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-Project Gutenberg's My Uncle Florimond, by (AKA Sidney Luska) Henry Harland
-
-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'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: My Uncle Florimond
-
-Author: (AKA Sidney Luska) Henry Harland
-
-Release Date: December 15, 2015 [EBook #50698]
-Last Updated: November 7, 2016
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNCLE FLORIMOND ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-MY UNCLE FLORIMOND
-
-By Sidney Luska (Henry Harland)
-
-Author of The Yoke of the Thorah and Others
-
-D. Lothrop Company
-
-Boston: Franklin and Hawley Streets
-
-1888
-
-[Illustration: 0001]
-
-[Illustration: 0006]
-
-[Illustration: 0007]
-
-TO MY GRANDMOTHER
-
-A. L. H.
-
-IN REMEMBRANCE OF OLD
-
-NORWICH DAYS
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.--THE NEPHEW OF A MARQUIS.
-
-Both of my parents died while I was still a baby; and I passed my
-childhood at the home of my father's mother in Norwich Town--which lies
-upon the left bank of the river Yantic, some three miles to the north of
-Norwich City, in Eastern Connecticut.
-
-My father's mother, my dear old grandmother, was a French lady by
-birth; and her maiden name had been quite an imposing one--Aurore Aline
-Raymonde Marie Antoinette de la Bourbonnaye. But in 1820, when she was
-nineteen years old, my grandfather had persuaded her to change it
-for plain and simple Mrs. Brace; from which it would seem that my
-grandfather must have been a remarkably persuasive man. At that time
-she lived in Paris with her father and mother, who were very lofty,
-aristocratic people--the Marquis and Marquise de la Bourbonnaye. But
-after her marriage she followed her husband across the ocean to his home
-in Connecticut, where in 1835 he died, and where she had remained ever
-since. She had had two children: my father, Edward, whom the rebels shot
-at the Battle of Bull Run in July, 1861, and my father's elder brother,
-my Uncle Peter, who had never married, and who was the man of our house
-in Norwich.
-
-The neighbors called my Uncle Peter Square, because he was a lawyer.
-Some of them called him Jedge, because he had once been a Justice of the
-Peace. Between him and me no love was lost. A stern, cold, frowning man,
-tall and dark, with straight black hair, a lean, smooth-shaven face,
-thin lips, hard black eyes, and bushy black eyebrows that grew together
-over his nose making him look false and cruel, he inspired in me an
-exceeding awe, and not one atom of affection. I was indeed so afraid
-of him that at the mere sound of his voice my heart would sink into my
-boots, and my whole skin turn goose-flesh. When I had to pass the
-door of his room, if he was in, I always quickened my pace and went on
-tiptoe, half expecting that he might dart out and seize upon me; if
-he was absent, I would stop and peek in through the keyhole, with the
-fascinated terror of one gazing into an ogre's den. And, oh me! what
-an agony of fear I had to suffer three times every day, seated at
-meals with him. If I so much as spoke a single word, except to answer
-a question, he would scowl upon me savagely, and growl out, “Children
-should be seen and not heard.” After he had helped my grandmother, he
-would demand in the crossest tone you can imagine, “Gregory, do you
-want a piece of meat?” Then I would draw a deep breath, clinch my fists,
-muster my utmost courage, and, scarcely louder than a whisper, stammer,
-“Ye-es, sir, if you p-please.” It would have come much more easily to
-say, “No, I thank you, sir,”--only I was so very hungry. But not once,
-in all the years I spent at Norwich, not once did I dare to ask for
-more. So I often left the table with my appetite not half satisfied, and
-would have to visit the kitchen between meals, and beg a supplementary
-morsel from Julia, our cook.
-
-Uncle Peter, for his part, took hardly any notice whatever of me, unless
-it was to give me a gruff word of command--like “Leave the room,” “Go to
-bed,” “Hold your tongue,”--or worse still a scolding, or worst of all
-a whipping. For the latter purpose he employed a flexible rattan cane,
-with a curiously twisted handle. It buzzed like a hornet as it flew
-cutting through the air; and then, when it had reached its objective
-point--mercy, how it stung! I fancied that whipping me afforded him a
-great deal of enjoyment. Anyhow, he whipped me very often, and on the
-very slightest provocation: if I happened to be a few minutes behindhand
-at breakfast, for example, or if I did not have my hair nicely brushed
-and parted when I appeared at dinner. And if I cried, he would whip all
-the harder, saying, “I'll give you something to cry about,” so that in
-the end I learned to stand the most unmerciful flogging with never so
-much as a tear or a sob. Instead of crying, I would bite my lips, and
-drive my fingernails into the palms of my hands until they bled. Why,
-one day, I remember, I was standing in the dining-room, drinking a glass
-of water, when suddenly I heard his footstep behind me; and it startled
-me so that I let the tumbler drop from my grasp to the floor, where it
-broke, spilling the water over the carpet. “You clumsy jackanapes,”
- he cried; “come up-stairs with me, and I'll show you how to break
-tumblers.” He seized hold of my ear, and, pinching and tugging at it,
-led me up-stairs to his room. There he belabored me so vigorously
-with that rattan cane of his that I was stiff and lame for two days
-afterward. Well, I dare say that sometimes I merited my Uncle Peter's
-whippings richly; but I do believe that in the majority of cases when
-he whipped me, moral suasion would have answered quite as well, or even
-better. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” was one of his fundamental
-principles of life.
-
-Happily, however, except at meal hours, my Uncle Peter was seldom in the
-house. He had an office at the Landing--that was the name Norwich City
-went by in Norwich Town--and thither daily after breakfast and again
-after dinner, he betook himself. After supper he would go out to spend
-the evening--where or how I never knew, though I often wondered; but
-all day Sunday he would stay at home, shut up in his room; and all day
-Sunday, therefore, I was careful to keep as still as a mouse.
-
-He did not in the least take after his mother, my grandmother; for she,
-I verily believe, of all sweet and gentle ladies was the sweetest and
-the gentlest. It is now more than sixteen years since she died; yet, as
-I think of her now, my heart swells, my eyes fill with tears, and I can
-see her as vividly before me as though we had parted but yesterday: a
-little old body, in a glistening black silk dress, with her snowy
-hair drawn in a tall puff upward from her forehead, and her kind face
-illuminated by a pair of large blue eyes, as quick and as bright as any
-maiden's. She had the whitest, daintiest, tiniest hands you ever did
-see; and the tiniest feet. These she had inherited from her noble French
-ancestors; and along with them she had also inherited a delicate Roman
-nose--or, as it is sometimes called, a Bourbon nose. Now, as you will
-recollect, the French word for nose is _nez_ (pronounced _nay_); and I
-remember I often wondered whether that Bourbon nose of my grandmother's
-might not have had something to do with the origin of her family name,
-Bourbonnaye. But that, of course, was when I was a very young and
-foolish child indeed.
-
-In her youth, I know, my grandmother had been a perfect beauty. Among
-the other pictures in our parlor, there hung an oil painting which
-represented simply the loveliest young lady that I could fancy. She had
-curling golden hair, laughing eyes as blue as the sky, ripe red lips
-just made to kiss, faintly blushing cheeks, and a rich, full throat like
-a column of ivory; and she wore a marvelous costume of cream-colored
-silk, trimmed with lace; and in one hand she-held a bunch of splendid
-crimson roses, so well painted that you could almost smell them. I
-used to sit before this portrait for hours at a stretch, and admire the
-charming girl who smiled upon me from it, and wonder and wonder who she
-could be, and where she lived, and whether I should ever have the good
-luck to meet her in proper person. I used to think that perhaps I had
-already met her somewhere, and then forgotten; for, though I could not
-put my finger on it, there was something strangely familiar to me in her
-face. I used to say to myself, “What if after all it should be only a
-fancy picture! Oh! I hope, I hope it isn't.” Then at length, one day,
-it occurred to me to go to my grandmother for information. Imagine
-my surprise when she told me that it was a portrait of herself, taken
-shortly before her wedding.
-
-“O, dear! I wish I had been alive in those days,” I sighed.
-
-“Why?” she queried.
-
-“Because then I could have married you,” I explained. At which she
-laughed as merrily as though I had got off the funniest joke in the
-world, and called me an “_enfant terrible_”--a dreadful child.
-
-This episode abode in my mind for a long time to come, and furnished me
-food for much sorrowful reflection. It brought forcibly home to me the
-awful truth, which I had never thought of before, that youth and beauty
-cannot last. That this young girl--so strong, so gay, so full of life,
-with such bright red lips and brilliant golden hair--that she could have
-changed into a feeble gray old lady, like my grandmother! It was a sad
-and appalling possibility.
-
-My grandmother stood nearly as much in awe of my Uncle Peter as I did.
-He allowed himself to browbeat and bully her in a manner that made my
-blood boil. “Oh!” I would think in my soul, “just wait till I am a man
-as big as he is. Won't I teach him a lesson, though?” She and I talked
-together for the most part in French. This was for two reasons: first,
-because it was good practice for me; and secondly, because it was
-pleasant for her--French being her native tongue. Well, my Uncle Peter
-hated the very sound of French--why I could not guess, but I suspected
-it was solely for the sake of being disagreeable--and if ever a word of
-that language escaped my grandmother's lips in his presence, he would
-glare at her from beneath his shaggy brows, and snarl out, “Can't you
-speak English to the boy?” She never dared to interfere in my behalf
-when he was about to whip me--though I knew her heart ached to do
-so--but would sit alone in her room during the operation, and wait to
-comfort me after it was over. His rattan cane raised great red welts
-upon my skin, which smarted and were sore for hours. These she would rub
-with a salve that cooled and helped to heal them; and then, putting
-her arm about my neck, she would bid me not to mind it, and not to feel
-unhappy any more, and would give me peppermint candies and cookies, and
-tell me long, interesting stories, or read aloud to me, or show me the
-pictures in her big family Bible. “Paul and Virginia” and “The Arabian
-Nights” were the books I liked best to be read to from; and my favorite
-picture was one of Daniel iii the lion's den. Ah, my dear, dear
-grandmother! As I look back upon those days now, there is no bitterness
-in my memory of Uncle Peter's whippings; but my memory of your tender
-goodness in consoling me is infinitely sweet.
-
-No; if my Uncle Peter was perhaps a trifle too severe with me, my
-grandmother erred in the opposite direction, and did much to spoil me.
-I never got a single angry word from her in all the years we lived
-together; yet I am sure I must have tried her patience very frequently
-and very sorely. Every forenoon, from eight till twelve o'clock, she
-gave me my lessons: geography, history, grammar, arithmetic and music.
-I was neither a very apt nor a very industrious pupil in any of these
-branches; but I was especially dull and especially lazy in my pursuit of
-the last. My grandmother would sit with me at the piano for an hour,
-and try and try to make me play my exercise aright; and though I
-always played it wrong, she never lost her temper, and never scolded. I
-deserved worse than a scolding; I deserved a good sound box on the ear;
-for I had shirked my practising, and that was why I blundered so. But
-the most my grandmother ever said or did by way of reproof, was to shake
-her head sadly at me, and murmur, “Ah, Gregory, Gregory, I fear that you
-lack ambition.” So very possibly, after all, my Uncle Peter's sternness
-was really good for me as a disagreeable but salutary tonic.
-
-My Uncle Florimond was my grandmother's only brother, unmarried, five
-years older than herself, who lived in France. His full name was even
-more imposing than hers had been; and to write it I shall have to use up
-nearly all the letters of the alphabet: Florimond Charles Marie Auguste
-Alexandre de la Bourbonnaye. As if this were not enough, he joined to it
-the title of marquis, which had descended to him from his father;
-just think--Florimond Charles Marie Auguste Alexandre, Marquis de la
-Bourbonnaye.
-
-Though my grandmother had not once seen her brother Florimond since her
-marriage--when she was a blushing miss of nineteen, and he a dashing
-young fellow of four-and-twenty--I think she cared more for him than
-for anybody else alive, excepting perhaps myself. And though I had never
-seen him at all, I am sure that he was to me, without exception,
-the most important personage in the whole wide world. He owed this
-distinguished place in my regard to several causes. He owed it partly,
-no doubt, to the glamour attaching to his name and title. To my youthful
-imagination Florimond Charles Marie Auguste Alexandre de la Bourbonnaye
-made a strong appeal. Surely, any one who went through life bearing a
-name like that must be a very great and extrordinary man; and the fact
-that he was my uncle--my own grandmother's brother--stirred my bosom
-with pride, and thrilled it with satisfaction. Then, besides, he was a
-marquis; and a marquis, I supposed, of course, must be the embodiment
-of everything that was fine and admirable in human nature--good, strong,
-rich, brave, brilliant, beautiful--just one peg lower in the scale
-of glory than a king. Yes, on account of his name and title alone, I
-believe, I should have placed my Uncle Florimond upon a lofty pedestal
-in the innermost shrine of my fancy, as a hero to drape with all the
-dazzling qualities I could conceive of, to wonder about, and to worship.
-But indeed, in this case, I should most likely have done very much the
-same thing, even if he had had no other title than plain Mister, and if
-his name had been homely John or James. For my grandmother, who never
-tired of talking to me of him, had succeeded in communicating to my
-heart something of her own fondness for him, as well as imbuing my mind
-with an eager interest in everything that concerned him, and in firing
-it with a glowing ideal of his personality. She had taught me that he
-was in point of fact, all that I had pictured him in my surmises.
-
-When, in 1820, Aurore de la Bourbonnaye became Mrs. Brace, and bade
-good-by to her home and family, her brother Florimond had held a
-commission as lieutenant in the King's Guard. A portrait of him in his
-lieutenant's uniform hung over the fireplace in our parlor, directly
-opposite the portrait of his sister that I have already spoken of. You
-never saw a handsomer young soldier: tall, muscular, perfectly shaped,
-with close-cropped chestnut hair, frank brown eyes, and regular
-clean-cut features, as refined and sensitive as a woman's, yet full of
-manly dignity and courage. In one hand he held his military hat, plumed
-with a long black ostrich feather; his other hand rested upon the hilt
-of his sword.
-
-His uniform was all ablaze with brass buttons and gold lace; and a
-beautiful red silk sash swept over his shoulder diagonally downward
-to his hip, where it was knotted, and whence its tasseled ends
-fell half-way to his knee. Yes, indeed; he was a handsome, dashing,
-gallant-looking officer; and you may guess how my grandmother flattered
-me when she declared, as she often did, “Gregory, you are his
-living image.” Then she would continue in her quaint old-fashioned
-French:--“Ah! that thou mayest resemble him in spirit, in character,
-also. He is of the most noble, of the most generous, of the most gentle.
-An action base, a thought unworthy, a sentiment dishonorable--it is to
-him impossible. He is the courage, the courtesy, the chivalry, itself.
-Regard, then, his face. Is it not radiant of his soul? Is it not
-eloquent of kindness, of fearlessness, of truth? He is the model, the
-paragon even, of a gentleman, of a Christian. Say, then, my Gregory, is
-it that thou lovest him a little also, thou? Is it that thou art going
-to imitate him a little in thy life, and to strive to become a man as
-noble, as lovable, as he?”
-
-To which I would respond earnestly in the same language, “O, yes! I love
-him, I admire him, with all my heart--after thee, my grandmother, better
-than anybody. And if I could become a man like him, I should be happier
-than I can say. Anyway, I shall try. He will be my pattern. But tell me,
-shall I never see him? Will he never come to Norwich? I would give--oh!
-I would give a thousand dollars--to see him, to embrace him, to speak
-with him.”
-
-“Alas, no, I fear he will never come to Norwich. He is married to his
-France, his Paris. But certainly, when thou art grown up, thou shalt see
-him. Thou wilt go to Europe, and present thyself before him.”
-
-“O, dear! not till I am grown up,” I would complain. “That is so long
-to wait.” Yet that came to be a settled hope, a moving purpose, in my
-life--that I should sometime meet my Uncle Florimond in person. I used
-to indulge my imagination in long, delicious day-dreams, of which our
-meeting was the subject, anticipating how he would receive me, and what
-we should say and do. I used to try honestly to be a good boy, so that
-he would take pleasure in recognizing me as his nephew. My grandmother's
-assertion to the effect that I looked like him filled my heart with
-gladness, though, strive as I might, I could not see the resemblance for
-myself. And if she never tired of talking to me about him, I never tired
-of listening, either. Indeed, to all the story-books in our library I
-preferred her anecdotes of Uncle Florimond.
-
-Once a month regularly my grandmother wrote him a long letter; and once
-a month regularly a long letter arrived from him for her--the reception
-of which marked a great day in our placid, uneventful calendar. It was
-my duty to go to the post-office every afternoon, to fetch the mail.
-When I got an envelope addressed in his handwriting, and bearing the
-French postage-stamp--oh! didn't I hurry home! I couldn't seem to run
-fast enough, I was so impatient to deliver it to her, and to hear her
-read it aloud. Yet the contents of Uncle Florimond's epistles were
-seldom very exciting; and I dare say, if I should copy one of them here,
-you would pronounce it quite dull and prosy. He always began, “_Ma sour
-bien-aimee_”--My well-beloved sister. Then generally he went on to give
-an account of his goings and his comings since his last--naming the
-people whom he had met, the houses at which he had dined, the plays he
-had witnessed, the books he had read--and to inquire tenderly touching
-his sister's health, and to bid her kiss his little nephew Gregory for
-him. He invariably wound up, “_Dieu te garde, ma sour cherie_”--God keep
-thee, my dearest sister.--“Thy affectionate brother, de la Bourbonnaye.”
- That was his signature--de la Bourbonnaye, written uphill, with a big
-flourish underneath it--never Florimond. My grandmother explained to
-me that in this particular--signing his family name without his given
-one--he but followed a custom prevalent among French noblemen. Well, as
-I was saying, his letters for the most part were quite unexciting; yet,
-nevertheless, I listened to them with rapt attention, reluctant to lose
-a single word. This was for the good and sufficient reason that they
-came from him--from my Uncle Florimond--from my hero, the Marquis de la
-Bourbonnaye. And after my grandmother had finished reading one of them,
-I would ask, “May I look at it, please?” To hold it between my fingers,
-and gaze upon it, exerted a vague, delightful fascination over me.
-To think that his own hand had touched this paper, had shaped these
-characters, less than a fortnight ago! My Uncle Florimond's very hand!
-It was wonderful!
-
-I was born on the first of March, 1860; so that on the first of March,
-1870, I became ten years of age. On the morning of that day, after
-breakfast, my grandmother called me to her room.
-
-“Thou shalt have a holiday to-day,” she said; “no study, no lessons. But
-first, stay.”
-
-She unlocked the lowest drawer of the big old-fashioned bureau-desk at
-which she used to write, and took from it something long and slender,
-wrapped up in chamois-skin. Then she undid and peeled off the
-chamois-skin wrapper, and showed me--what do you suppose? A beautiful
-golden-hilted sword, incased in a golden scabbard!
-
-“Isn't it pretty?” she asked.
-
-“Oh! lovely, superb,” I answered, all admiration and curiosity.
-
-“Guess a little, _mon petit_, whom it belonged to?” she went on.
-
-“To--oh! to my Uncle Florimond--I am sure,” I exclaimed.
-
-“Right. To thy Uncle Florimond. It was presented to him by the king, by
-King Louis XVIII.”
-
-“By the king--by the king!” I repeated wonderingly. “Just think!”
-
-“Precisely. By the king himself, as a reward of valor and a token of his
-regard. And when I was married my brother gave it to me as a keepsake.
-And now--and now, my Gregory, I am going to give it to thee as a
-birthday present.”
-
-“To me! Oh!” I cried. That was the most I could say. I was quite
-overcome by my surprise and my delight.
-
-[Illustration: 0032]
-
-“Yes, I give it to thee; and we will hang it up in thy bed-chamber, on
-the wall opposite thy bed; and every night and every morning thou shalt
-look at it, and think of thy Uncle Florimond, and remember to be like
-him. So thy first and thy last thought every day shall be of him.”
-
-I leave it to you to fancy how happy this present made me, how happy and
-how proud. For many years that sword was the most highly prized of all
-my goods and chattels. At this very moment it hangs on the wall in my
-study, facing the table at which I write these lines.
-
-A day or two later, when I made my usual afternoon trip to the
-post-office, I found there a large, square brown-paper package, about
-the size of a school geography, postmarked Paris, and addressed, in my
-Uncle Florimond's handwriting, not to my grandmother, but to me! to my
-very self. “Monsieur Grégoire Brace, chez Madame Brace, Norwich Town,
-Connecticut, Etats-unis d'Amérique.” At first I could hardly believe
-my eyesight. Why should my Uncle Florimond address anything to me? What
-could it mean? And what could the contents of the mysterious parcel be?
-It never occurred to me to open it, and thus settle the question for
-myself; but, burning with curiosity, I hastened home, and putting
-it into my grandmother's hands, informed her how it had puzzled and
-astonished me. She opened it at once, I peering eagerly over her
-shoulder; and then both of us uttered an exclamation of delight. It was
-a large illustrated copy of my favorite story, “Paul et Virginie,” bound
-in scarlet leather, stamped and lettered in gold; and on the fly-leaf,
-in French, was written, “To my dear little nephew Gregory, on his tenth
-birthday with much love from his Uncle de la Bourbonnaye.” I can't tell
-you how this book pleased me. That my Uncle Florimond should care enough
-for me to send me such a lovely birthday gift! For weeks afterward
-I wanted no better entertainment than to read it, and to look at its
-pictures, and remember who had sent it to me. Of course, I sat right
-down and wrote the very nicest letter I possibly could, to thank him for
-it.
-
-Now, as you know, in that same year, 1870, the French Emperor, Louis
-Napoleon, began his disastrous war with the King of Prussia; and it
-may seem very strange to you when I say that that war, fought more than
-three thousand miles away, had a direct and important influence upon my
-life, and indeed brought it to its first great turning-point. But such
-is the truth. For, as you will remember, after a few successes at the
-outset, the French army met with defeat in every quarter; and as the
-news of these calamities reached us in Norwich, through the New York
-papers, my grandmother grew visibly feebler and older from day to day.
-The color left her cheeks; the light left her eyes; her voice lost its
-ring; she ate scarcely more than a bird's portion at dinner; she became
-nervous, and restless, and very sad: so intense was her love for her
-native country, so painfully was she affected by its misfortunes.
-
-The first letter we received from Uncle Florimond, after the war broke
-out, was a very hopeful one. He predicted that a month or two at the
-utmost would suffice for the complete victory of the French, and the
-utter overthrow and humiliation of the Barbarians, as he called the
-Germans. “I myself,” he continued, “am, alas, too old to go to the
-front; but happily I am not needed, our actual forces being more than
-sufficient. I remain in Paris at the head of a regiment of municipal
-guards.” His second letter was still hopeful in tone, though he had to
-confess that for the moment the Prussians seemed to be enjoying
-pretty good luck. “_Mais cela passera_”--But that will pass,--he added
-confidently. His next letter and his next, however, struck a far less
-cheery note; and then, after the siege of Paris began, his letters
-ceased coming altogether, for then, of course, Paris was shut off from
-any communication with the outside world.
-
-With the commencement of the siege of Paris a cloud settled over our
-home in Norwich, a darkness and a chill that deepened steadily until,
-toward the end of January, 1871, the city surrendered and was occupied
-by the enemy. Dread and anxiety dogged our footsteps all day long every
-day. “Even at this moment, Gregory, while we sit here in peace and
-safety, thy Uncle Florimond may be dead or dying,” my grandmother would
-say; then, bowing her head, “_O mon Dieu, sois miséricordieux_”--O
-my God, be merciful. Now and then she would start in her chair, and
-shudder; and upon my demanding the cause, she would reply, “I was
-thinking what if at that instant he had been shot by a Prussian bullet.”
- For hours she would sit perfectly motionless, with her hands folded,
-and her eyes fixed vacantly upon the wall; until all at once, she would
-cover her face, and begin to cry as if her heart would break. And then,
-when the bell rang to summon us to meals, “Ah, what a horror!” she would
-exclaim. “Here are we with an abundance of food and drink, while he whom
-we love may be perishing of hunger!” But she had to keep her suffering
-to herself when Uncle Peter was around; otherwise, he would catch her up
-sharply, saying, “Tush! don't be absurd.”
-
-And so it went on from worse to worse, my grandmother pining away under
-my very eyes, until the siege ended in 1871, and the war was decided
-in favor of the Germans. Then, on the fourteenth of February, St.
-Valentine's Day, our fears lest Uncle Florimond had been killed were
-relieved. A letter came from him dated February 1st. It was very short.
-It ran: “Here is a single line, my beloved sister, to tell thee that
-I am alive and well. To-morrow I shall write thee a real letter”--_une
-vraie lettre_.
-
-My grandmother never received his “real letter.” The long strain and
-suspense had been too much for her. That day she broke down completely,
-crying at one moment, laughing the next, and all the time talking to
-herself in a way that frightened me terribly. That night she went to
-bed in a high fever, and out of her mind. She did not know me, her own
-grandson, but kept calling me Florimond. I ran for the doctor; but when
-he saw her, he shook his head.
-
-On the morning of February 16th my dear, dear grandmother died.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II--I MAKE A FRIEND.
-
-
-I shall not dwell upon my grief. It would be painful, and it would
-serve no purpose. The spring of 1871 was a very dark and dismal spring
-to me. It was as though a part--the best part--of myself had been taken
-from me. To go on living in the same old house, where everything spoke
-to me of her, where every nook and corner had its association with her,
-where every chair and table recalled her to me, yet not to hear her
-voice, nor see her face, nor feel her presence any more, and to realize
-that she had gone from me forever--I need not tell you how hard it was,
-nor how my heart ached, nor how utterly lonesome and desolate I felt. I
-need not tell you how big and bleak and empty the old house seemed.
-
-Sometimes, though, I could not believe that it was really true, that she
-had really died. It was too dreadful. I could not help thinking that it
-must be some mistake, some hideous delusion. I would start from my sleep
-in the middle of the night, and feel sure that it must have been a bad
-dream, that she must have come back, that she was even now in bed in her
-room. Then, full of hope, I would get up and go to see. All my pain
-was suddenly and cruelly renewed when I found her bed cold and empty.
-I would throw myself upon it, and bury my face in the coverlet, and
-abandon myself to a passionate outburst of tears and sobs, calling aloud
-for her: “_Grand'-mère, grand'mere, O ma grand'mère chérie!_” I almost
-expected that she would hear me, and be moved to pity for me, and come
-back.
-
-One night, when I was lying thus upon her bed, in the dark, and
-calling for her, I felt all at once the clutch of a strong hand upon my
-shoulder. It terrified me unspeakably. My heart gave a great jump, and
-stopped its beating. My limbs trembled, and a cold sweat broke out all
-over my body. I could not see six inches before my face. Who, or rather
-what, could my invisible captor be? Some grim and fearful monster of the
-darkness? A giant--a vampire--an ogre--or, at the very least, a burglar!
-All this flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second. Then I heard
-the voice of my Uncle Peter: “What do you mean, you young beggar, by
-raising such a hullaballoo at this hour of the night, and waking people
-up? Get off to your bed now, and in the morning I'll talk to you.” And
-though I suspected that “I'll talk to you” signified “I'll give you a
-good sound thrashing,” I could have hugged my Uncle Peter, so great was
-my relief to find that it was he, and no one worse.
-
-Surely enough, next morning after breakfast, he led me to his room,
-and there he administered to me one of the most thorough and energetic
-thrashings I ever received from him. But now I had nobody to pet me
-and make much of me after it; and all that day I felt the awful
-friendlessness of my position more keenly than I had ever felt it
-before.
-
-“I have but one friend in the whole world,” I thought, “and he is so
-far, so far away. If I could only somehow get across the ocean, to
-France, to Paris, to his house, and live with him! He would be so good
-to me, and I should be so happy!” And I looked up at his sword hanging
-upon my wall, and longed for the hour when I should touch the hand that
-had once wielded it.
-
-I must not forget to tell you here of a little correspondence that I
-had with this distant friend of mine. A day or two after the funeral I
-approached my Uncle Peter, and, summoning all my courage, inquired,
-“Are you going to write to Uncle Florimond, and let him know?”
-
-“What?” he asked, as if he had not heard, though I had spoken quite
-distinctly. That was one of his disagreeable, disconcerting ways--to
-make you repeat whatever you had to say. It always put me out of
-countenance, and made me feel foolish and embarrassed.
-
-“I wanted to know whether you were going to write and tell Uncle
-Florimond,” I explained with a quavering voice.
-
-By way of retort, he half-shut his eyes, and gave me a queer, quizzical
-glance, which seemed to be partly a sneer, and partly a threat. He kept
-it up for a minute or two, and then he turned his back upon me, and went
-off whistling. This I took to be as good as “No” to my question. “Yet,”
- I reflected, “somebody ought to write and tell him. It is only fair to
-let him know.” And I determined that I would do so myself; and I did.
-I wrote him a letter; and then I rewrote it; and then I copied it; and
-then I copied it again; and at last I dropped my final copy into the
-post-box.
-
-About five weeks later I got an answer from him. In a few simple
-sentences he expressed his great sorrow; and then he went on: “And, now,
-my dear little nephew, by this mutual loss thou and I are brought closer
-together; and by a more tender mutual affection we must try to comfort
-and console each other. For my part, I open to thee that place in my
-heart left vacant by the death of my sainted sister; and I dare to hope
-that thou wilt transfer to me something of thy love for her. I attend
-with impatience the day of our meeting, which, I tell myself, if the
-Lord spares our lives, must arrive as soon as thou art big enough to
-leave thy home and come to me in France. Meanwhile, may the good God
-keep and bless thee, shall be the constant prayer of thy Uncle de la
-Bourbonnaye.”
-
-This letter touched me very deeply.
-
-After reading it I came nearer to feeling really happy than I had come
-at any time before since she died.
-
-I must hasten over the next year. Of course, as the weeks and months
-slipped away, I gradually got more or less used to the new state of
-things, and the first sharp edge of my grief was dulled. The hardest
-hours of my day were those spent at table with Uncle Peter--alone with
-him, in a silence broken only by the clinking of our knives and forks.
-These were very hard, trying hours indeed. The rest of my time I passed
-out of doors, in the company of Sam Budd, our gardener's son, and the
-other village boys. What between swimming, fishing, and running the
-streets with them, I contrived to amuse myself after a fashion. Yet, for
-all that, the year I speak of was a forlorn, miserable year for me; I
-was far from being either happy or contented. My first violent anguish
-had simply given place to a vague, continuous sense of dissatisfaction
-and unrest, like a hunger, a craving, for something I could not name.
-That something was really--love: though I was not wise enough to know
-as much at the time. A child's heart--and, for that matter, a grown-up
-man's--craves affection as naturally as his stomach craves food; I did
-not have it; and that was why my heart ached and was sick. I wondered
-and wondered whether my present mode of life was going to last forever;
-I longed and longed for change. Somehow to escape, and get across the
-ocean to my Uncle Florimond, was my constant wish; but I saw no means of
-realizing it. Once in a while I would think, “Suppose I write to him
-and tell him how wretched I am, and ask him to send for me?” But then a
-feeling of shame and delicacy restrained me.
-
-Another thing that you will easily see about this year, is that it
-must have been a very unprofitable one for me from the point of view
-of morals. My education was suspended; no more study, no more 'lessons.
-Uncle Peter never spoke of sending me to school; and I was too young and
-ignorant to desire to go of my own accord. Then, too, I was without any
-sort of refining or softening influence at home; Julia, our cook, being
-my single friend there, and my uncle's treatment of me serving only to
-sour and harden me. If, therefore, at the end of the year in question I
-was by no manner of means so nice a boy as I had been at the beginning
-of it, surely there was little cause for astonishment. Indeed, I imagine
-the only thing that kept me from growing altogether rough and wild and
-boisterous, was my thought of Uncle Florimond, and my ambition to be the
-kind of lad that I believed he would like to have me.
-
-And now I come to an adventure which, as it proved, marked the point of
-a new departure in my affairs.
-
-It was early in April, 1872. There had been a general thaw, followed by
-several days of heavy rain; and the result was, of course, a freshet.
-Our little river, the Yantic, had swollen to three--in some places even
-to four--times its ordinary width; and its usually placid current had
-acquired a tremendous strength and speed. This transformation was the
-subject of endless interest to us boys; and every day we used to go and
-stand upon the bank, and watch the broad and turbulent rush of water
-with mingled wonder, terror and delight. It was like seeing an old
-friend, whom we had hitherto regarded as a quite harmless and rather
-namby-pamby sort of chap, and been fearlessly familiar with, suddenly
-display the power and prowess of a giant, and brandish his fists at us,
-crying, “Come near me at your peril!” Our emotions sought utterance
-in such ejaculations as “My!” “Whew!” and “Jimminy!” and Sam Budd was
-always tempting me with, “Say, Gregory, stump ye to go in,” which was
-very aggravating. I hated to have him dare me.
-
-Well, one afternoon--I think it was on the third day of the
-freshet--when Sam and I made our customary pilgrimage down through
-Captain Josh Abingdon's garden to the water's edge, fancy our surprise
-to behold a man standing there and fishing. Fishing in that torrent! It
-was too absurd for anything; and instantly all our wonder transferred
-itself from the stream to the fisherman, at whom we stared with eyes
-and mouths wide open, in an exceedingly curious and ill-bred manner. He
-didn't notice us at first; and when he did, he didn't seem to mind
-our rudeness the least bit. He just looked up for a minute, and calmly
-inspected us; and then he gave each of us a solemn, deliberate wink, and
-returned his attention to his pole, which, by the way, was an elaborate
-and costly one, jointed and trimmed with metal. He was a funny-looking
-man; short and stout, with a broad, flat, good-natured face, a thick
-nose, a large mouth, and hair as black and curling as a negro's.
-
-He wore a fine suit of clothes of the style that we boys should have
-called cityfied; and across his waistcoat stretched a massive golden
-watch-chain, from which dangled a large golden locket set with precious
-stones.
-
-Presently this strange individual drew in his line to examine his bait;
-and then, having satisfied himself as to its condition, he attempted to
-make a throw. But he threw too hard. His pole slipped from his grasp,
-flew through the air, fell far out into the water, and next moment
-started off down stream at the rate of a train of steam-cars. This was a
-sad mishap. The stranger's face expressed extreme dismay, and Sam and I
-felt sorry for him from the bottom of our hearts. It was really a
-great pity that such a handsome pole should be lost in such a needless
-fashion.
-
-But stay! All at once the pole's progress down stream ceased. It had
-got caught by an eddy, which was sweeping it rapidly inward and upward
-toward the very spot upon the shore where we stood. Would it reach land
-safely, and be recovered? We waited, watching, in breathless suspense.
-Nearer it came--nearer--nearer! Our hopes were mounting very high
-indeed. A smile lighted the fisherman's broad face. The pole had
-now approached within twenty feet of the bank. Ten seconds more, and
-surely--But again, stay! Twenty feet from the shore the waters formed
-a whirlpool. In this whirlpool for an instant the pole remained
-motionless. Then, after a few jerky movements to right and left, instead
-of continuing its journey toward the shore, it began spinning round and
-round in the circling current. At any minute it might break loose and
-resume its course down stream; but for the present there it was, halting
-within a few yards of us--so near, and yet so far.
-
-Up to this point we had all kept silence. But now the fisherman broke
-it with a loud, gasping sigh. Next thing I heard was Sam Budd's voice,
-pitched in a mocking, defiant key, “Say, Gregory, stump ye to go in.” I
-looked at Sam. He was already beginning to undress.
-
-No; under the circumstances--with that man as a witness--I could not
-refuse the challenge. My reputation, my character, was at stake. I knew
-that the water would be as cold as ice; I knew that the force of its
-current involved danger to a swimmer of a sort not to be laughed at. Yet
-my pride had been touched, my vanity had been aroused. I could not allow
-Sam Budd to “stump” me with impunity, and then outdo me. “You do, do
-you?” I retorted. “Well, come on.” And stripping off my clothes in a
-twinkling, I plunged into the flood, Sam following close at my heels.
-
-As cold as ice! Why, ice was nowhere, compared to the Yantic River in
-that first week of April. They say extremes meet. Well, the water was so
-cold that it seemed actually to scald my skin, as if it had been boiling
-hot. But never mind. The first shock over, I gritted my teeth to keep
-them from chattering, and struck boldly out for the whirlpool, where the
-precious rod was still spinning round and round. Of course, in order to
-save myself from being swept down below it, I had to aim diagonally at a
-point far above it.
-
-The details of my struggle I need not give. Indeed, I don't believe I
-could give them, even if it were desirable that I should. My memory of
-the time I spent in the water is exceedingly confused and dim. Intense
-cold; desperately hard work with arms and legs; frantic efforts to get
-my breath; a fierce determination to be the first to reach that pole
-no matter at what hazard; a sense of immense relief and triumph when,
-suddenly, I realized that success had crowned my labors--when I felt
-the pole actually in my hands; then a fight to regain the shore; and
-finally, again, success!
-
-Yes, there I stood upon the dry land, safe and sound, though panting
-and shivering from exhaustion and cold. I was also rather dazed and
-bewildered; yet I still had enough of my wits about me to go up to the
-fisherman, and say politely, “Here, sir, is your pole.” He cried in
-response--and I noticed that he pronounced the English language in a
-very peculiar way--“My kracious! You was a brave boy, Bubby. Hurry up;
-dress; you catch your death of cold standing still there, mitout no
-clodes on you, like dot. My koodness! a boy like you was worth a tousand
-dollars.”
-
-[Illustration: 0061]
-
-Suddenly it occurred to me to wonder what had become of Sam. I had not
-once thought of him since my plunge into the water. I suppose the reason
-for this forgetfulness was that my entire mind, as well as my entire
-body, had been bent upon the work I had in hand. But now, as I say,
-it suddenly occurred to me to wonder what had become of him; and a
-sickening fear lest he might have got drowned made my heart quail.
-
-“O, sir!” I demanded, “Sam--the other boy--where is he? Has anything
-happened to him? Did he--he didn't--he didn't get drowned?”
-
-“Drownded?” repeated the fisherman. “Well, you can bet he didn't. He's
-all right. There he is--under dot tree over there.”
-
-He pointed toward an apple-tree, beneath which I descried Sam Budd,
-already nearly dressed. As Sam's eyes met mine, a very sheepish look
-crept over his face, and he called out, “Oh! I gave up long ago.”
- Well, you may just guess how proud and victorious I felt to hear this
-admission from my rival's lips.
-
-The fisherman now turned his attention to straightening out his tackle,
-which had got into a sad mess during its bath, while I set to putting on
-my things. Pretty soon he drew near to where I stood, and, surveying me
-with a curious glance, “Well, Bubby, how you feel?” he asked.
-
-“Oh! I feel all right, thank you, sir; only a little cold,” I answered.
-
-“Well, Bubby, you was a fine boy,” he went on. “Well, how old was you?”
-
-“I'm twelve, going on thirteen.”
-
-“My kracious! Is dot all? Why, you wasn't much older as a baby; and yet
-so tall and strong already. Well, Bubby, what's your name?”
-
-“Gregory Brace.”
-
-“Krekory Prace, hey? Well, dot's a fine name. Well; you live here in
-Nawvich, I suppose--yes?”
-
-“Yes, sir.”
-
-“Maybe your papa was in business here?”
-
-“No, sir; my father is dead.”
-
-“Oh! is dot so? Well, dot's too bad. And so you was a half-orphan, yes?”
-
-“No, sir; my mother is dead, too.”
-
-“You don't say so! Well, my kracious! Well, den you was a whole orphan,
-ain't you? Well, who you live with?”
-
-“I live with my uncle, sir--Judge Brace.”
-
-“Oh! so your uncle was a judge. Well, dot's grand. Well, you go to
-school, I suppose, hey?”
-
-“No, sir; I don't go to school.”
-
-“You don't go to school? Oh! then, maybe you was in business already,
-yes.”
-
-“O, no, sir! I'm not in business.”
-
-“You don't go to school, and you wasn't in business; well, what you do
-mit yourself all day long, hey?”
-
-“I play.”
-
-“You play! Well, then you was a sort of a gentleman of leisure, ain't
-you? Well, dot must be pretty good fun--to play all day. Well, Bubby,
-you ever go to New York?”
-
-“No, sir; I've never been in New York. Do you live in New York, sir?”
-
-“Yes, Bubby, I live in New York when I'm at home. But I'm shenerally on
-the road, like I was to-day. I'm what you call a trummer; a salesman for
-Krauskopf, Sollinger & Co., voolens. Here's my card.”
-
-He handed me a large pasteboard card, of which the following is a
-copy:--
-
-[Illustration: 0068]
-
-“Yes,” he went on, “dot's my name, and dot's my address. And when you
-come to New York you call on me there, and I'll treat you like a buyer.
-I'll show you around our establishment, and I'll give you a dinner by a
-restaurant, and I'll take you to the theayter, and then, if you want it,
-I'll get you a chop.”
-
-“A chop?” I queried. “What is a chop?”
-
-“What is a chop! Why, if you want to go into business, you got to get a
-chop, ain't you? A chop was an embloyment; and then there was chop-lots
-also.” At this I understood that he meant a job. “Yes, Bubby, a fine boy
-like you hadn't oughter be doing nodings all day long. You'd oughter go
-into business, and get rich. You're smart enough, and you got enerchy. I
-was in business already when I was ten years old, and I ain't no smarter
-as you, and I ain't got no more enerchy. Yes, Bubby, you take my advice:
-come down to New York, and I get you a chop, and you make your fortune,
-no mistake about it. And now, Bubby, I want to give you a little present
-to remember me by.”
-
-He drew a great fat roll of money from his waistcoat pocket, and offered
-me a two-dollar bill.
-
-“O, no! I thank you, sir,” I hastened to say. “I don't want any money.”
-
-“O, well! this ain't no money to speak of, Bubby; only a two-tollar
-pill. You just take it, and buy yourself a little keepsake. It von't
-hurt you.”
-
-“You're very kind, sir; but I really can't take it, thank you.” And it
-flashed through my mind: “What would Uncle Florimond think of me, if I
-should accept his money?”
-
-“Well, dot's too bad. I really like to make you a little present, Bubby.
-But if you was too proud, what you say if I give it to the other boy,
-hey?”
-
-“Oh! to Sam--yes, I think that would be a very good idea,” I replied.
-
-So he called Sam--_Sem_ was the way he pronounced it--and gave him
-the two-dol-lar bill, which Sam received without the faintest show of
-compunction.
-
-“Well, I got to go now,” the fisherman said, holding out his hand.
-“Well, good-by, Bubby; and don't forget, when you come to New York, to
-give me a call. Well, so-long.”
-
-Sam and I watched him till he got out of sight. Then we too started for
-home.
-
-At the time, my talk with Mr. Solomon D. Marx did not make any especial
-impression on me; but a few days later it came back to me, the subject
-of serious meditation. The circumstances were as follows:--
-
-We had just got through our supper, and Uncle Peter had gone to his
-room, when all at once I heard his door open, and his voice, loud and
-sharp, call, “Gregory!”
-
-“Yes, sir,” I answered, my heart in a flutter; and to myself I thought,
-“O, dear, what can be the matter now?”
-
-“Come here, quick!” he ordered.
-
-I entered his room, and saw him standing near his table, with a
-cigar-box in his hand.
-
-“You young rascal,” he began; “so you have been stealing my cigars!”
-
-This charge of theft was so unexpected, so insulting, so untrue, that,
-if he had struck me a blow between the eyes, it could not have taken me
-more aback. The blood rushed to my face; my whole frame grew rigid, as
-if I had been petrified. I tried to speak; but my presence of mind had
-deserted me; I could not think of a single word.
-
-“Well?” he questioned. “Well? ''
-
-“I--I--I”--I stammered. Scared out of my wits, I could get no further.
-
-“Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?”
-
-“I--I did--I didn't--do it,” I gasped. “I don't know what you mean.”
-
-“What!” he thundered. “You dare to lie to me about it! You dare to steal
-from me, and then lie to my face! You insufferable beggar! I'll teach
-you a lesson.” And, putting out his hand, he took his rattan cane from
-the peg it hung by on the wall.
-
-“Oh! really and truly, Uncle Peter,” I protested, “I never stole a thing
-in all my life. I never saw your cigars. I didn't even know you had any.
-Oh! you--you're not going to whip me, when I didn't do it?”
-
-“Why, what a barefaced little liar it is! Egad! you do it beautifully. I
-wouldn't have given you credit for so much cleverness.” He said this in
-a sarcastic voice, and with a mocking smile. Then he frowned, and his
-voice changed. “Come here,” he snarled, his fingers tightening upon the
-handle of his cane.
-
-A great wave of anger swept over me, and brought me a momentary flush of
-courage. “No, sir; I won't,” I answered, my whole body in a tremor.
-
-Uncle Peter started. I had never before dared to defy him. He did not
-know what to make of my doing so now. He turned pale. He bit his lip.
-His eyes burned with a peculiarly ugly light. So he stood, glaring at
-me, for a moment. Then, “You--won't,” he repeated, very low, and pausing
-between the words. “Why, what kind of talk is this I hear? Well, well,
-my fine fellow, you amuse me.”
-
-I was standing between him and the door. I turned now, with the idea of
-escaping from the room. But he was too quick for me. I had only just got
-my hand upon the latch, when he sprang forward, seized me by the collar
-of my jacket, and, with one strong pull, landed me again in the middle
-of the floor.
-
-“There!” he cried. “Now we'll have it out. I owe you four: one for
-stealing my cigars; one for lying to me about it; one for telling me you
-wouldn't; and one for trying to sneak out of the room. Take this, and
-this, and this.”
-
-With that he set his rattan cane in motion; nor did he bring it to a
-stand-still until I felt as though I had not one well spot left upon my
-skin.
-
-“Now, then, be off with you,” he growled; and I found myself in the hall
-outside his door.
-
-I dragged my aching body to my room, and sat down at my window in the
-dark. Never before had I experienced such a furious sense of outrage.
-Many and many a time I had been whipped, as I thought, unjustly; but
-this time he had added insult to injury; he had accused me of stealing
-and of lying; and, deaf to my assertion of my innocence, he had punished
-me accordingly. I seriously believe that I did not mind the whipping
-in itself half so much as I minded the shameful accusations that he had
-brought against me. “How long, how long,” I groaned, “has this got to
-last? Shall I never be able to get away--to get to France, to my Uncle
-Florimond? If I only had some money--if I had a hundred dollars--then
-all my troubles would be over and done with. Surely, a hundred dollars
-would be enough to take me to the very door of his house in Paris.” But
-how--how to obtain such an enormous sum? And it was at this point that
-my conversation with Mr. Solomon D. Marx came back to me:--
-
-“Why, go to New York! Go into business! You'll soon earn a hundred
-dollars. Mr. Marx said he would get you a job. Start for New York
-to-morrow.”
-
-This notion took immediate and entire possession of my fancy, and I
-remained awake all night, building glittering air-castles upon it as
-a foundation. The only doubt that vexed me was, “What will Uncle Peter
-say? Will he let me go?” The idea of going secretly, or without his
-consent, never once entered my head. “Well, to-morrow morning,” I
-resolved, “I will speak with him, and ask his permission. And if he
-gives it to me--hurrah! And if he doesn't--O, dear me, dear me!”
-
-To cut a long story short, when, next morning, I did speak with him, and
-ask his permission, he, to my infinite joy, responded, “Why, go, and be
-hanged to you. Good riddance to bad rubbish!”
-
-In my tin savings bank, I found, I had nine dollars and sixty-three
-cents. With this in my pocket; with the sword of my Uncle Florimond as
-the principal part of my luggage; and with a heart full of strange and
-new emotions, of fear and hope, and gladness and regret, I embarked that
-evening upon the Sound steamboat, City of Lawrence, for the metropolis
-where I have ever since had my home; bade good-by to my old life, and
-set sail alone upon the great, awful, unknown sea of the future.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.--NEW YORK.
-
-
-I did not feel rich enough to take a stateroom on the City of Lawrence;
-that would have cost a dollar extra; so I picked out a sofa in the
-big gilt and white saloon, and sitting down upon it, proceeded to make
-myself as comfortable as the circumstances would permit. A small boy,
-armed with a large sword, and standing guard over a hand-satchel and
-a square package done up in a newspaper--which last contained my Uncle
-Florimond's copy of _Paul et Virginie_--I dare say I presented a curious
-spectacle to the passers-by. Indeed, almost everybody turned to look at
-me; and one man, with an original wit, inquired, “Hello, sword, where
-you going with that boy?” But my mind was too busy with other and
-weightier matters to be disturbed about mere appearances. One thought in
-particular occupied it: I must not on any account allow myself to fall
-asleep--for then I might be robbed. No; I must take great pains to keep
-wide awake all night long.
-
-For the first hour or two it was easy enough to make this resolution
-good. The undiscovered country awaiting my exploration, the novelty and
-the excitement of my position, the people walking back and forth, and
-laughing and chattering, the noises coming from the dock outside, and
-from every corner of the steamboat inside, the bright lights of the
-cabin lamps--all combined to put my senses on the alert, and to banish
-sleep. But after we had got under way, and the other passengers had
-retired to their berths or staterooms, and most of the lamps had been
-extinguished, and the only sound to be heard was the muffled throbbing
-of the engines, then tired nature asserted herself, the sandman came, my
-eyelids grew very heavy, I began to nod. Er-rub-dub-dub, er-rub-dub-dub,
-went the engines; er-rub-dubdub, er-rub-er-rub-er-er-er-r-r...,
-
-Mercy! With a sudden start I came to myself. It was broad day. I had
-been sleeping soundly for I knew not how many hours.
-
-My first thought, of course, was for my valuables. Had my fears been
-realized? Had I been robbed? I hastened to make an investigation. No!
-My money, my sword, my satchel, my _Paul et Virginie_, remained in their
-proper places, unmolested. Having relieved my anxiety on this head, I
-got up, stretched myself, and went out on deck.
-
-If I live to be a hundred, I don't believe I shall ever forget my first
-breath of the outdoor air on that red-letter April morning--it was so
-sweet, so pure, so fresh and keen and stimulating. It sent a glow of new
-vitality tingling through my body. I just stood still and drew in deep
-inhalations of it with delight. It was like drinking a rich, delicious
-wine. My heart warmed and mellowed. Hope and gladness entered into it.
-
-It must have been very early. The sun, a huge ball of gold, floated into
-rosy mists but a little higher than the horizon; and a heavy dew bathed
-the deck and the chairs and the rail. We were speeding along, almost,
-it seemed, within a stone's throw of the shore, where the turf was
-beginning to put on the first vivid green of spring, where the leafless
-trees were exquisitely penciled against the gleaming sky, and where,
-from the chimneys of the houses, the smoke of breakfast fires curled
-upward: Over all there lay a wondrous, restful stillness, which the
-pounding of our paddle-wheels upon the water served only to accentuate,
-and which awoke in one's breast a deep, solemn, and yet joyous sense of
-peace.
-
-I staid out on deck from that moment until, some two hours later, we
-brought up alongside our pier; and with what strange and strong emotions
-I watched the vast town grow from a mere distant reddish blur to the
-grim, frowning mass of brick and stone it really is, I shall not attempt
-to tell. To a country-bred lad like myself it was bound to be a stirring
-and memorable experience. Looking back at it now, I can truly say that
-it was one of the most stirring and memorable experiences of my life.
-
-It was precisely eight o'clock, as a gentleman of whom I inquired
-the hour was kind enough to inform me, when I stepped off the City of
-Lawrence and into the city of New York. My heart was bounding, but my
-poor brain was bewildered. The hurly-burly of people, the fierce-looking
-men at the entrance of the dock, who shook their fists at me, and
-shouted, “Cadge, cadge, want a cadge?” leaving me to wonder what a
-cadge was, the roar and motion of the wagons in the street, everything,
-everything interested, excited, yet also confused, baffled, and to
-some degree frightened me. I felt as though I had been set down in
-pandemonium; yet I was not sorry to be there; I rather liked it.
-
-I went up to a person whom I took to be a policeman, for he wore a
-uniform resembling that worn by our one single policeman in Norwich
-City; and, exhibiting the card that Mr. Marx had given me, I asked him
-how to reach the street and house indicated upon it.
-
-He eyed me with unconcealed amusement at my accoutrements, and answered,
-“Ye wahk down tin blocks; thin turrun to yer lift four blocks; thin down
-wan; thin to yer roight chew or thray doors; and there ye are.”
-
-“Thank you, sir,” said I, and started off, repeating his instructions to
-myself, so as not to forget them.
-
-I felt very hungry, and I hoped that Mr. Marx would offer me some
-breakfast; but it did not occur to me to stop at an eating-house, and
-breakfast on my own account, until, as I was trudging along, I presently
-caught sight of a sign-board standing on the walk in front of a
-shop, which advertised, in big conspicuous white letters upon a black
-ground:--
-
-[Illustration: 0084]
-
-Merely to read the names of these good things made my mouth water. The
-prices seemed reasonable. I walked into the ladies' and gents' dining
-parlor--which was rather shabby and dingy, I thought, for a parlor--and
-asked for a beefsteak and some fried potatoes; a burly,
-villainous-looking colored man, in his shirt-sleeves, having demanded,
-“Wall, Boss, wottle you have?” His shirt-sleeves were not immaculately
-clean; neither was the dark red cloth that covered my table; neither, I
-feared, was the fork he gave me to eat with. To make sure, I picked this
-last-named object up, and examined it; whereupon the waiter, with a
-horrid loud laugh, cried, “Oh! yassah, it's sawlid, sawlid silvah, sah,”
- which made me feel wretchedly silly and uncomfortable. The beefsteak was
-pretty tough, and not especially toothsome in its flavor; the potatoes
-were lukewarm and greasy; the bread was soggy, the butter rancid; the
-waiter took up a position close at hand, and stared at me with his
-wicked little eyes as steadily as if he had never seen a boy before: so,
-despite my hunger, I ate with a poor appetite, and was glad enough when
-by and by I left the ladies' and gents' dining parlor behind me, and
-resumed my journey through the streets. As I was crossing the threshold,
-the waiter called after me, “Say, Johnny, where joo hook the sword?”
-
-Inquiring my way of each new policeman that I passed--for I distrusted
-my memory of the directions I had received from the first--I finally
-reached No. ----, Franklin Street and read the name of Krauskopf,
-Sollinger & Co., engraved in Old English letters upon a shining metal
-sign. I entered, and with a trembling heart inquired for Mr. Marx. Ten
-seconds later I stood before him.
-
-[Illustration: 0093]
-
-“Mr. Marx,” I ventured, in rather a timid voice.
-
-He was seated in a swivel-chair, reading a newspaper, and smoking a
-cigar. At the sound of his name, he glanced up, and looked at me for a
-moment with an absent-minded and indifferent face, showing no glimmer
-of recognition. But then, suddenly, his eyes lighted; he sprang from his
-chair, started back, and cried:--
-
-“My kracious! was dot you, Bubby? Was dot yourself? Was dot--well, my
-koodness!”
-
-“Yes, sir; Gregory Brace,” I replied.
-
-“Krekory Prace! Yes, dot's a fact. No mistake about it. It's
-yourself, sure. But--but, koodness kracious, Bubby,
-what--how--why--when--where--where you come from? When you leave
-Nawvich? How you get here? What you--well, it's simply wonderful.”
-
-“I came down on the boat last night,” I said.
-
-“Oh! you came down on de boat last night. Well, I svear. Well, Bubby,
-who came mit you?”
-
-“Nobody, sir; I came alone.”
-
-“You came alone! You don't say so. Well, did your mamma--excuse me; you
-ain't got no mamma; I forgot; it was your uncle--well, did your uncle
-know you was come?”
-
-“Oh! yes, sir; he knows it; he said I might.”
-
-“He said you might, hey? Well, dot's fine. Well, Bubby, what you come
-for? To make a little visit, hey, and go around a little, and see the
-town? Well, Bubby, this was a big surprise; it was, and no mistake. But
-I'm glad to see you, all de same. Well, shake hands.”
-
-“No, sir,” I explained, after we had shaken hands, “I didn't come for a
-visit. I came to go into business. You said you would get me a job, and
-I have come for that.”
-
-“Oh! you was come to go into pusiness, was you? And you want I should
-get you a chop? Well, if I ever! Well, you're a great feller, Bubby;
-you got so much ambition about you. Well, dot's all right. I get you
-the chop, don't you be afraid. We talk about dot in a minute. But now,
-excuse me, Bubby, but what you doing mit the sword? Was you going to
-kill somebody mit it, hey, Bubby?”
-
-“O, no, sir! it--it's a keepsake.”
-
-“Oh! it was a keepsake, was it, Bubby? Well, dot's grand. Well, who was
-it a keepsake of? It's a handsome sword, Bubby, and it must be worth
-quite a good deal of money. If dot's chenu-wine gold, I shouldn't wonder
-if it was worth two or three hundred dollars.--Oh! by the way, Bubby,
-you had your breakfast yet already?”
-
-“Well, yes, sir; I've had a sort of breakfast.”
-
-“A sort of a breakfast, hey? Well, what sort of a breakfast was it?”
-
-I gave him an account of my experience in the ladies' and gents' dining
-parlor. He laughed immoderately, though I couldn't see that it was so
-very funny. “Well, Bubby,” he remarked, “dot was simply immense. Dot
-oughter go into a comic paper, mit a picture of dot big nigger staring
-at you. Well, I give ten dollars to been there, and heard him tell
-you dot fork was solid silver. Well, dot was a. pretty poor sort of a
-breakfast, anyhow. I guess you better come along out mit me now, and we
-get anudder sort of a breakfast, hey? You just wait here a minute while
-I go put on my hat. And say, Bubby, I guess you better give me dot
-sword, to leaf here while we're gone. I don't believe you'll need it.
-Give me dem udder things, too,” pointing to my satchel and my book.
-
-He went away, but soon came back, with his hat on; and, taking my hand,
-he led me out into the street. After a walk of a few blocks, we turned
-into a luxurious little restaurant, as unlike the dining parlor as a
-fine lady is unlike a beggar woman, and sat down at a neat round table
-covered with a snowy cloth.
-
-“Now, Bubby,” inquired Mr. Marx, “you got any preferences? Or will you
-give me card blanch to order what I think best?”
-
-“Oh! order what you think best.”
-
-He beckoned a waiter, and spoke to him at some length in a foreign
-language, which, I guessed, was German. The waiter went off; and then,
-addressing me, Mr. Marx said, “Well, now, Bubby, now we're settled down,
-quiet and comfortable, now you go ahead and tell me all about it.”
-
-“All about what, sir?” queried I.
-
-“Why, all about yourself, and what you leaf your home for, and what
-you expect to do here in New York, and every dings--the whole pusiness.
-Well, fire away.”
-
-“Well, sir, I--it--it's this way,” I began. And then, as well as I
-could, I told Mr. Marx substantially everything that I have as yet told
-you in this story--about my grandmother, my Uncle Florimond, my
-Uncle Peter, and all the rest. Meanwhile the waiter had brought the
-breakfast--such an abundant, delicious breakfast! such juicy mutton
-chops, such succulent stewed potatoes, such bread, such butter, such
-coffee!--and I was violating the primary canons of good breeding by
-talking with my mouth full. Mr. Marx heard me through with every sign
-of interest and sympathy, only interrupting once, to ask, “Well, what I
-ordered--I hope it gives you entire satisfaction, hey?” and when I had
-done:--
-
-“Well, if I ever!” he exclaimed. “Well, dot beats de record! Well, dot
-Uncle Peter was simply outracheous! Well, Bubby, you done just right,
-you done just exactly right, to come to me. The only thing dot surprises
-me is how you stood it so long already. Well, dot Uncle Peter of yours,
-Bubby--well, dot's simply unnecheral.”
-
-He paused for a little, and appeared to be thinking. By and by he went
-on, “But your grandma, Bubby, your grandma was elegant. Yes, Bubby, your
-grandma was an angel, and no mistake about it. She reminds me, Bubby,
-she reminds me of my own mamma. Ach, Krekory, my mamma was so loafly.
-You couldn't hardly believe it. She was simply magnificent. Your grandma
-and her, they might have been ter_vins_. Yes, Krekory, they might have
-been ter_vin_ sisters.”
-
-Much to my surprise, Mr. Marx's eyes filled with tears, and there was a
-frog in his voice. “I can't help it, Bubby,” he said. “When you told me
-about dot grandma of yours, dot made me feel like crying. You see,” he
-added in an apologetic key, “I got so much sentiment about me.”
-
-He was silent again for a little, and then again by and by he went on,
-“But I tell you what, Krekory, it's awful lucky dot you came down to
-New York just exactly when you did. Uddervise--if you'd come tomorrow
-instead of to-day, for example--you wouldn't have found me no more.
-Tomorrow morning I start off on the road for a six weeks' trip. What you
-done, hey, if you come down to New York and don't find me, hey, Bubby?
-Dot would been fearful, hey? Well, now, Krekory, now about dot chop.
-Well, as I got to leaf town to-morrow morning, I ain't got the time to
-find you a first-class chop before I go. But I tell you what I do. I
-take you up and introduce you to my fader-in-law; and you stay mit him
-till I get back from my trip, and then I find you the best chop in the
-market, don't you be afraid. My fader-in-law was a cheweler of the name
-of Mr. Finkelstein, Mr. Gottlieb Finkelstein. He's one of the nicest
-gentlemen you want to know, Bubby, and he'll treat you splendid. As soon
-as you get through mit dot breakfast, I take you up and introduce you to
-him.”
-
-We went back to Mr. Marx's place of business, and got my traps; and then
-we took a horse-car up-town to Mr. Finkelstein's, which was in Third
-Avenue near Forty-Seventh Street. Mr. Marx talked to me about his
-father-in-law all the time.
-
-“He's got more wit about him than any man of my acquaintance,” he said,
-“and he's so fond of music. He's a vidower, you know, Bubby; and I
-married his only daughter, of the name of Hedwig. Me and my wife, we
-board; but Mr. Finkelstein, he lives up-stairs over his store, mit an
-old woman of the name of Henrietta, for houze-keeper. Well, you'll like
-him first-rate, Bubby, you see if you don't; and he'll like you, you
-got so much enerchy about you. My kracious! If you talk about eating, he
-sets one of the grandest tables in the United States. And he's so fond
-of music, Krek-ory--it's simply wonderful. But I tell you one thing,
-Bubby; don't you never let him play a game of pinochle mit you, or else
-you get beat all holler. He's the most magnificent pinochle player in
-New York City; he's simply A-number-one.. . . Hello! here we are.”
-
-We left the horse-car, and found ourselves in front of a small jeweler's
-shop, which we entered. The shop was empty, but, a bell over the door
-having tinkled in announcement of our arrival, there entered next moment
-from the room behind it an old gentleman, who, as soon as he saw Mr.
-Marx, cried, “Hello, Solly! Is dot you? Vail, I declare! Vail, how goes
-it?”
-
-The very instant I first set eyes on him, I thought this was one of the
-pleasantest-looking old gentlemen I had ever seen in my life; and I am
-sure you would have shared my opinion if you had seen him, too. He was
-quite short--not taller than five feet two or three at the utmost--and
-as slender as a young girl; but he had a head and face that were really
-beautiful. His forehead was high, and his hair, white as snow and soft
-as silk, was combed straight back from it. A long white silky beard
-swept downward over his breast, half-way to his waist. His nose was a
-perfect aquiline, and it reminded me a little of my grandmother's,
-only it was longer and more pointed. But what made his face especially
-prepossessing were his eyes; the kindest, merriest eyes you can imagine;
-dark blue in color; shining with a mild, sweet light that won your heart
-at once, yet having also a humorous twinkle in them. Yes, the moment I
-first saw Mr. Finkelstein I took a liking to him; a liking which was
-ere a great while to develop into one of the strongest affections of my
-life.
-
-“Vail, how goes it?” he had inquired of Mr. Marx; and Mr. Marx had
-answered, “First-class. How's yourself?”
-
-“Oh! vail, pretty fair, tank you. I cain't complain. I like to be
-better, but I might be vorse. Vail, how's Heddie?”
-
-“Oh! Hedwig, she's immense, as usual. Well, how's business?”
-
-“Oh! don't aisk me. Poor, dirt-poor. I ain't made no sale vort
-mentioning dese two or tree days already. Only vun customer here dis
-morning yet, and he didn't buy nodings. Aifter exaiming five tousand
-tol-lars vort of goots, he tried to chew me down on a two tollar and a
-haif plated gold vatch-chain. Den I aisked him vedder he took my
-establishment for a back-handed owction, and he got maid and vent avay.
-Vail, I cain't help it; I must haif my shoke, you know, Solly. Vail,
-come along into de parlor. Valk in, set down, make yourself to home.”
-
-Without stopping his talk, he led us into the room behind the shop,
-which was very neatly and comfortably furnished, and offered us chairs.
-“Set down,” said he, “and make yourself shust as much to home as if you
-belonged here. I hate to talk to a man stainding up. Vail, Solly, I'm
-real glaid to see you; but, tell me, Solly, was dis young shentleman mit
-you a sort of a body-guard, hey?”
-
-“A body-guard?” repeated Mr. Marx, “how you mean?”
-
-“Why, on account of de sword; I tought maybe you took him along for
-brodection.”
-
-“Ach, my kracious, fader-in-law, you're simply killing, you got so much
-wit about you,” cried Mr. Marx, laughing.
-
-“Vail, I must haif my shoke, dot's a faict,” admitted Mr. Finkelstein.
-“Vail, Soily, you might as vail make us acqvainted, hey?”
-
-“Well, dot's what brought me up here this morning, fader-in-law. I
-wanted to introduce him to you. Well, this is Mr. Krekory Prace--Mr.
-Finkelstein.”
-
-“Bleased to make your acqvaintance, Mr. Prace; shake hands,” said Mr.
-Finkelstein. “And so your name was Kraikory, was it, Shonny? I used to
-know a Mr. Kraikory kept an undertaker's estaiblishment on Sixt Aivenue.
-Maybe he was a relation of yours, hey?”
-
-“No, sir; I don't think so. Gregory is only my first name,” I answered.
-
-“Well, now, fader-in-law,” struck in Mr. Marx, “you remember dot boy I
-told you about up in Nawvich, what jumped into the water, and saved me
-my fishing-pole already, de udder day?”
-
-“Yes, Solly, I remember. Vail?”
-
-“Well, fader-in-law, this was the boy.”
-
-“What! Go 'vay!” exclaimed Mr. Finkelstein. “You don't mean it! Vail, if
-I aifer! Vail, Shonny, let me look at you.” He looked at me with all his
-eyes, swaying his head slowly from side to side as he did so. “Vail, I
-wouldn't haif believed, it, aictually.”
-
-“It's a fact, all de same; no mistake about it,” attested Mr. Marx. “And
-now he's come down to New York, looking for a chop.”
-
-“A shop, hey? Vail, what kind of a shop does he vant, Solly? I should
-tink a shop by de vater-vorks vould be about his ticket, hey?”
-
-“Oh! no shoking. Pusiness is pusiness, fader-in-law,” Mr. Marx
-protested. “Well, seriously, I guess he ain't particular what kind of a
-chop, so long as it's steady and has prospects. He's got so much enerchy
-and ambition about him, I guesss he'll succeed in 'most any kind of a
-chop. But first I guess you better let him tell you de reasons he leaf
-his home, and den you can give him your advice. Go ahead, Bubby, and
-tell Mr. Finkelstein what you told me down by the restaurant.”
-
-“Yes, go ahead, Shonny,” Mr. Finkelstein added; and so for a second time
-that day I gave an account of myself.
-
-Mr. Finkelstein was even a more sympathetic listener than Mr. Marx had
-been. He kept swaying his head and muttering ejaculations, sometimes in
-English, sometimes in German, but always indicative of his eager
-interest in my tale. “_Mein Gott!_” “_Ist's moglich?_” “You don't say
-so!” “Vail, if I aifer!” And his kind eyes were all the time fixed upon
-my face in the most friendly and encouraging way. In the end, “Vail, I
-declare! Vail, my kracious!” he cried. “Vail, Shonny, I naifer heard
-nodings like dot in all my life before. You poor little boy! All alone
-in de vorld, mit nobody but dot parparian, dot saivage, to take care of
-you. Vail, it was simply heart-rending. Vail, your Uncle Peter, he'd
-oughter be tarred and feddered, dot's a faict. But don't you be afraid,
-Shonny; God will punish him; He will, shust as sure as I'm sitting here,
-Kraikory. Oh! you're a good boy, Kraikory, you're a fine boy. You make
-me loaf you already like a fader. Vail, Shonny, and so now you was come
-down to New York mit de idea of getting rich, was you?”
-
-“Yes, sir,” I confessed.
-
-“Vail, dot's a first-claiss idea. Dot's de same idea what I come to
-dis country mit. Vail, now, I give you a little piece of information,
-Shonny; what maybe you didn't know before. Every man in dis vorld was
-born to get rich. Did you know dot, Shonny?”
-
-“Why, no, sir; I didn't know it. Is it true?”
-
-“Yes, sir; it's a solemn faict. I leaf it to Solly, here. Every man in
-dis vorld is born to get rich--only some of 'em don't live long enough.
-You see de point?”
-
-Mr. Marx and I joined in a laugh. Mr. Finkelstein smiled faintly, and
-said, as if to excuse himself, “Vail, I cain't help it. I must haif my
-shoke.”
-
-“The grandest thing about your wit, fader-in-law,” Mr. Marx observed,
-“is dot you don't never laugh yourself.”
-
-“No; dot's so,” agreed Mr. Finkelstein. “When you get off a vitticism,
-you don't vant to laif yourself, for fear you might laif de cream off
-it.”
-
-“Ain't he immense?” demanded Mr. Marx, in an aside to me. Then, turning
-to his father-in-law: “Well, as I was going to tell you, I got to leaf
-town to-morrow morning for a trip on the road; so I thought I'd ask you
-to let Krekory stay here mit you till I get back. Den I go to vork and
-look around for a chop for him.”
-
-“Solly,” replied Mr. Finkelstein, “you got a good heart; and your brains
-is simply remarkable. You done shust exaictly right. I'm very glaid
-to have such a fine boy for a visitor. But look at here, Solly; I was
-tinking vedder I might not manufacture a shop for him myself.”
-
-“Manufacture a chop? How you mean?” Mr. Marx queried.
-
-“How I mean? How should I mean? I mean I ain't got no ready-mait shops
-on hand shust now in dis estaiblishment; but I might mainufacture a shop
-for the right party. You see de point?”
-
-“You mean you'll make a chop for him? You mean you'll give him a chop
-here, by you?” cried Mr. Marx.
-
-“Vail, Solomon, if you was as vise as your namesake, you might haif
-known dot mitout my going into so much eggsblanations.”
-
-“My kracious, fader-in-law, you're simply elegant, you're simply loafly,
-and no mistake about it. Well, I svear!”
-
-“Oh! dot's all right. Don't mention it. I took a chenu-wine liking to
-Kraikory; he's got so much enterprise about him,” said Mr. Finkelstein.
-
-“Well, what sort of a chop would it be, fader-in-law?” questioned Mr.
-Marx.
-
-“Vail, I tink I give him de position of clerk, errant boy, and sheneral
-assistant,” Mr. Finkelstein replied.
-
-“Well, Krekory, what you say to dot?” Mr. Marx inquired.
-
-“De question is, do you accept de appointment?” added Mr. Finkelstein.
-
-“O, yes, sir!” I answered. “You're very, very kind, you're very good
-to me. I--” I had to stop talking, and take a good big swallow, to keep
-down my tears; yet, surely, I had nothing to cry about!
-
-“Well, fader-in-law, what vages will you pay?” pursued Mr. Marx.
-
-“Vail, Solly, what vages was dey paying now to boys of his age?”
-
-“Well, they generally start them on two dollars a week.”
-
-“Two tollars a veek, and he boards and clodes himself, hey?”
-
-“Yes, fader-in-law, dot's de system.”
-
-“Vail, Solly, I tell you what I do. I board and clode him, and give him
-a quarter a veek to get drunk on. Is dot saitisfaictory?”
-
-“But, sir,” I hastened to put in, pained and astonished at his remark,
-“I--I don't get drunk.”
-
-“O, Lord, Bubby!” cried Mr. Marx, laughing. “You're simply killing! He
-don't mean get drunk. Dot's only his witty way of saying pocket-money.”
-
-“Oh! I--I understand,” I stammered.
-
-“You must excuse me, Shonny,” said Mr. Finkelstein. “I didn't mean to
-make you maid. But I must haif my shoke, you know; I cain't help it.
-Vail, Solly, was de proposition saitisfaictory?”
-
-“Well, Bubby, was Mr. Finkelstein's proposition satisfactory?” asked Mr.
-Marx.
-
-“O, yes, sir! yes, indeed,” said I.
-
-“Vail, all right; dot settles it,” concluded Mr. Finkelstein. “And now,
-Kraikory, I pay you your first veek's sailary in advaince, hey?” and he
-handed me a crisp twenty-five-cent paper piece.
-
-I was trying, in the depths of my own mind, to calculate how long it
-would take me, at this rate, to earn the hundred dollars that I needed
-for my journey across the sea to my Uncle Florimond. The outlook was
-not encouraging. I remembered, though, a certain French proverb that
-my grandmother had often repeated to me, and I tried to find
-some consolation in it: “_Tout vient à la fin à qui sait
-attendre_”--Everything comes at last to him who knows how to wait.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV--AT MR. FINKELSTEIN'S.
-
-
-So you see me installed at Mr. Finkel-stein's as clerk, errand boy
-and general assistant. Next morning I entered upon the discharge of my
-duties, my kind employer showing me what to do and how to do it. Under
-his supervision I opened and swept out the store, dusted the counter,
-polished up the glass and nickel-work of the show-cases, and, in a word,
-made the place ship-shape and tidy for the day. Then we withdrew into
-the back parlor, and sat down to a fine savory breakfast that the old
-housekeeper Henrietta had laid there. She ate at table with us, but
-uttered not a syllable during the repast; and, much to my amazement, Mr.
-Finkelstein talked to me about her in her very presence as freely and as
-frankly as if she had been stone deaf, or a hundred miles away.
-
-“She ain't exaictly what you call hainsome, Kraikory,” he said; “but
-she's as solid as dey make 'em. She was a second cousin of my deceased
-vife's, and she's vun of de graindest cooks in de United States of
-America. May be you don't believe it, hey? Vail, you shust vait till
-some day you eat vun of her big dinners, and den you'll see. I tell
-you what I do. When Solly gets back from de road I'll invite him and my
-daughter to dinner here de first Sunday aifternoon, shust on purpose
-for you to see de vay Henrietta can cook when she really settles down to
-pusiness. It's simply vunderful. You'll be surprised. De vay she cooks a
-raisined fish, sveet and sour--ach! it makes my mout vater shust to tink
-of it. Vail, she's awful _goot_-hearted-too, Kraikory; but so old--_du
-lieber Herr!_ You couldn't hardly believe it. It's fearful, it's
-aictually fearful. Why, she's old enough to be my mudder, and I'm going
-on sixty-seven already. Dot's a solemn faict.”
-
-“Is she deaf?” I asked.
-
-“Daif?” he repeated. “Vail, my kracious! What put dot idea in your head?
-What in de vorld made you tink she's daif? She ain't no more daif as you
-are yourself.”
-
-“Why,” I explained, “I thought she might be deaf, because she doesn't
-seem to notice what you're saying about her.”
-
-“Oh! Vail, dot beats de deck. Dot's pretty goot. O, no! dot ain't
-becoase she's daif, Kraikory; dot's becoase she's so funny. She's vun
-of de funniest ladies in de city of New York. Why, look at here; she's
-lived in dis country going on forty years already; and she's so funny
-dot she ain't learned ten vorts of de English lainguage yet. Dot's as
-true as I'm alife. She don't understand what me and you are talking
-about, no more as if we spoke Spainish.”
-
-After we had folded our napkins, “Vail, now, Kraikory,” began Mr.
-Finkelstein, “dis morning you got a lesson in being sheneral assistant
-already, don't you? Vail, now I give you a lesson in being errant
-boy. Come along mit me.” He led me to the front door of the shop, and,
-pointing to a house across the street, resumed, “You see dot peelding
-ofer dere, what's got de sign out, Ferdinand Flisch, photo-graipher? You
-see it all right, hey? Vail, now I tell you what you do. You run along
-ofer dere, and you climb up to de top floor, which is where Mr. Flisch's
-estaiblishment is situated, and you aisk to see Mr. Flisch, and you say
-to him, 'Mr. Flisch, Mr. Finkelstein sents you his coampliments, and
-chaillenges you to come ofer and play a little game of pinochle mit him
-dis morning'--you understand? Vail, now run along.”
-
-Following Mr. Finkelstein's instructions, I mounted to the top story of
-the house across the way, and opened a door upon which the name Flisch
-was emblazoned in large gilt script. This door admitted me to a small
-ante-room; carpeted, furnished with a counter, several chairs, and
-a sofa, hung all round the walls with framed photographs, presumably
-specimens of Mr. Flisch's art, and smelling unpleasantly of the
-chemicals that photographers employ. A very pretty and very tiny little
-girl, who couldn't have been a day older than I, if she was so old, sat
-behind the counter, reading a book. At my entrance, she glanced up; and
-her eyes, which were large and dark, seemed to ask me what I wished.
-
-“Please, I should like to see Mr. Flisch,” I replied to her tacit
-question.
-
-“I'll go call him,” said she, in a voice that was as sweet as the tinkle
-of a bell. “Won't you sit down?” And she left the room.
-
-In a minute or two she came back, followed by a short, plump, red-faced,
-bald-pated little old gentleman, with a brisk and cheery manner, who,
-upon seeing me, demanded, “Well, Sonny, what you want?”
-
-I delivered the message that Mr. Finkel-stein had charged me with, and
-Mr. Flisch responded, “All right. I'll come right along with you now.”
- So in his company I recrossed the street. On the way he remarked, “Well,
-Sonny, I guess I never seen you before, did I? Was you visiting by Mr.
-Finkelstein, perhaps?”
-
-“O, no, sir!” I answered, and proceeded to explain my status in Mr.
-Finkelstein's household.
-
-“Well, Sonny, you'll have a mighty easy time of it,” Mr. Flisch informed
-me. “You won't die of hard work. Mr. Finkelstein don't do no business.
-He don't need to. He only keeps that store for fun.”
-
-“Now, Kraikory,” said my employer, when we had reached his door, “me
-and Mr. Flisch, we'll go in de parlor and play a little game of pinochle
-togedder; and now you sit down outside here in de store; and if any
-customers come, you call me.”
-
-I sat in the store, with nothing to do, all the rest of the forenoon;
-but, idle though I was, the time passed quickly enough. What between
-looking out of the window at the busy life upon the street--a spectacle
-of extreme novelty and interest to me--and thinking about my own affairs
-and the great change that had suddenly come over them, my mind had
-plenty to occupy it; and I was quite surprised when all at once the
-clocks, of which there must have been at least a dozen in the shop,
-began to strike twelve. Thus far not one customer had presented himself.
-Just at this instant, however, the shop door opened, and the bell above
-it sounded. I got up to go and call Mr. Finkelstein; but when I looked
-at the person who had entered, I saw that it was no customer, after
-all. It was that same pretty little girl whom I had noticed behind the
-counter at Mr. Flisch's.
-
-“I came to tell Mr. Flisch that his dinner is ready,” she announced, in
-that clear, sweet voice of hers.
-
-“I'll go tell him,” said I.
-
-I went into the back room, where the air was blue with tobacco smoke,
-and where the two old gentlemen were seated over their cards, and spoke
-to Mr. Flisch.
-
-“All right, Sonny; I come right away,” he answered; and I returned to
-the store.
-
-The little girl was still there, standing where I had left her.
-
-“Mr. Flisch will come right away,” said I.
-
-“Thank you,” said she.
-
-And then, with undisguised curiosity, she and I just stood and scanned
-each other for a moment from the corners of our eyes. For my part, I was
-too bashful to make any advances, though I should have liked to scrape
-acquaintance with her; but she, apparently, had more courage, for,
-pretty soon, “What's your name?” she asked.
-
-“My name is Gregory Brace. What's yours?”
-
-“Mine is Rosalind Earle. How old are you?”
-
-“I'm twelve, going on thirteen.”
-
-“I'm eleven, going on twelve.”
-
-And the next instant she had vanished like a flash.
-
-Mr. Flisch shortly followed her; and it may have been a quarter of an
-hour later on, that my attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of
-music issuing from the back room, where Mr. Finkelstein remained alone.
-I recognized the tune as the Carnival of Venice; and it brought my heart
-into my mouth, for that was one of the tunes that my grandmother had
-used to play upon her piano. But now the instrument was not a piano.
-Unless my ears totally deceived me, it was a hand-organ. This struck me
-as very odd; and I went to the door of the parlor, and looked in. There
-sat Mr. Finkelstein, a newspaper open before him, and a cigar between
-his fingers, reading and smoking; while on the floor in front of him,
-surely enough, stood a hand-organ; and, with his foot upon the crank of
-it, he was operating the instrument just as you would operate the wheel
-of a bicycle.
-
-[Illustration: 0121]
-
-Well, I couldn't help smiling, though I knew that it was unmannerly
-of me to do so. The scene was really too ludicrous for anything. Mr.
-Finkelstein appeared a little embarrassed when he spied me looking at
-him, and stopped his playing, and said rather sheepishly, with somewhat
-of the air of a naughty child surprised in mischief, “Vail, Kraikory, I
-suppose you tink I'm crazy, hey? Vail, I cain't help it; I'm so fond of
-music. But look at here, Kraikory; don't you say nodings to Solly
-about it, will you? Dere's a goot poy. Don't you mention it to him. He
-vouldn't naifer let me hear de laist of it.”
-
-I having pledged myself to secrecy, Mr. Finkelstein picked the
-hand-organ up, and locked it away out of sight in a closet. But after
-we had had our dinner, he brought it forth again, and, not without some
-manifest hesitation, addressed me thus: “Look at here, Kraikory; dere's
-a proverp which says dot man is a creature of haibits. Vail, Kraikory,
-I got a sort of a haibit to lie down and take a short naip every day
-aifter my meals. And say, Kraikory, you know how fond of music I am,
-don't you? I simply dote on it, Kraikory. I guess maybe I'm de fondest
-man of music in de United States of America. And--vail, look at here,
-Kraikory, as you ain't got nodings in particular to do, I tought maybe
-you vouldn't mind to sit here a few minutes, and--and shust turn dot
-craink a little while I go to sleep--hey?”
-
-I assented willingly; so Mr. Finkelstein lay down upon his lounge, and I
-began to turn the crank, thereby grinding out the rollicking measures of
-Finnigan's Ball.
-
-“My kracious, Kraikory, you do it splendid,” the old gentleman
-exclaimed, by way of encouragement. “You got a graind tailent for
-music, Kraikory.” Then I heard him chuckle softly to himself, and
-murmur, “I cain't help it, I aictually cain't. I must haif my shoke.”
- Very soon he was snoring peacefully.
-
-Well, to cut a long story short, my first day at Mr. Finkelstein's
-passed smoothly by, and so did the next and the next. In a surprisingly
-short time I became quite accustomed to my new mode of life, and all
-sense of strangeness wore away. Every morning I opened and tidied up
-the shop; then we breakfasted; then the routine of the day began. As
-Mr. Flisch had predicted, I had a very easy time of it indeed. Every
-afternoon I played the hand-organ, while Mr. Finkelstein indulged in
-his siesta; almost every forenoon I tended the store, while he and Mr.
-Flisch amused themselves with pinochle in the parlor. Mr. Marx and his
-wife dined with us I should think as often as once a week; Henrietta
-surpassed herself on these occasions, and I came to entertain as high an
-opinion of her skill in cookery as my employer could have wished.
-
-Between little Rosalind Earle and myself a great friendship rapidly
-sprang up. On week-days we caught only fleeting glimpses of each other;
-but almost every Sunday I used to go to see her at her home, which
-was in Third Avenue, a short distance above our respective places of
-business. Her father, who had been a newspaper reporter, was dead; and
-her mother, a pale sad lady, very kind and sweet, went out by the day
-as a dressmaker and seampstress. They were wretchedly poor; and that
-was why little Rosalind, who ought to have worn pinafores, and gone
-to school, had to work for her living at Mr. Flisch's, like a grownup
-person. But her education proceeded after a fashion, nevertheless. In
-her spare moments during the day she would study her lessons, and in
-the evening at home she would say them to her mother. Though she was my
-junior by a year and more, she was already doing compound interest in
-arithmetic, whereas I had never got beyond long division. This made me
-feel heartily ashamed of myself, and so I invested a couple of dollars
-in some second-hand schoolbooks, and thenceforth devoted my spare
-moments to study, too. Almost every Sunday, as I have said, I used to go
-to see her; and if the weather was fine, her mother would take us for
-an outing in Central Park, where we would have a jolly good time racing
-each other over the turf of the common, or admiring the lions and tigers
-and monkeys and hippopotamuses, at the Arsenal. Yes, I loved little
-Rosalind very dearly, and every minute that I spent at her side was the
-happiest sort of a minute for me.
-
-Mr. Finkelstein, when he first noticed me poring over my school-books in
-the shop, expressed the liveliest kind of satisfaction with my conduct.
-
-“Dot's right, Kraikory,” he cried. “Dot's maiknificent. Go ahead
-mit your education. Dere ain't nodings like it. A first-claiss
-education--vail, sir, it's de graindest advantage a feller can haif
-in de baittle of life. Yes, sir, dot's a faict. You go ahead mit your
-education, and you study real hard, and you'll get to be--why, you might
-get to be an alderman, no mistake about it. But look at here, Kraikory;
-tell me; where you got de books, hey? You bought 'em? You don't say
-so? Vail, what you pay for dem, hey, Kraikory? Two tollars! Two aictual
-tollars! My kracious! Vail, look at here, Kraikory; I like to make you
-a little present of dem books, so here's a two tollar pill to reimburse
-you. Oh! dot's all right. Don't mention it. Put it in de baink. Do what
-you please mit it. I got anudder.” And every now and then during the
-summer he would inquire, “Vail, Kraikory, how you getting on mit your
-education? Vail, I suppose you must know pretty much aiferydings by
-dis time, hey? Vail, now I give you a sum. If I can buy fife barrels of
-aipples for six tollars and a quowter, how much will seventeen barrels
-of potatoes coast me, hey?... Ach, I was only shoking, was I? Vail,
-dot's a faict; I was only shoking; and you was pretty smart to find it
-out. But now, shoking aside, I tell you what you do. You keep right on
-mit your education, and you study real hard, and you'll get to be--why,
-you might get to be as big a man as Horace Greeley, aictually.” Horace
-Greeley was a candidate for the presidency that year, and he had no more
-ardent partisan than my employer.
-
-After the summer had passed, and September came, Mr. Finkelstein called
-me into the parlor one day, and began, “Now, look at here, Kraikory; I
-got somedings important to talk to you about. I been tinking about dot
-little maitter of your education a good deal lately; and I talked mit
-Solly about it, and got his advice; and at laist I made up my mind dot
-you oughter go to school. You got so much aimbition about you, dot if
-you get a first-claiss education while you're young, you might get to be
-vun of de biggest men in New York City aifter you're grown up. Vail, me
-and Solly, we talked it all ofer, and we made up our mind dot you better
-go to school right avay.
-
-“Vail, now I tell you what I do. I found out de public schools open for
-de season next Monday morning. Vail, next Monday morning I take you up
-to de public school in Fifty-first Street, and I get you aidmitted. And
-now I tell you what I do. If you study real hard, and get A-number-vun
-marks, and cratchuate all right when de time comes--vail, den I send you
-to college! Me and Solly, we talked it all ofer, and dot's what we made
-up our minds we oughter do. Dere ain't nodings like a good education,
-Kraikory; you can bet ten tousand tollars on dot. When I was your age I
-didn't haif no chaince at vun; and dot's why I'm so eeknorant. But now
-you got de chaince, Kraikory; and you go ahead and take advaintage of
-it. My kracious! When I see you cratchuate from college, I'll be so
-prout I von!t know what to do.”
-
-I leave you to form your own opinion of Mr. Finkelstein's generosity, as
-well as of the gratitude that it inspired in me. Next Monday morning I
-entered the public school in Fifty-first Street, and a little less
-than two years later--namely, in the spring of 1874--I graduated. I had
-studied “real hard,” and got “A-number-vun” marks; Mr. Finkelstein was
-as good as his word, and that same spring I passed the examinations for
-admission to the Introductory Class of the College of the City of New
-York.
-
-Well, there! In a couple of sentences I have skipped over as many years;
-and not one word about the hero of my story!
-
-“But what,” I can hear you ask, “what of your Uncle Florimond in all
-this time? Had you given up your idea of going to him? had you forgotten
-your ideal of him--had he ceased to be a moving force in your life?”
-
-No; to each of these questions my answer must be a prompt and emphatic
-no.
-
-I had not by any means given up my idea of going to him; but I had, for
-reasons that seemed good, put off indefinitely the day of my departure.
-Two or three weeks after my arrival at Mr. Finkelstein's I wrote Uncle
-Florimond a letter, and told him of the new turn that my affairs had
-taken. I did not say anything about my Uncle Peter's treatment of me,
-because I felt somehow reluctant to let him know how unjust and unkind
-his own sister's son, my own father's brother, could be, and because,
-also, I thought it would be scarcely fair and above-board for me to tell
-tales, now that our bygones were bygones. I simply said that I had
-left Norwich, and come to New York, and gone into business; and that my
-purpose was to earn a lot of money just as quickly as I could, and then
-to set sail for France.
-
-I received no answer from him till about six months afterward; and in
-this he said that he was glad I meant to come to France, but he thought
-it was a pity that I should go into business so early in my youth, for
-that must of course interrupt my education.
-
-I hastened to reply that, since I had written my former letter to him,
-my outlook had again changed; that my kind and liberal employer had
-sent me to school, where I was working as hard as I knew how, with
-the promise of a college course before me if I showed proper zeal and
-aptitude.
-
-I had to wait more than a year now for his next epistle; but it came at
-last one day towards the close of the vacation that intervened between
-my graduation from school and the beginning of my career at college.
-
-“I have been ill and in trouble, my dear little nephew,” he wrote,
-“since the reception of thy last letter so good and so gentle; and
-I have lacked both the force and the heart to write to thee. At this
-moment at length it goes better; and I seize the first occasion to take
-my pen. The news of the progress which thou makest in thy studies
-gives me an infinite pleasure, as does also thy hope of a course at
-the university. And though I become from more to more impatient to meet
-thee, and to see with my proper eyes the grandson of my adored sister, I
-am happy, nevertheless, to force myself to wait for an end so precious.
-That thou mayst become a gentleman well-instructed and accomplished,
-it is my sincere desire; for it is that, I am sure of it, which my
-cherished sister would most ardently have wished. Be then industrious;
-study well thy lessons; grow in spirit as in body; remember that, though
-thy name is different, thou art the last of the la Bourbonnaye. I
-astonish myself, however, that thy Uncle Peter does not charge himself
-with the expenses. Is it that he has not the means? I have believed him
-very rich.
-
-“Present my respects to thy worthy patron, that good Finkelstein, who,
-though bourgeois and shopkeeper, I must suppose is a man of heart; and
-think ever with tenderness of thy old devoted uncle, de la Bourbonnaye.
-
-“Paris, the 3 7ember, 1874.”
-
-7ember was Uncle Florimond's quaint French way of writing September,
-_Sept,_ as you know, being French for seven.
-
-And now as to those other questions that you have asked me--so far was I
-from having forgotten my ideal of him, so far was he from having ceased
-to be a moving force in my life, I have not any doubt whatever that
-the thought of my relationship with him, and my desire to appear to
-advantage in his eyes, had a great deal to do with fostering my
-ambition as a scholar. Certainly, the nephew of Florimond Marquis de la
-Bourbonnaye must not let any boy of ordinary lineage stand above him
-in his classes; and then, besides, how much more highly would Uncle
-Florimond consider me, if, when we met, he found not an untutored
-ignoramus, but, in his own words, “a gentleman well-instructed and
-accomplished!”
-
-During the two years that I have skipped over in such summary-fashion,
-my friendship with little Rosalind Earle had continued as active and as
-cordial as it had been at the beginning. She had grown quite tall, and
-even prettier than ever, with her oval face and olive skin, her soft
-brown hair and large dark eyes, and was really almost a young lady. She
-had kept pace with me in my studies also, I having acted as her teacher.
-Every Sunday at her home I would go over with her all my lessons for the
-past week, imparting to her as intelligently as I was able what I myself
-had learned. This would supply her with subject-matter for her study
-during the week to come; so that on the following Sunday she would be
-ready for a new send-off. This was capital drill for me, because, in
-order to instruct another, I had to see that my own knowledge was
-exact and thorough. And then, besides, I enjoyed these Sunday afternoon
-conferences with Rosalind so heartily, that they lightened the labor of
-learning, and made what to a boy is usually dull grind and drudgery, to
-me an abundant source of pleasure. Rosalind retained her situation at
-Mr. Flisch's, but her salary had been materially increased. She was only
-thirteen years old, yet she earned the dazzling sum of six dollars every
-week. This was because she had acquired the art of retouching negatives,
-and had thus trebled her value to her employer.
-
-But I had made another friend during those two years, whose influence
-upon my life at that time was perhaps even greater than Rosalind's.
-Among my classmates at the school in Fifty-first Street there was a boy
-named Arthur Ripley, older than I, taller, stronger, a very handsome
-fellow, with blue eyes and curling hair, very bright, and seemingly very
-good-natured, whom I had admired privately from the moment I had first
-seen him. He, however, had taken no notice of me; and so we had never
-got especially well acquainted, until one day I chanced to hear him
-speak a few words of French; and his accent was so good that I couldn't
-help wondering how he had come by it.
-
-“Say, then, Ripley,” I demanded, in the Gallic tongue, but with Saxon
-bluntness, “how does it happen that you speak French so well? Your
-pronunciation is truly extraordinary.”
-
-“And why not?” he retorted. “I have spoken it since my childhood. My
-grandmother--the mother of my father--was a French lady.”
-
-“Hold,” cried I. “Really? And so was mine.”
-
-Thereupon we fell into conversation. We got on famously together. From
-that hour we were intimates. I was admitted into Ripley's “set,” which
-included all the nicest boys of the school; and Ripley invited me to his
-home, which, with its beautiful pictures and books and furnishings, and
-general air of comfort and refinement, struck me as the loveliest place
-I had ever set my foot in, and where his mother and father made me feel
-instantly and entirely at my ease. They talked French to me; and little
-by little drew from me the whole story of my life; and when I had done,
-“Ah! my poor little one,” said his mother, with a tenderness that went
-straight to my heart, “how thy lot has been hard! Come, let me kiss
-thee.” And, “Hold, my little man,” said his father. “You are a good and
-brave boy, and I am glad that my son has found such a comrade. Moreover,
-do you know, you come of one of the most illustrious families not
-only of France, but even of Europe? The la Bourbonnaye are of the
-most ancient nobility, and in each generation they have distinguished
-themselves. At Paris there is an important street named for them. A
-Marquis de la Bourbonnaye won great celebrity as an admiral under Louis
-xv.; another, his son, I believe, was equally renowned as a royalist
-general during the revolution.”
-
-“Yes, sir,” I put in, delighted at his familiarity with the history of
-our house; “they were the father and the grandfather of my grandmother.”
-
-“But I had supposed that the family was extinct. You teach me that it
-survives still in the person of your Uncle Florimond. I am content of
-it.”
-
-Arthur Ripley and I became as intimate as only boys, I think, can
-become. We were partners in tops, marbles, décalcomanies, and postage
-stamps. We spent the recess hour together every day. We walked home
-together every afternoon. We set out pleasure hunting almost every
-Saturday--now to watch or to take part in a base-ball match, now to
-skate in Central Park, now to row on the Harlem River, now to fish in
-the same muddy stream, where, to the best of my recollection, we never
-so much as got a single bite. He was “Rip,” to me, and to him I was
-“Greg.” We belonged, as has been said, to the same set at school; at
-college we joined the same debating society, and pledged ourselves to
-the same Greek-letter fraternity.
-
-He was the bravest, strongest fellow I ever knew; a splendid athlete;
-excelling in all sports that required skill or courage. He was
-frankness, honesty, generosity personified; a young prince whom I
-admired and loved, who compelled love and admiration from everybody who
-knew him. In the whole school there was not a boy whom Ripley couldn't
-whip; he could have led us all in scholarship as well, only he was
-careless and rather lazy, and didn't go in for high standing, or that
-sort of thing. He wrote the best compositions, however, and made the
-best declamations. I tell you, to hear him recite Spartacus's address to
-the gladiators--“Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief who
-for twelve long years has met upon the bloody sands of the arena every
-shape of man and beast that the broad empire of Rome could furnish”--I
-tell you, it was thrilling. Ripley's father was a lawyer; and he meant
-to be a lawyer, too. So far as he was responsible for it, Ripley's
-influence over me was altogether good. What bad came of my association
-with him, I alone was to blame for.
-
-Some bad did come, and now I must tell you about it.
-
-He and the other boys of our circle were gentlemen's sons, who lived
-with their parents in handsome houses, wore fine clothes, had plenty of
-pocket-money, and generally cut a very dashing figure; whereas I--I was
-the dependent of a petty Third-Avenue Jewish shopkeeper; I had scarcely
-any pocket-money whatever; and as for my clothes--my jackets were
-usually threadbare, and my trousers ornamented at an obtrusive point
-with two conspicuous patches, that Henrietta had neatly inserted
-there--trousers, moreover, which had been originally designed for the
-person of Mr. Marx, but which the skillful Henrietta had cut down and
-adjusted to my less copious proportions.
-
-And now the bad, if perhaps not unnatural, result of all this was to
-pique my vanity, and to arouse in me a certain false and quite wrong and
-improper shame of my condition. I was ashamed because I could not spend
-money as my companions did; I was ashamed of my shabby clothing; I
-was ashamed of my connection with Mr. Finkelstein; I was even a little
-ashamed of my intimacy with Rosalind Earle, for she too occupied a very
-humble station in the world.
-
-And, as the obverse of this false shame, I became inflated with a pride
-that was equally false and wrong. I was as good a gentleman as anybody,
-if not better. I was the dependent of a Third-Avenue shopkeeper, true
-enough. But I was also the nephew of the Marquis de la Bourbonnaye. And
-I am afraid that I got into the habit of bragging a good deal about my
-relationship with that aristocratic person. Anyhow, my state of mind
-was not by any means a wholesome or a happy one; and by and by it bore
-practical consequences that were not wholesome or happy either.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V--PRIDE AND A FALL.
-
-
-Arthur Ripley, as I have said, meant to be a lawyer. He was full of
-enthusiasm for his future profession, and never tired of talking about
-it. In his room at home he had three or four big law-books, bound in
-yellow calf-skin, which he used to read for his pleasure, just as we
-other boys would read our story-books; and he seemed to know their
-contents by heart. At least, we gave him the credit for knowing them
-by heart. He passed among us for little less than a Solomon of legal
-wisdom. His opinion upon a legal question had, to our thinking, the
-authority of a judgment from the bench; and if one of our number had
-got into a legal difficulty of any sort, I am sure he would have gone to
-Ripley for aid and counsel as readily and as confidently as to the most
-eminent jurist at the bar.
-
-This being premised, you will easily understand the impression made upon
-me by the following conversation which I had with Ripley one day in the
-early summer of 1875.
-
-We had just passed our examinations for promotion from the Introductory
-to the Freshman class at college, and our consequent vacation had just
-begun. I was minding the shop, while Messrs. Flisch and Finkelstein
-smoked their cigars and played their pinochle in the back room, and
-Ripley was keeping me company. We had been talking about my grandmother;
-and presently Ripley queried: “Look here, Greg, she was a woman of some
-property, wasn't she? I mean to say she lived in good style, had plenty
-of money, was comfortable and well-to-do, hey?”
-
-“Why, yes,” I answered, “she was pretty well-off--why, about as well as
-anybody in Norwich Town, I suppose. Why do you ask?”
-
-“Because--what I should like to know is, why didn't she leave anything
-to you?”
-
-“Why, how could she? I was only her grandchild. My Uncle Peter was her
-son. Don't you see?”
-
-“But that doesn't make any difference. Your father being dead, you were,
-equally with your uncle, her legal heir and next-of-kin. And as long as
-she was so fond of you, it seems kind of funny she didn't provide for
-you in any way.”
-
-“What do you mean by her legal heir and next-of-kin?”
-
-“Don't you know that? Why, a legal heir and next-of-kin is a person
-entitled to take under the statutes of descent and distribution. For
-instance, if your grandmother had died intestate, you would have come in
-for half of all the property she left, your Uncle Peter taking the other
-half. See the point?”
-
-“Can't say I do. You're too high-up for me, with your legal slang. What
-does intestate mean?”
-
-“Why, intestate--why, that means without having made a will. When a
-person dies without leaving a will, he is said to have died intestate.”
-
-“Well, I guess my grandmother died intestate, then. I don't believe she
-left any will.”
-
-“She didn't? Why, if she didn't leave a will--Oh! but she must have.
-Look here, Greg, this is serious. Are you sure she didn't?”
-
-“O, no! of course I'm not sure. I never thought of the matter before,
-and so I can't be sure. But I don't believe she did.”
-
-“But, Greg, if she didn't--if she didn't leave a will, disinheriting
-you, and bequeathing everything to Peter--man alive, what are you doing
-here in old Finkelstein's jewelry shop? Why, Greg, you're rich. You're
-absolute owner of half of her estate.”
-
-“O, no! I'm perfectly sure she never did that. If she made any will at
-all, she didn't disinherit me, and give everything to Uncle Peter. She
-cared a great deal more for me than she did for Uncle Peter. I'm sure
-she never made a will favoring him above me. I always supposed that
-she had died, as you call it, intestate; and so, he being her son, the
-property had descended to him in the regular course of events.”
-
-“But don't I tell you that it wouldn't have descended to him? It would
-have descended to both of you in equal shares. Here's the whole business
-in a nut-shell: either she did leave a will, cutting you off with a
-shilling; or else you're entitled to fifty cents in every dollar that
-she owned.”
-
-“But I have never received a penny. If what you say is true, how do you
-account for that?”
-
-“There's just the point. If your idea about the will is correct, your
-Uncle Peter must be a pretty rogue indeed. He's been playing a sharp
-game, Greg, and cheating you out of your rights. And we can make it hot
-enough for him, I tell you. We can compel him to divide up; and inside
-of a month you'll be rolling in wealth.”
-
-“Oh! come, Rip,” I protested, “fen fooling a fellow about a thing like
-this.”
-
-“But I'm not fooling. I never was more in earnest in all my life. It's
-as plain as the nose on your face. There are no two ways about it. Ask
-anybody.”
-
-“But--but then--but then I'm rich--rich!”
-
-“That's what you are, unless, by a properly executed will, your
-grandmother disinherited you.”
-
-“But I tell you I know she never did that. It stands to reason that she
-didn't.”
-
-“Well, sir, then it only remains for you to claim your rights at the
-hands of your amiable uncle, and to open a bank account.”
-
-“O my goodness! O, Rip! Oh! it's impossible. It's too--too glorious to
-be true,” I cried, as a realizing sense of my position rushed upon
-me. My heart was pounding like a hammer against my ribs; my breath was
-coming short and swift; my brain was in a whirl. I felt dazzled and
-bewildered; and yet I felt a wondrous, thrilling joy, a great glow of
-exultation, that sent me dancing around the shop like a maniac, wringing
-my hands in self-congratulation.
-
-I was rich! Only think, I was rich! I could take my proper station
-now, and cut my proper figure in the world. Good-by, patched trousers,
-good-by, shop, good-by all such low, humiliating things. Welcome
-opulence, position, purple and fine linen. Hurrah! I would engage a
-passage upon the very first, the very fastest steamer, and sail away to
-that brilliant, courtly country where my Uncle Florimond, resplendent in
-the trappings of nobility, awaited me with open arms, there to live in
-the state and fashion that would become the nephew of a marquis. I would
-burn my plebeian ships behind me. I would do this, that, and the other
-wonderful thing. I saw it all in a single radiant glance.
-
-But what you see more plainly than anything else, I did not see at all.
-
-I did not see that I was accepting my good fortune in an altogether
-wrong and selfish spirit. I did not see that my first thought in my
-prosperity ought to have been for those who had stood by me in my
-adversity. I did not see that my first impulse ought to have been now to
-make up in some wise to my friend and benefactor, Mr. Finkelstein,
-for his great goodness and kindness to me. I did not see that I was an
-arrant little snob, an ungrateful little coxcomb. A mixture of false
-shame and evil pride had puffed me up like so much inflammable gas,
-which--Ripley having unwittingly applied the spark to it--had now burst
-into flame.
-
-“O, Rip!” I cried again, “it's too glorious to be true.”
-
-“Well, now,” cut in Ripley, “let's be practical. What you want to do is
-step into your kingdom. Well, to-day's Saturday, isn't it? Well, now, I
-propose that day after to-morrow, Monday, you and I go to Norwich. There
-we can make a search in the Probate Office, and find out for certain
-just how the facts stand. Then we can come back here and put the case
-in the hands of my father, who's a lawyer, and who will have a guardian
-appointed for you, and do everything else that's necessary. See? Now,
-the question is, Will you go to Norwich with me Monday night?”
-
-“Won't I, though!” was my response.
-
-And then Rip and I just sat there in the shop, and talked, and talked,
-and talked, planning out my life for the future, and wondering exactly
-how rich I was going to be. We surmised that my grandmother could not
-possibly have left less than a hundred thousand dollars, in which event
-I should come in for a cool fifty thousand. We employed the strongest
-language at our command to stigmatize my Uncle Peter's rascality in
-having for so long a time kept me out of my just rights; and we gloated
-in imagination over his chagrin and his discomfiture when we should
-compel him to render an account of his stewardship and to disgorge my
-portion of our inheritance. I declared it as my intention to go to my
-Uncle Florimond in Paris as soon as the affair was finally settled;
-and Ripley agreed that that would be the appropriate thing for me to
-do--“Though, of course,” he added, “I shall feel awfully cut up at our
-separation. Still, it's undoubtedly the thing for you to do. It's what
-I would do if I were in your place. And, O, Scottie! Greg, won't old
-Finkelstein and your other Hebrew friends open their eyes?”
-
-“Won't they, though!” I returned, reveling in fancy over their
-astonishment and their increased respect for me, after I should have
-explained to them my sudden and tremendous rise in the world. But in
-this particular I was destined to disappointment; for when, as soon
-as Ripley had gone home, I joined Mr. Finkelstein in the parlor, and
-conveyed to him the joyful information, he, having heard me through
-without any sign of especial wonder, remarked:--
-
-“Vail, Kraikory, I suppose you vant me to conkraitulate you, hey? Vail,
-it's a graind ting to be rich, Kraikory, and no mistake about it. And I
-shust tell you dis, Kraikory: dere ain't nobody in de United States of
-America vould be glaidder if ainy goot luck haippened to you, as I vould
-be. I'm awful fond of you, Kraikory, and dere ain't nodings what I vant
-more as to see you haippy and prosperous. De only trouble is, Kraikory,
-dot I ain't so sure as dis vould be such awful goot luck, aifter all.
-For, to tell you de honest troot, Kraikory, I don't like de vay you
-take it. No, I aictually don't. You're too stuck-up and prout about it,
-Kraikory; and I hate to see you stuck-up and prout. It ain't nice to be
-prout, Kraikory; it ain't what you call manly; and I simply hate to see
-you do ainydings what ain't nice and manly--I'm so fond of you, don't
-you understand? Den, ainyhow, Kraik-ory, de Bible says dot prite goes
-before destruction, and a howty spirit before a fall; and dot's a solemn
-faict, Kraikory; dey do, shust as sure as you're alife. De Bible's shust
-exaictly right, Kraikory; you can bet ten tousand tollars on it. Why, I
-myself, I seen hundreds of fellers get stuck-up and prout already;
-and den de first ting dey knew, dey bust all to pieces like a
-goot-for-nodings boiler. Yes, siree, if I was as prout as you are,
-Kraikory, I'd feel afraid.
-
-“No, Kraikory, I don't like de vay you take it, and I really tink if you
-get dis money what you're talking about, I really tink it'll spoil you,
-Kraikory; and dot's why I cain't conkraitulate you de vay you vant me
-to. You ain't been like yourself for a pretty long while now already,
-Kraikory. I ain't said nodings about it; but I seen it all de same;
-and Solly seen it, and Heddie, she seen it, and Mr. Flisch seen it, and
-Henrietta seen it, and we all seen it, and we all felt simply fearful
-about it. And now I tink it shust needs dis money to spoil you
-altogedder. I hate to say ainydings to hurt your feelings, Kraikory,
-but dot's my honest opinion; and me and you, we'd oughter be goot enough
-friends to talk right out to each udder like fader and son. De faict is,
-Kraikory, I've loafed you shust exaictly de same as if we was fader
-and son; and dot's de reason it makes me feel so awful to see you get
-stuck-up and prout. But you was a goot boy down deep, Kraikory, and I
-guess you'll turn out all right in de end, if dis here money don't spoil
-you. You got a little foolishness about you, which is necheral to your
-age. When I was your age I was a big fool, too.
-
-“Vail, and so, shust as soon as de maitter's settled, you're going to
-Europe, are you, to live mit your Uncle Florimond in Pairis? Vail, dot's
-all right, Kraikory, if you like to do it. I ain't got no pusiness to
-make ainy obshections, dot's sure. All I got to say, Kraikory, is dis:
-Your Unde Florimond, he may be an awful fine feller, and I guess likely
-he is; but I don't know as he's aifer done much of ainydings for you;
-and if I was in your place, I'd feel sorter sorry to stop my education,
-and leaf de old friends what I was certain of, and go to a new friend
-what I hadn't naifer tried; dot's all. Vail, if you vant to go, I
-suppose you'll go; and Solly and me and Henrietta and dot little kirl
-ofer by Mr. Flisch, vail, we'll have to get along mitout you de best vay
-we can. I guess dot little Rosie, I guess she'll feel pretty baid about
-it, Kraikory; but I don't suppose dot'l make much difference to you,
-to shush by de vay you talk. Poor little ting! She's awful fond of you,
-Kraikory, and I guess she'll feel pretty lonesome aifter you've gone
-avay. Oh! vail, I suppose she von't die of it. Dere are plenty udder
-young fellers in dis vorld, and I don't suppose she'll cry herself to
-dead for you. All de same, I guess she'll feel pretty baid first off;
-but dot's your business, and not mine.
-
-“Vail, let me see. To-day's Saturday; and you're going to Nawvich Monday
-night. Vail, dot's all right. I ain't got nodings to say against dot. I
-shust give you vun little piece of advice, dough, Kraikory, and dot is
-dis: If I was in your place, I vouldn't feel too awful sure of dis
-here money, until I'd aictually got hold of it, for fear I might be
-disappointed. Dere's a proverp which goes, 'Dere's a great mainy slips
-between de cup and de lips,' Kraikory; and dot's a solemn faict, which I
-advice you to remember.”
-
-This sermon of Mr. Finkelstein's made me feel very sore indeed; but I
-felt sorer still next day, when Rosalind--whom I was calling upon, and
-to whom I had just communicated the momentous news--when Rosalind, with
-flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, assailed me thus:--
-
-[Illustration: 0159]
-
-“O, Gregory Brace! Oh! shame on you. Oh! I don't know you. I can't
-believe it's you. I can't believe it's the same boy at all. Such
-selfishness! Such ingratitude! Such a proud hard heart! It's been as
-much as anyone could do to put up with you for ever and ever so long,
-you've been so vain and so conceited and everything; but this just caps
-the climax. Oh! think of poor Mr. Finkelstein. He's been so good and
-generous to you, and so fond of you; and he's sent you to school and
-college, and given you every advantage he possibly could; and you owe
-him so much, and you're under such great obligations to him, for he took
-you right out of the streets, and gave you a home, and made a son of
-you, instead of a servant--yes, he did--and now the very first thing
-that you propose to do, as soon as you're able to, is to leave him, to
-abandon him--oh! you ungrateful thing--and go to your horrid old French
-uncle, who, I don't believe cares the snap of his finger for you. He is
-horrid, too; and I hope he'll just treat you horribly, just to punish
-you. And I hope that Arthur Ripley is mistaken, and that you won't get a
-single penny from your Uncle Peter, but just a good whipping to take you
-down; and I hope you'll have to come back to Mr. Finkelstein, and humbly
-beg his pardon; yes, I do, with all my heart and soul. I'd just like to
-see you have to come down from your high horse and eat humble pie for
-a while; yes, I would. The idea! Desert Mr. Finkelstein! You, who might
-have been begging in the streets, except for him! I should think you'd
-be ashamed to look me in the face. Oh! you mean to give him a good round
-sum of money, do you, to pay him for what he's done for you? Why, how
-very liberal and noble you are, to be sure! As though money could pay
-for what Mr. Finkelstein has done for you! As though money were what he
-wants from you, and not love and affection! O, Gregory! you've changed
-so that I don't know you, and I don't like you at all any more, and I
-don't care to be friends with you any more, and you needn't come to see
-me any more. There!”
-
-Yes, I felt very sore and very angry. What Rosalind said only served to
-exasperate and embitter me, and to make me grit my teeth, and pursue all
-the more doggedly my own selfish purpose.
-
-Well, on Monday night, according to our agreement, Ripley and I set
-out for Norwich, passengers aboard the very same steamboat, the City of
-Lawrence, that I had come to New York by, three years before; and bright
-and early Tuesday morning we reached our destination.
-
-I only wish I could spare a page to tell you something of the emotions
-that I felt as we came in sight of the dingy old town. It had not
-changed the least bit in the world; it was like the face of an old
-familiar friend; it called up before me my own self of former years; it
-brought a thousand memories surging upon me, and filled my heart with a
-strong, unutterable melancholy, that was yet somehow indescribably sweet
-and tender.
-
-But Ripley and I had no time for the indulgence of sentiment. “Now,
-then, where's the Court House? Where's the Probate Office?” he demanded
-as soon as we had set foot upon the dry land. “We must pitch right in,
-without losing a moment.”
-
-So I led him to the Probate Court; and there he “pitched right in”
- with a vengeance, examining the indices to lots of big written books of
-records, while I stood by to hand them to him, and to put them back in
-their places when he had finished with them--until, after an hour or so,
-he announced, “Well, Greg, you're right. She left no will.”
-
-Then he continued: “Now we must find out the date upon which Peter
-took out his Letters of Administration, and also whether he had himself
-constituted your guardian, as he most likely did; and then we'll
-have all the facts we need to establish your claims, and put you in
-possession.”
-
-Thereupon he attacked another set of big written volumes, and with these
-he was busy as long as two hours more. In the end, “By Jingo, Greg,”
- he cried, “here's a state of things! He didn't take out any Letters of
-Administration at all.”
-
-“Well,” I queried, not understanding the meaning of this circumstance,
-“what of that? What does that signify?”
-
-“Why, that signifies an even darker and more systematic piece of fraud
-than I had suspected. In order to cheat you out of your share, he failed
-to comply with the law. He didn't go through the proper formalities to
-get control of her property, but simply took possession of it without
-authority. And now we've got him completely at our mercy. We could
-prosecute him criminally, if we liked. We could send him to State
-Prison. Oh! won't we make him hop? I say, Greg, do you want to have some
-fun?”
-
-“How? What way?”
-
-“Well, sir, if you want to have some fun, I'll tell you what let's do.
-Let's go call on your Uncle Peter, and confront him with this little
-piece of villainy, and politely ask him to explain it: and then see him
-squirm. It'll sort of square accounts with him for the number of times
-he's given you a flogging.”
-
-“O, no! I--I guess we'd better not,” I demurred, faltering at the
-prospect of a personal encounter with my redoubtable relative.
-
-“But, man alive, you have nothing to fear. We've got the whip-hand of
-him. Just think, we can threaten him with criminal prosecution. Oh! come
-on. It'll be the jolliest kind of a lark.”
-
-Well, I allowed myself to be persuaded; and we set forth for Uncle
-Peter's office, Ripley all agog for excitement, and I trying not to
-appear afraid. But Uncle Peter wasn't in. An oldish man, who seemed
-to be in charge, informed us that the Jedge had got a touch of the
-rheumatiz, and was stayin' hum.
-
-“Never mind,” said Ripley to me; “we'll visit him at his home, we'll
-beard him in his den. Come along!”
-
-I tried to beg off, but Rip insisted; and I weakly gave in.
-
-If I had been stirred by strong emotions at the sight of Norwich City,
-conceive how much more deeply I was stirred when we reached Norwich
-Town--when I saw our old house peeping out from among the great
-elm-trees that embosomed it--when I actually stood upon its doorstep,
-with my hand upon the old brass knocker! A strange servant girl opened
-the door, and to my request to see Judge Brace, replied, “The Jedge is
-sick in his room.”
-
-“That doesn't matter,” I explained. “You know, I am his nephew. Tell him
-his nephew Gregory wants to see him.” And I marched boldly through the
-hall--where the same tall eight-day clock, with its silver face that
-showed the phases of the moon, was ticking just as it had used to tick
-as long ago as I could remember--and into the parlor, Ripley following.
-I say I marched in boldly, yet I was really frightened half to death,
-as the moment of a face-to-face meeting with my terrible uncle became so
-imminent. There in the parlor stood the piano upon which my grandmother
-had labored so patiently to teach me to play. There hung the oil
-portrait of her, in her robe of cream-colored silk, taken when she was
-a beautiful young girl, and there, opposite it, above the fireplace, the
-companion-picture of my Uncle Florimond, in his lieutenant's uniform,
-with his sword and his crimson sash. Ripley started back a little when
-he saw this painting, and cried, “For mercy's sake, Greg, who is it?
-I never saw anything like it. The same eyes, nose, mouth, chin,
-everything. It's you all over”--thus confirming what my grandmother used
-to tell me: “Gregory, thou art his living image.” The room was haunted
-by a myriad dear associations. I forgot the errand that had brought
-me there; I forgot my fear of meeting Uncle Peter; I forgot all of the
-recent past, and was carried back to the happiest days of my childhood;
-and my heart just swelled, and thrilled, and ached. But next instant
-it gave a great spasmodic leap, and stood still for a second, and then
-began to gallop ahead like mad, while a perspiration broke out over my
-forehead; for the maid-servant entered, and said “Please walk upstairs
-to the Jedge's room.” I really thought I should faint. It was as much as
-I could do to get my breath. My knees knocked together. My hands shook
-like those of an aged palsy-stricken man. However, there was no such
-thing as backing out at this late date; so I screwed my courage to the
-sticking place, and led Ripley upstairs to Uncle Peter's room.
-
-Uncle Peter was seated in an arm-chair, with his legs, wrapped in a
-comforter, stretched out on another chair in front of him. He never so
-much as said how-d'-ye-do? or anything; but at once, scowling at us,
-asked in his gruffest voice, “Well, what do you want?”
-
-I was so afraid and so abashed that I could hardly speak; but I did
-contrive to point at Ripley, and gasp, “He--he'll tell you.”
-
-“Well,” snapped Uncle Peter, turning to my spokesman, “go on. State your
-business.”
-
-“Well, sir,” began Rip--and O, me! as I listened to him, didn't my
-wonder at his wisdom, and my admiration of his eloquence, mount up a
-peg?--“well, sir, our business is very simple, and can be stated in
-a very few words. The amount of it is simply this. My friend Gregory
-Brace, being the only child of Edward Brace, deceased, who was a son of
-your mother, Aurore Brace, deceased, is, equally with yourself, the heir
-and next-of-kin of the said decedent, and would, in the event of her
-having died intestate, divide share and share alike with you whatever
-property she left. Now, sir, we have caused a search to be made in the
-records of the Probate Court of this County, and we find that the said
-decedent did in fact die intestate. It, therefore, became your duty to
-petition for Letters of Administration upon her estate; to cite Gregory
-Brace to show cause why such Letters should not be issued; to cause a
-guardian _ad litem_ to be appointed to act for him in the proceedings;
-to cause a permanent guardian to be appointed for him after the issuance
-of said Letters; and then to apply the rents, profits, and income of
-one undivided half of the estate of said decedent to his support,
-maintenance and education, allowing what excess there might be to accrue
-to his benefit. Well, sir, examination proves that you have performed
-none of these duties; that you have illegally and without warrant
-or authority possessed yourself of the whole of said estate, thereby
-committing a fraud upon the said Gregory Brace, and violating the
-statutes in such case made and provided. And now, sir, we have come here
-to give you notice that it is our intention to put this matter at once
-into the hands of an attorney, with directions that he proceed against
-you, both criminally and civilly.” Uncle Peter heard Ripley through
-without interrupting, though an ugly smile flickered about his lips.
-When Rip had done, he lay back in his chair, and gave a loud harsh
-laugh. Then he drew a long, mock-respectful face, and in a very dry,
-sarcastic manner spoke as follows:--
-
-“Why, my young friend, you talk like a book. And what profound and
-varied knowledge of the law you do possess, to be sure! Why, I must
-congratulate my nephew upon having found such an able and sagacious
-advocate. And really, I cannot see the necessity of your calling in
-the services of an attorney, for a person of your distinguished calibre
-ought certainly to be equal to conducting this dual prosecution, both
-civil and criminal, single-handed. My sakes alive!” he cried, with a
-sudden change of tone and bearing. “Do you know what I've a great mind
-to do with you and your client, my fine young fellow? I've a great mind
-to cane you both within an inch of your precious lives, and send you
-skulking away, with your tails between your legs, like two whipped
-puppies. But, bless me, no! You're neither of you worth the trouble. So
-I'll spare my rod, and spoil your fancy, by giving you a small measure
-of information. Now, then, pray tell me, Mr. Advocate, what is your
-valuation of the property which the 'said decedent' left?”
-
-Ripley, nothing daunted, answered, “At least a hundred thousand
-dollars.”
-
-“At least a hundred thousand dollars,” repeated Uncle Peter; “well,
-that's a pretty sum. Well, now, what would you say, my learned friend,
-if I should tell you that she didn't leave a penny?”
-
-“I should say it was very extraordinary, and that I couldn't believe it.
-She was the widow of a wealthy man. She lived in good style. It stands
-to reason that she couldn't have died penniless.”
-
-“And so it does; it stands to reason, as you say; and yet penniless she
-was when she died, and penniless she had been for ten years before; and
-if she lived in good style, it was because I paid the bills; and if this
-young cub, my nephew, wore good clothes and ate good dinners, it was
-my charity he had to thank. Little by little, stick by stick, my mother
-disposed of all the property her husband left her, selling the bulk of
-it to me, and sending the proceeds to France, to help to reconstruct the
-fortunes of her family there, who were ruined by the revolution. She
-was a pauper when she died; and that's why I took out no Letters of
-Administration--because there was nothing to administrate upon.
-There, now I've told you more than I was under any obligation to; and
-now, both of you, get out!”
-
-“Come, Greg,” said Rip, “let's go.”
-
-We went. Out of doors, I began, “Well, Rip”--
-
-“Well, Greg,” Rip interrupted, “we've been on a fool's errand, a
-wild-goose chase, and the less said about it the better.”
-
-“And I--I'm not rich, after all?”
-
-“That's what's the matter, Greg. If she didn't leave any property--you
-see, we took it for granted that she did--why, there's nothing for you
-to inherit. It's too bad, old fellow; but then, you're no worse off
-than you were in the beginning. Anyhow, there's no use crying over spilt
-milk. Come on; let's take the afternoon train to New York.”
-
-So my fine castle in the air had fallen to pieces like a house of cards.
-I tell you, it was a mighty crest-fallen young gentleman, in a very
-humble frame of mind, who sat next to Arthur Ripley that afternoon in
-the train that was speeding to New York.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI--MY UNCLE FLORIMOND.
-
-
-Yes, indeed, it was a very crest-fallen youth who accompanied Arthur
-Ripley back to New York that bright summer afternoon, and who toward
-bed-time that evening stole quietly into Mr. Finkelstein's shop. It was
-hard work under the circumstances to return to Mr. Finkelstein's. I
-had to swallow my pride in doing so, and it proved to be an exceedingly
-unpalatable dose. I had expected to return a young prince, in princely
-style, to dazzle my plebeian friends with my magnificence, and overwhelm
-them with my bounteous generosity; and now, in point of fact, I came
-back poorer than I had gone away, a beggar and a dependent, one who
-would be homeless and penniless if they should refuse to take him in. It
-was a dreadful come-down. I think, if there had been anywhere else for
-me to go, I should never have returned to Mr. Finkelstein's at all,
-it mortified my vanity so cruelly to have to do it. I felt as though
-I should like to seek out some obscure hiding-place in the remotest
-quarter of the world, and bury myself there forever from the sight of
-men. “O, Rip!” I cried, “I should just like to bag my head.”
-
-Of course, as I opened the shop door, the bell above it must needs
-tinkle; and in response to this summons Mr. Finkelstein himself issued
-from the parlor.
-
-“What, Kraikory!” he exclaimed at sight of me. “Back so soon? Ach! I
-tought it was a customer. Vail, it's you yourself, and no mistake about
-it.”
-
-“Yes, sir,” I replied, “we came back on the train this afternoon.”
-
-“Ach, so? You came back on de train dis aifternoon? Vail, vail, valk in,
-set down, make yourself to home. Vail, Kraik-ory, I'm real glaid to see
-you. Vail, it's all right, I suppose? You got de money, hey? Vail, was
-it more or less as you expected? Was it fifty tousand, or a hundred, or
-maybe only terventy-fife? Vail, set down and tell me all about it.”
-
-“N-no, sir,” I began, rather tremulously; “it--we--there--there was a
-mistake. She--I mean to say my grandmother--she didn't leave any money,
-after all. She didn't have any to leave. She was quite poor, instead of
-rich, and--and my Uncle Peter, he supported her. He owned the house and
-everything. He had bought it from her, and she had sent the money to
-France. So--I--that is--you see”--I broke down. I could get no further.
-
-“Ach, dere, dere, Kraikory,” cried Mr. Finkelstein, as my emotion
-betrayed itself, and he laid his hand caressingly upon my shoulder;
-“dere, dere, don't you go feel baid about it, my dear little poy.” Then
-he caught himself up. “Excuse me, Kraikory; I didn't mean to call you a
-little poy; I forgot. But don't you go feel baid about it, all de
-same. You ain't no vorse off as you was before already. Put it down to
-experience, Kraikory, sharsh it to experience. It's allright. You got
-a comfortable home here by me. You needn't feel so awful about it. Come,
-sheer up, Kraikory. Don't tink about it no more. Come along inside mit
-me, and Henrietta will get you somedings to eat. We ain't got no faitted
-caif to kill in your honor, Kraikory, but we got some of de finest liver
-sowsage in de United States of America; and ainyhow, Kraikory, veal is
-a fearful dry meat. Ach, dere, dere, for mercy's sake, don't you feel
-baid. I get off a shoke shust on purpose to make you laif, and you don't
-naifer notice it. Ach, Kraikory, don't feel baid. I simply hate to see
-you feel baid, Kraikory; I simply cain't staind it. I give ten tousand
-tollars right out of my own pocket sooner as see you feel baid,
-Kraikory; I'm so fond of you, don't you understand?”
-
-My heart melted all at once like ice in sunshine. Tears sprang to my
-eyes. “Oh! my dear, dear Mr. Finkelstein,” I sobbed, “you are so good
-to me. Oh! can--can you ever--for--forgive the--the way I've acted?
-I--I'm--I'm so sorry for it.”
-
-“My kracious, Kraikory, don't talk like dot. If you talk like dot, you
-make me aict so foolish I be ashamed to show my face. You make me cry
-like a raikular old voman, Kraikory; you aictually vill. Ach, dere I go.
-Ach, my kracious! Ach! I cain't help it. Ach, what--what an old fool I
-am.... Kraikory--my boy--my son--come here, Kraikory--come here to
-me. O, Kraikory! I loaf you like a fader. O, Kraikory! you know what
-I tought? I tought I loast you foraifer, Kraikory. O, Kraikory! I'm so
-glaid to haif you back. Ach, Kraikory, God is good.” The tears rolled
-downward from his dear old eyes, and pattered like rain-drops upon my
-cheeks. He had clasped me in his arms.
-
-From that hour I took up my old place at Mr. Finkelstein's, in a
-humbler, healthier, and, on the whole, happier frame of mind than I
-had known for many a long day before. My heart had been touched, and my
-conscience smitten, by his loving kindness.
-
-I was sincerely remorseful for the ungrateful manner in which I
-had behaved toward him, and for the unworthy sentiments that I had
-cherished. I strove honestly, by amending my conduct, to do what I could
-in the way' of atonement.
-
-Incidentally, moreover, my little adventure had brought me face to face
-with some of the naked facts of life. In a grim and vivid tableau it had
-shown me what a helpless and dependent creature I was; how for the sheer
-necessities of food, shelter and clothing I must rely upon the charity
-of other people. I tried now to make myself of real value to my patron,
-of real use in the shop and about the house, and thus in some measure
-to render an equivalent for what he did for me. Instead of going off
-afternoons to amuse myself with Ripley, I would remain at home to
-improve such chances as I had to be of service to Mr. Finkelstein. I
-would play the hand-organ for him, or read aloud to him, or take charge
-of the shop, while he slept, or enjoyed his game of pinochle with
-Mr. Flisch. And in my moments of leisure I would study a dog-eared
-fourth-hand copy of Munson's _Complete Phonographer_ that I had bought;
-for I had long thought that I should like to learn short-hand, and had
-even devoted a good deal of time to mastering the rudiments of that
-art; and I fancied that, by much diligent practice now, I might hasten
-forward the day when I should be able to earn my own livelihood, and
-thus cease to be a burden upon my friends. Indeed, I could already write
-as many as sixty words a minute with perfect ease.
-
-Mr. Finkelstein did not altogether approve of my assiduous industry, and
-used to warn me, “Look out, Kraikory! It don't naifer pay to run a ting
-into de ground; it aictually don't. You study so hart, your head'll get
-more knowledge inside of it as it can hold, and den, de first ting
-you know, all of a sudden vun day, it'll svell up and bust. Ainy-how,
-Kraikory, dere's a proverp which goes, 'All vork and no play makes Shack
-a dull poy'; and dot's as true as you're alife, Kraikory; it aictually
-does. You better knock off dis aifternoon, Kraikory, and go haif some
-fun. It's Saiturday, ain't it? And dere's a maitinee, hey? Vail, why
-don't you go to de teayter?... How? You study so hart becoase you vant
-to get able to earn your living? Now look at here, Kraikory; don't you
-talk foolish. I got plenty money, ain't I? And I got a right to spend
-my money so as to get saitisfaiction out of it, hey? Vail, now look at
-here; dere ain't no vay of spending my money what'll give me so much
-saitisfaiction as to spend it to make you haippy and contented; dot's a
-solemn faict. You needn't vorry about earning your living. You ain't
-got to earn it for a great mainy years yet already--not till you get all
-done mit your education. And ainyhow, Kraikory, you do earn it. You mind
-de store, and you read out lout to me, and you keep me company; and, my
-kracious, you're such a shenu-wine musician, Kraikory, you got such a
-graind tailent for de haind-organ, I don't know how I'd get along midout
-you. I guess I haif to raise your sailary next New Years.”
-
-This was-only of a piece with Mr. Fin-kelstein's usual kindness. But I
-felt that I had abused his kindness in the past, and I was determined to
-abuse it no longer.
-
-I say I was happier than I had been for a long while before, and so I
-was. I was happier because I was more contented. My disappointment about
-the inheritance, though keen enough at the moment, did not last long. As
-Mr. Finkelstein had remarked, I was no worse off than I had been in
-the first place; and then, I derived a good deal of consolation from
-remembering what Uncle Peter had told me--that the money had gone to
-reconstruct the splendor of our house in France. My disappointment
-at seeing my meeting with Uncle Florimond again become a thing of the
-indefinite future, was deeper and more enduring. “Alas,” I sighed, with
-a heart sick for hope deferred, “it seems as though I was never going
-to be able to go to him at all.” And I gulped down a big lump that had
-gathered in my throat.
-
-Against Rosalind Earle I still nursed some foolish resentment. She had
-wished that I might have to eat humble pie. Well, her wish had come to
-pass; and I felt almost as though it were her fault that it had done
-so. She had said she didn't like me any more, and didn't care to have
-me call upon her any more. I took her at her word, and staid away,
-regarding myself in the light of a much-abused and injured person. So
-three or four weeks elapsed, and she and I never met. Then... Toward six
-o'clock one evening I was seated in the parlor, poring over my _Complete
-Phonogacipher_, when the door from the shop opened with a creak, and a
-light footstep became audible behind my chair. The next instant I heard
-Rosalind's voice, low and gentle, call my name.
-
-My heart began to flutter. I got up and turned around, and saw the dear
-little girl standing a yard distant from me, with her hand extended for
-me to take, and with her beautiful dark eyes fixed appealingly upon my
-face. I didn't speak; and I pretended not to see her hand; and I
-just stood still there, mute and pouting, like the sulky coxcomb and
-simpleton that I was.
-
-Rosalind allowed her hand to drop to her side, and a very pained look
-came over her face; and there was a frog in her voice, as she said, “O,
-Gregory! you--you are still angry with me.”
-
-“O, no! I'm not angry with you,” I answered, but in an offish tone; and
-that was true; I really wasn't angry with her the least bit any more.
-All my anger had evaporated at the sight of her face and the sound of
-her voice. But I didn't know how to unbend gracefully and without loss
-of dignity.
-
-“Then--then why haven't you been to see me?” she asked.
-
-“You said you didn't want me to come to see you any more.”
-
-“But I didn't mean it. You must have known I didn't mean it.”
-
-“But you said it, anyhow. I don't care to go where I'm not wanted. When
-people say a thing, how am I to know they don't mean it?”
-
-“But I said it when I was vexed. And what people say when they're
-vexed--other people ought not to count it. It isn't fair. And really and
-truly, Gregory, I didn't mean it; and I'm sorry I said it; and I'm
-sorry I spoke to you the way I did; and--and that's why I've come here,
-Gregory; I've come to ask your pardon.”
-
-“Oh! certainly; don't mention it; no apology's necessary,” I said. I
-would have given anything to have taken her in my arms, and kissed her,
-and begged her pardon; but I was too stiff-necked and self-conscious.
-
-“And then,” she went on, “after you came back from Norwich, and Mr.
-Flisch told me what Mr. Finkelstein had told him--about how disappointed
-you had been, and everything--I--I felt so sorry for you, Gregory, and
-so sorry that I had spoken to you that way; and I wanted to come right
-over, and tell you I didn't mean it, and beg your pardon, and ask you to
-make up with me; but I thought maybe you mightn't like it, and that you
-might be angry with me, and--and not--not--I don't know; but anyway, I
-didn't come. And then I just hoped and hoped all the time that maybe
-you would come to see me; but you never did. And then at last I just
-couldn't wait any longer, I felt so guilty and sorry and everything;
-and--and so I stopped in on my way home to day; and, O, Gregory! I
-really didn't mean to hurt your feelings, and I hope you'll forgive me,
-Gregory, and not be angry with me any more.”
-
-By this time I had gone up, and taken her in my arms; and, “O,
-Rosalind!” I cried, “don't talk like that. You--you make me feel so
-ashamed. You--you humiliate me so. What you said to me that day--it was
-just right. You were just right, and I was wrong. And I deserved to
-have you talk to me ten times worse, I was so horrid and stuck-up and
-everything. And I--I'm awfully sorry. And I've wanted--I've wanted to go
-and see you all the time, and tell you I was sorry; only--only I don't
-know--I suppose I was too proud. And I just hope that you'll forgive
-me, and forgive the way I acted here to-day a little while ago, and--O,
-Rosalind! I'm so glad to be friends with you again.”
-
-“What!” exclaimed Mr. Finkelstein, entering from the shop. “Hugging and
-kissing each udder! Vail, my kracious! Vail, if I aifer! Vail, dot beats
-de deck! Oh! you needn't take no notice of me. You needn't stop on my
-account. I don't mind it. I been dere myself already, when I was your
-age. You needn't bloosh like dot, Rosie; dough it's mighty becoming to
-you, dot's a faict. And, Kraikory, you needn't look so sheebish. You
-ain't done nodings to be ashamed of. And I'm awful sorry I came in shust
-when I did, and inderrubded you; only I didn't know what you was doing,
-as you haidn't notified me, and I vanted to speak to Kraikory about
-a little maitter of business. Dere's an old feller outside dere in de
-store what cain't talk no English; and I guess he was a Frenchman; so I
-tought I'd get Kraikory to come along and aisk him what he vants, if you
-could spare him, Rosie--hey?” So Rosalind and I followed Mr. Finkelstein
-into the shop.
-
-A tall, thin, and very poor-looking old man stood before the counter,
-resting his hands upon it--small and well-shaped hands, but so fleshless
-that you could have counted the bones in them, and across which the
-blue, distended veins stretched like wires. His stove-pipe hat was worn
-and lustreless; his black frock coat was threadbare, and whitish along
-the seams. His old-fashioned standing collar was frayed at the edge; and
-a red mark on each side of his neck, beneath his ears, showed that the
-frayed edge had chafed his skin. His face was colorless and emaciated;
-his eyes, sunken deep under his brows, had a weary, sad, half-frightened
-look in them that compelled your pity. His moustache and imperial
-were as white as snow. A very forlorn, pathetic, poor-looking old
-man, indeed. Yet there was also something refined, dignified, and even
-courtly in his appearance; and I thought to myself that he had seen
-better days; and my heart ached for him. It was with an unwonted
-gentleness that I inquired: “You are French, Monsieur? I put myself at
-your service.”
-
-His sad old eyes fixed themselves eagerly upon mine, and in a quavering
-old voice he answered, “_Je cherche un jeune homme qui s'appelle
-Grégoire Brace_”--I seek a young man named Gregory Brace. “_C'est ici que
-il demeure?_”--It is here that he lives?
-
-“_Mais oui, monsieur: c'est moi_” “--it is I,” I said; and wondering what
-in the world he could want with me, I waited for him to go on.
-
-His eyes opened a little wider, and a light flashed in them. He seemed
-to be struggling with an emotion that made it impossible for him to
-speak. His throat, I could see, gave two or three convulsive swallows.
-Then his lips parted, his eyes grew dim with tears, and very huskily,
-bending forward, he demanded, “_Et--et vous ne me connaissez pas?_”--And
-you do not know me?
-
-I scanned his face carefully. I could not recognize it. I shook my head.
-“_Mais non, monsieur_--I do not think that I have ever seen you before.
-
-“No, that is true. But I hoped that you might know me, nevertheless....
-Gregory, it is I; it is thy uncle--de la Bourbonnaye.” And he stretched
-out his two arms, to embrace me.
-
-[Illustration: 0193]
-
-“What!... Thou!... My--my Uncle--Florimond!... Oh!” I gasped. My heart
-bounded terribly. My head swam. The objects round about began to dance
-bewilderingly to and fro. The floor under my feet rocked like the deck
-of a ship. There was a loud continuous ringing in my ears.... But still
-I saw the figure of that sad old man standing there motionless, with
-arms outstretched toward me, waiting. A thousand unutterable emotions
-were battling in my heart; a thousand incoherent thoughts were racing
-through my brain. This poor old man my Uncle Florimond! This poor old
-man--in threadbare cloth and tattered linen.... Then suddenly an
-impulse mastered me. I rushed forward, and threw myself upon his breast,
-and--like a schoolgirl--fell to weeping.
-
-Well, as the French proverb says, everything comes at last to him who
-knows how to wait. To me at last had come the moment for which I had
-waited so many years; and I stood face to face with my Uncle Florimond,
-with the hero of my imagination, the Marquis de la Bourbonnaye. But
-in place of the rich and powerful nobleman whom I had dreamed of, the
-dashing soldier, the brilliant courtier, I found the poor decrepit aged
-man whom you have seen. “Thou knowest, my Gregory,” he explained to me.
-by and by, “since the overthrow of the legitimate monarchy by the first
-revolution, our family has never been rich. In 1792, upon the eve of the
-Terror, my father emigrated from the beautiful France, and sought refuge
-in Sweden, where I and my sister were born, and where he remained
-until 1815. Upon the restoration we returned to our fatherland; but our
-chateaux of which we counted no fewer than three, had been burned, our
-hôtel in Paris sacked, our wealth confiscated and dissipated, by those
-barbarians, those assassins, those incendiaries, and we possessed
-scarcely even the wherewithal to live. It was for that that we consented
-to the misalliance made by our Aurore in espousing thy grandfather,
-Philip Brace. American and bourgeois that he was, in admitting him to
-our connection, our family suffered the first disgrace of its history.
-Yet without dowry, my sister could never have married her equal in
-France, and would most likely have become a nun. But that excellent
-Brace, he loved her so much, her station was so high, his own so low,
-he was happy to obtain her hand at any terms. She, too, reciprocated
-his affection; he was indeed a fine fellow; and the marriage was
-accomplished.... It is now some ten years since, by the goodness of my
-beloved sister, I was enabled to amass a sufficient sum to purchase for
-myself an annuity of six thousand francs as a provision for my age.
-But behold, the other day--it is now about two months ago, perhaps--the
-annuity company goes into bankruptcy; and I am left absolutely without
-a _sou_. So I am come to America to seek an asylum with my sister's
-son, Peter. I am arrived to-day even, aboard the steamship La Touraine.
-Figure to thyself that, fault of money, I have been forced to make the
-passage second class! To-morrow I shall proceed to Norr-veesh.”
-
-“Have you written to Uncle Peter to expect you?” I inquired.
-
-“_Mais non!_ I have not thought it necessary.”
-
-“It is a man altogether singular, my Uncle Peter,” I went on, “and truly
-I think that you will do better to rest here at New York a few days, in
-attending a response to the letter which I counsel you to send him. He
-loves not the surprises, my Uncle Peter.”
-
-“I shall do all as thou desirest, my good Gregory,” said Uncle
-Florimond; and he dispatched a letter to his nephew, Peter Brace, that
-very evening, setting forth the state of his affairs, and declaring his
-intention to go to Norwich.
-
-That night and the next he slept in Mr. Finkelstein's spare bedroom. On
-the evening of the third day an answer came from Uncle Peter, professing
-his inability to do anything to assist his mother's brother, and
-emphatically discouraging his proposed visit to Norwich. Uncle Florimond
-could hardly believe his senses. “Ah! such cruelty, such lack of heart,”
- he cried, “it is impossible.”
-
-“Vail, Kraikory,” said Mr. Finkelstein, “de only ting is, he'll haif to
-settle down here, and live mit me and you. He can keep dot spare room,
-and we'll make him as comfortable as we know how. Tell him I be prout to
-haif him for my guest as long as he'll stay.”
-
-“No,” I answered, “I can't let you go to work and saddle yourself with
-my relatives as well as with me. I must pitch in and support him.”
-
-“But, my kracious, Kraikory, what can you do? You're only fifteen years
-old. You couldn't earn more as tree or four tollars a veek if you vorked
-all de time.”
-
-“Oh! yes, I could. You forget that I've been studying short-hand; and I
-can write sixty words a minute; and Mr. Marx will get me a position as a
-short-hand writer in some office down-town; and then I could earn eight
-dollars a week at least.”
-
-“Vail, my kracious, dot's a faict. Vail, dot's simply immense. Vail, I'm
-mighty glaid now you kept on studying and didn't take my advice. Vail,
-ainyhow, Kraikory, you and him can go on living here by me, and den when
-you're able you can pay boart--hey? And say, Kraikory, I always had
-a sort of an idea dot I like to learn Frainch; and maybe he'd give me
-lessons, hey? Aisk him what he'd sharsh.”
-
-“Ah, my Gregory,” sighed Uncle Florimond, “I am desolated. To become a
-burden upon thy young shoulders--it is terrible.”
-
-“I beseech you, my dearest uncle, do not say such things. I love you
-with all my heart. It is my greatest happiness to have you near me. And
-hold, you are going to gain your own livelihood. Mr. Finkelstein here
-wishes to know what you will charge to give him French lessons.”
-
-“Well, I guess I join de class,” said Mr. Marx, when he heard of his
-father-in-law's studies.
-
-“So will I,” said Mrs. Marx.
-
-“Well, I guess I come in too,” said Mr. Flisch.
-
-“And I want to learn French ever so much,” said Rosalind.
-
-[Ill 0006]
-
-So a class was formed; and a Marquis de la Bourbonnaye, for the first
-time, no doubt, in the history of that ancient family, ate bread that he
-had earned by the sweat of his brow. It was a funny and yet a pathetic
-sight to see him laboring with his pupils. He was very gentle and very
-patient; but by the melancholy expression of his eyes, I knew that the
-outrages they committed upon his native language sank deep into his own
-soul. He and Mr. Finkelstein became great friends. I think they used
-to play cards together quite six hours every day. Uncle Florimond had
-studied English as a lad at school; and by and by he screwed his courage
-to the sticking place, and began to talk that tongue. It was as good as
-a play to hear him and Mr. Finkelstein converse together.
-
-In due time, surely enough, Mr. Marx procured a situation for me as
-stenographer in a banking-house down-town. My salary, to start with, was
-seven dollars a week. Joining that to what Uncle Florimond earned, we
-had enough to support us in comparative comfort and without loss of
-self-respect.
-
-And now Mrs. Gregory Brace, who is looking over my shoulder, and whose
-first name is Rosalind, and whose maiden-name was Earle, warns me that
-the point is reached where I must write
-
-
-THE END.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of My Uncle Florimond, by
-(AKA Sidney Luska) Henry Harland
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-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY UNCLE FLORIMOND ***
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