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diff --git a/old/10947-0.txt b/old/10947-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbcc355 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10947-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12613 @@ + + + + +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The best American humorous short stories, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The best American humorous short stories + +Author: Various + +Editor: Alexander Jessup + +Release Date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #10947] + +Last Update: August 7, 2022 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Etext produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST AMERICAN HUMOROUS SHORT STORIES *** + + + + + THE BEST + AMERICAN HUMOROUS + SHORT STORIES + + + _Edited by_ + ALEXANDER JESSUP + + _Editor of “Representative American Short Stories,” + “The Book of the Short Story,” the “Little + French Masterpieces” Series, etc._ + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +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,[1] 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. + +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—_Uncle Remus_—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. + +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 _Phoenixiana_ (1855) and the _Squibob Papers_ (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.”[2] 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 +_Fables in Slang_ is chiefly a satirist, whether in fable, play or +what not. + +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 _The Legend +of Sleepy Hollow_ and _Rip Van Winkle_, 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 _Tales +and Sketches: by a Cosmopolite_ (1830), notably in _The Dapper +Gentleman’s Story_, 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, +_Major Jones’s Courtship_ (1840); Johnson Jones Hooper (1815–1862), +author of _Widow Rugby’s Husband, and Other Tales of Alabama_ +(1851); Joseph G. Baldwin (1815–1864), who wrote _The Flush Times +of Alabama and Mississippi_ (1853); and Augustus Baldwin Longstreet +(1790–1870), whose _Georgia Scenes_ (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. + +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 +_Charcoal Sketches, or Scenes in a Metropolis_ (1837–1849) must +suffice. The work of Seba Smith is sufficiently expressed in his +title, _Way Down East, or Portraitures of Yankee Life_ (1854), +although his _Letters of Major Jack Downing_ (1833) is better +known. Of his single stories may be mentioned _The General Court +and Jane Andrews’ Firkin of Butter_ (October, 1847, _Graham’s +Magazine_). 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 _Aunt Magwire’s Account +of Parson Scrantum’s Donation Party_ (March, 1848, _Godey’s Lady’s +Book_) and _Aunt Magwire’s Account of the Mission to Muffletegawmy_ +(July, 1859, _Godey’s_), were afterwards collected in _The Widow +Bedott Papers_ (1855-56-80). The scope of the work of Mary B. Haven +is sufficiently suggested by her story, _Mrs. Bowen’s Parlor and +Spare Bedroom_ (February, 1860, _Godey’s_), while the best stories +of Mary W. Janvrin include _The Foreign Count; or, High Art in +Tattletown_ (October, 1860, _Godey’s_) and _City Relations; or, the +Newmans’ Summer at Clovernook_ (November, 1861, _Godey’s_). The +work of Alice Bradley Haven Neal is of somewhat similar texture. +Her book, _The Gossips of Rivertown, with Sketches in Prose and +Verse_ (1850) indicates her field, as does the single title, _The +Third-Class Hotel_ (December, 1861, _Godey’s_). 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 _The Watkinson Evening_ (December, 1846, _Godey’s Lady’s +Book_), included in the present volume; others are _The Batson +Cottage_ (November, 1846, _Godey’s Lady’s Book_) and _Juliet Irwin; +or, the Carriage People_ (June, 1847, _Godey’s Lady’s Book_). +One of her chief collections of stories is _Pencil Sketches_ +(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 _The Gift_ 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. + +George Pope Morris (1802–1864) was one of the founders of _The +New York Mirror_, and for a time its editor. He is best known as +the author of the poem, _Woodman, Spare That Tree_, and other +poems and songs. _The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots_ (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 _The Angel of +the Odd_ (October, 1844, _Columbian Magazine_), perhaps the best +of his humorous stories. _The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether_ +(November, 1845, _Graham’s Magazine_) 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. + +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 _A Descent into the +Maelstrom_ (1841), _The Pit and the Pendulum_ (1842), _The Black +Cat_ (1843), and _The Cask of Amontillado_ (1846). In the realm +of beauty his notable productions are _The Assignation_ (1834), +_Shadow: a Parable_ (1835), _Ligeia_ (1838), _The Fall of the House +of Usher_ (1839), _Eleonora_ (1841), and _The Masque of the Red +Death_ (1842). The tales of ratiocination—what are now generally +termed detective stories—include _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ +(1841) and its sequel, _The Mystery of Marie Rogêt_ (1842–1843), +_The Gold-Bug_ (1843), _The Oblong Box_ (1844), “_Thou Art the +Man_” (1844), and _The Purloined Letter_ (1844). + +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 _effects_ of +structure may be astounding in their power or unexpectedness, yet +the _means_ 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 _combined_ with +the piece of writing to form a well-balanced whole. Style is more +difficult to imitate than structure, but on the other hand _the +origin of structural influence_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +As Poe’s best short stories may be mentioned: _Metzengerstein_ +(Jan. 14, 1832, Philadelphia _Saturday Courier_), _Ms. Found in +a Bottle_ (October 19, 1833, _Baltimore Saturday Visiter_), _The +Assignation_ (January, 1834, _Godey’s Lady’s Book_), _Berenice_ +(March, 1835, _Southern Literary Messenger_), _Morella_ (April, +1835, _Southern Literary Messenger_), _The Unparalleled Adventure +of One Hans Pfaall_ (June, 1835, _Southern Literary Messenger_), +_King Pest: a Tale Containing an Allegory_ (September, 1835, +_Southern Literary Messenger_), _Shadow: a Parable_ (September, +1835, _Southern Literary Messenger_), _Ligeia_ (September, 1838, +_American Museum_), _The Fall of the House of Usher_ (September, +1839, _Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine_), _William Wilson_ (1839: +_Gift for_ 1840), _The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion_ +(December, 1839, _Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine_), _The Murders +in the Rue Morgue_ (April, 1841, _Graham’s Magazine_), _A Descent +into the Maelstrom_ (May, 1841, _Graham’s Magazine_), _Eleonora_ +(1841: _Gift_ for 1842), _The Masque of the Red Death_ (May, 1842, +_Graham’s Magazine_), _The Pit and the Pendulum_ (1842: _Gift for +1843_), _The Tell-Tale Heart_ (January, 1843, _Pioneer_), _The +Gold-Bug_ (June 21 and 28, 1843, _Dollar Newspaper_), _The Black +Cat_ (August 19, 1843, _United States Saturday Post_), _The Oblong +Box_ (September, 1844, _Godey’s Lady’s Book_), _The Angel of the +Odd_ (October, 1844, _Columbian Magazine_), “_Thou Art the Man_” +(November, 1844, _Godey’s Lady’s Book_), _The Purloined Letter_ +(1844: _Gift_ for 1845), _The Imp of the Perverse_ (July, 1845, +_Graham’s Magazine_), _The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether_ +(November, 1845, _Graham’s Magazine_), _The Facts in the Case +of M. Valdemar_ (December, 1845, _American Whig Review_), _The +Cask of Amontillado_ (November, 1846, _Godey’s Lady’s Book_), and +_Lander’s Cottage_ (June 9, 1849, _Flag of Our Union_). Poe’s +chief collections are: _Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque_ +(1840), _Tales_ (1845), and _The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe_ +(1850–56). These titles have been dropped from recent editions of +his works, however, and the stories brought together under the +title _Tales_, or under subdivisions furnished by his editors, such +as _Tales of Ratiocination_, etc. + +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 _Western Clearings_ +(1845), from which _The Schoolmaster’s Progress_, first published +in _The Gift_ for 1845 (out in 1844), is taken. Other stories +republished in that collection are _The Ball at Thram’s Huddle_ +(April, 1840, _Knickerbocker Magazine_), _Recollections of the +Land-Fever_ (September, 1840, _Knickerbocker Magazine_), and _The +Bee-Tree_ (_The Gift_ 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. + +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 _The Editor’s Easy Chair_ for _Harper’s +Magazine_ for many years. His volume, _Prue and I_ (1856), contains +many fictional elements, and a story from it, _Titbottom’s +Spectacles_, 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 _The Shrouded +Portrait_ (in _The Knickerbocker Gallery_, 1855) and _The Millenial +Club_ (November, 1858, _Knickerbocker Magazine_). + +Edward Everett Hale (1822–1909) is chiefly known as the author +of the short story, _The Man Without a Country_ (December, 1863, +_Atlantic Monthly_), but his venture in the comic vein, _My Double; +and How He Undid Me_ (September, 1859, _Atlantic Monthly_), is +equally worthy of appreciation. It was his first published story +of importance. Other noteworthy stories of his are: _The Brick +Moon_ (October, November and December, 1869, _Atlantic Monthly_), +_Life in the Brick Moon_ (February, 1870, _Atlantic Monthly_), +and _Susan’s Escort_ (May, 1890, _Harper’s Magazine_). His chief +volumes of short stories are: _The Man Without a Country, and +Other Tales_ (1868); _The Brick Moon, and Other Stories_ (1873); +_Crusoe in New York, and Other Tales_ (1880); and _Susan’s Escort, +and Others_ (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 +_samely_ different from other writers; in being _consistently_ +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. + +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 _Breakfast-Table_ books +(1858-1860-1872-1890). _Old Ironsides_, _The Last Leaf_, _The +Chambered Nautilus_ and _Homesick in Heaven_ 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 +_Lyra Elegantiarum_ (1867) declared that Holmes was “perhaps the +best living writer of this species of verse.” His trenchant attack +on _Homeopathy and Its Kindred Delusions_ (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 _The Religio-Medical Masquerade_, or +brought the batteries of his humor to bear on it in the manner of +Robert Louis Stevenson’s fable, _Something In It_: “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), _The Guardian Angel_ (1867) and _A +Mortal Antipathy_ (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 _The New England Magazine_, called _The +Début_, signed O.W.H. _The Story of Iris_ in _The Professor at the +Breakfast Table_, which ran in _The Atlantic_ throughout 1859, and +_A Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters_ (January, +1861, _Atlantic_) 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. + +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. _The Celebrated Jumping Frog +of Calaveras County_ was his first publication of importance, and +it saw the light in the Nov. 18, 1865, number of _The Saturday +Press_. It was republished in the collection, _The Celebrated +Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches_, in 1867. +Others of his best pieces of short fiction are: _The Canvasser’s +Tale_ (December, 1876, _Atlantic Monthly_), _The £1,000,000 Bank +Note_ (January, 1893, _Century Magazine_), _The Esquimau Maiden’s +Romance_ (November, 1893, _Cosmopolitan_), _Traveling with a +Reformer_ (December, 1893, _Cosmopolitan_), _The Man That Corrupted +Hadleyburg_ (December, 1899, _Harper’s_), _A Double-Barrelled +Detective Story_ (January and February, 1902, _Harper’s_) _A Dog’s +Tale_ (December, 1903, _Harper’s_), and _Eve’s Diary_ (December, +1905, _Harper’s_). Among Twain’s chief collections of short +stories are: _The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, +and Other Sketches_ (1867); _The Stolen White Elephant_ (1882), +_The £1,000,000 Bank Note_ (1893), and _The Man That Corrupted +Hadleyburg, and Other Stories and Sketches_ (1900). + +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 _Georgia Scenes_ (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.”[3] An exception to this might be made in favor of +_Elder Brown’s Backslide_ (August, 1885, _Harper’s_), 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: _Two +Runaways_ (July, 1886, _Century_), _Sister Todhunter’s Heart_ +(July, 1887, _Century_), “_De Valley an’ de Shadder_” (January, +1888, _Century_), _An Idyl of “Sinkin’ Mount’in”_ (October, +1888, _Century_), _The Rival Souls_ (March, 1889, _Century_), +_The Woodhaven Goat_ (March, 1899, _Century_), and _The Shadow_ +(December, 1906, _Century_). His chief collections are _Two +Runaways, and Other Stories_ (1889) and _His Defense, and Other +Stories_ (1898). + +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 _Georgia Sketches, by an Old Man_ (1864). _The +Goose Pond School_, 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, _The New Eclectic_, +over the pseudonym “Philemon Perch.” His famous _Dukesborough +Tales_ (1871–1874) was largely a republication of the earlier book. +Other noteworthy collections of his are: _Mr. Absalom Billingslea +and Other Georgia Folk_ (1888), _Mr. Fortner’s Marital Claims, +and Other Stories_ (1892), and _Old Times in Middle Georgia_ +(1897). Among individual stories stand out: _The Organ-Grinder_ +(July, 1870, _New Eclectic_), _Mr. Neelus Peeler’s Conditions_ +(June, 1879, _Scribner’s Monthly_), _The Brief Embarrassment of +Mr. Iverson Blount_ (September, 1884, _Century_); _The Hotel +Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker_ (June, 1886, _Century_), republished +in the present collection; _The Wimpy Adoptions_ (February, 1887, +_Century_), _The Experiments of Miss Sally Cash_ (September, 1888, +_Century_), and _Our Witch_ (March, 1897, _Century_). Johnston +must be ranked almost with Bret Harte as a pioneer in “local +color” work, although his work had little recognition until his +_Dukesborough Tales_ were republished by Harper & Brothers in 1883. + +Bret Harte (1839–1902) is mentioned here owing to the late date +of his story included in this volume, _Colonel Starbottle for +the Plaintiff_ (March, 1901, _Harper’s_), although his work as a +whole of course belongs to an earlier period of our literature. +It is now well-thumbed literary history that _The Luck of Roaring +Camp_ (August, 1868, _Overland_) and _The Outcasts of Poker Flat_ +(January, 1869, _Overland_) brought him a popularity that, in its +suddenness and extent, had no precedent in American literature save +in the case of Mrs. Stowe and _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_. 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. + +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.”[4] + +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, _Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff_. Here is +part of it: + +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!” + +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. + +Among the best of his short stories may be mentioned: _The Luck of +Roaring Camp_ (August, 1868, _Overland_), _The Outcasts of Poker +Flat_ (January, 1869, _Overland_), _Tennessee’s Partner_ (October, +1869, _Overland_), _Brown of Calaveras_ (March, 1870, _Overland_), +_Flip: a California Romance_ (in _Flip, and Other Stories_, 1882), +_Left Out on Lone Star Mountain_ (January, 1884, _Longman’s_), _An +Ingenue of the Sierras_ (July, 1894, _McClure’s_), _The Bell-Ringer +of Angel’s_ (in _The Bell-Ringer of Angel’s, and Other Stories_, +1894), _Chu Chu_ (in _The Bell-Ringer of Angel’s, and Other +Stories_, 1894), _The Man and the Mountain_ (in _The Ancestors of +Peter Atherly, and Other Tales_, 1897), _Salomy Jane’s Kiss_ (in +_Stories in Light and Shadow_, 1898), _The Youngest Miss Piper_ +(February, 1900, _Leslie’s Monthly_), _Colonel Starbottle for the +Plaintiff_ (March, 1901, _Harper’s_), _A Mercury of the Foothills_ +(July, 1901, _Cosmopolitan_), _Lanty Foster’s Mistake_ (December, +1901, _New England_), _An Ali Baba of the Sierras_ (January 4, +1902, _Saturday Evening Post_), and _Dick Boyle’s Business Card_ +(in _Trent’s Trust, and Other Stories_, 1903). Among his notable +collections of stories are: _The Luck of Roaring Camp, and Other +Sketches_ (1870), _Flip, and Other Stories_ (1882), _On the +Frontier_ (1884), _Colonel Starbottle’s Client, and Some Other +People_ (1892), _A Protégé of Jack Hamlin’s, and Other Stories_ +(1894), _The Bell-Ringer of Angel’s, and Other Stories_ (1894), +_The Ancestors of Peter Atherly, and Other Tales_ (1897), _Openings +in the Old Trail_ (1902), and _Trent’s Trust, and Other Stories_ +(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.[5] + +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 _Puck_ and creator of some of the most exquisite _vers de +société_ of the period. The title of one of his collections, _Made +in France: French Tales Retold with a U.S. Twist_ (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 _Short Sixes_ marks +one of the high places which have been attained by the American +short story.”[6] + +Among Bunner’s best stories are: _Love in Old Cloathes_ (September, +1883, _Century), A Successful Failure_ (July, 1887, _Puck_), _The +Love-Letters of Smith_ (July 23, 1890, _Puck_) _The Nice People_ +(July 30, 1890, _Puck_), _The Nine Cent-Girls_ (August 13, 1890, +_Puck_), _The Two Churches of ’Quawket_ (August 27, 1890, _Puck_), +_A Round-Up_ (September 10, 1890, _Puck_), _A Sisterly Scheme_ +(September 24, 1890, _Puck_), _Our Aromatic Uncle_ (August, 1895, +_Scribner’s_), _The Time-Table Test_ (in _The Suburban Sage_, +1896). He collaborated with Prof. Brander Matthews in several +stories, notably in _The Documents in the Case_ (Sept., 1879, +_Scribner’s Monthly_). His best collections are: _Short Sixes: +Stories to be Read While the Candle Burns_ (1891), _More Short +Sixes_ (1894), and _Love in Old Cloathes, and Other Stories_ (1896). + +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, _The Luck of Roaring Camp_ (1868) and _The +Outcasts of Poker Flat_ (1869), has already been noted.[7] But +one story just before Harte that astonished the fiction audience +with its power and art was Harriet Prescott Spofford’s (1835– ) +_The Amber Gods_ (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 _Marjorie Daw_ (April, 1873, _Atlantic_), a story +with a surprise at the end, as had been his _A Struggle for Life_ +(July, 1867, _Atlantic_), although it was only _Marjorie Daw_ that +attracted much attention at the time. Then came George Washington +Cable’s (1844– ) “_Posson Jone’_,” (April 1, 1876, _Appleton’s +Journal_) and a little later Charles Egbert Craddock’s (1850– ) +_The Dancin’ Party at Harrison’s Cove_ (May, 1878, _Atlantic_) and +_The Star in the Valley_ (November, 1878, _Atlantic_). But the +work of Cable and Craddock, though of sterling worth, won its way +gradually. Even Edward Everett Hale’s (1822–1909) _My Double; and +How He Undid Me_ (September, 1859, _Atlantic_) and _The Man Without +a Country_ (December, 1863, _Atlantic_) 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 _Marjorie Daw_,” says Prof. Pattee, “was +mild compared with that accorded to Frank R. Stockton’s _The +Lady or the Tiger?_ (1884). Stockton had not the technique of +Aldrich nor his naturalness and ease. Certainly he had not his +atmosphere of the _beau monde_ 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 _The Lady or the Tiger?_ 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.”[8] The publication of Stockton’s short stories covers +a period of over forty years, from _Mahala’s Drive_ (November, +1868, _Lippincott’s_) to _The Trouble She Caused When She Kissed_ +(December, 1911, _Ladies’ Home Journal_), published nine years +after his death. Among the more notable of his stories may be +mentioned: _The Transferred Ghost_ (May, 1882, _Century_), _The +Lady or the Tiger?_ (November, 1882, _Century_), _The Reversible +Landscape_ (July, 1884, _Century_), _The Remarkable Wreck of the +“Thomas Hyke”_ (August, 1884, _Century_), _“His Wife’s Deceased +Sister”_ (January, 1884, _Century_), _A Tale of Negative Gravity_ +(December, 1884, _Century_), _The Christmas Wreck_ (in _The +Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories_, 1886), _Amos Kilbright_ +(in _Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious Experiences, with Other +Stories_, 1888), _Asaph_ (May, 1892, _Cosmopolitan_), _My Terminal +Moraine_ (April 26, 1892, Collier’s _Once a Week Library_), _The +Magic Egg_ (June, 1894, _Century_), _The Buller-Podington Compact_ +(August, 1897, _Scribner’s_), and _The Widow’s Cruise_ (in _A +Story-Teller’s Pack_, 1897). Most of his best work was gathered +into the collections: _The Lady or the Tiger?, and Other Stories_ +(1884), _The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales_ (1887), +_Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious Experiences, with Other Stories_ +(1888), _The Clocks of Rondaine, and Other Stories_ (1892), _A +Chosen Few_ (1895), _A Story-Teller’s Pack_ (1897), and _The +Queen’s Museum, and Other Fanciful Tales_ (1906). + +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). + +“O. Henry” was the pen name adopted by William Sydney Porter. +He began his short story career by contributing _Whistling +Dick’s Christmas Stocking_ to _McClure’s Magazine_ 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 _New York World_ 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 _A Blackjack +Bargainer_ (August, 1901, _Munsey’s_). He followed this with such +masterly stories as: _The Duplicity of Hargraves_ (February, +1902, _Junior Munsey_), _The Marionettes_ (April, 1902, _Black +Cat_), _A Retrieved Reformation_ (April, 1903, _Cosmopolitan_), +_The Guardian of the Accolade_ (May, 1903, _Cosmopolitan_), _The +Enchanted Kiss_ (February, 1904, _Metropolitan_), _The Furnished +Room_ (August 14, 1904, _New York World_), _An Unfinished Story_ +(August, 1905, _McClure’s_), _The Count and the Wedding Guest_ +(October 8, 1905, _New York World_), _The Gift of the Magi_ +(December 10, 1905, _New York World_), _The Trimmed Lamp_ (August, +1906, _McClure’s_), _Phoebe_ (November, 1907, _Everybody’s_), _The +Hiding of Black Bill_ (October, 1908, _Everybody’s_), _No Story_ +(June, 1909, _Metropolitan_), _A Municipal Report_ (November, 1909, +_Hampton’s_), _A Service of Love_ (in _The Four Million_, 1909), +_The Pendulum_ (in _The Trimmed Lamp_, 1910), _Brickdust Row_ +(in _The Trimmed Lamp_, 1910), and _The Assessor of Success_ (in +_The Trimmed Lamp_, 1910). Among O. Henry’s best volumes of short +stories are: _The Four Million_ (1909), _Options_ (1909), _Roads +of Destiny_ (1909), _The Trimmed Lamp_ (1910), _Strictly Business: +More Stories of the Four Million_ (1910), _Whirligigs_ (1910), and +_Sixes and Sevens_ (1911). + +“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.”[9] _The Duplicity of Hargraves_, 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. + +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, _Bargain Day at Tutt House_ (June, 1905, +_McClure’s_), was nearly his first story; only two others, which +came out in _The Saturday Evening Post_ in 1903 and 1904, preceded +it. Its breathless dramatic action is well balanced by humor. +Other stories of his deserving of special mention are: _A Corner +in Farmers_ (February, 29, 1908, _Saturday Evening Post_), _A +Fortune in Smoke_ (March 14, 1908, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Easy +Money_ (November 14, 1908, _Saturday Evening Post_), _The Triple +Cross_ (December 5, 1908, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Spoiling +the Egyptians_ (December 26, 1908, _Saturday Evening Post_), +_Whipsawed!_ (January 16, 1909, _Saturday Evening Post_), _The +Bubble Bank_ (January 30 and February 6, 1909, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Straight Business_ (February 27, 1909, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Sam Turner: a Business Man’s Love Story_ (March 26, April +2 and 9, 1910, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Fundamental Justice_ +(July 25, 1914, _Saturday Evening Post_), _A Scropper Patcher_ +(October, 1916, _Everybody’s_), and _Jolly Bachelors_ (February, +1918, _Cosmopolitan_). His best collections are: _Get-Rich-Quick +Wallingford_ (1908), _Young Wallingford_ (1910), _Wallingford in +His Prime_ (1913), and _Wallingford and Blackie Daw_ (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. + +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 +_A Call_ (August, 1906, _Harper’s_) 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: _The +Capture of Andy Proudfoot_ (June, 1904, _Harper’s_), _In the +Strength of the Hills_ (December, 1905, _Metropolitan_), _The +Machinations of Ocoee Gallantine_ (April, 1906, _Century_), _A +Call_ (August, 1906, _Harper’s_), _Scott Bohannon’s Bond _(May +4, 1907, _Collier’s_), and _A Clean Shave_ (November, 1912, +_Century_). 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 _The Power and the Glory_ +(1910), and several good juveniles. + +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 _The +American Magazine_ 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, _Yawps_ (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, _Lo, the Summer Girl_. +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. + +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 _merely_ 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 _Harper’s Weekly_, 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: + + Dunno, perhaps + One of the yaps + Like me would make + A holy break + Doing his turn + With money to burn. + Anyhow, I + Wouldn’t shy + Making a try! + +and containing, among many effective touches, the pathetic lines, + + . . . I’d help + The poor who try to help themselves, + Who have to work so hard for bread + They can’t get very far ahead. + +When James Lane Allen’s novel, _The Reign of Law_, came out (1900), +a little quatrain by Lampton that appeared in _The Bookman_ +(September, 1900) swept like wildfire across the country, and was +read by a hundred times as many people as the book itself: + + “The Reign of Law”? + Well, Allen, you’re lucky; + It’s the first time it ever + Rained law in Kentucky! + +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, “_His Wife’s Deceased +Sister_” (January, 1884, _Century_), 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 ‘_His Wife’s Deceased Sister_’?” This +was merely Stockton’s turning to account his own somewhat similar +experience with the editors after his story, _The Lady or the +Tiger_? (November, 1882, _Century_) appeared. Likewise the editors +didn’t want Lampton’s short stories for a while because they liked +his poems so well. + +Do I hear some critics exclaiming that there is nothing remarkable +about _How the Widow Won the Deacon_, 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: _The +People’s Number of the Worthyville Watchman_ (May 12, 1900, +_Saturday Evening Post_), _Love’s Strange Spell_ (April 27, 1901, +_Saturday Evening Post_), _Abimelech Higgins’ Way_ (August 24, +1001, _Saturday Evening Post_), _A Cup of Tea_ (March, 1902, +_Metropolitan_), _Winning His Spurs_ (May, 1904, _Cosmopolitan_), +_The Perfidy of Major Pulsifer_ (November, 1909, _Cosmopolitan_), +_How the Widow Won the Deacon_ (April, 1911, _Harper’s Bazaar_), +and _A Brown Study_ (December, 1913, _Lippincott’s_). 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. + +_Gideon_ (April, 1914, _Century_), 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, _The +Professor’s Mystery_ (1911) and alone wrote another novel, _The +Man in the Brown Derby_ (1911). His short stories include: _The +New Little Boy_ (July, 1911, _American_), _That Day_ (September, +1911, _American_), _The Pick-Up_ (December, 1911, _Everybody’s_), +and _Gideon_ (April, 1914, _Century_). 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, _Gideon_ is surely entitled. + + ALEXANDER JESSUP. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] This I have attempted in _Representative American Short Stories_ +(Allyn & Bacon: Boston, 1922). + +[2] Will D. Howe, in _The Cambridge History of American Literature_, +Vol. II, pp. 158–159 (G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1918). + +[3] _A History of American Literature Since 1870_, p. 317 (The +Century Co.: 1915). + +[4] _A History of American Literature Since 1870_, pp 79–81. + +[5] “The Works of Bret Harte,” twenty volumes. The Houghton Mifflin +Company, Boston. + +[6] _The Cambridge History of American Literature_, Vol. II, p. 386. + +[7] See this Introduction. + +[8] _The Cambridge History of American Literature_, Vol. II, p. 385. + +[9] Fred Lewis Pattee, in The Cambridge History of American +Literature, Vol. II, p. 394. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + INTRODUCTION v + _Alexander Jessup_ + + THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS (1839) 1 + _George Pope Morris_ + + THE ANGEL OF THE ODD (1844) 7 + _Edgar Allan Poe_ + + THE SCHOOLMASTER’S PROGRESS (1844) 18 + _Caroline M.S. Kirkland_ + + THE WATKINSON EVENING (1846) 34 + _Eliza Leslie_ + + TITBOTTOM’S SPECTACLES (1854) 52 + _George William Curtis_ + + MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME (1859) 75 + _Edward Everett Hale_ + + A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS (1861) 94 + _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ + + THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY (1865) 102 + _Mark Twain_ + + ELDER BROWN’S BACKSLIDE (1885) 109 + _Harry Stillwell Edwards_ + + THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER (1886) 128 + _Richard Malcolm Johnston_ + + THE NICE PEOPLE (1890) 141 + _Henry Cuyler Bunner_ + + THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT (1897) 151 + _Frank Richard Stockton_ + + COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF (1901) 170 + _Bret Harte_ + + THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES (1902) 199 + _O. Henry_ + + BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE (1905) 213 + _George Randolph Chester_ + + A CALL (1906) 237 + _Grace MacGowan Cooke_ + + HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON (1911) 252 + _William James Lampton_ + + GIDEON (1914) 260 + _Wells Hastings_ + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + + +_The Nice People_, by Henry Cuyler Bunner, is republished from +his volume, _Short Sixes_, by permission of its publishers, +Charles Scribner’s Sons. _The Buller-Podington Compact_, by +Frank Richard Stockton, is from his volume, _Afield and Afloat_, +and is republished by permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons. +_Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff_, by Bret Harte, is from the +collection of his stories entitled _Openings in the Old Trail_, +and is republished by permission of the Houghton Mifflin Company, +the authorized publishers of Bret Harte’s complete works. _The +Duplicity of Hargraves_, by O. Henry, is from his volume, _Sixes +and Sevens_, 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, _A Call_, republished here from +_Harper’s Magazine_; Wells Hastings, for permission to reprint his +story, _Gideon_, from _The Century Magazine_; and George Randolph +Chester, for permission to include _Bargain Day at Tutt House_, +from _McClure’s Magazine_. I would also thank the heirs of the +late lamented Colonel William J. Lampton for permission to use his +story, _How the Widow Won the Deacon_, from _Harper’s Bazaar_. +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, “_Posson Jone’_,” and Irvin S. +Cobb’s story, _The Smart Aleck_. He also regrets he was unable to +obtain a copy of Joseph C. Duport’s story, _The Wedding at Timber +Hollow_, 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. + + + + + To + CHARLES GOODRICH WHITING + Critic, Poet, Friend + + + + +THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS[10] + +BY GEORGE POPE MORRIS (1802–1864) + + Look into those they call unfortunate, + And, closer view’d, you’ll find they are unwise.—_Young._ + + Let wealth come in by comely thrift, + And not by any foolish shift: + ’Tis haste + Makes waste: + Who gripes too hard the dry and slippery sand + Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.—_Herrick_. + + Let well alone.—_Proverb_. + + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Here they are, gentlemen,” said he of the hammer, “the most +valuable lots ever offered for sale. Give me a bid for them!” + +“One hundred each,” said a bystander. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“_Oui, monsieur_; I will give you von hundred dollar apiece, for de +lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege; _c’est ça_.” + +“Only one hundred apiece for these sixty valuable lots—only one +hundred—going—going—going—gone!” + +Monsieur Poopoo was the fortunate possessor. The auctioneer +congratulated him—the sale closed—and the company dispersed. + +“_Pardonnez-moi, monsieur_,” said Poopoo, as the auctioneer +descended his pedestal, “you shall _excusez-moi_, if I shall go to +_votre bureau_, 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, _c’est vrai_—eh?” + +“Certainly, sir.” + +“Vell den, _allons_.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“_Mon ami_, are you acquaint vid dis part of de country—eh?” + +“Yes, I was born here, and know every inch of it.” + +“Ah, _c’est bien_, dat vill do,” and the Frenchman got out of the +gig, tied the horse, and produced his lithographic map. + +“Den maybe you vill have de kindness to show me de sixty lot vich I +have bought, vid de valuarble vatare privalege?” + +The farmer glanced his eye over the paper. + +“Yes, sir, with pleasure; if you will be good enough to _get into +my boat, I will row you out to them_!” + +“Vat dat you say, sure?” + +“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 _at +low tide_. When this part of the East River is filled up, it will +be just there. Your lots, as you will perceive, are beyond it; _and +are now all under water_.” + +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. + +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. + +“Monsieur, I have much plaisir to fin’ you, _chez vous_, at home.” + +“Ah, Poopoo! glad to see you. Take a seat, old boy.” + +“But I shall not take de seat, sare.” + +“No—why, what’s the matter?” + +“Oh, _beaucoup_ de matter. I have been to see de gran lot vot you +sell me to-day.” + +“Well, sir, I hope you like your purchase?” + +“No, monsieur, I no like him.” + +“I’m sorry for it; but there is no ground for your complaint.” + +“No, sare; dare is no _ground_ at all—de ground is all vatare!” + +“You joke!” + +“I no joke. I nevare joke; _je n’entends pas la raillerie_, Sare, +_voulez-vous_ have de kindness to give me back de money vot I pay!” + +“Certainly not.” + +“Den vill you be so good as to take de East River off de top of my +lot?” + +“That’s your business, sir, not mine.” + +“Den I make von _mauvaise affaire_—von gran mistake!” + +“I hope not. I don’t think you have thrown your money away in the +_land_.” + +“No, sare; but I tro it avay in de _vatare!_” + +“That’s not my fault.” + +“Yes, sare, but it is your fault. You’re von ver gran rascal to +swindle me out of _de l’argent_.” + +“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.” + +“Vare shall I go to, eh?” + +“To the devil, for aught I care, you foolish old Frenchman!” said +the auctioneer, waxing warm. + +“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, _tout de suite_, right avay.” + +“You couldn’t make a better use of your water privileges, old boy!” + +“Ah, _miséricorde_! Ah, _mon dieu, je suis abîmé_. 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 _à present_!” + +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. + +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 _row him out_ to the very place where the poor +Frenchman’s lots still remain _under water_. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[10] From _The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots, with Other +Sketches of the Times_ (1839), by George Pope Morris. + + + + +THE ANGEL OF THE ODD[11] + +BY EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809–1849) + + +It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an +unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic _truffe_ 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 +_liqueur_. In the morning I had been reading Glover’s _Leonidas_, +Wilkie’s _Epigoniad_, Lamartine’s _Pilgrimage_, Barlow’s +_Columbiad_, Tuckerman’s _Sicily_, and Griswold’s _Curiosities_, 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 + + This folio of four pages, happy work + Which not even critics criticise, + +when I felt my attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which +follows: + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“You are a drunken vagabond,” said I, “and I shall ring the bell +and order my footman to kick you into the street.” + +“He! he! he!” said the fellow, “hu! hu! hu! dat you can’t do.” + +“Can’t do!” said I, “what do you mean? I can’t do what?” + +“Ring de pell,” he replied, attempting a grin with his little +villainous mouth. + +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. + +“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 _Angel ov te Odd_.” + +“And odd enough, too,” I ventured to reply; “but I was always under +the impression that an angel had wings.” + +“Te wing!” he cried, highly incensed, “vat I pe do mit te wing? +Mein Gott! do you take me for a shicken?” + +“No—oh, no!” I replied, much alarmed; “you are no chicken—certainly +not.” + +“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 +_not_ te wing, and I am te _Angel ov te Odd_.” + +“And your business with me at present is—is——” + +“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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +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.” + +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 _contretemps_ of mankind, and whose business +it was to bring about the _odd accidents_ 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,” _beaucoup de bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens_. + +His departure afforded me relief. The _very_ 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. + +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. + +“Ah!” said I, “I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A +natural accident, such as will happen now and then!” + +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 _Omnipresence of the Deity_, I unfortunately fell asleep in +less than twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was. + +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 _not_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_terra firma_; 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. + +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. + +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. + +“Who pe you,” he asked, “und what der teuffel you pe do dare?” + +To this piece of impudence, cruelty, and affectation, I could reply +only by ejaculating the monosyllable “Help!” + +“Elp!” echoed the ruffian, “not I. Dare iz te pottle—elp yourself, +und pe tam’d!” + +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. + +“’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?” + +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 _was_ sober and _had_ positively come to my senses. By these +means I somewhat softened the Angel. + +“Und you pelief, ten,” he inquired, “at te last? You pelief, ten, +in te possibility of te odd?” + +I again nodded my head in assent. + +“Und you ave pelief in _me_, te Angel of te Odd?” + +I nodded again. + +“Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk und te vool?” + +I nodded once more. + +“Put your right hand into your left preeches pocket, ten, in token +ov your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd.” + +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— + +“Go to der teuffel, ten!” roared the Angel of the Odd. + +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. + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[11] From _The Columbian Magazine_, October, 1844. + + + + +THE SCHOOLMASTER’S PROGRESS[12] + +By Caroline M.S. Kirkland (1801–1864) + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _may_ +have—a strong arm he _must_ 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. + +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. + +“You’d ought to begin with large-hand, Joshuay,” said Master Horner +to this youth. + +“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.” + +The master looked at the infant giant, and did as he wished, but we +say not with what secret resolutions. + +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, + +“It will help you, when you write letters, to spell the words good.” + +“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.” + +“How dared you be so saucy to the master?” asked one of the little +boys, after school. + +“Because I could lick him, easy,” said the hopeful Joshua, who knew +very well why the master did not undertake him on the spot. + +Can we wonder that Master Horner determined to make his empire good +as far as it went? + +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 +_angle_ or _angel_. _Angle_ 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. + +“What is orthography?” said an inspector once, in our presence. + +The candidate writhed a good deal, studied the beams overhead and +the chickens out of the window, and then replied, + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + That great medicine hath + With its tinct gilded— + +many a vulgarism to the satisfaction of wiser heads than ours. + +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. + +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 +_that is not in the spelling-book_. 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. + +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 _in the spelling-book_. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _dénouement_ 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. + +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 _Columbian +Orator_, the _American Speaker_, 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. + +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 _Mary Stuart_; 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— + + Mine all doth hang—my life—my destiny— + Upon my words—upon the force of tears!— + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Won’t you ’light, Master?” said Mr. Kingsbury. + +“Yes—no—thank you—good evening,” stammered poor Master Horner, so +stupefied that even Aunt Sally called him “a dummy.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. +_Mary Stuart_ 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. + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 _do_ 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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[12] From _The Gift_ for 1845, published late in 1844. Republished +in the volume, _Western Clearings_ (1845), by Caroline M.S. +Kirkland. + + + + +THE WATKINSON EVENING[13] + +By Eliza Leslie (1787–1858) + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +The young people assented, saying they had no doubt of passing a +pleasant evening. + +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.” + +“How considerate you are, dear Edward”—said Caroline—“always so +thoughtful of every one’s convenience. Your college friends must +have idolized you.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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 _contretemps_ 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.” + +“The lady is Mrs. John Watkinson”—replied Mrs. Morland—“most +probably she will invite some of her friends to meet us.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“She is an evidence,” said Edward, “how superior our women of +fashion are to those of Europe.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The man reported that he _had_ 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.” + +“Are you certain that you made no mistake in the house,” said +Edward, “and that you really _did_ give it to Mrs. Watkinson?” + +“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.’” + +“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.” + +“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 _élite_ of the +_lite_.” + +“Even if she is,” observed Mrs. Morland, “are polish of manners and +cultivation of mind confined exclusively to persons of that class?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I hear,” said one lady, “that Mrs. St. Leonard is to have an +unusual number of lions.” + +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. + +Edward Morland felt as if he could say, “Had I three ears I’d hear +thee.” + +“Such a woman as Mrs. St. Leonard can always command the best lions +that are to be found,” observed another lady. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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?” + +“At half past ten,” was the brother’s reply. + +“Oh! Edward, Edward!” she exclaimed, “And I dare say he will not be +punctual. He may keep us here till eleven.” + +“_Courage, mes enfants_,” said their mother, “_et parlez plus +doucement_.” + +The girl then ushered them into the back parlor, saying, “Here’s +the company.” + +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. + +“Will you take the rocking-chair, ma’am?” inquired Mrs. Watkinson. + +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. + +“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.” + +“What a pity,” thought Caroline. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +There was another sob behind the handkerchief, and the Morlands +thought it now sounded very much like a smothered laugh. + +“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?” + +“If carried too far they may certainly become so,” replied Mrs. +Morland. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Two of the boys glanced slyly at each other, with what Edward +Morland comprehended as an expression of pitch-penny and marbles. + +“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.” + +Just then the boy Joseph rose from the table, and stalking up to +Mrs. Watkinson, said to her, “Mamma, please to whip me.” + +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.” + +“You could not see me,” answered Joseph, “for I have not _done_ +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.” + +“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?” + +“Ay,” said another boy, “what’s your thought like?” + +“My thought,” said Joseph, “was ‘Confound all astronomy, and I +could see the man hanged that made this game.’” + +“Oh! my child,” exclaimed the mother, stopping her ears, “I am +indeed shocked. I am glad you repented so immediately.” + +“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.” + +“Excellent boy!” said his mother. “You know I always pardon my +children when they are so candid as to confess their faults.” + +“So you do,” said Joseph, “but a whipping will cure me better.” + +“I cannot resolve to punish so conscientious a child,” said Mrs. +Watkinson. + +“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.” + +Joseph turned round and made a face at him. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Ma,” said Jane Watkinson, “you had better tell him what speech to +speak.” + +“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.” + +“Speak Lucius,” said his sister Jane. “Come now, Benny—say ‘your +thoughts are turned on peace.’” + +The little boy looked very much as if they were _not_, and as if +meditating an outbreak. + +“No, no!” exclaimed Christopher, “let him say Hamlet. Come now, +Benny—‘To be or not to be.’” + +“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!” + +“Only see his obstinacy,” said the solemn Joseph. “And is he to be +given up to?” + +“Speak anything, Benny,” said Mrs. Watkinson, “anything so that it +is only a speech.” + +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!” + +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.” + +“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.” + +Hester (unlike her little brother that would not speak a speech) +stepped boldly forward, and addressed Caroline Morland with: +“_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?_” + +To this tirade, uttered with great volubility, Miss Morland made no +other reply than, “_Oui—je comprens_.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Has he been paid for bringing you here?” asked Mrs. Watkinson. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Now, the truth was that the coachman _had_ 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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +The Morlands felt as if they could bear it no longer, and Edward +proposed sending for another carriage to the nearest livery stable. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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— + + Here come three knights out of Spain + A-courting of your daughter Jane.” + +“_I_ 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.” + +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. + +“So there _has_ been a dance, then!” sighed Caroline. “Oh, what we +have missed! It is really too provoking.” + +“So it is,” said Edward; “but remember that to-morrow morning we +set off for Niagara.” + +“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 _you_ if anything offers +afterwards that they think they would prefer; provided only that +they apprize you in time of the change in their plan.” + +“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.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[13] From _Godey’s Lady’s Book_, December, 1846. + + + + +TITBOTTOM’S SPECTACLES[14] + +BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS (1824–1892) + + In my mind’s eye, Horatio. + + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“Well!” + +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. + +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: + +“Perhaps you would have different impressions of things if you saw +them through my spectacles.” + +There was no change in his expression. He still looked from the +window, and I said: + +“Titbottom, I did not know that you used glasses. I have never seen +you wearing spectacles.” + +“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. + +“Is it so grievous a fate, to see?” inquired I. + +“Yes; through my spectacles,” he said, turning slowly and looking +at me with wan solemnity. + +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. + +“You will come and dine with us, Titbottom?” + +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: + +“Do you know I hoped you would bring Mr. Titbottom to dine?” + +Titbottom smiled gently, and answered: + +“He might have brought his spectacles with him, and I have been a +happier man for it.” + +Prue looked a little puzzled. + +“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.” + +“It is because they make him too far-sighted, perhaps,” interrupted +Prue quietly, as she took the silver soup-ladle from the sideboard. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +I do not think I have seen such a blush upon Prue’s cheek +since—well, since a great many years ago. + +“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.” + +“A very important difference,” said Prue, counting her stitches. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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: + +“‘Did you invite me or my coat?’ + +“‘You, in a proper coat,’ replied the manager. + +“The governor smiled approvingly, and looked at my grandfather. + +“‘My friend,” said he to the manager, ‘I beg your pardon, I forgot.’ + +“The next day my grandfather was seen promenading in full ball +dress along the streets of the little town. + +“‘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.’ + +“He did not much frequent social festivals after this failure, but +he always told the story with satisfaction and a quiet smile. + +“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. + +“‘Decidedly I must step down and see about that vessel,’ said my +grandfather Titbottom. + +“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. + +“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. + +“‘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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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: + +“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.’ + +“‘But grandpapa, I am not short-sighted.’ + +“‘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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 +_vis-à-vis_. Is life only a game of blind-man’s-buff? of droll +cross-purposes? + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“In despair I went to a great merchant on the island, and asked him +to employ me. + +“‘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?’ + +“I told him that I had not the slightest idea of selling my +spectacles. + +“‘My young friend means to eat them, I suppose,’ said he with a +contemptuous smile. + +“I made no reply, but was turning to leave the office, when the +merchant called after me— + +“‘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.’ + +“I said nothing, but put my hand upon the door to go out, when the +merchant said more respectfully,— + +“‘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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“‘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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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? + +“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. + +“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— + +“‘If Shakespeare loved me and I did not love him, how could I marry +him?’ + +“Could I be misanthropical when I saw such fidelity, and dignity, +and simplicity? + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“And yet—and yet,” said Titbottom, after a pause, “I am not sure +that I thank my grandfather.” + +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. + +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: + +“And Preciosa?” + +Titbottom paused. He had just opened the door and the moonlight +streamed over him as he stood, turning back to us. + +“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.” + +“That was a miracle,” interrupted Prue. + +“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.” + +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: + +“How glad I am that you don’t wear spectacles.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[14] From _Putnam’s Monthly_, December, 1854. Republished in the +volume, _Prue and I_ (1856), by George William Curtis (Harper & +Brothers). + + + + +MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME[15] + +By Edward Everett Hale (1822–1909) + + +It is not often that I trouble the readers of _The Atlantic +Monthly_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Cataract of the Ganges_. 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. + +Crazed by this duality of life, I first read Dr. Wigan on the +_Duality of the Brain_, 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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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: + +1. “Very well, thank you. And you?” This for an answer to casual +salutations. + +2. “I am very glad you liked it.” + +3. “There has been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, +that I will not occupy the time.” + +4. “I agree, in general, with my friend on the other side of the +room.” + +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. + +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 _sixty-seventh_ 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 _ex officio_, and +were begging leave to go away. On his entrance all was changed. +_Presto_, 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, _alias_ 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. + +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 + + TUESDAY MORNING. ENGLISH COMPOSITION. Sunshine. Miss Jones, + +round to + + Trio on Three Pianos. Duel from opera of Midshipman Easy. + MARRYATT. + +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 _so_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Mystics_, 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 _vs._ 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. + +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. “_Quoene sit +historia Reformationis in Ungariâ?_” quoth Haliburton, after some +thought. And his _confrère_ replied gallantly, “_In seculo decimo +tertio_,” etc., etc., etc.; and from _decimo tertio_[16] 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. + +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 _promptu_ 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.” + +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.” + +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 _The Atlantic_ 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. + +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! + +I know, indeed, that public men of the highest rank have resorted +to this expedient long ago. Dumas’s novel of _The Iron Mask_ 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. + +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 +_public_ 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 _they_ may be—should think ‘we’—whoever _we_ may +be—are going down.” + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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?” + +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. + +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 _The Atlantic_ 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. + +No! My double has undone me. + +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 _Traces of Sandemanianism in the Sixth and Seventh +Centuries_, which I hope to persuade Phillips, Sampson & Co. to +publish next year. We are very happy, but the world thinks we are +undone. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[15] From _The Atlantic Monthly_, September, 1859. Republished in +the volume, _The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales_ (1868), by +Edward Everett Hale (Little, Brown & Co.). + +[16] 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?” + + + + +A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS[17] + +By Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–1894) + + +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 _N. Dowing_ 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 +_anyhow_ and he should be pleased.” N.E. Howe, Esq., was chosen in +compliance with this delicate suggestion. + +The Charter provides for the support of “One hundred aged and +decayed Gentlemen-Punsters.” On inquiry if there way no provision +for _females_, my friend called my attention to this remarkable +psychological fact, namely: + +THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEMALE PUNSTER. + +This remark struck me forcibly, and on reflection I found that _I +never knew nor heard of one_, though I have once or twice heard a +woman make a _single detached_ pun, as I have known a hen to crow. + +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. + +“So you prefer _Cane_ to _A bell_, do you?” he said—and began +chuckling and coughing at a great rate. + +My friend winked at me. + +“You’re here still, Old Joe, I see,” he said to the old man. + +“Yes, yes—and it’s very odd, considering how often I’ve _bolted_, +nights.” + +He then threw open the double gates for us to ride through. + +“Now,” said the old man, as he pulled the gates after us, “you’ve +had a long journey.” + +“Why, how is that, Old Joe?” said my friend. + +“Don’t you see?” he answered; “there’s the _East hinges_ on the +one side of the gate, and there’s the _West hinges_ on t’other +side—haw! haw! haw!” + +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. + +“The town has entered a complaint against the Asylum as a gambling +establishment,” he said to my friend, the Director. + +“What do you mean?” said my friend. + +“Why, they complain that there’s a _lot o’ rye_ on the premises,” +he answered, pointing to a field of that grain—and hobbled away, +his shoulders shaking with laughter, as he went. + +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: + + +SECT. I. OF VERBAL EXERCISES. + + 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. + + 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. + + 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 _Mr. Joseph Miller_. + + 10. Violent and unmanageable Punsters, who interrupt others when + engaged in conversation, with Puns or attempts at the same, + shall be deprived of their _Joseph Millers_, and, if necessary, + placed in solitary confinement. + + +SECT. III. OF DEPORTMENT AT MEALS. + + 4. No Inmate shall make any Pun, or attempt at the same, until + the Blessing has been asked and the company are decently seated. + + 7. Certain Puns having been placed on the _Index Expurgatorius_ + of the Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them, on + pain of being debarred the perusal of _Punch_ and _Vanity Fair_, + and, if repeated, deprived of his _Joseph Miller_. + + Among these are the following: + + Allusions to _Attic salt_, when asked to pass the salt-cellar. + + Remarks on the Inmates being _mustered_, etc., etc. + + Associating baked beans with the _bene_-factors of the + Institution. + + Saying that beef-eating is _befitting_, etc., etc. + + The following are also prohibited, excepting to such Inmates as + may have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make Puns of + their own: + + “——your own _hair_ or a wig”; “it will be _long enough_,” etc., + etc.; “little of its age,” etc., etc.; also, playing upon the + following words: _hos_pital; _mayor_; _pun_; _pitied_; _bread_; + _sauce_, etc., etc., etc. _See_ INDEX EXPURGATORIUS, _printed + for use of Inmates_. + + The subjoined Conundrum is not allowed: Why is Hasty Pudding + like the Prince? Because it comes attended by its _sweet_; nor + this variation to it, _to wit_: Because the _’lasses runs after + it_. + +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 _of four Jerries_ 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 _four Jerries_, he added, was of gigantic magnitude. +The play on words was brought out by an accidental remark of +Solomons, the well-known Banker. “_Capital punishment_!” the Jew +was overheard saying, with reference to the guilty parties. He was +understood, as saying, _A capital pun is meant_, which led to an +investigation and the relief of the greatly excited public mind. + +The Superintendent showed some of his old tendencies, as he went +round with us. + +“Do you know”—he broke out all at once—“why they don’t take steppes +in Tartary for establishing Insane Hospitals?” + +We both confessed ignorance. + +“Because there are _nomad_ people to be found there,” he said, with +a dignified smile. + +He proceeded to introduce us to different Inmates. The first was +a middle-aged, scholarly man, who was seated at a table with a +_Webster’s Dictionary_ and a sheet of paper before him. + +“Well, what luck to-day, Mr. Mowzer?” said the Superintendent. + +“Three or four only,” said Mr. Mowzer. “Will you hear ’em now—now +I’m here?” + +We all nodded. + +“Don’t you see Webster _ers_ in the words cent_er_ and theat_er_? + +“If he spells leather _lether_, and feather _fether_, isn’t there +danger that he’ll give us a _bad spell of weather_? + +“Besides, Webster is a resurrectionist; he does not allow _u_ to +rest quietly in the _mould_. + +“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 _Connect-a-cut_ trick. + +“Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven? Because it +is _under bread_.” + +“Mowzer!” said the Superintendent, “that word is on the Index!” + +“I forgot,” said Mr. Mowzer; “please don’t deprive me of _Vanity +Fair_ this one time, sir.” + +“These are all, this morning. Good day, gentlemen.” Then to the +Superintendent: “Add you, sir!” + +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: + + TIMES. SMITE! + POST. STOP! + + TRIBUNE. TRUE NIB. + WORLD. DR. OWL. + + ADVERTISER. { RES VERI DAT. + { IS TRUE. READ! + + ALLOPATHY. ALL O’ TH’ PAY. + HOMŒOPATHY. O, THE ——! O! O, MY! PAH! + +The mention of several New York papers led to two or three +questions. Thus: Whether the Editor of _The Tribune_ was _H.G. +really_? If the complexion of his politics were not accounted for +by his being _an eager_ person himself? Whether Wendell _Fillips_ +were not a reduced copy of John _Knocks_? Whether a New York +_Feuilletoniste_ is not the same thing as a _Fellow down East_? + +At this time a plausible-looking, bald-headed man joined us, +evidently waiting to take a part in the conversation. + +“Good morning, Mr. Riggles,” said the Superintendent, “Anything +fresh this morning? Any Conundrum?” + +“I haven’t looked at the cattle,” he answered, dryly. + +“Cattle? Why cattle?” + +“Why, to see if there’s any _corn under ’em_!” he said; and +immediately asked, “Why is Douglas like the earth?” + +We tried, but couldn’t guess. + +“Because he was _flattened out at the polls_!” said Mr. Riggles. + +“A famous politician, formerly,” said the Superintendent. “His +grandfather was a _seize-Hessian-ist_ in the Revolutionary War. By +the way, I hear the _freeze-oil_ doctrines don’t go down at New +Bedford.” + +The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor formerly. + +“Ask him what his calling was,” said the Superintendent. + +“Followed the sea,” he replied to the question put by one of us. +“Went as mate in a fishing-schooner.” + +“Why did you give it up?” + +“Because I didn’t like working for _two mast-ers_,” he replied. + +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. + +“Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?” he said. + +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. + +“Rem _a cue_ tetigit.” + +“Go to the head of the class, Josselyn,” said the venerable +patriarch. + +The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way, +pushing against two or three of the Class. + +“How is this?” said the Patriarch. + +“You told me to go up _jostlin’_,” he replied. + +The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the pun too +much to be angry. + +Presently the Patriarch asked again: + +“Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the +Prince?” + +The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself: + +“Because every one of his carroms was a _tick-it_ to the ball.” + +“Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign +in Italy?” asked the Patriarch. + +Here again the Class failed. + +“The war-cloud’s rolling _Dun_,” he answered. + +“And what is mulled wine made with?” + +Three or four voices exclaimed at once: + +“_Sizzle-y_ Madeira!” + +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. + +“There is one thing I have forgotten to show you,” said the +Superintendent, “the cell for the confinement of violent and +unmanageable Punsters.” + +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. + +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. + +“We have not seen the cell for the confinement of ‘violent and +unmanageable’ Punsters,” we both exclaimed. + +“This is the _sell_!” he exclaimed, pointing to the outside +prospect. + +My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-naturedly +that I had to laugh. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Look!” said the Director—“that is our Centenarian.” + +The ancient man crawled toward us, cocked one eye, with which he +seemed to see a little, up at us, and said: + +“Sarvant, young Gentlemen. Why is a—a—a—like a—a—a—? Give it up? +Because it’s a—a—a—a—.” + +He smiled a pleasant smile, as if it were all plain enough. + +“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.” + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[17] From _The Atlantic Monthly_, January, 1861. Republished in +_Soundings from the Atlantic_ (1864), by Oliver Wendell Holmes, +whose authorized publishers are the Houghton Mifflin Company. + + + + +THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY[18] + +By Mark Twain (1835–1910) + + +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 _Leonidas W._ 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 _Jim Smiley_, 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. + +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 _Leonidas W_. Smiley—_Rev. Leonidas W._ +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. + +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 _finesse_. I let him go on in his own way, +and never interrupted him once. + +“Rev. Leonidas W. H’m, Reverend Le—well, there was a feller here +once by the name of _Jim_ 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 _him_—any way just so’s he got a +bet, _he_ 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 _was_ 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 _him_—he’d bet +on _any_ 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.’” + +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. + +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 _he_ 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 _his_ 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. + +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 _did_ 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 _they_ see. + +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: + +“What might be that you’ve got in the box?” + +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.” + +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 _he_ +good for?” + +“Well,” Smiley says, easy and careless, “he’s good enough for _one_ +thing, I should judge—he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.” + +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.” + +“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 _my_ +opinion and I’ll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in +Calaveras County.” + +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.” + +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. + +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: + +“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—_git_!” 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. + +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, “_I_ don’t +see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any other frog.” + +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—— + +(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.” + +But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the +history of the enterprising vagabond _Jim_ Smiley would be likely +to afford me much information concerning the Rev. _Leonidas W._ +Smiley, and so I started away. + +At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he +buttonholed me and recommenced: + +“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——” + +However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear +about the afflicted cow, but took my leave. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[18] From _The Saturday Press_, Nov. 18, 1865. Republished in _The +Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches_ +(1867), by Mark Twain, all of whose works are published by Harper & +Brothers. + + + + +ELDER BROWN’S BACKSLIDE[19] + +By Harry Stillwell Edwards (1855- ) + + +I + +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. + +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. + +“And, elder, don’t you forgit them caliker scraps, or you’ll be +wantin’ kiver soon an’ no kiver will be a-comin’.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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: + + I’m _glad_ salvation’s _free_, + I’m _glad_ salvation’s _free_, + I’m _glad_ salvation’s _free_ for _all_, + I’m _glad_ salvation’s _free_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +II + +“Good-mornin’, sir.” + +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. + +“Good-mornin’, sir,” said Elder Brown again, in his most dignified +tones. “Is Mr. Thomas in?” + +“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. + +“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” + +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. + +“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. + +“This is Mr. Brown, I believe. I did not recognize you at once. You +are not in often to see us.” + +“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. + +“How much money will you want, Mr. Brown?” + +“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. + +“I can get you five hundred.” + +“But I oughter have seven.” + +“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?” + +“Well, I count on a hundr’d bales. An’ you can’t git the sev’n +hundr’d dollars?” + +“Like to oblige you, but can’t right now; will fix it for you later +on.” + +“Well,” said the elder, slowly, “fix up the papers for five, an’ +I’ll make it go as far as possible.” + +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. + +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: + +“Hannah-Maria-Jemimy! goldarn an’ blue blazes!” + +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? + +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. + +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. + +“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 _know_ I’ve +_got_ ’em.” As each purchase was promptly paid for, and change had +to be secured, the clerk earned his salary for that day at least. + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +What woman’s heart ever failed to soften at sight of a new bonnet? + +As I have stated, the elder was a man of action. He entered a store +near at hand. + +“Good-morning,” said an affable gentleman with a Hebrew +countenance, approaching. + +“Good-mornin’, good-mornin’,” said the elder, piling his bundles on +the counter. “I hope you are well?” Elder Brown extended his hand +fervidly. + +“Quite well, I thank you. What—” + +“And the little wife?” said Elder Brown, affectionately retaining +the Jew’s hand. + +“Quite well, sir.” + +“And the little ones—quite well, I hope, too?” + +“Yes, sir; all well, thank you. Something I can do for you?” + +The affable merchant was trying to recall his customer’s name. + +“Not now, not now, thankee. If you please to let my bundles stay +untell I come back—” + +“Can’t I show you something? Hat, coat—” + +“Not now. Be back bimeby.” + +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: + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Mebbe you’re right, my dear; mebbe I oughtn’t.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Well, now, that’s suthin’ like. Will it soot a sorter redheaded +’ooman?” + +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: + +“Perfectly, sir. It is an exquisite match.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, -er-unc, -unc, -unc.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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: + +“Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, drer-unc, -erunc, -unc, -unc.” + +Once more the elder turned with lifted hand and shouted back: + +“You’re a liar, Balaam, goldarn you! You’re er iffamous liar.” Then +he passed from view. + + +III + +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. + +“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?” + +The elder made an effort to wave her off. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Where is it, I say? where is it?” + +By this time she was turning his pockets wrong side out. From one +she got pills, from another change, from another packages. + +“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?” + +Thought of the beast choked off the threatened hysterics. + +“Balaam? Balaam?” said the elder, groggily. “He’s in town. The +infernal ole fool ’sulted me, an’ I lef’ him to walk home.” + +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. + +“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!” + +A black boy darted round the corner, from behind which, with +several others, he had beheld the brief but stirring scene. + +“Put a saddle on er mule. The elder’s gwine back to town. And don’t +you be long about it neither.” + +“Yessum.” Aleck’s ivories gleamed in the darkness as he disappeared. + +Elder Brown was soberer at that moment than he had been for hours. + +“Hannah, you don’t mean it?” + +“Yes, sir, I do. Back you go to town as sure as my name is Hannah +Brown.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“She means it, as sure as my name is Elder Brown,” he said, +thickly. Then he rode on. + + +IV + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +V + +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. + +And so on this occasion when she closed the book the fierce anger +was gone. + +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? + +The pink bonnet with the blue plume! + +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. + +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. + +“William,” said she, very gently, “where is the mule?” + +The elder had been asleep. He woke and gazed upon her blankly. + +“What mule, Hannah?” + +“The mule you rode to town.” + +For one full minute the elder studied her face. Then it burst from +his lips: + +“Well, bless me! if I didn’t bring Balaam and forgit the mule!” + +The woman laughed till her eyes ran water. + +“William,” said she, “you’re drunk.” + +“Hannah,” said he, meekly, “I know it. The truth is, Hannah, I—” + +“Never mind, now, William,” she said, gently. “You are tired and +hungry. Come into the house, husband.” + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[19] From _Harper’s Magazine_, August, 1885; copyright, 1885, by +Harper & Bros.; republished in the volume, _Two Runaways, and Other +Stories_ (1889), by Harry Stillwell Edwards (The Century Co.). + + + + +THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER[20] + +BY RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON (1822–1898) + + +I + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Now Mr. Fluker had many and many a time acknowledged that he had +ambition; so one night he said to his wife: + +“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.” + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +The new house—I say _new_ 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. + +In words and other encouragement Mr. Pike was pronounced. He could +commend honestly, and he did so cordially. + +“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’ _an_’ 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 _has_ 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?” + +“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.” + +“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, _she_ +deal ’ith _men_, 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?” + +Mr. Fluker turned his head, and after making or thinking he had +made a calculation, answered: + +“That’s—that seem fa’r, Matt.” + +“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’ _us_, 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.” + +“Nervy,” said Mr. Fluker to his wife afterwards, “Matt Pike’s a +sensibler an’ a friendlier an’ a ’commodatiner feller’n I thought.” + +Then, without giving details of the contract, he mentioned merely +the willingness of their boarder to resign his bed on occasions of +pressing emergency. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“You know where Mr. Pike’s gone, Mr. Marchman?” + +Now the fact was, and she knew it, that Marann Fluker had never +before, not since she was born, addressed that boy as _Mister_. + +The visitor’s face reddened and reddened. + +“No,” he faltered in answer; “no—no—_ma’am_, I should say. I—I +don’t know where Mr. Pike’s gone.” + +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. + +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. + +“Say he didn’t even shake hands, Marann? What for? What you do to +him?” + +“Not one blessed thing, ma; only he wanted to know why I wasn’t +gladder to see him.” Then Marann looked indignant. + +“Say them words, Marann?” + +“No, but he hinted ’em.” + +“What did you say then?” + +“I just asked, a-meaning nothing in the wide world, ma—I asked him +if he knew where Mr. Pike had gone.” + +“And that were answer enough to hurt his feelin’s. What you want to +know where Matt Pike’s gone for, Marann?” + +“I didn’t care about knowing, ma, but I didn’t like the way Sim +talked.” + +“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.” + +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! + +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. + +“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?” + +“Jest mod’rate, Mr. Pike. Got little business with you after +dinner, ef you can spare time.” + +“All right. Got a little matter with Pink here first. ’Twon’t take +long. See you arfter amejiant, Sim.” + +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. + +When all the other boarders had left the house, the deputy and Mr. +Fluker having repaired to the bar-room, the former said: + +“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?” + +“That’s it, to a dollar, Matt. Three times eleben make +thirty-three, don’t it?” + +“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 _very_ fa’r house. I let +them infloonces go to friendship, ef you’ll take it so. Will you, +Pink Fluker?” + +“Cert’nly, Matt, an’ I’m a thousand times obleeged to you, an’—” + +“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?” + +“It have, Matt, er somethin’ else, more’n I were a expectin’, an’—” + +“Jes’ so. But a public officer, Pink, when jooty call on him to go, +he got to go; in fack he got to _goth_, as the Scripture say, ain’t +that so?” + +“I s’pose so, Matt, by good rights, a—a official speakin’.” + +Mr. Fluker felt that he was becoming a little confused. + +“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?” + +“I—I—somethin’ o’ that sort, Matt,” he answered vaguely. + +“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 _half_, 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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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 _any_thing for me in this wide world, don’t let ma go +into that room!” + +“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’.” + +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. + +“Let me help you settle your board-bill, Mr. Pike, by payin’ you a +little one I owe you.” + +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: + +“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 _I_ 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.” + +“Here’s his dollar, Sim,” said Mr. Fluker, throwing it out of the +window. “Nervy say make him take it.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[20] From _The Century Magazine_, June, 1886; copyright, 1886, +by The Century Co.; republished in the volume, _Mr. Absalom +Billingslea, and Other Georgia Folk_ (1888), by Richard Malcolm +Johnston (Harper & Brothers). + + + + +THE NICE PEOPLE[21] + +By Henry Cuyler Bunner (1855–1896) + + +“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——” + +“_Two_ children,” corrected my wife. + +“Three, he told me.” + +“My dear, she said there were _two_.” + +“He said three.” + +“You’ve simply forgotten. I’m _sure_ she told me they had only +two—a boy and a girl.” + +“Well, I didn’t enter into particulars.” + +“No, dear, and you couldn’t have understood him. Two children.” + +“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. + +“Two children,” repeated my wife; “and they are staying with his +aunt Jenny.” + +“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. + +“But don’t you think they’re nice people?” asked my wife. + +“Oh, certainly,” I replied. “Only they seem to be a little mixed up +about their children.” + +“That isn’t a nice thing to say,” returned my wife. I could not +deny it. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“By Jove!” he cried, “heavenly!” + +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. + +“And so that is _your_ view?” asked Mrs. Brede, after a moment; +“you are very generous to make it ours, too.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Now, when I went up the Matterhorn” Mr. Brede began. + +“Why, dear,” interrupted his wife, “I didn’t know you ever went up +the Matterhorn.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“_Should you think_,” she asked me, “that a man would climb the +Matterhorn the very first year he was married?” + +“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.” + +“You know what I mean,” she said. + +I did. + + * * * * * + +When we reached the boarding-house, Mr. Jacobus took me aside. + +“You know,” he began his discourse, “my wife she uset to live in N’ +York!” + +I didn’t know, but I said “Yes.” + +“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?” + +“That is the invariable rule, I believe.” + +“Then—I say—these here new folk that you ’n’ your wife seem so +mighty taken up with—d’ye know anything about ’em?” + +“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——” + +“Jess so—jess so!” broke in Jacobus. “I hain’t nothin’ to say +ag’inst yer sosherbil’ty. But do ye _know_ them?” + +“Why, certainly not,” I replied. + +“Well—that was all I wuz askin’ ye. Ye see, when _he_ 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 _she_ 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?” + +“What street was it?” I inquired, wearily. + +“Hundred ’n’ twenty-first street.” + +“May be,” I replied, still more wearily. “That’s Harlem. Nobody +knows what people will do in Harlem.” + +I went up to my wife’s room. + +“Don’t you think it’s queer?” she asked me. + +“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.” + +“But, my dear,” my wife said, gravely, “_she_ doesn’t know whether +they’ve had the measles or not.” + +“Why, Great Scott!” I exclaimed, “they must have had them when they +were children.” + +“Please don’t be stupid,” said my wife. “I meant _their_ children.” + +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. + +“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 _you_, +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-_to_ the man.” + +“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. + + * * * * * + +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: + +“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——” + +“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.” + +“Perhaps I was mistaken when I thought he said she was on this side +of the water,” I suggested, with bitter, biting irony. + +“You poor dear, did I abuse you?” said my wife. “But, do you know, +Mrs. Tabb said that _she_ didn’t know how many lumps of sugar he +took in his coffee. Now that seems queer, doesn’t it?” + +It did. It was a small thing. But it looked queer, Very queer. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I don’t want,” we heard Mr. Jacobus say, “to enter in no man’s +_pry_-vacy; but I do want to know who it may be, like, that I hev +in my house. Now what I ask of _you_, and I don’t want you to take +it as in no ways _personal_, is—hev you your merridge-license with +you?” + +“No,” we heard the voice of Mr. Brede reply. “Have you yours?” + +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. + +Where is _your_ 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 _yours_? 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? + +Mr. Brede’s voice arose, after an awful stillness of what seemed +like five minutes, and was, probably, thirty seconds: + +“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?” + +“I hain’t said I wanted to hev ye leave——” began Mr. Jacobus; but +Brede cut him short. + +“Bring me your bill.” + +“But,” remonstrated Jacobus, “ef ye ain’t——” + +“Bring me your bill!” said Mr. Brede. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +My wife took a step toward her. + +“Look at that dress, dear,” she whispered; “she never thought +anything like this was going to happen when she put _that_ on.” + +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. + +“She’s had a new dress on twice a day,” said my wife, “but that’s +the prettiest yet. Oh, somehow—I’m _awfully_ sorry they’re going!” + +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. + +Mrs. Brede was in my wife’s arms, sobbing as if her young heart +would break. + +“Oh, you poor, dear, silly children!” my wife cried, as Mrs. Brede +sobbed on her shoulder, “why _didn’t_ you tell us?” + +“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 _dream_ what awful lies we’d +have to tell, and all the aw-awful mixed-up-ness of it. Oh, dear, +dear, dear!” + + * * * * * + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[21] From _Puck_, July 30, 1890. Republished in the volume, _Short +Sixes: Stories to Be Read While the Candle Burns_ (1891), by Henry +Cuyler Bunner; copyright, 1890, by Alice Larned Bunner; reprinted +by permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner’a Sons. + + + + +THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT[22] + +BY FRANK RICHARD STOCKTON (1834–1902) + + +“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 _my_ invitation—that is very different.” + +“Of course it is different,” was the reply, “but I am obliged to +say, as I said before, that I really cannot accept it.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“Yes,” said he; “I will do it; I am ready any time you name.” + +Mr. Buller rose and stretched out his hand. + +“Good!” said he; “it is a compact!” + +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. + +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. + +“William,” said Buller, looking cheerfully around him, + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“William,” said he, “how long have you had this horse?” + +“About two years,” said Mr. Podington; “before I got him, I used to +drive a pair.” + +“Heavens!” thought Buller, “how lucky I was not to come two years +ago!” And his regrets for not sooner visiting his friend greatly +decreased. + +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. + +“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.” + +Mr. Podington was delighted; his face glowed; he was rejoiced at +the pleasure of his friend. “I tell you, Thomas,” said he, “that——” + +“William!” exclaimed Buller, with a sudden squirm in his seat, +“what is that I hear? Is that a train?” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Podington, “that is the ten-forty, up.” + +“Does it come near here?” asked Mr. Buller, nervously. “Does it go +over that bridge?” + +“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.” + +“But your horse! Your horse!” exclaimed Buller, as the train came +nearer and nearer. “What will he do?” + +“Do?” said Podington; “he’ll do what he is doing now; he doesn’t +mind trains.” + +“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!” + +Podington laughed. “He would not mind it in the least,” said he. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“But you can’t!” screamed Buller. “This road is not wide enough, +and that train is nearly here. Please stop!” + +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. + +“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. + +“Oh, Thomas!” cried Buller, half rising in his seat, “that train is +almost here!” + +“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. + +“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. + +“Whoa!” cried Mr. Buller. + +“Get up!” exclaimed Mr. Podington, applying his whip upon the +plunging beast. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Podington obeyed, and the horse slightly changed his direction. + +“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.” + +Mr. Podington said not a word; he expected every moment to see the +horse sink into a watery grave. + +“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.” + +The despairing Podington looked at his feet. “It’s coming in,” he +said in a husky voice. “Thomas, the water is over my shoes!” + +“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?” + +“Bail!” cried Podington, now finding his voice. “Oh, Thomas, we are +sinking!” + +“That’s so,” said Buller; “she leaks like a sieve.” + +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. + +“We are going to drown!” cried Podington, suddenly rising. + +“Lick him! Lick him!” exclaimed Buller. “Make him swim faster!” + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +“Heavens!” exclaimed Buller, “we are aground.” + +“Aground!” exclaimed Podington, “Heaven be praised!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Sit down,” said Podington, gazing blankly at the water around him, +“I can’t do that!” + +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. + +At the first step of the horse Mr. Podington began to totter. +Instinctively he clutched Buller. + +“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. + +“Ough!” said he. “Thomas, shout for help.” + +“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.” + +“The what?” feebly asked the other. + +“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.” + +“I can’t head him,” cried Podington. “I have dropped the reins!” + +“Good gracious!” cried Mr. Buller, “that’s bad. Can’t you steer him +by shouting ‘Gee’ and ‘Haw’?” + +“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. + +“If you can’t steer him any other way,” said Buller, “we must get +the reins. Lend me your whip.” + +“I have dropped that too,” said Podington; “there it floats.” + +“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.” + +“Don’t get out! Don’t get out!” exclaimed Podington. “You can reach +over the dashboard.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“I got hold of one of them,” said the sputtering Buller, “but it +was fast to something and I couldn’t get it loose.” + +“Was it thick and wide?” asked Podington. + +“Yes,” was the answer; “it did seem so.” + +“Oh, that was a trace,” said Podington; “I don’t want that; the +reins are thinner and lighter.” + +“Now I remember they are,” said Buller. “I’ll go down again.” + +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. + +“Is this it?” said he, holding up a strip of wet leather. + +“Yes,” said Podington, “you’ve got the reins.” + +“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.” + +“Now then,” said Podington, “take your hat, Thomas, and I’ll try to +drive.” + +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. + +“I don’t wonder you did not like to do this, William,” said he. +“Wet as I am, it’s ghastly!” + +Encouraged by his master’s voice, and by the feeling of the +familiar hand upon his bit, the horse moved bravely on. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, I am chilled to the bones!” said Podington. + +“I should think so,” replied his friend; “if you have got to be +wet, it is a great deal pleasanter under the water.” + +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. + +“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!” + +Podington was now full of life and energy, his wheels were on the +hard road, and he was himself again. + +When he found his head was turned toward his home, the horse set +off at a great rate. + +“Hi there!” cried Podington. “I am so sorry I lost my whip.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Do you consider that a safe boat?” he asked the fisherman. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Mr. Podington, under the direction of his friend, took a seat in +the stern of the sailboat, and then he remarked: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Podington. “How long did you say this canal is?” + +“About three miles,” answered his friend. “Then we will go into the +lock and in a few minutes we shall be on the lake.” + +“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—” + +“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!” + +Mr. Podington smiled, and leaning backward, he looked up at the +beautiful blue sky. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“What do you mean?” cried Podington, as the boom gave a great jerk +as if it would break its fastenings and drag him overboard. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Cut it! Cut it!” cried Mr. Buller. + +“I haven’t a knife,” replied Podington. + +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. + +“William,” he cried, “let us jump out the next time we are near +enough to shore!” + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +Suddenly a thought struck him. + +“William,” he shouted, “tip that anchor over the side! Throw it in, +any way!” + +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. + +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. + +“Hurrah!” he cried, waving his hat above his head. “Get out, +Buller; he is all right now!” + +Presently Mr. Buller approached, very much shaken up. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I have,” replied the other; “I wrestled with that tiller and I +wonder it didn’t throw me out.” + +Now approached the boy. “Shall I hitch him on again, sir?” said he. +“He’s quiet enough now.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +The two friends looked at each other and could not help joining in +the laughter of the boys. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +“No, it doesn’t,” replied Mr. Buller, quietly. “I have gone to the +bottom in a foundered road-wagon.” + +The man looked at him fixedly. + +“Was you ever struck in the mud in a balloon?” he asked. + +“Not yet,” replied Mr. Buller. + +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. + +“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——” + +“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——” + +“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!” + +“And here’s mine!” said Mr. Buller. + +And they shook hands over a new compact. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[22] From _Scribner’s Magazine_, August, 1897. Republished in +_Afield and Afloat_, by Frank Richard Stockton; copyright, 1900, by +Charles Scribner’s Sons. Reprinted by permission of the publishers. + + + + +COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF[23] + +By Bret Harte (1839–1902) + + +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 _versus_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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 _I_ want. A man that’s flowery and +convincin’! Just the man to take up our case.” + +“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?” + +“Well! it’s a breach-o’-promise suit,” said the visitor, calmly. + +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!—_damages!_—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. + +The woman had evidently noticed his hesitation, but mistook its +cause. “It ain’t me—but my darter.” + +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!” + +The woman smiled grimly. “Yes!—it’s my darter, Zaidee Hooker—so ye +might spare some of them pretty speeches for _her_—before the jury.” + +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.” + +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: + +“And what good is that goin’ to do _us_?” + +“Compel him to—er—perform his promise,” said the Colonel, leaning +back in his chair. + +“Ketch him doin’ it!” said the woman, scornfully. “No—that ain’t +wot we’re after. We must make him _pay_! Damages—and nothin’ short +o’ _that_.” + +The Colonel bit his lip. “I suppose,” he said, gloomily, “you have +documentary evidence—written promises and protestations—er—er— +love-letters, in fact?” + +“No—nary a letter! Ye see, that’s jest it—and that’s where _you_ +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’.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon,” said the woman; +“what I want to know first is, kin you take the case?” + +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.” + +“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. + +“And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?” he asked, +politely. + +“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.” + +She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel nevertheless +gallantly accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and +called, shrilly, “You Zaidee!” + +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. + +“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——” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Is it this gentleman—Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss—who—er—promised +marriage?” stammered the Colonel. + +“Yes.” + +The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. “Most extraordinary! +for—you see—my dear young lady—this becomes—a—er—most delicate +affair.” + +“That’s what maw said,” returned the young woman, simply, yet with +the faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast +cheek. + +“I mean,” said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, +“that this—er—gentleman—is in fact—er—one of my clients.” + +“That’s what maw said, too, and of course your knowing him will +make it all the easier for you,” said the young woman. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“And _damages_,” said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as +if she had never looked up. + +The Colonel winced. “And—er—undoubtedly _compensation_—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?” + +“Which?” said his fair client, softly. + +“If you still love him?” explained the Colonel, actually blushing. + +Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel’s breath away +with eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what +he had _said_, 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?” + +“Hymn-books,” said the girl, briefly. + +“I beg your pardon,” said the mystified lawyer. + +“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 _Solomon’s Song_, you know, and sich.” + +“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 +_other_ expression?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +The Colonel coughed slightly. “And you have the lozenge?” + +“I ate it,” said the girl, simply. + +“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?” + +“Useter pass our house on the road,” returned the girl, dropping +into her monotonous recital, “and useter signal.” + +“Ah, signal?” repeated the Colonel, approvingly. + +“Yes! He’d say ‘Kerrow,’ and I’d say ‘Kerree.’ Suthing like a bird, +you know.” + +Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call the +Colonel thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least +as _she_ gave it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had +doubts as to the melodiousness of _his_ utterance. He gravely made +her repeat it. + +“And after that signal?” he added, suggestively. + +“He’d pass on,” said the girl. + +The Colonel coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his +pen-holder. + +“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?” + +“No;—he was not what you’d call ’fond,’” returned the girl. + +“Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not ’fond’ in the ordinary +acceptance of the word,” said the Colonel, with professional +gravity. + +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. + +“I reckon that’s about all,” she said. + +“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?” + +“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. + +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. + +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 _manes_ of that lamented and +somewhat feared man. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“I do not use tobacco nor alcohol in any form,” repeated Hotchkiss, +ascetically. “I have no foolish weaknesses.” + +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.” + +“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 _not_ of a public or business nature—although _later_ it +might become—er—er—both. It is an affair of some—er—delicacy.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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 _your_ 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.” + +“Then what does this impertinent nonsense mean? Why am I summoned +here?” said Hotchkiss, furiously. + +“Because,” said the Colonel, deliberately, “that statement is +infamously—yes, damnably to your discredit, sir!” + +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: + +“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—_elsewhere_ for an +indiscretion committed in behalf of a lady—my—er—client.” + +“Your client? Do you mean you have taken her case? You, the +counsel for the Ditch Company?” said Mr. Hotchkiss, in trembling +indignation. + +“Having won _your_ case, sir,” said the Colonel, coolly, +“the—er—usages of advocacy do not prevent me from espousing the +cause of the weak and unprotected.” + +“We shall see, sir,” said Hotchkiss, grasping the handle of the +door and backing into the passage. “There are other lawyers who—” + +“Permit me to see you out,” interrupted the Colonel, rising +politely. + +“—will be ready to resist the attacks of blackmail,” continued +Hotchkiss, retreating along the passage. + +“And then you will be able to repeat your remarks to me _in the +street_,” continued the Colonel, bowing, as he persisted in +following his visitor to the door. + +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: + + Hooker _versus_ Hotchkiss. + + DEAR MADAM,—Having had a visit from the defendant in above, we + should be pleased to have an interview with you at 2 P.M. + to-morrow. Your obedient servants, + + STARBOTTLE AND STRYKER. + +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. + +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. + +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 _femme incomprise_ as a client. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I—er—will,” said the Colonel, almost as breathlessly. + +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. + +“I—er—certainly shall do my best,” stammered the Colonel, in an +attempt to recover his dignity and composure. + +“That’s enough! You’ll _do_ it,” said the girl, enthusiastically. +“Lordy! Just you talk for _me_ as ye did for _his_ 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—” + +“Oligarchy,” murmured the Colonel, courteously. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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?” + +“No; he never said anything,” returned the girl. + +“Not in his usual way?—er—no reproaches out of the hymn-book?—or +the sacred writings?” + +“No; he just _quit_.” + +“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!” + +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.” + +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. + +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 _religious_.” + +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 _his_ 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. + +“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.” + +The Judge cast an inquiring look at Colonel Starbottle. + +“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 _Holy Scriptures_, 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.” + +“The act is certainly unprecedented,” said the Judge, dryly, +“but unless the counsel for the plaintiff expects the jury to +_sing_ 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.” + +But the Colonel remained motionless and statuesque, with folded +arms. + +“I have overruled the objection,” repeated the Judge; “you may go +on.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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 _not_, 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. + +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 _one_. 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. + +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, + + Always make it a point to have it a rule + Never to be late at the Sabbath-school. + +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: + +“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. + +“I shall prove to you, gentlemen of the jury,” said the Colonel, +solemnly, drawing a _Bible_ 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 _Song of Solomon_, 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—_flagons_, 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 _quantity_. 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—_for himself_!” + +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. + +“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 _here_ is irregular and premature—and must be +reserved for the jury-room—after they have retired.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Yes,” said the Judge, good-humoredly. + +“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.” + +“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—” + +“Of wot?” interrupted the foreman, in deep scorn. + +“Of the Church!” + +“We ain’t askin’ any questions o’ _you_—and we ain’t takin’ any +answers,” said the foreman, sitting down promptly. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _you_ 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.’” + +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, _outside_ 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. + +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 +_convictions_ 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.” + +“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—_personally_ 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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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 _then_ you suspected there was a Hiram +_somewhere_—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 +_him_ and _his_ searchin’ ways, and _his_ 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 _him_. 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 _I_ got to do _all_ the kissin’!” + +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.” + +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.” + +“Hand me down the whiskey, Jim,” said the Colonel, rising slowly. + +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. + +“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!” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[23] From _Harper’s Magazine_, March, 1901. Republished in the +volume, _Openings in the Old Trail_ (1902), by Bret Harte; +copyright, 1902, by Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized +publishers of Bret Harte’s complete works; reprinted by their +permission. + + + + +THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES[24] + +By O. Henry (1862–1910) + + +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. + +In this pleasant private boarding house they engaged rooms, +including a study for Major Talbot, who was adding the finishing +chapters to his book, _Anecdotes and Reminiscences of the Alabama +Army, Bench, and Bar_. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_. 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. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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! + +After about four months in Washington, Miss Lydia discovered one +morning that they were almost without money. The _Anecdotes and +Reminiscences_ 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. + +“No money?” said he with a surprised look. “It is quite annoying to +be called on so frequently for these petty sums, Really, I—” + +The Major searched his pockets. He found only a two-dollar bill, +which he returned to his vest pocket. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +The Major drew a small envelope from his upper vest pocket and +tossed it on the table. + +“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.” + +Miss Lydia threw up her hands in silent despair. + +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 _A Magnolia +Flower_, revealing a typical Southern plantation scene. Major +Talbot betrayed some interest. + +“Oh, see!” exclaimed Miss Lydia, nudging his arm, and pointing to +her program. + +The Major put on his glasses and read the line in the cast of +characters that her fingers indicated. + +Col. Webster Calhoun .... Mr. Hopkins Hargraves. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 _A Magnolia Flower_, at the same time that +he deftly makes juleps for the party. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“We will go, Lydia,” he said chokingly. “This is an +abominable—desecration.” + +Before he could rise, she pulled him back into his seat. + +“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. + +Hargraves’s success must have kept him up late that night, for +neither at the breakfast nor at the dinner table did he appear. + +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. + +“I put it all over ’em last night, Major,” he began exultantly. “I +had my inning, and, I think, scored. Here’s what _The Post_ says: + +“‘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.’ + +“How does that sound, Major, for a first-nighter?” + +“I had the honor”—the Major’s voice sounded ominously frigid—“of +witnessing your very remarkable performance, sir, last night.” + +Hargraves looked disconcerted. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to +take in the full meaning of the old gentleman’s words. + +“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.” + +“They are not from Alabama, sir,” said the Major haughtily. + +“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: + +“‘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.’ + +“Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of +Colonel Calhoun last night?” + +“The description,” said the Major, frowning, “is—not without +grounds. Some exag—latitude must be allowed in public speaking.” + +“And in public acting,” replied Hargraves. + +“That is not the point,” persisted the Major, unrelenting. “It was +a personal caricature. I positively decline to overlook it, sir.” + +“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——” + +“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.” + +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 _A +Magnolia Flower_ was booked for a week’s run. + +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. + +Deliverance came from an entirely unexpected source. + +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. + +“I be bound you don’t know me, Mars’ Pendleton,” were his first +words. + +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. + +“I don’t believe I do,” he said kindly—“unless you will assist my +memory.” + +“Don’t you ’member Cindy’s Mose, Mars’ Pendleton, what ’migrated +’mediately after de war?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Uncle Mose took a chair and laid his hat carefully on the floor +beside it. + +“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. + +“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’.” + +“I’m glad to hear it,” said the Major heartily. “Glad to hear it.” + +“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.” + +The Major stepped to the door and called: “Lydie, dear, will you +come?” + +Miss Lydia, looking quite grown up and a little worried, came in +from her room. + +“Dar, now! What’d I tell you? I knowed dat baby done be plum growed +up. You don’t ’member Uncle Mose, child?” + +“This is Aunt Cindy’s Mose, Lydia,” explained the Major. “He left +Sunnymead for the West when you were two years old.” + +“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.” + +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. + +The Major inquired what the old man was doing so far from his home. + +“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.” + +“And how did you know we were in Washington?” inquired Miss Lydia. + +“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’. + +“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. + +“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.” + +Tears were in Major Talbot’s eyes. He took Uncle Mose’s hand and +laid his other upon his shoulder. + +“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.” + +“Take it, honey,” said Uncle Mose. “Hit belongs to you. Hit’s +Talbot money.” + +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. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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. + +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: + + DEAR MISS TALBOT: + + 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 _A + Magnolia Flower_. + + 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. + + Sincerely yours, + H. HOPKINS HARGRAVES. + + P.S. How did I play Uncle Mose? + +Major Talbot, passing through the hall, saw Miss Lydia’s door open +and stopped. + +“Any mail for us this morning, Lydia, dear?” he asked. + +Miss Lydia slid the letter beneath a fold of her dress. + +“_The Mobile Chronicle_ came,” she said promptly. “It’s on the +table in your study.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[24] From _The Junior Munsey_, February, 1902. Republished in the +volume, _Sixes and Sevens_ (1911), by O. Henry; copyright, 1911, by +Doubleday, Page & Co.; reprinted by their permission. + + + + +BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE[25] + +By George Randolph Chester (1869- ) + + +I + +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. + +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. + +The son of the blonde matron smiled cheerfully as the welcome light +flooded the coach. + +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. + +It is marvelous how much one can see out of the corner of the eye, +while seeming to view mere scenery. + +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. + +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. + + +II + +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. + +“What a delightfully old-fashioned inn!” exclaimed the pretty +daughter. “How I should like to stop there over night!” + +“You would probably wish yourself away before morning, Evelyn,” +replied her mother indifferently. “No doubt it would be a mere +siege of discomfort.” + +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. + +“Edward, please pull down the shade behind me,” she directed. +“There is quite a draught from that broken window.” + +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. + +They were bowling along through another avenue of trees when the +driver suddenly shouted, “Whoa there!” + +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. + +“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. + +“Caught, by gravy!” ejaculated the driver, and, for the second +time, he brought the coach to an abrupt stop. + +“Do see what is the matter, Ralph,” said the blonde matron +impatiently. + +Thus commanded, the young man swung out and asked the driver about +it. + +“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.” + +He pointed out the peculiar topography of the place, and Ralph got +back in the coach. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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? + + +III + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Let ’em bring in their own traps,” he commented, and Aunt Margaret +fled, ashamed and conscience-smitten, to the kitchen. It seemed +awful. + +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. + +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 _kept waiting_, at last being enabled to say, +sweetly and with the most polite consideration: + +“Will you kindly allow me to pass?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“I want three adjoining rooms, en suite if possible,” he demanded. + +“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—-” + +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. + +“What do you ask for meals and lodging until this time to-morrow?” +he interrupted. + +The decisive moment had arrived. Uncle Billy drew a deep breath. + +“Two dollars a head!” he defiantly announced. There! It was out! He +wished Margaret had stayed to hear him say it. + +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. + +“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. + +“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’ _Jonesville Banner_ an’ th’ _Uticky Clarion_ along with +ye.” + +As the swish of skirts marked the passage of the Van Kamps up the +wide hall stairway, the other party swept into the room. + +The man wrote, in a round flourish, “Edward Eastman Ellsworth, +wife, and son.” + +“I’d like three choice rooms, en suite,” he said. + +“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.” + +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! + +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. + + +IV + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Ralph, too, started off for a walk, but naturally not in the same +direction. + +“Edward!” suddenly said Mrs. Ellsworth. “I want you to turn those +people out of that suite before night!” + +“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. + +“What are the Van Kamps paying you for those three rooms?” he asked. + +“Fifteen dollars,” Uncle Billy informed him, smoking one of Mr. Van +Kamp’s good cigars and twiddling his thumbs in huge content. + +“I’ll give you thirty for them. Just set their baggage outside and +tell them the rooms are occupied.” + +“No sir-ree!” rejoined Uncle Billy. “A bargain’s a bargain, an’ I +allus stick to one I make.” + +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. + +“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. + +Uncle Billy’s eyes twinkled. + +“I reckon it kin be did,” he allowed. “I reckon a _ho_-tel man’s +got a right to rent his hull house ary minute.” + +“Of course he has. How much do you want?” + +Uncle Billy had made one mistake in not asking this sort of folks +enough, and he reflected in perplexity. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +Mr. Ellsworth counted out some bills. + +“Here’s a hundred,” he said. “That ought to be about right.” + +“Fifteen more,” insisted Uncle Billy. + +With a little frown of impatience the other counted off the extra +money and handed it over. Uncle Billy gravely handed it back. + +“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.” + + +V + +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. + +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? + +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! + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“May I be of assistance?” he anxiously inquired. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +As he stooped to raise the gay woodland treasures he smiled to +himself, ever so slightly. This was not _his_ first season out, +either. + +“Delightful spot, isn’t it?” he observed as they regained the road +and sauntered in the direction of the Tutt House. + +“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. + +“You don’t happen to know Billy Evans, of Boston, do you?” he asked. + +“I think not. I am but very little acquainted in Boston.” + +“Too bad,” he went on. “I was rather in hopes you knew Billy. All +sorts of a splendid fellow, and knows everybody.” + +“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. + +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. + +“What a ripping, queer old building that is!” he exclaimed, making +one more brave effort as they came in sight of the hotel. + +“It is, rather,” she assented. “The rooms in it are as quaint and +delightful as the exterior, too.” + +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. + +“Your crowd rather got the better of us there,” he admitted with +the keen appreciation of one still quite close to college days. + +“Of course, the mater is furious, but I rather look on it as a +lark.” + +She thawed like an April icicle. + +“It’s perfectly jolly,” she laughed with him. “Awfully selfish of +us, too, I know, but such loads of fun.” + +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. + +Ralph was delighted to find that a thaw had set in, and he made one +more attempt to establish at least a proxy acquaintance. + +“You don’t happen to know Peyson Kingsley, of Philadelphia, do you?” + +“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. + +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 _Van Kamp apartments_! + +“Oh, Ralph!” she called in her most dulcet tones. “Kindly excuse +yourself and come right on up to our suite for a few moments!” + + +VI + +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. + +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. + +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: + + MR. J. BELMONT VAN KAMP, + + DEAR SIR: 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, + + Yours respectfully, + EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH. + +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. + +“Atrocious!” she exclaimed. “Atrocious! Simply atrocious, Belmont. +This is a house of public entertainment. They _can’t_ turn us out +in this high-minded manner! Isn’t there a law or something to that +effect?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Then you can make him take down the sign!” his wife declared. + +He shook his head decidedly. + +“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.” + +He went in to talk with Uncle Billy. + +“I want to buy this place,” he stated. “Is it for sale?” + +“It sartin is!” replied Uncle Billy. He did not merely twinkle this +time. He grinned. + +“How much?” + +“Three thousand dollars.” Mr. Tutt was used to charging by this +time, and he betrayed no hesitation. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Mr. Tutt, tell me just exactly what Mr. Ellsworth rented, please,” +he requested. + +“Th’ hull house,” replied Billy, and then he somewhat sternly +added: “Paid me spot cash fer it, too.” + +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. + +“Nothing was said about the furniture, was there?” suavely inquired +Van Kamp. + +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. + +“No!” roared Uncle Billy. “No, there wasn’t, by gum!” + +“Nothing but the house?” + +“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.” + +“How much for the furniture for the week?” + +“Fifty dollars!” Mr. Tutt knew how to do business with this kind of +people now, you bet. + +Mr. Van Kamp promptly counted out the money. + +“Drat it!” commented Uncle Billy to himself. “I could ’a’ got more!” + +“Now where can we make ourselves comfortable with this furniture?” + +Uncle Billy chirked up. All was not yet lost. + +“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.” + +The other smiled at this flashlight on Uncle Billy’s character, and +they went out to look at the barn. + + +VII + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Ralph sprang to his feet with a ludicrous expression. + +“Not the second floor front suite!” he exclaimed. + +“Oh, no! Not at all,” she reassured him. + +He laughed lightly. + +“Honors are about even in that game,” he said. + +“Evelyn,” called her mother from the hall. “Please come and take +those front suite curtains down to the barn.” + +“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. + +He followed her slowly, and was met at the door by her father. + +“You are the younger Mr. Ellsworth, I believe,” politely said Mr. +Van Kamp. + +“Ralph Ellsworth. Yes, sir.” + +“Here is a note for your father. It is unsealed. You are quite at +liberty to read it.” + +Mr. Van Kamp bowed himself away, and Ralph opened the note, which +read: + + EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH, ESQ., + + DEAR SIR: 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, + + Yours respectfully, + J. BELMONT VAN KAMP. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Isn’t that rather a heavy load?” he suggested. “I’d be delighted +to help you move the things, don’t you know.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I know so very few people in Baltimore,” she murmured, and tripped +on down to the barn. + +Ralph went out on the porch and smoked. There was nothing else that +he could do. + + +VIII + +It was growing dusk when the elder Ellsworths returned, almost +hidden by great masses of autumn boughs. + +“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.” + +“It was a good idea,” said Ralph. “A stunning good idea. They may +come in handy to sleep on.” + +Mrs. Ellsworth turned cold. + +“What do you mean?” she gasped. + +“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?” + +“Indeed, no,” he airily responded. “Just come right on up and see.” + +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. + +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 _bale_ of straw. She sat down on a suitcase, in the middle of +the biggest room, and cried! + +Ralph, having waited for this, now told about the food transaction, +and she hastily pushed the last-coming tear back into her eye. + +“Good!” she cried. “They will be up here soon. They will be +compelled to compromise, and they must not find me with red eyes.” + +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. + +“There’s not a single mirror left in the house!” she moaned. + +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. + +“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. + +He had barely creaked the pump handle when Mr. Van Kamp hurried up +from the barn. + +“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.” + + +IX + +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. + +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. + +“Who wins now?” bantered Ralph as they made the exchange. + +“It looks to me like a misdeal,” she gaily replied, and was moving +away when he called her back. + +“You don’t happen to know the Gately’s, of New York, do you?” he +was quite anxious to know. + +“I am truly sorry, but I am acquainted with so few people in New +York. We are from Chicago, you know.” + +“Oh,” said he blankly, and took the water up to the Ellsworth suite. + +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. + +“I hope you are not going to carry on a flirtation with that +overdressed creature,” she blazed. + +“Why mother,” exclaimed Ralph, shocked beyond measure. “What right +have you to accuse either this young lady or myself of flirting? +Flirting!” + +Mrs. Ellsworth suddenly attacked the fire with quite unnecessary +energy. + + +X + +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. + +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. + +A man can outlive hardships that would kill a woman, but a woman +can endure discomforts that would drive a man crazy. + +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. + +“How much do you want for that jug and its contents?” he asked, +with a sigh of gratitude that this supply had been overlooked. + +Before Mr. Tutt could answer, Mr. Van Kamp hurried in at the door. + +“Wait a moment!” he cried. “I want to bid on that!” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Your health, sir,” courteously proposed Mr. Ellsworth. + +“And to you, sir,” gravely replied Mr. Van Kamp. + + +XI + +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. + +“You don’t happen to know the Tylers, of Parkersburg, do you?” she +asked. + +“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.” + +“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.’” + +“Let’s go around on the porch and sit down,” said Ralph. + + +XII + +Mr. Van Kamp, back in the woodshed, looked about him with an eye of +content. + +“Rather cozy for a woodshed,” he observed. “I wonder if we couldn’t +scare up a little session of dollar limit?” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Oh! Of course not!” he blundered, and went back to the woodshed. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Mr. Van Kamp grinned understandingly, and agreed to the infamous +ruse. + +“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.” + +“Dinner!” gasped Mr. Van Kamp. “By all means!” + +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. + +“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 _do_! _Would_ it +do!! + +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: + +“A bargain’s a bargain, and I always stick to one I make.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[25] From McClure’s Magazine, June, 1905; copyright, 1905, by the +S.S. McClure Co.; republished by the author’s permission. + + + + +A CALL[26] + +By Grace MacGowan Cooke (1863- ) + + +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. + +This did not long sustain his drooping spirit. He was mentally +adrift upon the _Hints and Helps to Young Men in Business and +Social Relations_, 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! + +“Hello! Where you goin’, Ab?” asked the newcomer, gruffly. + +“Callin’,” replied the boy in the collar, laconically, but with +carefully averted gaze. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Do you reckon you could?” he debated, trotting along by the +irresponsive Jilton boy. + +“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.” + +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’.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +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 _Hints and Helps to Young Men in Social and Business +Relations_ to Champe alone. + +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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You’d wear a necktie—wouldn’t you?” Ross asked, spreading them +upon the bureau-top. + +“Yes. But make it fall carelessly over your shirt-front,” advised +the student of _Hints and Helps_. “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.” + +“Better button up your vest,” cautioned Ross, laboring with the +“careless” fall of his tie. + +“Huh-uh! I want ‘‘that easy air which presupposes familiarity with +society’—that’s what it says in my book,” objected Abner. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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’.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +Abner hesitated. Should he give away his brilliant inside +information, drawn from the _Hints and Helps_ 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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“‘Hang your hat on the rack, or give it to a servant.’” Ross +nodded intelligently. He could do that. + +“‘Let your legs be gracefully disposed, one hand on the knee, the +other—’” + +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.’” + +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.” + +Abner began to repeat paragraphs from _Hints and Helps_. “‘‘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.’” + +“What’s a composer?” inquired Ross, with visions of soothing-syrup +in his mind. + +“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.’” + +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.” + +“I’m tired already,” he grumbled; but some spell made him rise and +fare farther. + +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. + +“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. + +“‘‘Walk quietly up the steps; ring the bell and lay your card on +the servant,’” quoted Abner, who had never heard of a server. + +“‘‘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?” + +“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.” + +“We haven’t got any cards,” discovered Ross, with hope. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I told you about hanging your hat on the rack and disposing your +legs.” + +“I remember now,” sighed Ross. They had been going slower and +slower. The angle of inclination toward each other became more and +more pronounced. + +“We must stand by each other,” whispered Abner. + +“I will—if I can stand at all,” murmured the other boy, huskily. + +“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. + +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.” + +Abner raised appealing eyes. “In a minute. Give me time,” he +pleaded. + +“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. + +“Help him, Rossie,” prompted Aunt Missouri, sharply. “You boys can +stay to supper and have some of the chicken if you help catch them.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Confronted by the act itself, Abner was suddenly aware that he knew +not how to begin. He took refuge in dissimulation. + +“Hush!” he whispered back. “Don’t you see Mr. Claiborne’s come +out?—He’s going to read something to us.” + +Ross plumped down beside him. “Never mind the card; tell ’em,” he +urged. + +“Tell ’em yourself.” + +“No—let’s cut and run.” + +“I—I think the worst of it is over. When Champe sees us she’ll—” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“What is it?” demanded the old gentleman, a bit testily. + +“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. + +Abner sat hard on his cap and blushed silently. Ross twisted his +hat into a three-cornered wreck. + +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! + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +Alone for the first time, Abner gave up. “This ain’t any use,” he +complained. “We ain’t calling on anybody.” + +“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.” + +Abner showed no resentment. + +“Oh, if it’s so easy, why didn’t you do it yourself?” he groaned. + +“Somebody’s coming,” Ross muttered, hoarsely. “Say it now. Say it +quick.” + +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!” + +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. + +“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. + +Ross growled like a stoned cur. Abner took a sudden dive into +_Hints and Helps_, and came up with, “You flatter us, Miss +Claiborne,” whereat Ross snickered out like a human boy. They all +stared at him. + +“It sounds so funny to call Aunt Missouri ‘‘Mis’ Claiborne,’” the +lad of the freckles explained. + +“Funny?” Aunt Missouri reddened. “I don’t see any particular joke +in my having my maiden name.” + +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! + +“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. + +“Nothing. I laughed because you laughed,” said the girl. + +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: + +“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?” + +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 _had_ 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! + +“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. + +“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. + +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.” + +“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. + +“Calling on the girls! Have we called on any girls?” demanded +clear-headed, honest Ross. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“Breakfast!” echoed Ross, in a daze. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I—oh—I—darn it all! there goes the second bell. We may as well +trot down.” + +“Don’t leave me, Ross,” pleaded the Jilton boy. “I can’t stay +here—and I can’t go down.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Now you got one dem snickerin’ spells agin. You gwine bust yo’ +dress buttons off in the back ef you don’t mind.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +As though such a book as _Hints and Helps_ 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. + +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: + +“Good for you, Ross! Seems you did know how to call on the girls, +after all.” + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[26] From _Harper’s Magazine_, August, 1906. Copyright, 1906, by +Harper & Brothers. Republished by the author’s permission. + + + + +HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON[27] + +By William James Lampton ( -1917) + + +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. + +This interesting situation was up for discussion at the Wednesday +afternoon meeting of the Sisters’ Sewing Society. + +“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.” + +“I rather guess _she_ has,” smiled Sister Poteet, the grocer’s +better half, who had taken an afternoon off from the store in order +to be present. + +“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. + +“Really, now,” exclaimed little Sister Green, the doctor’s wife, +“do you think it is the deacon who needs urging?” + +“It looks that way to me,” Sister Poteet did not hesitate to affirm. + +“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. + +“‘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.” + +“Oh,” Sister Candish hastened to explain, “Sister Clark didn’t say +she had heard him say it twice.’” + +“Well, I don’t think she heard him say it once,” Sister Spicer +asserted with confidence. + +“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.” + +“And isn’t saying what he should,” added Sister Green, with a sly +snicker, which went around the room softly. + +“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.” + +“Why shouldn’t I say what I wanted to when—” Sister Spicer began. + +“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. + +Sister Spicer went to the front door to let her in, and she was +greeted with the greatest cordiality by everybody. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Is that so?” exclaimed the society unanimously, and rushed to the +window to see if it were really true. + +“Well, did you ever?” commented Sister Poteet, generally. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Well, what do you suppose? You’re a judge.” + +“More than I would give, I’ll bet a cookie.” + +“Not if you was as anxious as I am to show Hopkins that he can’t +drive by everything on the pike.” + +“I thought you loved a good horse because he was a good horse,” +said the widow, rather disapprovingly. + +“I do, but I could love him a good deal harder if he would stay in +front of Hopkins’s best.” + +“Does he know you’ve got this one?” + +“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.” + +“So you gave five hundred dollars for him, did you?” laughed the +widow. + +“Is it too much?” + +“Um-er,” hesitated the widow, glancing along the graceful lines of +the powerful trotter, “I suppose not if you can beat the squire.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[27] From Harper’s Bazaar, April, 1911; copyright, 1911, by Harper +& Brothers; republished by permission. + + + + +GIDEON[28] + +By Wells Hastings (1878- ) + + +“An’ de next’ frawg dat houn’ pup seen, he pass him by wide.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gideon had grown to be to vaudeville much what _Uncle Remus_ 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Stuhk met him anxiously in the wings, and walked with him to his +dressing-room. He felt suddenly very weary of Stuhk. + +“Nothing the matter, Gideon, is there? Not feeling sick or +anything?” + +“No, Misteh Stuhk; no, seh. Jes don’ feel extry pert, that’s all.” + +“But what is it—anything bothering you?” + +Gideon sat gloomily before his mirror. + +“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.” + +Stuhk laughed. + +“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?” + +Gideon struggled for politeness. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Good!” he said. “Fly to it. How much do you want? A hundred?” + +“How much is coming to me?” + +“About a thousand, Gideon.” + +“Well, I’d moughty like five hun’red of it, ef that’s ’greeable to +yo’.” + +Felix whistled. + +“Five hundred? Pork-chops must be coming high. You don’t want to +carry all that money around, do you?” + +Gideon did not answer; he looked very gloomy. + +Stuhk hastened to cheer him. + +“Of course you can have anything you want. Wait a minute, and I +will get it for you. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + Spend this winter in balmy Florida. + Come to the Land of Perpetual Sunshine. + Golf, tennis, driving, shooting, boating, fishing, all of + the best. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He heard his name being passed from mouth to mouth, and came partly +to his senses. He stopped dancing, and grinned at them. + +“Say, you are Gideon, ain’t you?” his discoverer demanded, with a +sort of reverent audacity. + +“Yaas, _seh_,” 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-_tive_-ly his +las’ puffawmunce.” Turning, he dashed for a passing trolley, and, +still laughing, swung aboard. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +A brakeman passed, and Gideon leaped to his feet and pursued him. + +“Misteh, how long yo’-all reckon this train goin’ to be?” + +“About an hour.” + +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. + +“’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.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +The leaves parted, and a smiling face as black as Gideon’s own +regarded him in shy amusement. + +“Who is yo’, man?” + +“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. + +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. + +“No,” said Gideon, hardly knowing whether he was glad or sorry—“no, +I live south of heah. What-all’s yo’ name?” + +The girl giggled deliciously. + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +He made vague plans for delaying his journey as they sat smoking +in pleasant conversational ease; and when an interruption came it +vexed him. + +“Vashty! Vashty!” a woman’s voice sounded thin and far away. +“Vashty-y! Yo’ heah me, chile?” + +Vashti rose to her feet with a sigh. + +“That’s my ma,” she said regretfully. + +“What do yo’ care?” asked Gideon. “Let her yell awhile.” + +The girl shook her head. + +“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. + +Gideon leaped to his feet. + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gideon stretched out a broad hand and touched her head lightly; and +with a tiny gasp her fingers stole up to his. + +“Honey,” said Gideon—“Honey, yo’ ain’ mad, is yo’?” + +She shook her head, not looking at him. + +“Yo’ ain’ grievin’ foh yo’ ma?” + +Again she shook her head. + +“Because,” said Gideon, smiling down at her, “I ain’ got no beeg +club like she has.” + +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. + +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. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[28] From _The Century Magazine_, April, 1914; copyright, 1914, by +The Century Co.; republished by the author’s permission. + + +END OF VOLUME + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST AMERICAN HUMOROUS SHORT STORIES *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The best American humorous short stories</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Alexander Jessup</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #10947]<br /> +[Most recently updated: August 7, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Etext produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders; HTML file produced by David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST AMERICAN HUMOROUS SHORT STORIES ***</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 style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST AMERICAN HUMOROUS SHORT STORIES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Best American Humorous Short Stories + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 5, 2004 [EBook #10947] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN HUMOR *** + + + + +Produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +THE BEST AMERICAN HUMOROUS SHORT STORIES + + +_Edited by_ ALEXANDER JESSUP, _Editor of "Representative American +Short Stories," "The Book of the Short Story," the "Little French +Masterpieces" Series, etc._ + + +INTRODUCTION + +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,[1] 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. + +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--_Uncle Remus_--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. + +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 _Phoenixiana_ (1855) and the _Squibob Papers_ +(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."[2] 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 _Fables in Slang_ is chiefly a satirist, whether in fable, +play or what not. + +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 _The Legend of +Sleepy Hollow_ and _Rip Van Winkle_, 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 _Tales and Sketches: by a Cosmopolite_ +(1830), notably in _The Dapper Gentleman's Story_, 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, _Major Jones's Courtship_ (1840); Johnson +Jones Hooper (1815-1862), author of _Widow Rugby's Husband, and Other +Tales of Alabama_ (1851); Joseph G. Baldwin (1815-1864), who wrote +_The Flush Times of Alabama and Mississippi_ (1853); and Augustus +Baldwin Longstreet (1790-1870), whose _Georgia Scenes_ (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. + +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 _Charcoal Sketches, or +Scenes in a Metropolis_ (1837-1849) must suffice. The work of Seba +Smith is sufficiently expressed in his title, _Way Down East, or +Portraitures of Yankee Life_ (1854), although his _Letters of Major +Jack Downing_ (1833) is better known. Of his single stories may be +mentioned _The General Court and Jane Andrews' Firkin of Butter_ +(October, 1847, _Graham's Magazine_). 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 +_Aunt Magwire's Account of Parson Scrantum's Donation Party_ (March, +1848, _Godey's Lady's Book_) and _Aunt Magwire's Account of the +Mission to Muffletegawmy_ (July, 1859, _Godey's_), were afterwards +collected in _The Widow Bedott Papers_ (1855-56-80). The scope of the +work of Mary B. Haven is sufficiently suggested by her story, _Mrs. +Bowen's Parlor and Spare Bedroom_ (February, 1860, _Godey's_), while +the best stories of Mary W. Janvrin include _The Foreign Count; or, +High Art in Tattletown_ (October, 1860, _Godey's_) and _City +Relations; or, the Newmans' Summer at Clovernook_ (November, 1861, +_Godey's_). The work of Alice Bradley Haven Neal is of somewhat +similar texture. Her book, _The Gossips of Rivertown, with Sketches in +Prose and Verse_ (1850) indicates her field, as does the single title, +_The Third-Class Hotel_ (December, 1861, _Godey's_). 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 +_The Watkinson Evening_ (December, 1846, _Godey's Lady's Book_), +included in the present volume; others are _The Batson Cottage_ +(November, 1846, _Godey's Lady's Book_) and _Juliet Irwin; or, the +Carriage People_ (June, 1847, _Godey's Lady's Book_). One of her chief +collections of stories is _Pencil Sketches_ (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 _The Gift_ 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. + +George Pope Morris (1802-1864) was one of the founders of _The New +York Mirror_, and for a time its editor. He is best known as the +author of the poem, _Woodman, Spare That Tree_, and other poems and +songs. _The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots_ (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 _The Angel of the Odd_ (October, +1844, _Columbian Magazine_), perhaps the best of his humorous stories. +_The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether_ (November, 1845, _Graham's +Magazine_) 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. + +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 _A Descent into the Maelstrom_ (1841), _The Pit and the +Pendulum_ (1842), _The Black Cat_ (1843), and _The Cask of +Amontillado_ (1846). In the realm of beauty his notable productions +are _The Assignation_ (1834), _Shadow: a Parable_ (1835), _Ligeia_ +(1838), _The Fall of the House of Usher_ (1839), _Eleonora_ (1841), +and _The Masque of the Red Death_ (1842). The tales of +ratiocination--what are now generally termed detective +stories--include _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ (1841) and its +sequel, _The Mystery of Marie Rogt_ (1842-1843), _The Gold-Bug_ +(1843), _The Oblong Box_ (1844), _"Thou Art the Man"_ (1844), and _The +Purloined Letter_ (1844). + +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 _effects_ of structure may be +astounding in their power or unexpectedness, yet the _means_ 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 +_combined_ with the piece of writing to form a well-balanced whole. +Style is more difficult to imitate than structure, but on the other +hand _the origin of structural influence_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +As Poe's best short stories may be mentioned: _Metzengerstein_ (Jan. +14, 1832, Philadelphia _Saturday Courier_), _Ms. Found in a Bottle_ +(October 19, 1833, _Baltimore Saturday Visiter_), _The Assignation_ +(January, 1834, _Godey's Lady's Book_), _Berenice_ (March, 1835, +_Southern Literary Messenger_), _Morella_ (April, 1835, _Southern +Literary Messenger_), _The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall_ +(June, 1835, _Southern Literary Messenger_), _King Pest: a Tale +Containing an Allegory_ (September, 1835, _Southern Literary +Messenger_), _Shadow: a Parable_ (September, 1835, _Southern Literary +Messenger_), _Ligeia_ (September, 1838, _American Museum_), _The Fall +of the House of Usher_ (September, 1839, _Burton's Gentleman's +Magazine_), _William Wilson_ (1839: _Gift for_ 1840), _The +Conversation of Eiros and Charmion_ (December, 1839, _Burton's +Gentleman's Magazine_), _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ (April, 1841, +_Graham's Magazine_), _A Descent into the Maelstrom_ (May, 1841, +_Graham's Magazine_), _Eleonora_ (1841: _Gift_ for 1842), _The Masque +of the Red Death_ (May, 1842, _Graham's Magazine_), _The Pit and the +Pendulum_ (1842: _Gift for 1843_), _The Tell-Tale Heart_ (January, +1843, _Pioneer_), _The Gold-Bug_ (June 21 and 28, 1843, _Dollar +Newspaper_), _The Black Cat_ (August 19, 1843, _United States Saturday +Post_), _The Oblong Box_ (September, 1844, _Godey's Lady's Book_), +_The Angel of the Odd_ (October, 1844, _Columbian Magazine_), _"Thou +Art the Man"_ (November, 1844, _Godey's Lady's Book_), _The Purloined +Letter_ (1844: _Gift_ for 1845), _The Imp of the Perverse_ (July, +1845, _Graham's Magazine_), _The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether_ +(November, 1845, _Graham's Magazine_), _The Facts in the Case of M. +Valdemar_ (December, 1845, _American Whig Review_), _The Cask of +Amontillado_ (November, 1846, _Godey's Lady's Book_), and _Lander's +Cottage_ (June 9, 1849, _Flag of Our Union_). Poe's chief collections +are: _Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque_ (1840), _Tales_ (1845), +and _The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe_ (1850-56). These titles +have been dropped from recent editions of his works, however, and the +stories brought together under the title _Tales_, or under +subdivisions furnished by his editors, such as _Tales of +Ratiocination_, etc. + +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 _Western Clearings_ (1845), from which +_The Schoolmaster's Progress_, first published in _The Gift_ for 1845 +(out in 1844), is taken. Other stories republished in that collection +are _The Ball at Thram's Huddle_ (April, 1840, _Knickerbocker +Magazine_), _Recollections of the Land-Fever_ (September, 1840, +_Knickerbocker Magazine_), and _The Bee-Tree_ (_The Gift_ 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. + +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 _The Editor's Easy Chair_ for _Harper's +Magazine_ for many years. His volume, _Prue and I_ (1856), contains +many fictional elements, and a story from it, _Titbottom's +Spectacles_, 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 _The Shrouded Portrait_ +(in _The Knickerbocker Gallery_, 1855) and _The Millenial Club_ +(November, 1858, _Knickerbocker Magazine_). + +Edward Everett Hale (1822-1909) is chiefly known as the author of the +short story, _The Man Without a Country_ (December, 1863, _Atlantic +Monthly_), but his venture in the comic vein, _My Double; and How He +Undid Me_ (September, 1859, _Atlantic Monthly_), is equally worthy of +appreciation. It was his first published story of importance. Other +noteworthy stories of his are: _The Brick Moon_ (October, November and +December, 1869, _Atlantic Monthly_), _Life in the Brick Moon_ +(February, 1870, _Atlantic Monthly_), and _Susan's Escort_ (May, 1890, +_Harper's Magazine_). His chief volumes of short stories are: _The Man +Without a Country, and Other Tales_ (1868); _The Brick Moon, and Other +Stories_ (1873); _Crusoe in New York, and Other Tales_ (1880); and +_Susan's Escort, and Others_ (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 _samely_ different from other writers; in being +_consistently_ 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. + +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 _Breakfast-Table_ books (1858-1860-1872-1890). _Old +Ironsides_, _The Last Leaf_, _The Chambered Nautilus_ and _Homesick in +Heaven_ 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 _Lyra Elegantiarum_ (1867) declared that Holmes was +"perhaps the best living writer of this species of verse." His +trenchant attack on _Homeopathy and Its Kindred Delusions_ (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 _The Religio-Medical +Masquerade_, or brought the batteries of his humor to bear on it in +the manner of Robert Louis Stevenson's fable, _Something In It_: +"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), _The Guardian Angel_ +(1867) and _A Mortal Antipathy_ (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 _The New England Magazine_, called _The +Dbut_, signed O.W.H. _The Story of Iris_ in _The Professor at the +Breakfast Table_, which ran in _The Atlantic_ throughout 1859, and _A +Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters_ (January, 1861, +_Atlantic_) 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. + +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. _The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County_ was his +first publication of importance, and it saw the light in the Nov. 18, +1865, number of _The Saturday Press_. It was republished in the +collection, _The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and +Other Sketches_, in 1867. Others of his best pieces of short fiction +are: _The Canvasser's Tale_ (December, 1876, _Atlantic Monthly_), _The +1,000,000 Bank Note_ (January, 1893, _Century Magazine_), _The +Esquimau Maiden's Romance_ (November, 1893, _Cosmopolitan_), +_Traveling with a Reformer_ (December, 1893, _Cosmopolitan_), _The Man +That Corrupted Hadleyburg_ (December, 1899, _Harper's_), _A +Double-Barrelled Detective Story_ (January and February, 1902, +_Harper's_) _A Dog's Tale_ (December, 1903, _Harper's_), and _Eve's +Diary_ (December, 1905, _Harper's_). Among Twain's chief collections +of short stories are: _The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras +County, and Other Sketches_ (1867); _The Stolen White Elephant_ +(1882), _The 1,000,000 Bank Note_ (1893), and _The Man That Corrupted +Hadleyburg, and Other Stories and Sketches_ (1900). + +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 _Georgia Scenes_ (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."[3] An exception to this might be +made in favor of _Elder Brown's Backslide_ (August, 1885, _Harper's_), +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: _Two +Runaways_ (July, 1886, _Century_), _Sister Todhunter's Heart_ (July, +1887, _Century_), _"De Valley an' de Shadder"_ (January, 1888, +_Century_), _An Idyl of "Sinkin' Mount'in"_ (October, 1888, +_Century_), _The Rival Souls_ (March, 1889, _Century_), _The Woodhaven +Goat_ (March, 1899, _Century_), and _The Shadow_ (December, 1906, +_Century_). His chief collections are _Two Runaways, and Other +Stories_ (1889) and _His Defense, and Other Stories_ (1898). + +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 _Georgia Sketches, by an Old Man (1864). _The Goose +Pond School_, 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, _The New Eclectic_, over the +pseudonym "Philemon Perch." His famous _Dukesborough Tales_ +(1871-1874) was largely a republication of the earlier book. Other +noteworthy collections of his are: _Mr. Absalom Billingslea and Other +Georgia Folk_ (1888), _Mr. Fortner's Marital Claims, and Other +Stories_ (1892), and _Old Times in Middle Georgia_ (1897). Among +individual stories stand out: _The Organ-Grinder_ (July, 1870, _New +Eclectic_), _Mr. Neelus Peeler's Conditions_ (June, 1879, _Scribner's +Monthly_), _The Brief Embarrassment of Mr. Iverson Blount_ (September, +1884, _Century_); _The Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker_ (June, +1886, _Century_), republished in the present collection; _The Wimpy +Adoptions_ (February, 1887, _Century_), _The Experiments of Miss Sally +Cash_ (September, 1888, _Century_), and _Our Witch_ (March, 1897, +_Century_). Johnston must be ranked almost with Bret Harte as a +pioneer in "local color" work, although his work had little +recognition until his _Dukesborough Tales_ were republished by Harper +& Brothers in 1883. + +Bret Harte (1839-1902) is mentioned here owing to the late date of his +story included in this volume, _Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff_ +(March, 1901, _Harper's_), although his work as a whole of course +belongs to an earlier period of our literature. It is now well-thumbed +literary history that _The Luck of Roaring Camp_ (August, 1868, +_Overland_) and _The Outcasts of Poker Flat_ (January, 1869, +_Overland_) brought him a popularity that, in its suddenness and +extent, had no precedent in American literature save in the case of +Mrs. Stowe and _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. 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. + +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."[4] + +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, _Colonel +Starbottle for the Plaintiff_. Here is part of it: + +"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!'" + +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. + +Among the best of his short stories may be mentioned: _The Luck of +Roaring Camp_ (August, 1868, _Overland_), _The Outcasts of Poker Flat_ +(January, 1869, _Overland_), _Tennessee's Partner_ (October, 1869, +_Overland_), _Brown of Calaveras_ (March, 1870, _Overland_), _Flip: a +California Romance_ (in _Flip, and Other Stories_, 1882), _Left Out on +Lone Star Mountain_ (January, 1884, _Longman's_), _An Ingenue of the +Sierras_ (July, 1894, _McClure's_), _The Bell-Ringer of Angel's_ (in +_The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories_, 1894), _Chu Chu_ (in +_The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories_, 1894), _The Man and +the Mountain_ (in _The Ancestors of Peter Atherly, and Other Tales_, +1897), _Salomy Jane's Kiss_ (in _Stories in Light and Shadow_, 1898), +_The Youngest Miss Piper_ (February, 1900, _Leslie's Monthly_), +_Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff_ (March, 1901, _Harper's_), _A +Mercury of the Foothills_ (July, 1901, _Cosmopolitan_), _Lanty +Foster's Mistake_ (December, 1901, _New England_), _An Ali Baba of the +Sierras_ (January 4, 1902, _Saturday Evening Post_), and _Dick Boyle's +Business Card_ (in _Trent's Trust, and Other Stories_, 1903). Among +his notable collections of stories are: _The Luck of Roaring Camp, and +Other Sketches_ (1870), _Flip, and Other Stories_ (1882), _On the +Frontier_ (1884), _Colonel Starbottle's Client, and Some Other People_ +(1892), _A Protg of Jack Hamlin's, and Other Stories_ (1894), _The +Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories_ (1894), _The Ancestors of +Peter Atherly, and Other Tales_ (1897), _Openings in the Old Trail_ +(1902), and _Trent's Trust, and Other Stories_ (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.[5] + +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 _Puck_ and creator of some of the most exquisite _vers de +socit_ of the period. The title of one of his collections, _Made in +France: French Tales Retold with a U.S. Twist_ (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 _Short Sixes_ marks one +of the high places which have been attained by the American short +story."[6] + +Among Bunner's best stories are: _Love in Old Cloathes_ (September, +1883, _Century), A Successful Failure_ (July, 1887, _Puck_), _The +Love-Letters of Smith_ (July 23, 1890, _Puck_) _The Nice People_ (July +30, 1890, _Puck_), _The Nine Cent-Girls_ (August 13, 1890, _Puck_), +_The Two Churches of 'Quawket_ (August 27, 1890, _Puck_), _A Round-Up_ +(September 10, 1890, _Puck_), _A Sisterly Scheme_ (September 24, 1890, +_Puck_), _Our Aromatic Uncle_ (August, 1895, _Scribner's_), _The +Time-Table Test_ (in _The Suburban Sage_, 1896). He collaborated with +Prof. Brander Matthews in several stories, notably in _The Documents +in the Case_ (Sept., 1879, _Scribner's Monthly_). His best collections +are: _Short Sixes: _Stories to be Read While the Candle Burns_ (1891), +_More Short Sixes _(1894), and _Love in Old Cloathes, and Other +Stories_ (1896). + +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, _The Luck of Roaring Camp_ (1868) and _The Outcasts of Poker +Flat_ (1869), has already been noted.[7] But one story just before +Harte that astonished the fiction audience with its power and art was +Harriet Prescott Spofford's (1835- ) _The Amber Gods_ (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 _Marjorie Daw_ (April, +1873, _Atlantic_), a story with a surprise at the end, as had been his +_A Struggle for Life_ (July, 1867, _Atlantic_), although it was only +_Marjorie Daw_ that attracted much attention at the time. Then came +George Washington Cable's (1844- ) _"Posson Jone',"_ (April 1, 1876, +_Appleton's Journal_) and a little later Charles Egbert Craddock's +(1850- ) _The Dancin' Party at Harrison's Cove_ (May, 1878, +_Atlantic_) and _The Star in the Valley_ (November, 1878, _Atlantic_). +But the work of Cable and Craddock, though of sterling worth, won its +way gradually. Even Edward Everett Hale's (1822-1909) _My Double; and +How He Undid Me_ (September, 1859, _Atlantic_) and _The Man Without a +Country_ (December, 1863, _Atlantic_) 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 _Marjorie Daw_," says Prof. Pattee, "was mild compared +with that accorded to Frank R. Stockton's _The Lady or the Tiger?_ +(1884). Stockton had not the technique of Aldrich nor his naturalness +and ease. Certainly he had not his atmosphere of the _beau monde_ 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 _The Lady or the Tiger?_ 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."[8] The publication of Stockton's short stories +covers a period of over forty years, from _Mahala's Drive_ (November, +1868, _Lippincott's_) to _The Trouble She Caused When She Kissed_ +(December, 1911, _Ladies' Home Journal_), published nine years after +his death. Among the more notable of his stories may be mentioned: +_The Transferred Ghost_ (May, 1882, _Century_), _The Lady or the +Tiger?_ (November, 1882, _Century_), _The Reversible Landscape_ (July, +1884, _Century_), _The Remarkable Wreck of the "Thomas Hyke"_ (August, +1884, _Century_), _"His Wife's Deceased Sister"_ (January, 1884, +_Century_), _A Tale of Negative Gravity_ (December, 1884, _Century_), +_The Christmas Wreck_ (in _The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories_, +1886), _Amos Kilbright_ (in _Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious +Experiences, with Other Stories_, 1888), _Asaph_ (May, 1892, +_Cosmopolitan_), _My Terminal Moraine_ (April 26, 1892, Collier's +_Once a Week Library_), _The Magic Egg_ (June, 1894, _Century_), _The +Buller-Podington Compact_ (August, 1897, _Scribner's_), and _The +Widow's Cruise_ (in _A Story-Teller's Pack_, 1897). Most of his best +work was gathered into the collections: _The Lady or the Tiger?, and +Other Stories_ (1884), _The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales_ +(1887), _Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious Experiences, with Other +Stories_ (1888), _The Clocks of Rondaine, and Other Stories_ (1892), +_A Chosen Few_ (1895), _A Story-Teller's Pack_ (1897), and _The +Queen's Museum, and Other Fanciful Tales_ (1906). + +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). + +"O. Henry" was the pen name adopted by William Sydney Porter. He began +his short story career by contributing _Whistling Dick's Christmas +Stocking_ to _McClure's Magazine_ 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 +_New York World_ 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 _A Blackjack +Bargainer_ (August, 1901, _Munsey's_). He followed this with such +masterly stories as: _The Duplicity of Hargraves_ (February, 1902, +_Junior Munsey_), _The Marionettes_ (April, 1902, _Black Cat_), _A +Retrieved Reformation_ (April, 1903, _Cosmopolitan_), _The Guardian of +the Accolade_ (May, 1903, _Cosmopolitan_), _The Enchanted Kiss_ +(February, 1904, _Metropolitan_), _The Furnished Room_ (August 14, +1904, _New York World_), _An Unfinished Story_ (August, 1905, +_McClure's_), _The Count and the Wedding Guest_ (October 8, 1905, _New +York World_), _The Gift of the Magi_ (December 10, 1905, _New York +World_), _The Trimmed Lamp_ (August, 1906, _McClure's_), _Phoebe_ +(November, 1907, _Everybody's_), _The Hiding of Black Bill_ (October, +1908, _Everybody's_), _No Story_ (June, 1909, _Metropolitan_), _A +Municipal Report_ (November, 1909, _Hampton's_), _A Service of Love_ +(in _The Four Million_, 1909), _The Pendulum_ (in _The Trimmed Lamp_, +1910), _Brickdust Row_ (in _The Trimmed Lamp_, 1910), and _The +Assessor of Success_ (in _The Trimmed Lamp_, 1910). Among O. Henry's +best volumes of short stories are: _The Four Million_ (1909), +_Options_ (1909), _Roads of Destiny_ (1909), _The Trimmed Lamp_ +(1910), _Strictly Business: More Stories of the Four Million_ (1910), +_Whirligigs_ (1910), and _Sixes and Sevens_ (1911). + +"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."[9] _The Duplicity of +Hargraves_, 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. + +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, +_Bargain Day at Tutt House_ (June, 1905, _McClure's_), was nearly his +first story; only two others, which came out in _The Saturday Evening +Post_ in 1903 and 1904, preceded it. Its breathless dramatic action is +well balanced by humor. Other stories of his deserving of special +mention are: _A Corner in Farmers_ (February, 29, 1908, _Saturday +Evening Post_), _A Fortune in Smoke_ (March 14, 1908, _Saturday +Evening Post_), _Easy Money_ (November 14, 1908, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _The Triple Cross_ (December 5, 1908, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Spoiling the Egyptians_ (December 26, 1908, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Whipsawed!_ (January 16, 1909, _Saturday Evening Post_), _The +Bubble Bank_ (January 30 and February 6, 1909, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Straight Business_ (February 27, 1909, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Sam Turner: a Business Man's Love Story_ (March 26, April 2 +and 9, 1910, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Fundamental Justice_ (July 25, +1914, _Saturday Evening Post_), _A Scropper Patcher_ (October, 1916, +_Everybody's_), and _Jolly Bachelors_ (February, 1918, +_Cosmopolitan_). His best collections are: _Get-Rich-Quick +Wallingford_ (1908), _Young Wallingford_ (1910), _Wallingford in His +Prime_ (1913), and _Wallingford and Blackie Daw_ (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. + +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 _A +Call_ (August, 1906, _Harper's_) 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: _The Capture of Andy Proudfoot_ +(June, 1904, _Harper's_), _In the Strength of the Hills_ (December, +1905, _Metropolitan_), _The Machinations of Ocoee Gallantine_ (April, +1906, _Century_), _A Call_ (August, 1906, _Harper's_), _Scott +Bohannon's Bond _(May 4, 1907, _Collier's_), and _A Clean Shave_ +(November, 1912, _Century_). 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 _The Power and the +Glory_ (1910), and several good juveniles. + +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 _The American Magazine_ 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, _Yawps_ (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,_Lo, the Summer Girl_. 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. + +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 _merely_ 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 _Harper's Weekly_, 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: + + Dunno, perhaps + One of the yaps + Like me would make + A holy break + Doing his turn + With money to burn. + Anyhow, I + Wouldn't shy + Making a try! + +and containing, among many effective touches, the pathetic lines, + + ... I'd help + The poor who try to help themselves, + Who have to work so hard for bread + They can't get very far ahead. + +When James Lane Allen's novel, _The Reign of Law_, came out (1900), a +little quatrain by Lampton that appeared in _The Bookman_ (September, +1900) swept like wildfire across the country, and was read by a +hundred times as many people as the book itself: + + "The Reign of Law"? + Well, Allen, you're lucky; + It's the first time it ever + Rained law in Kentucky! + +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, "_His Wife's Deceased Sister_" +(January, 1884, _Century_), 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 '_His Wife's Deceased Sister_'?" This was merely Stockton's +turning to account his own somewhat similar experience with the +editors after his story, _The Lady or the Tiger_? (November, 1882, +_Century_) appeared. Likewise the editors didn't want Lampton's short +stories for a while because they liked his poems so well. + +Do I hear some critics exclaiming that there is nothing remarkable +about _How the Widow Won the Deacon_, 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: _The People's Number of the +Worthyville Watchman_ (May 12, 1900, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Love's +Strange Spell_ (April 27, 1901, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Abimelech +Higgins' Way_ (August 24, 1001, _Saturday Evening Post_), _A Cup of +Tea_ (March, 1902, _Metropolitan_), _Winning His Spurs_ (May, 1904, +_Cosmopolitan_), _The Perfidy of Major Pulsifer_ (November, 1909, +_Cosmopolitan_), _How the Widow Won the Deacon_ (April, 1911, +_Harper's Bazaar_), and _A Brown Study_ (December, 1913, +_Lippincott's_). 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. + +_Gideon_ (April, 1914, _Century_), 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, _The Professor's Mystery_ +(1911) and alone wrote another novel, _The Man in the Brown Derby_ +(1911). His short stories include: _The New Little Boy_ (July, 1911, +_American_), _That Day_ (September, 1911, _American_), _The Pick-Up_ +(December, 1911, _Everybody's_), and _Gideon_ (April, 1914, +_Century_). 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, _Gideon_ is surely entitled. + +ALEXANDER JESSUP. + + + +CONTENTS + +INTRODUCTION +_Alexander Jessup_ + +THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS (1839) +_George Pope Morris_ + +THE ANGEL OF THE ODD (1844) +_Edgar Allan Poe_ + +THE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS (1844) +_Caroline M.S. Kirkland_ + +THE WATKINSON EVENING (1846) +_Eliza Leslie_ + +TITBOTTOM'S SPECTACLES (1854) +_George William Curtis_ + +MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME (1859) +_Edward Everett Hale_ + +A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS (1861) +_Oliver Wendell Holmes_ + +THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY (1865) +_Mark Twain_ + +ELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE (1885) +_Harry Stillwell Edwards_ + +THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER (1886) +_Richard Malcolm Johnston_ + +THE NICE PEOPLE (1890) +_Henry Cuyler Bunner_ + +THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT (1897) +_Frank Richard Stockton_ + +COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF (1901) +_Bret Harte_ + +THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES (1902) +_O. Henry_ + +BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE (1905) + _George Randolph Chester_ + +A CALL (1906) + _Grace MacGowan Cooke_ + +HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON (1911) + _William James Lampton_ + +GIDEON (1914) + _Wells Hastings_ + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + +_The Nice People_, by Henry Cuyler Bunner, is republished from his +volume, _Short Sixes_, by permission of its publishers, Charles +Scribner's Sons. _The Buller-Podington Compact_, by Frank Richard +Stockton, is from his volume, _Afield and Afloat_, and is republished +by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. _Colonel Starbottle for the +Plaintiff_, by Bret Harte, is from the collection of his stories +entitled _Openings in the Old Trail_, and is republished by permission +of the Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret +Harte's complete works. _The Duplicity of Hargraves_, by O. Henry, is +from his volume, _Sixes and Sevens_, 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, _A Call_, republished +here from _Harper's Magazine_; Wells Hastings, for permission to +reprint his story, _Gideon_, from _The Century Magazine_; and George +Randolph Chester, for permission to include _Bargain Day at Tutt +House_, from _McClure's Magazine_. I would also thank the heirs of the +late lamented Colonel William J. Lampton for permission to use his +story, _How the Widow Won the Deacon_, from _Harper's Bazaar_. 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, "_Posson Jone'_," and Irvin S. Cobb's story, _The Smart +Aleck_. He also regrets he was unable to obtain a copy of Joseph C. +Duport's story, _The Wedding at Timber Hollow_, 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. + +[Footnote 1: This I have attempted in _Representative American Short +Stories_ (Allyn & Bacon: Boston, 1922).] + +[Footnote 2: Will D. Howe, in _The Cambridge History of American +Literature_, Vol. II, pp. 158-159 (G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1918).] + +[Footnote 3: _A History of American Literature Since 1870_, p. 317 +(The Century Co.: 1915).] + +[Footnote 4: _A History of American Literature Since 1870_, pp 79-81.] + +[Footnote 5: "The Works of Bret Harte," twenty volumes. The Houghton +Mifflin Company, Boston.] + +[Footnote 6: _The Cambridge History of American Literature_, Vol. II, +p. 386.] + +[Footnote 7: See this Introduction.] + +[Footnote 8: _The Cambridge History of American Literature_, Vol. II, +p. 385.] + +[Footnote 9: Fred Lewis Pattee, in The Cambridge History of American +Literature, Vol. II, p. 394.] + + * * * * * + + +To: CHARLES GOODRICH WHITING, Critic, Poet, Friend + + * * * * * + + + +THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS + +BY GEORGE POPE MORRIS (1802-1864) + +[From _The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots, with Other Sketches of +the Times_ (1839), by George Pope Morris.] + + Look into those they call unfortunate, + And, closer view'd, you'll find they are unwise.--_Young._ + + Let wealth come in by comely thrift, + And not by any foolish shift: + Tis haste + Makes waste: + Who gripes too hard the dry and slippery sand + Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.--_Herrick_. + + Let well alone.--_Proverb_. + +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! + +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 every-day apparel of my little Frenchman. Ah, I perceive you +recollect him now. + +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. + +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. + +"Here they are, gentlemen," said he of the hammer, "the most valuable +lots ever offered for sale. Give me a bid for them!" + +"One hundred each," said a bystander. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"_Oui, monsieur_; I will give you von hundred dollar apiece, for de +lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege; _c'est a_." + +"Only one hundred apiece for these sixty valuable lots--only one +hundred--going--going--going--gone!" + +Monsieur Poopoo was the fortunate possessor. The auctioneer +congratulated him--the sale closed--and the company dispersed. + +"_Pardonnez-moi, monsieur_," said Poopoo, as the auctioneer descended +his pedestal, "you shall _excusez-moi_, if I shall go to _votre +bureau_, 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, _c'est vrai_--eh?" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"Vell den, _allons_." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"_Mon ami_, are you acquaint vid dis part of de country--eh?" + +"Yes, I was born here, and know every inch of it." + +"Ah, _c'est bien_, dat vill do," and the Frenchman got out of the gig, +tied the horse, and produced his lithographic map. + +"Den maybe you vill have de kindness to show me de sixty lot vich I +have bought, vid de valuarble vatare privalege?" + +The farmer glanced his eye over the paper. + +"Yes, sir, with pleasure; if you will be good enough to _get into my +boat, I will row you out to them_!" + +"Vat dat you say, sure?" + +"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 _at low +tide_. When this part of the East River is filled up, it will be just +there. Your lots, as you will perceive, are beyond it; _and are now +all under water_." + +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. + +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. + +"Monsieur, I have much plaisir to fin' you, _chez vous_, at home." + +"Ah, Poopoo! glad to see you. Take a seat, old boy." + +"But I shall not take de seat, sare." + +"No--why, what's the matter?" + +"Oh, _beaucoup_ de matter. I have been to see de gran lot vot you sell +me to-day." + +"Well, sir, I hope you like your purchase?" + +"No, monsieur, I no like him." + +"I'm sorry for it; but there is no ground for your complaint." + +"No, sare; dare is no _ground_ at all--de ground is all vatare!" + +"You joke!" + +"I no joke. I nevare joke; _je n'entends pas la raillerie_, Sare, +_voulez-vous_ have de kindness to give me back de money vot I pay!" + +"Certainly not." + +"Den vill you be so good as to take de East River off de top of my +lot?" + +"That's your business, sir, not mine." + +"Den I make von _mauvaise affaire_--von gran mistake!" + +"I hope not. I don't think you have thrown your money away in the +_land_." + +"No, sare; but I tro it avay in de _vatare!_" + +"That's not my fault." + +"Yes, sare, but it is your fault. You're von ver gran rascal to +swindle me out of _de l'argent_." + +"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." + +"Vare shall I go to, eh?" + +"To the devil, for aught I care, you foolish old Frenchman!" said the +auctioneer, waxing warm. + +"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, _tout de suite_, right avay." + +"You couldn't make a better use of your water privileges, old boy!" + +"Ah, _misricorde!_ Ah, _mon dieu, je suis abm_. 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 _ present!_" + +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. + +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 _row him out_ to the very place where the poor Frenchman's +lots still remain _under water_. + + + +THE ANGEL OF THE ODD + +[From _The Columbian Magazine_, October, 1844.] + +BY EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849) + +It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an +unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic _truffe_ 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 _liqueur_. In the +morning I had been reading Glover's _Leonidas_, Wilkie's _Epigoniad_, +Lamartine's _Pilgrimage_, Barlow's _Columbiad_, Tuckerman's _Sicily_, +and Griswold's _Curiosities_, 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 + + This folio of four pages, happy work + Which not even critics criticise, + +when I felt my attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which +follows: + +"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." + +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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"You are a drunken vagabond," said I, "and I shall ring the bell and +order my footman to kick you into the street." + +"He! he! he!" said the fellow, "hu! hu! hu! dat you can't do." + +"Can't do!" said I, "what do you mean? I can't do what?" + +"Ring de pell," he replied, attempting a grin with his little +villainous mouth. + +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. + +"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 _Angel ov te Odd_." + +"And odd enough, too," I ventured to reply; "but I was always under +the impression that an angel had wings." + +"Te wing!" he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing? Mein +Gott! do you take me for a shicken?" + +"No--oh, no!" I replied, much alarmed; "you are no chicken--certainly +not." + +"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 _not_ te +wing, and I am te _Angel ov te Odd_." + +"And your business with me at present is--is----" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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 "Kirschenwsser." + +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 _contretemps_ of mankind, and whose business it was +to bring about the _odd accidents_ 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," _beaucoup de bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens_. + +His departure afforded me relief. The _very_ 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. + +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. + +"Ah!" said I, "I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A +natural accident, such as will happen now and then!" + +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 +_Omnipresence of the Deity_, I unfortunately fell asleep in less than +twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was. + +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 Kirschenwsser, 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 _not_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_terra firma_; 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Who pe you," he asked, "und what der teuffel you pe do dare?" + +To this piece of impudence, cruelty, and affectation, I could reply +only by ejaculating the monosyllable "Help!" + +"Elp!" echoed the ruffian, "not I. Dare iz te pottle--elp yourself, +und pe tam'd!" + +With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwsser, 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. + +"'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?" + +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 +_was_ sober and _had_ positively come to my senses. By these means I +somewhat softened the Angel. + +"Und you pelief, ten," he inquired, "at te last? You pelief, ten, in +te possibility of te odd?" + +I again nodded my head in assent. + +"Und you ave pelief in _me_, te Angel of te Odd?" + +I nodded again. + +"Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk und te vool?" + +I nodded once more. + +"Put your right hand into your left preeches pocket, ten, in token ov +your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd." + +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-- + +"Go to der teuffel, ten!" roared the Angel of the Odd. + +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. + +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 Kirschenwsser. Thus +revenged himself the Angel of the Odd. + + + +THE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS + +By Caroline M.S. Kirkland (1801-1864) + +[From _The Gift_ for 1845, published late in 1844. Republished in the +volume, _Western Clearings_ (1845), by Caroline M.S. Kirkland.] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _may_ have--a strong arm he _must_ 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. + +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. + +"You'd ought to begin with large-hand, Joshuay," said Master Horner to +this youth. + +"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." + +The master looked at the infant giant, and did as he wished, but we +say not with what secret resolutions. + +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, + +"It will help you, when you write letters, to spell the words good." + +"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." + +"How dared you be so saucy to the master?" asked one of the little +boys, after school. + +"Because I could lick him, easy," said the hopeful Joshua, who knew +very well why the master did not undertake him on the spot. + +Can we wonder that Master Horner determined to make his empire good as +far as it went? + +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 _angle_ +or _angel_. _Angle_ 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. + +"What is orthography?" said an inspector once, in our presence. + +The candidate writhed a good deal, studied the beams overhead and the +chickens out of the window, and then replied, + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Master Horner was at once the preminent 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. + +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. + +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. + + That great medicine hath + With its tinct gilded-- + +many a vulgarism to the satisfaction of wiser heads than ours. + +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. + +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 _that is not in the spelling-book_. 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. + +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 _in +the spelling-book_. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _dnouement_ 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. + +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 _Columbian Orator_, the _American Speaker_, 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. + +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 _Mary Stuart_; 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-- + + Mine all doth hang--my life--my destiny-- + Upon my words--upon the force of tears!-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Won't you 'light, Master?" said Mr. Kingsbury. + +"Yes--no--thank you--good evening," stammered poor Master Horner, so +stupefied that even Aunt Sally called him "a dummy." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _Mary +Stuart_ 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. + +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?" + +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. + +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 +tte--tte 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _do_ 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. + + + +THE WATKINSON EVENING + +[From _Godey's Lady's Book_, December, 1846.] + +By Eliza Leslie (1787-1858) + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +The young people assented, saying they had no doubt of passing a +pleasant evening. + +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." + +"How considerate you are, dear Edward"--said Caroline--"always so +thoughtful of every one's convenience. Your college friends must have +idolized you." + +"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." + +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." + +"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 _contretemps_ 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." + +"The lady is Mrs. John Watkinson"--replied Mrs. Morland--"most +probably she will invite some of her friends to meet us." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"She is an evidence," said Edward, "how superior our women of fashion +are to those of Europe." + +"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." + +"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." + +The man reported that he _had_ 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." + +"Are you certain that you made no mistake in the house," said Edward, +"and that you really _did_ give it to Mrs. Watkinson?" + +"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.'" + +"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." + +"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 _lite_ of the _lite_." + +"Even if she is," observed Mrs. Morland, "are polish of manners and +cultivation of mind confined exclusively to persons of that class?" + +"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." + +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. + +"I hear," said one lady, "that Mrs. St. Leonard is to have an unusual +number of lions." + +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. + +Edward Morland felt as if he could say, "Had I three ears I'd hear +thee." + +"Such a woman as Mrs. St. Leonard can always command the best lions +that are to be found," observed another lady. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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?" + +"At half past ten," was the brother's reply. + +"Oh! Edward, Edward!" she exclaimed, "And I dare say he will not be +punctual. He may keep us here till eleven." + +"_Courage, mes enfants_," said their mother, "_et parlez plus +doucement_." + +The girl then ushered them into the back parlor, saying, "Here's the +company." + +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. + +"Will you take the rocking-chair, ma'am?" inquired Mrs. Watkinson. + +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. + +"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." + +"What a pity," thought Caroline. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +There was another sob behind the handkerchief, and the Morlands +thought it now sounded very much like a smothered laugh. + +"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 tonight 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?" + +"If carried too far they may certainly become so," replied Mrs. +Morland. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Two of the boys glanced slyly at each other, with what Edward Morland +comprehended as an expression of pitch-penny and marbles. + +"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." + +Just then the boy Joseph rose from the table, and stalking up to Mrs. +Watkinson, said to her, "Mamma, please to whip me." + +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." + +"You could not see me," answered Joseph, "for I have not _done_ +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." + +"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?" + +"Ay," said another boy, "what's your thought like?" + +"My thought," said Joseph, "was 'Confound all astronomy, and I could +see the man hanged that made this game.'" + +"Oh! my child," exclaimed the mother, stopping her ears, "I am indeed +shocked. I am glad you repented so immediately." + +"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." + +"Excellent boy!" said his mother. "You know I always pardon my +children when they are so candid as to confess their faults." + +"So you do," said Joseph, "but a whipping will cure me better." + +"I cannot resolve to punish so conscientious a child," said Mrs. +Watkinson. + +"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." + +Joseph turned round and made a face at him. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I declare," said Mrs. Watkinson, "dear Benny is almost asleep. Shake +him up, Christopher. I want him to speak a speech. His school-mistress +takes great pains in teaching her little pupils to speak, and stands +up herself and shows them how." + +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. + +"Ma," said Jane Watkinson, "you had better tell him what speech to +speak." + +"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." + +"Speak Lucius," said his sister Jane. "Come now, Benny--say 'your +thoughts are turned on peace.'" + +The little boy looked very much as if they were _not_, and as if +meditating an outbreak. + +"No, no!" exclaimed Christopher, "let him say Hamlet. Come now, +Benny--'To be or not to be.'" + +"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!" + +"Only see his obstinacy," said the solemn Joseph. "And is he to be +given up to?" + +"Speak anything, Benny," said Mrs. Watkinson, "anything so that it is +only a speech." + +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!" + +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." + +"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." + +Hester (unlike her little brother that would not speak a speech) +stepped boldly forward, and addressed Caroline Morland with: +"_Parlez-vous Franais, mademoiselle? Comment se va madame votre mre? +Aimez-vous la musique? Aimez-vous la danse? Bon jour--bon soir--bon +repos. Comprenez-vous?_" + +To this tirade, uttered with great volubility, Miss Morland made no +other reply than, "_Oui--je comprens._" + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Has he been paid for bringing you here?" asked Mrs. Watkinson. + +"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." + +"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." + +Now, the truth was that the coachman _had_ 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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +The Morlands felt as if they could bear it no longer, and Edward +proposed sending for another carriage to the nearest livery stable. + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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-- + + Here come three knights out of Spain + A-courting of your daughter Jane." + +"_I_ 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." + +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. + +"So there _has_ been a dance, then!" sighed Caroline. "Oh, what we +have missed! It is really too provoking." + +"So it is," said Edward; "but remember that to-morrow morning we set +off for Niagara." + +"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 _you_ if anything offers afterwards that they think they would +prefer; provided only that they apprize you in time of the change in +their plan." + +"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." + + + +TITBOTTOM'S SPECTACLES + +BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS (1824-1892) + +[From _Putnam's Monthly_, December, 1854. Republished in the volume, +_Prue and I_ (1856), by George William Curtis (Harper & Brothers).] + +In my mind's eye, Horatio. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"Well!" + +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. + +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: + +"Perhaps you would have different impressions of things if you saw +them through my spectacles." + +There was no change in his expression. He still looked from the +window, and I said: + +"Titbottom, I did not know that you used glasses. I have never seen +you wearing spectacles." + +"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. + +"Is it so grievous a fate, to see?" inquired I. + +"Yes; through my spectacles," he said, turning slowly and looking at +me with wan solemnity. + +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. + +"You will come and dine with us, Titbottom?" + +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: + +"Do you know I hoped you would bring Mr. Titbottom to dine?" + +Titbottom smiled gently, and answered: + +"He might have brought his spectacles with him, and I have been a +happier man for it." + +Prue looked a little puzzled. + +"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." + +"It is because they make him too far-sighted, perhaps," interrupted +Prue quietly, as she took the silver soup-ladle from the sideboard. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +I do not think I have seen such a blush upon Prue's cheek since--well, +since a great many years ago. + +"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." + +"A very important difference," said Prue, counting her stitches. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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: + +"'Did you invite me or my coat?' + +"'You, in a proper coat,' replied the manager. + +"The governor smiled approvingly, and looked at my grandfather. + +"'My friend," said he to the manager, 'I beg your pardon, I forgot.' + +"The next day my grandfather was seen promenading in full ball dress +along the streets of the little town. + +"'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.' + +"He did not much frequent social festivals after this failure, but he +always told the story with satisfaction and a quiet smile. + +"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. + +"'Decidedly I must step down and see about that vessel,' said my +grandfather Titbottom. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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: + +"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.' + +"'But grandpapa, I am not short-sighted.' + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _vis--vis_. Is life only a game +of blind-man's-buff? of droll cross-purposes? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"In despair I went to a great merchant on the island, and asked him to +employ me. + +"'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?' + +"I told him that I had not the slightest idea of selling my +spectacles. + +"'My young friend means to eat them, I suppose,' said he with a +contemptuous smile. + +"I made no reply, but was turning to leave the office, when the +merchant called after me-- + +"'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.' + +"I said nothing, but put my hand upon the door to go out, when the +merchant said more respectfully,-- + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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-- + +"'If Shakespeare loved me and I did not love him, how could I marry +him?' + +"Could I be misanthropical when I saw such fidelity, and dignity, and +simplicity? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"And yet--and yet," said Titbottom, after a pause, "I am not sure that +I thank my grandfather." + +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. + +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: + +"And Preciosa?" + +Titbottom paused. He had just opened the door and the moonlight +streamed over him as he stood, turning back to us. + +"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." + +"That was a miracle," interrupted Prue. + +"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." + +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: + +"How glad I am that you don't wear spectacles." + + + +MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME + +By Edward Everett Hale (1822-1909) + +[From _The Atlantic Monthly_, September, 1859. Republished in the +volume, _The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales_ (1868), by Edward +Everett Hale (Little, Brown & Co.).] + +It is not often that I trouble the readers of _The Atlantic Monthly_. +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Cataract of the Ganges_. 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. + +Crazed by this duality of life, I first read Dr. Wigan on the _Duality +of the Brain_, 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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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: + +1. "Very well, thank you. And you?" This for an answer to casual +salutations. + +2. "I am very glad you liked it." + +3. "There has been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that +I will not occupy the time." + +4. "I agree, in general, with my friend on the other side of the +room." + +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. + +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 _sixty-seventh_ 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 _ex officio_, and +were begging leave to go away. On his entrance all was changed. +_Presto_, 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, _alias_ +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. + +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 + + Tuesday Morning. English Composition. Sunshine. Miss Jones, + +round to + + Trio on Three Pianos. Duel from opera of Midshipman Easy. Marryatt. + +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 _so_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Mystics_, 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-entre 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 _vs._ 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. + +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. "_Quoene sit historia Reformationis in Ungari?_" +quoth Haliburton, after some thought. And his _confrre_ replied +gallantly, "_In seculo decimo tertio,_" etc., etc., etc.; and from +_decimo tertio_ [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?"] +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. + +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 _promptu_ 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." + +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." + +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 _The +Atlantic_ 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. + +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! + +I know, indeed, that public men of the highest rank have resorted to +this expedient long ago. Dumas's novel of _The Iron Mask_ 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. + +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 _public_ +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 _they_ may be--should think 'we'--whoever _we_ +may be--are going down." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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?" + +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. + +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 _The Atlantic_ 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. + +No! My double has undone me. + +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 _Traces of +Sandemanianism in the Sixth and Seventh Centuries_, which I hope to +persuade Phillips, Sampson & Co. to publish next year. We are very +happy, but the world thinks we are undone. + + + +A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS + +By Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) + +[From _The Atlantic Monthly_, January, 1861. Republished in _Soundings +from the Atlantic_ (1864), by Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose authorized +publishers are the Houghton Mifflin Company.] + +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 +_N. Dowing_ 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 _anyhow_ and he +should be pleased." N.E. Howe, Esq., was chosen in compliance with +this delicate suggestion. + +The Charter provides for the support of "One hundred aged and decayed +Gentlemen-Punsters." On inquiry if there way no provision for +_females_, my friend called my attention to this remarkable +psychological fact, namely: + +THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEMALE PUNSTER. + +This remark struck me forcibly, and on reflection I found that _I +never knew nor heard of one_, though I have once or twice heard a +woman make a _single detached_ pun, as I have known a hen to crow. + +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. + +"So you prefer _Cane_ to _A bell_, do you?" he said--and began +chuckling and coughing at a great rate. + +My friend winked at me. + +"You're here still, Old Joe, I see," he said to the old man. + +"Yes, yes--and it's very odd, considering how often I've _bolted_, +nights." + +He then threw open the double gates for us to ride through. + +"Now," said the old man, as he pulled the gates after us, "you've had +a long journey." + +"Why, how is that, Old Joe?" said my friend. + +"Don't you see?" he answered; "there's the _East hinges_ on the one +side of the gate, and there's the _West hinges_ on t'other side--haw! +haw! haw!" + +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. + +"The town has entered a complaint against the Asylum as a gambling +establishment," he said to my friend, the Director. + +"What do you mean?" said my friend. + +"Why, they complain that there's a _lot o' rye_ on the premises," he +answered, pointing to a field of that grain--and hobbled away, his +shoulders shaking with laughter, as he went. + +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: + +SECT. I. OF VERBAL EXERCISES. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Mr. Joseph Miller_. + +10. Violent and unmanageable Punsters, who interrupt others when +engaged in conversation, with Puns or attempts at the same, shall be +deprived of their _Joseph Millers_, and, if necessary, placed in +solitary confinement. + +SECT. III. OF DEPORTMENT AT MEALS. + +4. No Inmate shall make any Pun, or attempt at the same, until the +Blessing has been asked and the company are decently seated. + +7. Certain Puns having been placed on the _Index Expurgatorius_ of the +Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them, on pain of +being debarred the perusal of _Punch_ and _Vanity Fair_, and, if +repeated, deprived of his _Joseph Miller_. + +Among these are the following: + +Allusions to _Attic salt_, when asked to pass the salt-cellar. + +Remarks on the Inmates being _mustered_, etc., etc. + +Associating baked beans with the _bene_-factors of the Institution. + +Saying that beef-eating is _befitting_, etc., etc. + +The following are also prohibited, excepting to such Inmates as may +have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make Puns of their +own: + +"----your own _hair_ or a wig"; "it will be _long enough_," etc., +etc.; "little of its age," etc., etc.; also, playing upon the +following words: _hos_pital; _mayor_; _pun_; _pitied_; _bread_; +_sauce_, etc., etc., etc. _See_ INDEX EXPURGATORIUS, _printed for use +of Inmates_. + +The subjoined Conundrum is not allowed: Why is Hasty Pudding like the +Prince? Because it comes attended by its _sweet_; nor this variation +to it, _to wit_: Because the _'lasses runs after it_. + +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 _of four Jerries_ 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 _four +Jerries_, he added, was of gigantic magnitude. The play on words was +brought out by an accidental remark of Solomons, the well-known +Banker. "_Capital punishment_!" the Jew was overheard saying, with +reference to the guilty parties. He was understood, as saying, _A +capital pun is meant_, which led to an investigation and the relief of +the greatly excited public mind. + +The Superintendent showed some of his old tendencies, as he went round +with us. + +"Do you know"--he broke out all at once--"why they don't take steppes +in Tartary for establishing Insane Hospitals?" + +We both confessed ignorance. + +"Because there are _nomad_ people to be found there," he said, with a +dignified smile. + +He proceeded to introduce us to different Inmates. The first was a +middle-aged, scholarly man, who was seated at a table with a +_Webster's Dictionary_ and a sheet of paper before him. + +"Well, what luck to-day, Mr. Mowzer?" said the Superintendent. + +"Three or four only," said Mr. Mowzer. "Will you hear 'em now--now I'm +here?" + +We all nodded. + +"Don't you see Webster _ers_ in the words cent_er_ and theat_er_? + +"If he spells leather _lether_, and feather _fether_, isn't there +danger that he'll give us a _bad spell of weather_? + +"Besides, Webster is a resurrectionist; he does not allow _u_ to rest +quietly in the _mould_. + +"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 _Connect-a-cut_ trick. + +"Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven? Because it is +_under bread_." + +"Mowzer!" said the Superintendent, "that word is on the Index!" + +"I forgot," said Mr. Mowzer; "please don't deprive me of _Vanity Fair_ +this one time, sir." + +"These are all, this morning. Good day, gentlemen." Then to the +Superintendent: "Add you, sir!" + +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: + + TIMES. SMITE! + POST. STOP! + + TRIBUNE. TRUE NIB. + WORLD. DR. OWL. + + ADVERTISER. { RES VERI DAT. + { IS TRUE. READ! + + ALLOPATHY. ALL O' TH' PAY. + HOMOEOPATHY. O, THE ----! O! O, MY! PAH! + +The mention of several New York papers led to two or three questions. +Thus: Whether the Editor of _The Tribune_ was _H.G. really_? If the +complexion of his politics were not accounted for by his being _an +eager_ person himself? Whether Wendell _Fillips_ were not a reduced +copy of John _Knocks_? Whether a New York _Feuilletoniste_ is not the +same thing as a _Fellow down East_? + +At this time a plausible-looking, bald-headed man joined us, evidently +waiting to take a part in the conversation. + +"Good morning, Mr. Riggles," said the Superintendent, "Anything fresh +this morning? Any Conundrum?" + +"I haven't looked at the cattle," he answered, dryly. + +"Cattle? Why cattle?" + +"Why, to see if there's any _corn under 'em_!" he said; and +immediately asked, "Why is Douglas like the earth?" + +We tried, but couldn't guess. + +"Because he was _flattened out at the polls_!" said Mr. Riggles. + +"A famous politician, formerly," said the Superintendent. "His +grandfather was a _seize-Hessian-ist_ in the Revolutionary War. By the +way, I hear the _freeze-oil_ doctrines don't go down at New Bedford." + +The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor formerly. + +"Ask him what his calling was," said the Superintendent. + +"Followed the sea," he replied to the question put by one of us. "Went +as mate in a fishing-schooner." + +"Why did you give it up?" + +"Because I didn't like working for _two mast-ers_," he replied. + +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. + +"Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?" he said. + +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. + +"Rem _a cue_ tetigit." + +"Go to the head of the class, Josselyn," said the venerable patriarch. + +The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way, +pushing against two or three of the Class. + +"How is this?" said the Patriarch. + +"You told me to go up _jostlin'_," he replied. + +The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the pun too much +to be angry. + +Presently the Patriarch asked again: + +"Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the +Prince?" + +The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself: + +"Because every one of his carroms was a _tick-it_ to the ball." + +"Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in +Italy?" asked the Patriarch. + +Here again the Class failed. + +"The war-cloud's rolling _Dun_," he answered. + +"And what is mulled wine made with?" + +Three or four voices exclaimed at once: + +"_Sizzle-y_ Madeira!" + +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. + +"There is one thing I have forgotten to show you," said the +Superintendent, "the cell for the confinement of violent and +unmanageable Punsters." + +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. + +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. + +"We have not seen the cell for the confinement of 'violent and +unmanageable' Punsters," we both exclaimed. + +"This is the _sell_!" he exclaimed, pointing to the outside prospect. + +My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-naturedly that +I had to laugh. + +"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." + +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. + +"Look!" said the Director--"that is our Centenarian." + +The ancient man crawled toward us, cocked one eye, with which he +seemed to see a little, up at us, and said: + +"Sarvant, young Gentlemen. Why is a--a--a--like a--a--a--? Give it up? +Because it's a--a--a--a--." + +He smiled a pleasant smile, as if it were all plain enough. + +"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." + +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. + + + +THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY + +By Mark Twain (1835-1910) + +[From _The Saturday Press_, Nov. 18, 1865. Republished in _The +Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches_ +(1867), by Mark Twain, all of whose works are published by Harper & +Brothers.] + +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 +_Leonidas W_. 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 _Jim Smiley_, 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. + +I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom 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 _Leonidas W_. Smiley--_Rev. Leonidas W._ 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. + +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 _finesse_. +I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once. + +"Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le--well, there was a feller here once +by the name of _Jim_ 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 _him_--any way just so's he got a bet, _he_ 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 _was_ 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 _him_--he'd bet on _any_ 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.'" + +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. + +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 _he_ 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 _his_ 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. + +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 _did_ +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 _they_ see. + +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: + +"What might be that you've got in the box?" + +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." + +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 _he_ good +for?" + +"Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for _one_ +thing, I should judge--he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county." + +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." + +"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 _my_ opinion and +I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras +County." + +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." + +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. + +So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to his-self, 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: + +"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--_git_!" 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. + +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, "_I_ don't +see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog." + +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---- + +(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." + +But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history +of the enterprising vagabond _Jim_ Smiley would be likely to afford me +much information concerning the Rev. _Leonidas W._ Smiley, and so I +started away. + +At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed +me and recommenced: + +"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----" + +However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear +about the afflicted cow, but took my leave. + + + +ELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE + +By Harry Stillwell Edwards (1855- ) + +[From _Harper's Magazine_, August, 1885; copyright, 1885, by Harper & +Bros.; republished in the volume, _Two Runaways, and Other Stories_ +(1889), by Harry Stillwell Edwards (The Century Co.).] + +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. + +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. + +"And, elder, don't you forgit them caliker scraps, or you'll be +wantin' kiver soon an' no kiver will be a-comin'." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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: + + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_, + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_, + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_ for _all_, + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +II + + +"Good-mornin', sir." + +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. + +"Good-mornin', sir," said Elder Brown again, in his most dignified +tones. "Is Mr. Thomas in?" + +"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. + +"Well, sir, what can I do for you?" + +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. + +"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. + +"This is Mr. Brown, I believe. I did not recognize you at once. You +are not in often to see us." + +"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. + +"How much money will you want, Mr. Brown?" + +"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. + +"I can get you five hundred." + +"But I oughter have seven." + +"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?" + +"Well, I count on a hundr'd bales. An' you can't git the sev'n hundr'd +dollars?" + +"Like to oblige you, but can't right now; will fix it for you later +on." + +"Well," said the elder, slowly, "fix up the papers for five, an' I'll +make it go as far as possible." + +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. + +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: + +"Hannah-Maria-Jemimy! goldarn an' blue blazes!" + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"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 _know_ I've _got_ +'em." As each purchase was promptly paid for, and change had to be +secured, the clerk earned his salary for that day at least. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Elder Brown paused at the door as he was about to leave. A +rosy-cheeked school-girl 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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +What woman's heart ever failed to soften at sight of a new bonnet? + +As I have stated, the elder was a man of action. He entered a store +near at hand. + +"Good-morning," said an affable gentleman with a Hebrew countenance, +approaching. + +"Good-mornin', good-mornin'," said the elder, piling his bundles on +the counter. "I hope you are well?" Elder Brown extended his hand +fervidly. + +"Quite well, I thank you. What--" + +"And the little wife?" said Elder Brown, affectionately retaining the +Jew's hand. + +"Quite well, sir." + +"And the little ones--quite well, I hope, too?" + +"Yes, sir; all well, thank you. Something I can do for you?" + +The affable merchant was trying to recall his customer's name. + +"Not now, not now, thankee. If you please to let my bundles stay +untell I come back--" + +"Can't I show you something? Hat, coat--" + +"Not now. Be back bimeby." + +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: + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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--vis, who had been making desperate efforts to resume her demure +appearance. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Mebbe you're right, my dear; mebbe I oughtn't." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"Well, now, that's suthin' like. Will it soot a sorter redheaded +'ooman?" + +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: + +"Perfectly, sir. It is an exquisite match." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, -er-unc, -unc, -unc." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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: + +"Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, drer-unc, -erunc, -unc, -unc." + +Once more the elder turned with lifted hand and shouted back: + +"You're a liar, Balaam, goldarn you! You're er iffamous liar." Then he +passed from view. + + +III + +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. + +"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?" + +The elder made an effort to wave her off. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Where is it, I say? where is it?" + +By this time she was turning his pockets wrong side out. From one she +got pills, from another change, from another packages. + +"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?" + +Thought of the beast choked off the threatened hysterics. + +"Balaam? Balaam?" said the elder, groggily. "He's in town. The +infernal ole fool 'sulted me, an' I lef' him to walk home." + +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. + +"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!" + +A black boy darted round the corner, from behind which, with several +others, he had beheld the brief but stirring scene. + +"Put a saddle on er mule. The elder's gwine back to town. And don't +you be long about it neither." + +"Yessum." Aleck's ivories gleamed in the darkness as he disappeared. + +Elder Brown was soberer at that moment than he had been for hours. + +"Hannah, you don't mean it?" + +"Yes, sir, I do. Back you go to town as sure as my name is Hannah +Brown." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"She means it, as sure as my name is Elder Brown," he said, thickly. +Then he rode on. + +IV + +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. + +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. + +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 claw-hammer 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V + +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. + +And so on this occasion when she closed the book the fierce anger was +gone. + +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? + +The pink bonnet with the blue plume! + +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 bare-headed passed out into the night. + +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. + +"William," said she, very gently, "where is the mule?" + +The elder had been asleep. He woke and gazed upon her blankly. + +"What mule, Hannah?" + +"The mule you rode to town." + +For one full minute the elder studied her face. Then it burst from his +lips: + +"Well, bless me! if I didn't bring Balaam and forgit the mule!" + +The woman laughed till her eyes ran water. + +"William," said she, "you're drunk." + +"Hannah," said he, meekly, "I know it. The truth is, Hannah, I--" + +"Never mind, now, William," she said, gently. "You are tired and +hungry. Come into the house, husband." + +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. + + + +THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER + +BY RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON (1822-1898) + +[From _The Century Magazine_, June, 1886; copyright, 1886, by The +Century Co.; republished in the volume, _Mr. Absalom Billingslea, and +Other Georgia Folk_ (1888), by Richard Malcolm Johnston (Harper & +Brothers).] + +I + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Now Mr. Fluker had many and many a time acknowledged that he had +ambition; so one night he said to his wife: + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +The new house--I say _new_ 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. + +In words and other encouragement Mr. Pike was pronounced. He could +commend honestly, and he did so cordially. + +"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' _an_' 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 _has_ 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?" + +"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." + +"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, _she_ deal 'ith +_men_, 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?" + +Mr. Fluker turned his head, and after making or thinking he had made a +calculation, answered: + +"That's--that seem fa'r, Matt." + +"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' _us_, 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." + +"Nervy," said Mr. Fluker to his wife afterwards, "Matt Pike's a +sensibler an' a friendlier an' a 'commodatiner feller'n I thought." + +Then, without giving details of the contract, he mentioned merely the +willingness of their boarder to resign his bed on occasions of +pressing emergency. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"You know where Mr. Pike's gone, Mr. Marchman?" + +Now the fact was, and she knew it, that Marann Fluker had never +before, not since she was born, addressed that boy as _Mister_. + +The visitor's face reddened and reddened. + +"No," he faltered in answer; "no--no--_ma'am_, I should say. I--I +don't know where Mr. Pike's gone." + +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. + +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. + +"Say he didn't even shake hands, Marann? What for? What you do to +him?" + +"Not one blessed thing, ma; only he wanted to know why I wasn't +gladder to see him." Then Marann looked indignant. + +"Say them words, Marann?" + +"No, but he hinted 'em." + +"What did you say then?" + +"I just asked, a-meaning nothing in the wide world, ma--I asked him if +he knew where Mr. Pike had gone." + +"And that were answer enough to hurt his feelin's. What you want to +know where Matt Pike's gone for, Marann?" + +"I didn't care about knowing, ma, but I didn't like the way Sim +talked." + +"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." + +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! + +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. + +"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?" + +"Jest mod'rate, Mr. Pike. Got little business with you after dinner, +ef you can spare time." + +"All right. Got a little matter with Pink here first. 'Twon't take +long. See you arfter amejiant, Sim." + +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. + +When all the other boarders had left the house, the deputy and Mr. +Fluker having repaired to the bar-room, the former said: + +"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?" + +"That's it, to a dollar, Matt. Three times eleben make thirty-three, +don't it?" + +"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 _very_ fa'r house. I let them infloonces go to +friendship, ef you'll take it so. Will you, Pink Fluker?" + +"Cert'nly, Matt, an' I'm a thousand times obleeged to you, an'--" + +"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?" + +"It have, Matt, er somethin' else, more'n I were a expectin', an'--" + +"Jes' so. But a public officer, Pink, when jooty call on him to go, he +got to go; in fack he got to _goth_, as the Scripture say, ain't that +so?" + +"I s'pose so, Matt, by good rights, a--a official speakin'." + +Mr. Fluker felt that he was becoming a little confused. + +"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?" + +"I--I--somethin' o' that sort, Matt," he answered vaguely. + +"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 _half_, 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _any_thing for me in this wide world, don't let ma go into that +room!" + +"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'." + +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. + +"Let me help you settle your board-bill, Mr. Pike, by payin' you a +little one I owe you." + +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: + +"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 _I_ 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." + +"Here's his dollar, Sim," said Mr. Fluker, throwing it out of the +window. "Nervy say make him take it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +THE NICE PEOPLE + +By Henry Cuyler Bunner (1855-1896) + +[From _Puck_, July 30, 1890. Republished in the volume, _Short Sixes: +Stories to Be Read While the Candle Burns_ (1891), by Henry Cuyler +Bunner; copyright, 1890, by Alice Larned Bunner; reprinted by +permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner'a Sons.] + +"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----" + +"_Two_ children," corrected my wife. + +"Three, he told me." + +"My dear, she said there were _two_." + +"He said three." + +"You've simply forgotten. I'm _sure_ she told me they had only two--a +boy and a girl." + +"Well, I didn't enter into particulars." + +"No, dear, and you couldn't have understood him. Two children." + +"All right," I said; but I did not think it was all right. As a +near-sighted 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. + +"Two children," repeated my wife; "and they are staying with his aunt +Jenny." + +"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. + +"But don't you think they're nice people?" asked my wife. + +"Oh, certainly," I replied. "Only they seem to be a little mixed up +about their children." + +"That isn't a nice thing to say," returned my wife. I could not deny +it. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"By Jove!" he cried, "heavenly!" + +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. + +"And so that is _your_ view?" asked Mrs. Brede, after a moment; "you +are very generous to make it ours, too." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Now, when I went up the Matterhorn" Mr. Brede began. + +"Why, dear," interrupted his wife, "I didn't know you ever went up the +Matterhorn." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"_Should you think_," she asked me, "that a man would climb the +Matterhorn the very first year he was married?" + +"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." + +"You know what I mean," she said. + +I did. + + * * * * * + +When we reached the boarding-house, Mr. Jacobus took me aside. + +"You know," he began his discourse, "my wife she uset to live in N' +York!" + +I didn't know, but I said "Yes." + +"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?" + +"That is the invariable rule, I believe." + +"Then--I say--these here new folk that you 'n' your wife seem so +mighty taken up with--d'ye know anything about 'em?" + +"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----" + +"Jess so--jess so!" broke in Jacobus. "I hain't nothin' to say ag'inst +yer sosherbil'ty. But do ye _know_ them?" + +"Why, certainly not," I replied. + +"Well--that was all I wuz askin' ye. Ye see, when _he_ 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 _she_ 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?" + +"What street was it?" I inquired, wearily. + +"Hundred 'n' twenty-first street." + +"May be," I replied, still more wearily. "That's Harlem. Nobody knows +what people will do in Harlem." + +I went up to my wife's room. + +"Don't you think it's queer?" she asked me. + +"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." + +"But, my dear," my wife said, gravely, "_she_ doesn't know whether +they've had the measles or not." + +"Why, Great Scott!" I exclaimed, "they must have had them when they +were children." + +"Please don't be stupid," said my wife. "I meant _their_ children." + +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. + +"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 _you_, 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-_to_ the man." + +"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. + + * * * * * + +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: + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Perhaps I was mistaken when I thought he said she was on this side of +the water," I suggested, with bitter, biting irony. + +"You poor dear, did I abuse you?" said my wife. "But, do you know, +Mrs. Tabb said that _she_ didn't know how many lumps of sugar he took +in his coffee. Now that seems queer, doesn't it?" + +It did. It was a small thing. But it looked queer, Very queer. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't want," we heard Mr. Jacobus say, "to enter in no man's +_pry_-vacy; but I do want to know who it may be, like, that I hev in +my house. Now what I ask of _you_, and I don't want you to take it as +in no ways _personal_, is--hev you your merridge-license with you?" + +"No," we heard the voice of Mr. Brede reply. "Have you yours?" + +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. + +Where is _your_ 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 _yours?_ 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? + +Mr. Brede's voice arose, after an awful stillness of what seemed like +five minutes, and was, probably, thirty seconds: + +"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?" + +"I hain't said I wanted to hev ye leave----" began Mr. Jacobus; but +Brede cut him short. + +"Bring me your bill." + +"But," remonstrated Jacobus, "ef ye ain't----" + +"Bring me your bill!" said Mr. Brede. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +My wife took a step toward her. + +"Look at that dress, dear," she whispered; "she never thought anything +like this was going to happen when she put _that_ on." + +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. + +"She's had a new dress on twice a day," said my wife, "but that's the +prettiest yet. Oh, somehow--I'm _awfully_ sorry they're going!" + +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. + +Mrs. Brede was in my wife's arms, sobbing as if her young heart would +break. + +"Oh, you poor, dear, silly children!" my wife cried, as Mrs. Brede +sobbed on her shoulder, "why _didn't_ you tell us?" + +"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 _dream_ what awful lies we'd +have to tell, and all the aw-awful mixed-up-ness of it. Oh, dear, +dear, dear!" + + * * * * * + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + + + +THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT + +BY FRANK RICHARD STOCKTON (1834-1902) + +[From _Scribner's Magazine_, August, 1897. Republished in _Afield and +Afloat_, by Frank Richard Stockton; copyright, 1900, by Charles +Scribner's Sons. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.] + +"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 _my_ invitation--that is very different." + +"Of course it is different," was the reply, "but I am obliged to say, +as I said before, that I really cannot accept it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"Yes," said he; "I will do it; I am ready any time you name." + +Mr. Buller rose and stretched out his hand. + +"Good!" said he; "it is a compact!" + +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. + +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. + +"William," said Buller, looking cheerfully around him, + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"William," said he, "how long have you had this horse?" + +"About two years," said Mr. Podington; "before I got him, I used to +drive a pair." + +"Heavens!" thought Buller, "how lucky I was not to come two years +ago!" And his regrets for not sooner visiting his friend greatly +decreased. + +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. + +"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." + +Mr. Podington was delighted; his face glowed; he was rejoiced at the +pleasure of his friend. "I tell you, Thomas," said he, "that----" + +"William!" exclaimed Buller, with a sudden squirm in his seat, "what +is that I hear? Is that a train?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Podington, "that is the ten-forty, up." + +"Does it come near here?" asked Mr. Buller, nervously. "Does it go +over that bridge?" + +"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." + +"But your horse! Your horse!" exclaimed Buller, as the train came +nearer and nearer. "What will he do?" + +"Do?" said Podington; "he'll do what he is doing now; he doesn't mind +trains." + +"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!" + +Podington laughed. "He would not mind it in the least," said he. + +"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." + +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." + +"But you can't!" screamed Buller. "This road is not wide enough, and +that train is nearly here. Please stop!" + +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. + +"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. + +"Oh, Thomas!" cried Buller, half rising in his seat, "that train is +almost here!" + +"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. + +"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. + +"Whoa!" cried Mr. Buller. + +"Get up!" exclaimed Mr. Podington, applying his whip upon the plunging +beast. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Podington obeyed, and the horse slightly changed his direction. + +"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." + +Mr. Podington said not a word; he expected every moment to see the +horse sink into a watery grave. + +"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." + +The despairing Podington looked at his feet. "It's coming in," he said +in a husky voice. "Thomas, the water is over my shoes!" + +"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?" + +"Bail!" cried Podington, now finding his voice. "Oh, Thomas, we are +sinking!" + +"That's so," said Buller; "she leaks like a sieve." + +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. + +"We are going to drown!" cried Podington, suddenly rising. + +"Lick him! Lick him!" exclaimed Buller. "Make him swim faster!" + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Heavens!" exclaimed Buller, "we are aground." + +"Aground!" exclaimed Podington, "Heaven be praised!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Sit down," said Podington, gazing blankly at the water around him, "I +can't do that!" + +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. + +At the first step of the horse Mr. Podington began to totter. +Instinctively he clutched Buller. + +"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. + +"Ough!" said he. "Thomas, shout for help." + +"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." + +"The what?" feebly asked the other. + +"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." + +"I can't head him," cried Podington. "I have dropped the reins!" + +"Good gracious!" cried Mr. Buller, "that's bad. Can't you steer him by +shouting 'Gee' and 'Haw'?" + +"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. + +"If you can't steer him any other way," said Buller, "we must get the +reins. Lend me your whip." + +"I have dropped that too," said Podington; "there it floats." + +"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." + +"Don't get out! Don't get out!" exclaimed Podington. "You can reach +over the dashboard." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I got hold of one of them," said the sputtering Buller, "but it was +fast to something and I couldn't get it loose." + +"Was it thick and wide?" asked Podington. + +"Yes," was the answer; "it did seem so." + +"Oh, that was a trace," said Podington; "I don't want that; the reins +are thinner and lighter." + +"Now I remember they are," said Buller. "I'll go down again." + +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. + +"Is this it?" said he, holding up a strip of wet leather. + +"Yes," said Podington, "you've got the reins." + +"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." + +"Now then," said Podington, "take your hat, Thomas, and I'll try to +drive." + +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. + +"I don't wonder you did not like to do this, William," said he. "Wet +as I am, it's ghastly!" + +Encouraged by his master's voice, and by the feeling of the familiar +hand upon his bit, the horse moved bravely on. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, I am chilled to the bones!" said Podington. + +"I should think so," replied his friend; "if you have got to be wet, +it is a great deal pleasanter under the water." + +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. + +"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!" + +Podington was now full of life and energy, his wheels were on the hard +road, and he was himself again. + +When he found his head was turned toward his home, the horse set off +at a great rate. + +"Hi there!" cried Podington. "I am so sorry I lost my whip." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Do you consider that a safe boat?" he asked the fisherman. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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 today 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." + +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. + +"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." + +Mr. Podington, under the direction of his friend, took a seat in the +stern of the sailboat, and then he remarked: + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes," said Mr. Podington. "How long did you say this canal is?" + +"About three miles," answered his friend. "Then we will go into the +lock and in a few minutes we shall be on the lake." + +"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--" + +"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 today, 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!" + +Mr. Podington smiled, and leaning backward, he looked up at the +beautiful blue sky. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"What do you mean?" cried Podington, as the boom gave a great jerk as +if it would break its fastenings and drag him overboard. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Cut it! Cut it!" cried Mr. Buller. + +"I haven't a knife," replied Podington. + +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. + +"William," he cried, "let us jump out the next time we are near enough +to shore!" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Suddenly a thought struck him. + +"William," he shouted, "tip that anchor over the side! Throw it in, +any way!" + +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. + +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. + +"Hurrah!" he cried, waving his hat above his head. "Get out, Buller; +he is all right now!" + +Presently Mr. Buller approached, very much shaken up. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I have," replied the other; "I wrestled with that tiller and I wonder +it didn't throw me out." + +Now approached the boy. "Shall I hitch him on again, sir?" said he. +"He's quiet enough now." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +The two friends looked at each other and could not help joining in the +laughter of the boys. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +"No, it doesn't," replied Mr. Buller, quietly. "I have gone to the +bottom in a foundered road-wagon." + +The man looked at him fixedly. + +"Was you ever struck in the mud in a balloon?" he asked. + +"Not yet," replied Mr. Buller. + +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. + +"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----" + +"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----" + +"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!" + +"And here's mine!" said Mr. Buller. + +And they shook hands over a new compact. + + + +COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF + +By Bret Harte (1839-1902) + +[From _Harper's Magazine_, March, 1901. Republished in the volume, +_Openings in the Old Trail_ (1902), by Bret Harte; copyright, 1902, by +Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret Harte's +complete works; reprinted by their permission.] + +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 _versus_ 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 court-room amidst the hand-shakings and +acclamations of his friends. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _I_ want. A man that's flowery and convincin'! Just +the man to take up our case." + +"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?" + +"Well! it's a breach-o'-promise suit," said the visitor, calmly. + +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!--_damages!_--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. + +The woman had evidently noticed his hesitation, but mistook its cause. +"It ain't me--but my darter." + +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!" + +The woman smiled grimly. "Yes!--it's my darter, Zaidee Hooker--so ye +might spare some of them pretty speeches for _her_--before the jury." + +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." + +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: + +"And what good is that goin' to do _us_?" + +"Compel him to--er--perform his promise," said the Colonel, leaning +back in his chair. + +"Ketch him doin' it!" said the woman, scornfully. "No--that ain't wot +we're after. We must make him _pay_! Damages--and nothin' short o' +_that_." + +The Colonel bit his lip. "I suppose," he said, gloomily, "you have +documentary evidence--written promises and protestations--er--er-- +love-letters, in fact?" + +"No--nary a letter! Ye see, that's jest it--and that's where _you_ +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'." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon," said the woman; "what +I want to know first is, kin you take the case?" + +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." + +"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. + +"And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?" he asked, politely. + +"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." + +She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel nevertheless gallantly +accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and called, +shrilly, "You Zaidee!" + +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. + +"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----" + +"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. + +"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." + +"Is it this gentleman--Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss--who--er--promised +marriage?" stammered the Colonel. + +"Yes." + +The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. "Most extraordinary! +for--you see--my dear young lady--this becomes--a--er--most delicate +affair." + +"That's what maw said," returned the young woman, simply, yet with the +faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek. + +"I mean," said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, "that +this--er--gentleman--is in fact--er--one of my clients." + +"That's what maw said, too, and of course your knowing him will make +it all the easier for you," said the young woman. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"And _damages_," said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if +she had never looked up. + +The Colonel winced. "And--er--undoubtedly _compensation_--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?" + +"Which?" said his fair client, softly. + +"If you still love him?" explained the Colonel, actually blushing. + +Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel's breath away with +eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had +_said_, 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?" + +"Hymn-books," said the girl, briefly. + +"I beg your pardon," said the mystified lawyer. + +"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 +_Solomon's Song_, you know, and sich." + +"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 +_other_ expression?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +The Colonel coughed slightly. "And you have the lozenge?" + +"I ate it," said the girl, simply. + +"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?" + +"Useter pass our house on the road," returned the girl, dropping into +her monotonous recital, "and useter signal." + +"Ah, signal?" repeated the Colonel, approvingly. + +"Yes! He'd say 'Kerrow,' and I'd say 'Kerree.' Suthing like a bird, +you know." + +Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call the Colonel +thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least as _she_ gave +it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the +melodiousness of _his_ utterance. He gravely made her repeat it. + +"And after that signal?" he added, suggestively. + +"He'd pass on," said the girl. + +The Colonel coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his pen-holder. + +"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?" + +"No;--he was not what you'd call 'fond,'" returned the girl. + +"Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not 'fond' in the ordinary acceptance +of the word," said the Colonel, with professional gravity. + +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. + +"I reckon that's about all," she said. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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 _manes_ of that lamented and somewhat +feared man. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I do not use tobacco nor alcohol in any form," repeated Hotchkiss, +ascetically. "I have no foolish weaknesses." + +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." + +"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 _not_ of a public +or business nature--although _later_ it might become--er--er--both. +It is an affair of some--er--delicacy." + +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." + +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." + +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 _your_ +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." + +"Then what does this impertinent nonsense mean? Why am I summoned +here?" said Hotchkiss, furiously. + +"Because," said the Colonel, deliberately, "that statement is +infamously--yes, damnably to your discredit, sir!" + +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: + +"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--_elsewhere_ for an +indiscretion committed in behalf of a lady--my--er--client." + +"Your client? Do you mean you have taken her case? You, the counsel +for the Ditch Company?" said Mr. Hotchkiss, in trembling indignation. + +"Having won _your_ case, sir," said the Colonel, coolly, +"the--er--usages of advocacy do not prevent me from espousing the +cause of the weak and unprotected." + +"We shall see, sir," said Hotchkiss, grasping the handle of the door +and backing into the passage. "There are other lawyers who--" + +"Permit me to see you out," interrupted the Colonel, rising politely. + +"--will be ready to resist the attacks of blackmail," continued +Hotchkiss, retreating along the passage. + +"And then you will be able to repeat your remarks to me _in the +street_," continued the Colonel, bowing, as he persisted in following +his visitor to the door. + +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: + + Hooker _versus_ Hotchkiss. + + DEAR MADAM,--Having had a visit from the defendant in + above, we should be pleased to have an interview with you at + 2 p.m. to-morrow. Your obedient servants, + STARBOTTLE AND STRYKER. + +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. + +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 non-suited 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. + +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 _femme incomprise_ as a client. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I--er--will," said the Colonel, almost as breathlessly. + +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. + +"I--er--certainly shall do my best," stammered the Colonel, in an +attempt to recover his dignity and composure. + +"That's enough! You'll _do_ it," said the girl, enthusiastically. +"Lordy! Just you talk for _me_ as ye did for _his_ 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--" + +"Oligarchy," murmured the Colonel, courteously. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"No; he never said anything," returned the girl. + +"Not in his usual way?--er--no reproaches out of the hymn-book?--or +the sacred writings?" + +"No; he just _quit_." + +"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!" + +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." + +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. + +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 _religious_." + +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 _his_ 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. + +"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." + +The Judge cast an inquiring look at Colonel Starbottle. + +"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 +_Holy Scriptures_, 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." + +"The act is certainly unprecedented," said the Judge, dryly, "but +unless the counsel for the plaintiff expects the jury to _sing_ 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." + +But the Colonel remained motionless and statuesque, with folded arms. + +"I have overruled the objection," repeated the Judge; "you may go on." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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 _not_, 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. + +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 _one_. +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. + +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, + + Always make it a point to have it a rule + Never to be late at the Sabbath-school." + +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: + +"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 today 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. + +"I shall prove to you, gentlemen of the jury," said the Colonel, +solemnly, drawing a _Bible_ 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 _Song of +Solomon_, 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--_flagons_, 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 _quantity_. 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--_for himself_!" + +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. + +"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 _here_ is irregular and premature--and must be reserved +for the jury-room--after they have retired." + +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. + +"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. + +"Yes," said the Judge, good-humoredly. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Of wot?" interrupted the foreman, in deep scorn. + +"Of the Church!" + +"We ain't askin' any questions o' _you_--and we ain't takin' any +answers," said the foreman, sitting down promptly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 +_you_ 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.'" + +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, _outside_ 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. + +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 _convictions_ 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." + +"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--_personally_ 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 +_then_ you suspected there was a Hiram _somewhere_--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 _him_ and _his_ searchin' ways, and +_his_ 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 _him_. 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 _I_ got to do _all_ the +kissin'!" + +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." + +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." + +"Hand me down the whiskey, Jim," said the Colonel, rising slowly. + +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. + +"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!" + + + +THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES + +By O. Henry (1862-1910) + +[From _The Junior Munsey_, February, 1902. Republished in the volume, +_Sixes and Sevens_ (1911), by O. Henry; copyright, 1911, by Doubleday, +Page & Co.; reprinted by their permission.] + +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. + +In this pleasant private boarding house they engaged rooms, including +a study for Major Talbot, who was adding the finishing chapters to his +book, _Anecdotes and Reminiscences of the Alabama Army, Bench, and +Bar_. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_Anecdotes and Reminiscences_. 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. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 rgime. And when it came to talking of those old days--if +Major Talbot liked to talk, Mr. Hargraves was entranced to listen. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +After about four months in Washington, Miss Lydia discovered one +morning that they were almost without money. The _Anecdotes and +Reminiscences_ 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. + +"No money?" said he with a surprised look. "It is quite annoying to be +called on so frequently for these petty sums, Really, I--" + +The Major searched his pockets. He found only a two-dollar bill, which +he returned to his vest pocket. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The Major drew a small envelope from his upper vest pocket and tossed +it on the table. + +"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." + +Miss Lydia threw up her hands in silent despair. + +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 _A Magnolia Flower_, revealing a typical +Southern plantation scene. Major Talbot betrayed some interest. + +"Oh, see!" exclaimed Miss Lydia, nudging his arm, and pointing to her +program. + +The Major put on his glasses and read the line in the cast of +characters that her fingers indicated. + +Col. Webster Calhoun .... Mr. Hopkins Hargraves. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _A Magnolia Flower_, at the same time that he +deftly makes juleps for the party. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"We will go, Lydia," he said chokingly. "This is an +abominable--desecration." + +Before he could rise, she pulled him back into his seat. + +"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. + +Hargraves's success must have kept him up late that night, for neither +at the breakfast nor at the dinner table did he appear. + +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. + +"I put it all over 'em last night, Major," he began exultantly. "I had +my inning, and, I think, scored. Here's what _The Post_ says: + +"'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.' + +"How does that sound, Major, for a first-nighter?" + +"I had the honor"--the Major's voice sounded ominously frigid--"of +witnessing your very remarkable performance, sir, last night." + +Hargraves looked disconcerted. + +"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." + +"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." + +The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to +take in the full meaning of the old gentleman's words. + +"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." + +"They are not from Alabama, sir," said the Major haughtily. + +"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: + +"'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.' + +"Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of Colonel +Calhoun last night?" + +"The description," said the Major, frowning, "is--not without grounds. +Some exag--latitude must be allowed in public speaking." + +"And in public acting," replied Hargraves. + +"That is not the point," persisted the Major, unrelenting. "It was a +personal caricature. I positively decline to overlook it, sir." + +"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----" + +"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." + +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 _A Magnolia +Flower_ was booked for a week's run. + +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. + +Deliverance came from an entirely unexpected source. + +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. + +"I be bound you don't know me, Mars' Pendleton," were his first words. + +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. + +"I don't believe I do," he said kindly--"unless you will assist my +memory." + +"Don't you 'member Cindy's Mose, Mars' Pendleton, what 'migrated +'mediately after de war?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +Uncle Mose took a chair and laid his hat carefully on the floor beside +it. + +"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. + +"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'." + +"I'm glad to hear it," said the Major heartily. "Glad to hear it." + +"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." + +The Major stepped to the door and called: "Lydie, dear, will you +come?" + +Miss Lydia, looking quite grown up and a little worried, came in from +her room. + +"Dar, now! What'd I tell you? I knowed dat baby done be plum growed +up. You don't 'member Uncle Mose, child?" + +"This is Aunt Cindy's Mose, Lydia," explained the Major. "He left +Sunnymead for the West when you were two years old." + +"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." + +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. + +The Major inquired what the old man was doing so far from his home. + +"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." + +"And how did you know we were in Washington?" inquired Miss Lydia. + +"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'. + +"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. + +"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." + +Tears were in Major Talbot's eyes. He took Uncle Mose's hand and laid +his other upon his shoulder. + +"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 rgime. Lydia, my dear, take the money. You are +better fitted than I to manage its expenditure." + +"Take it, honey," said Uncle Mose. "Hit belongs to you. Hit's Talbot +money." + +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. + +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 +_Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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. + +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: + +DEAR MISS TALBOT: + +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 _A Magnolia Flower_. + +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. + +Sincerely yours, +H. HOPKINS HARGRAVES. + +P.S. How did I play Uncle Mose? + +Major Talbot, passing through the hall, saw Miss Lydia's door open and +stopped. + +"Any mail for us this morning, Lydia, dear?" he asked. + +Miss Lydia slid the letter beneath a fold of her dress. + +"_The Mobile Chronicle_ came," she said promptly. "It's on the table +in your study." + + + +BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE + +By George Randolph Chester (1869- ) + +[From McClure's Magazine, June, 1905; copyright, 1905, by the S.S. +McClure Co.; republished by the author's permission.] + +I + +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--vis +as a rather proper sort of fellow, probably a man of some achievement, +used to good living and good company. + +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. + +The son of the blonde matron smiled cheerfully as the welcome light +flooded the coach. + +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. + +It is marvelous how much one can see out of the corner of the eye, +while seeming to view mere scenery. + +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. + +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. + + + +II + + +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. + +"What a delightfully old-fashioned inn!" exclaimed the pretty +daughter. "How I should like to stop there over night!" + +"You would probably wish yourself away before morning, Evelyn," +replied her mother indifferently. "No doubt it would be a mere siege +of discomfort." + +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. + +"Edward, please pull down the shade behind me," she directed. "There +is quite a draught from that broken window." + +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. + +They were bowling along through another avenue of trees when the +driver suddenly shouted, "Whoa there!" + +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. + +"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. + +"Caught, by gravy!" ejaculated the driver, and, for the second time, +he brought the coach to an abrupt stop. + +"Do see what is the matter, Ralph," said the blonde matron +impatiently. + +Thus commanded, the young man swung out and asked the driver about it. + +"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." + +He pointed out the peculiar topography of the place, and Ralph got +back in the coach. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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? + + + +III + + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Let 'em bring in their own traps," he commented, and Aunt Margaret +fled, ashamed and conscience-smitten, to the kitchen. It seemed awful. + +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. + +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 +_kept waiting_, at last being enabled to say, sweetly and with the +most polite consideration: + +"Will you kindly allow me to pass?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I want three adjoining rooms, en suite if possible," he demanded. + +"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---" + +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. + +"What do you ask for meals and lodging until this time to-morrow?" he +interrupted. + +The decisive moment had arrived. Uncle Billy drew a deep breath. + +"Two dollars a head!" he defiantly announced. There! It was out! He +wished Margaret had stayed to hear him say it. + +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. + +"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. + +"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' _Jonesville Banner_ an' th' _Uticky Clarion_ along with ye." + +As the swish of skirts marked the passage of the Van Kamps up the wide +hall stairway, the other party swept into the room. + +The man wrote, in a round flourish, "Edward Eastman Ellsworth, wife, +and son." + +"I'd like three choice rooms, en suite," he said. + +"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." + +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! + +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. + + + +IV + + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Ralph, too, started off for a walk, but naturally not in the same +direction. + +"Edward!" suddenly said Mrs. Ellsworth. "I want you to turn those +people out of that suite before night!" + +"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. + +"What are the Van Kamps paying you for those three rooms?" he asked. + +"Fifteen dollars," Uncle Billy informed him, smoking one of Mr. Van +Kamp's good cigars and twiddling his thumbs in huge content. + +"I'll give you thirty for them. Just set their baggage outside and +tell them the rooms are occupied." + +"No sir-ree!" rejoined Uncle Billy. "A bargain's a bargain, an' I +allus stick to one I make." + +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. + +"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. + +Uncle Billy's eyes twinkled. + +"I reckon it kin be did," he allowed. "I reckon a _ho_-tel man's got a +right to rent his hull house ary minute." + +"Of course he has. How much do you want?" + +Uncle Billy had made one mistake in not asking this sort of folks +enough, and he reflected in perplexity. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +Mr. Ellsworth counted out some bills. + +"Here's a hundred," he said. "That ought to be about right." + +"Fifteen more," insisted Uncle Billy. + +With a little frown of impatience the other counted off the extra +money and handed it over. Uncle Billy gravely handed it back. + +"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." + + + +V + + +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. + +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? + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"May I be of assistance?" he anxiously inquired. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +As he stooped to raise the gay woodland treasures he smiled to +himself, ever so slightly. This was not _his_ first season out, +either. + +"Delightful spot, isn't it?" he observed as they regained the road and +sauntered in the direction of the Tutt House. + +"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. + +"You don't happen to know Billy Evans, of Boston, do you?" he asked. + +"I think not. I am but very little acquainted in Boston." + +"Too bad," he went on. "I was rather in hopes you knew Billy. All +sorts of a splendid fellow, and knows everybody." + +"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. + +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. + +"What a ripping, queer old building that is!" he exclaimed, making one +more brave effort as they came in sight of the hotel. + +"It is, rather," she assented. "The rooms in it are as quaint and +delightful as the exterior, too." + +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. + +"Your crowd rather got the better of us there," he admitted with the +keen appreciation of one still quite close to college days. + +"Of course, the mater is furious, but I rather look on it as a lark." + +She thawed like an April icicle. + +"It's perfectly jolly," she laughed with him. "Awfully selfish of us, +too, I know, but such loads of fun." + +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. + +Ralph was delighted to find that a thaw had set in, and he made one +more attempt to establish at least a proxy acquaintance. + +"You don't happen to know Peyson Kingsley, of Philadelphia, do you?" + +"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. + +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 _Van Kamp apartments_! + +"Oh, Ralph!" she called in her most dulcet tones. "Kindly excuse +yourself and come right on up to our suite for a few moments!" + + + +VI + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +MR. J. BELMONT VAN KAMP, + +DEAR SIR: 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, + +Yours respectfully, +EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH. + +Mr. Van Kamp passed the note to his wife and sat down or 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. + +"Atrocious!" she exclaimed. "Atrocious! Simply atrocious, Belmont. +This is a house of public entertainment. They _can't_ turn us out in +this high-minded manner! Isn't there a law or something to that +effect?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Then you can make him take down the sign!" his wife declared. + +He shook his head decidedly. + +"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." + +He went in to talk with Uncle Billy. + +"I want to buy this place," he stated. "Is it for sale?" + +"It sartin is!" replied Uncle Billy. He did not merely twinkle this +time. He grinned. + +"How much?" + +"Three thousand dollars." Mr. Tutt was used to charging by this time, +and he betrayed no hesitation. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Mr. Tutt, tell me just exactly what Mr. Ellsworth rented, please," he +requested. + +"Th' hull house," replied Billy, and then he somewhat sternly added: +"Paid me spot cash fer it, too." + +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. + +"Nothing was said about the furniture, was there?" suavely inquired +Van Kamp. + +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. + +"No!" roared Uncle Billy. "No, there wasn't, by gum!" + +"Nothing but the house?" + +"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." + +"How much for the furniture for the week?" + +"Fifty dollars!" Mr. Tutt knew how to do business with this kind of +people now, you bet. + +Mr. Van Kamp promptly counted out the money. + +"Drat it!" commented Uncle Billy to himself. "I could 'a' got more!" + +"Now where can we make ourselves comfortable with this furniture?" + +Uncle Billy chirked up. All was not yet lost. + +"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." + +The other smiled at this flashlight on Uncle Billy's character, and +they went out to look at the barn. + + + +VII + + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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 oldtime rag rugs are the +most oddly decorative effects that I have ever seen. They are so rich +in color and so exquisitely blended." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Ralph sprang to his feet with a ludicrous expression. + +"Not the second floor front suite!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh, no! Not at all," she reassured him. + +He laughed lightly. + +"Honors are about even in that game," he said. + +"Evelyn," called her mother from the hall. "Please come and take those +front suite curtains down to the barn." + +"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. + +He followed her slowly, and was met at the door by her father. + +"You are the younger Mr. Ellsworth, I believe," politely said Mr. Van +Kamp. + +"Ralph Ellsworth. Yes, sir." + +"Here is a note for your father. It is unsealed. You are quite at +liberty to read it." + +Mr. Van Kamp bowed himself away, and Ralph opened the note, which +read: + +EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH, ESQ., + +Dear Sir: 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, + +Yours respectfully, + +J. BELMONT VAN KAMP. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Isn't that rather a heavy load?" he suggested. "I'd be delighted to +help you move the things, don't you know." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I know so very few people in Baltimore," she murmured, and tripped on +down to the barn. + +Ralph went out on the porch and smoked. There was nothing else that he +could do. + + + +VIII + + +It was growing dusk when the elder Ellsworths returned, almost hidden +by great masses of autumn boughs. + +"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." + +"It was a good idea," said Ralph. "A stunning good idea. They may come +in handy to sleep on." + +Mrs. Ellsworth turned cold. + +"What do you mean?" she gasped. + +"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?" + +"Indeed, no," he airily responded. "Just come right on up and see." + +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. + +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 _bale_ of straw. +She sat down on a suitcase, in the middle of the biggest room, and +cried! + +Ralph, having waited for this, now told about the food transaction, +and she hastily pushed the last-coming tear back into her eye. + +"Good!" she cried. "They will be up here soon. They will be compelled +to compromise, and they must not find me with red eyes." + +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. + +"There's not a single mirror left in the house!" she moaned. + +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. + +"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. + +He had barely creaked the pump handle when Mr. Van Kamp hurried up +from the barn. + +"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." + + + +IX + + +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. + +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. + +"Who wins now?" bantered Ralph as they made the exchange. + +"It looks to me like a misdeal," she gaily replied, and was moving +away when he called her back. + +"You don't happen to know the Gately's, of New York, do you?" he was +quite anxious to know. + +"I am truly sorry, but I am acquainted with so few people in New York. +We are from Chicago, you know." + +"Oh," said he blankly, and took the water up to the Ellsworth suite. + +Mrs. Ellsworth cheered up considerably when she heard that Ralph had +been met halfway, but her eyes snapped when he confessed that it was +Miss Van Kamp who had met him. + +"I hope you are not going to carry on a flirtation with that +overdressed creature," she blazed. + +"Why mother," exclaimed Ralph, shocked beyond measure. "What right +have you to accuse either this young lady or myself of flirting? +Flirting!" + +Mrs. Ellsworth suddenly attacked the fire with quite unnecessary +energy. + + + + +X + + +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. + +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. + +A man can outlive hardships that would kill a woman, but a woman can +endure discomforts that would drive a man crazy. + +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. + +"How much do you want for that jug and its contents?" he asked, with a +sigh of gratitude that this supply had been overlooked. + +Before Mr. Tutt could answer, Mr. Van Kamp hurried in at the door. + +"Wait a moment!" he cried. "I want to bid on that!" + +"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." + +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. + +"Your health, sir," courteously proposed Mr. Ellsworth. + +"And to you, sir," gravely replied Mr. Van Kamp. + + + +XI + + +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. + +"You don't happen to know the Tylers, of Parkersburg, do you?" she +asked. + +"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." + +"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.'" + +"Let's go around on the porch and sit down," said Ralph. + + +XII + +Mr. Van Kamp, back in the woodshed, looked about him with an eye of +content. + +"Rather cozy for a woodshed," he observed. "I wonder if we couldn't +scare up a little session of dollar limit?" + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Oh! Of course not!" he blundered, and went back to the woodshed. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Mr. Van Kamp grinned understandingly, and agreed to the infamous ruse. + +"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." + +"Dinner!" gasped Mr. Van Kamp. "By all means!" + +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. + +"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 _do_! _Would_ it do!! + +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: + +"A bargain's a bargain, and I always stick to one I make." + + + +A CALL + +By Grace MacGowan Cooke (1863- ) + +[From _Harper's Magazine_, August, 1906. Copyright, 1906, by Harper & +Brothers. Republished by the author's permission.] + +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. + +This did not long sustain his drooping spirit. He was mentally adrift +upon the _Hints and Helps to Young Men in Business and Social +Relations_, 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! + +"Hello! Where you goin', Ab?" asked the newcomer, gruffly. + +"Callin'," replied the boy in the collar, laconically, but with +carefully averted gaze. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Do you reckon you could?" he debated, trotting along by the +irresponsive Jilton boy. + +"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." + +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'." + +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?" + +"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." + +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 _Hints and Helps to +Young Men in Social and Business Relations_ to Champe alone. + +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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You'd wear a necktie--wouldn't you?" Ross asked, spreading them upon +the bureau-top. + +"Yes. But make it fall carelessly over your shirt-front," advised the +student of _Hints and Helps_. "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." + +"Better button up your vest," cautioned Ross, laboring with the +"careless" fall of his tie. + +"Huh-uh! I want 'that easy air which presupposes familiarity with +society'--that's what it says in my book," objected Abner. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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'." + +"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." + +"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!" + +Abner hesitated. Should he give away his brilliant inside information, +drawn from the _Hints and Helps_ 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"'Hang your hat on the rack, or give it to a servant.'" Ross nodded +intelligently. He could do that. + +"'Let your legs be gracefully disposed, one hand on the knee, the +other--'" + +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.'" + +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." + +Abner began to repeat paragraphs from _Hints and Helps_. "'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.'" + +"What's a composer?" inquired Ross, with visions of soothing-syrup in +his mind. + +"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.'" + +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." + +"I'm tired already," he grumbled; but some spell made him rise and +fare farther. + +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. + +"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. + +"'Walk quietly up the steps; ring the bell and lay your card on the +servant,'" quoted Abner, who had never heard of a server. + +"'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?" + +"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." + +"We haven't got any cards," discovered Ross, with hope. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"I told you about hanging your hat on the rack and disposing your +legs." + +"I remember now," sighed Ross. They had been going slower and slower. +The angle of inclination toward each other became more and more +pronounced. + +"We must stand by each other," whispered Abner. + +"I will--if I can stand at all," murmured the other boy, huskily. + +"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. + +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." + +Abner raised appealing eyes. "In a minute. Give me time," he pleaded. + +"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. + +"Help him, Rossie," prompted Aunt Missouri, sharply. "You boys can +stay to supper and have some of the chicken if you help catch them." + +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. + +"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." + +Confronted by the act itself, Abner was suddenly aware that he knew +not how to begin. He took refuge in dissimulation. + +"Hush!" he whispered back. "Don't you see Mr. Claiborne's come +out?--He's going to read something to us." + +Ross plumped down beside him. "Never mind the card; tell 'em," he +urged. + +"Tell 'em yourself." + +"No--let's cut and run." + +"I--I think the worst of it is over. When Champe sees us she'll--" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"What is it?" demanded the old gentleman, a bit testily. + +"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. + +Abner sat hard on his cap and blushed silently. Ross twisted his hat +into a three-cornered wreck. + +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! + +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." + +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." + +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. + +Alone for the first time, Abner gave up. "This ain't any use," he +complained. "We ain't calling on anybody." + +"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." + +Abner showed no resentment. + +"Oh, if it's so easy, why didn't you do it yourself?" he groaned. + +"Somebody's coming," Ross muttered, hoarsely. "Say it now. Say it +quick." + +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!" + +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. + +"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. + +Ross growled like a stoned cur. Abner took a sudden dive into _Hints +and Helps_, and came up with, "You flatter us, Miss Claiborne," +whereat Ross snickered out like a human boy. They all stared at him. + +"It sounds so funny to call Aunt Missouri 'Mis' Claiborne,'" the lad +of the freckles explained. + +"Funny?" Aunt Missouri reddened. "I don't see any particular joke in +my having my maiden name." + +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! + +"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. + +"Nothing. I laughed because you laughed," said the girl. + +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: + +"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?" + +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 _had_ 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! + +"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. + +"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. + +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." + +"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. + +"Calling on the girls! Have we called on any girls?" demanded +clear-headed, honest Ross. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +"Breakfast!" echoed Ross, in a daze. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"I--oh--I--darn it all! there goes the second bell. We may as well +trot down." + +"Don't leave me, Ross," pleaded the Jilton boy. "I can't stay +here--and I can't go down." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Now you got one dem snickerin' spells agin. You gwine bust yo' dress +buttons off in the back ef you don't mind." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +As though such a book as _Hints and Helps_ 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. + +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: + +"Good for you, Ross! Seems you did know how to call on the girls, +after all." + +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. + + + +HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON + +By William James Lampton ( -1917) + +[From Harper's Bazaar, April, 1911; copyright, 1911, by Harper & +Brothers; republished by permission.] + +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. + +This interesting situation was up for discussion at the Wednesday +afternoon meeting of the Sisters' Sewing Society. + +"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." + +"I rather guess _she_ has," smiled Sister Poteet, the grocer's better +half, who had taken an afternoon off from the store in order to be +present. + +"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. + +"Really, now," exclaimed little Sister Green, the doctor's wife, "do +you think it is the deacon who needs urging?" + +"It looks that way to me," Sister Poteet did not hesitate to affirm. + +"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. + +"'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." + +"Oh," Sister Candish hastened to explain, "Sister Clark didn't say she +had heard him say it twice.'" + +"Well, I don't think she heard him say it once," Sister Spicer +asserted with confidence. + +"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." + +"And isn't saying what he should," added Sister Green, with a sly +snicker, which went around the room softly. + +"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." + +"Why shouldn't I say what I wanted to when--" Sister Spicer began. + +"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. + +Sister Spicer went to the front door to let her in, and she was +greeted with the greatest cordiality by everybody. + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh," she chirruped, in the liveliest of humors, "you will have to +excuse me for today. 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." + +"Is that so?" exclaimed the society unanimously, and rushed to the +window to see if it were really true. + +"Well, did you ever?" commented Sister Poteet, generally. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Well, what do you suppose? You're a judge." + +"More than I would give, I'll bet a cookie." + +"Not if you was as anxious as I am to show Hopkins that he can't drive +by everything on the pike." + +"I thought you loved a good horse because he was a good horse," said +the widow, rather disapprovingly. + +"I do, but I could love him a good deal harder if he would stay in +front of Hopkins's best." + +"Does he know you've got this one?" + +"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." + +"So you gave five hundred dollars for him, did you?" laughed the +widow. + +"Is it too much?" + +"Um-er," hesitated the widow, glancing along the graceful lines of the +powerful trotter, "I suppose not if you can beat the squire." + +"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. + +"Well, I hope he won't be out looking for you today, with me in your +sleigh," said the widow, almost apprehensively, "because, you know, +deacon, I have always wanted you to beat Squire Hopkins." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + + + +GIDEON + +By Wells Hastings (1878- ) + +[From _The Century Magazine_, April, 1914; copyright, 1914, by The +Century Co.; republished by the author's permission.] + +"An' de next' frawg dat houn' pup seen, he pass him by wide." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gideon had grown to be to vaudeville much what _Uncle Remus_ 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. + +"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." + +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 protg; 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. + +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. + +Stuhk met him anxiously in the wings, and walked with him to his +dressing-room. He felt suddenly very weary of Stuhk. + +"Nothing the matter, Gideon, is there? Not feeling sick or anything?" + +"No, Misteh Stuhk; no, seh. Jes don' feel extry pert, that's all." + +"But what is it--anything bothering you?" + +Gideon sat gloomily before his mirror. + +"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." + +Stuhk laughed. + +"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?" + +Gideon struggled for politeness. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Good!" he said. "Fly to it. How much do you want? +A hundred?" + +"How much is coming to me?" + +"About a thousand, Gideon." + +"Well, I'd moughty like five hun'red of it, ef that's 'greeable to +yo'." + +Felix whistled. + +"Five hundred? Pork-chops must be coming high. You don't want to carry +all that money around, do you?" + +Gideon did not answer; he looked very gloomy. + +Stuhk hastened to cheer him. + +"Of course you can have anything you want. Wait a minute, and I will +get it for you. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + Spend this winter in balmy Florida. + Come to the Land of Perpetual Sunshine. +Golf, tennis, driving, shooting, boating, fishing, all of the best. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He heard his name being passed from mouth to mouth, and came partly to +his senses. He stopped dancing, and grinned at them. + +"Say, you are Gideon, ain't you?" his discoverer demanded, with a sort +of reverent audacity. + +"Yaas, _seh_," 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-_tive_-ly his las' +puffawmunce." Turning, he dashed for a passing trolley, and, still +laughing, swung aboard. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +A brakeman passed, and Gideon leaped to his feet and pursued him. + +"Misteh, how long yo'-all reckon this train goin' to be?" + +"About an hour." + +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. + +"'Most made the mistake of ma life," he chuckled, "stickin' to that +ol' train foheveh. 'T isn't the right way at, all foh Gideon to come +home." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The leaves parted, and a smiling face as black as Gideon's own +regarded him in shy amusement. + +"Who is yo', man?" + +"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. + +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. + +"No," said Gideon, hardly knowing whether he was glad or sorry--"no, I +live south of heah. What-all's yo' name?" + +The girl giggled deliciously. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +He made vague plans for delaying his journey as they sat smoking in +pleasant conversational ease; and when an interruption came it vexed +him. + +"Vashty! Vashty!" a woman's voice sounded thin and far away. +"Vashty-y! Yo' heah me, chile?" + +Vashti rose to her feet with a sigh. + +"That's my ma," she said regretfully. + +"What do yo' care?" asked Gideon. "Let her yell awhile." + +The girl shook her head. + +"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. + +Gideon leaped to his feet. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, easygoing, +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gideon stretched out a broad hand and touched her head lightly; and +with a tiny gasp her fingers stole up to his. + +"Honey," said Gideon--"Honey, yo' ain' mad, is yo'?" + +She shook her head, not looking at him. + +"Yo' ain' grievin' foh yo' ma?" + +Again she shook her head. + +"Because," said Gideon, smiling down at her, "I ain' got no beeg club +like she has." + +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. + +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. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Best American Humorous Short +Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN HUMOR *** + +***** This file should be named 10947-8.txt or 10947-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/9/4/10947/ + +Produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Best American Humorous Short Stories + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 5, 2004 [EBook #10947] +Last Updated: February 28, 2019 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN HUMOR *** + + + + + +Etext produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE BEST AMERICAN HUMOROUS SHORT STORIES + </h1> + <h2> + Edited By Alexander Jessup + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + <i>Editor of "Representative American Short Stories," "The Book of the + Short Story," the "Little French Masterpieces" Series, etc.</i> + </p> + </blockquote> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE ANGEL OF THE ODD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE WATKINSON EVENING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> TITBOTTOM'S SPECTACLES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED + PUNSTERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> ELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE NICE PEOPLE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> A CALL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> GIDEON </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 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 + href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></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—<i>Uncle Remus</i>—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 <i>Phoenixiana</i> (1855) and the <i>Squibob + Papers</i> (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 href="#linknote-2" + name="linknoteref-2" id="linknoteref-2"><small>2</small></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 <i>Fables in Slang</i> 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 <i>The Legend of Sleepy Hollow</i> + and <i>Rip Van Winkle</i>, 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 <i>Tales and + Sketches: by a Cosmopolite</i> (1830), notably in <i>The Dapper + Gentleman's Story</i>, 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, <i>Major + Jones's Courtship</i> (1840); Johnson Jones Hooper (1815-1862), author of + <i>Widow Rugby's Husband, and Other Tales of Alabama</i> (1851); Joseph G. + Baldwin (1815-1864), who wrote <i>The Flush Times of Alabama and + Mississippi</i> (1853); and Augustus Baldwin Longstreet (1790-1870), whose + <i>Georgia Scenes</i> (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 <i>Charcoal Sketches, or Scenes in a Metropolis</i> + (1837-1849) must suffice. The work of Seba Smith is sufficiently expressed + in his title, <i>Way Down East, or Portraitures of Yankee Life</i> (1854), + although his <i>Letters of Major Jack Downing</i> (1833) is better known. + Of his single stories may be mentioned <i>The General Court and Jane + Andrews' Firkin of Butter</i> (October, 1847, <i>Graham's Magazine</i>). + 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 <i>Aunt Magwire's Account of Parson Scrantum's Donation + Party</i> (March, 1848, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>) and <i>Aunt Magwire's + Account of the Mission to Muffletegawmy</i> (July, 1859, <i>Godey's</i>), + were afterwards collected in <i>The Widow Bedott Papers</i> (1855-56-80). + The scope of the work of Mary B. Haven is sufficiently suggested by her + story, <i>Mrs. Bowen's Parlor and Spare Bedroom</i> (February, 1860, <i>Godey's</i>), + while the best stories of Mary W. Janvrin include <i>The Foreign Count; + or, High Art in Tattletown</i> (October, 1860, <i>Godey's</i>) and <i>City + Relations; or, the Newmans' Summer at Clovernook</i> (November, 1861, <i>Godey's</i>). + The work of Alice Bradley Haven Neal is of somewhat similar texture. Her + book, <i>The Gossips of Rivertown, with Sketches in Prose and Verse</i> + (1850) indicates her field, as does the single title, <i>The Third-Class + Hotel</i> (December, 1861, <i>Godey's</i>). 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 <i>The + Watkinson Evening</i> (December, 1846, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>), + included in the present volume; others are <i>The Batson Cottage</i> + (November, 1846, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>) and <i>Juliet Irwin; or, the + Carriage People</i> (June, 1847, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>). One of her + chief collections of stories is <i>Pencil Sketches</i> (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 <i>The Gift</i> 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 <i>The New York + Mirror</i>, and for a time its editor. He is best known as the author of + the poem, <i>Woodman, Spare That Tree</i>, and other poems and songs. <i>The + Little Frenchman and His Water Lots</i> (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 + <i>The Angel of the Odd</i> (October, 1844, <i>Columbian Magazine</i>), + perhaps the best of his humorous stories. <i>The System of Dr. Tarr and + Prof. Fether</i> (November, 1845, <i>Graham's Magazine</i>) 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 <i>A Descent into the Maelstrom</i> + (1841), <i>The Pit and the Pendulum</i> (1842), <i>The Black Cat</i> + (1843), and <i>The Cask of Amontillado</i> (1846). In the realm of beauty + his notable productions are <i>The Assignation</i> (1834), <i>Shadow: a + Parable</i> (1835), <i>Ligeia</i> (1838), <i>The Fall of the House of + Usher</i> (1839), <i>Eleonora</i> (1841), and <i>The Masque of the Red + Death</i> (1842). The tales of ratiocination—what are now generally + termed detective stories—include <i>The Murders in the Rue Morgue</i> + (1841) and its sequel, <i>The Mystery of Marie Rogt</i> (1842-1843), <i>The + Gold-Bug</i> (1843), <i>The Oblong Box</i> (1844), <i>"Thou Art the Man"</i> + (1844), and <i>The Purloined Letter</i> (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 <i>effects</i> of structure may be + astounding in their power or unexpectedness, yet the <i>means</i> 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 <i>combined</i> + with the piece of writing to form a well-balanced whole. Style is more + difficult to imitate than structure, but on the other hand <i>the origin + of structural influence</i> 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: <i>Metzengerstein</i> (Jan. + 14, 1832, Philadelphia <i>Saturday Courier</i>), <i>Ms. Found in a Bottle</i> + (October 19, 1833, <i>Baltimore Saturday Visiter</i>), <i>The Assignation</i> + (January, 1834, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>), <i>Berenice</i> (March, 1835, + <i>Southern Literary Messenger</i>), <i>Morella</i> (April, 1835, <i>Southern + Literary Messenger</i>), <i>The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall</i> + (June, 1835, <i>Southern Literary Messenger</i>), <i>King Pest: a Tale + Containing an Allegory</i> (September, 1835, <i>Southern Literary + Messenger</i>), <i>Shadow: a Parable</i> (September, 1835, <i>Southern + Literary Messenger</i>), <i>Ligeia</i> (September, 1838, <i>American + Museum</i>), <i>The Fall of the House of Usher</i> (September, 1839, <i>Burton's + Gentleman's Magazine</i>), <i>William Wilson</i> (1839: <i>Gift for</i> + 1840), <i>The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion</i> (December, 1839, <i>Burton's + Gentleman's Magazine</i>), <i>The Murders in the Rue Morgue</i> (April, + 1841, <i>Graham's Magazine</i>), <i>A Descent into the Maelstrom</i> (May, + 1841, <i>Graham's Magazine</i>), <i>Eleonora</i> (1841: <i>Gift</i> for + 1842), <i>The Masque of the Red Death</i> (May, 1842, <i>Graham's Magazine</i>), + <i>The Pit and the Pendulum</i> (1842: <i>Gift for 1843</i>), <i>The + Tell-Tale Heart</i> (January, 1843, <i>Pioneer</i>), <i>The Gold-Bug</i> + (June 21 and 28, 1843, <i>Dollar Newspaper</i>), <i>The Black Cat</i> + (August 19, 1843, <i>United States Saturday Post</i>), <i>The Oblong Box</i> + (September, 1844, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>), <i>The Angel of the Odd</i> + (October, 1844, <i>Columbian Magazine</i>), <i>"Thou Art the Man"</i> + (November, 1844, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>), <i>The Purloined Letter</i> + (1844: <i>Gift</i> for 1845), <i>The Imp of the Perverse</i> (July, 1845, + <i>Graham's Magazine</i>), <i>The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether</i> + (November, 1845, <i>Graham's Magazine</i>), <i>The Facts in the Case of M. + Valdemar</i> (December, 1845, <i>American Whig Review</i>), <i>The Cask of + Amontillado</i> (November, 1846, <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>), and <i>Lander's + Cottage</i> (June 9, 1849, <i>Flag of Our Union</i>). Poe's chief + collections are: <i>Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque</i> (1840), <i>Tales</i> + (1845), and <i>The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe</i> (1850-56). These + titles have been dropped from recent editions of his works, however, and + the stories brought together under the title <i>Tales</i>, or under + subdivisions furnished by his editors, such as <i>Tales of Ratiocination</i>, + 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 <i>Western Clearings</i> (1845), from which <i>The + Schoolmaster's Progress</i>, first published in <i>The Gift</i> for 1845 + (out in 1844), is taken. Other stories republished in that collection are + <i>The Ball at Thram's Huddle</i> (April, 1840, <i>Knickerbocker Magazine</i>), + <i>Recollections of the Land-Fever</i> (September, 1840, <i>Knickerbocker + Magazine</i>), and <i>The Bee-Tree</i> (<i>The Gift</i> 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 <i>The Editor's Easy Chair</i> for <i>Harper's Magazine</i> + for many years. His volume, <i>Prue and I</i> (1856), contains many + fictional elements, and a story from it, <i>Titbottom's Spectacles</i>, + 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 <i>The Shrouded Portrait</i> (in <i>The Knickerbocker Gallery</i>, + 1855) and <i>The Millenial Club</i> (November, 1858, <i>Knickerbocker + Magazine</i>). + </p> + <p> + Edward Everett Hale (1822-1909) is chiefly known as the author of the + short story, <i>The Man Without a Country</i> (December, 1863, <i>Atlantic + Monthly</i>), but his venture in the comic vein, <i>My Double; and How He + Undid Me</i> (September, 1859, <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>), is equally worthy + of appreciation. It was his first published story of importance. Other + noteworthy stories of his are: <i>The Brick Moon</i> (October, November + and December, 1869, <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>), <i>Life in the Brick Moon</i> + (February, 1870, <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>), and <i>Susan's Escort</i> (May, + 1890, <i>Harper's Magazine</i>). His chief volumes of short stories are: + <i>The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales</i> (1868); <i>The Brick + Moon, and Other Stories</i> (1873); <i>Crusoe in New York, and Other Tales</i> + (1880); and <i>Susan's Escort, and Others</i> (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 <i>samely</i> different from + other writers; in being <i>consistently</i> 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 <i>Breakfast-Table</i> books (1858-1860-1872-1890). <i>Old + Ironsides</i>, <i>The Last Leaf</i>, <i>The Chambered Nautilus</i> and <i>Homesick + in Heaven</i> 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 <i>Lyra Elegantiarum</i> (1867) declared that Holmes was + "perhaps the best living writer of this species of verse." His trenchant + attack on <i>Homeopathy and Its Kindred Delusions</i> (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 <i>The Religio-Medical Masquerade</i>, or brought the + batteries of his humor to bear on it in the manner of Robert Louis + Stevenson's fable, <i>Something In It</i>: "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), + <i>The Guardian Angel</i> (1867) and <i>A Mortal Antipathy</i> (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 <i>The New England + Magazine</i>, called <i>The Dbut</i>, signed O.W.H. <i>The Story of Iris</i> + in <i>The Professor at the Breakfast Table</i>, which ran in <i>The + Atlantic</i> throughout 1859, and <i>A Visit to the Asylum for Aged and + Decayed Punsters</i> (January, 1861, <i>Atlantic</i>) 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. <i>The Celebrated + Jumping Frog of Calaveras County</i> was his first publication of + importance, and it saw the light in the Nov. 18, 1865, number of <i>The + Saturday Press</i>. It was republished in the collection, <i>The + Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches</i>, in + 1867. Others of his best pieces of short fiction are: <i>The Canvasser's + Tale</i> (December, 1876, <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>), <i>The 1,000,000 Bank + Note</i> (January, 1893, <i>Century Magazine</i>), <i>The Esquimau + Maiden's Romance</i> (November, 1893, <i>Cosmopolitan</i>), <i>Traveling + with a Reformer</i> (December, 1893, <i>Cosmopolitan</i>), <i>The Man That + Corrupted Hadleyburg</i> (December, 1899, <i>Harper's</i>), <i>A + Double-Barrelled Detective Story</i> (January and February, 1902, <i>Harper's</i>) + <i>A Dog's Tale</i> (December, 1903, <i>Harper's</i>), and <i>Eve's Diary</i> + (December, 1905, <i>Harper's</i>). Among Twain's chief collections of + short stories are: <i>The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and + Other Sketches</i> (1867); <i>The Stolen White Elephant</i> (1882), <i>The + 1,000,000 Bank Note</i> (1893), and <i>The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg, + and Other Stories and Sketches</i> (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 <i>Georgia Scenes</i> (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 + href="#linknote-3" name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3"><small>3</small></a> + An exception to this might be made in favor of <i>Elder Brown's Backslide</i> + (August, 1885, <i>Harper's</i>), 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: <i>Two Runaways</i> (July, 1886, <i>Century</i>), <i>Sister + Todhunter's Heart</i> (July, 1887, <i>Century</i>), <i>"De Valley an' de + Shadder"</i> (January, 1888, <i>Century</i>), <i>An Idyl of "Sinkin' + Mount'in"</i> (October, 1888, <i>Century</i>), <i>The Rival Souls</i> + (March, 1889, <i>Century</i>), <i>The Woodhaven Goat</i> (March, 1899, <i>Century</i>), + and <i>The Shadow</i> (December, 1906, <i>Century</i>). His chief + collections are <i>Two Runaways, and Other Stories</i> (1889) and <i>His + Defense, and Other Stories</i> (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 <i>Georgia + Sketches, by an Old Man (1864). </i>The Goose Pond School<i>, 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, </i>The New Eclectic<i>, over the pseudonym "Philemon Perch." + His famous </i>Dukesborough Tales<i> (1871-1874) was largely a + republication of the earlier book. Other noteworthy collections of his + are: </i>Mr. Absalom Billingslea and Other Georgia Folk<i> (1888), </i>Mr. + Fortner's Marital Claims, and Other Stories<i> (1892), and </i>Old Times + in Middle Georgia<i> (1897). Among individual stories stand out: </i>The + Organ-Grinder<i> (July, 1870, </i>New Eclectic<i>), </i>Mr. Neelus + Peeler's Conditions<i> (June, 1879, </i>Scribner's Monthly<i>), </i>The + Brief Embarrassment of Mr. Iverson Blount<i> (September, 1884, </i>Century<i>); + </i>The Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker<i> (June, 1886, </i>Century<i>), + republished in the present collection; </i>The Wimpy Adoptions<i> + (February, 1887, </i>Century<i>), </i>The Experiments of Miss Sally Cash<i> + (September, 1888, </i>Century<i>), and </i>Our Witch<i> (March, 1897, </i>Century<i>). + Johnston must be ranked almost with Bret Harte as a pioneer in "local + color" work, although his work had little recognition until his </i>Dukesborough + Tales<i> were republished by Harper & Brothers in 1883. </i> + </p> + <p> + Bret Harte (1839-1902) is mentioned here owing to the late date of his + story included in this volume, Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff<i> + (March, 1901, </i>Harper's<i>), although his work as a whole of course + belongs to an earlier period of our literature. It is now well-thumbed + literary history that </i>The Luck of Roaring Camp<i> (August, 1868, </i>Overland<i>) + and </i>The Outcasts of Poker Flat<i> (January, 1869, </i>Overland<i>) + brought him a popularity that, in its suddenness and extent, had no + precedent in American literature save in the case of Mrs. Stowe and </i>Uncle + Tom's Cabin<i>. 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. </i> + </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 href="#linknote-4" name="linknoteref-4" id="linknoteref-4"><small>4</small></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, Colonel Starbottle for + the Plaintiff<i>. Here is part of it: </i> + </p> + <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> + <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: The Luck of Roaring + Camp<i> (August, 1868, </i>Overland<i>), </i>The Outcasts of Poker Flat<i> + (January, 1869, </i>Overland<i>), </i>Tennessee's Partner<i> (October, + 1869, </i>Overland<i>), </i>Brown of Calaveras<i> (March, 1870, </i>Overland<i>), + </i>Flip: a California Romance<i> (in </i>Flip, and Other Stories<i>, + 1882), </i>Left Out on Lone Star Mountain<i> (January, 1884, </i>Longman's<i>), + </i>An Ingenue of the Sierras<i> (July, 1894, </i>McClure's<i>), </i>The + Bell-Ringer of Angel's<i> (in </i>The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other + Stories<i>, 1894), </i>Chu Chu<i> (in </i>The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and + Other Stories<i>, 1894), </i>The Man and the Mountain<i> (in </i>The + Ancestors of Peter Atherly, and Other Tales<i>, 1897), </i>Salomy Jane's + Kiss<i> (in </i>Stories in Light and Shadow<i>, 1898), </i>The Youngest + Miss Piper<i> (February, 1900, </i>Leslie's Monthly<i>), </i>Colonel + Starbottle for the Plaintiff<i> (March, 1901, </i>Harper's<i>), </i>A + Mercury of the Foothills<i> (July, 1901, </i>Cosmopolitan<i>), </i>Lanty + Foster's Mistake<i> (December, 1901, </i>New England<i>), </i>An Ali Baba + of the Sierras<i> (January 4, 1902, </i>Saturday Evening Post<i>), and + </i>Dick Boyle's Business Card<i> (in </i>Trent's Trust, and Other Stories<i>, + 1903). Among his notable collections of stories are: </i>The Luck of + Roaring Camp, and Other Sketches<i> (1870), </i>Flip, and Other Stories<i> + (1882), </i>On the Frontier<i> (1884), </i>Colonel Starbottle's Client, + and Some Other People<i> (1892), </i>A Protg of Jack Hamlin's, and Other + Stories<i> (1894), </i>The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories<i> + (1894), </i>The Ancestors of Peter Atherly, and Other Tales<i> (1897), + </i>Openings in the Old Trail<i> (1902), and </i>Trent's Trust, and Other + Stories<i> (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 href="#linknote-5" name="linknoteref-5" id="linknoteref-5"><small>5</small></a> + </i> + </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 Puck<i> and creator of some of + the most exquisite </i>vers de socit<i> of the period. The title of one + of his collections, </i>Made in France: French Tales Retold with a U.S. + Twist<i> (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 </i>Short Sixes<i> marks one + of the high places which have been attained by the American short story."<a + href="#linknote-6" name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6"><small>6</small></a> + </i> + </p> + <p> + Among Bunner's best stories are: Love in Old Cloathes<i> (September, 1883, + </i>Century), A Successful Failure<i> (July, 1887, </i>Puck<i>), </i>The + Love-Letters of Smith<i> (July 23, 1890, </i>Puck<i>) </i>The Nice People<i> + (July 30, 1890, </i>Puck<i>), </i>The Nine Cent-Girls<i> (August 13, 1890, + </i>Puck<i>), </i>The Two Churches of 'Quawket<i> (August 27, 1890, </i>Puck<i>), + </i>A Round-Up<i> (September 10, 1890, </i>Puck<i>), </i>A Sisterly Scheme<i> + (September 24, 1890, </i>Puck<i>), </i>Our Aromatic Uncle<i> (August, + 1895, </i>Scribner's<i>), </i>The Time-Table Test<i> (in </i>The Suburban + Sage<i>, 1896). He collaborated with Prof. Brander Matthews in several + stories, notably in </i>The Documents in the Case<i> (Sept., 1879, </i>Scribner's + Monthly<i>). His best collections are: </i>Short Sixes: <i>Stories to be + Read While the Candle Burns</i> (1891), <i>More Short Sixes </i>(1894), + and <i>Love in Old Cloathes, and Other Stories</i> (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, + <i>The Luck of Roaring Camp</i> (1868) and <i>The Outcasts of Poker Flat</i> + (1869), has already been noted.<a href="#linknote-7" name="linknoteref-7" + id="linknoteref-7"><small>7</small></a> But one story just before Harte + that astonished the fiction audience with its power and art was Harriet + Prescott Spofford's (1835- ) <i>The Amber Gods</i> (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 <i>Marjorie Daw</i> (April, 1873, <i>Atlantic</i>), + a story with a surprise at the end, as had been his <i>A Struggle for Life</i> + (July, 1867, <i>Atlantic</i>), although it was only <i>Marjorie Daw</i> + that attracted much attention at the time. Then came George Washington + Cable's (1844- ) <i>"Posson Jone',"</i> (April 1, 1876, <i>Appleton's + Journal</i>) and a little later Charles Egbert Craddock's (1850- ) <i>The + Dancin' Party at Harrison's Cove</i> (May, 1878, <i>Atlantic</i>) and <i>The + Star in the Valley</i> (November, 1878, <i>Atlantic</i>). But the work of + Cable and Craddock, though of sterling worth, won its way gradually. Even + Edward Everett Hale's (1822-1909) <i>My Double; and How He Undid Me</i> + (September, 1859, <i>Atlantic</i>) and <i>The Man Without a Country</i> + (December, 1863, <i>Atlantic</i>) 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 <i>Marjorie Daw</i>," + says Prof. Pattee, "was mild compared with that accorded to Frank R. + Stockton's <i>The Lady or the Tiger?</i> (1884). Stockton had not the + technique of Aldrich nor his naturalness and ease. Certainly he had not + his atmosphere of the <i>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 <i>The + Lady or the Tiger?</i> 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 href="#linknote-8" + name="linknoteref-8" id="linknoteref-8"><small>8</small></a> The + publication of Stockton's short stories covers a period of over forty + years, from <i>Mahala's Drive</i> (November, 1868, <i>Lippincott's</i>) to + <i>The Trouble She Caused When She Kissed</i> (December, 1911, <i>Ladies' + Home Journal</i>), published nine years after his death. Among the more + notable of his stories may be mentioned: <i>The Transferred Ghost</i> + (May, 1882, <i>Century</i>), <i>The Lady or the Tiger?</i> (November, + 1882, <i>Century</i>), <i>The Reversible Landscape</i> (July, 1884, <i>Century</i>), + <i>The Remarkable Wreck of the "Thomas Hyke"</i> (August, 1884, <i>Century</i>), + <i>"His Wife's Deceased Sister"</i> (January, 1884, <i>Century</i>), <i>A + Tale of Negative Gravity</i> (December, 1884, <i>Century</i>), <i>The + Christmas Wreck</i> (in <i>The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories</i>, + 1886), <i>Amos Kilbright</i> (in <i>Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious + Experiences, with Other Stories</i>, 1888), <i>Asaph</i> (May, 1892, <i>Cosmopolitan</i>), + <i>My Terminal Moraine</i> (April 26, 1892, Collier's <i>Once a Week + Library</i>), <i>The Magic Egg</i> (June, 1894, <i>Century</i>), <i>The + Buller-Podington Compact</i> (August, 1897, <i>Scribner's</i>), and <i>The + Widow's Cruise</i> (in <i>A Story-Teller's Pack</i>, 1897). Most of his + best work was gathered into the collections: <i>The Lady or the Tiger?, + and Other Stories</i> (1884), <i>The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful + Tales</i> (1887), <i>Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious Experiences, with + Other Stories</i> (1888), <i>The Clocks of Rondaine, and Other Stories</i> + (1892), <i>A Chosen Few</i> (1895), <i>A Story-Teller's Pack</i> (1897), + and <i>The Queen's Museum, and Other Fanciful Tales</i> (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 <i>Whistling Dick's Christmas Stocking</i> + to <i>McClure's Magazine</i> 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 <i>New York World</i> + 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 <i>A Blackjack Bargainer</i> (August, 1901, + <i>Munsey's</i>). He followed this with such masterly stories as: <i>The + Duplicity of Hargraves</i> (February, 1902, <i>Junior Munsey</i>), <i>The + Marionettes</i> (April, 1902, <i>Black Cat</i>), <i>A Retrieved + Reformation</i> (April, 1903, <i>Cosmopolitan</i>), <i>The Guardian of the + Accolade</i> (May, 1903, <i>Cosmopolitan</i>), <i>The Enchanted Kiss</i> + (February, 1904, <i>Metropolitan</i>), <i>The Furnished Room</i> (August + 14, 1904, <i>New York World</i>), <i>An Unfinished Story</i> (August, + 1905, <i>McClure's</i>), <i>The Count and the Wedding Guest</i> (October + 8, 1905, <i>New York World</i>), <i>The Gift of the Magi</i> (December 10, + 1905, <i>New York World</i>), <i>The Trimmed Lamp</i> (August, 1906, <i>McClure's</i>), + <i>Phoebe</i> (November, 1907, <i>Everybody's</i>), <i>The Hiding of Black + Bill</i> (October, 1908, <i>Everybody's</i>), <i>No Story</i> (June, 1909, + <i>Metropolitan</i>), <i>A Municipal Report</i> (November, 1909, <i>Hampton's</i>), + <i>A Service of Love</i> (in <i>The Four Million</i>, 1909), <i>The + Pendulum</i> (in <i>The Trimmed Lamp</i>, 1910), <i>Brickdust Row</i> (in + <i>The Trimmed Lamp</i>, 1910), and <i>The Assessor of Success</i> (in <i>The + Trimmed Lamp</i>, 1910). Among O. Henry's best volumes of short stories + are: <i>The Four Million</i> (1909), <i>Options</i> (1909), <i>Roads of + Destiny</i> (1909), <i>The Trimmed Lamp</i> (1910), <i>Strictly Business: + More Stories of the Four Million</i> (1910), <i>Whirligigs</i> (1910), and + <i>Sixes and Sevens</i> (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 href="#linknote-9" + name="linknoteref-9" id="linknoteref-9"><small>9</small></a> <i>The + Duplicity of Hargraves</i>, 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, <i>Bargain Day at + Tutt House</i> (June, 1905, <i>McClure's</i>), was nearly his first story; + only two others, which came out in <i>The Saturday Evening Post</i> in + 1903 and 1904, preceded it. Its breathless dramatic action is well + balanced by humor. Other stories of his deserving of special mention are: + <i>A Corner in Farmers</i> (February, 29, 1908, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), + <i>A Fortune in Smoke</i> (March 14, 1908, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), + <i>Easy Money</i> (November 14, 1908, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>The + Triple Cross</i> (December 5, 1908, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>Spoiling + the Egyptians</i> (December 26, 1908, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>Whipsawed!</i> + (January 16, 1909, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>The Bubble Bank</i> + (January 30 and February 6, 1909, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>Straight + Business</i> (February 27, 1909, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>Sam + Turner: a Business Man's Love Story</i> (March 26, April 2 and 9, 1910, <i>Saturday + Evening Post</i>), <i>Fundamental Justice</i> (July 25, 1914, <i>Saturday + Evening Post</i>), <i>A Scropper Patcher</i> (October, 1916, <i>Everybody's</i>), + and <i>Jolly Bachelors</i> (February, 1918, <i>Cosmopolitan</i>). His best + collections are: <i>Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford</i> (1908), <i>Young + Wallingford</i> (1910), <i>Wallingford in His Prime</i> (1913), and <i>Wallingford + and Blackie Daw</i> (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 <i>A Call</i> (August, + 1906, <i>Harper's</i>) 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: <i>The Capture of Andy Proudfoot</i> (June, 1904, <i>Harper's</i>), + <i>In the Strength of the Hills</i> (December, 1905, <i>Metropolitan</i>), + <i>The Machinations of Ocoee Gallantine</i> (April, 1906, <i>Century</i>), + <i>A Call</i> (August, 1906, <i>Harper's</i>), <i>Scott Bohannon's Bond + </i>(May 4, 1907, <i>Collier's</i>), and <i>A Clean Shave</i> (November, + 1912, <i>Century</i>). 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 <i>The Power and the Glory</i> (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 <i>The American Magazine</i> 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, <i>Yawps</i> + (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,<i>Lo, the Summer Girl</i>. 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 <i>merely</i> + 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 <i>Harper's Weekly</i>, 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dunno, perhaps + One of the yaps + Like me would make + A holy break + Doing his turn + With money to burn. + Anyhow, I + Wouldn't shy + Making a try! +</pre> + <p> + and containing, among many effective touches, the pathetic lines, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... I'd help + The poor who try to help themselves, + Who have to work so hard for bread + They can't get very far ahead. +</pre> + <p> + When James Lane Allen's novel, <i>The Reign of Law</i>, came out (1900), a + little quatrain by Lampton that appeared in <i>The Bookman</i> (September, + 1900) swept like wildfire across the country, and was read by a hundred + times as many people as the book itself: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The Reign of Law"? + Well, Allen, you're lucky; + It's the first time it ever + Rained law in Kentucky! +</pre> + <p> + 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, "<i>His Wife's Deceased Sister</i>" (January, 1884, <i>Century</i>), + 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 '<i>His Wife's Deceased Sister</i>'?" + This was merely Stockton's turning to account his own somewhat similar + experience with the editors after his story, <i>The Lady or the Tiger</i>? + (November, 1882, <i>Century</i>) 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 + <i>How the Widow Won the Deacon</i>, 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: <i>The People's Number of the Worthyville Watchman</i> + (May 12, 1900, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>Love's Strange Spell</i> + (April 27, 1901, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>Abimelech Higgins' Way</i> + (August 24, 1001, <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>), <i>A Cup of Tea</i> + (March, 1902, <i>Metropolitan</i>), <i>Winning His Spurs</i> (May, 1904, + <i>Cosmopolitan</i>), <i>The Perfidy of Major Pulsifer</i> (November, + 1909, <i>Cosmopolitan</i>), <i>How the Widow Won the Deacon</i> (April, + 1911, <i>Harper's Bazaar</i>), and <i>A Brown Study</i> (December, 1913, + <i>Lippincott's</i>). 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> + <i>Gideon</i> (April, 1914, <i>Century</i>), 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, <i>The Professor's Mystery</i> (1911) and + alone wrote another novel, <i>The Man in the Brown Derby</i> (1911). His + short stories include: <i>The New Little Boy</i> (July, 1911, <i>American</i>), + <i>That Day</i> (September, 1911, <i>American</i>), <i>The Pick-Up</i> + (December, 1911, <i>Everybody's</i>), and <i>Gideon</i> (April, 1914, <i>Century</i>). + 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, <i>Gideon</i> + is surely entitled. + </p> + <h3> + ALEXANDER JESSUP. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + </h2> + <p> + <i>The Nice People</i>, by Henry Cuyler Bunner, is republished from his + volume, <i>Short Sixes</i>, by permission of its publishers, Charles + Scribner's Sons. <i>The Buller-Podington Compact</i>, by Frank Richard + Stockton, is from his volume, <i>Afield and Afloat</i>, and is republished + by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. <i>Colonel Starbottle for the + Plaintiff</i>, by Bret Harte, is from the collection of his stories + entitled <i>Openings in the Old Trail</i>, and is republished by + permission of the Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of + Bret Harte's complete works. <i>The Duplicity of Hargraves</i>, by O. + Henry, is from his volume, <i>Sixes and Sevens</i>, 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, <i>A Call</i>, republished here + from <i>Harper's Magazine</i>; Wells Hastings, for permission to reprint + his story, <i>Gideon</i>, from <i>The Century Magazine</i>; and George + Randolph Chester, for permission to include <i>Bargain Day at Tutt House</i>, + from <i>McClure's Magazine</i>. I would also thank the heirs of the late + lamented Colonel William J. Lampton for permission to use his story, <i>How + the Widow Won the Deacon</i>, from <i>Harper's Bazaar</i>. 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, "<i>Posson + Jone'</i>," and Irvin S. Cobb's story, <i>The Smart Aleck</i>. He also + regrets he was unable to obtain a copy of Joseph C. Duport's story, <i>The + Wedding at Timber Hollow</i>, 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Footnotes + </h3> + <p> + <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ This I have attempted in <i>Representative + American Short Stories</i> (Allyn & Bacon: Boston, 1922).] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 2 (<a href="#linknoteref-2">return</a>)<br /> [ Will D. Howe, in <i>The + Cambridge History of American Literature</i>, Vol. II, pp. 158-159 (G.P. + Putnam's Sons, 1918).] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 3 (<a href="#linknoteref-3">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>A History of American + Literature Since 1870</i>, p. 317 (The Century Co.: 1915).] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 4 (<a href="#linknoteref-4">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>A History of American + Literature Since 1870</i>, pp 79-81.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 5 (<a href="#linknoteref-5">return</a>)<br /> [ "The Works of Bret Harte," + twenty volumes. The Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 6 (<a href="#linknoteref-6">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>The Cambridge History of + American Literature</i>, Vol. II, p. 386.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 7 (<a href="#linknoteref-7">return</a>)<br /> [ See this Introduction.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 8 (<a href="#linknoteref-8">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>The Cambridge History of + American Literature</i>, Vol. II, p. 385.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-9" id="linknote-9"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 9 (<a href="#linknoteref-9">return</a>)<br /> [ Fred Lewis Pattee, in The + Cambridge History of American Literature, Vol. II, p. 394.] + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + To: CHARLES GOODRICH WHITING, Critic, Poet, Friend + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS + </h2> + <h3> + BY GEORGE POPE MORRIS (1802-1864) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots, with Other Sketches of + the Times</i> (1839), by George Pope Morris.] + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Look into those they call unfortunate, + And, closer view'd, you'll find they are unwise.—<i>Young.</i> + + Let wealth come in by comely thrift, + And not by any foolish shift: + Tis haste + Makes waste: + Who gripes too hard the dry and slippery sand + Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.—<i>Herrick</i>. + + Let well alone.—<i>Proverb</i>. +</pre> + <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 every-day 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>Oui, monsieur</i>; I will give you von hundred dollar apiece, for de + lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege; <i>c'est a</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>Pardonnez-moi, monsieur</i>," said Poopoo, as the auctioneer descended + his pedestal, "you shall <i>excusez-moi</i>, if I shall go to <i>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>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>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>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 <i>get into my + boat, I will row you out to them</i>!" + </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 <i>at low tide</i>. When + this part of the East River is filled up, it will be just there. Your + lots, as you will perceive, are beyond it; <i>and are now all under water</i>." + </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>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>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 <i>ground</i> at all—de ground is all vatare!" + </p> + <p> + "You joke!" + </p> + <p> + "I no joke. I nevare joke; <i>je n'entends pas la raillerie</i>, Sare, <i>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>mauvaise affaire</i>—von gran mistake!" + </p> + <p> + "I hope not. I don't think you have thrown your money away in the <i>land</i>." + </p> + <p> + "No, sare; but I tro it avay in de <i>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>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>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>misricorde!</i> Ah, <i>mon dieu, je suis abm</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> 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 <i>row him out</i> to the very place where the poor Frenchman's lots + still remain <i>under water</i>. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ANGEL OF THE ODD + </h2> + <h3> + [From <i>The Columbian Magazine</i>, October, 1844.] + </h3> + <h3> + BY EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849) + </h3> + <p> + It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an unusually + hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic <i>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 <i>liqueur</i>. In the morning + I had been reading Glover's <i>Leonidas</i>, Wilkie's <i>Epigoniad</i>, + Lamartine's <i>Pilgrimage</i>, Barlow's <i>Columbiad</i>, Tuckerman's <i>Sicily</i>, + and Griswold's <i>Curiosities</i>, 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This folio of four pages, happy work + Which not even critics criticise, +</pre> + <p> + 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 <i>not</i> te wing, and + I am te <i>Angel ov te Odd</i>." + </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 "Kirschenwsser." + </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 <i>contretemps</i> + of mankind, and whose business it was to bring about the <i>odd accidents</i> + 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>beaucoup + de bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens</i>. + </p> + <p> + His departure afforded me relief. The <i>very</i> 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 <i>Omnipresence of + the Deity</i>, 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 Kirschenwsser, + 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 <i>not</i> 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 <i>terra firma</i>; 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 Kirschenwsser, 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 <i>was</i> + sober and <i>had</i> 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 <i>me</i>, 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 Kirschenwsser. Thus revenged himself the Angel of the Odd. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS + </h2> + <h3> + By Caroline M.S. Kirkland (1801-1864) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Gift</i> for 1845, published late in 1844. Republished in the + volume, <i>Western Clearings</i> (1845), by Caroline M.S. Kirkland.] + </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 <i>may</i> have—a + strong arm he <i>must</i> 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 <i>angle</i> or <i>angel</i>. <i>Angle</i> + 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 preminent 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That great medicine hath + With its tinct gilded— +</pre> + <p> + 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 <i>that is not in the + spelling-book</i>. 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 <i>in the spelling-book</i>. + </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 <i>dnouement</i> 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 <i>Columbian Orator</i>, + the <i>American Speaker</i>, 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 <i>Mary + Stuart</i>; 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mine all doth hang—my life—my destiny— + Upon my words—upon the force of tears!— +</pre> + <p> + 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. <i>Mary Stuart</i> 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 tte--tte 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 <i>do</i> + 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WATKINSON EVENING + </h2> + <h3> + [From <i>Godey's Lady's Book</i>, December, 1846.] + </h3> + <p> + By Eliza Leslie (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 <i>contretemps</i> 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 <i>had</i> 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 <i>did</i> 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 <i>lite</i> of the <i>lite</i>." + </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>Courage, mes enfants</i>," said their mother, "<i>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 tonight 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 <i>done</i> + 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 school-mistress 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 <i>not</i>, 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>Parlez-vous + Franais, mademoiselle? Comment se va madame votre mre? 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>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 <i>had</i> 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here come three knights out of Spain + A-courting of your daughter Jane." +</pre> + <p> + "<i>I</i> 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 <i>has</i> 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 <i>you</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TITBOTTOM'S SPECTACLES + </h2> + <h3> + BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS (1824-1892) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>Putnam's Monthly</i>, December, 1854. Republished in the volume, + <i>Prue and I</i> (1856), by George William Curtis (Harper & + Brothers).] + </p> + <p> + In my mind's eye, Horatio. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>vis--vis</i>. + 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME + </h2> + <h3> + By Edward Everett Hale (1822-1909) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i>, September, 1859. Republished in the + volume, <i>The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales</i> (1868), by + Edward Everett Hale (Little, Brown & Co.).] + </p> + <p> + It is not often that I trouble the readers of <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i>. + 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 <i>Cataract of the Ganges</i>. 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 <i>Duality + of the Brain</i>, 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 <i>sixty-seventh</i> 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 <i>ex + officio</i>, and were begging leave to go away. On his entrance all was + changed. <i>Presto</i>, 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, <i>alias</i> + 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tuesday Morning. English Composition. Sunshine. Miss Jones, +</pre> + <p> + round to + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Trio on Three Pianos. Duel from opera of Midshipman Easy. Marryatt. +</pre> + <p> + 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 <i>so</i> 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 <i>Mystics</i>, 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-entre + 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 <i>vs.</i> + 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>Quoene sit historia Reformationis in + Ungari?</i>" quoth Haliburton, after some thought. And his <i>confrre</i> + replied gallantly, "<i>In seculo decimo tertio,</i>" etc., etc., etc.; and + from <i>decimo tertio</i> [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?"] 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 <i>promptu</i> 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 <i>The Atlantic</i> 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 <i>The Iron Mask</i> 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 <i>public</i> 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 + <i>they</i> may be—should think 'we'—whoever <i>we</i> 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 <i>The + Atlantic</i> 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 <i>Traces of + Sandemanianism in the Sixth and Seventh Centuries</i>, which I hope to + persuade Phillips, Sampson & Co. to publish next year. We are very + happy, but the world thinks we are undone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS + </h2> + <h3> + By Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Atlantic Monthly</i>, January, 1861. Republished in <i>Soundings + from the Atlantic</i> (1864), by Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose authorized + publishers are the Houghton Mifflin Company.] + </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 <i>anyhow</i> 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 <i>females</i>, + my friend called my attention to this remarkable psychological fact, + namely: + </p> + <h3> + THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEMALE PUNSTER. + </h3> + <p> + This remark struck me forcibly, and on reflection I found that <i>I never + knew nor heard of one</i>, though I have once or twice heard a woman make + a <i>single detached</i> 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 <i>Cane</i> to <i>A bell</i>, 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 <i>bolted</i>, + 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 <i>East hinges</i> on the one + side of the gate, and there's the <i>West hinges</i> 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 <i>lot o' rye</i> 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> + <h3> + SECT. I. OF VERBAL EXERCISES. + </h3> + <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 <i>Joseph Millers</i>, and, if necessary, placed in solitary + confinement. + </p> + <h3> + SECT. III. OF DEPORTMENT AT MEALS. + </h3> + <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 <i>Index Expurgatorius</i> of + the Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them, on pain of + being debarred the perusal of <i>Punch</i> and <i>Vanity Fair</i>, and, if + repeated, deprived of his <i>Joseph Miller</i>. + </p> + <p> + Among these are the following: + </p> + <p> + Allusions to <i>Attic salt</i>, when asked to pass the salt-cellar. + </p> + <p> + Remarks on the Inmates being <i>mustered</i>, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + Associating baked beans with the <i>bene</i>-factors of the Institution. + </p> + <p> + Saying that beef-eating is <i>befitting</i>, 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 <i>hair</i> or a wig"; "it will be <i>long enough</i>," + etc., etc.; "little of its age," etc., etc.; also, playing upon the + following words: <i>hos</i>pital; <i>mayor</i>; <i>pun</i>; <i>pitied</i>; + <i>bread</i>; <i>sauce</i>, etc., etc., etc. <i>See</i> INDEX + EXPURGATORIUS, <i>printed for use of Inmates</i>. + </p> + <p> + The subjoined Conundrum is not allowed: Why is Hasty Pudding like the + Prince? Because it comes attended by its <i>sweet</i>; nor this variation + to it, <i>to wit</i>: Because the <i>'lasses runs after it</i>. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>of four Jerries</i> 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 <i>four Jerries</i>, + he added, was of gigantic magnitude. The play on words was brought out by + an accidental remark of Solomons, the well-known Banker. "<i>Capital + punishment</i>!" the Jew was overheard saying, with reference to the + guilty parties. He was understood, as saying, <i>A capital pun is meant</i>, + 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 <i>nomad</i> 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 <i>Webster's + Dictionary</i> 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 <i>ers</i> in the words cent<i>er</i> and theat<i>er</i>? + </p> + <p> + "If he spells leather <i>lether</i>, and feather <i>fether</i>, isn't + there danger that he'll give us a <i>bad spell of weather</i>? + </p> + <p> + "Besides, Webster is a resurrectionist; he does not allow <i>u</i> to rest + quietly in the <i>mould</i>. + </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 <i>Connect-a-cut</i> trick. + </p> + <p> + "Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven? Because it is <i>under + bread</i>." + </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 <i>Vanity Fair</i> + 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TIMES. SMITE! + POST. STOP! + + TRIBUNE. TRUE NIB. + WORLD. DR. OWL. + + ADVERTISER. { RES VERI DAT. + { IS TRUE. READ! + + ALLOPATHY. ALL O' TH' PAY. + HOMOEOPATHY. O, THE ——! O! O, MY! PAH! +</pre> + <p> + The mention of several New York papers led to two or three questions. + Thus: Whether the Editor of <i>The Tribune</i> was <i>H.G. really</i>? If + the complexion of his politics were not accounted for by his being <i>an + eager</i> person himself? Whether Wendell <i>Fillips</i> were not a + reduced copy of John <i>Knocks</i>? Whether a New York <i>Feuilletoniste</i> + is not the same thing as a <i>Fellow down East</i>? + </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 <i>corn under 'em</i>!" he said; and + immediately asked, "Why is Douglas like the earth?" + </p> + <p> + We tried, but couldn't guess. + </p> + <p> + "Because he was <i>flattened out at the polls</i>!" 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 <i>two mast-ers</i>," 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 <i>a cue</i> 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 <i>jostlin'</i>," 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 <i>tick-it</i> 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 <i>Dun</i>," 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 <i>sell</i>!" 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY + </h2> + <h3> + By Mark Twain (1835-1910) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Saturday Press</i>, Nov. 18, 1865. Republished in <i>The + Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches</i> + (1867), by Mark Twain, all of whose works are published by Harper & + Brothers.] + </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 barroom 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>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 + <i>him</i>—any way just so's he got a bet, <i>he</i> 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 + <i>was</i> 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 <i>him</i>—he'd + bet on <i>any</i> 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 <i>he</i> + 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 <i>his</i> 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 <i>did</i> 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 <i>they</i> 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 <i>he</i> good + for?" + </p> + <p> + "Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for <i>one</i> + 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 <i>my</i> 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 his-self, 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—<i>git</i>!" + 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, "<i>I</i> 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 <i>Jim</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE + </h2> + <h3> + By Harry Stillwell Edwards (1855- ) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>Harper's Magazine</i>, August, 1885; copyright, 1885, by Harper + & Bros.; republished in the volume, <i>Two Runaways, and Other Stories</i> + (1889), by Harry Stillwell Edwards (The Century Co.).] + </p> + <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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'm <i>glad</i> salvation's <i>free</i>, + I'm <i>glad</i> salvation's <i>free</i>, + I'm <i>glad</i> salvation's <i>free</i> for <i>all</i>, + I'm <i>glad</i> salvation's <i>free</i>. +</pre> + <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 <i>know</i> I've <i>got</i> + '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 + school-girl 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--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 claw-hammer 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 bare-headed 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER + </h2> + <h3> + BY RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON (1822-1898) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Century Magazine</i>, June, 1886; copyright, 1886, by The + Century Co.; republished in the volume, <i>Mr. Absalom Billingslea, and + Other Georgia Folk</i> (1888), by Richard Malcolm Johnston (Harper & + Brothers).] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <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 <i>new</i> 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' <i>an</i>' + 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 <i>has</i> 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, <i>she</i> deal 'ith + <i>men</i>, 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' <i>us</i>, 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <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 <i>Mister</i>. + </p> + <p> + The visitor's face reddened and reddened. + </p> + <p> + "No," he faltered in answer; "no—no—<i>ma'am</i>, 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 <i>very</i> 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 <i>goth</i>, 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 <i>half</i>, + 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 + <i>any</i>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 <i>I</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NICE PEOPLE + </h2> + <h3> + By Henry Cuyler Bunner (1855-1896) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>Puck</i>, July 30, 1890. Republished in the volume, <i>Short + Sixes: Stories to Be Read While the Candle Burns</i> (1891), by Henry + Cuyler Bunner; copyright, 1890, by Alice Larned Bunner; reprinted by + permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner'a Sons.] + </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> + "<i>Two</i> children," corrected my wife. + </p> + <p> + "Three, he told me." + </p> + <p> + "My dear, she said there were <i>two</i>." + </p> + <p> + "He said three." + </p> + <p> + "You've simply forgotten. I'm <i>sure</i> 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 + near-sighted 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 /> + <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 <i>your</i> 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> + "<i>Should you think</i>," 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 /> + <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 <i>know</i> them?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, certainly not," I replied. + </p> + <p> + "Well—that was all I wuz askin' ye. Ye see, when <i>he</i> 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 <i>she</i> 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, "<i>she</i> 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 <i>their</i> 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 <i>you</i>, 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-<i>to</i> 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 /> + <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 <i>she</i> 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 /> + <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 <i>pry</i>-vacy; + but I do want to know who it may be, like, that I hev in my house. Now + what I ask of <i>you</i>, and I don't want you to take it as in no ways <i>personal</i>, + 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 <i>your</i> 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 <i>yours?</i> 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 /> + <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 <i>that</i> 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 <i>awfully</i> 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 <i>didn't</i> 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 <i>dream</i> what awful lies we'd have to + tell, and all the aw-awful mixed-up-ness of it. Oh, dear, dear, dear!" + </p> + <hr /> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT + </h2> + <h3> + BY FRANK RICHARD STOCKTON (1834-1902) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>, August, 1897. Republished in <i>Afield + and Afloat</i>, by Frank Richard Stockton; copyright, 1900, by Charles + Scribner's Sons. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.] + </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 + <i>my</i> 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 today 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 today, 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF + </h2> + <h3> + By Bret Harte (1839-1902) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>Harper's Magazine</i>, March, 1901. Republished in the volume, <i>Openings + in the Old Trail</i> (1902), by Bret Harte; copyright, 1902, by Houghton + Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret Harte's complete works; + reprinted by their permission.] + </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 <i>versus</i> 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 court-room 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 <i>I</i> 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!—<i>damages!</i>—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 <i>her</i>—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 <i>us</i>?" + </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 <i>pay</i>! Damages—and nothin' short + o' <i>that</i>." + </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 <i>you</i> + 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 <i>damages</i>," said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if + she had never looked up. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel winced. "And—er—undoubtedly <i>compensation</i>—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 <i>said</i>, + 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 <i>Solomon's + Song</i>, 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 + <i>other</i> 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 <i>she</i> gave + it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the + melodiousness of <i>his</i> 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 <i>manes</i> 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 <i>not</i> of a public or + business nature—although <i>later</i> 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 <i>your</i> + 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—<i>elsewhere</i> 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 <i>your</i> 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 <i>in the street</i>," + 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hooker <i>versus</i> Hotchkiss. + + DEAR MADAM,—Having had a visit from the defendant in + above, we should be pleased to have an interview with you at + 2 p.m. to-morrow. Your obedient servants, + STARBOTTLE AND STRYKER. +</pre> + <p> + 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 non-suited 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 <i>femme incomprise</i> 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 <i>do</i> it," said the girl, enthusiastically. + "Lordy! Just you talk for <i>me</i> as ye did for <i>his</i> 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 <i>quit</i>." + </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 <i>religious</i>." + </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 <i>his</i> 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 <i>Holy Scriptures</i>, 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 <i>sing</i> 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 <i>not</i>, 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 <i>one</i>. 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Always make it a point to have it a rule + Never to be late at the Sabbath-school." +</pre> + <p> + 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 today 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 <i>Bible</i> 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 <i>Song of Solomon</i>, 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—<i>flagons</i>, 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 <i>quantity</i>. 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—<i>for himself</i>!" + </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 <i>here</i> 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' <i>you</i>—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 <i>you</i> 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, <i>outside</i> + 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 <i>convictions</i> 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—<i>personally</i> + 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 <i>then</i> you suspected + there was a Hiram <i>somewhere</i>—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 <i>him</i> and <i>his</i> searchin' ways, and <i>his</i> 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 <i>him</i>. 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 <i>I</i> got to do <i>all</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES + </h2> + <h3> + By O. Henry (1862-1910) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Junior Munsey</i>, February, 1902. Republished in the volume, + <i>Sixes and Sevens</i> (1911), by O. Henry; copyright, 1911, by + Doubleday, Page & Co.; reprinted by their permission.] + </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, + <i>Anecdotes and Reminiscences of the Alabama Army, Bench, and Bar</i>. + </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 <i>Anecdotes and + Reminiscences</i>. 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 <i>Anecdotes and + Reminiscences</i> 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 + rgime. 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 <i>Anecdotes and Reminiscences</i> + 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 <i>A Magnolia Flower</i>, 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 <i>A Magnolia Flower</i>, 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 <i>Anecdotes and Reminiscences</i> 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 <i>The Post</i> 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 <i>A Magnolia Flower</i> + 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 rgime. 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 <i>Anecdotes + and Reminiscences</i> 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> + <h3> + DEAR MISS TALBOT: + </h3> + <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 <i>A Magnolia Flower</i>. + </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> + Sincerely yours, H. HOPKINS HARGRAVES. + </p> + <p> + P.S. How did I play Uncle Mose? + </p> + <p> + 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> + "<i>The Mobile Chronicle</i> came," she said promptly. "It's on the table + in your study." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE + </h2> + <h3> + By George Randolph Chester (1869- ) + </h3> + <p> + [From McClure's Magazine, June, 1905; copyright, 1905, by the S.S. McClure + Co.; republished by the author's permission.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <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--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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <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 <i>kept + waiting</i>, 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' <i>Jonesville + Banner</i> an' th' <i>Uticky Clarion</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <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 <i>ho</i>-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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <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 <i>his</i> 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 <i>Van Kamp apartments</i>! + </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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <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> + <h3> + MR. J. BELMONT VAN KAMP, + </h3> + <p> + DEAR SIR: 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> + Yours respectfully, EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Van Kamp passed the note to his wife and sat down or 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 <i>can't</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <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 oldtime 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> + <h3> + EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH, ESQ., + </h3> + <p> + Dear Sir: 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> + Yours respectfully, + </p> + <h3> + J. BELMONT VAN KAMP. + </h3> + <p> + 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <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 <i>bale</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <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 halfway, 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <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 + <i>do</i>! <i>Would</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CALL + </h2> + <h3> + By Grace MacGowan Cooke (1863- ) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>Harper's Magazine</i>, August, 1906. Copyright, 1906, by Harper + & Brothers. Republished by the author's permission.] + </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 <i>Hints and Helps to Young Men in Business and Social Relations</i>, + 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 <i>Hints and Helps to Young Men in + Social and Business Relations</i> 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 <i>Hints and Helps</i>. "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 <i>Hints and Helps</i> 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 <i>Hints and Helps</i>. "'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 <i>Hints and + Helps</i>, 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 <i>had</i> 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 <i>Hints and Helps</i> 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON + </h2> + <h3> + By William James Lampton ( -1917) + </h3> + <p> + [From Harper's Bazaar, April, 1911; copyright, 1911, by Harper & + Brothers; republished by permission.] + </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 <i>she</i> 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 today. 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 today, 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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GIDEON + </h2> + <h3> + By Wells Hastings (1878- ) + </h3> + <p> + [From <i>The Century Magazine</i>, April, 1914; copyright, 1914, by The + Century Co.; republished by the author's permission.] + </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 <i>Uncle Remus</i> 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 protg; 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> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Spend this winter in balmy Florida. + Come to the Land of Perpetual Sunshine. +Golf, tennis, driving, shooting, boating, fishing, all of the best. +</pre> + <p> + 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, <i>seh</i>," 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-<i>tive</i>-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. 'T isn'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, easygoing, 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 style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Best American Humorous Short +Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN HUMOR *** + +***** This file should be named 10947-h.htm or 10947-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/9/4/10947/ + +Etext produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + + + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/old/old/10947.txt b/old/old/10947.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f61921 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/10947.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12194 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Best American Humorous Short Stories, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Best American Humorous Short Stories + +Author: Various + +Release Date: February 5, 2004 [EBook #10947] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN HUMOR *** + + + + +Produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +THE BEST AMERICAN HUMOROUS SHORT STORIES + + +_Edited by_ ALEXANDER JESSUP, _Editor of "Representative American +Short Stories," "The Book of the Short Story," the "Little French +Masterpieces" Series, etc._ + + +INTRODUCTION + +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,[1] 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. + +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--_Uncle Remus_--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. + +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 _Phoenixiana_ (1855) and the _Squibob Papers_ +(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."[2] 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 _Fables in Slang_ is chiefly a satirist, whether in fable, +play or what not. + +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 _The Legend of +Sleepy Hollow_ and _Rip Van Winkle_, 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 _Tales and Sketches: by a Cosmopolite_ +(1830), notably in _The Dapper Gentleman's Story_, 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, _Major Jones's Courtship_ (1840); Johnson +Jones Hooper (1815-1862), author of _Widow Rugby's Husband, and Other +Tales of Alabama_ (1851); Joseph G. Baldwin (1815-1864), who wrote +_The Flush Times of Alabama and Mississippi_ (1853); and Augustus +Baldwin Longstreet (1790-1870), whose _Georgia Scenes_ (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. + +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 _Charcoal Sketches, or +Scenes in a Metropolis_ (1837-1849) must suffice. The work of Seba +Smith is sufficiently expressed in his title, _Way Down East, or +Portraitures of Yankee Life_ (1854), although his _Letters of Major +Jack Downing_ (1833) is better known. Of his single stories may be +mentioned _The General Court and Jane Andrews' Firkin of Butter_ +(October, 1847, _Graham's Magazine_). 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 +_Aunt Magwire's Account of Parson Scrantum's Donation Party_ (March, +1848, _Godey's Lady's Book_) and _Aunt Magwire's Account of the +Mission to Muffletegawmy_ (July, 1859, _Godey's_), were afterwards +collected in _The Widow Bedott Papers_ (1855-56-80). The scope of the +work of Mary B. Haven is sufficiently suggested by her story, _Mrs. +Bowen's Parlor and Spare Bedroom_ (February, 1860, _Godey's_), while +the best stories of Mary W. Janvrin include _The Foreign Count; or, +High Art in Tattletown_ (October, 1860, _Godey's_) and _City +Relations; or, the Newmans' Summer at Clovernook_ (November, 1861, +_Godey's_). The work of Alice Bradley Haven Neal is of somewhat +similar texture. Her book, _The Gossips of Rivertown, with Sketches in +Prose and Verse_ (1850) indicates her field, as does the single title, +_The Third-Class Hotel_ (December, 1861, _Godey's_). 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 +_The Watkinson Evening_ (December, 1846, _Godey's Lady's Book_), +included in the present volume; others are _The Batson Cottage_ +(November, 1846, _Godey's Lady's Book_) and _Juliet Irwin; or, the +Carriage People_ (June, 1847, _Godey's Lady's Book_). One of her chief +collections of stories is _Pencil Sketches_ (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 _The Gift_ 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. + +George Pope Morris (1802-1864) was one of the founders of _The New +York Mirror_, and for a time its editor. He is best known as the +author of the poem, _Woodman, Spare That Tree_, and other poems and +songs. _The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots_ (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 _The Angel of the Odd_ (October, +1844, _Columbian Magazine_), perhaps the best of his humorous stories. +_The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether_ (November, 1845, _Graham's +Magazine_) 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. + +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 _A Descent into the Maelstrom_ (1841), _The Pit and the +Pendulum_ (1842), _The Black Cat_ (1843), and _The Cask of +Amontillado_ (1846). In the realm of beauty his notable productions +are _The Assignation_ (1834), _Shadow: a Parable_ (1835), _Ligeia_ +(1838), _The Fall of the House of Usher_ (1839), _Eleonora_ (1841), +and _The Masque of the Red Death_ (1842). The tales of +ratiocination--what are now generally termed detective +stories--include _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ (1841) and its +sequel, _The Mystery of Marie Roget_ (1842-1843), _The Gold-Bug_ +(1843), _The Oblong Box_ (1844), _"Thou Art the Man"_ (1844), and _The +Purloined Letter_ (1844). + +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 _effects_ of structure may be +astounding in their power or unexpectedness, yet the _means_ 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 +_combined_ with the piece of writing to form a well-balanced whole. +Style is more difficult to imitate than structure, but on the other +hand _the origin of structural influence_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +As Poe's best short stories may be mentioned: _Metzengerstein_ (Jan. +14, 1832, Philadelphia _Saturday Courier_), _Ms. Found in a Bottle_ +(October 19, 1833, _Baltimore Saturday Visiter_), _The Assignation_ +(January, 1834, _Godey's Lady's Book_), _Berenice_ (March, 1835, +_Southern Literary Messenger_), _Morella_ (April, 1835, _Southern +Literary Messenger_), _The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall_ +(June, 1835, _Southern Literary Messenger_), _King Pest: a Tale +Containing an Allegory_ (September, 1835, _Southern Literary +Messenger_), _Shadow: a Parable_ (September, 1835, _Southern Literary +Messenger_), _Ligeia_ (September, 1838, _American Museum_), _The Fall +of the House of Usher_ (September, 1839, _Burton's Gentleman's +Magazine_), _William Wilson_ (1839: _Gift for_ 1840), _The +Conversation of Eiros and Charmion_ (December, 1839, _Burton's +Gentleman's Magazine_), _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ (April, 1841, +_Graham's Magazine_), _A Descent into the Maelstrom_ (May, 1841, +_Graham's Magazine_), _Eleonora_ (1841: _Gift_ for 1842), _The Masque +of the Red Death_ (May, 1842, _Graham's Magazine_), _The Pit and the +Pendulum_ (1842: _Gift for 1843_), _The Tell-Tale Heart_ (January, +1843, _Pioneer_), _The Gold-Bug_ (June 21 and 28, 1843, _Dollar +Newspaper_), _The Black Cat_ (August 19, 1843, _United States Saturday +Post_), _The Oblong Box_ (September, 1844, _Godey's Lady's Book_), +_The Angel of the Odd_ (October, 1844, _Columbian Magazine_), _"Thou +Art the Man"_ (November, 1844, _Godey's Lady's Book_), _The Purloined +Letter_ (1844: _Gift_ for 1845), _The Imp of the Perverse_ (July, +1845, _Graham's Magazine_), _The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether_ +(November, 1845, _Graham's Magazine_), _The Facts in the Case of M. +Valdemar_ (December, 1845, _American Whig Review_), _The Cask of +Amontillado_ (November, 1846, _Godey's Lady's Book_), and _Lander's +Cottage_ (June 9, 1849, _Flag of Our Union_). Poe's chief collections +are: _Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque_ (1840), _Tales_ (1845), +and _The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe_ (1850-56). These titles +have been dropped from recent editions of his works, however, and the +stories brought together under the title _Tales_, or under +subdivisions furnished by his editors, such as _Tales of +Ratiocination_, etc. + +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 _Western Clearings_ (1845), from which +_The Schoolmaster's Progress_, first published in _The Gift_ for 1845 +(out in 1844), is taken. Other stories republished in that collection +are _The Ball at Thram's Huddle_ (April, 1840, _Knickerbocker +Magazine_), _Recollections of the Land-Fever_ (September, 1840, +_Knickerbocker Magazine_), and _The Bee-Tree_ (_The Gift_ 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. + +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 _The Editor's Easy Chair_ for _Harper's +Magazine_ for many years. His volume, _Prue and I_ (1856), contains +many fictional elements, and a story from it, _Titbottom's +Spectacles_, 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 _The Shrouded Portrait_ +(in _The Knickerbocker Gallery_, 1855) and _The Millenial Club_ +(November, 1858, _Knickerbocker Magazine_). + +Edward Everett Hale (1822-1909) is chiefly known as the author of the +short story, _The Man Without a Country_ (December, 1863, _Atlantic +Monthly_), but his venture in the comic vein, _My Double; and How He +Undid Me_ (September, 1859, _Atlantic Monthly_), is equally worthy of +appreciation. It was his first published story of importance. Other +noteworthy stories of his are: _The Brick Moon_ (October, November and +December, 1869, _Atlantic Monthly_), _Life in the Brick Moon_ +(February, 1870, _Atlantic Monthly_), and _Susan's Escort_ (May, 1890, +_Harper's Magazine_). His chief volumes of short stories are: _The Man +Without a Country, and Other Tales_ (1868); _The Brick Moon, and Other +Stories_ (1873); _Crusoe in New York, and Other Tales_ (1880); and +_Susan's Escort, and Others_ (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 _samely_ different from other writers; in being +_consistently_ 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. + +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 _Breakfast-Table_ books (1858-1860-1872-1890). _Old +Ironsides_, _The Last Leaf_, _The Chambered Nautilus_ and _Homesick in +Heaven_ 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 _Lyra Elegantiarum_ (1867) declared that Holmes was +"perhaps the best living writer of this species of verse." His +trenchant attack on _Homeopathy and Its Kindred Delusions_ (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 _The Religio-Medical +Masquerade_, or brought the batteries of his humor to bear on it in +the manner of Robert Louis Stevenson's fable, _Something In It_: +"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), _The Guardian Angel_ +(1867) and _A Mortal Antipathy_ (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 _The New England Magazine_, called _The +Debut_, signed O.W.H. _The Story of Iris_ in _The Professor at the +Breakfast Table_, which ran in _The Atlantic_ throughout 1859, and _A +Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters_ (January, 1861, +_Atlantic_) 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. + +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. _The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County_ was his +first publication of importance, and it saw the light in the Nov. 18, +1865, number of _The Saturday Press_. It was republished in the +collection, _The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and +Other Sketches_, in 1867. Others of his best pieces of short fiction +are: _The Canvasser's Tale_ (December, 1876, _Atlantic Monthly_), _The +L1,000,000 Bank Note_ (January, 1893, _Century Magazine_), _The +Esquimau Maiden's Romance_ (November, 1893, _Cosmopolitan_), +_Traveling with a Reformer_ (December, 1893, _Cosmopolitan_), _The Man +That Corrupted Hadleyburg_ (December, 1899, _Harper's_), _A +Double-Barrelled Detective Story_ (January and February, 1902, +_Harper's_) _A Dog's Tale_ (December, 1903, _Harper's_), and _Eve's +Diary_ (December, 1905, _Harper's_). Among Twain's chief collections +of short stories are: _The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras +County, and Other Sketches_ (1867); _The Stolen White Elephant_ +(1882), _The L1,000,000 Bank Note_ (1893), and _The Man That Corrupted +Hadleyburg, and Other Stories and Sketches_ (1900). + +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 _Georgia Scenes_ (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."[3] An exception to this might be +made in favor of _Elder Brown's Backslide_ (August, 1885, _Harper's_), +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: _Two +Runaways_ (July, 1886, _Century_), _Sister Todhunter's Heart_ (July, +1887, _Century_), _"De Valley an' de Shadder"_ (January, 1888, +_Century_), _An Idyl of "Sinkin' Mount'in"_ (October, 1888, +_Century_), _The Rival Souls_ (March, 1889, _Century_), _The Woodhaven +Goat_ (March, 1899, _Century_), and _The Shadow_ (December, 1906, +_Century_). His chief collections are _Two Runaways, and Other +Stories_ (1889) and _His Defense, and Other Stories_ (1898). + +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 _Georgia Sketches, by an Old Man (1864). _The Goose +Pond School_, 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, _The New Eclectic_, over the +pseudonym "Philemon Perch." His famous _Dukesborough Tales_ +(1871-1874) was largely a republication of the earlier book. Other +noteworthy collections of his are: _Mr. Absalom Billingslea and Other +Georgia Folk_ (1888), _Mr. Fortner's Marital Claims, and Other +Stories_ (1892), and _Old Times in Middle Georgia_ (1897). Among +individual stories stand out: _The Organ-Grinder_ (July, 1870, _New +Eclectic_), _Mr. Neelus Peeler's Conditions_ (June, 1879, _Scribner's +Monthly_), _The Brief Embarrassment of Mr. Iverson Blount_ (September, +1884, _Century_); _The Hotel Experience of Mr. Pink Fluker_ (June, +1886, _Century_), republished in the present collection; _The Wimpy +Adoptions_ (February, 1887, _Century_), _The Experiments of Miss Sally +Cash_ (September, 1888, _Century_), and _Our Witch_ (March, 1897, +_Century_). Johnston must be ranked almost with Bret Harte as a +pioneer in "local color" work, although his work had little +recognition until his _Dukesborough Tales_ were republished by Harper +& Brothers in 1883. + +Bret Harte (1839-1902) is mentioned here owing to the late date of his +story included in this volume, _Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff_ +(March, 1901, _Harper's_), although his work as a whole of course +belongs to an earlier period of our literature. It is now well-thumbed +literary history that _The Luck of Roaring Camp_ (August, 1868, +_Overland_) and _The Outcasts of Poker Flat_ (January, 1869, +_Overland_) brought him a popularity that, in its suddenness and +extent, had no precedent in American literature save in the case of +Mrs. Stowe and _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. 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. + +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."[4] + +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, _Colonel +Starbottle for the Plaintiff_. Here is part of it: + +"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!'" + +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. + +Among the best of his short stories may be mentioned: _The Luck of +Roaring Camp_ (August, 1868, _Overland_), _The Outcasts of Poker Flat_ +(January, 1869, _Overland_), _Tennessee's Partner_ (October, 1869, +_Overland_), _Brown of Calaveras_ (March, 1870, _Overland_), _Flip: a +California Romance_ (in _Flip, and Other Stories_, 1882), _Left Out on +Lone Star Mountain_ (January, 1884, _Longman's_), _An Ingenue of the +Sierras_ (July, 1894, _McClure's_), _The Bell-Ringer of Angel's_ (in +_The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories_, 1894), _Chu Chu_ (in +_The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories_, 1894), _The Man and +the Mountain_ (in _The Ancestors of Peter Atherly, and Other Tales_, +1897), _Salomy Jane's Kiss_ (in _Stories in Light and Shadow_, 1898), +_The Youngest Miss Piper_ (February, 1900, _Leslie's Monthly_), +_Colonel Starbottle for the Plaintiff_ (March, 1901, _Harper's_), _A +Mercury of the Foothills_ (July, 1901, _Cosmopolitan_), _Lanty +Foster's Mistake_ (December, 1901, _New England_), _An Ali Baba of the +Sierras_ (January 4, 1902, _Saturday Evening Post_), and _Dick Boyle's +Business Card_ (in _Trent's Trust, and Other Stories_, 1903). Among +his notable collections of stories are: _The Luck of Roaring Camp, and +Other Sketches_ (1870), _Flip, and Other Stories_ (1882), _On the +Frontier_ (1884), _Colonel Starbottle's Client, and Some Other People_ +(1892), _A Protege of Jack Hamlin's, and Other Stories_ (1894), _The +Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories_ (1894), _The Ancestors of +Peter Atherly, and Other Tales_ (1897), _Openings in the Old Trail_ +(1902), and _Trent's Trust, and Other Stories_ (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.[5] + +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 _Puck_ and creator of some of the most exquisite _vers de +societe_ of the period. The title of one of his collections, _Made in +France: French Tales Retold with a U.S. Twist_ (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 _Short Sixes_ marks one +of the high places which have been attained by the American short +story."[6] + +Among Bunner's best stories are: _Love in Old Cloathes_ (September, +1883, _Century), A Successful Failure_ (July, 1887, _Puck_), _The +Love-Letters of Smith_ (July 23, 1890, _Puck_) _The Nice People_ (July +30, 1890, _Puck_), _The Nine Cent-Girls_ (August 13, 1890, _Puck_), +_The Two Churches of 'Quawket_ (August 27, 1890, _Puck_), _A Round-Up_ +(September 10, 1890, _Puck_), _A Sisterly Scheme_ (September 24, 1890, +_Puck_), _Our Aromatic Uncle_ (August, 1895, _Scribner's_), _The +Time-Table Test_ (in _The Suburban Sage_, 1896). He collaborated with +Prof. Brander Matthews in several stories, notably in _The Documents +in the Case_ (Sept., 1879, _Scribner's Monthly_). His best collections +are: _Short Sixes: _Stories to be Read While the Candle Burns_ (1891), +_More Short Sixes _(1894), and _Love in Old Cloathes, and Other +Stories_ (1896). + +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, _The Luck of Roaring Camp_ (1868) and _The Outcasts of Poker +Flat_ (1869), has already been noted.[7] But one story just before +Harte that astonished the fiction audience with its power and art was +Harriet Prescott Spofford's (1835- ) _The Amber Gods_ (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 _Marjorie Daw_ (April, +1873, _Atlantic_), a story with a surprise at the end, as had been his +_A Struggle for Life_ (July, 1867, _Atlantic_), although it was only +_Marjorie Daw_ that attracted much attention at the time. Then came +George Washington Cable's (1844- ) _"Posson Jone',"_ (April 1, 1876, +_Appleton's Journal_) and a little later Charles Egbert Craddock's +(1850- ) _The Dancin' Party at Harrison's Cove_ (May, 1878, +_Atlantic_) and _The Star in the Valley_ (November, 1878, _Atlantic_). +But the work of Cable and Craddock, though of sterling worth, won its +way gradually. Even Edward Everett Hale's (1822-1909) _My Double; and +How He Undid Me_ (September, 1859, _Atlantic_) and _The Man Without a +Country_ (December, 1863, _Atlantic_) 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 _Marjorie Daw_," says Prof. Pattee, "was mild compared +with that accorded to Frank R. Stockton's _The Lady or the Tiger?_ +(1884). Stockton had not the technique of Aldrich nor his naturalness +and ease. Certainly he had not his atmosphere of the _beau monde_ 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 _The Lady or the Tiger?_ 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."[8] The publication of Stockton's short stories +covers a period of over forty years, from _Mahala's Drive_ (November, +1868, _Lippincott's_) to _The Trouble She Caused When She Kissed_ +(December, 1911, _Ladies' Home Journal_), published nine years after +his death. Among the more notable of his stories may be mentioned: +_The Transferred Ghost_ (May, 1882, _Century_), _The Lady or the +Tiger?_ (November, 1882, _Century_), _The Reversible Landscape_ (July, +1884, _Century_), _The Remarkable Wreck of the "Thomas Hyke"_ (August, +1884, _Century_), _"His Wife's Deceased Sister"_ (January, 1884, +_Century_), _A Tale of Negative Gravity_ (December, 1884, _Century_), +_The Christmas Wreck_ (in _The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories_, +1886), _Amos Kilbright_ (in _Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious +Experiences, with Other Stories_, 1888), _Asaph_ (May, 1892, +_Cosmopolitan_), _My Terminal Moraine_ (April 26, 1892, Collier's +_Once a Week Library_), _The Magic Egg_ (June, 1894, _Century_), _The +Buller-Podington Compact_ (August, 1897, _Scribner's_), and _The +Widow's Cruise_ (in _A Story-Teller's Pack_, 1897). Most of his best +work was gathered into the collections: _The Lady or the Tiger?, and +Other Stories_ (1884), _The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales_ +(1887), _Amos Kilbright, His Adscititious Experiences, with Other +Stories_ (1888), _The Clocks of Rondaine, and Other Stories_ (1892), +_A Chosen Few_ (1895), _A Story-Teller's Pack_ (1897), and _The +Queen's Museum, and Other Fanciful Tales_ (1906). + +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). + +"O. Henry" was the pen name adopted by William Sydney Porter. He began +his short story career by contributing _Whistling Dick's Christmas +Stocking_ to _McClure's Magazine_ 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 +_New York World_ 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 _A Blackjack +Bargainer_ (August, 1901, _Munsey's_). He followed this with such +masterly stories as: _The Duplicity of Hargraves_ (February, 1902, +_Junior Munsey_), _The Marionettes_ (April, 1902, _Black Cat_), _A +Retrieved Reformation_ (April, 1903, _Cosmopolitan_), _The Guardian of +the Accolade_ (May, 1903, _Cosmopolitan_), _The Enchanted Kiss_ +(February, 1904, _Metropolitan_), _The Furnished Room_ (August 14, +1904, _New York World_), _An Unfinished Story_ (August, 1905, +_McClure's_), _The Count and the Wedding Guest_ (October 8, 1905, _New +York World_), _The Gift of the Magi_ (December 10, 1905, _New York +World_), _The Trimmed Lamp_ (August, 1906, _McClure's_), _Phoebe_ +(November, 1907, _Everybody's_), _The Hiding of Black Bill_ (October, +1908, _Everybody's_), _No Story_ (June, 1909, _Metropolitan_), _A +Municipal Report_ (November, 1909, _Hampton's_), _A Service of Love_ +(in _The Four Million_, 1909), _The Pendulum_ (in _The Trimmed Lamp_, +1910), _Brickdust Row_ (in _The Trimmed Lamp_, 1910), and _The +Assessor of Success_ (in _The Trimmed Lamp_, 1910). Among O. Henry's +best volumes of short stories are: _The Four Million_ (1909), +_Options_ (1909), _Roads of Destiny_ (1909), _The Trimmed Lamp_ +(1910), _Strictly Business: More Stories of the Four Million_ (1910), +_Whirligigs_ (1910), and _Sixes and Sevens_ (1911). + +"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."[9] _The Duplicity of +Hargraves_, 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. + +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, +_Bargain Day at Tutt House_ (June, 1905, _McClure's_), was nearly his +first story; only two others, which came out in _The Saturday Evening +Post_ in 1903 and 1904, preceded it. Its breathless dramatic action is +well balanced by humor. Other stories of his deserving of special +mention are: _A Corner in Farmers_ (February, 29, 1908, _Saturday +Evening Post_), _A Fortune in Smoke_ (March 14, 1908, _Saturday +Evening Post_), _Easy Money_ (November 14, 1908, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _The Triple Cross_ (December 5, 1908, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Spoiling the Egyptians_ (December 26, 1908, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Whipsawed!_ (January 16, 1909, _Saturday Evening Post_), _The +Bubble Bank_ (January 30 and February 6, 1909, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Straight Business_ (February 27, 1909, _Saturday Evening +Post_), _Sam Turner: a Business Man's Love Story_ (March 26, April 2 +and 9, 1910, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Fundamental Justice_ (July 25, +1914, _Saturday Evening Post_), _A Scropper Patcher_ (October, 1916, +_Everybody's_), and _Jolly Bachelors_ (February, 1918, +_Cosmopolitan_). His best collections are: _Get-Rich-Quick +Wallingford_ (1908), _Young Wallingford_ (1910), _Wallingford in His +Prime_ (1913), and _Wallingford and Blackie Daw_ (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. + +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 _A +Call_ (August, 1906, _Harper's_) 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: _The Capture of Andy Proudfoot_ +(June, 1904, _Harper's_), _In the Strength of the Hills_ (December, +1905, _Metropolitan_), _The Machinations of Ocoee Gallantine_ (April, +1906, _Century_), _A Call_ (August, 1906, _Harper's_), _Scott +Bohannon's Bond _(May 4, 1907, _Collier's_), and _A Clean Shave_ +(November, 1912, _Century_). 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 _The Power and the +Glory_ (1910), and several good juveniles. + +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 _The American Magazine_ 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, _Yawps_ (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,_Lo, the Summer Girl_. 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. + +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 _merely_ 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 _Harper's Weekly_, 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: + + Dunno, perhaps + One of the yaps + Like me would make + A holy break + Doing his turn + With money to burn. + Anyhow, I + Wouldn't shy + Making a try! + +and containing, among many effective touches, the pathetic lines, + + ... I'd help + The poor who try to help themselves, + Who have to work so hard for bread + They can't get very far ahead. + +When James Lane Allen's novel, _The Reign of Law_, came out (1900), a +little quatrain by Lampton that appeared in _The Bookman_ (September, +1900) swept like wildfire across the country, and was read by a +hundred times as many people as the book itself: + + "The Reign of Law"? + Well, Allen, you're lucky; + It's the first time it ever + Rained law in Kentucky! + +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, "_His Wife's Deceased Sister_" +(January, 1884, _Century_), 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 '_His Wife's Deceased Sister_'?" This was merely Stockton's +turning to account his own somewhat similar experience with the +editors after his story, _The Lady or the Tiger_? (November, 1882, +_Century_) appeared. Likewise the editors didn't want Lampton's short +stories for a while because they liked his poems so well. + +Do I hear some critics exclaiming that there is nothing remarkable +about _How the Widow Won the Deacon_, 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: _The People's Number of the +Worthyville Watchman_ (May 12, 1900, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Love's +Strange Spell_ (April 27, 1901, _Saturday Evening Post_), _Abimelech +Higgins' Way_ (August 24, 1001, _Saturday Evening Post_), _A Cup of +Tea_ (March, 1902, _Metropolitan_), _Winning His Spurs_ (May, 1904, +_Cosmopolitan_), _The Perfidy of Major Pulsifer_ (November, 1909, +_Cosmopolitan_), _How the Widow Won the Deacon_ (April, 1911, +_Harper's Bazaar_), and _A Brown Study_ (December, 1913, +_Lippincott's_). 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. + +_Gideon_ (April, 1914, _Century_), 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, _The Professor's Mystery_ +(1911) and alone wrote another novel, _The Man in the Brown Derby_ +(1911). His short stories include: _The New Little Boy_ (July, 1911, +_American_), _That Day_ (September, 1911, _American_), _The Pick-Up_ +(December, 1911, _Everybody's_), and _Gideon_ (April, 1914, +_Century_). 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, _Gideon_ is surely entitled. + +ALEXANDER JESSUP. + + + +CONTENTS + +INTRODUCTION +_Alexander Jessup_ + +THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS (1839) +_George Pope Morris_ + +THE ANGEL OF THE ODD (1844) +_Edgar Allan Poe_ + +THE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS (1844) +_Caroline M.S. Kirkland_ + +THE WATKINSON EVENING (1846) +_Eliza Leslie_ + +TITBOTTOM'S SPECTACLES (1854) +_George William Curtis_ + +MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME (1859) +_Edward Everett Hale_ + +A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS (1861) +_Oliver Wendell Holmes_ + +THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY (1865) +_Mark Twain_ + +ELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE (1885) +_Harry Stillwell Edwards_ + +THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER (1886) +_Richard Malcolm Johnston_ + +THE NICE PEOPLE (1890) +_Henry Cuyler Bunner_ + +THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT (1897) +_Frank Richard Stockton_ + +COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF (1901) +_Bret Harte_ + +THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES (1902) +_O. Henry_ + +BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE (1905) + _George Randolph Chester_ + +A CALL (1906) + _Grace MacGowan Cooke_ + +HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON (1911) + _William James Lampton_ + +GIDEON (1914) + _Wells Hastings_ + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + +_The Nice People_, by Henry Cuyler Bunner, is republished from his +volume, _Short Sixes_, by permission of its publishers, Charles +Scribner's Sons. _The Buller-Podington Compact_, by Frank Richard +Stockton, is from his volume, _Afield and Afloat_, and is republished +by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. _Colonel Starbottle for the +Plaintiff_, by Bret Harte, is from the collection of his stories +entitled _Openings in the Old Trail_, and is republished by permission +of the Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret +Harte's complete works. _The Duplicity of Hargraves_, by O. Henry, is +from his volume, _Sixes and Sevens_, 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, _A Call_, republished +here from _Harper's Magazine_; Wells Hastings, for permission to +reprint his story, _Gideon_, from _The Century Magazine_; and George +Randolph Chester, for permission to include _Bargain Day at Tutt +House_, from _McClure's Magazine_. I would also thank the heirs of the +late lamented Colonel William J. Lampton for permission to use his +story, _How the Widow Won the Deacon_, from _Harper's Bazaar_. 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, "_Posson Jone'_," and Irvin S. Cobb's story, _The Smart +Aleck_. He also regrets he was unable to obtain a copy of Joseph C. +Duport's story, _The Wedding at Timber Hollow_, 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. + +[Footnote 1: This I have attempted in _Representative American Short +Stories_ (Allyn & Bacon: Boston, 1922).] + +[Footnote 2: Will D. Howe, in _The Cambridge History of American +Literature_, Vol. II, pp. 158-159 (G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1918).] + +[Footnote 3: _A History of American Literature Since 1870_, p. 317 +(The Century Co.: 1915).] + +[Footnote 4: _A History of American Literature Since 1870_, pp 79-81.] + +[Footnote 5: "The Works of Bret Harte," twenty volumes. The Houghton +Mifflin Company, Boston.] + +[Footnote 6: _The Cambridge History of American Literature_, Vol. II, +p. 386.] + +[Footnote 7: See this Introduction.] + +[Footnote 8: _The Cambridge History of American Literature_, Vol. II, +p. 385.] + +[Footnote 9: Fred Lewis Pattee, in The Cambridge History of American +Literature, Vol. II, p. 394.] + + * * * * * + + +To: CHARLES GOODRICH WHITING, Critic, Poet, Friend + + * * * * * + + + +THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS + +BY GEORGE POPE MORRIS (1802-1864) + +[From _The Little Frenchman and His Water Lots, with Other Sketches of +the Times_ (1839), by George Pope Morris.] + + Look into those they call unfortunate, + And, closer view'd, you'll find they are unwise.--_Young._ + + Let wealth come in by comely thrift, + And not by any foolish shift: + 'Tis haste + Makes waste: + Who gripes too hard the dry and slippery sand + Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.--_Herrick_. + + Let well alone.--_Proverb_. + +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! + +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 every-day apparel of my little Frenchman. Ah, I perceive you +recollect him now. + +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. + +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. + +"Here they are, gentlemen," said he of the hammer, "the most valuable +lots ever offered for sale. Give me a bid for them!" + +"One hundred each," said a bystander. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"_Oui, monsieur_; I will give you von hundred dollar apiece, for de +lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege; _c'est ca_." + +"Only one hundred apiece for these sixty valuable lots--only one +hundred--going--going--going--gone!" + +Monsieur Poopoo was the fortunate possessor. The auctioneer +congratulated him--the sale closed--and the company dispersed. + +"_Pardonnez-moi, monsieur_," said Poopoo, as the auctioneer descended +his pedestal, "you shall _excusez-moi_, if I shall go to _votre +bureau_, 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, _c'est vrai_--eh?" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"Vell den, _allons_." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"_Mon ami_, are you acquaint vid dis part of de country--eh?" + +"Yes, I was born here, and know every inch of it." + +"Ah, _c'est bien_, dat vill do," and the Frenchman got out of the gig, +tied the horse, and produced his lithographic map. + +"Den maybe you vill have de kindness to show me de sixty lot vich I +have bought, vid de valuarble vatare privalege?" + +The farmer glanced his eye over the paper. + +"Yes, sir, with pleasure; if you will be good enough to _get into my +boat, I will row you out to them_!" + +"Vat dat you say, sure?" + +"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 _at low +tide_. When this part of the East River is filled up, it will be just +there. Your lots, as you will perceive, are beyond it; _and are now +all under water_." + +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. + +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. + +"Monsieur, I have much plaisir to fin' you, _chez vous_, at home." + +"Ah, Poopoo! glad to see you. Take a seat, old boy." + +"But I shall not take de seat, sare." + +"No--why, what's the matter?" + +"Oh, _beaucoup_ de matter. I have been to see de gran lot vot you sell +me to-day." + +"Well, sir, I hope you like your purchase?" + +"No, monsieur, I no like him." + +"I'm sorry for it; but there is no ground for your complaint." + +"No, sare; dare is no _ground_ at all--de ground is all vatare!" + +"You joke!" + +"I no joke. I nevare joke; _je n'entends pas la raillerie_, Sare, +_voulez-vous_ have de kindness to give me back de money vot I pay!" + +"Certainly not." + +"Den vill you be so good as to take de East River off de top of my +lot?" + +"That's your business, sir, not mine." + +"Den I make von _mauvaise affaire_--von gran mistake!" + +"I hope not. I don't think you have thrown your money away in the +_land_." + +"No, sare; but I tro it avay in de _vatare!_" + +"That's not my fault." + +"Yes, sare, but it is your fault. You're von ver gran rascal to +swindle me out of _de l'argent_." + +"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." + +"Vare shall I go to, eh?" + +"To the devil, for aught I care, you foolish old Frenchman!" said the +auctioneer, waxing warm. + +"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, _tout de suite_, right avay." + +"You couldn't make a better use of your water privileges, old boy!" + +"Ah, _misericorde!_ Ah, _mon dieu, je suis abime_. 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 _a present!_" + +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. + +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 _row him out_ to the very place where the poor Frenchman's +lots still remain _under water_. + + + +THE ANGEL OF THE ODD + +[From _The Columbian Magazine_, October, 1844.] + +BY EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849) + +It was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an +unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic _truffe_ 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 _liqueur_. In the +morning I had been reading Glover's _Leonidas_, Wilkie's _Epigoniad_, +Lamartine's _Pilgrimage_, Barlow's _Columbiad_, Tuckerman's _Sicily_, +and Griswold's _Curiosities_, 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 + + This folio of four pages, happy work + Which not even critics criticise, + +when I felt my attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which +follows: + +"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." + +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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"You are a drunken vagabond," said I, "and I shall ring the bell and +order my footman to kick you into the street." + +"He! he! he!" said the fellow, "hu! hu! hu! dat you can't do." + +"Can't do!" said I, "what do you mean? I can't do what?" + +"Ring de pell," he replied, attempting a grin with his little +villainous mouth. + +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. + +"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 _Angel ov te Odd_." + +"And odd enough, too," I ventured to reply; "but I was always under +the impression that an angel had wings." + +"Te wing!" he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing? Mein +Gott! do you take me for a shicken?" + +"No--oh, no!" I replied, much alarmed; "you are no chicken--certainly +not." + +"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 _not_ te +wing, and I am te _Angel ov te Odd_." + +"And your business with me at present is--is----" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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 "Kirschenwaesser." + +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 _contretemps_ of mankind, and whose business it was +to bring about the _odd accidents_ 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," _beaucoup de bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens_. + +His departure afforded me relief. The _very_ 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. + +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. + +"Ah!" said I, "I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A +natural accident, such as will happen now and then!" + +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 +_Omnipresence of the Deity_, I unfortunately fell asleep in less than +twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was. + +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 Kirschenwaesser, 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 _not_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_terra firma_; 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Who pe you," he asked, "und what der teuffel you pe do dare?" + +To this piece of impudence, cruelty, and affectation, I could reply +only by ejaculating the monosyllable "Help!" + +"Elp!" echoed the ruffian, "not I. Dare iz te pottle--elp yourself, +und pe tam'd!" + +With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwaesser, 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. + +"'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?" + +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 +_was_ sober and _had_ positively come to my senses. By these means I +somewhat softened the Angel. + +"Und you pelief, ten," he inquired, "at te last? You pelief, ten, in +te possibility of te odd?" + +I again nodded my head in assent. + +"Und you ave pelief in _me_, te Angel of te Odd?" + +I nodded again. + +"Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk und te vool?" + +I nodded once more. + +"Put your right hand into your left preeches pocket, ten, in token ov +your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd." + +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-- + +"Go to der teuffel, ten!" roared the Angel of the Odd. + +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. + +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 Kirschenwaesser. Thus +revenged himself the Angel of the Odd. + + + +THE SCHOOLMASTER'S PROGRESS + +By Caroline M.S. Kirkland (1801-1864) + +[From _The Gift_ for 1845, published late in 1844. Republished in the +volume, _Western Clearings_ (1845), by Caroline M.S. Kirkland.] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _may_ have--a strong arm he _must_ 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. + +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. + +"You'd ought to begin with large-hand, Joshuay," said Master Horner to +this youth. + +"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." + +The master looked at the infant giant, and did as he wished, but we +say not with what secret resolutions. + +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, + +"It will help you, when you write letters, to spell the words good." + +"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." + +"How dared you be so saucy to the master?" asked one of the little +boys, after school. + +"Because I could lick him, easy," said the hopeful Joshua, who knew +very well why the master did not undertake him on the spot. + +Can we wonder that Master Horner determined to make his empire good as +far as it went? + +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 _angle_ +or _angel_. _Angle_ 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. + +"What is orthography?" said an inspector once, in our presence. + +The candidate writhed a good deal, studied the beams overhead and the +chickens out of the window, and then replied, + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Master Horner was at once the preeminent 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. + +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. + +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. + + That great medicine hath + With its tinct gilded-- + +many a vulgarism to the satisfaction of wiser heads than ours. + +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. + +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 _that is not in the spelling-book_. 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. + +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 _in +the spelling-book_. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _denouement_ 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. + +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 _Columbian Orator_, the _American Speaker_, 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. + +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 _Mary Stuart_; 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-- + + Mine all doth hang--my life--my destiny-- + Upon my words--upon the force of tears!-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Won't you 'light, Master?" said Mr. Kingsbury. + +"Yes--no--thank you--good evening," stammered poor Master Horner, so +stupefied that even Aunt Sally called him "a dummy." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _Mary +Stuart_ 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. + +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?" + +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. + +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 +tete-a-tete 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _do_ 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. + + + +THE WATKINSON EVENING + +[From _Godey's Lady's Book_, December, 1846.] + +By Eliza Leslie (1787-1858) + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +The young people assented, saying they had no doubt of passing a +pleasant evening. + +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." + +"How considerate you are, dear Edward"--said Caroline--"always so +thoughtful of every one's convenience. Your college friends must have +idolized you." + +"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." + +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." + +"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 _contretemps_ 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." + +"The lady is Mrs. John Watkinson"--replied Mrs. Morland--"most +probably she will invite some of her friends to meet us." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"She is an evidence," said Edward, "how superior our women of fashion +are to those of Europe." + +"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." + +"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." + +The man reported that he _had_ 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." + +"Are you certain that you made no mistake in the house," said Edward, +"and that you really _did_ give it to Mrs. Watkinson?" + +"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.'" + +"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." + +"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 _elite_ of the _lite_." + +"Even if she is," observed Mrs. Morland, "are polish of manners and +cultivation of mind confined exclusively to persons of that class?" + +"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." + +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. + +"I hear," said one lady, "that Mrs. St. Leonard is to have an unusual +number of lions." + +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. + +Edward Morland felt as if he could say, "Had I three ears I'd hear +thee." + +"Such a woman as Mrs. St. Leonard can always command the best lions +that are to be found," observed another lady. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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?" + +"At half past ten," was the brother's reply. + +"Oh! Edward, Edward!" she exclaimed, "And I dare say he will not be +punctual. He may keep us here till eleven." + +"_Courage, mes enfants_," said their mother, "_et parlez plus +doucement_." + +The girl then ushered them into the back parlor, saying, "Here's the +company." + +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. + +"Will you take the rocking-chair, ma'am?" inquired Mrs. Watkinson. + +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. + +"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." + +"What a pity," thought Caroline. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +There was another sob behind the handkerchief, and the Morlands +thought it now sounded very much like a smothered laugh. + +"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 tonight 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?" + +"If carried too far they may certainly become so," replied Mrs. +Morland. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Two of the boys glanced slyly at each other, with what Edward Morland +comprehended as an expression of pitch-penny and marbles. + +"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." + +Just then the boy Joseph rose from the table, and stalking up to Mrs. +Watkinson, said to her, "Mamma, please to whip me." + +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." + +"You could not see me," answered Joseph, "for I have not _done_ +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." + +"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?" + +"Ay," said another boy, "what's your thought like?" + +"My thought," said Joseph, "was 'Confound all astronomy, and I could +see the man hanged that made this game.'" + +"Oh! my child," exclaimed the mother, stopping her ears, "I am indeed +shocked. I am glad you repented so immediately." + +"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." + +"Excellent boy!" said his mother. "You know I always pardon my +children when they are so candid as to confess their faults." + +"So you do," said Joseph, "but a whipping will cure me better." + +"I cannot resolve to punish so conscientious a child," said Mrs. +Watkinson. + +"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." + +Joseph turned round and made a face at him. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I declare," said Mrs. Watkinson, "dear Benny is almost asleep. Shake +him up, Christopher. I want him to speak a speech. His school-mistress +takes great pains in teaching her little pupils to speak, and stands +up herself and shows them how." + +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. + +"Ma," said Jane Watkinson, "you had better tell him what speech to +speak." + +"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." + +"Speak Lucius," said his sister Jane. "Come now, Benny--say 'your +thoughts are turned on peace.'" + +The little boy looked very much as if they were _not_, and as if +meditating an outbreak. + +"No, no!" exclaimed Christopher, "let him say Hamlet. Come now, +Benny--'To be or not to be.'" + +"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!" + +"Only see his obstinacy," said the solemn Joseph. "And is he to be +given up to?" + +"Speak anything, Benny," said Mrs. Watkinson, "anything so that it is +only a speech." + +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!" + +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." + +"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." + +Hester (unlike her little brother that would not speak a speech) +stepped boldly forward, and addressed Caroline Morland with: +"_Parlez-vous Francais, mademoiselle? Comment se va madame votre mere? +Aimez-vous la musique? Aimez-vous la danse? Bon jour--bon soir--bon +repos. Comprenez-vous?_" + +To this tirade, uttered with great volubility, Miss Morland made no +other reply than, "_Oui--je comprens._" + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Has he been paid for bringing you here?" asked Mrs. Watkinson. + +"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." + +"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." + +Now, the truth was that the coachman _had_ 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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +The Morlands felt as if they could bear it no longer, and Edward +proposed sending for another carriage to the nearest livery stable. + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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-- + + Here come three knights out of Spain + A-courting of your daughter Jane." + +"_I_ 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." + +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. + +"So there _has_ been a dance, then!" sighed Caroline. "Oh, what we +have missed! It is really too provoking." + +"So it is," said Edward; "but remember that to-morrow morning we set +off for Niagara." + +"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 _you_ if anything offers afterwards that they think they would +prefer; provided only that they apprize you in time of the change in +their plan." + +"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." + + + +TITBOTTOM'S SPECTACLES + +BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS (1824-1892) + +[From _Putnam's Monthly_, December, 1854. Republished in the volume, +_Prue and I_ (1856), by George William Curtis (Harper & Brothers).] + +In my mind's eye, Horatio. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"Well!" + +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. + +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: + +"Perhaps you would have different impressions of things if you saw +them through my spectacles." + +There was no change in his expression. He still looked from the +window, and I said: + +"Titbottom, I did not know that you used glasses. I have never seen +you wearing spectacles." + +"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. + +"Is it so grievous a fate, to see?" inquired I. + +"Yes; through my spectacles," he said, turning slowly and looking at +me with wan solemnity. + +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. + +"You will come and dine with us, Titbottom?" + +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: + +"Do you know I hoped you would bring Mr. Titbottom to dine?" + +Titbottom smiled gently, and answered: + +"He might have brought his spectacles with him, and I have been a +happier man for it." + +Prue looked a little puzzled. + +"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." + +"It is because they make him too far-sighted, perhaps," interrupted +Prue quietly, as she took the silver soup-ladle from the sideboard. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +I do not think I have seen such a blush upon Prue's cheek since--well, +since a great many years ago. + +"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." + +"A very important difference," said Prue, counting her stitches. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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: + +"'Did you invite me or my coat?' + +"'You, in a proper coat,' replied the manager. + +"The governor smiled approvingly, and looked at my grandfather. + +"'My friend," said he to the manager, 'I beg your pardon, I forgot.' + +"The next day my grandfather was seen promenading in full ball dress +along the streets of the little town. + +"'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.' + +"He did not much frequent social festivals after this failure, but he +always told the story with satisfaction and a quiet smile. + +"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. + +"'Decidedly I must step down and see about that vessel,' said my +grandfather Titbottom. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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: + +"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.' + +"'But grandpapa, I am not short-sighted.' + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _vis-a-vis_. Is life only a game +of blind-man's-buff? of droll cross-purposes? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"In despair I went to a great merchant on the island, and asked him to +employ me. + +"'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?' + +"I told him that I had not the slightest idea of selling my +spectacles. + +"'My young friend means to eat them, I suppose,' said he with a +contemptuous smile. + +"I made no reply, but was turning to leave the office, when the +merchant called after me-- + +"'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.' + +"I said nothing, but put my hand upon the door to go out, when the +merchant said more respectfully,-- + +"'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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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-- + +"'If Shakespeare loved me and I did not love him, how could I marry +him?' + +"Could I be misanthropical when I saw such fidelity, and dignity, and +simplicity? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"And yet--and yet," said Titbottom, after a pause, "I am not sure that +I thank my grandfather." + +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. + +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: + +"And Preciosa?" + +Titbottom paused. He had just opened the door and the moonlight +streamed over him as he stood, turning back to us. + +"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." + +"That was a miracle," interrupted Prue. + +"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." + +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: + +"How glad I am that you don't wear spectacles." + + + +MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME + +By Edward Everett Hale (1822-1909) + +[From _The Atlantic Monthly_, September, 1859. Republished in the +volume, _The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales_ (1868), by Edward +Everett Hale (Little, Brown & Co.).] + +It is not often that I trouble the readers of _The Atlantic Monthly_. +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Cataract of the Ganges_. 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. + +Crazed by this duality of life, I first read Dr. Wigan on the _Duality +of the Brain_, 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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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: + +1. "Very well, thank you. And you?" This for an answer to casual +salutations. + +2. "I am very glad you liked it." + +3. "There has been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that +I will not occupy the time." + +4. "I agree, in general, with my friend on the other side of the +room." + +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. + +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 _sixty-seventh_ 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 _ex officio_, and +were begging leave to go away. On his entrance all was changed. +_Presto_, 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, _alias_ +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. + +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 + + Tuesday Morning. English Composition. Sunshine. Miss Jones, + +round to + + Trio on Three Pianos. Duel from opera of Midshipman Easy. Marryatt. + +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 _so_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Mystics_, 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-entree 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 _vs._ 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. + +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. "_Quoene sit historia Reformationis in Ungaria?_" +quoth Haliburton, after some thought. And his _confrere_ replied +gallantly, "_In seculo decimo tertio,_" etc., etc., etc.; and from +_decimo tertio_ [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?"] +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. + +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 _promptu_ 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." + +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." + +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 _The +Atlantic_ 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. + +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! + +I know, indeed, that public men of the highest rank have resorted to +this expedient long ago. Dumas's novel of _The Iron Mask_ 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. + +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 _public_ +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 _they_ may be--should think 'we'--whoever _we_ +may be--are going down." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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?" + +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. + +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 _The Atlantic_ 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. + +No! My double has undone me. + +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 _Traces of +Sandemanianism in the Sixth and Seventh Centuries_, which I hope to +persuade Phillips, Sampson & Co. to publish next year. We are very +happy, but the world thinks we are undone. + + + +A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS + +By Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) + +[From _The Atlantic Monthly_, January, 1861. Republished in _Soundings +from the Atlantic_ (1864), by Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose authorized +publishers are the Houghton Mifflin Company.] + +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 +_N. Dowing_ 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 _anyhow_ and he +should be pleased." N.E. Howe, Esq., was chosen in compliance with +this delicate suggestion. + +The Charter provides for the support of "One hundred aged and decayed +Gentlemen-Punsters." On inquiry if there way no provision for +_females_, my friend called my attention to this remarkable +psychological fact, namely: + +THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FEMALE PUNSTER. + +This remark struck me forcibly, and on reflection I found that _I +never knew nor heard of one_, though I have once or twice heard a +woman make a _single detached_ pun, as I have known a hen to crow. + +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. + +"So you prefer _Cane_ to _A bell_, do you?" he said--and began +chuckling and coughing at a great rate. + +My friend winked at me. + +"You're here still, Old Joe, I see," he said to the old man. + +"Yes, yes--and it's very odd, considering how often I've _bolted_, +nights." + +He then threw open the double gates for us to ride through. + +"Now," said the old man, as he pulled the gates after us, "you've had +a long journey." + +"Why, how is that, Old Joe?" said my friend. + +"Don't you see?" he answered; "there's the _East hinges_ on the one +side of the gate, and there's the _West hinges_ on t'other side--haw! +haw! haw!" + +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. + +"The town has entered a complaint against the Asylum as a gambling +establishment," he said to my friend, the Director. + +"What do you mean?" said my friend. + +"Why, they complain that there's a _lot o' rye_ on the premises," he +answered, pointing to a field of that grain--and hobbled away, his +shoulders shaking with laughter, as he went. + +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: + +SECT. I. OF VERBAL EXERCISES. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Mr. Joseph Miller_. + +10. Violent and unmanageable Punsters, who interrupt others when +engaged in conversation, with Puns or attempts at the same, shall be +deprived of their _Joseph Millers_, and, if necessary, placed in +solitary confinement. + +SECT. III. OF DEPORTMENT AT MEALS. + +4. No Inmate shall make any Pun, or attempt at the same, until the +Blessing has been asked and the company are decently seated. + +7. Certain Puns having been placed on the _Index Expurgatorius_ of the +Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them, on pain of +being debarred the perusal of _Punch_ and _Vanity Fair_, and, if +repeated, deprived of his _Joseph Miller_. + +Among these are the following: + +Allusions to _Attic salt_, when asked to pass the salt-cellar. + +Remarks on the Inmates being _mustered_, etc., etc. + +Associating baked beans with the _bene_-factors of the Institution. + +Saying that beef-eating is _befitting_, etc., etc. + +The following are also prohibited, excepting to such Inmates as may +have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make Puns of their +own: + +"----your own _hair_ or a wig"; "it will be _long enough_," etc., +etc.; "little of its age," etc., etc.; also, playing upon the +following words: _hos_pital; _mayor_; _pun_; _pitied_; _bread_; +_sauce_, etc., etc., etc. _See_ INDEX EXPURGATORIUS, _printed for use +of Inmates_. + +The subjoined Conundrum is not allowed: Why is Hasty Pudding like the +Prince? Because it comes attended by its _sweet_; nor this variation +to it, _to wit_: Because the _'lasses runs after it_. + +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 _of four Jerries_ 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 _four +Jerries_, he added, was of gigantic magnitude. The play on words was +brought out by an accidental remark of Solomons, the well-known +Banker. "_Capital punishment_!" the Jew was overheard saying, with +reference to the guilty parties. He was understood, as saying, _A +capital pun is meant_, which led to an investigation and the relief of +the greatly excited public mind. + +The Superintendent showed some of his old tendencies, as he went round +with us. + +"Do you know"--he broke out all at once--"why they don't take steppes +in Tartary for establishing Insane Hospitals?" + +We both confessed ignorance. + +"Because there are _nomad_ people to be found there," he said, with a +dignified smile. + +He proceeded to introduce us to different Inmates. The first was a +middle-aged, scholarly man, who was seated at a table with a +_Webster's Dictionary_ and a sheet of paper before him. + +"Well, what luck to-day, Mr. Mowzer?" said the Superintendent. + +"Three or four only," said Mr. Mowzer. "Will you hear 'em now--now I'm +here?" + +We all nodded. + +"Don't you see Webster _ers_ in the words cent_er_ and theat_er_? + +"If he spells leather _lether_, and feather _fether_, isn't there +danger that he'll give us a _bad spell of weather_? + +"Besides, Webster is a resurrectionist; he does not allow _u_ to rest +quietly in the _mould_. + +"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 _Connect-a-cut_ trick. + +"Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven? Because it is +_under bread_." + +"Mowzer!" said the Superintendent, "that word is on the Index!" + +"I forgot," said Mr. Mowzer; "please don't deprive me of _Vanity Fair_ +this one time, sir." + +"These are all, this morning. Good day, gentlemen." Then to the +Superintendent: "Add you, sir!" + +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: + + TIMES. SMITE! + POST. STOP! + + TRIBUNE. TRUE NIB. + WORLD. DR. OWL. + + ADVERTISER. { RES VERI DAT. + { IS TRUE. READ! + + ALLOPATHY. ALL O' TH' PAY. + HOMOEOPATHY. O, THE ----! O! O, MY! PAH! + +The mention of several New York papers led to two or three questions. +Thus: Whether the Editor of _The Tribune_ was _H.G. really_? If the +complexion of his politics were not accounted for by his being _an +eager_ person himself? Whether Wendell _Fillips_ were not a reduced +copy of John _Knocks_? Whether a New York _Feuilletoniste_ is not the +same thing as a _Fellow down East_? + +At this time a plausible-looking, bald-headed man joined us, evidently +waiting to take a part in the conversation. + +"Good morning, Mr. Riggles," said the Superintendent, "Anything fresh +this morning? Any Conundrum?" + +"I haven't looked at the cattle," he answered, dryly. + +"Cattle? Why cattle?" + +"Why, to see if there's any _corn under 'em_!" he said; and +immediately asked, "Why is Douglas like the earth?" + +We tried, but couldn't guess. + +"Because he was _flattened out at the polls_!" said Mr. Riggles. + +"A famous politician, formerly," said the Superintendent. "His +grandfather was a _seize-Hessian-ist_ in the Revolutionary War. By the +way, I hear the _freeze-oil_ doctrines don't go down at New Bedford." + +The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor formerly. + +"Ask him what his calling was," said the Superintendent. + +"Followed the sea," he replied to the question put by one of us. "Went +as mate in a fishing-schooner." + +"Why did you give it up?" + +"Because I didn't like working for _two mast-ers_," he replied. + +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. + +"Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?" he said. + +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. + +"Rem _a cue_ tetigit." + +"Go to the head of the class, Josselyn," said the venerable patriarch. + +The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way, +pushing against two or three of the Class. + +"How is this?" said the Patriarch. + +"You told me to go up _jostlin'_," he replied. + +The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the pun too much +to be angry. + +Presently the Patriarch asked again: + +"Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the +Prince?" + +The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself: + +"Because every one of his carroms was a _tick-it_ to the ball." + +"Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in +Italy?" asked the Patriarch. + +Here again the Class failed. + +"The war-cloud's rolling _Dun_," he answered. + +"And what is mulled wine made with?" + +Three or four voices exclaimed at once: + +"_Sizzle-y_ Madeira!" + +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. + +"There is one thing I have forgotten to show you," said the +Superintendent, "the cell for the confinement of violent and +unmanageable Punsters." + +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. + +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. + +"We have not seen the cell for the confinement of 'violent and +unmanageable' Punsters," we both exclaimed. + +"This is the _sell_!" he exclaimed, pointing to the outside prospect. + +My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-naturedly that +I had to laugh. + +"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." + +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. + +"Look!" said the Director--"that is our Centenarian." + +The ancient man crawled toward us, cocked one eye, with which he +seemed to see a little, up at us, and said: + +"Sarvant, young Gentlemen. Why is a--a--a--like a--a--a--? Give it up? +Because it's a--a--a--a--." + +He smiled a pleasant smile, as if it were all plain enough. + +"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." + +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. + + + +THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY + +By Mark Twain (1835-1910) + +[From _The Saturday Press_, Nov. 18, 1865. Republished in _The +Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches_ +(1867), by Mark Twain, all of whose works are published by Harper & +Brothers.] + +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 +_Leonidas W_. 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 _Jim Smiley_, 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. + +I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom 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 _Leonidas W_. Smiley--_Rev. Leonidas W._ 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. + +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 _finesse_. +I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once. + +"Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le--well, there was a feller here once +by the name of _Jim_ 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 _him_--any way just so's he got a bet, _he_ 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 _was_ 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 _him_--he'd bet on _any_ 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.'" + +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. + +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 _he_ 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 _his_ 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. + +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 _did_ +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 _they_ see. + +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: + +"What might be that you've got in the box?" + +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." + +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 _he_ good +for?" + +"Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for _one_ +thing, I should judge--he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county." + +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." + +"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 _my_ opinion and +I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras +County." + +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." + +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. + +So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to his-self, 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: + +"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--_git_!" 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. + +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, "_I_ don't +see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog." + +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---- + +(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." + +But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history +of the enterprising vagabond _Jim_ Smiley would be likely to afford me +much information concerning the Rev. _Leonidas W._ Smiley, and so I +started away. + +At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed +me and recommenced: + +"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----" + +However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear +about the afflicted cow, but took my leave. + + + +ELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE + +By Harry Stillwell Edwards (1855- ) + +[From _Harper's Magazine_, August, 1885; copyright, 1885, by Harper & +Bros.; republished in the volume, _Two Runaways, and Other Stories_ +(1889), by Harry Stillwell Edwards (The Century Co.).] + +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. + +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. + +"And, elder, don't you forgit them caliker scraps, or you'll be +wantin' kiver soon an' no kiver will be a-comin'." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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: + + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_, + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_, + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_ for _all_, + I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +II + + +"Good-mornin', sir." + +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. + +"Good-mornin', sir," said Elder Brown again, in his most dignified +tones. "Is Mr. Thomas in?" + +"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. + +"Well, sir, what can I do for you?" + +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. + +"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. + +"This is Mr. Brown, I believe. I did not recognize you at once. You +are not in often to see us." + +"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. + +"How much money will you want, Mr. Brown?" + +"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. + +"I can get you five hundred." + +"But I oughter have seven." + +"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?" + +"Well, I count on a hundr'd bales. An' you can't git the sev'n hundr'd +dollars?" + +"Like to oblige you, but can't right now; will fix it for you later +on." + +"Well," said the elder, slowly, "fix up the papers for five, an' I'll +make it go as far as possible." + +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. + +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: + +"Hannah-Maria-Jemimy! goldarn an' blue blazes!" + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"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 _know_ I've _got_ +'em." As each purchase was promptly paid for, and change had to be +secured, the clerk earned his salary for that day at least. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Elder Brown paused at the door as he was about to leave. A +rosy-cheeked school-girl 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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +What woman's heart ever failed to soften at sight of a new bonnet? + +As I have stated, the elder was a man of action. He entered a store +near at hand. + +"Good-morning," said an affable gentleman with a Hebrew countenance, +approaching. + +"Good-mornin', good-mornin'," said the elder, piling his bundles on +the counter. "I hope you are well?" Elder Brown extended his hand +fervidly. + +"Quite well, I thank you. What--" + +"And the little wife?" said Elder Brown, affectionately retaining the +Jew's hand. + +"Quite well, sir." + +"And the little ones--quite well, I hope, too?" + +"Yes, sir; all well, thank you. Something I can do for you?" + +The affable merchant was trying to recall his customer's name. + +"Not now, not now, thankee. If you please to let my bundles stay +untell I come back--" + +"Can't I show you something? Hat, coat--" + +"Not now. Be back bimeby." + +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: + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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-a-vis, who had been making desperate efforts to resume her demure +appearance. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Mebbe you're right, my dear; mebbe I oughtn't." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"Well, now, that's suthin' like. Will it soot a sorter redheaded +'ooman?" + +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: + +"Perfectly, sir. It is an exquisite match." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, -er-unc, -unc, -unc." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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: + +"Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, drer-unc, -erunc, -unc, -unc." + +Once more the elder turned with lifted hand and shouted back: + +"You're a liar, Balaam, goldarn you! You're er iffamous liar." Then he +passed from view. + + +III + +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. + +"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?" + +The elder made an effort to wave her off. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Where is it, I say? where is it?" + +By this time she was turning his pockets wrong side out. From one she +got pills, from another change, from another packages. + +"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?" + +Thought of the beast choked off the threatened hysterics. + +"Balaam? Balaam?" said the elder, groggily. "He's in town. The +infernal ole fool 'sulted me, an' I lef' him to walk home." + +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. + +"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!" + +A black boy darted round the corner, from behind which, with several +others, he had beheld the brief but stirring scene. + +"Put a saddle on er mule. The elder's gwine back to town. And don't +you be long about it neither." + +"Yessum." Aleck's ivories gleamed in the darkness as he disappeared. + +Elder Brown was soberer at that moment than he had been for hours. + +"Hannah, you don't mean it?" + +"Yes, sir, I do. Back you go to town as sure as my name is Hannah +Brown." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"She means it, as sure as my name is Elder Brown," he said, thickly. +Then he rode on. + +IV + +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. + +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. + +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 claw-hammer 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V + +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. + +And so on this occasion when she closed the book the fierce anger was +gone. + +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? + +The pink bonnet with the blue plume! + +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 bare-headed passed out into the night. + +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. + +"William," said she, very gently, "where is the mule?" + +The elder had been asleep. He woke and gazed upon her blankly. + +"What mule, Hannah?" + +"The mule you rode to town." + +For one full minute the elder studied her face. Then it burst from his +lips: + +"Well, bless me! if I didn't bring Balaam and forgit the mule!" + +The woman laughed till her eyes ran water. + +"William," said she, "you're drunk." + +"Hannah," said he, meekly, "I know it. The truth is, Hannah, I--" + +"Never mind, now, William," she said, gently. "You are tired and +hungry. Come into the house, husband." + +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. + + + +THE HOTEL EXPERIENCE OF MR. PINK FLUKER + +BY RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON (1822-1898) + +[From _The Century Magazine_, June, 1886; copyright, 1886, by The +Century Co.; republished in the volume, _Mr. Absalom Billingslea, and +Other Georgia Folk_ (1888), by Richard Malcolm Johnston (Harper & +Brothers).] + +I + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Now Mr. Fluker had many and many a time acknowledged that he had +ambition; so one night he said to his wife: + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +The new house--I say _new_ 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. + +In words and other encouragement Mr. Pike was pronounced. He could +commend honestly, and he did so cordially. + +"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' _an_' 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 _has_ 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?" + +"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." + +"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, _she_ deal 'ith +_men_, 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?" + +Mr. Fluker turned his head, and after making or thinking he had made a +calculation, answered: + +"That's--that seem fa'r, Matt." + +"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' _us_, 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." + +"Nervy," said Mr. Fluker to his wife afterwards, "Matt Pike's a +sensibler an' a friendlier an' a 'commodatiner feller'n I thought." + +Then, without giving details of the contract, he mentioned merely the +willingness of their boarder to resign his bed on occasions of +pressing emergency. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + + + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"You know where Mr. Pike's gone, Mr. Marchman?" + +Now the fact was, and she knew it, that Marann Fluker had never +before, not since she was born, addressed that boy as _Mister_. + +The visitor's face reddened and reddened. + +"No," he faltered in answer; "no--no--_ma'am_, I should say. I--I +don't know where Mr. Pike's gone." + +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. + +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. + +"Say he didn't even shake hands, Marann? What for? What you do to +him?" + +"Not one blessed thing, ma; only he wanted to know why I wasn't +gladder to see him." Then Marann looked indignant. + +"Say them words, Marann?" + +"No, but he hinted 'em." + +"What did you say then?" + +"I just asked, a-meaning nothing in the wide world, ma--I asked him if +he knew where Mr. Pike had gone." + +"And that were answer enough to hurt his feelin's. What you want to +know where Matt Pike's gone for, Marann?" + +"I didn't care about knowing, ma, but I didn't like the way Sim +talked." + +"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." + +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! + +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. + +"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?" + +"Jest mod'rate, Mr. Pike. Got little business with you after dinner, +ef you can spare time." + +"All right. Got a little matter with Pink here first. 'Twon't take +long. See you arfter amejiant, Sim." + +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. + +When all the other boarders had left the house, the deputy and Mr. +Fluker having repaired to the bar-room, the former said: + +"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?" + +"That's it, to a dollar, Matt. Three times eleben make thirty-three, +don't it?" + +"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 _very_ fa'r house. I let them infloonces go to +friendship, ef you'll take it so. Will you, Pink Fluker?" + +"Cert'nly, Matt, an' I'm a thousand times obleeged to you, an'--" + +"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?" + +"It have, Matt, er somethin' else, more'n I were a expectin', an'--" + +"Jes' so. But a public officer, Pink, when jooty call on him to go, he +got to go; in fack he got to _goth_, as the Scripture say, ain't that +so?" + +"I s'pose so, Matt, by good rights, a--a official speakin'." + +Mr. Fluker felt that he was becoming a little confused. + +"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?" + +"I--I--somethin' o' that sort, Matt," he answered vaguely. + +"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 _half_, 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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 _any_thing for me in this wide world, don't let ma go into that +room!" + +"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'." + +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. + +"Let me help you settle your board-bill, Mr. Pike, by payin' you a +little one I owe you." + +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: + +"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 _I_ 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." + +"Here's his dollar, Sim," said Mr. Fluker, throwing it out of the +window. "Nervy say make him take it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +THE NICE PEOPLE + +By Henry Cuyler Bunner (1855-1896) + +[From _Puck_, July 30, 1890. Republished in the volume, _Short Sixes: +Stories to Be Read While the Candle Burns_ (1891), by Henry Cuyler +Bunner; copyright, 1890, by Alice Larned Bunner; reprinted by +permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner'a Sons.] + +"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----" + +"_Two_ children," corrected my wife. + +"Three, he told me." + +"My dear, she said there were _two_." + +"He said three." + +"You've simply forgotten. I'm _sure_ she told me they had only two--a +boy and a girl." + +"Well, I didn't enter into particulars." + +"No, dear, and you couldn't have understood him. Two children." + +"All right," I said; but I did not think it was all right. As a +near-sighted 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. + +"Two children," repeated my wife; "and they are staying with his aunt +Jenny." + +"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. + +"But don't you think they're nice people?" asked my wife. + +"Oh, certainly," I replied. "Only they seem to be a little mixed up +about their children." + +"That isn't a nice thing to say," returned my wife. I could not deny +it. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"By Jove!" he cried, "heavenly!" + +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. + +"And so that is _your_ view?" asked Mrs. Brede, after a moment; "you +are very generous to make it ours, too." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Now, when I went up the Matterhorn" Mr. Brede began. + +"Why, dear," interrupted his wife, "I didn't know you ever went up the +Matterhorn." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"_Should you think_," she asked me, "that a man would climb the +Matterhorn the very first year he was married?" + +"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." + +"You know what I mean," she said. + +I did. + + * * * * * + +When we reached the boarding-house, Mr. Jacobus took me aside. + +"You know," he began his discourse, "my wife she uset to live in N' +York!" + +I didn't know, but I said "Yes." + +"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?" + +"That is the invariable rule, I believe." + +"Then--I say--these here new folk that you 'n' your wife seem so +mighty taken up with--d'ye know anything about 'em?" + +"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----" + +"Jess so--jess so!" broke in Jacobus. "I hain't nothin' to say ag'inst +yer sosherbil'ty. But do ye _know_ them?" + +"Why, certainly not," I replied. + +"Well--that was all I wuz askin' ye. Ye see, when _he_ 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 _she_ 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?" + +"What street was it?" I inquired, wearily. + +"Hundred 'n' twenty-first street." + +"May be," I replied, still more wearily. "That's Harlem. Nobody knows +what people will do in Harlem." + +I went up to my wife's room. + +"Don't you think it's queer?" she asked me. + +"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." + +"But, my dear," my wife said, gravely, "_she_ doesn't know whether +they've had the measles or not." + +"Why, Great Scott!" I exclaimed, "they must have had them when they +were children." + +"Please don't be stupid," said my wife. "I meant _their_ children." + +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. + +"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 _you_, 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-_to_ the man." + +"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. + + * * * * * + +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: + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Perhaps I was mistaken when I thought he said she was on this side of +the water," I suggested, with bitter, biting irony. + +"You poor dear, did I abuse you?" said my wife. "But, do you know, +Mrs. Tabb said that _she_ didn't know how many lumps of sugar he took +in his coffee. Now that seems queer, doesn't it?" + +It did. It was a small thing. But it looked queer, Very queer. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't want," we heard Mr. Jacobus say, "to enter in no man's +_pry_-vacy; but I do want to know who it may be, like, that I hev in +my house. Now what I ask of _you_, and I don't want you to take it as +in no ways _personal_, is--hev you your merridge-license with you?" + +"No," we heard the voice of Mr. Brede reply. "Have you yours?" + +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. + +Where is _your_ 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 _yours?_ 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? + +Mr. Brede's voice arose, after an awful stillness of what seemed like +five minutes, and was, probably, thirty seconds: + +"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?" + +"I hain't said I wanted to hev ye leave----" began Mr. Jacobus; but +Brede cut him short. + +"Bring me your bill." + +"But," remonstrated Jacobus, "ef ye ain't----" + +"Bring me your bill!" said Mr. Brede. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +My wife took a step toward her. + +"Look at that dress, dear," she whispered; "she never thought anything +like this was going to happen when she put _that_ on." + +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. + +"She's had a new dress on twice a day," said my wife, "but that's the +prettiest yet. Oh, somehow--I'm _awfully_ sorry they're going!" + +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. + +Mrs. Brede was in my wife's arms, sobbing as if her young heart would +break. + +"Oh, you poor, dear, silly children!" my wife cried, as Mrs. Brede +sobbed on her shoulder, "why _didn't_ you tell us?" + +"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 _dream_ what awful lies we'd +have to tell, and all the aw-awful mixed-up-ness of it. Oh, dear, +dear, dear!" + + * * * * * + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + + + +THE BULLER-PODINGTON COMPACT + +BY FRANK RICHARD STOCKTON (1834-1902) + +[From _Scribner's Magazine_, August, 1897. Republished in _Afield and +Afloat_, by Frank Richard Stockton; copyright, 1900, by Charles +Scribner's Sons. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.] + +"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 _my_ invitation--that is very different." + +"Of course it is different," was the reply, "but I am obliged to say, +as I said before, that I really cannot accept it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"Yes," said he; "I will do it; I am ready any time you name." + +Mr. Buller rose and stretched out his hand. + +"Good!" said he; "it is a compact!" + +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. + +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. + +"William," said Buller, looking cheerfully around him, + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"William," said he, "how long have you had this horse?" + +"About two years," said Mr. Podington; "before I got him, I used to +drive a pair." + +"Heavens!" thought Buller, "how lucky I was not to come two years +ago!" And his regrets for not sooner visiting his friend greatly +decreased. + +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. + +"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." + +Mr. Podington was delighted; his face glowed; he was rejoiced at the +pleasure of his friend. "I tell you, Thomas," said he, "that----" + +"William!" exclaimed Buller, with a sudden squirm in his seat, "what +is that I hear? Is that a train?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Podington, "that is the ten-forty, up." + +"Does it come near here?" asked Mr. Buller, nervously. "Does it go +over that bridge?" + +"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." + +"But your horse! Your horse!" exclaimed Buller, as the train came +nearer and nearer. "What will he do?" + +"Do?" said Podington; "he'll do what he is doing now; he doesn't mind +trains." + +"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!" + +Podington laughed. "He would not mind it in the least," said he. + +"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." + +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." + +"But you can't!" screamed Buller. "This road is not wide enough, and +that train is nearly here. Please stop!" + +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. + +"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. + +"Oh, Thomas!" cried Buller, half rising in his seat, "that train is +almost here!" + +"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. + +"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. + +"Whoa!" cried Mr. Buller. + +"Get up!" exclaimed Mr. Podington, applying his whip upon the plunging +beast. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Podington obeyed, and the horse slightly changed his direction. + +"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." + +Mr. Podington said not a word; he expected every moment to see the +horse sink into a watery grave. + +"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." + +The despairing Podington looked at his feet. "It's coming in," he said +in a husky voice. "Thomas, the water is over my shoes!" + +"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?" + +"Bail!" cried Podington, now finding his voice. "Oh, Thomas, we are +sinking!" + +"That's so," said Buller; "she leaks like a sieve." + +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. + +"We are going to drown!" cried Podington, suddenly rising. + +"Lick him! Lick him!" exclaimed Buller. "Make him swim faster!" + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Heavens!" exclaimed Buller, "we are aground." + +"Aground!" exclaimed Podington, "Heaven be praised!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Sit down," said Podington, gazing blankly at the water around him, "I +can't do that!" + +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. + +At the first step of the horse Mr. Podington began to totter. +Instinctively he clutched Buller. + +"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. + +"Ough!" said he. "Thomas, shout for help." + +"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." + +"The what?" feebly asked the other. + +"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." + +"I can't head him," cried Podington. "I have dropped the reins!" + +"Good gracious!" cried Mr. Buller, "that's bad. Can't you steer him by +shouting 'Gee' and 'Haw'?" + +"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. + +"If you can't steer him any other way," said Buller, "we must get the +reins. Lend me your whip." + +"I have dropped that too," said Podington; "there it floats." + +"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." + +"Don't get out! Don't get out!" exclaimed Podington. "You can reach +over the dashboard." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I got hold of one of them," said the sputtering Buller, "but it was +fast to something and I couldn't get it loose." + +"Was it thick and wide?" asked Podington. + +"Yes," was the answer; "it did seem so." + +"Oh, that was a trace," said Podington; "I don't want that; the reins +are thinner and lighter." + +"Now I remember they are," said Buller. "I'll go down again." + +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. + +"Is this it?" said he, holding up a strip of wet leather. + +"Yes," said Podington, "you've got the reins." + +"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." + +"Now then," said Podington, "take your hat, Thomas, and I'll try to +drive." + +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. + +"I don't wonder you did not like to do this, William," said he. "Wet +as I am, it's ghastly!" + +Encouraged by his master's voice, and by the feeling of the familiar +hand upon his bit, the horse moved bravely on. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, I am chilled to the bones!" said Podington. + +"I should think so," replied his friend; "if you have got to be wet, +it is a great deal pleasanter under the water." + +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. + +"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!" + +Podington was now full of life and energy, his wheels were on the hard +road, and he was himself again. + +When he found his head was turned toward his home, the horse set off +at a great rate. + +"Hi there!" cried Podington. "I am so sorry I lost my whip." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Do you consider that a safe boat?" he asked the fisherman. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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 today 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." + +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. + +"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." + +Mr. Podington, under the direction of his friend, took a seat in the +stern of the sailboat, and then he remarked: + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Yes," said Mr. Podington. "How long did you say this canal is?" + +"About three miles," answered his friend. "Then we will go into the +lock and in a few minutes we shall be on the lake." + +"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--" + +"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 today, 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!" + +Mr. Podington smiled, and leaning backward, he looked up at the +beautiful blue sky. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"What do you mean?" cried Podington, as the boom gave a great jerk as +if it would break its fastenings and drag him overboard. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Cut it! Cut it!" cried Mr. Buller. + +"I haven't a knife," replied Podington. + +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. + +"William," he cried, "let us jump out the next time we are near enough +to shore!" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Suddenly a thought struck him. + +"William," he shouted, "tip that anchor over the side! Throw it in, +any way!" + +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. + +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. + +"Hurrah!" he cried, waving his hat above his head. "Get out, Buller; +he is all right now!" + +Presently Mr. Buller approached, very much shaken up. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I have," replied the other; "I wrestled with that tiller and I wonder +it didn't throw me out." + +Now approached the boy. "Shall I hitch him on again, sir?" said he. +"He's quiet enough now." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +The two friends looked at each other and could not help joining in the +laughter of the boys. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +"No, it doesn't," replied Mr. Buller, quietly. "I have gone to the +bottom in a foundered road-wagon." + +The man looked at him fixedly. + +"Was you ever struck in the mud in a balloon?" he asked. + +"Not yet," replied Mr. Buller. + +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. + +"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----" + +"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----" + +"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!" + +"And here's mine!" said Mr. Buller. + +And they shook hands over a new compact. + + + +COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF + +By Bret Harte (1839-1902) + +[From _Harper's Magazine_, March, 1901. Republished in the volume, +_Openings in the Old Trail_ (1902), by Bret Harte; copyright, 1902, by +Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret Harte's +complete works; reprinted by their permission.] + +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 _versus_ 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 court-room amidst the hand-shakings and +acclamations of his friends. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _I_ want. A man that's flowery and convincin'! Just +the man to take up our case." + +"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?" + +"Well! it's a breach-o'-promise suit," said the visitor, calmly. + +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!--_damages!_--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. + +The woman had evidently noticed his hesitation, but mistook its cause. +"It ain't me--but my darter." + +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!" + +The woman smiled grimly. "Yes!--it's my darter, Zaidee Hooker--so ye +might spare some of them pretty speeches for _her_--before the jury." + +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." + +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: + +"And what good is that goin' to do _us_?" + +"Compel him to--er--perform his promise," said the Colonel, leaning +back in his chair. + +"Ketch him doin' it!" said the woman, scornfully. "No--that ain't wot +we're after. We must make him _pay_! Damages--and nothin' short o' +_that_." + +The Colonel bit his lip. "I suppose," he said, gloomily, "you have +documentary evidence--written promises and protestations--er--er-- +love-letters, in fact?" + +"No--nary a letter! Ye see, that's jest it--and that's where _you_ +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'." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon," said the woman; "what +I want to know first is, kin you take the case?" + +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." + +"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. + +"And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?" he asked, politely. + +"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." + +She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel nevertheless gallantly +accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and called, +shrilly, "You Zaidee!" + +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. + +"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----" + +"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. + +"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." + +"Is it this gentleman--Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss--who--er--promised +marriage?" stammered the Colonel. + +"Yes." + +The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. "Most extraordinary! +for--you see--my dear young lady--this becomes--a--er--most delicate +affair." + +"That's what maw said," returned the young woman, simply, yet with the +faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek. + +"I mean," said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, "that +this--er--gentleman--is in fact--er--one of my clients." + +"That's what maw said, too, and of course your knowing him will make +it all the easier for you," said the young woman. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"And _damages_," said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if +she had never looked up. + +The Colonel winced. "And--er--undoubtedly _compensation_--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?" + +"Which?" said his fair client, softly. + +"If you still love him?" explained the Colonel, actually blushing. + +Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel's breath away with +eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had +_said_, 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?" + +"Hymn-books," said the girl, briefly. + +"I beg your pardon," said the mystified lawyer. + +"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 +_Solomon's Song_, you know, and sich." + +"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 +_other_ expression?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +The Colonel coughed slightly. "And you have the lozenge?" + +"I ate it," said the girl, simply. + +"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?" + +"Useter pass our house on the road," returned the girl, dropping into +her monotonous recital, "and useter signal." + +"Ah, signal?" repeated the Colonel, approvingly. + +"Yes! He'd say 'Kerrow,' and I'd say 'Kerree.' Suthing like a bird, +you know." + +Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call the Colonel +thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least as _she_ gave +it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the +melodiousness of _his_ utterance. He gravely made her repeat it. + +"And after that signal?" he added, suggestively. + +"He'd pass on," said the girl. + +The Colonel coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his pen-holder. + +"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?" + +"No;--he was not what you'd call 'fond,'" returned the girl. + +"Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not 'fond' in the ordinary acceptance +of the word," said the Colonel, with professional gravity. + +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. + +"I reckon that's about all," she said. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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 _manes_ of that lamented and somewhat +feared man. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I do not use tobacco nor alcohol in any form," repeated Hotchkiss, +ascetically. "I have no foolish weaknesses." + +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." + +"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 _not_ of a public +or business nature--although _later_ it might become--er--er--both. +It is an affair of some--er--delicacy." + +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." + +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." + +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 _your_ +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." + +"Then what does this impertinent nonsense mean? Why am I summoned +here?" said Hotchkiss, furiously. + +"Because," said the Colonel, deliberately, "that statement is +infamously--yes, damnably to your discredit, sir!" + +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: + +"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--_elsewhere_ for an +indiscretion committed in behalf of a lady--my--er--client." + +"Your client? Do you mean you have taken her case? You, the counsel +for the Ditch Company?" said Mr. Hotchkiss, in trembling indignation. + +"Having won _your_ case, sir," said the Colonel, coolly, +"the--er--usages of advocacy do not prevent me from espousing the +cause of the weak and unprotected." + +"We shall see, sir," said Hotchkiss, grasping the handle of the door +and backing into the passage. "There are other lawyers who--" + +"Permit me to see you out," interrupted the Colonel, rising politely. + +"--will be ready to resist the attacks of blackmail," continued +Hotchkiss, retreating along the passage. + +"And then you will be able to repeat your remarks to me _in the +street_," continued the Colonel, bowing, as he persisted in following +his visitor to the door. + +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: + + Hooker _versus_ Hotchkiss. + + DEAR MADAM,--Having had a visit from the defendant in + above, we should be pleased to have an interview with you at + 2 p.m. to-morrow. Your obedient servants, + STARBOTTLE AND STRYKER. + +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. + +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 non-suited 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. + +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 _femme incomprise_ as a client. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I--er--will," said the Colonel, almost as breathlessly. + +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. + +"I--er--certainly shall do my best," stammered the Colonel, in an +attempt to recover his dignity and composure. + +"That's enough! You'll _do_ it," said the girl, enthusiastically. +"Lordy! Just you talk for _me_ as ye did for _his_ 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--" + +"Oligarchy," murmured the Colonel, courteously. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"No; he never said anything," returned the girl. + +"Not in his usual way?--er--no reproaches out of the hymn-book?--or +the sacred writings?" + +"No; he just _quit_." + +"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!" + +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." + +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. + +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 _religious_." + +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 _his_ 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. + +"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." + +The Judge cast an inquiring look at Colonel Starbottle. + +"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 +_Holy Scriptures_, 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." + +"The act is certainly unprecedented," said the Judge, dryly, "but +unless the counsel for the plaintiff expects the jury to _sing_ 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." + +But the Colonel remained motionless and statuesque, with folded arms. + +"I have overruled the objection," repeated the Judge; "you may go on." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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 _not_, 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. + +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 _one_. +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. + +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, + + Always make it a point to have it a rule + Never to be late at the Sabbath-school." + +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: + +"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 today 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. + +"I shall prove to you, gentlemen of the jury," said the Colonel, +solemnly, drawing a _Bible_ 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 _Song of +Solomon_, 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--_flagons_, 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 _quantity_. 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--_for himself_!" + +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. + +"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 _here_ is irregular and premature--and must be reserved +for the jury-room--after they have retired." + +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. + +"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. + +"Yes," said the Judge, good-humoredly. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Of wot?" interrupted the foreman, in deep scorn. + +"Of the Church!" + +"We ain't askin' any questions o' _you_--and we ain't takin' any +answers," said the foreman, sitting down promptly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 +_you_ 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.'" + +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, _outside_ 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. + +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 _convictions_ 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." + +"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--_personally_ 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 +_then_ you suspected there was a Hiram _somewhere_--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 _him_ and _his_ searchin' ways, and +_his_ 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 _him_. 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 _I_ got to do _all_ the +kissin'!" + +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." + +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." + +"Hand me down the whiskey, Jim," said the Colonel, rising slowly. + +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. + +"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!" + + + +THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES + +By O. Henry (1862-1910) + +[From _The Junior Munsey_, February, 1902. Republished in the volume, +_Sixes and Sevens_ (1911), by O. Henry; copyright, 1911, by Doubleday, +Page & Co.; reprinted by their permission.] + +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. + +In this pleasant private boarding house they engaged rooms, including +a study for Major Talbot, who was adding the finishing chapters to his +book, _Anecdotes and Reminiscences of the Alabama Army, Bench, and +Bar_. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_Anecdotes and Reminiscences_. 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. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 regime. And when it came to talking of those old days--if +Major Talbot liked to talk, Mr. Hargraves was entranced to listen. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +After about four months in Washington, Miss Lydia discovered one +morning that they were almost without money. The _Anecdotes and +Reminiscences_ 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. + +"No money?" said he with a surprised look. "It is quite annoying to be +called on so frequently for these petty sums, Really, I--" + +The Major searched his pockets. He found only a two-dollar bill, which +he returned to his vest pocket. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The Major drew a small envelope from his upper vest pocket and tossed +it on the table. + +"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." + +Miss Lydia threw up her hands in silent despair. + +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 _A Magnolia Flower_, revealing a typical +Southern plantation scene. Major Talbot betrayed some interest. + +"Oh, see!" exclaimed Miss Lydia, nudging his arm, and pointing to her +program. + +The Major put on his glasses and read the line in the cast of +characters that her fingers indicated. + +Col. Webster Calhoun .... Mr. Hopkins Hargraves. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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 _A Magnolia Flower_, at the same time that he +deftly makes juleps for the party. + +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 _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"We will go, Lydia," he said chokingly. "This is an +abominable--desecration." + +Before he could rise, she pulled him back into his seat. + +"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. + +Hargraves's success must have kept him up late that night, for neither +at the breakfast nor at the dinner table did he appear. + +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. + +"I put it all over 'em last night, Major," he began exultantly. "I had +my inning, and, I think, scored. Here's what _The Post_ says: + +"'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.' + +"How does that sound, Major, for a first-nighter?" + +"I had the honor"--the Major's voice sounded ominously frigid--"of +witnessing your very remarkable performance, sir, last night." + +Hargraves looked disconcerted. + +"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." + +"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." + +The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to +take in the full meaning of the old gentleman's words. + +"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." + +"They are not from Alabama, sir," said the Major haughtily. + +"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: + +"'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.' + +"Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of Colonel +Calhoun last night?" + +"The description," said the Major, frowning, "is--not without grounds. +Some exag--latitude must be allowed in public speaking." + +"And in public acting," replied Hargraves. + +"That is not the point," persisted the Major, unrelenting. "It was a +personal caricature. I positively decline to overlook it, sir." + +"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----" + +"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." + +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 _A Magnolia +Flower_ was booked for a week's run. + +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. + +Deliverance came from an entirely unexpected source. + +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. + +"I be bound you don't know me, Mars' Pendleton," were his first words. + +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. + +"I don't believe I do," he said kindly--"unless you will assist my +memory." + +"Don't you 'member Cindy's Mose, Mars' Pendleton, what 'migrated +'mediately after de war?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +Uncle Mose took a chair and laid his hat carefully on the floor beside +it. + +"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. + +"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'." + +"I'm glad to hear it," said the Major heartily. "Glad to hear it." + +"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." + +The Major stepped to the door and called: "Lydie, dear, will you +come?" + +Miss Lydia, looking quite grown up and a little worried, came in from +her room. + +"Dar, now! What'd I tell you? I knowed dat baby done be plum growed +up. You don't 'member Uncle Mose, child?" + +"This is Aunt Cindy's Mose, Lydia," explained the Major. "He left +Sunnymead for the West when you were two years old." + +"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." + +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. + +The Major inquired what the old man was doing so far from his home. + +"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." + +"And how did you know we were in Washington?" inquired Miss Lydia. + +"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'. + +"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. + +"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." + +Tears were in Major Talbot's eyes. He took Uncle Mose's hand and laid +his other upon his shoulder. + +"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 regime. Lydia, my dear, take the money. You are +better fitted than I to manage its expenditure." + +"Take it, honey," said Uncle Mose. "Hit belongs to you. Hit's Talbot +money." + +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. + +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 +_Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ 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. + +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: + +DEAR MISS TALBOT: + +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 _A Magnolia Flower_. + +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. + +Sincerely yours, +H. HOPKINS HARGRAVES. + +P.S. How did I play Uncle Mose? + +Major Talbot, passing through the hall, saw Miss Lydia's door open and +stopped. + +"Any mail for us this morning, Lydia, dear?" he asked. + +Miss Lydia slid the letter beneath a fold of her dress. + +"_The Mobile Chronicle_ came," she said promptly. "It's on the table +in your study." + + + +BARGAIN DAY AT TUTT HOUSE + +By George Randolph Chester (1869- ) + +[From McClure's Magazine, June, 1905; copyright, 1905, by the S.S. +McClure Co.; republished by the author's permission.] + +I + +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-a-vis +as a rather proper sort of fellow, probably a man of some achievement, +used to good living and good company. + +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. + +The son of the blonde matron smiled cheerfully as the welcome light +flooded the coach. + +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. + +It is marvelous how much one can see out of the corner of the eye, +while seeming to view mere scenery. + +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. + +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. + + + +II + + +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. + +"What a delightfully old-fashioned inn!" exclaimed the pretty +daughter. "How I should like to stop there over night!" + +"You would probably wish yourself away before morning, Evelyn," +replied her mother indifferently. "No doubt it would be a mere siege +of discomfort." + +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. + +"Edward, please pull down the shade behind me," she directed. "There +is quite a draught from that broken window." + +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. + +They were bowling along through another avenue of trees when the +driver suddenly shouted, "Whoa there!" + +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. + +"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. + +"Caught, by gravy!" ejaculated the driver, and, for the second time, +he brought the coach to an abrupt stop. + +"Do see what is the matter, Ralph," said the blonde matron +impatiently. + +Thus commanded, the young man swung out and asked the driver about it. + +"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." + +He pointed out the peculiar topography of the place, and Ralph got +back in the coach. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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? + + + +III + + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Let 'em bring in their own traps," he commented, and Aunt Margaret +fled, ashamed and conscience-smitten, to the kitchen. It seemed awful. + +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. + +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 +_kept waiting_, at last being enabled to say, sweetly and with the +most polite consideration: + +"Will you kindly allow me to pass?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I want three adjoining rooms, en suite if possible," he demanded. + +"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---" + +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. + +"What do you ask for meals and lodging until this time to-morrow?" he +interrupted. + +The decisive moment had arrived. Uncle Billy drew a deep breath. + +"Two dollars a head!" he defiantly announced. There! It was out! He +wished Margaret had stayed to hear him say it. + +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. + +"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. + +"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' _Jonesville Banner_ an' th' _Uticky Clarion_ along with ye." + +As the swish of skirts marked the passage of the Van Kamps up the wide +hall stairway, the other party swept into the room. + +The man wrote, in a round flourish, "Edward Eastman Ellsworth, wife, +and son." + +"I'd like three choice rooms, en suite," he said. + +"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." + +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! + +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. + + + +IV + + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Ralph, too, started off for a walk, but naturally not in the same +direction. + +"Edward!" suddenly said Mrs. Ellsworth. "I want you to turn those +people out of that suite before night!" + +"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. + +"What are the Van Kamps paying you for those three rooms?" he asked. + +"Fifteen dollars," Uncle Billy informed him, smoking one of Mr. Van +Kamp's good cigars and twiddling his thumbs in huge content. + +"I'll give you thirty for them. Just set their baggage outside and +tell them the rooms are occupied." + +"No sir-ree!" rejoined Uncle Billy. "A bargain's a bargain, an' I +allus stick to one I make." + +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. + +"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. + +Uncle Billy's eyes twinkled. + +"I reckon it kin be did," he allowed. "I reckon a _ho_-tel man's got a +right to rent his hull house ary minute." + +"Of course he has. How much do you want?" + +Uncle Billy had made one mistake in not asking this sort of folks +enough, and he reflected in perplexity. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +Mr. Ellsworth counted out some bills. + +"Here's a hundred," he said. "That ought to be about right." + +"Fifteen more," insisted Uncle Billy. + +With a little frown of impatience the other counted off the extra +money and handed it over. Uncle Billy gravely handed it back. + +"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." + + + +V + + +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. + +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? + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"May I be of assistance?" he anxiously inquired. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +As he stooped to raise the gay woodland treasures he smiled to +himself, ever so slightly. This was not _his_ first season out, +either. + +"Delightful spot, isn't it?" he observed as they regained the road and +sauntered in the direction of the Tutt House. + +"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. + +"You don't happen to know Billy Evans, of Boston, do you?" he asked. + +"I think not. I am but very little acquainted in Boston." + +"Too bad," he went on. "I was rather in hopes you knew Billy. All +sorts of a splendid fellow, and knows everybody." + +"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. + +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. + +"What a ripping, queer old building that is!" he exclaimed, making one +more brave effort as they came in sight of the hotel. + +"It is, rather," she assented. "The rooms in it are as quaint and +delightful as the exterior, too." + +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. + +"Your crowd rather got the better of us there," he admitted with the +keen appreciation of one still quite close to college days. + +"Of course, the mater is furious, but I rather look on it as a lark." + +She thawed like an April icicle. + +"It's perfectly jolly," she laughed with him. "Awfully selfish of us, +too, I know, but such loads of fun." + +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. + +Ralph was delighted to find that a thaw had set in, and he made one +more attempt to establish at least a proxy acquaintance. + +"You don't happen to know Peyson Kingsley, of Philadelphia, do you?" + +"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. + +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 _Van Kamp apartments_! + +"Oh, Ralph!" she called in her most dulcet tones. "Kindly excuse +yourself and come right on up to our suite for a few moments!" + + + +VI + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +MR. J. BELMONT VAN KAMP, + +DEAR SIR: 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, + +Yours respectfully, +EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH. + +Mr. Van Kamp passed the note to his wife and sat down or 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. + +"Atrocious!" she exclaimed. "Atrocious! Simply atrocious, Belmont. +This is a house of public entertainment. They _can't_ turn us out in +this high-minded manner! Isn't there a law or something to that +effect?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Then you can make him take down the sign!" his wife declared. + +He shook his head decidedly. + +"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." + +He went in to talk with Uncle Billy. + +"I want to buy this place," he stated. "Is it for sale?" + +"It sartin is!" replied Uncle Billy. He did not merely twinkle this +time. He grinned. + +"How much?" + +"Three thousand dollars." Mr. Tutt was used to charging by this time, +and he betrayed no hesitation. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Mr. Tutt, tell me just exactly what Mr. Ellsworth rented, please," he +requested. + +"Th' hull house," replied Billy, and then he somewhat sternly added: +"Paid me spot cash fer it, too." + +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. + +"Nothing was said about the furniture, was there?" suavely inquired +Van Kamp. + +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. + +"No!" roared Uncle Billy. "No, there wasn't, by gum!" + +"Nothing but the house?" + +"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." + +"How much for the furniture for the week?" + +"Fifty dollars!" Mr. Tutt knew how to do business with this kind of +people now, you bet. + +Mr. Van Kamp promptly counted out the money. + +"Drat it!" commented Uncle Billy to himself. "I could 'a' got more!" + +"Now where can we make ourselves comfortable with this furniture?" + +Uncle Billy chirked up. All was not yet lost. + +"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." + +The other smiled at this flashlight on Uncle Billy's character, and +they went out to look at the barn. + + + +VII + + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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 oldtime rag rugs are the +most oddly decorative effects that I have ever seen. They are so rich +in color and so exquisitely blended." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Ralph sprang to his feet with a ludicrous expression. + +"Not the second floor front suite!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh, no! Not at all," she reassured him. + +He laughed lightly. + +"Honors are about even in that game," he said. + +"Evelyn," called her mother from the hall. "Please come and take those +front suite curtains down to the barn." + +"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. + +He followed her slowly, and was met at the door by her father. + +"You are the younger Mr. Ellsworth, I believe," politely said Mr. Van +Kamp. + +"Ralph Ellsworth. Yes, sir." + +"Here is a note for your father. It is unsealed. You are quite at +liberty to read it." + +Mr. Van Kamp bowed himself away, and Ralph opened the note, which +read: + +EDWARD EASTMAN ELLSWORTH, ESQ., + +Dear Sir: 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, + +Yours respectfully, + +J. BELMONT VAN KAMP. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Isn't that rather a heavy load?" he suggested. "I'd be delighted to +help you move the things, don't you know." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I know so very few people in Baltimore," she murmured, and tripped on +down to the barn. + +Ralph went out on the porch and smoked. There was nothing else that he +could do. + + + +VIII + + +It was growing dusk when the elder Ellsworths returned, almost hidden +by great masses of autumn boughs. + +"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." + +"It was a good idea," said Ralph. "A stunning good idea. They may come +in handy to sleep on." + +Mrs. Ellsworth turned cold. + +"What do you mean?" she gasped. + +"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?" + +"Indeed, no," he airily responded. "Just come right on up and see." + +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. + +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 _bale_ of straw. +She sat down on a suitcase, in the middle of the biggest room, and +cried! + +Ralph, having waited for this, now told about the food transaction, +and she hastily pushed the last-coming tear back into her eye. + +"Good!" she cried. "They will be up here soon. They will be compelled +to compromise, and they must not find me with red eyes." + +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. + +"There's not a single mirror left in the house!" she moaned. + +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. + +"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. + +He had barely creaked the pump handle when Mr. Van Kamp hurried up +from the barn. + +"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." + + + +IX + + +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. + +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. + +"Who wins now?" bantered Ralph as they made the exchange. + +"It looks to me like a misdeal," she gaily replied, and was moving +away when he called her back. + +"You don't happen to know the Gately's, of New York, do you?" he was +quite anxious to know. + +"I am truly sorry, but I am acquainted with so few people in New York. +We are from Chicago, you know." + +"Oh," said he blankly, and took the water up to the Ellsworth suite. + +Mrs. Ellsworth cheered up considerably when she heard that Ralph had +been met halfway, but her eyes snapped when he confessed that it was +Miss Van Kamp who had met him. + +"I hope you are not going to carry on a flirtation with that +overdressed creature," she blazed. + +"Why mother," exclaimed Ralph, shocked beyond measure. "What right +have you to accuse either this young lady or myself of flirting? +Flirting!" + +Mrs. Ellsworth suddenly attacked the fire with quite unnecessary +energy. + + + + +X + + +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. + +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. + +A man can outlive hardships that would kill a woman, but a woman can +endure discomforts that would drive a man crazy. + +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. + +"How much do you want for that jug and its contents?" he asked, with a +sigh of gratitude that this supply had been overlooked. + +Before Mr. Tutt could answer, Mr. Van Kamp hurried in at the door. + +"Wait a moment!" he cried. "I want to bid on that!" + +"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." + +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. + +"Your health, sir," courteously proposed Mr. Ellsworth. + +"And to you, sir," gravely replied Mr. Van Kamp. + + + +XI + + +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. + +"You don't happen to know the Tylers, of Parkersburg, do you?" she +asked. + +"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." + +"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.'" + +"Let's go around on the porch and sit down," said Ralph. + + +XII + +Mr. Van Kamp, back in the woodshed, looked about him with an eye of +content. + +"Rather cozy for a woodshed," he observed. "I wonder if we couldn't +scare up a little session of dollar limit?" + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Oh! Of course not!" he blundered, and went back to the woodshed. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Mr. Van Kamp grinned understandingly, and agreed to the infamous ruse. + +"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." + +"Dinner!" gasped Mr. Van Kamp. "By all means!" + +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. + +"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 _do_! _Would_ it do!! + +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: + +"A bargain's a bargain, and I always stick to one I make." + + + +A CALL + +By Grace MacGowan Cooke (1863- ) + +[From _Harper's Magazine_, August, 1906. Copyright, 1906, by Harper & +Brothers. Republished by the author's permission.] + +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. + +This did not long sustain his drooping spirit. He was mentally adrift +upon the _Hints and Helps to Young Men in Business and Social +Relations_, 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! + +"Hello! Where you goin', Ab?" asked the newcomer, gruffly. + +"Callin'," replied the boy in the collar, laconically, but with +carefully averted gaze. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Do you reckon you could?" he debated, trotting along by the +irresponsive Jilton boy. + +"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." + +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'." + +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?" + +"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." + +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 _Hints and Helps to +Young Men in Social and Business Relations_ to Champe alone. + +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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You'd wear a necktie--wouldn't you?" Ross asked, spreading them upon +the bureau-top. + +"Yes. But make it fall carelessly over your shirt-front," advised the +student of _Hints and Helps_. "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." + +"Better button up your vest," cautioned Ross, laboring with the +"careless" fall of his tie. + +"Huh-uh! I want 'that easy air which presupposes familiarity with +society'--that's what it says in my book," objected Abner. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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'." + +"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." + +"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!" + +Abner hesitated. Should he give away his brilliant inside information, +drawn from the _Hints and Helps_ 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"'Hang your hat on the rack, or give it to a servant.'" Ross nodded +intelligently. He could do that. + +"'Let your legs be gracefully disposed, one hand on the knee, the +other--'" + +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.'" + +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." + +Abner began to repeat paragraphs from _Hints and Helps_. "'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.'" + +"What's a composer?" inquired Ross, with visions of soothing-syrup in +his mind. + +"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.'" + +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." + +"I'm tired already," he grumbled; but some spell made him rise and +fare farther. + +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. + +"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. + +"'Walk quietly up the steps; ring the bell and lay your card on the +servant,'" quoted Abner, who had never heard of a server. + +"'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?" + +"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." + +"We haven't got any cards," discovered Ross, with hope. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"I told you about hanging your hat on the rack and disposing your +legs." + +"I remember now," sighed Ross. They had been going slower and slower. +The angle of inclination toward each other became more and more +pronounced. + +"We must stand by each other," whispered Abner. + +"I will--if I can stand at all," murmured the other boy, huskily. + +"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. + +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." + +Abner raised appealing eyes. "In a minute. Give me time," he pleaded. + +"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. + +"Help him, Rossie," prompted Aunt Missouri, sharply. "You boys can +stay to supper and have some of the chicken if you help catch them." + +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. + +"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." + +Confronted by the act itself, Abner was suddenly aware that he knew +not how to begin. He took refuge in dissimulation. + +"Hush!" he whispered back. "Don't you see Mr. Claiborne's come +out?--He's going to read something to us." + +Ross plumped down beside him. "Never mind the card; tell 'em," he +urged. + +"Tell 'em yourself." + +"No--let's cut and run." + +"I--I think the worst of it is over. When Champe sees us she'll--" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"What is it?" demanded the old gentleman, a bit testily. + +"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. + +Abner sat hard on his cap and blushed silently. Ross twisted his hat +into a three-cornered wreck. + +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! + +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." + +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." + +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. + +Alone for the first time, Abner gave up. "This ain't any use," he +complained. "We ain't calling on anybody." + +"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." + +Abner showed no resentment. + +"Oh, if it's so easy, why didn't you do it yourself?" he groaned. + +"Somebody's coming," Ross muttered, hoarsely. "Say it now. Say it +quick." + +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!" + +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. + +"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. + +Ross growled like a stoned cur. Abner took a sudden dive into _Hints +and Helps_, and came up with, "You flatter us, Miss Claiborne," +whereat Ross snickered out like a human boy. They all stared at him. + +"It sounds so funny to call Aunt Missouri 'Mis' Claiborne,'" the lad +of the freckles explained. + +"Funny?" Aunt Missouri reddened. "I don't see any particular joke in +my having my maiden name." + +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! + +"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. + +"Nothing. I laughed because you laughed," said the girl. + +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: + +"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?" + +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 _had_ 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! + +"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. + +"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. + +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." + +"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. + +"Calling on the girls! Have we called on any girls?" demanded +clear-headed, honest Ross. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +"Breakfast!" echoed Ross, in a daze. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"I--oh--I--darn it all! there goes the second bell. We may as well +trot down." + +"Don't leave me, Ross," pleaded the Jilton boy. "I can't stay +here--and I can't go down." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Now you got one dem snickerin' spells agin. You gwine bust yo' dress +buttons off in the back ef you don't mind." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +As though such a book as _Hints and Helps_ 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. + +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: + +"Good for you, Ross! Seems you did know how to call on the girls, +after all." + +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. + + + +HOW THE WIDOW WON THE DEACON + +By William James Lampton ( -1917) + +[From Harper's Bazaar, April, 1911; copyright, 1911, by Harper & +Brothers; republished by permission.] + +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. + +This interesting situation was up for discussion at the Wednesday +afternoon meeting of the Sisters' Sewing Society. + +"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." + +"I rather guess _she_ has," smiled Sister Poteet, the grocer's better +half, who had taken an afternoon off from the store in order to be +present. + +"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. + +"Really, now," exclaimed little Sister Green, the doctor's wife, "do +you think it is the deacon who needs urging?" + +"It looks that way to me," Sister Poteet did not hesitate to affirm. + +"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. + +"'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." + +"Oh," Sister Candish hastened to explain, "Sister Clark didn't say she +had heard him say it twice.'" + +"Well, I don't think she heard him say it once," Sister Spicer +asserted with confidence. + +"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." + +"And isn't saying what he should," added Sister Green, with a sly +snicker, which went around the room softly. + +"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." + +"Why shouldn't I say what I wanted to when--" Sister Spicer began. + +"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. + +Sister Spicer went to the front door to let her in, and she was +greeted with the greatest cordiality by everybody. + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh," she chirruped, in the liveliest of humors, "you will have to +excuse me for today. 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." + +"Is that so?" exclaimed the society unanimously, and rushed to the +window to see if it were really true. + +"Well, did you ever?" commented Sister Poteet, generally. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Well, what do you suppose? You're a judge." + +"More than I would give, I'll bet a cookie." + +"Not if you was as anxious as I am to show Hopkins that he can't drive +by everything on the pike." + +"I thought you loved a good horse because he was a good horse," said +the widow, rather disapprovingly. + +"I do, but I could love him a good deal harder if he would stay in +front of Hopkins's best." + +"Does he know you've got this one?" + +"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." + +"So you gave five hundred dollars for him, did you?" laughed the +widow. + +"Is it too much?" + +"Um-er," hesitated the widow, glancing along the graceful lines of the +powerful trotter, "I suppose not if you can beat the squire." + +"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. + +"Well, I hope he won't be out looking for you today, with me in your +sleigh," said the widow, almost apprehensively, "because, you know, +deacon, I have always wanted you to beat Squire Hopkins." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + + + +GIDEON + +By Wells Hastings (1878- ) + +[From _The Century Magazine_, April, 1914; copyright, 1914, by The +Century Co.; republished by the author's permission.] + +"An' de next' frawg dat houn' pup seen, he pass him by wide." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gideon had grown to be to vaudeville much what _Uncle Remus_ 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. + +"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." + +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 protege; 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. + +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. + +Stuhk met him anxiously in the wings, and walked with him to his +dressing-room. He felt suddenly very weary of Stuhk. + +"Nothing the matter, Gideon, is there? Not feeling sick or anything?" + +"No, Misteh Stuhk; no, seh. Jes don' feel extry pert, that's all." + +"But what is it--anything bothering you?" + +Gideon sat gloomily before his mirror. + +"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." + +Stuhk laughed. + +"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?" + +Gideon struggled for politeness. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Good!" he said. "Fly to it. How much do you want? +A hundred?" + +"How much is coming to me?" + +"About a thousand, Gideon." + +"Well, I'd moughty like five hun'red of it, ef that's 'greeable to +yo'." + +Felix whistled. + +"Five hundred? Pork-chops must be coming high. You don't want to carry +all that money around, do you?" + +Gideon did not answer; he looked very gloomy. + +Stuhk hastened to cheer him. + +"Of course you can have anything you want. Wait a minute, and I will +get it for you. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + Spend this winter in balmy Florida. + Come to the Land of Perpetual Sunshine. +Golf, tennis, driving, shooting, boating, fishing, all of the best. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He heard his name being passed from mouth to mouth, and came partly to +his senses. He stopped dancing, and grinned at them. + +"Say, you are Gideon, ain't you?" his discoverer demanded, with a sort +of reverent audacity. + +"Yaas, _seh_," 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-_tive_-ly his las' +puffawmunce." Turning, he dashed for a passing trolley, and, still +laughing, swung aboard. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +A brakeman passed, and Gideon leaped to his feet and pursued him. + +"Misteh, how long yo'-all reckon this train goin' to be?" + +"About an hour." + +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. + +"'Most made the mistake of ma life," he chuckled, "stickin' to that +ol' train foheveh. 'T isn't the right way at, all foh Gideon to come +home." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The leaves parted, and a smiling face as black as Gideon's own +regarded him in shy amusement. + +"Who is yo', man?" + +"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. + +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. + +"No," said Gideon, hardly knowing whether he was glad or sorry--"no, I +live south of heah. What-all's yo' name?" + +The girl giggled deliciously. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +He made vague plans for delaying his journey as they sat smoking in +pleasant conversational ease; and when an interruption came it vexed +him. + +"Vashty! Vashty!" a woman's voice sounded thin and far away. +"Vashty-y! Yo' heah me, chile?" + +Vashti rose to her feet with a sigh. + +"That's my ma," she said regretfully. + +"What do yo' care?" asked Gideon. "Let her yell awhile." + +The girl shook her head. + +"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. + +Gideon leaped to his feet. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, easygoing, +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gideon stretched out a broad hand and touched her head lightly; and +with a tiny gasp her fingers stole up to his. + +"Honey," said Gideon--"Honey, yo' ain' mad, is yo'?" + +She shook her head, not looking at him. + +"Yo' ain' grievin' foh yo' ma?" + +Again she shook her head. + +"Because," said Gideon, smiling down at her, "I ain' got no beeg club +like she has." + +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. + +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. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Best American Humorous Short +Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN HUMOR *** + +***** This file should be named 10947.txt or 10947.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/9/4/10947/ + +Produced by Keith M. Eckrich and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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