University of Virginia Library

2. II.
MR. TASSO SMITH AND THE APJOHNS.

“To be sure!” said John Apjohn, the cooper, entering
his house the next day, and putting his feet on the
stove, with a prodigious sigh. “It is a sad world, Prudy!
What would old Abel Dane have said, I wonder?
I'm glad we've no children. To be sure, to be sure!”

“There now! let that stove alone!” exclaimed Mrs.
Apjohn. “You burn out more wood when you are in
the house five minutes, than I do in all day.”

The meagre, shivering little man crouched over the
fire; and, glancing timidly up at the glowing face, ample
proportions, and huge arms of that warm-blooded and
superior female, his wife, who stood before him, bread-knife
in hand, to see her command enforced, he discreetly
laid back in the wood-box a stick he had taken out.

“It's a cold world,” he sighed.

“So much the more need to be savin' o' fuel. We
should be in the poor-house 'fore spring if 'twan't for
me.” And Mrs. Prudence trod heavy and strong about
her work.

As she disappeared in the pantry, the cold-blooded
cooper took occasion to peep under one of the griddles;

and he had his hand on the interdicted stick again, when
her sudden reappearance with some bowls and spoons,
caused him to drop the griddle, the stick, and the following
philosophical remark:

“Changes in this world is very wonderful.” He
rubbed his hands over the stove, and proceeded: “Who
knows but what it 'll be our turn next? I knowed old
Mis' Dane when she seemed as fur removed from trouble
as anybody. Then she lost her husband. Then she
was afflicted in her speech. And now — to be sure, to
be sure!”

“What now?” demanded Prudence. “Has anything
re'ly happened? or is it only your hypoes?”

“My hypoes? As if I didn't have reason to! Hain't
I seen 'Lizy take the stage this mornin,' goin' nobody
knows where, to 'arn a livin' amongst strangers? She's
growed jest as thin as a stave lately, and she looked like
death when I put out my hand to say good-by.”

“Why! I want to know!” said Prudence, from the
pantry. “Has she re'ly gone? Wal, I can't blame her,
as I know on, for wantin' to be 'arnin' somethin', — it's
nat'ral. — I hear that stove!”

The cooper softly closed the griddle.

“I see old Mis' Dane as I come by; thought I'd look
in; and there she was, a-cryin'. I tell ye it's too
bad!”

“I sh 'd 'most thought 'Lizy'd staid to the weddin';
most gals would,” said Mrs. Apjohn, bringing a pan of
milk from the pantry. “But probably she felt the necessity

of doin' somethin' for herself; for Abel can't
afford to support three women in that house, massy
knows! Fustiny 'll have to put them perty hands o'
her'n into dish-water. For my part, I don't think she 's
any more fit to be Abel Dane's wife, than you be to be
president, John Apjohn.”

“To be sure, to be sure,” said John, mournfully acknowledging
the force of the comparison. “Or than
you be,” he added, “to be one of them circus-ridin' women.”
And at the quaint conceit of those immense
feminine proportions, decked out in gauze and tinsel,
balanced upon one foot on a galloping saddle, or taking a
flying leap through a hoop, the solemn face of the man
puckered into a dull, feeble smile. “To be sure!” he
cackled.

“Wal, come to dinner,” said Prudence, cutting the
bread against her bosom.

“Ain't we goin' to have nothin' but bread and
milk?” said John, imploringly.

“Bread and milk is good enough. I couldn't afford
to cook anything to-day. Here's some o' that corned
beef, and beautiful apple-sas.”

“Cold day like this, ought to have somethin' warmin',”
the cooper mildly remonstrated. “Cup o' tea, — bile
an egg; some sich thing.”

“Eggs! when we can git thirteen cents a dozen for
em!” exclaimed Prudence.

“To be sure!” And Cooper John submissively took
his seat at the uninviting board.

“Did you hit the table then?” with a look of alarm.

“No!” said Prudence. “Wasn't it you?” Another
knock.

“There's somebody to the front door, Prudy!” gasped
the little man. “What shall we do?”

“Let 'em in, of course; they ain't robbers this time
o' day,” and she tramped ponderously through the entry.

It was not robbers the cooper feared, but some dread
messenger of fate. He was one of those timorous,
doubting souls, to whose morbid imagination life is
ever full of terror and difficulty; and even so trifling an
incident as a knock at the door has in it sometimes
something mysterious and awful. Though the most
harmless being in the world, he often thought, and often
said to his wife, when a stranger rapped, “What if that
should be the sheriff come to tell me I am arrested for a
murder or a forgery! To be sure, to be sure, Prudy!”

He was slightly relieved on this occasion to hear the
soft, simpering voice, and to see the soft, simpering face,
of a flashily dressed young fellow, with greased hair, a
tender moustache, a thick, unwholesome complexion,
pimples, and a very extensive breast-pin.

“Tasso Smith,” said Prudence, as with a curious,
amused, half-contemptuous lifting of her brow-wrinkles,
she ushered the grimacing phenomenon into the kitchen.

“Possible! Tasso! Mr. Smith!” confusedly cried
the cooper, springing to his feet, upsetting his chair behind
him, and spilling the milk from the pan with the

jostle he gave the table. “I shouldn't have knowed
ye, you've altered so!”

The young man looked conscious of having altered
very much to his own satisfaction; and condescendingly
gave the cooper two fingers.

“Seddown, seddown,” said John, righting his chair,
and placing it for the visitor. “Don't it beat all, Prudy!
— Where did you come from, Tasso — Mr. Smith?”
for he thought he ought to mister such a smart young
gentleman, though he had known him from his babyhood.

“From the city,” grimaced Tasso.

“To be sure, to be sure!” repeated the cooper; and
regarded him wonderingly.

“Been makin' money, I guess, hain't ye, Tasso?”
said practical Mrs. Apjohn.

She stood with a shrewd sceptical smile, amusedly
perusing him; while before her sat Tasso, perfumed,
pomatumed, twirling his rattan, delightfully aware that
he was a cynosure.

“Managed to live.” He nodded significantly at Prudence.
“City 's good place for enterpris'n' young men.”
He nodded at the cooper. “Thought I'd come out 'n'
see what I could do for the ol' folks.” Crossing his
legs, he thrust his rattan into a button-hole of his blue
brass-buttoned coat, hung his hat on the toe of his
tight-fitting patent-leather boot, and pompously produced
his pocket-book. “I've called to pay — to remunerate
— you for them barrels pa had of you some

time ago. Can you change a fifty-dollar bill?” Which
stunning proposition he uttered as if it was one of the
commonplaces of his life.

Cooper John sat right down and stared. Tasso
smoothed his moustache, and smiled. Mrs. Apjohn was
so well pleased at the prospect of the payment of a debt
she had long despaired of, that she began to regard the
cynosure with more favorable eyes.

“I declare, Tasso, I never expected you would turn
out so well. Re'ly payin' your pa's debts, be you? I
remember when you used to be around, the dirtiest, raggedest
boy 't ever I see!” She meant this for praise;
but it was gall to Mr. Smith. “And now you're payin'
your pa's debts! Think o' that, John Apjohn!” — in a
tone which conveyed a triumphant reproof to the soul
of the said J. A.; for the worthy woman had this way
of convicting her consort of his short-comings, by citing
to him illustrious examples of human conduct. “Think
of that, John Apjohn!” always meant “Now, why
don't you go and be a man like the rest of 'em?”

“To be sure, to be sure!” murmured the cooper,
feeling very much disparaged, and turning an awe-struck
glance upon the shining paragon who was paying
“his pa's debts.” “Only ten and six, I believe, the account
is.”

“With interest, it's more'n two dollars by this time,”
struck in his wife's strong treble.

“Oh, never mind interest, Prudy,” said the weak,
quavering tenor.

“Yes, I will,” insisted Prudence. “Call it two dollars,
anyhow.”

“Sorry I hain't got no smaller bills,” said Tasso,
glancing over a handful of bank-notes. “But you can
prob'ly break a fifty.”

John and Prudence looked at each other. Then both
looked at the visitor.

“Why, if you can't do no better,” said Prudence,
hesitatingly, “I don'o' — mabby I can change it.”

It was Tasso's turn to be astonished, and he looked,
for a moment, very much as if he had no large note to
change. He reddened with embarrassment, and fumbled
his money, and presently began muttering, as he
turned each bill, —

“Hunderd, hunderd, hunderd, — I declare! don't
b'lieve got a fifty — hunderd, hunderd, — thought I had
— remember, now, paying it out. Can you break a
C.?” And he turned on the cooper a foolish smile.

John appealed to Prudence, and Prudence nodded
consent. The C. was not such cold water to her as
Tasso had hoped.

“Yes, I can break a C.!” she answered, with just
perceptible disdain. “Though you thought it would
break me, I guess.”

Tasso's smile faded; and the effort he made to appear
business-like and at ease, sweating over his bills and
wiping his red, pimply face, was odd to see. Prudence
did not give him time to raise the value of his notes to
five hundred; but, taking a key from the clock-case,

proceeded to an adjoining room, followed by the cooper.
They left the door unlatched, and Tasso could hear busy
whisperings behind it. He got up, peeped through the
crack, and saw the thrifty couple on their knees by an
open chest, counting money. In a little while they came
out, and found their guest respectably seated, twirling
his rattan, with a serious, honest face, — bank-notes and
pocket-book having disappeared.

“I'll look at your bill, if you please,” said Prudence,
clasping a handful of money.

“Oh,” said Tasso, as if he had quite forgotten the
subject, “le' me see! Oh, yes! After you went out, I
found some small bills in my vest-pocket. Save you
the trouble.” And, fingering the said vest-pocket, he
brought to light a little, dirty, rolled-up rag of paper.

“`He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum; and
what a brave boy was I!”' laughed Prudence, as she
scornfully unrolled the rag. “Two one-dollar bills!
Wal, that's what I call comin' down a little. Great deal
of talk for a little bit of cider.”

Tasso felt cheap. His game of brag, at which he had
been so unexpectedly beaten, had cost him more pride
and money than he could afford. He winced and simpered
and switched his stick, and said, —

“Might gi'e me back th' change, 'f you're mind to, as
pa didn't authorize me to pay no interest.”

That was too much for Prudence, already sufficiently
provoked; and she spoke hasty words, which, lodging
like evil seed in the breast of the young man Tasso, took

root there, and grew, and in due season brought forth
bitter fruit for the future of more than one actor in our
drama.

“Idee o' your hagglin' 'bout a little interest money,
arter sech a swell with your hundred-dollar bills!”
(“Come, come, Prudy!” said her husband, deprecatingly.)
“I don't believe you've got a hunderd-dollar
bill in the world. No Smith of your breed ever had!”
(“There, there, Prudy!” said the conciliatory John.)
“You'd no more notion o' payin' that debt, when you
come into this house, than I have to fly; and you
wouldn't, if I hadn't ketched ye in a trap ye didn't suspect.”
(“Prudy, Prudy! you're sayin' too much!”
parenthesized the pale cooper.) “I ain't sayin' anything
but the truth; and he can afford to hear that,
arter all the trouble he has put me to. Here's a ninepence;
I'll divide the interest with ye, and say no more
about it.”

Tasso pocketed the ninepence and the affront, and,
white with rage, yet too much afraid of the strong, indignant
woman to give vent to it, just showed his
yellow teeth, with a sickly, malicious grin, as he put on
his hat, and went strutting under difficulties through
the entry.

“I wouldn't have had it happen, Prudy!” began the
wretched cooper.

“I would!” said Prudence, with gleaming scorn and
triumph. “Sich a heap of pretension! with that little
bit of a cane, and them nasty soaplocks, and all that

big show of one-dollar bills! I like to come up with
sich people!” And she grimly counted her money;
while Tasso, who had heard every word she said, as
he listened at the door, let himself out, and sneaked
away.