University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

“Who is this Mr. Flavel, Frank, that you make
such an ado about?” asked Mrs. Carroll, as she
was adjusting a napkin over a cold partridge which
her son had begged for his friend.

“Who? why, mother, you know—the person
who lives in William-street.”

“Ah, that I know very well; but he is only a
lodger there: where does he come from?”

“I am sure, mother, I do not know.”

“What countryman is he? You must know that,
Frank.”

“An American, I believe; he speaks just as we
do;—no, I guess he's English; he speaks shorter,
and cuts off his words just in that crusty way that
father says is English.”

“Does he never say any thing about himself?”

“No, never. Oh, yes! I remember the day I
carried him some of those superb peaches cousin
Anne sent us, he said I was the only person in the
world that ever thought of him; and he said it in a
choking kind of way, as if he could scarcely help
crying.”

“Does he seem extremely poor?”

“Yes—oh, no; not so very poor—I never think
of his being poor when I am with him, any more
than if he were a gentleman.”

“Is he well looking?”

“Yes, mother; at least I like his looks very much

now; but when I first saw him, I thought him such
a fright! He has very large black eyes, and they
are so sunken in his head, that they looked all black
to me; his hair is a dark brown, like father's excepting
where it is gray; and his skin looks like some of the old
shrivelled parchment in father's office; and he is very
tall, and so thin that it seems as if his bones might
rattle; and he has turns of breathing like a cracked
whistle. But for all, mother, I like his looks; and
one thing I know, I had rather be with him, than
with any body else.”

Making all due allowance for the juvenile superlatives
of Frank's description, Mrs. Carroll was at a
loss to understand what attraction there could be in
the stranger to counteract the first impression of such
a figure as her son had depicted. After a moment's
pause, “Does Mr. Flavel give you any thing,
Frank?” she asked.

“Mother! he has nothing in the world to give;
that he very often says to me.”

“What can make you like him so much, Frank?”

“Because I do, mother. Now don't say that's no
reason; just give me the partridge, and let me go.”

“Not quite so fast, if you please, Mr. Frank?
You surely can tell me, if you will, what it is that
attaches you to this stranger? Does he talk to you,
—does he tell you stories?”

“Not very often. He has told me of some shipwrecks,
and of the Obi men in the West Indies.”

“It's extremely odd you should care so much
about him; what can the charm be?”

“I am sure I do not know, mother; only he is always
glad to see me, and he seems to love me, and
he has not any body else to care for him.”

Mrs. Carroll smiled, kissed her boy, and added to
the partridge she had arranged, a small jar of jelly,
and Frank ran off, happy in the indulgence of his
affection, without being compelled to give a reason
for it. When he arrived at the little Dutch domicil,
a hackney coach was standing before the door; and as
Frank put his hand on the latch, the coachman called
after him, “Here, my lad, tell the folks in there to
make haste; it's bad enough to wait for my betters,
without being kept standing for the alms-house
gentry.”

The sound of Frank's first step in the entry was
usually greeted by a welcoming call from Mr. Flavel;
but no kind tone saluted him now, and alarmed by an
unusual turmoil in his friend's apartment, he hastened
forward to his door, which stood a little ajar, and
there he remained riveted to the threshold, by the
scene that presented itself. Mr. Flavel lay extended
on the bed, his eyes closed, and his head
awkwardly propped with chairs and pillows; his
hostess was bustling about him, and at the moment
arranging a neckcloth around his throat, while two
strapping blacks stood at the foot of the bed awaiting
the conclusion of her operations to convey him
to the coach. He appeared entirely unconscious,
till an involuntary exclamation of “Oh, dear!”
burst from little Frank's lips. He then languidly
opened his eyes, and attempted to speak; but failing,
he made a violent muscular effort, and succeeded
in beckoning the child to him, took his hand, and
laid it first on his heart, and then to his lips. Frank
burst into tears. “Stand away, boy,” cried Mrs.
Quackenboss, rudely pushing Frank, “stand away,
the men can't wait.”

Frank maintained his ground: “Wait for what?
what are you going to do with Mr. Flavel?”

“What am I going to do with him! send him to
the alms-house, to be sure.”

“Oh! don't send him to the alms-house.”

“And what for not to the alms-house?”

“Because—because he is so very sick, and the
alms-house is such a strange place for him to go to.
Oh don't—don't send him there.”

“Pshaw, boy! stand away—I tell you there's no
time to be lost.”

“Let him stay one minute then, while I can run
over the way, and speak to my father about him.”

“No, no, child, what's the use?” replied the old
woman. But when Mr. Flavel again attempted to
speak and failed, and tears gushed from his eyes,
still intently fixed on Frank, her obduracy was
softened and perhaps a superstitious feeling awakened.
“It's an ugly sight to see the like of him
this way,” she said, “go but, boy, and be quickly
back again.”

Frank ran, found his father, and touched his
heart with the communication of his benevolent
grief. “Well, my son,” he said, “what do you
wish me to do?”

Frank hesitated; his instinct taught him that the
proposition his heart dictated was rather quixotic,
but his father's moistened eye and sweet smile encouraged
him, and when Mr. Carroll added,
“speak out, Frank, what shall I do?” he boldly
answered, “take him home, to our house, sir.”

“My dear boy! you do not consider.”

“No, father, I know it—there's no time to consider;
the men are waiting to take him to the

alms-house. The alms-house is not fit for Mr.
Flavel, father; and besides, I can never go there to
see him. Oh, don't consider—do come and look at
him.”

Nature inspired the truth of philosophy, the
senses are the most direct avenues to the heart, and
Frank Carroll felt that the sight of his friend would
best plead his cause; and he deemed it half gained
when his father took up his hat and returned with
him. As they entered the apartment together, Mr.
Flavel, whose eye, ever since Frank left the room,
had been turned towards the door in eager expectation,
rose almost upright on the bed, stretched his
hand out to Mr. Carroll, drew him to the bed-side,
and perused his face with an expression of intelligent
and most mysterious earnestness. He then sunk
back quite exhausted, and articulated a few words,
but so faintly that they were not audible.

Mr. Carroll was confounded. He first thought
the stranger must be delirious; but after a moment's
more consideration he was assured of his
sanity, and he felt that there was something in his
appearance that accounted for Frank's interest, and
justified it. It was the ruin of a noble temple.
Humiliating as the circumstances were that surrounded
him, there was still an air of refinement
about him that confirmed Frank's opinion that the
alms-house “was not a fit place for him,” and when,
a moment after, the old man fondly laid his hand
on Frank's head, and the tears again gushed from
his eyes, the boy turned to his father as if the appeal
were irresistible, saying, “There, sir, you will
take him home with us, won't you?”

To tell the truth, Mr. Carroll's heart was scarcely
less susceptible than his son's, and he only hesitated
from dread of a certain domestic tribunal, before
which some justification of an extraordinary and inconvenient
charity would be necessary. Therefore,
while the hackman was hallooing at the door, the
blacks were muttering their impatience, and the old
woman kept a sort of under barking, he proceeded
to make an investigation of the subject.

He took the old woman aside: “Who is this Mr.
Flavel?” he asked.

“The Lord knows.”

“How long has he lodged here?”

“Six weeks.”

“Has he paid you his board regularly?

“What for should I keep him if he had not?”

“Then I am to understand he has?”

“Yes, yes; and in good hard money too; for I
can't read their paper trash.”

“And how do you know that he has not money
to pay any farther expenses you may incur for
him?”

“How do I know?—how should I know, but by
finding out? When I came in the room to make
his fire this morning, he laid in a stiff fit, and I
made an overhaul of his pockets and trunk, and
nothing could I find but a trifle of change.”

“Has he not clothes enough to secure you?”

“Yes, he has lots of clothes; but who wants
dead men's clothes to be spooked all their lives; and
besides, a lone woman, like I am, what should I do
with a man's clothes?”

“You can sell them to the pawn-brokers.”

“No, no; its bad luck to meddle or make with
daut clothes. Come Tony,” she continued turning
to the black men, “take hold; and Jupe, as you go
by the `ready made coffin' store, call and tell them
to send a coffin for Mr. Smit. The body is short,
and narrow at the shoulders; let them send an under
sized one, that will come at a low price; for poor
Mr. Smit would not like waste in his burying.—
Come, boys, up with him.”

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Frank, in a voice of
the most pathetic entreaty.

“Stop, fellows!” cried Mr. Carroll, and then
turning again to the surly woman, “keep Mr.
Flavel for the present,” he said, “spare no attention.
I will send a nurse and physician here, and
see that all your charges are paid.”

“No, no; there's one death in the house already,
and he'd soon make another—the place will get a
bad name—let him quit.”

Mr. Carroll perceived that her dogged resolution
was not to be moved, he was disgusted at her brutal
coarseness, and not sorry to be in some sort
compelled to the decision which his heart first
prompted, he asked Mr. Flavel if he thought he
could bear to be carried on a litter to Barclay-street.
For a moment Mr. Flavel made no sign
of reply, but pressed his hand on his head as if his
feelings were too intense to be borne. Then again
taking Mr. Carroll's hand in both his, he murmured
“Yes.”

Every expression, every movement heightened Mr.
Carroll's interest in Flavel, and strengthened his resolution
to serve him. He ordered the blacks to go immediately

to the hospital for a litter, and himself hurried
home to prepare his wife for the reception of
her unexpected and extraordinary guest. This was
a delicate business; but he executed it with as much
skill as the time admitted. Mrs. Carroll, though
kind-hearted and complying to a reasonable degree,
never lost sight of the `appearance of the thing,'
nor was she ever insensible to the exactions and
sacrifices that render many forms of charity so
costly. She heard her husband through, and then
exclaimed, “What have you been about, Carroll!
You may as well turn the house into an alms-house
at once. I don't know what people will think of
us! You and Frank are just alike! There's
some excuse for him; but really, Carroll, I think
you might have some consideration. What are we
to do with the man?”

“Whatever you please, my dear Sarah, it can be
but for a very little while. If he lives, I will get
lodgings for him. I had not the heart to refuse
Frank.”

“Frank should be a little more considerate; but
men and boys are all alike. I never knew one of
them have the least consideration. They just determine
what they desire must be done, and there's
an end of their trouble. A sick man is so disagreeable
to take care of, and who is to do it here? You
surely would not have me nurse him; and as to Barbara
and Tempy, they have their hands full already.”

“I have already thought of this trouble, my dear
wife, and have obviated it. On my way home I
met Conolly; he applied to me to recommend him to
a place as nurse, or waiter; I have directed him to

come immediately here; he is perfectly competent
to all the extra labour necessary, and as to the rest,
my dear Sarah, no creature beneath your roof will
ever suffer for attention or kindness.”

Mrs. Carroll smiled, in spite of her vexation, at
this well-timed, and in truth, well-deserved compliment;
and when Frank at the next moment bounded
in, looking beautiful with the flush of exercise and
the beaming of his gratified spirit through his lovely
face, and springing into his father's arms embraced
and thanked him, and kissed his mother, and expressed
the joy of his full heart by jumping
about the room, clapping his hands, and other
noisy demonstrations; Mrs. Carroll went with as
much alacrity to make the preparatory arrangements,
as if the charity were according to the accepted
forms of this virtue, and as if it had originated
with herself.

Before an attic room, which was most suitable to
the condition of the expected guest, could be prepared,
he arrived; and Mrs. Carroll alarmed by his
pale and exhausted appearance, which seemed to her
to portend immediate death, threw open the door of
her neat spare-room and thus instated the poor sick
stranger in the possession of the best bed and most
luxurious apartment of her frugal establishment.

Mrs. Carroll had a worrying vein, but the serene
temper, superior qualities, and affectionate devotion
of her husband duly tempered the heat and prevented
its rising to the curdling point.

There were a good many annoyances in this benevolent
enterprise that none but a housewife as precise
as Mrs. Carroll could rightly appreciate. “Any
other time,” she thought, “she should not have cared

about it, but the room was just white-washed and
the curtains were so uncommonly white, and though
the chimney smoked the least in the world, it did
smoke, and every thing would get as yellow as
saffron, and it was such a pity to have so much
racing over the new stair-carpet—if she only had
not given away the old one—and Tempy would get
no time for the street-door brasses, and nothing did
try her so much as dirty brasses; and in short,
though every inconvenience seemed to her peculiar
to this particular case, her good dispositions finally
triumphed over them all, and her sick guest was as
scrupulously attended as if he had derived his claim
from a more imposing source than his wants.