Mr. Tutt could answer, Mr. Van Kamp hurried in at the door.</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment!” he cried. “I want to bid on that!”</p> + +<p>“This here jug hain’t fer sale at no price,” Uncle Billy emphatically +announced, nipping all negotiations right in the bud. “It’s too pesky +hard to sneak this here licker in past Marge’t, but I reckon it’s my +treat, gents. Ye kin have all ye want.”</p> + +<p>One minute later Mr. Van Kamp and Mr. Ellsworth were seated, one on a +sawbuck and the other on a nail-keg, comfortably eyeing each other +across the work bench, and each was holding up a tumbler one-third +filled with the golden yellow liquid.</p> + +<p>“Your health, sir,” courteously proposed Mr. Ellsworth.</p> + +<p>“And to you, sir,” gravely replied Mr. Van Kamp.</p> + + +<h3>XI</h3> + +<p>Ralph and Evelyn happened to meet at the pump, quite accidentally, +after the former had made half a dozen five-minute-apart trips for a +drink. It was Miss Van Kamp, this time, who had been studying on the +mutual acquaintance problem.</p> + +<p>“You don’t happen to know the Tylers, of Parkersburg, do you?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“The Tylers! I should say I do!” was the unexpected and enthusiastic +reply. “Why, we are on our way now to Miss Georgiana Tyler’s wedding +to my friend Jimmy Carston. I’m to be best man.”</p> + +<p>“How delightful!” she exclaimed. “We are on the way there, too. +Georgiana was my dearest chum at school, and I am to be her ‘‘best +girl.’”</p> + +<p>“Let’s go around on the porch and sit down,” said Ralph.</p> + + +<h3>XII</h3> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp, back in the woodshed, looked about him with an eye of +content.</p> + +<p>“Rather cozy for a woodshed,” he observed. “I wonder if we couldn’t +scare up a little session of dollar limit?”</p> + +<p>Both Uncle Billy and Mr. Ellsworth were willing. Death and poker level +all Americans. A fourth hand was needed, however. The stage driver was +in bed and asleep, and Mr. Ellsworth volunteered to find the extra +player.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get Ralph,” he said. “He plays a fairly stiff game.” He finally +found his son on the porch, apparently alone, and stated his errand.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, but I don’t believe I care to play this evening,” was the +astounding reply, and Mr. Ellsworth looked closer. He made out, then, +a dim figure on the other side of Ralph.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Of course not!” he blundered, and went back to the woodshed.</p> + +<p>Three-handed poker is a miserable game, and it seldom lasts long. It +did not in this case. After Uncle Billy had won the only jack-pot +deserving of the name, he was allowed to go blissfully to sleep with +his hand on the handle of the big jug.</p> + +<p>After poker there is only one other always available amusement for +men, and that is business. The two travelers were quite well +acquainted when Ralph put his head in at the door.</p> + +<p>“Thought I’d find you here,” he explained. “It just occurred to me to +wonder whether you gentlemen had discovered, as yet, that we are all +to be house guests at the Carston-Tyler wedding.”</p> + +<p>“Why, no!” exclaimed his father in pleased surprise. “It is a most +agreeable coincidence. Mr. Van Kamp, allow me to introduce my son, +Ralph. Mr. Van Kamp and myself, Ralph, have found out that we shall be +considerably thrown together in a business way from now on. He has +just purchased control of the Metropolitan and Western string of +interurbans.”</p> + +<p>“Delighted, I’m sure,” murmured Ralph, shaking hands, and then he +slipped out as quickly as possible. Some one seemed to be waiting for +him.</p> + +<p>Perhaps another twenty minutes had passed, when one of the men had an +illuminating idea that resulted, later on, in pleasant relations for +all of them. It was about time, for Mrs. Ellsworth, up in the bare +suite, and Mrs. Van Kamp, down in the draughty barn, both wrapped up +to the chin and both still chilly, had about reached the limit of +patience and endurance.</p> + +<p>“Why can’t we make things a little more comfortable for all +concerned?” suggested Mr. Van Kamp. “Suppose, as a starter, that we +have Mrs. Van Kamp give a shiver party down in the barn?”</p> + +<p>“Good idea,” agreed Mr. Ellsworth. “A little diplomacy will do it. +Each one of us will have to tell his wife that the other fellow made +the first abject overtures.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Kamp grinned understandingly, and agreed to the infamous ruse.</p> + +<p>“By the way,” continued Mr. Ellsworth, with a still happier thought, +“you must allow Mrs. Ellsworth to furnish the dinner for Mrs. Van +Kamp’s shiver party.”</p> + +<p>“Dinner!” gasped Mr. Van Kamp. “By all means!”</p> + +<p>Both men felt an anxious yawning in the region of the appetite, and a +yearning moisture wetted their tongues. They looked at the slumbering +Uncle Billy and decided to see Mrs. Tutt themselves about a good, hot +dinner for six.</p> + +<p>“Law me!” exclaimed Aunt Margaret when they appeared at the kitchen +door. “I swan I thought you folks ’u’d never come to yore senses. Here +I’ve had a big pot o’ stewed chicken ready on the stove fer two mortal +hours. I kin give ye that, an’ smashed taters an’ chicken gravy, an’ +dried corn, an’ hot corn-pone, an’ currant jell, an’ strawberry +preserves, an’ my own cannin’ o’ peaches, an’ pumpkin-pie an’ coffee. +Will that do ye?” Would it <em>do</em>! <em>Would</em> it do!!</p> + +<p>As Aunt Margaret talked, the kitchen door swung wide, and the two men +were stricken speechless with astonishment. There, across from each +other at the kitchen table, sat the utterly selfish and traitorous +younger members of the rival houses of Ellsworth and Van Kamp, deep in +the joys of chicken, and mashed potatoes, and gravy, and hot +corn-pone, and all the other “fixings,” laughing and chatting gaily +like chums of years’ standing. They had seemingly just come to an +agreement about something or other, for Evelyn, waving the shorter end +of a broken wishbone, was vivaciously saying to Ralph:</p> + +<p>“A bargain’s a bargain, and I always stick to one I make.”</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> From McClure’s Magazine, June, 1905; copyright, 1905, by the S.S. +McClure Co.; republished by the author’s permission.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_CALL">A CALL<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Grace MacGowan Cooke</span> (1863- )</p> + + +<p>A boy in an unnaturally clean, country-laundered collar walked down a +long white road. He scuffed the dust up wantonly, for he wished to +veil the all-too-brilliant polish of his cowhide shoes. Also the +memory of the whiteness and slipperiness of his collar oppressed him. +He was fain to look like one accustomed to social diversions, a man +hurried from hall to hall of pleasure, without time between to change +collar or polish boot. He stooped and rubbed a crumb of earth on his +overfresh neck-linen.</p> + +<p>This did not long sustain his drooping spirit. He was mentally adrift +upon the <cite>Hints and Helps to Young Men in Business and Social +Relations</cite>, which had suggested to him his present enterprise, when +the appearance of a second youth, taller and broader than himself, +with a shock of light curling hair and a crop of freckles that +advertised a rich soil threw him a lifeline. He put his thumbs to his +lips and whistled in a peculiarly ear-splitting way. The two boys had +sat on the same bench at Sunday-school not three hours before; yet +what a change had come over the world for one of them since then!</p> + +<p>“Hello! Where you goin’, Ab?” asked the newcomer, gruffly.</p> + +<p>“Callin’,” replied the boy in the collar, laconically, but with +carefully averted gaze.</p> + +<p>“On the girls?” inquired the other, awestruck. In Mount Pisgah you saw +the girls home from night church, socials, or parties; you could hang +over the gate; and you might walk with a girl in the cemetery of a +Sunday afternoon; but to ring a front-door bell and ask for Miss +Heart’s Desire one must have been in long trousers at least three +years—and the two boys confronted in the dusty road had worn these +dignifying garments barely six months.</p> + +<p>“Girls,” said Abner, loftily; “I don’t know about girls—I’m just +going to call on one girl—Champe Claiborne.” He marched on as though +the conversation was at an end; but Ross hung upon his flank. Ross and +Champe were neighbors, comrades in all sorts of mischief; he was in +doubt whether to halt Abner and pummel him, or propose to enlist under +his banner.</p> + +<p>“Do you reckon you could?” he debated, trotting along by the +irresponsive Jilton boy.</p> + +<p>“Run home to your mother,” growled the originator of the plan, +savagely. “You ain’t old enough to call on girls; anybody can see +that; but I am, and I’m going to call on Champe Claiborne.”</p> + +<p>Again the name acted as a spur on Ross. “With your collar and boots +all dirty?” he jeered. “They won’t know you’re callin’.”</p> + +<p>The boy in the road stopped short in his dusty tracks. He was an +intense creature, and he whitened at the tragic insinuation, longing +for the wholesome stay and companionship of freckle-faced Ross. “I put +the dirt on o’ purpose so’s to look kind of careless,” he half +whispered, in an agony of doubt. “S’pose I’d better go into your house +and try to wash it off? Reckon your mother would let me?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got two clean collars,” announced the other boy, proudly +generous. “I’ll lend you one. You can put it on while I’m getting +ready. I’ll tell mother that we’re just stepping out to do a little +calling on the girls.”</p> + +<p>Here was an ally worthy of the cause. Abner welcomed him, in spite of +certain jealous twinges. He reflected with satisfaction that there +were two Claiborne girls, and though Alicia was so stiff and prim that +no boy would ever think of calling on her, there was still the hope +that she might draw Ross’s fire, and leave him, Abner, to make the +numerous remarks he had stored up in his mind from <cite>Hints and Helps to +Young Men in Social and Business Relations</cite> to Champe alone.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor received them with the easy-going kindness of the mother of +one son. She followed them into the dining-room to kiss and feed him, +with an absent “Howdy, Abner; how’s your mother?”</p> + +<p>Abner, big with the importance of their mutual intention, inclined his +head stiffly and looked toward Ross for explanation. He trembled a +little, but it was with delight, as he anticipated the effect of the +speech Ross had outlined. But it did not come.</p> + +<p>“I’m not hungry, mother,” was the revised edition which the +freckle-faced boy offered to the maternal ear. “I—we are going over +to Mr. Claiborne’s—on—er—on an errand for Abner’s father.”</p> + +<p>The black-eyed boy looked reproach as they clattered up the stairs to +Ross’s room, where the clean collar was produced and a small stock of +ties.</p> + +<p>“You’d wear a necktie—wouldn’t you?” Ross asked, spreading them upon +the bureau-top.</p> + +<p>“Yes. But make it fall carelessly over your shirt-front,” advised the +student of <cite>Hints and Helps</cite>. “Your collar is miles too big for me. +Say! I’ve got a wad of white chewing-gum; would you flat it out and +stick it over the collar button? Maybe that would fill up some. You +kick my foot if you see me turning my head so’s to knock it off.”</p> + +<p>“Better button up your vest,” cautioned Ross, laboring with the +“careless” fall of his tie.</p> + +<p>“Huh-uh! I want ‘‘that easy air which presupposes familiarity with +society’—that’s what it says in my book,” objected Abner.</p> + +<p>“Sure!” Ross returned to his more familiar jeering attitude. “Loosen +up all your clothes, then. Why don’t you untie your shoes? Flop a sock +down over one of ’em—that looks ‘‘easy’ all right.”</p> + +<p>Abner buttoned his vest. “It gives a man lots of confidence to know +he’s good-looking,” he remarked, taking all the room in front of the +mirror.</p> + +<p>Ross, at the wash-stand soaking his hair to get the curl out of it, +grumbled some unintelligible response. The two boys went down the +stairs with tremulous hearts.</p> + +<p>“Why, you’ve put on another clean shirt, Rossie!” Mrs. Pryor called +from her chair—mothers’ eyes can see so far! “Well—don’t get into +any dirty play and soil it.” The boys walked in silence—but it was a +pregnant silence; for as the roof of the Claiborne house began to peer +above the crest of the hill, Ross plumped down on a stone and +announced, “I ain’t goin’.”</p> + +<p>“Come on,” urged the black-eyed boy. “It’ll be fun—and everybody will +respect us more. Champe won’t throw rocks at us in recess-time, after +we’ve called on her. She couldn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Called!” grunted Ross. “I couldn’t make a call any more than a cow. +What’d I say? What’d I do? I can behave all right when you just go to +people’s houses—but a call!”</p> + +<p>Abner hesitated. Should he give away his brilliant inside information, +drawn from the <cite>Hints and Helps</cite> book, and be rivalled in the glory of +his manners and bearing? Why should he not pass on alone, perfectly +composed, and reap the field of glory unsupported? His knees gave way +and he sat down without intending it.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you tell anybody and I’ll put you on to exactly what grown-up +gentlemen say and do when they go calling on the girls,” he began.</p> + +<p>“Fire away,” retorted Ross, gloomily. “Nobody will find out from me. +Dead men tell no tales. If I’m fool enough to go, I don’t expect to +come out of it alive.”</p> + +<p>Abner rose, white and shaking, and thrusting three fingers into the +buttoning of his vest, extending the other hand like an orator, +proceeded to instruct the freckled, perspiring disciple at his feet.</p> + +<p>“‘Hang your hat on the rack, or give it to a servant.’” Ross nodded +intelligently. He could do that.</p> + +<p>“‘Let your legs be gracefully disposed, one hand on the knee, the +other—’”</p> + +<p>Abner came to an unhappy pause. “I forget what a fellow does with the +other hand. Might stick it in your pocket, loudly, or expectorate on +the carpet. Indulge in little frivolity. Let a rich stream of +conversation flow.’”</p> + +<p>Ross mentally dug within himself for sources of rich streams of +conversation. He found a dry soil. “What you goin’ to talk about?” he +demanded, fretfully. “I won’t go a step farther till I know what I’m +goin’ to say when I get there.”</p> + +<p>Abner began to repeat paragraphs from <cite>Hints and Helps</cite>. “‘‘It is best +to remark,’” he opened, in an unnatural voice, “‘‘How well you are +looking!’ although fulsome compliments should be avoided. When seated +ask the young lady who her favorite composer is.’”</p> + +<p>“What’s a composer?” inquired Ross, with visions of soothing-syrup in +his mind.</p> + +<p>“A man that makes up music. Don’t butt in that way; you put me all +out—‘‘composer is. Name yours. Ask her what piece of music she likes +best. Name yours. If the lady is musical, here ask her to play or +sing.’”</p> + +<p>This chanted recitation seemed to have a hypnotic effect on the +freckled boy; his big pupils contracted each time Abner came to the +repetend, “Name yours.”</p> + +<p>“I’m tired already,” he grumbled; but some spell made him rise and +fare farther.</p> + +<p>When they had entered the Claiborne gate, they leaned toward each +other like young saplings weakened at the root and locking branches to +keep what shallow foothold on earth remained.</p> + +<p>“You’re goin’ in first,” asserted Ross, but without conviction. It was +his custom to tear up to this house a dozen times a week, on his +father’s old horse or afoot; he was wont to yell for Champe as he +approached, and quarrel joyously with her while he performed such +errand as he had come upon; but he was gagged and hamstrung now by the +hypnotism of Abner’s scheme.</p> + +<p>“‘‘Walk quietly up the steps; ring the bell and lay your card on the +servant,’” quoted Abner, who had never heard of a server.</p> + +<p>“‘‘Lay your card on the servant!’” echoed Ross. “Cady’d dodge. There’s +a porch to cross after you go up the steps—does it say anything about +that?”</p> + +<p>“It says that the card should be placed on the servant,” Abner +reiterated, doggedly. “If Cady dodges, it ain’t any business of mine. +There are no porches in my book. Just walk across it like anybody. +We’ll ask for Miss Champe Claiborne.”</p> + +<p>“We haven’t got any cards,” discovered Ross, with hope.</p> + +<p>“I have,” announced Abner, pompously. “I had some struck off in +Chicago. I ordered ’em by mail. They got my name Pillow, but there’s a +scalloped gilt border around it. You can write your name on my card. +Got a pencil?”</p> + +<p>He produced the bit of cardboard; Ross fished up a chewed stump of +lead pencil, took it in cold, stiff fingers, and disfigured the square +with eccentric scribblings.</p> + +<p>“They’ll know who it’s meant for,” he said, apologetically, “because +I’m here. What’s likely to happen after we get rid of the card?”</p> + +<p>“I told you about hanging your hat on the rack and disposing your +legs.”</p> + +<p>“I remember now,” sighed Ross. They had been going slower and slower. +The angle of inclination toward each other became more and more +pronounced.</p> + +<p>“We must stand by each other,” whispered Abner.</p> + +<p>“I will—if I can stand at all,” murmured the other boy, huskily.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord!” They had rounded the big clump of evergreens and found +Aunt Missouri Claiborne placidly rocking on the front porch! Directed +to mount steps and ring bell, to lay cards upon the servant, how +should one deal with a rosy-faced, plump lady of uncertain years in a +rocking-chair. What should a caller lay upon her? A lion in the way +could not have been more terrifying. Even retreat was cut off. Aunt +Missouri had seen them. “Howdy, boys; how are you?” she said, rocking +peacefully. The two stood before her like detected criminals.</p> + +<p>Then, to Ross’s dismay, Abner sank down on the lowest step of the +porch, the westering sun full in his hopeless eyes. He sat on his cap. +It was characteristic that the freckled boy remained standing. He +would walk up those steps according to plan and agreement, if at all. +He accepted no compromise. Folding his straw hat into a battered cone, +he watched anxiously for the delivery of the card. He was not sure +what Aunt Missouri’s attitude might be if it were laid on her. He bent +down to his companion. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Lay the card.”</p> + +<p>Abner raised appealing eyes. “In a minute. Give me time,” he pleaded.</p> + +<p>“Mars’ Ross—Mars’ Ross! Head ’em off!” sounded a yell, and Babe, the +house-boy, came around the porch in pursuit of two half-grown +chickens.</p> + +<p>“Help him, Rossie,” prompted Aunt Missouri, sharply. “You boys can +stay to supper and have some of the chicken if you help catch them.”</p> + +<p>Had Ross taken time to think, he might have reflected that gentlemen +making formal calls seldom join in a chase after the main dish of the +family supper. But the needs of Babe were instant. The lad flung +himself sidewise, caught one chicken in his hat, while Babe fell upon +the other in the manner of a football player. Ross handed the pullet +to the house-boy, fearing that he had done something very much out of +character, then pulled the reluctant negro toward to the steps.</p> + +<p>“Babe’s a servant,” he whispered to Abner, who had sat rigid through +the entire performance. “I helped him with the chickens, and he’s got +to stand gentle while you lay the card on.”</p> + +<p>Confronted by the act itself, Abner was suddenly aware that he knew +not how to begin. He took refuge in dissimulation.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” he whispered back. “Don’t you see Mr. Claiborne’s come +out?—He’s going to read something to us.”</p> + +<p>Ross plumped down beside him. “Never mind the card; tell ’em,” he +urged.</p> + +<p>“Tell ’em yourself.”</p> + +<p>“No—let’s cut and run.”</p> + +<p>“I—I think the worst of it is over. When Champe sees us she’ll—”</p> + +<p>Mention of Champe stiffened Ross’s spine. If it had been glorious to +call upon her, how very terrible she would make it should they attempt +calling, fail, and the failure come to her knowledge! Some things were +easier to endure than others; he resolved to stay till the call was +made.</p> + +<p>For half an hour the boys sat with drooping heads, and the old +gentleman read aloud, presumably to Aunt Missouri and themselves. +Finally their restless eyes discerned the two Claiborne girls walking +serene in Sunday trim under the trees at the edge of the lawn. Arms +entwined, they were whispering together and giggling a little. A +caller, Ross dared not use his voice to shout nor his legs to run +toward them.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you go and talk to the girls, Rossie?” Aunt Missouri asked, +in the kindness of her heart. “Don’t be noisy—it’s Sunday, you +know—and don’t get to playing anything that’ll dirty up your good +clothes.”</p> + +<p>Ross pressed his lips hard together; his heart swelled with the rage +of the misunderstood. Had the card been in his possession, he would, +at that instant, have laid it on Aunt Missouri without a qualm.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” demanded the old gentleman, a bit testily.</p> + +<p>“The girls want to hear you read, father,” said Aunt Missouri, +shrewdly; and she got up and trotted on short, fat ankles to the girls +in the arbor. The three returned together, Alicia casting curious +glances at the uncomfortable youths, Champe threatening to burst into +giggles with every breath.</p> + +<p>Abner sat hard on his cap and blushed silently. Ross twisted his hat +into a three-cornered wreck.</p> + +<p>The two girls settled themselves noisily on the upper step. The old +man read on and on. The sun sank lower. The hills were red in the west +as though a brush fire flamed behind their crests. Abner stole a +furtive glance at his companion in misery, and the dolor of Ross’s +countenance somewhat assuaged his anguish. The freckle-faced boy was +thinking of the village over the hill, a certain pleasant white house +set back in a green yard, past whose gate, the two-plank sidewalk ran. +He knew lamps were beginning to wink in the windows of the neighbors +about, as though the houses said, “Our boys are all at home—but Ross +Pryor’s out trying to call on the girls, and can’t get anybody to +understand it.” Oh, that he were walking down those two planks, +drawing a stick across the pickets, lifting high happy feet which +could turn in at that gate! He wouldn’t care what the lamps said then. +He wouldn’t even mind if the whole Claiborne family died laughing at +him—if only some power would raise him up from this paralyzing spot +and put him behind the safe barriers of his own home!</p> + +<p>The old man’s voice lapsed into silence; the light was becoming too +dim for his reading. Aunt Missouri turned and called over her shoulder +into the shadows of the big hall: “You Babe! Go put two extra plates +on the supper-table.”</p> + +<p>The boys grew red from the tips of their ears, and as far as any one +could see under their wilting collars. Abner felt the lump of gum come +loose and slip down a cold spine. Had their intentions but been known, +this inferential invitation would have been most welcome. It was but +to rise up and thunder out, “We came to call on the young ladies.”</p> + +<p>They did not rise. They did not thunder out anything. Babe brought a +lamp and set it inside the window, and Mr. Claiborne resumed his +reading. Champe giggled and said that Alicia made her. Alcia drew her +skirts about her, sniffed, and looked virtuous, and said she didn’t +see anything funny to laugh at. The supper-bell rang. The family, +evidently taking it for granted that the boys would follow, went in.</p> + +<p>Alone for the first time, Abner gave up. “This ain’t any use,” he +complained. “We ain’t calling on anybody.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you lay on the card?” demanded Ross, fiercely. “Why +didn’t you say: ‘‘We’ve-just-dropped-into-call-on-Miss-Champe. It’s-a +-pleasant-evening. We-feel-we-must-be-going,’ like you said you would? +Then we could have lifted our hats and got away decently.”</p> + +<p>Abner showed no resentment.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if it’s so easy, why didn’t you do it yourself?” he groaned.</p> + +<p>“Somebody’s coming,” Ross muttered, hoarsely. “Say it now. Say it +quick.”</p> + +<p>The somebody proved to be Aunt Missouri, who advanced only as far as +the end of the hall and shouted cheerfully: “The idea of a growing boy +not coming to meals when the bell rings! I thought you two would be in +there ahead of us. Come on.” And clinging to their head-coverings as +though these contained some charm whereby the owners might be rescued, +the unhappy callers were herded into the dining-room. There were many +things on the table that boys like. Both were becoming fairly +cheerful, when Aunt Missouri checked the biscuit-plate with: “I treat +my neighbors’ children just like I’d want children of my own treated. +If your mothers let you eat all you want, say so, and I don’t care; +but if either of them is a little bit particular, why, I’d stop at +six!”</p> + +<p>Still reeling from this blow, the boys finally rose from the table and +passed out with the family, their hats clutched to their bosoms, and +clinging together for mutual aid and comfort. During the usual +Sunday-evening singing Champe laughed till Aunt Missouri threatened to +send her to bed. Abner’s card slipped from his hand and dropped face +up on the floor. He fell upon it and tore it into infinitesimal +pieces.</p> + +<p>“That must have been a love-letter,” said Aunt Missouri, in a pause of +the music. “You boys are getting ‘‘most old enough to think about +beginning to call on the girls.” Her eyes twinkled.</p> + +<p>Ross growled like a stoned cur. Abner took a sudden dive into <cite>Hints +and Helps</cite>, and came up with, “You flatter us, Miss Claiborne,” +whereat Ross snickered out like a human boy. They all stared at him.</p> + +<p>“It sounds so funny to call Aunt Missouri ‘‘Mis’ Claiborne,’” the lad +of the freckles explained.</p> + +<p>“Funny?” Aunt Missouri reddened. “I don’t see any particular joke in +my having my maiden name.”</p> + +<p>Abner, who instantly guessed at what was in Ross’s mind, turned white +at the thought of what they had escaped. Suppose he had laid on the +card and asked for Miss Claiborne!</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Champe?” inquired Ross, in a fairly natural tone. +The air he had drawn into his lungs when he laughed at Abner seemed to +relieve him from the numbing gentility which had bound his powers +since he joined Abner’s ranks.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. I laughed because you laughed,” said the girl.</p> + +<p>The singing went forward fitfully. Servants traipsed through the +darkened yard, going home for Sunday night. Aunt Missouri went out and +held some low-toned parley with them. Champe yawned with insulting +enthusiasm. Presently both girls quietly disappeared. Aunt Missouri +never returned to the parlor—evidently thinking that the girls would +attend to the final amenities with their callers. They were left alone +with old Mr. Claiborne. They sat as though bound in their chairs, +while the old man read in silence for a while. Finally he closed his +book, glanced about him, and observed absently:</p> + +<p>“So you boys were to spend the night?” Then, as he looked at their +startled faces: “I’m right, am I not? You are to spent the night?”</p> + +<p>Oh, for courage to say: “Thank you, no. We’ll be going now. We just +came over to call on Miss Champe.” But thought of how this would sound +in face of the facts, the painful realization that they dared not say +it because they <em>had</em> not said it, locked their lips. Their feet were +lead; their tongues stiff and too large for their mouths. Like +creatures in a nightmare, they moved stiffly, one might have said +creakingly, up the stairs and received each—a bedroom candle!</p> + +<p>“Good night, children,” said the absent-minded old man. The two +gurgled out some sounds which were intended for words and doged behind +the bedroom door.</p> + +<p>“They’ve put us to bed!” Abner’s black eyes flashed fire. His nervous +hands clutched at the collar Ross had lent him. “That’s what I get for +coming here with you, Ross Pryor!” And tears of humiliation stood in +his eyes.</p> + +<p>In his turn Ross showed no resentment. “What I’m worried about is my +mother,” he confessed. “She’s so sharp about finding out things. She +wouldn’t tease me—she’d just be sorry for me. But she’ll think I went +home with you.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to see my mother make a fuss about my calling on the girls!” +growled Abner, glad to let his rage take a safe direction.</p> + +<p>“Calling on the girls! Have we called on any girls?” demanded +clear-headed, honest Ross.</p> + +<p>“Not exactly—yet,” admitted Abner, reluctantly. “Come on—let’s go to +bed. Mr. Claiborne asked us, and he’s the head of this household. It +isn’t anybody’s business what we came for.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll slip off my shoes and lie down till Babe ties up the dog in the +morning,” said Ross. “Then we can get away before any of the family is +up.”</p> + +<p>Oh, youth—youth—youth, with its rash promises! Worn out with misery +the boys slept heavily. The first sound that either heard in the +morning was Babe hammering upon their bedroom door. They crouched +guiltily and looked into each other’s eyes. “Let pretend we ain’t here +and he’ll go away,” breathed Abner.</p> + +<p>But Babe was made of sterner stuff. He rattled the knob. He turned it. +He put in a black face with a grin which divided it from ear to ear. +“Cady say I mus’ call dem fool boys to breakfus’,” he announced. “I +never named you-all dat. Cady, she say dat.”</p> + +<p>“Breakfast!” echoed Ross, in a daze.</p> + +<p>“Yessuh, breakfus’,” reasserted Babe, coming entirely into the room +and looking curiously about him. “Ain’t you-all done been to bed at +all?” wrapping his arms about his shoulders and shaking with silent +ecstasies of mirth. The boys threw themselves upon him and ejected +him.</p> + +<p>“Sent up a servant to call us to breakfast,” snarled Abner. “If they’d +only sent their old servant to the door in the first place, all this +wouldn’t ’a’ happened. I’m just that way when I get thrown off the +track. You know how it was when I tried to repeat those things to +you—I had to go clear back to the beginning when I got interrupted.”</p> + +<p>“Does that mean that you’re still hanging around here to begin over +and make a call?” asked Ross, darkly. “I won’t go down to breakfast if +you are.”</p> + +<p>Abner brightened a little as he saw Ross becoming wordy in his rage. +“I dare you to walk downstairs and say, +‘‘We-just-dropped-in-to-call-on-Miss-Champe’!” he said.</p> + +<p>“I—oh—I—darn it all! there goes the second bell. We may as well +trot down.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t leave me, Ross,” pleaded the Jilton boy. “I can’t stay +here—and I can’t go down.”</p> + +<p>The tone was hysterical. The boy with freckles took his companion by +the arm without another word and marched him down the stairs. “We may +get a chance yet to call on Champe all by herself out on the porch or +in the arbor before she goes to school,” he suggested, by way of +putting some spine into the black-eyed boy.</p> + +<p>An emphatic bell rang when they were half-way down the stairs. +Clutching their hats, they slunk into the dining-room. Even Mr. +Claiborne seemed to notice something unusual in their bearing as they +settled into the chairs assigned to them, and asked them kindly if +they had slept well.</p> + +<p>It was plain that Aunt Missouri had been posting him as to her +understanding of the intentions of these young men. The state of +affairs gave an electric hilarity to the atmosphere. Babe travelled +from the sideboard to the table, trembling like chocolate pudding. +Cady insisted on bringing in the cakes herself, and grinned as she +whisked her starched blue skirts in and out of the dining-room. A +dimple even showed itself at the corners of pretty Alicia’s prim +little mouth. Champe giggled, till Ross heard Cady whisper:</p> + +<p>“Now you got one dem snickerin’ spells agin. You gwine bust yo’ dress +buttons off in the back ef you don’t mind.”</p> + +<p>As the spirits of those about them mounted, the hearts of the two +youths sank—if it was like this among the Claibornes, what would it +be at school and in the world at large when their failure to connect +intention with result became village talk? Ross bit fiercely upon an +unoffending batter-cake, and resolved to make a call single-handed +before he left the house.</p> + +<p>They went out of the dining-room, their hats as ever pressed to their +breasts. With no volition of their own, their uncertain young legs +carried them to the porch. The Claiborne family and household followed +like small boys after a circus procession. When the two turned, at +bay, yet with nothing between them and liberty but a hypnotism of +their own suggestion, they saw the black faces of the servants peering +over the family shoulders.</p> + +<p>Ross was the boy to have drawn courage from the desperation of their +case, and made some decent if not glorious ending. But at the +psychological moment there came around the corner of the house that +most contemptible figure known to the Southern plantation, a +shirt-boy—a creature who may be described, for the benefit of those +not informed, as a pickaninny clad only in a long, coarse cotton +shirt. While all eyes were fastened upon him this inglorious +ambassador bolted forth his message:</p> + +<p>“Yo’ ma say”—his eyes were fixed upon Abner—“ef yo’ don’ come home, +she gwine come after yo’—an’ cut yo’ into inch pieces wid a rawhide +when she git yo’. Dat jest what Miss Hortense say.”</p> + +<p>As though such a book as <cite>Hints and Helps</cite> had never existed, Abner +shot for the gate—he was but a hobbledehoy fascinated with the idea +of playing gentleman. But in Ross there were the makings of a man. For +a few half-hearted paces, under the first impulse of horror, he +followed his deserting chief, the laughter of the family, the +unrestrainable guffaws of the negroes, sounding in the rear. But when +Champe’s high, offensive giggle, topping all the others, insulted his +ears, he stopped dead, wheeled, and ran to the porch faster than he +had fled from it. White as paper, shaking with inexpressible rage, he +caught and kissed the tittering girl, violently, noisily, before them +all.</p> + +<p>The negroes fled—they dared not trust their feelings; even Alicia +sniggered unobtrusively; Grandfather Claiborne chuckled, and Aunt +Missouri frankly collapsed into her rocking-chair, bubbling with +mirth, crying out:</p> + +<p>“Good for you, Ross! Seems you did know how to call on the girls, +after all.”</p> + +<p>But Ross, paying no attention, walked swiftly toward the gate. He had +served his novitiate. He would never be afraid again. With cheerful +alacrity he dodged the stones flung after him with friendly, erratic +aim by the girl upon whom, yesterday afternoon, he had come to make a +social call.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> From <cite>Harper’s Magazine</cite>, August, 1906. Copyright, 1906, by Harper & +Brothers. Republished by the author’s permission.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="HOW_THE_WIDOW_WON_THE_DEACON">HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By William James Lampton</span> ( -1917)</p> + + +<p>Of course the Widow Stimson never tried to win Deacon Hawkins, nor any +other man, for that matter. A widow doesn’t have to try to win a man; +she wins without trying. Still, the Widow Stimson sometimes wondered +why the deacon was so blind as not to see how her fine farm adjoining +his equally fine place on the outskirts of the town might not be +brought under one management with mutual benefit to both parties at +interest. Which one that management might become was a matter of +future detail. The widow knew how to run a farm successfully, and a +large farm is not much more difficult to run than one of half the +size. She had also had one husband, and knew something more than +running a farm successfully. Of all of which the deacon was perfectly +well aware, and still he had not been moved by the merging spirit of +the age to propose consolidation.</p> + +<p>This interesting situation was up for discussion at the Wednesday +afternoon meeting of the Sisters’ Sewing Society.</p> + +<p>“For my part,” Sister Susan Spicer, wife of the Methodist minister, +remarked as she took another tuck in a fourteen-year-old girl’s skirt +for a ten-year-old—“for my part, I can’t see why Deacon Hawkins and +Kate Stimson don’t see the error of their ways and depart from them.”</p> + +<p>“I rather guess <em>she</em> has,” smiled Sister Poteet, the grocer’s better +half, who had taken an afternoon off from the store in order to be +present.</p> + +<p>“Or is willing to,” added Sister Maria Cartridge, a spinster still +possessing faith, hope, and charity, notwithstanding she had been on +the waiting list a long time.</p> + +<p>“Really, now,” exclaimed little Sister Green, the doctor’s wife, “do +you think it is the deacon who needs urging?”</p> + +<p>“It looks that way to me,” Sister Poteet did not hesitate to affirm.</p> + +<p>“Well, I heard Sister Clark say that she had heard him call her +‘Kitty’ one night when they were eating ice-cream at the Mite +Society,” Sister Candish, the druggist’s wife, added to the fund of +reliable information on hand.</p> + +<p>“‘Kitty,’ indeed!” protested Sister Spicer. “The idea of anybody +calling Kate Stimson ‘Kitty’! The deacon will talk that way to ’most +any woman, but if she let him say it to her more than once, she must +be getting mighty anxious, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” Sister Candish hastened to explain, “Sister Clark didn’t say she +had heard him say it twice.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t think she heard him say it once,” Sister Spicer +asserted with confidence.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that,” Sister Poteet argued. “From all I can see +and hear I think Kate Stimson wouldn’t object to ’most anything the +deacon would say to her, knowing as she does that he ain’t going to +say anything he shouldn’t say.”</p> + +<p>“And isn’t saying what he should,” added Sister Green, with a sly +snicker, which went around the room softly.</p> + +<p>“But as I was saying—” Sister Spicer began, when Sister Poteet, whose +rocker, near the window, commanded a view of the front gate, +interrupted with a warning, “’Sh-’sh.”</p> + +<p>“Why shouldn’t I say what I wanted to when—” Sister Spicer began.</p> + +<p>“There she comes now,” explained Sister Poteet, “and as I live the +deacon drove her here in his sleigh, and he’s waiting while she comes +in. I wonder what next,” and Sister Poteet, in conjunction with the +entire society, gasped and held their eager breaths, awaiting the +entrance of the subject of conversation.</p> + +<p>Sister Spicer went to the front door to let her in, and she was +greeted with the greatest cordiality by everybody.</p> + +<p>“We were just talking about you and wondering why you were so late +coming,” cried Sister Poteet. “Now take off your things and make up +for lost time. There’s a pair of pants over there to be cut down to +fit that poor little Snithers boy.”</p> + +<p>The excitement and curiosity of the society were almost more than +could be borne, but never a sister let on that she knew the deacon was +at the gate waiting. Indeed, as far as the widow could discover, there +was not the slightest indication that anybody had ever heard there was +such a person as the deacon in existence.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she chirruped, in the liveliest of humors, “you will have to +excuse me for to-day. Deacon Hawkins overtook me on the way here, and +here said I had simply got to go sleigh-riding with him. He’s waiting +out at the gate now.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so?” exclaimed the society unanimously, and rushed to the +window to see if it were really true.</p> + +<p>“Well, did you ever?” commented Sister Poteet, generally.</p> + +<p>“Hardly ever,” laughed the widow, good-naturedly, “and I don’t want to +lose the chance. You know Deacon Hawkins isn’t asking somebody every +day to go sleighing with him. I told him I’d go if he would bring me +around here to let you know what had become of me, and so he did. Now, +good-by, and I’ll be sure to be present at the next meeting. I have to +hurry because he’ll get fidgety.”</p> + +<p>The widow ran away like a lively schoolgirl. All the sisters watched +her get into the sleigh with the deacon, and resumed the previous +discussion with greatly increased interest.</p> + +<p>But little recked the widow and less recked the deacon. He had bought +a new horse and he wanted the widow’s opinion of it, for the Widow +Stimson was a competent judge of fine horseflesh. If Deacon Hawkins +had one insatiable ambition it was to own a horse which could fling +its heels in the face of the best that Squire Hopkins drove. In his +early manhood the deacon was no deacon by a great deal. But as the +years gathered in behind him he put off most of the frivolities of +youth and held now only to the one of driving a fast horse. No other +man in the county drove anything faster except Squire Hopkins, and him +the deacon had not been able to throw the dust over. The deacon would +get good ones, but somehow never could he find one that the squire +didn’t get a better. The squire had also in the early days beaten the +deacon in the race for a certain pretty girl he dreamed about. But the +girl and the squire had lived happily ever after and the deacon, being +a philosopher, might have forgotten the squire’s superiority had it +been manifested in this one regard only. But in horses, too—that +graveled the deacon.</p> + +<p>“How much did you give for him?” was the widow’s first query, after +they had reached a stretch of road that was good going and the deacon +had let him out for a length or two.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you suppose? You’re a judge.”</p> + +<p>“More than I would give, I’ll bet a cookie.”</p> + +<p>“Not if you was as anxious as I am to show Hopkins that he can’t drive +by everything on the pike.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you loved a good horse because he was a good horse,” said +the widow, rather disapprovingly.</p> + +<p>“I do, but I could love him a good deal harder if he would stay in +front of Hopkins’s best.”</p> + +<p>“Does he know you’ve got this one?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and he’s been blowing round town that he is waiting to pick me +up on the road some day and make my five hundred dollars look like a +pewter quarter.”</p> + +<p>“So you gave five hundred dollars for him, did you?” laughed the +widow.</p> + +<p>“Is it too much?”</p> + +<p>“Um-er,” hesitated the widow, glancing along the graceful lines of the +powerful trotter, “I suppose not if you can beat the squire.”</p> + +<p>“Right you are,” crowed the deacon, “and I’ll show him a thing or two +in getting over the ground,” he added with swelling pride.</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope he won’t be out looking for you to-day, with me in your +sleigh,” said the widow, almost apprehensively, “because, you know, +deacon, I have always wanted you to beat Squire Hopkins.”</p> + +<p>The deacon looked at her sharply. There was a softness in her tones +that appealed to him, even if she had not expressed such agreeable +sentiments. Just what the deacon might have said or done after the +impulse had been set going must remain unknown, for at the crucial +moment a sound of militant bells, bells of defiance, jangled up behind +them, disturbing their personal absorption, and they looked around +simultaneously. Behind the bells was the squire in his sleigh drawn by +his fastest stepper, and he was alone, as the deacon was not. The +widow weighed one hundred and sixty pounds, net—which is weighting a +horse in a race rather more than the law allows.</p> + +<p>But the deacon never thought of that. Forgetting everything except his +cherished ambition, he braced himself for the contest, took a twist +hold on the lines, sent a sharp, quick call to his horse, and let him +out for all that was in him. The squire followed suit and the deacon. +The road was wide and the snow was worn down smooth. The track +couldn’t have been in better condition. The Hopkins colors were not +five rods behind the Hawkins colors as they got away. For half a mile +it was nip and tuck, the deacon encouraging his horse and the widow +encouraging the deacon, and then the squire began creeping up. The +deacon’s horse was a good one, but he was not accustomed to hauling +freight in a race. A half-mile of it was as much as he could stand, +and he weakened under the strain.</p> + +<p>Not handicapped, the squire’s horse forged ahead, and as his nose +pushed up to the dashboard of the deacon’s sleigh, that good man +groaned in agonized disappointment and bitterness of spirit. The widow +was mad all over that Squire Hopkins should take such a mean advantage +of his rival. Why didn’t he wait till another time when the deacon was +alone, as he was? If she had her way she never would, speak to Squire +Hopkins again, nor to his wife, either. But her resentment was not +helping the deacon’s horse to win.</p> + +<p>Slowly the squire pulled closer to the front; the deacon’s horse, +realizing what it meant to his master and to him, spurted bravely, +but, struggle as gamely as he might, the odds were too many for him, +and he dropped to the rear. The squire shouted in triumph as he drew +past the deacon, and the dejected Hawkins shrivelled into a heap on +the seat, with only his hands sufficiently alive to hold the lines. He +had been beaten again, humiliated before a woman, and that, too, with +the best horse that he could hope to put against the ever-conquering +squire. Here sank his fondest hopes, here ended his ambition. From +this on he would drive a mule or an automobile. The fruit of his +desire had turned to ashes in his mouth.</p> + +<p>But no. What of the widow? She realized, if the deacon did not, that +she, not the squire’s horse, had beaten the deacon’s, and she was +ready to make what atonement she could. As the squire passed ahead of +the deacon she was stirred by a noble resolve. A deep bed of drifted +snow lay close by the side of the road not far in front. It was soft +and safe and she smiled as she looked at it as though waiting for her. +Without a hint of her purpose, or a sign to disturb the deacon in his +final throes, she rose as the sleigh ran near its edge, and with a +spring which had many a time sent her lightly from the ground to the +bare back of a horse in the meadow, she cleared the robes and lit +plump in the drift. The deacon’s horse knew before the deacon did that +something had happened in his favor, and was quick to respond. With +his first jump of relief the deacon suddenly revived, his hopes came +fast again, his blood retingled, he gathered himself, and, cracking +his lines, he shot forward, and three minutes later he had passed the +squire as though he were hitched to the fence. For a quarter of a mile +the squire made heroic efforts to recover his vanished prestige, but +effort was useless, and finally concluding that he was practically +left standing, he veered off from the main road down a farm lane to +find some spot in which to hide the humiliation of his defeat. The +deacon, still going at a clipping gait, had one eye over his shoulder +as wary drivers always have on such occasions, and when he saw the +squire was off the track he slowed down and jogged along with the +apparent intention of continuing indefinitely. Presently an idea +struck him, and he looked around for the widow. She was not where he +had seen her last. Where was she? In the enthusiasm of victory he had +forgotten her. He was so dejected at the moment she had leaped that he +did not realize what she had done, and two minutes later he was so +elated that, shame on him! he did not care. With her, all was lost; +without her, all was won, and the deacon’s greatest ambition was to +win. But now, with victory perched on his horse-collar, success his at +last, he thought of the widow, and he did care. He cared so much that +he almost threw his horse off his feet by the abrupt turn he gave him, +and back down the pike he flew as if a legion of squires were after +him.</p> + +<p>He did not know what injury she might have sustained; She might have +been seriously hurt, if not actually killed. And why? Simply to make +it possible for him to win. The deacon shivered as he thought of it, +and urged his horse to greater speed. The squire, down the lane, saw +him whizzing along and accepted it profanely as an exhibition for his +especial benefit. The deacon now had forgotten the squire as he had +only so shortly before forgotten the widow. Two hundred yards from the +drift into which she had jumped there was a turn in the road, where +some trees shut off the sight, and the deacon’s anxiety increased +momentarily until he reached this point. From here he could see ahead, +and down there in the middle of the road stood the widow waving her +shawl as a banner of triumph, though she could only guess at results. +The deacon came on with a rush, and pulled up alongside of her in a +condition of nervousness he didn’t think possible to him.</p> + +<p>“Hooray! hooray!” shouted the widow, tossing her shawl into the air. +“You beat him. I know you did. Didn’t you? I saw you pulling ahead at +the turn yonder. Where is he and his old plug?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bother take him and his horse and the race and everything. Are +you hurt?” gasped the deacon, jumping out, but mindful to keep the +lines in his hand. “Are you hurt?” he repeated, anxiously, though she +looked anything but a hurt woman.</p> + +<p>“If I am,” she chirped, cheerily, “I’m not hurt half as bad as I would +have been if the squire had beat you, deacon. Now don’t you worry +about me. Let’s hurry back to town so the squire won’t get another +chance, with no place for me to jump.”</p> + +<p>And the deacon? Well, well, with the lines in the crook of his elbow +the deacon held out his arms to the widow and——. The sisters at the +next meeting of the Sewing Society were unanimously of the opinion +that any woman who would risk her life like that for a husband was +mighty anxious.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a> From Harper’s Bazaar, April, 1911; copyright, 1911, by Harper & +Brothers; republished by permission.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GIDEON">GIDEON<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Wells Hastings</span> (1878- )</p> + + +<p>“An’ de next’ frawg dat houn’ pup seen, he pass him by wide.”</p> + +<p>The house, which had hung upon every word, roared with laughter, and +shook with a storming volley of applause. Gideon bowed to right and to +left, low, grinning, assured comedy obeisances; but as the laughter +and applause grew he shook his head, and signaled quietly for the +drop. He had answered many encores, and he was an instinctive artist. +It was part of the fuel of his vanity that his audience had never yet +had enough of him. Dramatic judgment, as well as dramatic sense of +delivery, was native to him, qualities which the shrewd Felix Stuhk, +his manager and exultant discoverer, recognized and wisely trusted in. +Off stage Gideon was watched over like a child and a delicate +investment, but once behind the footlights he was allowed to go his +own triumphant gait.</p> + +<p>It was small wonder that Stuhk deemed himself one of the cleverest +managers in the business; that his narrow, blue-shaven face was +continually chiseled in smiles of complacent self-congratulation. He +was rapidly becoming rich, and there were bright prospects of even +greater triumphs, with proportionately greater reward. He had made +Gideon a national character, a headliner, a star of the first +magnitude in the firmament of the vaudeville theater, and all in six +short months. Or, at any rate, he had helped to make him all this; he +had booked him well and given him his opportunity. To be sure, Gideon +had done the rest; Stuhk was as ready as any one to do credit to +Gideon’s ability. Still, after all, he, Stuhk, was the discoverer, the +theatrical Columbus who had had the courage and the vision.</p> + +<p>A now-hallowed attack of tonsilitis had driven him to Florida, where +presently Gideon had been employed to beguile his convalescence, and +guide him over the intricate shallows of that long lagoon known as the +Indian River in search of various fish. On days when fish had been +reluctant Gideon had been lured into conversation, and gradually into +narrative and the relation of what had appeared to Gideon as humorous +and entertaining; and finally Felix, the vague idea growing big within +him, had one day persuaded his boatman to dance upon the boards of a +long pier where they had made fast for lunch. There, with all the +sudden glory of crystallization, the vague idea took definite form and +became the great inspiration of Stuhk’s career.</p> + +<p>Gideon had grown to be to vaudeville much what <cite>Uncle Remus</cite> is to +literature: there was virtue in his very simplicity. His artistry +itself was native and natural. He loved a good story, and he told it +from his own sense of the gleeful morsel upon his tongue as no +training could have made him. He always enjoyed his story and himself +in the telling. Tales never lost their savor, no matter how often +repeated; age was powerless to dim the humor of the thing, and as he +had shouted and gurgled and laughed over the fun of things when all +alone, or holding forth among the men and women and little children of +his color, so he shouted and gurgled and broke from sonorous chuckles +to musical, falsetto mirth when he fronted the sweeping tiers of faces +across the intoxicating glare of the footlights. He had that rare +power of transmitting something of his own enjoyments. When Gideon was +on the stage, Stuhk used to enjoy peeping out at the intent, smiling +faces of the audience, where men and women and children, hardened +theater-goers and folk fresh from the country, sat with moving lips +and faces lit with an eager interest and sympathy for the black man +strutting in loose-footed vivacity before them.</p> + +<p>“He’s simply unique,” he boasted to wondering local managers—“unique, +and it took me to find him. There he was, a little black gold-mine, +and all of ’em passed him by until I came. Some eye? What? I guess +you’ll admit you have to hand it some to your Uncle Felix. If that +coon’s health holds out, we’ll have all the money there is in the +mint.”</p> + +<p>That was Felix’s real anxiety—“If his health holds out.” Gideon’s +health was watched over as if he had been an ailing prince. His +bubbling vivacity was the foundation upon which his charm and his +success were built. Stuhk became a sort of vicarious neurotic, +eternally searching for symptoms in his protégé; Gideon’s tongue, +Gideon’s liver, Gideon’s heart were matters to him of an unfailing +and anxious interest. And of late—of course it might be imagination +—Gideon had shown a little physical falling off. He ate a bit less, +he had begun to move in a restless way, and, worst of all, he laughed +less frequently.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, there was ground for Stuhk’s apprehension. It was +not all a matter of managerial imagination: Gideon was less himself. +Physically there was nothing the matter with him; he could have passed +his rigid insurance scrutiny as easily as he had done months before, +when his life and health had been insured for a sum that made good +copy for his press-agent. He was sound in every organ, but there was +something lacking in general tone. Gideon felt it himself, and was +certain that a “misery,” that embracing indisposition of his race, was +creeping upon him. He had been fed well, too well; he was growing +rich, too rich; he had all the praise, all the flattery that his +enormous appetite for approval desired, and too much of it. White men +sought him out and made much of him; white women talked to him about +his career; and wherever he went, women of color—black girls, brown +girls, yellow girls—wrote him of their admiration, whispered, when he +would listen, of their passion and hero-worship. “City niggers” bowed +down before him; the high gallery was always packed with them. +Musk-scented notes scrawled upon barbaric, “high-toned” stationery +poured in upon him. Even a few white women, to his horror and +embarrassment, had written him of love, letters which he straightway +destroyed. His sense of his position was strong in him; he was proud +of it. There might be “folks outer their haids,” but he had the sense +to remember. For months he had lived in a heaven of gratified vanity, +but at last his appetite had begun to falter. He was sated; his soul +longed to wipe a spiritual mouth on the back of a spiritual hand, and +have done. His face, now that the curtain was down and he was leaving +the stage, was doleful, almost sullen.</p> + +<p>Stuhk met him anxiously in the wings, and walked with him to his +dressing-room. He felt suddenly very weary of Stuhk.</p> + +<p>“Nothing the matter, Gideon, is there? Not feeling sick or anything?”</p> + +<p>“No, Misteh Stuhk; no, seh. Jes don’ feel extry pert, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“But what is it—anything bothering you?”</p> + +<p>Gideon sat gloomily before his mirror.</p> + +<p>“Misteh Stuhk,” he said at last, “I been steddyin’ it oveh, and I +about come to the delusion that I needs a good po’k-chop. Seems +foolish, I know, but it do’ seem as if a good po’k-chop, fried jes +right, would he’p consid’able to disumpate this misery feelin’ that’s +crawlin’ and creepin’ round my sperit.”</p> + +<p>Stuhk laughed.</p> + +<p>“Pork-chop, eh? Is that the best you can think of? I know what you +mean, though. I’ve thought for some time that you were getting a +little overtrained. What you need is—let me see—yes, a nice bottle +of wine. That’s the ticket; it will ease things up and won’t do you +any harm. I’ll go, with you. Ever had any champagne, Gideon?”</p> + +<p>Gideon struggled for politeness.</p> + +<p>“Yes, seh, I’s had champagne, and it’s a nice kind of lickeh sho +enough; but, Misteh Stuhk, seh, I don’ want any of them high-tone +drinks to-night, an’ ef yo’ don’ mind, I’d rather amble off ’lone, or +mebbe eat that po’k-chop with some otheh cullud man, ef I kin fin’ one +that ain’ one of them no-’count Carolina niggers. Do you s’pose yo’ +could let me have a little money to-night, Misteh Stuhk?”</p> + +<p>Stuhk thought rapidly. Gideon had certainly worked hard, and he was +not dissipated. If he wanted to roam the town by himself, there was no +harm in it. The sullenness still showed in the black face; Heaven knew +what he might do if he suddenly began to balk. Stuhk thought it wise +to consent gracefully.</p> + +<p>“Good!” he said. “Fly to it. How much do you want? +A hundred?”</p> + +<p>“How much is coming to me?”</p> + +<p>“About a thousand, Gideon.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’d moughty like five hun’red of it, ef that’s ’greeable to +yo’.”</p> + +<p>Felix whistled.</p> + +<p>“Five hundred? Pork-chops must be coming high. You don’t want to carry +all that money around, do you?”</p> + +<p>Gideon did not answer; he looked very gloomy.</p> + +<p>Stuhk hastened to cheer him.</p> + +<p>“Of course you can have anything you want. Wait a minute, and I will +get it for you.</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet that coon’s going to buy himself a ring or something,” he +reflected as he went in search of the local manager and Gideon’s +money.</p> + +<p>But Stuhk was wrong. Gideon had no intention of buying himself a ring. +For the matter of that, he had several that were amply satisfactory. +They had size and sparkle and luster, all the diamond brilliance that +rings need to have; and for none of them had he paid much over five +dollars. He was amply supplied with jewelry in which he felt perfect +satisfaction. His present want was positive, if nebulous; he desired a +fortune in his pocket, bulky, tangible evidence of his miraculous +success. Ever since Stuhk had found him, life had had an unreal +quality for him. His Monte Cristo wealth was too much like a fabulous, +dream-found treasure, money that could not be spent without danger of +awakening. And he had dropped into the habit of storing it about him, +so that in any pocket into which he plunged his hand he might find a +roll of crisp evidence of reality. He liked his bills to be of all +denominations, and some so large as exquisitely to stagger +imagination, others charming by their number and crispness—the +dignified, orange paper of a man of assured position and +wealth-crackling greenbacks the design of which tinged the whole with +actuality. He was specially partial to engravings of President +Lincoln, the particular savior and patron of his race. This five +hundred dollars he was adding to an unreckoned sum of about two +thousand, merely as extra fortification against a growing sense of +gloom. He wished to brace his flagging spirits with the gay wine of +possession, and he was glad, when the money came, that it was in an +elastic-bound roll, so bulky that it was pleasantly uncomfortable in +his pocket as he left his manager.</p> + +<p>As he turned into the brilliantly lighted street from the somber +alleyway of the stage entrance, he paused for a moment to glance at +his own name, in three-foot letters of red, before the doors of the +theater. He could read, and the large block type always pleased him. +“THIS WEEK: GIDEON.” That was all. None of the fulsome praise, the +superlative, necessary definition given to lesser performers. He had +been, he remembered, “GIDEON, America’s Foremost Native Comedian,” a +title that was at once boast and challenge. That necessity was now +past, for he was a national character; any explanatory qualification +would have been an insult to the public intelligence. To the world he +was just “Gideon”; that was enough. It gave him pleasure, as he +sauntered along, to see the announcement repeated on window cards and +hoardings.</p> + +<p>Presently he came to a window before which he paused in delighted +wonder. It was not a large window; to the casual eye of the passer-by +there was little to draw attention. By day it lighted the fractional +floor space of a little stationer, who supplemented a slim business by +a sub-agency for railroad and steamship lines; but to-night this +window seemed the framework of a marvel of coincidence. On the broad, +dusty sill inside were propped two cards: the one on the left was his +own red-lettered announcement for the week; the one at the right—oh, +world of wonders!—was a photogravure of that exact stretch of the +inner coast of Florida which Gideon knew best, which was home.</p> + +<p>There it was, the Indian River, rippling idly in full sunlight, +palmettos leaning over the water, palmettos standing as irregular +sentries along the low, reeflike island which stretched away out of +the picture. There was the gigantic, lonely pine he knew well, and, +yes—he could just make it out—there was his own ramshackle little +pier, which stretched in undulating fashion, like a long-legged, +wading caterpillar, from the abrupt shore-line of eroded coquina into +deep water.</p> + +<p>He thought at first that this picture of his home was some new and +delicate device put forth by his press-agent. His name on one side of +a window, his birthplace upon the other—what could be more tastefully +appropriate? Therefore, as he spelled out the reading-matter beneath +the photogravure, he was sharply disappointed. It read:</p> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent5">Spend this winter in balmy Florida.</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Come to the Land of Perpetual Sunshine.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Golf, tennis, driving, shooting, boating, fishing, all of the best.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">There was more, but he had no heart for it; he was disappointed and +puzzled. This picture had, after all, nothing to do with him. It was a +chance, and yet, what a strange chance! It troubled and upset him. His +black, round-featured face took on deep wrinkles of perplexity. The +“misery” which had hung darkly on his horizon for weeks engulfed him +without warning. But in the very bitterness of his melancholy he knew +at last his disease. It was not champagne or recreation that he +needed, not even a “po’k-chop,” although his desire for it had been a +symptom, a groping for a too homeopathic remedy: he was homesick.</p> + +<p>Easy, childish tears came into his eyes, and ran over his shining +cheeks. He shivered forlornly with a sudden sense of cold, and +absently clutched at the lapels of his gorgeous, fur-lined ulster.</p> + +<p>Then in abrupt reaction he laughed aloud, so that the shrill, musical +falsetto startled the passers-by, and in another moment a little +semicircle of the curious watched spellbound as a black man, +exquisitely appareled, danced in wild, loose grace before the dull +background of a somewhat grimy and apparently vacant window. A newsboy +recognized him.</p> + +<p>He heard his name being passed from mouth to mouth, and came partly to +his senses. He stopped dancing, and grinned at them.</p> + +<p>“Say, you are Gideon, ain’t you?” his discoverer demanded, with a sort +of reverent audacity.</p> + +<p>“Yaas, <em>seh</em>,” said Gideon; “that’s me. Yo’ shu got it right.” He +broke into a joyous peal of laughter—the laughter that had made him +famous, and bowed deeply before him. “Gideon—posi-<em>tive</em>-ly his las’ +puffawmunce.” Turning, he dashed for a passing trolley, and, still +laughing, swung aboard.</p> + +<p>He was naturally honest. In a land of easy morality his friends had +accounted him something of a paragon; nor had Stuhk ever had anything +but praise for him. But now he crushed aside the ethics of his intent +without a single troubled thought. Running away has always been +inherent in the negro. He gave one regretful thought to the gorgeous +wardrobe he was leaving behind him; but he dared not return for it. +Stuhk might have taken it into his head to go back to their rooms. He +must content himself with the reflection that he was at that moment +wearing his best.</p> + +<p>The trolley seemed too slow for him, and, as always happened nowadays, +he was recognized; he heard his name whispered, and was aware of the +admiring glances of the curious. Even popularity had its drawbacks. He +got down in front of a big hotel and chose a taxicab from the waiting +rank, exhorting the driver to make his best speed to the station. +Leaning back in the soft depths of the cab, he savored his +independence, cheered already by the swaying, lurching speed. At the +station he tipped the driver in lordly fashion, very much pleased with +himself and anxious to give pleasure. Only the sternest prudence and +an unconquerable awe of uniform had kept him from tossing bills to the +various traffic policemen who had seemed to smile upon his hurry.</p> + +<p>No through train left for hours; but after the first disappointment of +momentary check, he decided that he was more pleased than otherwise. +It would save embarrassment. He was going South, where his color would +be more considered than his reputation, and on the little local he +chose there was a “Jim Crow” car—one, that is, specially set aside +for those of his race. That it proved crowded and full of smoke did +not trouble him at all, nor did the admiring pleasantries which the +splendor of his apparel immediately called forth. No one knew him; +indeed, he was naturally enough mistaken for a prosperous gambler, a +not unflattering supposition. In the yard, after the train pulled out, +he saw his private car under a glaring arc light, and grinned to see +it left behind.</p> + +<p>He spent the night pleasantly in a noisy game of high-low-jack, and +the next morning slept more soundly than he had slept for weeks, +hunched upon a wooden bench in the boxlike station of a North Carolina +junction. The express would have brought him to Jacksonville in +twenty-four hours; the journey, as he took it, boarding any local that +happened to be going south, and leaving it for meals or sometimes for +sleep or often as the whim possessed him, filled five happy days. +There he took a night train, and dozed from Jacksonville until a +little north of New Smyrna.</p> + +<p>He awoke to find it broad daylight, and the car half empty. The train +was on a siding, with news of a freight wreck ahead. Gideon stretched +himself, and looked out of the window, and emotion seized him. For all +his journey the South had seemed to welcome him, but here at last was +the country he knew. He went out upon the platform and threw back his +head, sniffing the soft breeze, heavy with the mysterious thrill of +unplowed acres, the wondrous existence of primordial jungle, where +life has rioted unceasingly above unceasing decay. It was dry with the +fine dust of waste places, and wet with the warm mists of slumbering +swamps; it seemed to Gideon to tremble with the songs of birds, the +dry murmur of palm leaves, and the almost inaudible whisper of the +gray moss that festooned the live-oaks.</p> + +<p>“Um-m-m,” he murmured, apostrophizing it, “yo’ ’s the right kind o’ +breeze, yo’ is. Yo’-all’s healthy.” Still sniffing, he climbed down to +the dusty road-bed.</p> + +<p>The negroes who had ridden with him were sprawled about him on the +ground; one of them lay sleeping, face up, in the sunlight. The train +had evidently been there for some time, and there were no signs of an +immediate departure. He bought some oranges of a little, bowlegged +black boy, and sat down on a log to eat them and to give up his mind +to enjoyment. The sun was hot upon him, and his thoughts were vague +and drowsy. He was glad that he was alive, glad to be back once more +among familiar scenes. Down the length of the train he saw white +passengers from the Pullmans restlessly pacing up and down, getting +into their cars and out of them, consulting watches, attaching +themselves with gesticulatory expostulation to various officials; but +their impatience found no echo in his thought. What was the hurry? +There was plenty of time. It was sufficient to have come to his own +land; the actual walls of home could wait. The delay was pleasant, +with its opportunity for drowsy sunning, its relief from the grimy +monotony of travel. He glanced at the orange-colored “Jim Crow” with +distaste, and inspiration, dawning slowly upon him, swept all other +thought before it in its great and growing glory.</p> + +<p>A brakeman passed, and Gideon leaped to his feet and pursued him.</p> + +<p>“Misteh, how long yo’-all reckon this train goin’ to be?”</p> + +<p>“About an hour.”</p> + +<p>The question had been a mere matter of form. Gideon had made up his +mind, and if he had been told that they started in five minutes he +would not have changed it. He climbed back into the car for his coat +and his hat, and then almost furtively stole down the steps again and +slipped quietly into the palmetto scrub.</p> + +<p>“’Most made the mistake of ma life,” he chuckled, “stickin’ to that +ol’ train foheveh. ’Tisn’t the right way at, all foh Gideon to come +home.”</p> + +<p>The river was not far away. He could catch the dancing blue of it from +time to time in ragged vista, and for this beacon he steered directly. +His coat was heavy on his arm, his thin patent-leather ties pinched +and burned and demanded detours around swampy places, but he was +happy.</p> + +<p>As he went along, his plan perfected itself. He would get into loose +shoes again, old ones, if money could buy them, and old clothes, too. +The bull-briers snatching at his tailored splendor suggested that.</p> + +<p>He laughed when the Florida partridge, a small quail, whirred up from +under his feet; he paused to exchange affectionate mockery with red +squirrels; and once, even when he was brought up suddenly to a +familiar and ominous, dry reverberation, the small, crisp sound of the +rolling drums of death, he did not look about him for some instrument +of destruction, as at any other time he would have done, but instead +peered cautiously over the log before him, and spoke in tolerant +admonition:</p> + +<p>“Now, Misteh Rattlesnake, yo’ jes min’ yo’ own business. Nobody’s +goin’ step on yo’, ner go triflin’ roun’ yo’ in no way whatsomeveh. +Yo’ jes lay there in the sun an’ git ’s fat ’s yo’ please. Don’ yo’ +tu’n yo’ weeked li’l’ eyes on Gideon. He’s jes goin’ ’long home, an’ +ain’ lookin’ foh no muss.”</p> + +<p>He came presently to the water, and, as luck would have it, to a +little group of negro cabins, where he was able to buy old clothes +and, after much dickering, a long and somewhat leaky rowboat rigged +out with a tattered leg-of-mutton sail. This he provisioned with a jug +of water, a starch box full of white corn-meal, and a wide strip of +lean razorback bacon.</p> + +<p>As he pushed out from shore and set his sail to the small breeze that +blew down from the north, an absolute contentment possessed him. The +idle waters of the lagoon, lying without tide or current in eternal +indolence, rippled and sparkled in breeze and sunlight with a merry +surface activity, and seemed to lap the leaky little boat more swiftly +on its way. Mosquito Inlet opened broadly before him, and skirting the +end of Merritt’s Island he came at last into that longest lagoon, with +which he was most familiar, the Indian River. Here the wind died down +to a mere breath, which barely kept his boat in motion; but he made no +attempt to row. As long as he moved at all, he was satisfied. He was +living the fulfilment of his dreams in exile, lounging in the stern in +the ancient clothes he had purchased, his feet stretched comfortably +before him in their broken shoes, one foot upon a thwart, the other +hanging overside so laxly that occasional ripples lapped the run-over +heel. From time to time he scanned shore and river for familiar points +of interest—some remembered snag that showed the tip of one gnarled +branch. Or he marked a newly fallen palmetto, already rotting in the +water, which must be added to that map of vast detail that he carried +in his head. But for the most part his broad black face was turned up +to the blue brilliance above him in unblinking contemplation; his keen +eyes, brilliant despite their sun-muddied whites, reveled in the +heights above him, swinging from horizon to horizon in the wake of an +orderly file of little bluebill ducks, winging their way across the +river, or brightening with interest at the rarer sight of a pair of +mallards or redheads, lifting with the soaring circles of the great +bald-headed eagle, or following the scattered squadron of heron—white +heron, blue heron, young and old, trailing, sunlit, brilliant patches, +clear even against the bright white and blue of the sky above them.</p> + +<p>Often he laughed aloud, sending a great shout of mirth across the +water in fresh relish of those comedies best known and best enjoyed. +It was as excruciatingly funny as it had ever been, when his boat +nosed its way into a great flock of ducks idling upon the water, to +see the mad paddling haste of those nearest him, the reproachful turn +of their heads, or, if he came too near, their spattering run out of +water, feet and wings pumping together as they rose from the surface, +looking for all the world like fat little women, scurrying with +clutched skirts across city streets. The pelicans, too, delighted him +as they perched with pedantic solemnity upon wharf-piles, or sailed in +hunched and huddled gravity twenty feet above the river’s surface in +swift, dignified flight, which always ended suddenly in an abrupt, +up-ended plunge that threw dignity to the winds in its greedy haste, +and dropped them crashing into the water.</p> + +<p>When darkness came suddenly at last, he made in toward shore, mooring +to the warm-fretted end of a fallen and forgotten landing. A +straggling orange-grove was here, broken lines of vanquished +cultivation, struggling little trees swathed and choked in the +festooning gray moss, still showing here and there the valiant golden +gleam of fruit. Gideon had seen many such places, had seen settlers +come and clear themselves a space in the jungle, plant their groves, +and live for a while in lazy independence; and then for some reason or +other they would go, and before they had scarcely turned their backs, +the jungle had crept in again, patiently restoring its ancient +sovereignty. The place was eery with the ghost of dead effort; but it +pleased him.</p> + +<p>He made a fire and cooked supper, eating enormously and with relish. +His conscience did not trouble him at all. Stuhk and his own career +seemed already distant; they took small place in his thoughts, and +served merely as a background for his present absolute content. He +picked some oranges, and ate them in meditative enjoyment. For a while +he nodded, half asleep, beside his fire, watching the darkened river, +where the mullet, shimmering with phosphorescence, still leaped +starkly above the surface, and fell in spattering brilliance. Midnight +found him sprawled asleep beside his fire.</p> + +<p>Once he awoke. The moon had risen, and a little breeze waved the +hanging moss, and whispered in the glossy foliage of orange and +palmetto with a sound like falling rain. Gideon sat up and peered +about him, rolling his eyes hither and thither at the menacing leap +and dance of the jet shadows. His heart was beating thickly, his +muscles twitched, and the awful terrors of night pulsed and shuddered +over him. Nameless specters peered at him from every shadow, +ingenerate familiars of his wild, forgotten blood. He groaned aloud in +a delicious terror; and presently, still twitching and shivering, fell +asleep again. It was as if something magical had happened; his fear +remembered the fear of centuries, and yet with the warm daylight was +absolutely forgotten.</p> + +<p>He got up a little after sunrise, and went down to the river to bathe, +diving deep with a joyful sense of freeing himself from the last alien +dust of travel. Once ashore again, however, he began to prepare his +breakfast with some haste. For the first time in his journey he was +feeling a sense of loneliness and a longing for his kind. He was still +happy, but his laughter began to seem strange to him in the solitude. +He tried the defiant experiment of laughing for the effect of it, an +experiment which brought him to his feet in startled terror; for his +laughter was echoed. As he stood peering about him, the sound came +again, not laughter this time, but a suppressed giggle. It was human +beyond a doubt. Gideon’s face shone with relief and sympathetic +amusement; he listened for a moment, and then strode surely forward +toward a clump of low palms. There he paused, every sense alert. His +ear caught a soft rustle, a little gasp of fear; the sound of a foot +moved cautiously.</p> + +<p>“Missy,” he said tentatively, “I reckon yo’-all’s come jes ’bout ’n +time foh breakfus. Yo’ betteh have some. Ef yo’ ain’ too white to sit +down with a black man.”</p> + +<p>The leaves parted, and a smiling face as black as Gideon’s own +regarded him in shy amusement.</p> + +<p>“Who is yo’, man?”</p> + +<p>“I mought be king of Kongo,” he laughed, “but I ain’t. Yo’ see befo’ +yo’ jes Gideon—at yo’r ’steemed sehvice.” He bowed elaborately in the +mock humility of assured importance, watching her face in pleasant +anticipation.</p> + +<p>But neither awe nor rapture dawned there. She repeated the name, +inclining her head coquettishly; but it evidently meant nothing to +her. She was merely trying its sound. “Gideon, Gideon. I don’ call to +min’ any sech name ez that. Yo’-all’s f’om up No’th likely.” He was +beyond the reaches of fame.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Gideon, hardly knowing whether he was glad or sorry—“no, I +live south of heah. What-all’s yo’ name?”</p> + +<p>The girl giggled deliciously.</p> + +<p>“Man,” she said, “I shu got the mos’ reediculoustest name you eveh did +heah. They call me Vashti—yo’ bacon’s bu’nin’.” She stepped out, and +ran past him to snatch his skillet deftly from the fire.</p> + +<p>“Vashti”—a strange and delightful name. Gideon followed her slowly. +Her romantic coming and her romantic name pleased him; and, too, he +thought her beautiful. She was scarcely more than a girl, slim and +strong and almost of his own height. She was barefooted, but her +blue-checked gingham was clean and belted smartly about a small waist. +He remembered only one woman who ran as lithely as she did, one of the +numerous “diving beauties” of the vaudeville stage.</p> + +<p>She cooked their breakfast, but he served her with an elaborate +gallantry, putting forward all his new and foreign graces, garnishing +his speech with imposing polysyllables, casting about their picnic +breakfast a radiant aura of grandeur borrowed from the recent days of +his fame. And he saw that he pleased her, and with her open admiration +essayed still greater flights of polished manner.</p> + +<p>He made vague plans for delaying his journey as they sat smoking in +pleasant conversational ease; and when an interruption came it vexed +him.</p> + +<p>“Vashty! Vashty!” a woman’s voice sounded thin and far away. +“Vashty-y! Yo’ heah me, chile?”</p> + +<p>Vashti rose to her feet with a sigh.</p> + +<p>“That’s my ma,” she said regretfully.</p> + +<p>“What do yo’ care?” asked Gideon. “Let her yell awhile.”</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Ma’s a moughty pow’ful ’oman, and she done got a club ’bout the size +o’ my wrist.” She moved off a step or so, and glanced back at him.</p> + +<p>Gideon leaped to his feet.</p> + +<p>“When yo’ comin’ back? Yo’—yo’ ain’ goin’ without——” He held out +his arms to her, but she only giggled and began to walk slowly away. +With a bound he was after her, one hand catching her lightly by the +shoulder. He felt suddenly that he must not lose sight of her.</p> + +<p>“Let me go! Tu’n me loose, yo’!” The girl was still laughing, but +evidently troubled. She wrenched herself away with an effort, only to +be caught again a moment later. She screamed and struck at him as he +kissed her; for now she was really in terror.</p> + +<p>The blow caught Gideon squarely in the mouth, and with such force that +he staggered back, astonished, while the girl took wildly to her +heels. He stood for a moment irresolute, for something was happening +to him. For months he had evaded love with a gentle embarrassment; +now, with the savage crash of that blow, he knew unreasoningly that he +had found his woman.</p> + +<p>He leaped after her again, running as he had not run in years, in +savage, determined pursuit, tearing through brier and scrub, tripping, +falling, rising, never losing sight of the blue-clad figure before him +until at last she tripped and fell, and he stood panting above her.</p> + +<p>He took a great breath or so, and leaned over and picked her up in his +arms, where she screamed and struck and scratched at him. He laughed, +for he felt no longer sensible to pain, and, still chuckling, picked +his way carefully back to the shore, wading deep into the water to +unmoor his boat. Then with a swift movement he dropped the girl into +the bow, pushed free, and clambered actively aboard.</p> + +<p>The light, early morning breeze had freshened, and he made out well +toward the middle of the river, never even glancing around at the +sound of the hallooing he now heard from shore. His exertions had +quickened his breathing, but he felt strong and joyful. Vashti lay a +huddle of blue in the bow, crouched in fear and desolation, shaken and +torn with sobbing; but he made no effort to comfort her. He was +untroubled by any sense of wrong; he was simply and unreasoningly +satisfied with what he had done. Despite all his gentle, easy-going, +laughter-loving existence, he found nothing incongruous or unnatural +in this sudden act of violence. He was aglow with happiness; he was +taking home a wife. The blind tumult of capture had passed; a great +tenderness possessed him.</p> + +<p>The leaky little boat was plunging and dancing in swift ecstasy of +movement; all about them the little waves ran glittering in the +sunlight, plashing and slapping against the boat’s low side, tossing +tiny crests to the following wind, showing rifts of white here and +there, blowing handfuls of foam and spray. Gideon went softly about +the business of shortening his small sail, and came quietly back to +his steering-seat again. Soon he would have to be making for what lea +the western shore offered; but he was holding to the middle of the +river as long as he could, because with every mile the shores were +growing more familiar, calling to him to make what speed he could. +Vashti’s sobbing had grown small and ceased; he wondered if she had +fallen asleep.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, he saw her face raised—a face still shining with +tears. She saw that he was watching her, and crouched low again. A +dash of spray spattered over her, and she looked up frightened, +glancing fearfully overside; then once more her eyes came back to him, +and this time she got up, still small and crouching, and made her way +slowly and painfully down the length of the boat, until at last Gideon +moved aside for her, and she sank in the bottom beside him, hiding her +eyes in her gingham sleeve.</p> + +<p>Gideon stretched out a broad hand and touched her head lightly; and +with a tiny gasp her fingers stole up to his.</p> + +<p>“Honey,” said Gideon—“Honey, yo’ ain’ mad, is yo’?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head, not looking at him.</p> + +<p>“Yo’ ain’ grievin’ foh yo’ ma?”</p> + +<p>Again she shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Because,” said Gideon, smiling down at her, “I ain’ got no beeg club +like she has.”</p> + +<p>A soft and smothered giggle answered him, and this time Vashti looked +up and laid her head against him with a small sigh of contentment.</p> + +<p>Gideon felt very tender, very important, at peace with himself and all +the world. He rounded a jutting point, and stretched out a black hand, +pointing.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">[28]</a> From <cite>The Century Magazine</cite>, April, 1914; copyright, 1914, by The +Century Co.; republished by the author’s permission.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<p class="smcap center">End of Volume</p> + + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10947 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + + |