 | CHAPTER IX. "Boarding out" |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
Let us take a peep at Madam Shortt's
breakfast-room and its inmates. That old
gentleman at the head of the table is Captain
Ingersoll, and the fat, portly lady at his side
is his wife. The old man was formerly in “the
China trade,” and can tell you all about the
opium and tea in the “Celestial Empire.” But
he knows more of the Chinese than Americans.
Next to them sits Madam Bounce, the
widow of an Episcopal bishop, who died in
England some years since. She emigrated
to America to ascertain some facts relative to
her husband's right in certain real estate he
possessed, which was sold, and the proceeds
withheld on account of some defect in the title.
She came over highly recommended to all
the “right reverend bishops, rectors, and deacons,”
full half a score of them, and proudly
does she plume herself upon her ancestry.
She may be civil, but she will show
you she is not to be familiarly treated! Beyond
her is the honorable senator from — county.
He is engrossed in conversation about some
bills which he thinks, if they go through “the
House,” will find a “nonconcurrence” in the
Senate. The gentleman with whom he is in
such earnest confab is Simon Peters, a gentleman
from his native town, and by whom he
was introduced at Madam Shortt's. That
maiden lady, who seems to carry the impression
in her countenance that she is gazed upon
and admired, is Miss Sylvia Dexter, a Sabbath-school
teacher, and instructress in sundry ornamental
branches. She is a “second cousin” to
the landlady; is probably “considered” in her
board, as she arranges with great precision
Madam Shortt's center-table. And just beyond
her is a sort of facetious fellow they call
“Mr. Caleb Flash.” He is a “broker,” and
greatly amuses the whole set of boarders by
descriptions of those who have been duped by
“downward tendency.” He is now narrating
to Mr. Holman, a lawyer of some ability, a pitiable
case of a man who thus invested. Take
care, Caleb, the very man you are conversing
with comes in for a part of your wit; for he
was drawn into a snare by speculating too
freely a month ago! Beyond them sit Robert
Barclay and wife, with whom our readers are
familiarly acquainted. But hark! there is a
great commotion; sometimes it sounds like a
heavy footstep, and then a clumping noise, as if
a stick of wood was falling. A man-servant
swings the door wide open, and Mr. Bumblefoot
is on hand! This is the identical man
who swore and groaned all night, and thus prevented
Barclay from getting any rest.
In a remarkably pleasant tone sounds the
“Good morning, Mr. Bumblefoot,” from Madam
Shortt. “How did you rest, sir? You seem
unusually lame this morning. Is that rheumatic
affection in your foot again at work?”
inquired the hostess, very plaintively; and still
“Pray be seated, Mr. Bumblefoot, in this
arm-chair; I anticipated you were not so well
this morning; and, Judith, warm that cushion,
and draw that chair toward Mr. Bumblefoot
that he may put his foot in it” (thought Mrs.
Barclay, this is more attention than I asked for
last night). “And now, Judith, run to the
front cellar and bring up a pint bottle of cider
marked upon the cork B., the same kind you
got last night, Judith.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I am sorry you feel so ill, sir.”
“So am I too,” gruffly answered the old
man. “It has been a night of torment to me:
Sam can attest that, for he has been heating
flannels all night.”
While Judith is gone for the bottle, the old
man, looking at the table rather sharply, is attracted
by the new couple nearly opposite to
him. “Is that the Mr. Berkly, Miss Shortt,
you said was `moving in' yesterday?”
“Excuse me, sir, for not introducing you.
of long standing in my house. Mrs. Barclay,
Mr. Bumblefoot.”
There are times when one is forced to be
civil, and so it was here; for Barclay really
felt indignant at the imposition of the landlady,
and the disquiet the old man had occasioned
him; but it must borne.
“Berkly! Berkly!” said the old fellow, in
a coarse, gruff tone; “I want to ask you if
your father was not a hatter down in Liberty
Square?”
“No, sir, I claim no acquamtance or knowledge
of such a man,” dryly answered Barclay.
“Well, I knew another Berkly” (and here
he twitched his great foot), “a man that kept
under Faneuil Hall market.”
“Oh, Mr. Bumblefoot, you have mistaken
the name,” said Miss Sylvia; “it is Barclay,
not Berkly.”
Mr. Barclay nodded.
“Now, Judith, reach the tumbler and corkscrew,
my breakfast here, where it is warmer,” said
old Bumblefoot.
Breakfast was dispatched, the table cleared,
and still Madam Shortt was attending the old
man. Sally and “little Fan” are sent to the
lobby, a sort of closet, to get their morning
meal. But “little Fan” cries to go home;”
persists she will not eat; and Mrs. Shortt opens
the door and informs Sally that she can have
no crying children in her house.
Barclay is coming down stairs, and hears it
all. He is not a passionate man, as my readers
know; but, having had no rest, and feeling
imposed upon, and finding his child is to be
driven off, his nature is stirred. With a bold
front, he inquires at once of Mrs. Shortt “if
she excludes all children from her table;” adding,
“he intended his little girl should, in future,
sit in her high chair, and take her food at
the time her parents did.”
Madam colored above her forehead, and
burst out, “Mr. Barclay, I never have found
experience of keeping boarders. Scarcely had
you set foot within my doors before you demanded
a key to which you are no more entitled
than the pope. Then Mrs. Barclay
wanted tea sent to her room, and now your
child is to make another fracas. Mr. Barclay,
it is a rule with me to begin as I can hold out;
and I tell you, sir, at this early stage of the
business, if you are dissatisfied, you may go
to-day; but mind ye, you shall pay a month's
board in advance. The child will never be
seen at my table, sir, with my boarders; your
lady will not have her tea sent to her room;
and you may get the key to the ante-room—
when I give you leave, sir!”
“That's right, Miss Shortt,” mumbled out old
Bumblefoot: “I won't stand by you any longer
if you give up your rights. These women,
Mr. Berkly,” said he, shaking his finger at
him, “ought not to be imposed upon.”
Mr. Barclay explained; but of what avail
is one man's tongue beside Mrs. Shortt's?
Barclay, however, is missing at dinner. Madam
inquires of Mrs. Barclay “if her husband
usually dines down town.”
Things are not made smooth for our friends;
it is a “bad beginning.”
“Hepsy,” said Barclay, in the evening, “put
on your hood, and we will run over to Bond's.”
She did so. What is uppermost in our
thoughts is generally first from our lips. The
evening was, of course, spent discussing the
singularities of Madam Shortt and her boarders,
and much information was elicited.
“You may get along,” said Mrs. Bond, “with
the woman, but I have my doubts. I have
borne all sorts of insults from her; but of late
she has learned better than to play the tyrant
over me. She was always meddling with my
children; sometimes was severe; and I have
known her indulgent to a fault; for `Bonny'
would do her errands, and sometimes it was
a great convenience to Mr. Bumblefoot for him
to stop at Cullen's and order a basket of Champagne.”
“And who on earth is this old Bumblefoot?”
said Barclay. “I really thought, at first, it
was a nickname assumed by the boarders, so
significant does it seem of his old gouty leg.
The old rascal has been a severe trial to me
thus far; for I got no rest last night for his
hideous oaths and groans.”
Bond looked at his wife, and thought of the
ante-room where he had removed, but prudently
kept silent, and for once, be it said in praise
of woman, she kept her peace too!
“Old Bumblefoot is an Englishman; a real
roast-beef eater and Champagne drinker. He
gives great suppers sometimes, Barclay, and if
you want to taste some of the best wines in
the country, you had better cultivate his acquaintance.
He has a large property in England,
and came over to America some years
since to take a berth in the United States Bank.
When that went down, he made Boston his
residence, and, somehow or other, took lodgings
at Mrs. Shortt's.”
“Husband,” said Mrs. Bond, “you seem to
times than you can count, that he came passenger
with Madam Shortt's husband. Shortt
was commander of the vessel he came in.
Don't you remember Mrs. Shortt's tone when
she used to say, `Mr. Bumblefoot, if it had not
been for your generous loans, I know not what
would have become of poor me. I had not
money enough to pay for poor Thomas's funeral
charges when he died.' The fact was,
Captain Shortt was a very intemperate man,
and was greatly involved at his decease. She
has one son, who has just gone out upon a trading
expedition; but you will never hear her
speak of him.”
“But really,” continued Bond, “the boarding-house
is about as good as any you will find. It
takes time, you know, to become domesticated;
but when that is done, you will enjoy Flash's
queer jokes, and old Ingersoll's sea tales, and
even Bumblefoot's pleasantry will be amusing
when he gets over this turn of the gout. But
I charge you, Barclay, don't say the word gout
for the old fellow is terribly sensitive on
this point.”
“You must remember, too,” continued our
friend, “that you labor under great disadvantages
at board, going, as you do, from this
charming house and all its comforts. Why, I
don't suppose you could induce my wife to
leave it and again go to board if you were to
offer her a kingdom. Every thing has worked
admirably since we came here. Polly is a fine
cook, and we get along in the most comfortable
manner. Our boys enjoy it, I assure you;
for it was a terrible cramped life to our children.”
Barclay sighed; and Mrs. Barclay actually
had recourse to her handkerchief, for a tear
stood in her eye, notwithstanding she brought
all the trouble upon themselves.
| CHAPTER IX. "Boarding out" | |