15. CHAPTER XV.
In which Sheppard Lee visits Mr. Periwinkle Smith and his fair
daughter, and is intrusted with a secret which both astonishes and
afflicts him.
I pulled the bell with a most dignified jerk, and
asked for Mr. Smith. But the servant, who grinned
with approbation as at an old acquaintance, and
doubtless considered that he knew more about the
matter than myself, as Philadelphia servants usually
do, ushered me into the presence of Mr.
Smith's fair daughter.
“Ah!” said I to myself, as I cast my eye around
the apartment, and saw that her levee consisted of
but a single beau—a stranger whom I did not
know, but who, I learned afterward, was a young
millionaire from Boston—“the world begins to
suspect the mortgages, and friends are falling away.
Poor dear Miss Smith!”—And I felt great compassion
for her.
She seemed somewhat surprised at my appearance,
and I thought she looked confused. She
was a marvellous fine creature, and I was quite
sorry she was not rich.
I saw she had a sneaking kindness for me yet;
but it was not right to encourage her. I hastened,
therefore, to express my thanks for the sympathy
which I had been informed she had bestowed on
me, on the memorable occasion of my dip in the
Schuylkill; and regretted that the indisposition
consequent upon that disaster had prevented my
calling earlier. I had not met the fair lady at Mrs.
Pickup's or the Misses Oldstyle's, or at the other
two place where I had figured during the last four
evenings; and although it was highly probable
she knew my indisposition had not prevented my
going to these places, yet my not seeing her made
the excuse perfectly genteel and fair. Yet she
looked at me intently—I thought sadly and reproachfully—for
a moment, and then, recovering
herself, expressed her pleasure to see me so well
restored, and ended, with great self-possession, by
presenting me to her new admirer. After this her
manner was cooler, and I thought her pique rendered
her a little neglectful. It was certain she
wished me to observe that she had a high opinion
of the new Philander; a circumstance to which I
was not so indifferent as I ought to have been.
But, in truth, she was an elegant soul, and the
more I looked at her the more I regretted she was
not a fortune. I felt myself growing sentimental,
and, to check the feeling, I resolved to proceed to
business.
I had no sooner asked after the old gentleman,
and expressed a desire to see him, than she gave
me a look that bewildered me. It expressed surprise
and inquiry, mingled with what I should
have fancied contempt, could I have believed anybody
could entertain such a feeling for me. She
rang the bell, ordered my desire to be conveyed to
her father, and in a few moments I was requested
to walk up stairs to his study, where I found him
in company with a gentleman of the law and a
broker, whose face I knew, and surrounded with
papers.
“Ah!” said I to myself, “things are now coming
to a crisis; he is making an assignment.”
The gentleman of the law and the broker took
their departure, and Mr. Periwinkle Smith gave
me a hard look. I began to suspect what he was
thinking of; he was perhaps looking for me to
make a declaration in relation to his fair daughter.
That he might not be troubled with such expectation
long, I instantly opened my business,
and gave him to understand I came to make proposals
(he opened his eyes and grinned) for his
house (he looked astounded), which, I had heard,
he was about to dispose of.
“Indeed!” said he, and then fell to musing
a while. “Pray, Mr. Dawkins,” said he, “who
sent you upon this wise errand?”
I did not like his tone, but I answered I came
on the part of my uncle, Samuel Wilkins, of Wilkinsbury
Hall—for I thought it as well to make
my kiusman's name sound lordly.
“Very good,” said he; “but what made you
suppose I intended to sell my property?”
I liked this question still less than the other,
and mumbled out something about “common report,”
and the “general talk of my acquaintance.”
“Ah!” said he, “now I understand,” giving me
a grin which I did not. “Let us be frank with
one another. There was something said about
`mortgages,' was there not?—a heavy weight on
my poor estate?”
Thinking it was useless to mince the matter, I
acknowledged that such was the report.
“And it is from the influence of that report I am
to understand some of the peculiarities of your—
that is to say, it is to that I am to attribute your
present application? Really, Mr. Dawkins, I am
afraid I can't oblige you; my house I like very
well, and— But I'll admit you to a little secret;”
and smiling with great suavity, he laid his hand on
a pile of papers. “Here,” said he, “are mortgages,
and other bonds, to the amount of some seventy
thousand dollars; they are my property, and not
mortgages on my property. The truth is (and, as
you are an old friend, I don't scruple to tell you),
that having a little loose cash which I did not know
what to do with, I took the advice of a friend, and
invested it in the form in which you now see it,
and I believe it is very safe. The story of the
mortgages was quite true, only it was told the
wrong way.”
I was petrified, and stood staring on the old gentleman
with awe and amazement.
“Some people,” said he, very good-naturedly,
“might doubt the propriety, and even the honourableness,
of a private gentleman investing money
in this way; but stocks are at a high premium,
and many unsafe, and money can't lie idle:—I hope
you are satisfied: I am quite sorry I can't oblige
your uncle. My house, as I said, I like extremely
well; and I have, besides, promised it as a wedding-present
to my daughter.”
Oh, ye gods of Greece and Rome! a wedding-present
to his daughter! I resolved to make her
a proposal without delay, and I thought I might as
well break matters to the old gentleman.
“Your daughter,” said I, “your beloved and excellent
daughter—”
“Will doubtless always be happy to welcome
her old friend and admirer, Mr. Dawkins,” said he;
and I thought he looked beautiful—though I never
thought so before. He could not have spoken
more plainly, I thought, if he had said “marry
her,” at once. I took my leave, intending to make
love to her on the spot.
“I will have the pleasure to see you to the door,”
said the old gentleman, and to the door he
did see
me. I do not well know how it happened; but
instead of entering the parlour again, I found myself
led to the front door by the courteous Mr.
Smith, and bowed handsomely out, to the great
satisfaction of my cousin Sammy, who regarded
proceedings from the carriage window.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Periwinkle Smith;
“I can't sell my daughter's house, but I should be
glad to have you for a neighbour; and, now I recollect
it, there's Higginson the brewer's house
over the way there advertised for sale, and I am
told it is very well finished.”
“So am I,” said I to myself, as the door closed
on my face—“finished unutterably.” It occurred
to me I was turned out of the house; and the suspicion
was soon very perfectly confirmed. I called
on the fair Miss Smith the next day, and, though
I saw her by accident through the window, I was
met by the cursed fib—“not at home.” The same
thing was told me seven days in succession, and on
the eighth I saw, to my eternal wo and despair,
her marriage with my Boston rival announced in
the papers. He lives in Philadelphia, and can
confirm my story. But this is anticipating my
narrative.
“I say, Dawkins,” cried my cousin Sammy (I
had cured him of the vulgar `Ikey'), “what does
the old codger say?”
These words, bawled by the rustic from the carriage
window, woke me from a trance into which I
had fallen, the moment Mr. Periwinkle Smith shut
the door in my face.
“Didn't he say there was a house over the way?”
I remembered the words,—my own house for
sale! I knew it well; it was just the thing wanted,—an
elegant house, provided genteel people
were in it. I was on the point of running over and
securing it, when I remembered Mrs. Higginson.
A cold sweat bedewed my limbs. “No!” said I,
“I will go to Tim Doolittle—I can face him.”
To make matters short—for I have a long story
to tell—I drove up to Higginson's brewery (it is
now Doolittle and Snagg's, or was, when I heard
last of it), saw my late brother-in-law, whom I
thought a very plebeian body, and made such progress
with him, that in three days' time (for my
Margaret had gone to mourn in the country) the
house changed owners, and my uncle Wilkins
marched into it as master, followed by Sammy and
Pattie.
