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diff --git a/5949-h/5949-h.htm b/5949-h/5949-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e4ee7b --- /dev/null +++ b/5949-h/5949-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2873 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Beasley's Christmas Party, by Booth Tarkington + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beasley's Christmas Party, by Booth Tarkington + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Beasley's Christmas Party + +Author: Booth Tarkington + + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5949] +This file was first posted on September 23, 2002 +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEASLEY'S CHRISTMAS PARTY *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks, David Widger and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + BEASLEY'S CHRISTMAS PARTY + </h1> + <h2> + By Booth Tarkington + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Illustrated By Ruth Sypherd Clements + </h3> + <h4> + October, 1909. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO <br /> <br /> JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + The maple-bordered street was as still as a country Sunday; so quiet that + there seemed an echo to my footsteps. It was four o'clock in the morning; + clear October moonlight misted through the thinning foliage to the shadowy + sidewalk and lay like a transparent silver fog upon the house of my + admiration, as I strode along, returning from my first night's work on the + “Wainwright Morning Despatch.” + </p> + <p> + I had already marked that house as the finest (to my taste) in Wainwright, + though hitherto, on my excursions to this metropolis, the state capital, I + was not without a certain native jealousy that Spencerville, the + county-seat where I lived, had nothing so good. Now, however, I approached + its purlieus with a pleasure in it quite unalloyed, for I was at last + myself a resident (albeit of only one day's standing) of Wainwright, and + the house—though I had not even an idea who lived there—part + of my possessions as a citizen. Moreover, I might enjoy the warmer pride + of a next-door-neighbor, for Mrs. Apperthwaite's, where I had taken a + room, was just beyond. + </p> + <p> + This was the quietest part of Wainwright; business stopped short of it, + and the “fashionable residence section” had overleaped this “forgotten + backwater,” leaving it undisturbed and unchanging, with that look about it + which is the quality of few urban quarters, and eventually of none, as a + town grows to be a city—the look of still being a neighborhood. This + friendliness of appearance was largely the emanation of the homely and + beautiful house which so greatly pleased my fancy. + </p> + <p> + It might be difficult to say why I thought it the “finest” house in + Wainwright, for a simpler structure would be hard to imagine; it was + merely a big, old-fashioned brick house, painted brown and very plain, set + well away from the street among some splendid forest trees, with a fair + spread of flat lawn. But it gave back a great deal for your glance, just + as some people do. It was a large house, as I say, yet it looked not like + a mansion but like a home; and made you wish that you lived in it. Or, + driving by, of an evening, you would have liked to hitch your horse and go + in; it spoke so surely of hearty, old-fashioned people living there, who + would welcome you merrily. + </p> + <p> + It looked like a house where there were a grandfather and a grandmother; + where holidays were warmly kept; where there were boisterous family + reunions to which uncles and aunts, who had been born there, would return + from no matter what distances; a house where big turkeys would be on the + table often; where one called “the hired man” (and named either Abner or + Ole) would crack walnuts upon a flat-iron clutched between his knees on + the back porch; it looked like a house where they played charades; where + there would be long streamers of evergreen and dozens of wreaths of holly + at Christmas-time; where there were tearful, happy weddings and great + throwings of rice after little brides, from the broad front steps: in a + word, it was the sort of a house to make the hearts of spinsters and + bachelors very lonely and wistful—and that is about as near as I can + come to my reason for thinking it the finest house in Wainwright. + </p> + <p> + The moon hung kindly above its level roof in the silence of that October + morning, as I checked my gait to loiter along the picket fence; but + suddenly the house showed a light of its own. The spurt of a match took my + eye to one of the upper windows, then a steadier glow of orange told me + that a lamp was lighted. The window was opened, and a man looked out and + whistled loudly. + </p> + <p> + I stopped, thinking that he meant to attract my attention; that something + might be wrong; that perhaps some one was needed to go for a doctor. My + mistake was immediately evident, however; I stood in the shadow of the + trees bordering the sidewalk, and the man at the window had not seen me. + </p> + <p> + “Boy! Boy!” he called, softly. “Where are you, Simpledoria?” + </p> + <p> + He leaned from the window, looking downward. “Why, THERE you are!” he + exclaimed, and turned to address some invisible person within the room. + “He's right there, underneath the window. I'll bring him up.” He leaned + out again. “Wait there, Simpledoria!” he called. “I'll be down in a jiffy + and let you in.” + </p> + <p> + Puzzled, I stared at the vacant lawn before me. The clear moonlight + revealed it brightly, and it was empty of any living presence; there were + no bushes nor shrubberies—nor even shadows—that could have + been mistaken for a boy, if “Simpledoria” WAS a boy. There was no dog in + sight; there was no cat; there was nothing beneath the window except + thick, close-cropped grass. + </p> + <p> + A light shone in the hallway behind the broad front doors; one of these + was opened, and revealed in silhouette the tall, thin figure of a man in a + long, old-fashioned dressing-gown. + </p> + <p> + “Simpledoria,” he said, addressing the night air with considerable + severity, “I don't know what to make of you. You might have caught your + death of cold, roving out at such an hour. But there,” he continued, more + indulgently; “wipe your feet on the mat and come in. You're safe NOW!” + </p> + <p> + He closed the door, and I heard him call to some one up-stairs, as he + rearranged the fastenings: + </p> + <p> + “Simpledoria is all right—only a little chilled. I'll bring him up + to your fire.” + </p> + <p> + I went on my way in a condition of astonishment that engendered, almost, a + doubt of my eyes; for if my sight was unimpaired and myself not subject to + optical or mental delusion, neither boy nor dog nor bird nor cat, nor any + other object of this visible world, had entered that opened door. Was my + “finest” house, then, a place of call for wandering ghosts, who came home + to roost at four in the morning? + </p> + <p> + It was only a step to Mrs. Apperthwaite's; I let myself in with the key + that good lady had given me, stole up to my room, went to my window, and + stared across the yard at the house next door. The front window in the + second story, I decided, necessarily belonged to that room in which the + lamp had been lighted; but all was dark there now. I went to bed, and + dreamed that I was out at sea in a fog, having embarked on a transparent + vessel whose preposterous name, inscribed upon glass life-belts, depending + here and there from an invisible rail, was SIMPLEDORIA. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Apperthwaite's was a commodious old house, the greater part of it of + about the same age, I judged, as its neighbor; but the late Mr. + Apperthwaite had caught the Mansard fever of the late 'Seventies, and the + building-disease, once fastened upon him, had never known a convalescence, + but, rather, a series of relapses, the tokens of which, in the nature of a + cupola and a couple of frame turrets, were terrifyingly apparent. These + romantic misplacements seemed to me not inharmonious with the library, a + cheerful and pleasantly shabby apartment down-stairs, where I found (over + a substratum of history, encyclopaedia, and family Bible) some worn old + volumes of Godey's Lady's Book, an early edition of Cooper's works; Scott, + Bulwer, Macaulay, Byron, and Tennyson, complete; some odd volumes of + Victor Hugo, of the elder Dumas, of Flaubert, of Gautier, and of Balzac; + Clarissa, Lalla Rookh, The Alhambra, Beulah, Uarda, Lucile, Uncle Tom's + Cabin, Ben-Hur, Trilby, She, Little Lord Fauntleroy; and of a later + decade, there were novels about those delicately tangled emotions + experienced by the supreme few; and stories of adventurous royalty; tales + of “clean-limbed young American manhood;” and some thin volumes of rather + precious verse. + </p> + <p> + 'Twas amid these romantic scenes that I awaited the sound of the + lunch-bell (which for me was the announcement of breakfast), when I arose + from my first night's slumbers under Mrs. Apperthwaite's roof; and I + wondered if the books were a fair mirror of Miss Apperthwaite's mind (I + had been told that Mrs. Apperthwaite had a daughter). Mrs. Apperthwaite + herself, in her youth, might have sat to an illustrator of Scott or + Bulwer. Even now you could see she had come as near being romantically + beautiful as was consistently proper for such a timid, gentle little + gentlewoman as she was. Reduced, by her husband's insolvency (coincident + with his demise) to “keeping boarders,” she did it gracefully, as if the + urgency thereto were only a spirit of quiet hospitality. It should be + added in haste that she set an excellent table. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, the guests who gathered at her board were of a very attractive + description, as I decided the instant my eye fell upon the lady who sat + opposite me at lunch. I knew at once that she was Miss Apperthwaite, she + “went so,” as they say, with her mother; nothing could have been more + suitable. Mrs. Apperthwaite was the kind of woman whom you would expect to + have a beautiful daughter, and Miss Apperthwaite more than fulfilled her + mother's promise. + </p> + <p> + I guessed her to be more than Juliet Capulet's age, indeed, yet still + between that and the perfect age of woman. She was of a larger, fuller, + more striking type than Mrs. Apperthwaite, a bolder type, one might put it—though + she might have been a great deal bolder than Mrs. Apperthwaite without + being bold. Certainly she was handsome enough to make it difficult for a + young fellow to keep from staring at her. She had an abundance of very + soft, dark hair, worn almost severely, as if its profusion necessitated + repression; and I am compelled to admit that her fine eyes expressed a + distant contemplation—obviously of habit not of mood—so + pronounced that one of her enemies (if she had any) might have described + them as “dreamy.” + </p> + <p> + Only one other of my own sex was present at the lunch-table, a Mr. Dowden, + an elderly lawyer and politician of whom I had heard, and to whom Mrs. + Apperthwaite, coming in after the rest of us were seated, introduced me. + She made the presentation general; and I had the experience of receiving a + nod and a slow glance, in which there was a sort of dusky, estimating + brilliance, from the beautiful lady opposite me. + </p> + <p> + It might have been better mannered for me to address myself to Mr. Dowden, + or one of the very nice elderly women, who were my fellow-guests, than to + open a conversation with Miss Apperthwaite; but I did not stop to think of + that. + </p> + <p> + “You have a splendid old house next door to you here, Miss Apperthwaite,” + I said. “It's a privilege to find it in view from my window.” + </p> + <p> + There was a faint stir as of some consternation in the little company. The + elderly ladies stopped talking abruptly and exchanged glances, though this + was not of my observation at the moment, I think, but recurred to my + consciousness later, when I had perceived my blunder. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask who lives there?” I pursued. + </p> + <p> + Miss Apperthwaite allowed her noticeable lashes to cover her eyes for an + instant, then looked up again. + </p> + <p> + “A Mr. Beasley,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not the Honorable David Beasley!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she returned, with a certain gravity which I afterward wished had + checked me. “Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in person,” I explained. “You see, I've written a good deal about + him. I was with the “Spencerville Journal” until a few days ago, and even + in the country we know who's who in politics over the state. Beasley's the + man that went to Congress and never made a speech—never made even a + motion to adjourn—but got everything his district wanted. There's + talk of him now for Governor.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “And so it's the Honorable David Beasley who lives in that splendid place. + How curious that is!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Miss Apperthwaite. + </p> + <p> + “It seems too big for one man,” I answered; “and I've always had the + impression Mr. Beasley was a bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, rather slowly, “he is.” + </p> + <p> + “But of course he doesn't live there all alone,” I supposed, aloud, + “probably he has—” + </p> + <p> + “No. There's no one else—except a couple of colored servants.” + </p> + <p> + “What a crime!” I exclaimed. “If there ever was a house meant for a large + family, that one is. Can't you almost hear it crying out for heaps and + heaps of romping children? I should think—” + </p> + <p> + I was interrupted by a loud cough from Mr. Dowden, so abrupt and + artificial that his intention to check the flow of my innocent prattle was + embarrassingly obvious—even to me! + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me,” he said, leaning forward and following up the + interruption as hastily as possible, “what the farmers were getting for + their wheat when you left Spencerville?” + </p> + <p> + “Ninety-four cents,” I answered, and felt my ears growing red with + mortification. Too late, I remembered that the new-comer in a community + should guard his tongue among the natives until he has unravelled the + skein of their relationships, alliances, feuds, and private wars—a + precept not unlike the classic injunction: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Yes, my darling daughter. + Hang your clothes on a hickory limb, + But don't go near the water.” + </pre> + <p> + However, in my confusion I warmly regretted my failure to follow it, and + resolved not to blunder again. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dowden thanked me for the information for which he had no real desire, + and, the elderly ladies again taking up (with all too evident relief) + their various mild debates, he inquired if I played bridge. “But I + forget,” he added. “Of course you'll be at the 'Despatch' office in the + evenings, and can't be here.” After which he immediately began to question + me about my work, making his determination to give me no opportunity again + to mention the Honorable David Beasley unnecessarily conspicuous, as I + thought. + </p> + <p> + I could only conclude that some unpleasantness had arisen between himself + and Beasley, probably of political origin, since they were both in + politics, and of personal (and consequently bitter) development; and that + Mr. Dowden found the mention of Beasley not only unpleasant to himself but + a possible embarrassment to the ladies (who, I supposed, were aware of the + quarrel) on his account. + </p> + <p> + After lunch, not having to report at the office immediately, I took unto + myself the solace of a cigar, which kept me company during a stroll about + Mrs. Apperthwaite's capacious yard. In the rear I found an old-fashioned + rose-garden—the bushes long since bloomless and now brown with + autumn—and I paced its gravelled paths up and down, at the same time + favoring Mr. Beasley's house with a covert study that would have done + credit to a porch-climber, for the sting of my blunder at the table was + quiescent, or at least neutralized, under the itch of a curiosity far from + satisfied concerning the interesting premises next door. The gentleman in + the dressing-gown, I was sure, could have been no other than the Honorable + David Beasley himself. He came not in eyeshot now, neither he nor any + other; there was no sign of life about the place. That portion of his yard + which lay behind the house was not within my vision, it is true, his + property being here separated from Mrs. Apperthwaite's by a board fence + higher than a tall man could reach; but there was no sound from the other + side of this partition, save that caused by the quiet movement of rusty + leaves in the breeze. + </p> + <p> + My cigar was at half-length when the green lattice door of Mrs. + Apperthwaite's back porch was opened and Miss Apperthwaite, bearing a + saucer of milk, issued therefrom, followed, hastily, by a very white, fat + cat, with a pink ribbon round its neck, a vibrant nose, and fixed, + voracious eyes uplifted to the saucer. The lady and her cat offered to + view a group as pretty as a popular painting; it was even improved when, + stooping, Miss Apperthwaite set the saucer upon the ground, and, + continuing in that posture, stroked the cat. To bend so far is a test of a + woman's grace, I have observed. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face toward me and smiled. “I'm almost at the age, you + see.” + </p> + <p> + “What age?” I asked, stupidly enough. + </p> + <p> + “When we take to cats,” she said, rising. “Spinsterhood” we like to call + it. 'Single-blessedness!'” + </p> + <p> + “That is your kind heart. You decline to make one of us happy to the + despair of all the rest.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed at this, though with no very genuine mirth, I marked, and let + my 1830 attempt at gallantry pass without other retort. + </p> + <p> + “You seemed interested in the old place yonder.” She indicated Mr. + Beasley's house with a nod. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I understood my blunder,” I said, quickly. “I wish I had known the + subject was embarrassing or unpleasant to Mr. Dowden.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you think that?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” I said, “you saw how pointedly he cut me off.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she returned, thoughtfully. “He rather did; it's true. At least, I + see how you got that impression.” She seemed to muse upon this, letting + her eyes fall; then, raising them, allowed her far-away gaze to rest upon + the house beyond the fence, and said, “It IS an interesting old place.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Beasley himself—” I began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “HE isn't interesting. That's his trouble!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean his trouble not to—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted me, speaking with sudden, surprising energy, “I mean he's + a man of no imagination.” + </p> + <p> + “No imagination!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “None in the world! Not one ounce of imagination! Not one grain!” + </p> + <p> + “Then who,” I cried—“or what—is Simpledoria?” + </p> + <p> + “Simple—what?” she said, plainly mystified. + </p> + <p> + “Simpledoria.” + </p> + <p> + “Simpledoria?” she repeated, and laughed. “What in the world is that?” + </p> + <p> + “You never heard of it before?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “You've lived next door to Mr. Beasley a long time, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “All my life.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you must know him pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + “What next?” she said, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You said he lived there all alone,” I went on, tentatively. + </p> + <p> + “Except for an old colored couple, his servants.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me—” I hesitated. “Has he ever been thought—well, + 'queer'?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” she answered, emphatically. “Never anything so exciting! Merely + deadly and hopelessly commonplace.” She picked up the saucer, now + exceedingly empty, and set it upon a shelf by the lattice door. “What was + it about—what was that name?—'Simpledoria'?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you,” I said. And I related in detail the singular + performance of which I had been a witness in the late moonlight before + that morning's dawn. As I talked, we half unconsciously moved across the + lawn together, finally seating ourselves upon a bench beyond the rose-beds + and near the high fence. The interest my companion exhibited in the + narration might have surprised me had my nocturnal experience itself been + less surprising. She interrupted me now and then with little, half-checked + ejaculations of acute wonder, but sat for the most part with her elbow on + her knee and her chin in her hand, her face turned eagerly to mine and her + lips parted in half-breathless attention. There was nothing “far away” + about her eyes now; they were widely and intently alert. + </p> + <p> + When I finished, she shook her head slowly, as if quite dumfounded, and + altered her position, leaning against the back of the bench and gazing + straight before her without speaking. It was plain that her neighbor's + extraordinary behavior had revealed a phase of his character novel enough + to be startling. + </p> + <p> + “One explanation might be just barely possible,” I said. “If it is, it is + the most remarkable case of somnambulism on record. Did you ever hear of + Mr. Beasley's walking in his—” + </p> + <p> + She touched me lightly but peremptorily on the arm in warning, and I + stopped. On the other side of the board fence a door opened creakily, and + there sounded a loud and cheerful voice—that of the gentleman in the + dressing-gown. + </p> + <p> + “HERE we come!” it said; “me and big Bill Hammersley. I want to show Bill + I can jump ANYWAYS three times as far as he can! Come on, Bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that Mr. Beasley's voice?” I asked, under my breath. + </p> + <p> + Miss Apperthwaite nodded in affirmation. + </p> + <p> + “Could he have heard me?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she whispered. “He's just come out of the house.” And then to + herself, “Who under heaven is Bill Hammersley? I never heard of HIM!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, Bill,” said the voice beyond the fence, “if you're afraid I'll + beat you TOO badly, you've still got time to back out. I did understand + you to kind of hint that you were considerable of a jumper, but if—What? + What'd you say, Bill?” There ensued a moment's complete silence. “Oh, all + right,” the voice then continued. “You say you're in this to win, do you? + Well, so'm I, Bill Hammersley; so'm I. Who'll go first? Me? All right—from + the edge of the walk here. Now then! One—two—three! HA!” + </p> + <p> + A sound came to our ears of some one landing heavily—and at full + length, it seemed—on the turf, followed by a slight, rusty groan in + the same voice. “Ugh! Don't you laugh, Bill Hammersley! I haven't jumped + as much as I OUGHT to, these last twenty years; I reckon I've kind of lost + the hang of it. Aha!” There were indications that Mr. Beasley was picking + himself up, and brushing his trousers with his hands. “Now, it's your + turn, Bill. What say?” Silence again, followed by, “Yes, I'll make + Simpledoria get out of the way. Come here, Simpledoria. Now, Bill, put + your heels together on the edge of the walk. That's right. All ready? Now + then! One for the money—two for the show—three to make ready—and + four for to GO!” Another silence. “By jingo, Bill Hammersley, you've beat + me! Ha, ha! That WAS a jump! What say?” Silence once more. “You say you + can do even better than that? Now, Bill, don't brag. Oh! you say you've + often jumped farther? Oh! you say that was up in Scotland, where you had a + spring-board? Oho! All right; let's see how far you can jump when you + really try. There! Heels on the walk again. That's right; swing your arms. + One—two—three! THERE you go!” Another silence. “ZING! Well, + sir, I'll be e-tarnally snitched to flinders if you didn't do it THAT + time, Bill Hammersley! I see I never really saw any jumping before in all + my born days. It's eleven feet if it's an inch. What? You say you—” + </p> + <p> + I heard no more, for Miss Apperthwaite, her face flushed and her eyes + shining, beckoned me imperiously to follow her, and departed so hurriedly + that it might be said she ran. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said I, keeping at her elbow, “whether it's more like + Alice or the interlocutor's conversation at a minstrel show.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” she warned me, though we were already at a safe distance, and did + not speak again until we had reached the front walk. There she paused, and + I noted that she was trembling—and, no doubt correctly, judged her + emotion to be that of consternation. + </p> + <p> + “There was no one THERE!” she exclaimed. “He was all by himself! It was + just the same as what you saw last night!” + </p> + <p> + “Evidently.” + </p> + <p> + “Did it sound to you”—there was a little awed tremor in her voice + that I found very appealing—“did it sound to you like a person who'd + lost his MIND?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I said. “I don't know at all what to make of it.” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't have been”—her eyes grew very wide—“intoxicated!” + </p> + <p> + “No. I'm sure it wasn't that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then <i>I</i> don't know what to make of it, either. All that wild talk + about 'Bill Hammersley' and 'Simpledoria' and spring-boards in Scotland + and—” + </p> + <p> + “And an eleven-foot jump,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Why, there's no more a 'Bill Hammersley,'” she cried, with a gesture of + excited emphasis, “than there is a 'Simpledoria'!” + </p> + <p> + “So it appears,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + “He's lived there all alone,” she said, solemnly, “in that big house, so + long, just sitting there evening after evening all by himself, never going + out, never reading anything, not even thinking; but just sitting and + sitting and sitting and SITTING—Well,” she broke off, suddenly, + shook the frown from her forehead, and made me the offer of a dazzling + smile, “there's no use bothering one's own head about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to have a fellow-witness,” I said. “It's so eerie I might have + concluded there was something the matter with ME.” + </p> + <p> + “You're going to your work?” she asked, as I turned toward the gate. “I'm + very glad I don't have to go to mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yours?” I inquired, rather blankly. + </p> + <p> + “I teach algebra and plain geometry at the High School,” said this + surprising young woman. “Thank Heaven, it's Saturday! I'm reading Les + Miserables for the seventh time, and I'm going to have a real ORGY over + Gervaise and the barricade this afternoon!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + I do not know why it should have astonished me to find that Miss + Apperthwaite was a teacher of mathematics except that (to my inexperienced + eye) she didn't look it. She looked more like Charlotte Corday! + </p> + <p> + I had the pleasure of seeing her opposite me at lunch the next day (when + Mr. Dowden kept me occupied with Spencerville politics, obviously from + fear that I would break out again), but no stroll in the yard with her + rewarded me afterward, as I dimly hoped, for she disappeared before I left + the table, and I did not see her again for a fortnight. On week-days she + did not return to the house for lunch, my only meal at Mrs. Apperthwaite's + (I dined at a restaurant near the “Despatch” office), and she was out of + town for a little visit, her mother informed us, over the following + Saturday and Sunday. She was not altogether out of my thoughts, however—indeed, + she almost divided them with the Honorable David Beasley. + </p> + <p> + A better view which I was afforded of this gentleman did not lessen my + interest in him; increased it rather; it also served to make the + extraordinary didoes of which he had been the virtuoso and I the audience + more than ever profoundly inexplicable. My glimpse of him in the lighted + doorway had given me the vaguest impression of his appearance, but one + afternoon—a few days after my interview with Miss Apperthwaite—I + was starting for the office and met him full-face-on as he was turning in + at his gate. I took as careful invoice of him as I could without + conspicuously glaring. + </p> + <p> + There was something remarkably “taking,” as we say, about this man—something + easy and genial and quizzical and careless. He was the kind of person you + LIKE to meet on the street; whose cheerful passing sends you on feeling + indefinably a little gayer than you did. He was tall, thin—even + gaunt, perhaps—and his face was long, rather pale, and shrewd and + gentle; something in its oddity not unremindful of the late Sol Smith + Russell. His hat was tilted back a little, the slightest bit to one side, + and the sparse, brownish hair above his high forehead was going to be gray + before long. He looked about forty. + </p> + <p> + The truth is, I had expected to see a cousin german to Don Quixote; I had + thought to detect signs and gleams of wildness, however slight—something + a little “off.” One glance of that kindly and humorous eye told me such + expectation had been nonsense. Odd he might have been—Gadzooks! he + looked it—but “queer”? Never. The fact that Miss Apperthwaite could + picture such a man as this “sitting and sitting and sitting” himself into + any form of mania or madness whatever spoke loudly of her own imagination, + indeed! The key to “Simpledoria” was to be sought under some other mat. + </p> + <p> + ... As I began to know some of my co-laborers on the “Despatch,” and to + pick up acquaintances, here and there, about town, I sometimes made Mr. + Beasley the subject of inquiry. Everybody knew him. “Oh yes, I know Dave + BEASLEY!” would come the reply, nearly always with a chuckling sort of + laugh. I gathered that he had a name for “easy-going” which amounted to + eccentricity. It was said that what the ward-heelers and camp-followers + got out of him in campaign times made the political managers cry. He was + the first and readiest prey for every fraud and swindler that came to + Wainwright, I heard, and yet, in spite of this and of his hatred of + “speech-making” (“He's as silent as Grant!” said one informant), he had a + large practice, and was one of the most successful lawyers in the state. + </p> + <p> + One story they told of him (or, as they were more apt to put it, “on” him) + was repeated so often that I saw it had become one of the town's + traditions. One bitter evening in February, they related, he was + approached upon the street by a ragged, whining, and shivering old + reprobate, notorious for the various ingenuities by which he had worn out + the patience of the charity organizations. He asked Beasley for a dime. + Beasley had no money in his pockets, but gave the man his overcoat, went + home without any himself, and spent six weeks in bed with a bad case of + pneumonia as the direct result. His beneficiary sold the overcoat, and + invested the proceeds in a five-day's spree, in the closing scenes of + which a couple of brickbats were featured to high, spectacular effect. One + he sent through a jeweller's show-window in an attempt to intimidate some + wholly imaginary pursuers, the other he projected at a perfectly actual + policeman who was endeavoring to soothe him. The victim of Beasley's + charity and the officer were then borne to the hospital in company. + </p> + <p> + It was due in part to recollections of this legend and others of a similar + character that people laughed when they said, “Oh yes, I know Dave + BEASLEY!” + </p> + <p> + Altogether, I should say, Beasley was about the most popular man in + Wainwright. I could discover nowhere anything, however, to shed the + faintest light upon the mystery of Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria. It was + not until the Sunday of Miss Apperthwaite's absence that the revelation + came. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon I went to call upon the widow of a second-cousin of mine; + she lived in a cottage not far from Mrs. Apperthwaite's, upon the same + street. I found her sitting on a pleasant veranda, with boxes of flowering + plants along the railing, though Indian summer was now close upon + departure. She was rocking meditatively, and held a finger in a morocco + volume, apparently of verse, though I suspected she had been better + entertained in the observation of the people and vehicles decorously + passing along the sunlit thoroughfare within her view. + </p> + <p> + We exchanged inevitable questions and news of mutual relatives; I had told + her how I liked my work and what I thought of Wainwright, and she was + congratulating me upon having found so pleasant a place to live as Mrs. + Apperthwaite's, when she interrupted herself to smile and nod a cordial + greeting to two gentlemen driving by in a phaeton. They waved their hats + to her gayly, then leaned back comfortably against the cushions—and + if ever two men were obviously and incontestably on the best of terms with + each other, THESE two were. They were David Beasley and Mr. Dowden. “I do + wish,” said my cousin, resuming her rocking—“I do wish dear David + Beasley would get a new trap of some kind; that old phaeton of his is a + disgrace! I suppose you haven't met him? Of course, living at Mrs. + Apperthwaite's, you wouldn't be apt to.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is he doing with Mr. Dowden?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She lifted her eyebrows. “Why—taking him for a drive, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I mean—how do they happen to be together?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't they be? They're old friends—” + </p> + <p> + “They ARE!” And, in answer to her look of surprise, I explained that I had + begun to speak of Beasley at Mrs. Apperthwaite's, and described the + abruptness with which Dowden had changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” my cousin nodded, comprehendingly. “That's simple enough. George + Dowden didn't want you to talk of Beasley THERE. I suppose it may have + been a little embarrassing for everybody—especially if Ann + Apperthwaite heard you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ann? That's Miss Apperthwaite? Yes; I was speaking directly to her. Why + SHOULDN'T she have heard me? She talked of him herself a little later—and + at some length, too.” + </p> + <p> + “She DID!” My cousin stopped rocking, and fixed me with her glittering + eye. “Well, of all!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so surprising?” + </p> + <p> + The lady gave her boat to the waves again. “Ann Apperthwaite thinks about + him still!” she said, with something like vindictiveness. “I've always + suspected it. She thought you were new to the place and didn't know + anything about it all, or anybody to mention it to. That's it!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm still new to the place,” I urged, “and still don't know anything + about it all.” + </p> + <p> + “They used to be engaged,” was her succinct and emphatic answer. + </p> + <p> + I found it but too illuminating. “Oh, oh!” I cried. “I WAS an innocent, + wasn't I?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad she DOES think of him,” said my cousin. “It serves her right. I + only hope HE won't find it out, because he's a poor, faithful creature; + he'd jump at the chance to take her back—and she doesn't deserve + him.” + </p> + <p> + “How long has it been,” I asked, “since they used to be engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a good while—five or six years ago, I think—maybe more; + time skips along. Ann Apperthwaite's no chicken, you know.” (Such was the + lady's expression.) “They got engaged just after she came home from + college, and of all the idiotically romantic girls—” + </p> + <p> + “But she's a teacher,” I interrupted, “of mathematics.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She nodded wisely. “I always thought that explained it: the romance + is a reaction from the algebra. I never knew a person connected with + mathematics or astronomy or statistics, or any of those exact things, who + didn't have a crazy streak in 'em SOMEwhere. They've got to blow off steam + and be foolish to make up for putting in so much of their time at hard + sense. But don't you think that I dislike Ann Apperthwaite. She's always + been one of my best friends; that's why I feel at liberty to abuse her—and + I always will abuse her when I think how she treated poor David Beasley.” + </p> + <p> + “How did she treat him?” + </p> + <p> + “Threw him over out of a clear sky one night, that's all. Just sent him + home and broke his heart; that is, it would have been broken if he'd had + any kind of disposition except the one the Lord blessed him with—just + all optimism and cheerfulness and make-the-best-of-it-ness! He's never + cared for anybody else, and I guess he never will.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she do it for?” + </p> + <p> + “NOTHING!” My cousin shot the indignant word from her lips. “Nothing in + the wide WORLD!” + </p> + <p> + “But there must have been—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me,” she interrupted, “and tell me if you ever heard anything + queerer in your life. They'd been engaged—Heaven knows how long—over + two years; probably nearer three—and always she kept putting it off; + wouldn't begin to get ready, wouldn't set a day for the wedding. Then Mr. + Apperthwaite died, and left her and her mother stranded high and dry with + nothing to live on. David had everything in the world to give her—and + STILL she wouldn't! And then, one day, she came up here and told me she'd + broken it off. Said she couldn't stand it to be engaged to David Beasley + another minute!” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because”—my cousin's tone was shrill with her despair of expressing + the satire she would have put into it—“because, she said he was a + man of no imagination!” + </p> + <p> + “She still says so,” I remarked, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Then it's time she got a little imagination herself!” snapped my + companion. “David Beasley's the quietest man God has made, but everybody + knows what he IS! There are some rare people in this world that aren't all + TALK; there are some still rarer ones that scarcely ever talk at all—and + David Beasley's one of them. I don't know whether it's because he can't + talk, or if he can and hates to; I only know he doesn't. And I'm glad of + it, and thank the Lord he's put a few like that into this talky world! + David Beasley's smile is better than acres of other people's talk. My + Providence! Wouldn't anybody, just to look at him, know that he does + better than talk? He THINKS! The trouble with Ann Apperthwaite was that + she was too young to see it. She was so full of novels and poetry and + dreaminess and highfalutin nonsense she couldn't see ANYTHING as it really + was. She'd study her mirror, and see such a heroine of romance there that + she just couldn't bear to have a fiance who hadn't any chance of turning + out to be the crown-prince of Kenosha in disguise! At the very least, to + suit HER he'd have had to wear a 'well-trimmed Vandyke' and coo sonnets in + the gloaming, or read On a Balcony to her by a red lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Poor David! Outside of his law-books, I don't believe he's ever read + anything but Robinson Crusoe and the Bible and Mark Twain. Oh, you should + have heard her talk about it!—'I couldn't bear it another day,' she + said, 'I couldn't STAND it! In all the time I've known him I don't believe + he's ever asked me a single question—except when he asked if I'd + marry him. He never says ANYTHING—never speaks at ALL!' she said. + 'You don't know a blessing when you see it,' I told her. 'Blessing!' she + said. 'There's nothing IN the man! He has no DEPTHS! He hasn't any more + imagination than the chair he sits and sits and sits in! Half the time he + answers what I say to him by nodding and saying 'um-hum,' with that same + old foolish, contented smile of his. I'd have gone MAD if it had lasted + any longer!' I asked her if she thought married life consisted very + largely of conversations between husband and wife; and she answered that + even married life ought to have some POETRY in it. 'Some romance,' she + said, 'some soul! And he just comes and sits,' she said, 'and sits and + sits and sits and sits! And I can't bear it any longer, and I've told him + so.'” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mr. Beasley,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> think, 'Poor Ann Apperthwaite!'” retorted my cousin. “I'd like + to know if there's anything NICER than just to sit and sit and sit and sit + with as lovely a man as that—a man who understands things, and + thinks and listens and smiles—instead of everlastingly talking!” + </p> + <p> + “As it happens,” I remarked, “I've heard Mr. Beasley talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course he talks,” she returned, “when there's any real use in it. + And he talks to children; he's THAT kind of man.” + </p> + <p> + “I meant a particular instance,” I began; meaning to see if she could give + me any clew to Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria, but at that moment the + gate clicked under the hand of another caller. My cousin rose to greet + him; and presently I took my leave without having been able to get back + upon the subject of Beasley. + </p> + <p> + Thus, once more baffled, I returned to Mrs. Apperthwaite's—and + within the hour came into full possession of the very heart of that dark + and subtle mystery which overhung the house next door and so perplexed my + soul. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Finding that I had still some leisure before me, I got a book from my room + and repaired to the bench in the garden. But I did not read; I had but + opened the book when my attention was arrested by sounds from the other + side of the high fence—low and tremulous croonings of distinctly + African derivation: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah met mah sistuh in a-mawnin', + She 'uz a-waggin' up de hill SO slow! + 'Sistuh, you mus' git a rastle in doo time, + B'fo de hevumly do's cloze—iz!'” + </pre> + <p> + It was the voice of an aged negro; and the simultaneous slight creaking of + a small hub and axle seemed to indicate that he was pushing or pulling a + child's wagon or perambulator up and down the walk from the kitchen door + to the stable. Whiles, he proffered soothing music: over and over he + repeated the chant, though with variations; encountering in turn his + brother, his daughter, each of his parents, his uncle, his cousin, and his + second-cousin, one after the other ascending the same slope with the same + perilous leisure. + </p> + <p> + “Lay still, honey.” He interrupted his injunctions to the second-cousin. + “Des keep on a-nappin' an' a-breavin' de f'esh air. Dass wha's go' mek you + good an' well agin.” + </p> + <p> + Then there spoke the strangest voice that ever fell upon my ear; it was + not like a child's, neither was it like a very old person's voice; it + might have been a grasshopper's, it was so thin and little, and made of + such tiny wavers and quavers and creakings. + </p> + <p> + “I—want—” said this elfin voice, “I—want—Bill—Hammersley!” + </p> + <p> + The shabby phaeton which had passed my cousin's house was drawing up to + the curb near Beasley's gate. Evidently the old negro saw it. + </p> + <p> + “Hi dar!” he exclaimed. “Look at dat! Hain' Bill a comin' yonnah des + edzacly on de dot an' to de vey spot an' instink when you 'quiah fo' 'im, + honey? Dar come Mist' Dave, right on de minute, an' you kin bet yo' las + hunnud dollahs he got dat Bill Hammersley wif 'im! Come along, + honey-chile! Ah's go' to pull you 'roun in de side yod fo' to meet 'em.” + </p> + <p> + The small wagon creaked away, the chant resuming as it went. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dowden jumped out of the phaeton with a wave of his hand to the + driver, Beasley himself, who clucked to the horse and drove through his + open carriage-gates and down the drive on the other side of the house, + where he was lost to my view. + </p> + <p> + Dowden, entering our own gate, nodded in a friendly fashion to me, and I + advanced to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “Some day I want to take you over next door,” he said, cordially, as I + came up. “You ought to know Beasley, especially as I hear you're doing + some political reporting. Dave Beasley's going to be the next governor of + this state, you know.” He laughed, offered me a cigar, and we sat down + together on the front steps. + </p> + <p> + “From all I hear,” I rejoined, “YOU ought to know who'll get it.” (It was + said in town that Dowden would “come pretty near having the nomination in + his pocket.”) + </p> + <p> + “I expect you thought I shifted the subject pretty briskly the other day?” + He glanced at me quizzically from under the brim of his black felt hat. “I + meant to tell you about that, but the opportunity didn't occur. You see—” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” I interrupted. “I've heard the story. You thought it might + be embarrassing to Miss Apperthwaite.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect I was pretty clumsy about it,” said Dowden, cheerfully. “Well, + well—” he flicked his cigar with a smothered ejaculation that was + half a sigh and half a laugh; “it's a mighty strange case. Here they keep + on living next door to each other, year after year, each going on alone + when they might just as well—” He left the sentence unfinished, save + for a vocal click of compassion. “They bow when they happen to meet, but + they haven't exchanged a word since the night she sent him away, long + ago.” He shook his head, then his countenance cleared and he chuckled. + “Well, sir, Dave's got something at home to keep him busy enough, these + days, I expect!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind telling me?” I inquired. “Is its name 'Simpledoria'?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dowden threw back his head and laughed loudly. “Lord, no! What on + earth made you think that?” + </p> + <p> + I told him. It was my second success with this narrative; however, there + was a difference: my former auditor listened with flushed and breathless + excitement, whereas the present one laughed consumedly throughout. + Especially he laughed with a great laughter at the picture of Beasley's + coming down at four in the morning to open the door for nothing on sea or + land or in the waters under the earth. I gave account, also, of the + miraculous jumping contest (though I did not mention Miss Apperthwaite's + having been with me), and of the elfin voice I had just now overheard + demanding “Bill Hammersley.” + </p> + <p> + “So I expect you must have decided,” he chuckled, when I concluded, “that + David Beasley has gone just plain, plum insane.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. Nobody could look at him and not know better than that.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right THERE!” said Dowden, heartily. “And now I'll tell you all + there is TO it. You see, Dave grew up with a cousin of his named Hamilton + Swift; they were boys together; went to the same school, and then to + college. I don't believe there was ever a high word spoken between them. + Nobody in this life ever got a quarrel out of Dave Beasley, and Hamilton + Swift was a mighty good sort of a fellow, too. He went East to live, after + they got out of college, yet they always managed to get together once a + year, generally about Christmas-time; you couldn't pass them on the street + without hearing their laughter ringing out louder than the sleigh-bells, + maybe over some old joke between them, or some fool thing they did, + perhaps, when they were boys. But finally Hamilton Swift's business took + him over to the other side of the water to live; and he married an English + girl, an orphan without any kin. That was about seven years ago. Well, + sir, this last summer he and his wife were taking a trip down in + Switzerland, and they were both drowned—tipped over out of a rowboat + in Lake Lucerne—and word came that Hamilton Swift's will appointed + Dave guardian of the one child they had, a little boy—Hamilton + Swift, Junior's his name. He was sent across the ocean in charge of a + doctor, and Dave went on to New York to meet him. He brought him home here + the very day before you passed the house and saw poor Dave getting up at + four in the morning to let that ghost in. And a mighty funny ghost + Simpledoria is!” + </p> + <p> + “I begin to understand,” I said, “and to feel pretty silly, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” he rejoined, heartily. “That little chap's freaks would + mystify anybody, especially with Dave humoring 'em the ridiculous way he + does. Hamilton Swift, Junior, is the curiousest child I ever saw—and + the good Lord knows He made all children powerful mysterious! This poor + little cuss has a complication of infirmities that have kept him on his + back most of his life, never knowing other children, never playing, or + anything; and he's got ideas and ways that I never saw the beat of! He was + born sick, as I understand it—his bones and nerves and insides are + all wrong, somehow—but it's supposed he gets a little better from + year to year. He wears a pretty elaborate set of braces, and he's subject + to attacks, too—I don't know the name for 'em—and loses what + little voice he has sometimes, all but a whisper. He had one, I know, the + day after Beasley brought him home, and that was probably the reason you + thought Dave was carrying on all to himself about that jumping-match out + in the back-yard. The boy must have been lying there in the little wagon + they have for him, while Dave cut up shines with 'Bill Hammersley.' Of + course, most children have make-believe friends and companions, especially + if they haven't any brothers or sisters, but this lonely little feller's + got HIS people worked out in his mind and materialized beyond any I ever + heard of. Dave got well acquainted with 'em on the train on the way home, + and they certainly are giving him a lively time. Ho, ho! Getting him up at + four in the morning—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dowden's mirth overcame him for a moment; when he had mastered it, he + continued: “Simpledoria—now where do you suppose he got that name?—well, + anyway, Simpledoria is supposed to be Hamilton Swift, Junior's St. Bernard + dog. Beasley had to BATHE him the other day, he told me! And Bill + Hammersley is supposed to be a boy of Hamilton Swift, Junior's own age, + but very big and strong; he has rosy cheeks, and he can do more in + athletics than a whole college track-team. That's the reason he outjumped + Dave so far, you see.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + Miss Apperthwaite was at home the following Saturday. I found her in the + library with Les Miserables on her knee when I came down from my room a + little before lunch-time; and she looked up and gave me a smile that made + me feel sorry for any one she had ceased to smile upon. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to tell you,” I said, with a little awkwardness but plenty of + truth, “I've found out that I'm an awful fool.” + </p> + <p> + “But that's something,” she returned, encouragingly—“at least the + beginning of wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean about Mr. Beasley—the mystery I was absurd enough to find in + 'Simpledoria.' I want to tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>I</i> know,” she said; and although she laughed with an effect of + carelessness, that look which I had thought “far away” returned to her + eyes as she spoke. There was a certain inscrutability about Miss + Apperthwaite sometimes, it should be added, as if she did not like to be + too easily read. “I've heard all about it. Mr. Beasley's been appointed + trustee or something for poor Hamilton Swift's son, a pitiful little + invalid boy who invents all sorts of characters. The old darky from over + there told our cook about Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria. So, you see, I + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you do,” I said. + </p> + <p> + A little hardness—one might even have thought it bitterness—became + apparent in her expression. “And I'm glad there's SOMEbody in that house, + at last, with a little imagination!” + </p> + <p> + “From everything I have heard,” I returned, summoning sufficient boldness, + “it would be difficult to say which has more—Mr. Beasley or the + child.” + </p> + <p> + Her glance fell from mine at this, but not quickly enough to conceal a + sudden, half-startled look of trouble (I can think of no other way to + express it) that leaped into it; and she rose, for the lunch-bell was + ringing. + </p> + <p> + “I'm just finishing the death of Jean Valjean, you know, in Les + Miserables,” she said, as we moved to the door. “I'm always afraid I'll + cry over that. I try not to, because it makes my eyes red.” + </p> + <p> + And, in truth, there was a vague rumor of tears about her eyes—not + as if she had shed them, but more as if she were going to—though I + had not noticed it when I came in. + </p> + <p> + ... That afternoon, when I reached the “Despatch” office, I was + commissioned to obtain certain political information from the Honorable + David Beasley, an assignment I accepted with eagerness, notwithstanding + the commiseration it brought me from one or two of my fellows in the + reporter's room. “You won't get anything out of HIM!” they said. And they + were true prophets. + </p> + <p> + I found him looking over some documents in his office; a reflective, + unlighted cigar in the corner of his mouth; his chair tilted back and his + feet on a window-sill. He nodded, upon my statement of the affair that + brought me, and, without shifting his position, gave me a look of slow but + wholly friendly scrutiny over his shoulder, and bade me sit down. I began + at once to put the questions I was told to ask him—interrogations + (he seemed to believe) satisfactorily answered by slowly and ruminatively + stroking the left side of his chin with two long fingers of his right + hand, the while he smiled in genial contemplation of a tarred roof beyond + the window. Now and then he would give me a mild and drawling word or two, + not brilliantly illuminative, it may be remarked. “Well—about that—” + he began once, and came immediately to a full stop. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” I said, hopefully, my pencil poised. + </p> + <p> + “About that—I guess—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Beasley?” I encouraged him, for he seemed to have dried up + permanently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir—I guess—Hadn't you better see some one else about + THAT?” + </p> + <p> + This with the air of a man who would be but too fluent and copious upon + any subject in the world except the one particular point. + </p> + <p> + I never met anybody else who looked so pleasantly communicative and + managed to say so little. In fact, he didn't say anything at all; and I + guessed that this faculty was not without its value in his political + career, disastrous as it had proved to his private happiness. His habit of + silence, moreover, was not cultivated: you could see that “the secret of + it” was just that he was BORN quiet. + </p> + <p> + My note-book remained noteless, and finally, at some odd evasion of his, + accomplished by a monosyllable, I laughed outright—and he did, too! + He joined cachinnations with me heartily, and with a twinkling + quizzicalness that somehow gave me the idea that he might be thinking + (rather apologetically) to himself: “Yes, sir, that old Beasley man is + certainly a mighty funny critter!” + </p> + <p> + When I went away, a few moments later, and left him still intermittently + chuckling, the impression remained with me that he had had some such + deprecatory and surreptitious thought. + </p> + <p> + Two or three days after that, as I started down-town from Mrs. + Apperthwaite's, Beasley came out of his gate, bound in the same direction. + He gave me a look of gay recognition and offered his hand, saying, “WELL! + Up in THIS neighborhood!” as if that were a matter of considerable + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + I mentioned that I was a neighbor, and we walked on together. I don't + think he spoke again, except for a “Well, sir!” or two of genial surprise + at something I said, and, now and then, “You don't tell me!” which he had + a most eloquent way of exclaiming; but he listened visibly to my own talk, + and laughed at everything that I meant for funny. + </p> + <p> + I never knew anybody who gave one a greater responsiveness; he seemed to + be WITH you every instant; and HOW he made you feel it was the true + mystery of Beasley, this silent man who never talked, except (as my cousin + said) to children. + </p> + <p> + It happened that I thus met him, as we were both starting down-town, and + walked on with him, several days in succession; in a word, it became a + habit. Then, one afternoon, as I turned to leave him at the “Despatch” + office, he asked me if I wouldn't drop in at his house the next day for a + cigar before we started. I did; and he asked me if I wouldn't come again + the day after that. So this became a habit, too. + </p> + <p> + A fortnight elapsed before I met Hamilton Swift, Junior; for he, poor + little father of dream-children, could be no spectator of track events + upon the lawn, but lay in his bed up-stairs. However, he grew better at + last, and my presentation took place. + </p> + <p> + We had just finished our cigars in Beasley's airy, old-fashioned + “sitting-room,” and were rising to go, when there came the faint creaking + of small wheels from the hall. Beasley turned to me with the apologetic + and monosyllabic chuckle that was distinctly his alone. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a little chap here—” he said; then went to the door. + “Bob!” + </p> + <p> + The old darky appeared in the doorway pushing a little wagon like a + reclining-chair on wheels, and in it sat Hamilton Swift, Junior. + </p> + <p> + My first impression of him was that he was all eyes: I couldn't look at + anything else for a time, and was hardly conscious of the rest of that + weazened, peaked little face and the under-sized wisp of a body with its + pathetic adjuncts of metal and leather. I think they were the brightest + eyes I ever saw—as keen and intelligent as a wicked old woman's, + withal as trustful and cheery as the eyes of a setter pup. + </p> + <p> + “HOO-ray!” + </p> + <p> + Thus the Honorable Mr. Beasley, waving a handkerchief thrice around his + head and thrice cheering. + </p> + <p> + And the child, in that cricket's voice of his, replied: + </p> + <p> + “Br-r-ra-vo!” + </p> + <p> + This was the form of salutation familiarly in use between them. Beasley + followed it by inquiring, “Who's with us to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm MISTER Swift,” chirped the little fellow. “MIS-TER Swift, if you + please, Cousin David Beasley.” + </p> + <p> + Beasley executed a formal bow. “There is a gentleman here who'd like to + meet you.” And he presented me with some grave phrases commendatory of my + general character, addressing the child as “Mister Swift”; whereupon + Mister Swift gave me a ghostly little hand and professed himself glad to + meet me. + </p> + <p> + “And besides me,” he added, to Beasley, “there's Bill Hammersley and Mr. + Corley Linbridge.” + </p> + <p> + A faint perplexity manifested itself upon Beasley's face at this, a shadow + which cleared at once when I asked if I might not be permitted to meet + these personages, remarking that I had heard from Dowden of Bill + Hammersley, though until now a stranger to the fame of Mr. Corley + Linbridge. + </p> + <p> + Beasley performed the ceremony with intentional elegance, while the boy's + great eyes swept glowingly from his cousin's face to mine and back again. + I bowed and shook hands with the air, once to my left and once to my + right. “And Simpledoria!” cried Mister Swift. “You'll enjoy Simpledoria.” + </p> + <p> + “Above all things,” I said. “Can he shake hands? Some dogs can.” + </p> + <p> + “Watch him!” + </p> + <p> + Mister Swift lifted a commanding finger. “Simpledoria, shake hands!” + </p> + <p> + I knelt beside the wagon and shook an imaginary big paw. At this Mister + Swift again shook hands with me and allowed me to perceive, in his + luminous regard, a solemn commendation and approval. + </p> + <p> + In this wise was my initiation into the beautiful old house and the + cordiality of its inmates completed; and I became a familiar of David + Beasley and his ward, with the privilege to go and come as I pleased; + there was always gay and friendly welcome. I always came for the cigar + after lunch, sometimes for lunch itself; sometimes I dined there instead + of down-town; and now and then when it happened that an errand or + assignment took me that way in the afternoon, I would run in and “visit” + awhile with Hamilton Swift, Junior, and his circle of friends. + </p> + <p> + There were days, of course, when his attacks were upon him, and only + Beasley and the doctor and old Bob saw him; I do not know what the boy's + mental condition was at such times; but when he was better, and could be + wheeled about the house and again receive callers, he displayed an almost + dismaying activity of mind—it was active enough, certainly, to keep + far ahead of my own. And he was masterful: still, Beasley and Dowden and I + were never directly chidden for insubordination, though made to wince + painfully by the look of troubled surprise that met us when we were not + quick enough to catch his meaning. + </p> + <p> + The order of the day with him always began with the “HOO-ray” and + “BR-R-RA-vo” of greeting; after which we were to inquire, “Who's with us + to-day?” Whereupon he would make known the character in which he elected + to be received for the occasion. If he announced himself as “Mister + Swift,” everything was to be very grown-up and decorous indeed. + Formalities and distances were observed; and Mr. Corley Linbridge (an + elderly personage of great dignity and distinction as a mountain-climber) + was much oftener included in the conversation than Bill Hammersley. If, + however, he declared himself to be “Hamilton Swift, Junior,” which was his + happiest mood, Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria were in the ascendant, and + there were games and contests. (Dowden, Beasley, and I all slid down the + banisters on one of the Hamilton Swift, Junior, days, at which really + picturesque spectacle the boy almost cried with laughter—and old Bob + and his wife, who came running from the kitchen, DID cry.) He had a third + appellation for himself—“Just little Hamilton”; but this was only + when the creaky voice could hardly chirp at all and the weazened face was + drawn to one side with suffering. When he told us he was “Just little + Hamilton” we were very quiet. + </p> + <p> + Once, for ten days, his Invisibles all went away on a visit: Hamilton + Swift, Junior, had become interested in bears. While this lasted, all of + Beasley's trousers were, as Dowden said, “a sight.” For that matter, + Dowden himself was quite hoarse in court from growling so much. The bears + were dismissed abruptly: Bill Hammersley and Mr. Corley Linbridge and + Simpledoria came trooping back, and with them they brought that wonderful + family, the Hunchbergs. + </p> + <p> + Beasley had just opened the front door, returning at noon from his office, + when Hamilton Swift, Junior's voice came piping from the library, where he + was reclining in his wagon by the window. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin David Beasley! Cousin David, come a-running!” he cried. “Come + a-running! The Hunchbergs are here!” + </p> + <p> + Of course Cousin David Beasley came a-running, and was immediately + introduced to the whole Hunchberg family, a ceremony which old Bob, who + was with the boy, had previously undergone with courtly grace. + </p> + <p> + “They like Bob,” explained Hamilton. “Don't you, Mr. Hunchberg? Yes, he + says they do extremely!” (He used such words as “extremely” often; indeed, + as Dowden said, he talked “like a child in a book,” which was due, I dare + say, to his English mother.) “And I'm sure,” the boy went on, “that all + the family will admire Cousin David. Yes, Mr. Hunchberg says, he thinks + they will.” + </p> + <p> + And then (as Bob told me) he went almost out of his head with joy when + Beasley offered Mr. Hunchberg a cigar and struck a match for him to light + it. + </p> + <p> + “But WHAR,” exclaimed the old darky, “whar in de name o' de good Gawd do + de chile git dem NAMES? Hit lak to SKEER me!” + </p> + <p> + That was a subject often debated between Dowden and me: there was nothing + in Wainwright that could have suggested them, and it did not seem probable + he could have remembered them from over the water. In my opinion they were + the inventions of that busy and lonely little brain. + </p> + <p> + I met the Hunchberg family, myself, the day after their arrival, and + Beasley, by that time, had become so well acquainted with them that he + could remember all their names, and helped in the introductions. There was + Mr. Hunchberg—evidently the child's favorite, for he was described + as the possessor of every engaging virtue—and there was that lively + matron, Mrs. Hunchberg; there were the Hunchberg young gentlemen, Tom, + Noble, and Grandee; and the young ladies, Miss Queen, Miss Marble, and + Miss Molanna—all exceedingly gay and pretty. There was also Colonel + Hunchberg, an uncle; finally there was Aunt Cooley Hunchberg, a somewhat + decrepit but very amiable old lady. Mr. Corley Linbridge happened to be + calling at the same time; and, as it appeared to be Beasley's duty to keep + the conversation going and constantly to include all of the party in its + general flow, it struck me that he had truly (as Dowden said) “enough to + keep him busy.” + </p> + <p> + The Hunchbergs had lately moved to Wainwright from Constantinople, I + learned; they had decided not to live in town, however, having purchased a + fine farm out in the country, and, on account of the distance, were able + to call at Beasley's only about eight times a day, and seldom more than + twice in the evening. Whenever a mystic telephone announced that they were + on the way, the child would have himself wheeled to a window; and when + they came in sight he would cry out in wild delight, while Beasley + hastened to open the front door and admit them. + </p> + <p> + They were so real to the child, and Beasley treated them with such + consistent seriousness, that between the two of them I sometimes began to + feel that there actually were such people, and to have moments of + half-surprise that I couldn't see them; particularly as each of the + Hunchberg's developed a character entirely his own to the last + peculiarity, such as the aged Aunt Cooley Hunchberg's deafness, on which + account Beasley never once forgot to raise his voice when he addressed + her. Indeed, the details of actuality in all this appeared to bring as + great a delight to the man as to the child. Certainly he built them up + with infinite care. On one occasion when Mr. Hunchberg and I happened to + be calling, Hamilton remarked with surprise that Simpledoria had come into + the room without licking his hand as he usually did, and had crept under + the table. Mr. Hunchberg volunteered the information (through Beasley) + that upon his approach to the house he had seen Simpledoria chasing a cat. + It was then debated whether chastisement was in order, but finally decided + that Simpledoria's surreptitious manner of entrance and his hiding under + the table were sufficient indication that he well understood his baseness, + and would never let it happen again. And so, Beasley having coaxed him out + from under the table, the offender “sat up,” begged, and was forgiven. I + could almost feel the splendid shaggy head under my hand when, in turn, I + patted Simpledoria to show that the reconciliation was unanimous. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + Autumn trailed the last leaves behind her flying brown robes one night; we + woke to a skurry of snow next morning; and it was winter. Down-town, along + the sidewalks, the merchants set lines of poles, covered them with + evergreen, and ran streamers of green overhead to encourage the festal + shopping. Salvation Army Santa Clauses stamped their feet and rang bells + on the corners, and pink-faced children fixed their noses immovably to + display-windows. For them, the season of seasons, the time of times, was + at hand. + </p> + <p> + To a certain new reporter on the “Despatch” the stir and gayety of the + streets meant little more than that the days had come when it was night in + the afternoon, and that he was given fewer political assignments. This was + annoying, because Beasley's candidacy for the governorship had given me a + personal interest in the political situation. The nominating convention of + his party would meet in the spring; the nomination was certain to carry + the election also, and thus far Beasley showed more strength than any + other man in the field. “Things are looking his way,” said Dowden. “He's + always worked hard for the party; not on the stump, of course,” he + laughed; “but the boys understand there are more important things than + speech-making. His record in Congress gave him the confidence of everybody + in the state, and, besides that, people always trust a quiet man. I tell + you if nothing happens he'll get it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm FER Beasley,” another politician explained, in an interview, “because + he's Dave Beasley! Yes, sir, I'm FER him. You know the boys say if a man + is only FOR you, in this state, there isn't much in it and he may go back + on it; but if he's FER you, he means it. Well, I'm FER Beasley!” + </p> + <p> + There were other candidates, of course; none of them formidable; but I was + surprised to learn of the existence of a small but energetic faction + opposing our friend in Wainwright, his own town. (“What are you surprised + about?” inquired Dowden. “Don't you know what our folks are like, YET? If + St. Paul lived in Wainwright, do you suppose he could run for constable + without some of his near neighbors getting out to try and down him?”) + </p> + <p> + The head and front (and backbone, too) of the opposition to Beasley was a + close-fisted, hard-knuckled, risen-from-the-soil sort of man, one named + Simeon Peck. He possessed no inconsiderable influence, I heard; was a hard + worker, and vigorously seconded by an energetic lieutenant, a young man + named Grist. These, and others they had been able to draw to their + faction, were bitterly and eagerly opposed to Beasley's nomination, and + worked without ceasing to prevent it. + </p> + <p> + I quote the invaluable Mr. Dowden again: “Grist's against us because he + had a quarrel with a clerk in Beasley's office, and wanted Beasley to + discharge him, and Beasley wouldn't; Sim Peck's against us out of just + plain wrong-headedness, and because he never was for ANYTHING nor FER + anybody in his life. I had a talk with the old mutton-head the other day; + he said our candidate ought to be a farmer, a 'man of the common people,' + and when I asked him where he'd find anybody more a 'man of the common + people' than Beasley, he said Beasley was 'too much of a society man' to + suit him! The idea of Dave as a 'society man' was too much for me, and I + laughed in Sim Peck's face, but that didn't stop Sim Peck! 'Jest look at + the style he lives in,' he yelped. 'Ain't he fairly LAPPED in luxury? Look + at that big house he lives in! Look at the way he goes around in that + phaeton of his—and a nigger to drive him half the time!' I had to + holler again, and, of course, that made Sim twice as mad as he started out + to be; and he went off swearing he'd show ME, before the campaign was + over. The only trouble he and Grist and that crowd could give us would be + by finding out something against Dave, and they can't do that because + there isn't anything to find out.” + </p> + <p> + I shared his confidence on this latter score, but was somewhat less + sanguine on some others. There were only two newspapers of any political + influence in Wainwright, the “Despatch” and the “Journal,” both operated + in the interest of Beasley's party, and neither had “come out” for him. + The gossip I heard about our office led me to think that each was waiting + to see what headway Sim Peck and his faction would make; the “Journal” + especially, I knew, had some inclination to coquette with Peck, Grist, and + Company. Altogether, their faction was not entirely to be despised. + </p> + <p> + Thus, my thoughts were a great deal more occupied with Beasley's chances + than with the holiday spirit that now, with furs and bells and wreathing + mists of snow, breathed good cheer over the town. So little, indeed, had + this spirit touched me that, one evening when one of my colleagues, + standing before the grate-fire in the reporters' room, yawned and said + he'd be glad when to-morrow was over, I asked him what was the particular + trouble with to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + “Christmas,” he explained, languidly. “Always so tedious. Like Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes me homesick,” said another, a melancholy little man who was + forever bragging of his native Duluth. + </p> + <p> + “Christmas,” I repeated—“to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + It was Christmas Eve, and I had not known it! I leaned back in my chair in + sudden loneliness, what pictures coming before me of long-ago Christmas + Eves at home!—old Christmas Eves when there was a Tree.... + </p> + <p> + My name was called; the night City Editor had an assignment for me. “Go up + to Sim Peck's, on Madison Street,” he said. “He thinks he's got something + on David Beasley, but won't say any more over the telephone. See what + there is in it.” + </p> + <p> + I picked up my hat and coat, and left the office at a speed which must + have given my superior the highest conception of my journalistic zeal. At + a telephone station on the next corner I called up Mrs. Apperthwaite's + house and asked for Dowden. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” I demanded, when his voice had responded. + </p> + <p> + “Playing bridge,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going out anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “No. What's the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you later. I may want to see you before I go back to the + office.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll be here all evening.” + </p> + <p> + I hung up the receiver and made off on my errand. + </p> + <p> + Down-town the streets were crowded with the package-laden people, bending + heads and shoulders to the bitter wind, which swept a blinding, sleet-like + snow horizontally against them. At corners it struck so tumultuous a blow + upon the chest of the pedestrians that for a moment it would halt them, + and you could hear them gasping half-smothered “AHS” like bathers in a + heavy surf. Yet there was a gayety in this eager gale; the crowds pressed + anxiously, yet happily, up and down the street in their generous search + for things to give away. It was not the rich who struggled through the + storm to-night; these were people who carried their own bundles home. You + saw them: toilers and savers, tired mothers and fathers, worn with the + grinding thrift of all the year, but now for this one night careless of + how hard-saved the money, reckless of everything but the joy of giving it + to bring the children joy on the one great to-morrow. So they bent their + heads to the freezing wind, their arms laden with daring bundles and their + hearts uplifted with the tremulous happiness of giving more than they + could afford. Meanwhile, Mr. Simeon Peck, honest man, had chosen this + season to work harm if he might to the gentlest of his fellow-men. + </p> + <p> + I found Mr. Peck waiting for me at his house. There were four other men + with him, one of whom I recognized as Grist, a squat young man with + slippery-looking black hair and a lambrequin mustache. They were donning + their coats and hats in the hall when I arrived. + </p> + <p> + “From the 'Despatch,' hay?” Mr. Peck gave me greeting, as he wound a knit + comforter about his neck. “That's good. We'd most give you up. This here's + Mr. Grist, and Mr. Henry P. Cullop, and Mr. Gus Schulmeyer—three men + that feel the same way about Dave Beasley that I do. That other young + feller,” he waved a mittened hand to the fourth man—“he's from the + 'Journal.' Likely you're acquainted.” + </p> + <p> + The young man from the 'Journal' was unknown to me; moreover, I was far + from overjoyed at his presence. + </p> + <p> + “I've got you newspaper men here,” continued Mr. Peck, “because I'm goin' + to show you somep'n' about Dave Beasley that'll open a good many folk's + eyes when it's in print.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” I asked, rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Jest hold your horses a little bit,” he retorted. “Grist and me knows, + and so do Mr. Cullop and Mr. Schulmeyer. And I'm goin' to take them and + you two reporters to LOOK at it. All ready? Then come on.” + </p> + <p> + He threw open the door, stooped to the gust that took him by the throat, + and led the way out into the storm. + </p> + <p> + “What IS he up to?” I gasped to the “Journal” man as we followed in a + straggling line. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know any more than you do,” he returned. “He thinks he's got + something that'll queer Beasley. Peck's an old fool, but it's just + possible he's got hold of something. Nearly everybody has ONE thing, at + least, that they don't want found out. It may be a good story. Lord, what + a night!” + </p> + <p> + I pushed ahead to the leader's side. “See here, Mr. Peck—” I began, + but he cut me off. + </p> + <p> + “You listen to ME, young man! I'm givin' you some news for your paper, and + I'm gittin' at it my own way, but I'll git AT it, don't you worry! I'm + goin' to let some folks around here know what kind of a feller Dave + Beasley really is; yes, and I'm goin' to show George Dowden he can't laugh + at ME!” + </p> + <p> + “You're going to show Mr. Dowden?” I said. “You mean you're going to take + him on this expedition, too?” + </p> + <p> + “TAKE him!” Mr. Peck emitted an acrid bark of laughter. “I guess HE'S at + Beasley's, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he isn't; he's at home—at Mrs. Apperthwaite's—playing + cards.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “I happen to know that he'll be there all evening.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peck smote his palms together. “Grist!” he called, over his shoulder, + and his colleague struggled forward. “Listen to this: even Dowden ain't at + Beasley's. Ain't the Lord workin' fer us to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you take Dowden with you,” I urged, “if there's anything you + want to show him?” + </p> + <p> + “By George, I WILL!” shouted Peck. “I've got him where the hair's short + NOW!” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said Grist. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen”—Peck turned to the others—“when we git to Mrs. + Apperthwaite's, jest stop outside along the fence a minute. I recken we'll + pick up a recruit.” + </p> + <p> + Shivering, we took up our way again in single file, stumbling through + drifts that had deepened incredibly within the hour. The wind was straight + against us, and so stingingly sharp and so laden with the driving snow + that when we reached Mrs. Apperthwaite's gate (which we approached from + the north, not passing Beasley's) my eyes were so full of smarting tears I + could see only blurred planes of light dancing vaguely in the darkness, + instead of brightly lit windows. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Peck, panting and turning his back to the wind; “the rest of + you gentlemen wait out here. You two newspaper men, you come with me.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the gate and went in, the “Journal” reporter and I following—all + three of us wiping our half-blinded eyes. When we reached the shelter of + the front porch, I took the key from my pocket and opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “I live here,” I explained to Mr. Peck. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said. “Jest step in and tell George Dowden that Sim Peck's + out here and wants to see him at the door a minute. Be quick.” + </p> + <p> + I went into the library, and there sat Dowden contemplatively playing + bridge with two of the elderly ladies and Miss Apperthwaite. The + last-mentioned person quite took my breath away. + </p> + <p> + In honor of the Christmas Eve (I supposed) she wore an evening dress of + black lace, and the only word for what she looked has suffered such misuse + that one hesitates over it: yet that is what she was—regal—and + no less! There was a sort of splendor about her. It detracted nothing from + this that her expression was a little sad: something not uncommon with her + lately; a certain melancholy, faint but detectable, like breath on a + mirror. I had attributed it to Jean Valjean, though perhaps to-night it + might have been due merely to bridge. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Dowden, when, after an apology for disturbing the + game, I had drawn him out in the hall. + </p> + <p> + I motioned toward the front door. “Simeon Peck. He thinks he's got + something on Mr. Beasley. He's waiting to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Dowden uttered a sharp, half-coherent exclamation and stepped quickly to + the door. “Peck!” he said, as he jerked it open. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm here!” declared that gentleman, stepping into view. “I've come + around to let you know that you couldn't laugh like a horse at ME no more, + George Dowden! So YOU weren't invited, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Invited?” said Dowden, “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Over to the BALL your friend is givin'.” + </p> + <p> + “What friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Dave Beasley. So you ain't quite good enough to dance with his + high-society friends!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you talking about?” Dowden demanded, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you won't be quite so strong fer Beasley,” responded Peck, with + a vindictive little giggle, “when you find he can use you in his BUSINESS, + but when it comes to ENTERTAININ'—oh no, you ain't quite the boy!” + </p> + <p> + “I'd appreciate your explaining,” said Dowden. “It's kind of cold standing + here.” + </p> + <p> + Peck laughed shrilly. “Then I reckon you better git your hat and coat and + come along. Can't do US no harm, and might be an eye-opener fer YOU. Grist + and Gus Schulmeyer and Hank Cullop's waitin' out yonder at the gate. We + be'n havin' kind of a consultation at my house over somep'n' Grist seen at + Beasley's a little earlier in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What did Grist see?” + </p> + <p> + “HACKS! Hacks drivin' up to Beasley's house—a whole lot of 'em. + Grist was down the street a piece, and it was pretty dark, but he could + see the lamps and hear the doors slam as the people got out. Besides, the + whole place is lit up from cellar to attic. Grist come on to my house and + told me about it, and I begun usin' the telephone; called up all the men + that COUNT in the party—found most of 'em at home, too. I ast 'em if + they was invited to this ball to-night; and not a one of 'em was. THEY'RE + only in politics; they ain't high SOCIETY enough to be ast to Mr. + Beasley's dancin'-parties! But I WOULD 'a' thought he'd let YOU in—ANYWAYS + fer the second table!” Mr. Peck shrilled out his acrid and exultant laugh + again. “I got these fellers from the newspapers, and all I want is to git + this here ball in print to-morrow, and see what the boys that do the work + at the primaries have to say about it—and what their WIVES'll say + about the man that's too high-toned to have 'em in his house. I'll bet + Beasley thought he was goin' to keep these doin's quiet; afraid the + farmers might not believe he's jest the plain man he sets up to be—afraid + that folks like you that ain't invited might turn against him. I'LL fool + him! We're goin' to see what there is to see, and I'm goin' to have these + boys from the newspapers write a full account of it. If you want to come + along, I expect it'll do you a power o' good.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” said Dowden, quickly. He got his coat and hat from a table in + the hall, and we rejoined the huddled and shivering group at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Got my recruit, gents!” shrilled Peck, slapping Dowden boisterously on + the shoulders. “I reckon he'll git a change of heart to-night!” + </p> + <p> + And now, sheltering my eyes from the stinging wind, I saw what I had been + too blind to see as we approached Mrs. Apperthwaite's. Beasley's house WAS + illuminated; every window, up stairs and down, was aglow with rosy light. + That was luminously evident, although the shades were lowered. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that!” Peck turned to Dowden, giggling triumphantly. “Wha'd I + tell you! How do you feel about it NOW?” + </p> + <p> + “But where are the hacks?” asked Dowden, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Folks all come,” answered Mr. Peck, with complete assurance. “Won't be no + more hacks till they begin to go home.” + </p> + <p> + We plunged ahead as far as the corner of Beasley's fence, where Peck + stopped us again, and we drew together, slapping our hands and stamping + our feet. Peck was delighted—a thoroughly happy man; his sour giggle + of exultation had become continuous, and the same jovial break was audible + in Grist's voice as he said to the “Journal” reporter and me: + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead, boys. Git your story. We'll wait here fer you.” + </p> + <p> + The “Journal” reporter started toward the gate; he had gone, perhaps, + twenty feet when Simeon Peck whistled in sharp warning. The reporter + stopped short in his tracks. + </p> + <p> + Beasley's front door was thrown open, and there stood Beasley himself in + evening dress, bowing and smiling, but not at us, for he did not see us. + The bright hall behind him was beautiful with evergreen streamers and + wreaths, and great flowering plants in jars. A strain of dance-music + wandered out to us as the door opened, but there was nobody except David + Beasley in sight, which certainly seemed peculiar—for a ball! + </p> + <p> + “Rest of 'em inside, dancin',” explained Mr. Peck, crouching behind the + picket-fence. “I'll bet the house is more'n half full o' low-necked + wimmin!” + </p> + <p> + “Sh!” said Grist. “Listen.” + </p> + <p> + Beasley had begun to speak, and his voice, loud and clear, sounded over + the wind. “Come right in, Colonel!” he said. “I'd have sent a carriage for + you if you hadn't telephoned me this afternoon that your rheumatism was so + bad you didn't expect to be able to come. I'm glad you're well again. Yes, + they're all here, and the ladies are getting up a quadrille in the + sitting-room.” + </p> + <p> + (It was at this moment that I received upon the calf of the right leg a + kick, the ecstatic violence of which led me to attribute it to Mr. + Dowden.) + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen's dressing-room up-stairs to the right, Colonel,” called + Beasley, as he closed the door. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause of awed silence among us. + </p> + <p> + (I improved it by returning the kick to Mr. Dowden. He made no + acknowledgment of its reception other than to sink his chin a little + deeper into the collar of his ulster.) + </p> + <p> + “By the Almighty!” said Simeon Peck, hoarsely. “Who—WHAT was Dave + Beasley talkin' to? There wasn't nobody THERE!” + </p> + <p> + “Git out,” Grist bade him; but his tone was perturbed. “He seen that + reporter. He was givin' us the laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “He's crazy!” exclaimed Peck, vehemently. + </p> + <p> + Immediately all four members of his party began to talk at the same time: + Mr. Schulmeyer agreeing with Grist, and Mr. Cullop holding with Peck that + Beasley had surely become insane; while the “Journal” man, returning, was + certain that he had not been seen. Argument became a wrangle; excitement + over the remarkable scene we had witnessed, and, perhaps, a certain + sharpness partially engendered by the risk of freezing, led to some + bitterness. High words were flung upon the wind. Eventually, Simeon Peck + got the floor to himself for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “See here, boys, there's no use gittin' mad amongs' ourselves,” he + vociferated. “One thing we're all agreed on: nobody here never seen no + such a dam peculiar performance as WE jest seen in their whole lives + before. THURfore, ball or NO ball, there's somep'n' mighty wrong about + this business. Ain't that so?” + </p> + <p> + They said it was. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, there's only one thing to do—let's find out what it + is.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet we will.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't send no one in there alone,” Peck went on, excitedly, “with a + crazy man. Besides, I want to see what's goin' on, myself.”—“So do + we!” This was unanimous. + </p> + <p> + “Then let's see if there ain't some way to do it. Perhaps he ain't pulled + all the shades down on the other side the house. Lots o' people fergit to + do that.” + </p> + <p> + There was but one mind in the party regarding this proposal. The next + minute saw us all cautiously sneaking into the side yard, a ragged line of + bent and flapping figures, black against the snow. + </p> + <p> + Simeon Peck's expectations were fulfilled—more than fulfilled. Not + only were all the shades of the big, three-faced bay-window of the + “sitting-room” lifted, but (evidently on account of the too great + generosity of a huge log-fire that blazed in the old-fashioned + chimney-place) one of the windows was half-raised as well. Here, in the + shadow just beyond the rosy oblongs of light that fell upon the snow, we + gathered and looked freely within. + </p> + <p> + Part of the room was clear to our view, though about half of it was shut + off from us by the very king of all Christmas-trees, glittering with + dozens and dozens of candles, sumptuous in silver, sparkling in gold, and + laden with Heaven alone knows how many and what delectable enticements. + Opposite the Tree, his back against the wall, sat old Bob, clad in a dress + of state, part of which consisted of a swallow-tail coat (with an + overgrown chrysanthemum in the buttonhole), a red necktie, and a + pink-and-silver liberty cap of tissue-paper. He was scraping a fiddle + “like old times come again,” and the tune he played was, “Oh, my Liza, po' + gal!” My feet shuffled to it in the snow. + </p> + <p> + No one except old Bob was to be seen in the room, but we watched him and + listened breathlessly. When he finished “Liza,” he laid the fiddle across + his knee, wiped his face with a new and brilliant blue silk handkerchief, + and said: + </p> + <p> + “Now come de big speech.” + </p> + <p> + The Honorable David Beasley, carrying a small mahogany table, stepped out + from beyond the Christmas-tree, advanced to the centre of the room; set + the table down; disappeared for a moment and returned with a white + water-pitcher and a glass. He placed these upon the table, bowed + gracefully several times, then spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen—” There he paused. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Simeon Peck, slowly, “don't this beat hell!” + </p> + <p> + “Look out!” The “Journal” reporter twitched his sleeve. “Ladies present.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” said I. + </p> + <p> + He leaned nearer me and spoke in a low tone. “Just behind us. She followed + us over from your boarding-house. She's been standing around near us all + along. I supposed she was Dowden's daughter, probably.” + </p> + <p> + “He hasn't any daughter,” I said, and stepped back to the hooded figure I + had been too absorbed in our quest to notice. + </p> + <p> + It was Miss Apperthwaite. + </p> + <p> + She had thrown a loose cloak over her head and shoulders; but enveloped in + it as she was, and crested and epauletted with white, I knew her at once. + There was no mistaking her, even in a blizzard. + </p> + <p> + She caught my hand with a strong, quick pressure, and, bending her head to + mine, said, close to my ear: + </p> + <p> + “I heard everything that man said in our hallway. You left the library + door open when you called Mr. Dowden out.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” I returned, maliciously, “you—you couldn't HELP following!” + </p> + <p> + She released my hand—gently, to my surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” she whispered. “He's saying something.” + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Beasley again—and stopped again. + </p> + <p> + Dowden's voice sounded hysterically in my right ear. (Miss Apperthwaite + had whispered in my left.) “The only speech he's ever made in his life—and + he's stuck!” + </p> + <p> + But Beasley wasn't: he was only deliberating. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began—“Mr. and Mrs. Hunchberg, Colonel + Hunchberg and Aunt Cooley Hunchberg, Miss Molanna, Miss Queen, and Miss + Marble Hunchberg, Mr. Noble, Mr. Tom, and Mr. Grandee Hunchberg, Mr. + Corley Linbridge, and Master Hammersley:—You see before you + to-night, my person, merely the representative of your real host. MISTER + Swift. Mister Swift has expressed a wish that there should be a speech, + and has deputed me to make it. He requests that the subject he has + assigned me should be treated in as dignified a manner as is possible—considering + the orator. Ladies and gentlemen”—he took a sip of water—“I + will now address you upon the following subject: 'Why we Call + Christmas-time the Best Time.' + </p> + <p> + “Christmas-time is the best time because it is the kindest time. Nobody + ever felt very happy without feeling very kind, and nobody ever felt very + kind without feeling at least a LITTLE happy. So, of course, either way + about, the happiest time is the kindest time—that's THIS time. The + most beautiful things our eyes can see are the stars; and for that reason, + and in remembrance of One star, we set candles on the Tree to be stars in + the house. So we make Christmas-time a time of stars indoors; and they + shine warmly against the cold outdoors that is like the cold of other + seasons not so kind. We set our hundred candles on the Tree and keep them + bright throughout the Christmas-time, for while they shine upon us we have + light to see this life, not as a battle, but as the march of a mighty + Fellowship! Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you!” + </p> + <p> + He bowed to right and left, as to an audience politely applauding, and, + lifting the table and its burden, withdrew; while old Bob again set his + fiddle to his chin and scraped the preliminary measures of a quadrille. + </p> + <p> + Beasley was back in an instant, shouting as he came: “TAKE your pardners! + Balance ALL!” + </p> + <p> + And then and there, and all by himself, he danced a quadrille, performing + at one and the same time for four lively couples. Never in my life have I + seen such gyrations and capers as were cut by that long-legged, + loose-jointed, miraculously flying figure. He was in the wildest motion + without cessation, never the fraction of an instant still; calling the + figures at the top of his voice and dancing them simultaneously; his + expression anxious but polite (as is the habit of other dancers); his + hands extended as if to swing his partner or corner, or “opposite lady”; + and his feet lifting high and flapping down in an old-fashioned step. + “FIRST four, forward and back!” he shouted. “Forward and SALUTE! BALANCE + to corners! SWING pardners! GR-R-RAND Right-and-Left!” + </p> + <p> + I think the combination of abandon and decorum with which he performed + that “Grand Right-and-Left” was the funniest thing I have ever seen. But I + didn't laugh at it. + </p> + <p> + Neither did Miss Apperthwaite. + </p> + <p> + “NOW do you believe me?” Peck was arguing, fiercely, with Mr. Schulmeyer. + “Is he crazy, or ain't he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is,” Grist agreed, hoarsely. “He is a stark, starin', ravin', roarin' + lunatic! And the nigger's humorin' him!” + </p> + <p> + They were all staring, open-mouthed and aghast, into the lighted room. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see where it puts US?” Simeon Peck's rasping voice rose high. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I do!” said Grist. “We come out to buy a barn, and got a house + and lot fer the same money. It's the greatest night's work you ever done, + Sim Peck!” + </p> + <p> + “I guess it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Shake on it, Sim.” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands, exalted with triumph. + </p> + <p> + “This'll do the work,” giggled Peck. “It's about two-thousand per cent. + better than the story we started to git. Why, Dave Beasley'll be in a + padded cell in a month! It'll be all over town to-morrow, and he'll have + as much chance fer governor as that nigger in there!” In his ecstasy he + smote Dowden deliriously in the ribs. “What do you think of your candidate + NOW?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” said Dowden. “Who came in the hacks that Grist saw?” + </p> + <p> + This staggered Mr. Peck. He rubbed his mitten over his woollen cap as if + scratching his head. “Why,” he said, slowly—“who in Halifax DID come + in them hacks?” + </p> + <p> + “The Hunchbergs,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Who's the Hunchbergs? Where—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said Dowden. + </p> + <p> + “FIRST couple, FACE out!” shouted Beasley, facing out with an invisible + lady on his akimboed arm, while old Bob sawed madly at A New Coon in Town. + </p> + <p> + “SECOND couple, FALL in!” Beasley wheeled about and enacted the second + couple. + </p> + <p> + “THIRD couple!” He fell in behind himself again. + </p> + <p> + “FOURTH couple, IF you please! BALANCE—ALL!—I beg your pardon, + Miss Molanna, I'm afraid I stepped on your train.—SASHAY ALL!” + </p> + <p> + After the “sashay”—the noblest and most dashing bit of gymnastics + displayed in the whole quadrille—he bowed profoundly to his + invisible partner and came to a pause, wiping his streaming face. Old Bob + dexterously swung A New Coon into the stately measures of a triumphal + march. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” Beasley announced, in stentorian tones, “if the ladies will be + so kind as to take the gentlemen's arms, we will proceed to the + dining-room and partake of a slight collation.” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon came a slender piping of joy from that part of the room screened + from us by the Tree. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cousin David Beasley, that was the BEAUTIFULLEST quadrille ever + danced in the world! And, please, won't YOU take Mrs. Hunchberg out to + supper?” + </p> + <p> + Then into the vision of our paralyzed and dumfounded watchers came the + little wagon, pulled by the old colored woman, Bob's wife, in her best, + and there, propped upon pillows, lay Hamilton Swift, Junior, his soul + shining rapture out of his great eyes, a bright spot of color on each of + his thin cheeks. He lifted himself on one elbow, and for an instant + something seemed to be wrong with the brace under his chin. + </p> + <p> + Beasley sprang to him and adjusted it tenderly. Then he bowed elaborately + toward the mantel-piece. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Hunchberg,” he said, “may I have the honor?” And offered his arm. + </p> + <p> + “And I must have MISTER Hunchberg,” chirped Hamilton. “He must walk with + me.” + </p> + <p> + “He tells ME,” said Beasley, “he'll be mighty glad to. And there's a plate + of bones for Simpledoria.” + </p> + <p> + “You lead the way,” cried the child; “you and Mrs. Hunchberg.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we all in line?” Beasley glanced back over his shoulder. “HOO-ray! + Now, let us on. Ho! there!” + </p> + <p> + “BR-R-RA-vo!” applauded Mister Swift. + </p> + <p> + And Beasley, his head thrown back and his chest out, proudly led the way, + stepping nobly and in time to the exhilarating measures. Hamilton Swift, + Junior, towed by the beaming old mammy, followed in his wagon, his thin + little arm uplifted and his fingers curled as if they held a trusted hand. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the door, old Bob rose, turned in after them, and, still + fiddling, played the procession and himself down the hall. + </p> + <p> + And so they marched away, and we were left staring into the empty room.... + </p> + <p> + “My soul!” said the “Journal” reporter, gasping. “And he did all THAT—just + to please a little sick kid!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't figure it out,” murmured Sim Peck, piteously. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> can,” said the “Journal” reporter. “This story WILL be all over + town to-morrow.” He glanced at me, and I nodded. “It'll be all over town,” + he continued, “though not in any of the papers—and I don't believe + it's going to hurt Dave Beasley's chances any.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peck and his companions turned toward the street; they went silently. + </p> + <p> + The young man from the “Journal” overtook them. “Thank you for sending for + me,” he said, cordially. “You've given me a treat. I'm FER Beasley!” + </p> + <p> + Dowden put his hand on my shoulder. He had not observed the third figure + still remaining. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” he remarked, shaking the snow from his coat, “they were right + about one thing: it certainly was mighty low down of Dave not to invite ME—and + you, too—to his Christmas party. Let him go to thunder with his old + invitations, I'm going in, anyway! Come on. I'm plum froze.” + </p> + <p> + There was a side door just beyond the bay-window, and Dowden went to it + and rang, loud and long. It was Beasley himself who opened it. + </p> + <p> + “What in the name—” he began, as the ruddy light fell upon Dowden's + face and upon me, standing a little way behind. “What ARE you two—snow-banks? + What on earth are you fellows doing out here?” + </p> + <p> + “We've come to your Christmas party, you old horse-thief!” Thus Mr. + Dowden. + </p> + <p> + “HOO-ray!” said Beasley. + </p> + <p> + Dowden turned to me. “Aren't you coming?” + </p> + <p> + “What are you waiting for, old fellow?” said Beasley. + </p> + <p> + I waited a moment longer, and then it happened. + </p> + <p> + She came out of the shadow and went to the foot of the steps, her cloak + falling from her shoulders as she passed me. I picked it up. + </p> + <p> + She lifted her arms pleadingly, though her head was bent with what seemed + to me a beautiful sort of shame. She stood there with the snow driving + against her and did not speak. Beasley drew his hand slowly across his + eyes—to see if they were really there, I think. + </p> + <p> + “David,” she said, at last. “You've got so many lovely people in your + house to-night: isn't there room for—for just one fool? It's + Christmas-time!” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Beasley's Christmas Party, by Booth Tarkington + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEASLEY'S CHRISTMAS PARTY *** + +***** This file should be named 5949-h.htm or 5949-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/9/4/5949/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks, David Widger, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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