 | CHAPTER II. Bankrupt stories |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
TREATS ENTIRELY OF FAMILY MATTERS.
MRS. TUCK and her daughter were quietly sipping their
first cup of tea when Mr. F. Augustus entered the parlor
and after depositing a couple of damp volumes on the
mantel piece by the side of his cigar case, seated himself at
the tea-table, and nodding significantly to his mother, said to
his sister,
“You will not have the pleasure of Mr. Jack Tremlett's
company this evening, Miss.”
“My son!” exclaimed his mother, with a reproving frown,
“how can you!”
“Indeed, I did not know that you were Mr. Tremlett's
guardian,” replied his sister in a tone meant to provoke a
reply.
“His guardian! O, certainly not. But I am his friend,
Miss, and I beg you to understand he treats me with less reserve
than you do. He will not be here this evening I can
assure you, he sent me a note to that effect and requested me
to communicate the fact to you. It takes me.”
“And pray,” said the mother, folding her arms in a queenly
manner, “why did he not send his note to Julia, or come
himself and inform her of his intentions. Does the young
man know who my daughter is, pray?”
“I am satisfied,” said the young lady in a trembling voice,
“doubtless he had sufficient reasons.”
“But I am not satisfied,” said the proud mother, “neither
with him for daring to treat my daughter with such contempt
nor with you for tamely submitting to it. O, if you had your
father's or your mother's spirit you would never see him
again.”
“My dear mother,” said Julia, “do not compel me to act
contrary to your wishes. It is useless to talk to me on this
subject; I have a thousand times expressed my determination
and I can never, never, alter! I have no pride, no ambition
but to appear well in his eyes. Do not reproach me; your
words kill me!”
“I will never reproach you again,” replied her mother,
“but I have too much love for you, and too much respect for
your father's memory to see you humble yourself to a man
who shows no regard for you, without reminding you of your
duty to yourself and your father's family.”
“That's a little too strong,” said Fred.
“Perhaps your ambition will be gratified when you have
followed me to my grave,” said Julia, and she rose sobbing
convulsively from the table and threw herself upon the sofa.
“Now mother,” said Fred you have done it. Look at her.”
Mrs. Tuck turned towards her daughter with a severe frown
but it was instantly succeeded by an expression of terror, and
she ran to the sofa and clasping the young lady in her arms
exclaimed in the tenderest accents, “Julia, my dear, dear
Julia, my darling, darling daughter, speak to me! O, darling
darling, speak to your mother.”
But her daughter was insensible to her lamentations; she
lay cold and rigid as death.
“It is too late to cry now,” said Fred. “you should have
thought of that sooner. Some hartshorn and brandy will do
more good than all your agony. Let me hold her while you
get the medicine.” Hereupon he took his sister in in his
arms, and after chafing her temples, and rubbing her hands,
to his aid, to pour a spoonful of hartshorn and brandy into
her mouth, after which she began to revive, although it was
a long time before she was fully restored to consciousness.
Mrs. Tuck wept, and raved, and hung upon her daughter's
neck, and called upon Heaven to bless her, and knelt to her
and did a thousand other wild and passionate things in
strange contrast to her proud and haughty demeanor but a
few moments before. But the tempest began to subside as the
young lady began to revive; it had not settled into a perfect calm,
however, before Mr. T. Jefferson Tuck made his appearance,
and perceiving at a glance what had occurred, he exclaimed,
“So you are amusing yourselves after the old fashion! come.
Shut up. It's time to be done with these follies, Do you
not know that Julia should have gone to her uncle this evening?
Remember, mother he can't bear a dissapointment, and
this evening's work may make an alteration in his will.”
“O, my children!” cried the distressed mother, “you know
I have no happiness but in seeing you happy; yet you will
afflict me with your cruel conduct.”
“You have told us that same thing a few times before, mother;
havn't you a feint recollection of it, Tom?” said Mr. F.
Augustus.
“Two fools in one family are enough,” replied Tom, “behave
yourself, Fred. and copy after me; let your mother and
sister do up all the nonsense, but let us act with a little decency.”
“There she goes again,” cried Fred, and Tom sprang to
the side of his sister who had relapsed into another convulsion
fit, from which she did not recover until she had been
carried to her chamber and had poultices applied to her feet
and temples.
The brothers were too much accustomed to scenes like
this to be moved by their occurrence; and Tom and his mother
had no sooner left the room bearing the unhappy and too
taking one of the volumes from the mantel piece that he had
placed there on entering the room, seated himself in an arm
chair which would have formed a fitting throne for the very
Genius of Indolence, and was directly lost in the golden haze
of fiction, where he forgot his sister, his business, himself
even, and everything appertaining to him, except his cigar,
which he continued to whiff until all the objects in the room
were dimmed by heavy clouds of smoke. But he was not
allowed to revel in this misty condition long, for his mother
and brother returned from his sister's room, and with their
hard realities shattered the slight forms that entranced him
into fragements finer than gossamer's shadow.
“Now, mother, you have fooled me all my life, and I'll
not put up with it any longer,” said Tom as he re-entered the
room.
“Nor I,” said her second son F. Augustus Tuck, lighting
another cigar, “if I do—confound the cigar—mother lend
me your scissors,—If I do—curse the thing it won't smoke—
ah, yes, there it goes—that's it—If I do I shall alter immensely
I give you my word.”
“O, my children,” cried their mother wringing her hands
“you will not have to bear the burden of your poor mother's
affection much longer. But when I am in my grave—”
“Then it will be time to cry,” said Tom as he looked in
the glass and fingered his whiskers.
“Yes,” said Fred, “it will be time enough then; but you
have told us that same thing so often, mother, it has got to be
an old story. If you would invent something a little more
touching I wouldn't mind giving way to it occasionally. But
I want to be left alone now, and I wish that you and Tom
would take to another room and leave me to my book.”
“Leave you to your book is it?” said his brother, “if it
were a book, a stock-book, a bill-book, a day-book, or anything
else that deserves the name of a book I would; but such
and to show his contempt for the work he caught it out of his
brother's hand and threw it into the grate.
This was touching Fred upon a sensitive point; it was
his raw spot, so he jumped up from the purple morocco where
he seemed to be imbedded, and caught his brother by his collar
who immediately caught his brother Fred in a similar
manner, and thus being brought into very close contact they
began to force each other about the room in such a promiscuous
and hurry-scurry manner that the astral lamps, and
mirrors and chandeliers, seemed on the point of instant annihilation;
but they soon had the additional weight of their mother's
person, which was probably twice their own, to contend
with, she having thrown herself upon them to prevent
them from doing each other any injury; and by the help of
her voice tended to kick up a dust, that her tears were not
sufficiently copious to allay.
“You puppy!” said Tom as he darted a look of contempt
at his brother.
“You beast!” muttered Fred, “take that for your pains;”
and so saying he caught hold of his brother's gold headed
cane, and snapped it across his knee, and threw it into the
fire.
“Ah! indeed, I like that much,” said his brother Tom,
“here's to you,” and so saying he opened his pen-knife and
cut one of the eyes out of his brother Fred's portrait which
hung in the room, and threw it at him.
This brotherly act was immediately repaid by Fred who
caught hold of his brothers coat-tail and tore off just one half
of his new green coat, a feat which was reciprocated by Tom
without deliberation. They mutually paused, while they cast
their eyes around them for fresh objects to exercise their affections
upon, and their mother threw herself upon her knees
between them and begged them to destroy her next, as they
both had an equal interest in her.
“But for you,” said Tom, “this wouldn't have happened.
You always get us into difficulty.”
“That's true,” said Fred, “you know its all your own
fault, mother; if you hadn't disturbed me in my reading it
wouldn't have happened.”
“O, my poor husband,” sobbed Mrs. Tuck, “it is well for
you that the dead cannot see what is done by the living.”
“I think so too,” said the tender Fred, “he would be
ashamed of you if he saw how you carry on sometimes, I
dare believe. It takes me.”
“Come Fred,” said Tom, “I won't hear you abuse your
mother, in my presence,”
“O, let him, let him kill me,” said Mrs. Tuck.
“If he does I'll flog him,” said the virtuous Tom with an
indignant jerk of his head.
“You flog me!” said Fred, throwing down the remains of
his coat on the floor, and siding up to his brother who was
clearing himself of the two sleeves of his coat, the back part
of which his brother had eased him of.
“Now boys,” said their mother, suddenly suspending a
flood of tears, “I will have this no longer. I am ashamed
of you at your age to be acting like children.”
“Well, I am done,” said Fred, fumbling in his hat for a
cigar, “deuce take it there's none here. Tom give me a
cigar.”
“I'll give you a knock on the head,” replied his brother,
“look at my cane there.”
“And look at my picture there, you thief;” returned Fred.
“Tom, give your brother a cigar,” said Mrs. Tuck, “you
are the oldest and you should set a better example.”
“Take your cigar,” said Tom as he threw his cigar-case
at his brother's head, but Fred dodged and the cigar-case
cracked the shade of the astral lamp.
“There you go again,” said Fred, “never mind, you'll
have to pay for it yourself.” And he picked up the cigar
case and lighted his cigar.
“Now mother,” said Fred, “what good do you get by talking
to Julia about young Tremlett. She swears she'll have
him, and you know she is too much like you not to have her
own way about it.”
“It mortifies my pride, and kills me to think of it;” replied
Mrs. Tuck, “that my daughter should throw herself away
upon a son of nobody. He has no family, no connections,
and not even a name of his own; and besides, I hate him.”
“But the young fellow will be rich,” replied Fred, “he
will have an immense estate at old Tremlett's death, and I
dare believe he will have a family all in good time. For my
part I always liked him, and I don't blame Julia for liking
him too.”
“Well, then, I do,” said Tom, “Mother is right. I hate him
too. But you need give yourself no uneasiness about Julia.
He never wanted her, and I do not believe that he loves her
any more than I do, in the way of marriage. But he is amiable
and good natured and he has not the courage to tell her
so. It will all come out in the end. But we must let the
girl alone now, she is a great favorite with uncle Gris, and
if he should leave her anything we might whistle for our
share of it if we annoy her too much in this way.”
“Well, I dare believe there's truth in that, mother,” said
Fred, “now you have got your cue, don't throw her into
convulsions again by telling her he has no regard for her.”
“O, my children,” said Mrs. Tuck, “you little know the
strength of a mother's love; I could freely die for either of you
but I cannot see your sister disgrace herself.”
“O, I dare believe, you would die for us quite cheerfully,”
said Fred, “but you don't care a straw about our happiness.
Well, there's something a little too transcendental in that for
my philosophy.”
“A pull at the hall bell put an end to the conversation, and
the two brothers darted out of the parlor with the remnants of
their coats, while their mother began to snug up, and presently
had called for the double purpose of enquiring after the health
of Miss Tuck, and of playing a game of whist with her brothers.
Mrs. Tuck received them with a most gracious, but dignified
air, and informed them that her daughter was quite well,
but that she had gone out to spend the evening with a friend;
and in a few moments her two interesting sons walked in and
welcomed their visitors with the pleasantest and most delightful
manner conceivable. Never were two gentlemen happier
to meet two other gentlemen than were the two Tucks to meet
their friends, and the two friends were equally delighted to
find the brothers at home, although their happiness was in a
manner damped at the absence of their sister; and Mrs. Tuck
was happy to hear that the two young gentlemen were quite
well, and the two young gentlemen, together and separately,
were happy in being made acquainted with the pleasing fact
that Mrs. Tuck was well, and had been well since she had
the pleasure of seeing them the last time. It must not be
supposed by the reader that these two gentlemen were a pair
of Howards going about the world enquiring after the health
of its inhabitants, and making themselves extremely happy or
miserable in conformity with the feelings of those whom they
met; quite the contrary, for in their walk to Mrs. Tuck's
house they encountered several persons whose woe-begone
and wretched appearance might have brought tears from the
eyes, and shillings from the pockets, of seemingly less sensitive
persons; and yet they walked on quite happy and cheerful;
indeed they had made themselves rather merry at the
queer looks of a little bare-footed girl who asked them for
two pennies to buy her mother a loaf of bread, but never once
thought of complying with the little girl's request. As these
are a kind of people whose feelings and actions we are not
ambitious of incorporating into our history, we will introduce
them formally to the reader, merely as specimens for the benefit
of remote countries, and then leave them.
The eldest of these two personages was named Barnsill;
“P. Ramsey Barnsill,” was printed upon the gentleman's
card; he was in stature something less than five feet; his
nose was exceedingly prominent and its high bridge seemed
to draw the skin tight over the gentleman's face, which was
thin in the extreme; his eyes were large and staring and his
teeth were set at every possible angle to his gums; his forehead
was low and narrow, but it was ornamented by two
bushy black eye-brows, that were counterbalanced by two
bushy black whiskers; the gentleman's dress it is not necessary
to notice, since there was nothing noticeable about it, it
being a style of costume which leaves one in doubt after having
parted with a gentleman whether he wore any covering
or not. If you had met Mr. Barnsill at Scuddor's Museum
you would have thought, as a matter of course, that he was
one of the five hundred thousand curiosities in that remarkable
collection; but meeting with him at Mrs. Tuck's you
would have concluded, very correctly, that there was a precious
good reason for his being included in the circle of her
acquaintance. The reason was this; Mr. Barnsill was the
nephew and confidential cash-keeper of Mr. Jeromus Barnsill
an old stock-broker of whom the brothers found it convenient
two or three times a week to borrow a thousand dollars, just
before three o'clock, to make their account good at the Bank.
The other gentleman was Mr. Ditchely; in what manner he
put his name upon his card, or whether he carried a card or
not we have never ascertained; he was in person not immensely
higher than Mr. Barnsill, but he had a regular set
of features and handsome teeth, and he tried very hard for a
beard, but a few scattering whitish hairs upon the extreme
end of his chin scarce afforded an apology for one; his
dress was very bright, very glossy, and very fine; he looked
like a petit courier just imported, and sent out for a pattern;
Mr. Ditchley, was a clerk in a jobbing store in Pearl street,
and he visited Mrs. Tuck's as the friend of Mr. Barnsill.
Shortly after these two gentlemen came in, whist was proposed,
and they sat down with the two brothers and began to
play for the trifling sum of two shillings a corner, just to keep
alive the interest of the game; and shortly after they sat down,
a pitcher of hot punch was introduced with four tumblers,
and Mrs. Tuck withdrew. So these four gentlemen continued
to shuffle, and deal, and cut, and sip, and smoke, and
talk of honors, suits, and lifts, and finessing, and Hoyle, until
it was past midnight, and the house was still, and there
were no echoes of tramping feet heard on the pavement, when
they were suddenly startled in their seats by a hasty ring at
the hall door. The two brothers looked at each other, and
Fred, who was dealing at the time, turned pale as ashes and let
his cards fall. The servants had gone to bed, and as the door
was not immediately opened, there was another violent pull at
the hall bell.
“Go to the door Fred;” said Tom.
“No, no, I can't,” gasped Fred, “go you; go.”
Tom took a deep draught of the punch and opened the hall
door, but immediately returned very pale and ghastly, with a
stranger behind him.
“What is it? what is it?” exclaimed Mr. Barnsill and Mr.
Ditchley together.
“Here's a gentleman come to inform us that our uncle
Gris, poor old man, has been found dead in his chair,” said
Tom.
“Dead!” ejaculated his brother, “dead! It's a mistake.”
“It's too true,” replied the stranger, “I saw the old gentleman
myself. He is dead, indeed.”
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