 | Biddy Woodhull, or, The pretty haymaker |  |
3. PART III.
Biddy followed her African guide by a marvellously
crooked way, which none but a negro
could have taken, through lanes and cross
streets, up alleys, and across squares, and
turning corners, `till her own head turned
with the bewilderment, confusion and noise,
that prevailed around her; her temples ached
with the roar of wheels, and her feet, familiar
only with the green sward, were pained by
traversing the unaccustomed pavements. At
length he stopped in front of a low, two story
wooden building, situated in a close, crowded
street. It had a flashy yellow front, and the
window-shutters and sides of the open doors,
were covered with written and printed placards,
headed, `Wants.' Biddy looked up,
and saw on a little sign hanging above her
head from a projecting iron bar, `Intelligence
Office,' done in gold letters upon a brilliant
blue ground. On little tin plates tacked up
each side of the entrance, she also read the
same words.
`Yes, this is it,' she said to the negro `I
am glad I have found it, for I am very tired.
Here is your pay for bringing my bundle,'
she added, tendering him the last shilling she
possessed; `the kind coachman offered to pay
you, but I would rather do it myself. You
must tell him I did so, now.'
`Trus' nigger for dat, missus,' said the
black, with a grin, and extending his sable
thumb and finger for the piece of money;
`I'se tell him, fac' sure!'
`I hope you will, good fellow, for I wouldn't
like to have a stranger pay for me,' said Biddy,
with that natural independent spirit we
has already shown she possessed.
`Nebber you f'ar, missus; I'se too much ob
gem'lan to do any ting unhon'ble,' said the
black, lifting his ragged cap, and making a
scrape; `I is sure tell him, missus!'
With this assurance he laid the bundle on
the shelf of the office window, and with his
a slip shod gait to the next corner, around
which he had no sooner disappeared, than he
struck up a double shuffle on the side-walk,
keeping time with his hands against his thighs,
in the merriest manner. He kept this up for
about a minute; and then said, chuckling—
`Ki! yah, yah, yah! Sam Jonsing hab
play de financy, dis time, right up stair, an'
no mistake! Little Missus tink I no make
Boss Dick plank de prog too! Yah! Elebenteen
pence for car' bundle! Him short ten-cent
piece, I 'clar!' he added, looking closely
at it; `she cheat niggar out ob two cent
an' half a one! ki? I'll make Boss Dick pay
his six pence. How she tink nigger gen'l'man
keep him word, ven de vhite gen'l'mans
don't. Yes, sartin sure, Sam Jonsing, you
is defalter dis bressed mornin', an' no mistake.'
Here Sam pocketed his silver, and shuffled
off to No. 21, Bowery, where the rogue was
again paid by honest Dick Sherwood, on his
making oath over the handle of Dick's whip,
that he had taken both the bundle and the
young woman safely to her destiuation.
Biddy's eyes had unconsciously followed
her late guide 'till they could see him no
longer, when she felt as if she had parted with
the last link that bound her to her species.
She sighed at the sense of her condition, and
tears came unbidden to her eyes. Suppressing
them with an effort, she stopped down,
and carressed Bruin and soon recovered her
self-possession. On looking about her, she
saw that several females, old and young, and
chiefly Irish, were standing on the side-walk,
conversing in little knots, or waiting with
anxious looks in the door-way. There were
two large square windows, projecting, one on
either side of the narrow door leading into
the office. These windows were filled with
hills and placards, all expressing the wants
of individuals in nearly every condition of life.
Her attention was particularly fixed by some
written notices, wafered upon the shutter
against which she leaned to rest herself, her
hand upon her bundle, which lay upon the
shelf of the window, and with Bruin at her
feet. How her eyes beamed with hope, as she
read with breathless interest a long list of
wants. As she felt confident she had only to
offer herself to obtain a situation.
`Now,' thought she, `as there are so many
for me to choose from, I shall hardly know
how to choose. `A smart girl for general
house work,” she said, repeating to herself
the first notice; `that must he something like
my work at home! I can't choose that. `Apprentice
to learn straw-sewing.' That must
be pleasanter than general house work. But
then I'm told they work the apprentices to
death in this city, and that any of them can
be told in passing them in the streets, by their
pale and sickly looks, and thin persons. I
would rather work hard, I think, (if it is
thought more genteel to be a 'prentice,) as a
house girl! `Neat girl for general house
work!' Here is one wanted just my age,
where the work is light. This is better than
at home, and perhaps I might find kindness.
I will keep this in my mind. A first rate
sewer to make dresses. That I should like'
I can sew well, and always make my own
dresses? I'll think of this place too.'
Thus did our heroine run over in her
thoughts the several situations so temptingly
proffered to all in need of employment, and in
their multiplicity and variety, her mind was
lost! She, for some time, could come to no
decision, but finally decided on one or the
other of the advertisements, viz; the second
and fourth? So absorbed had she been in
forming her resolution, that she blushed, and
blushed, and became confused and vexed, on
looking round, and seeing that half a dozen
Irish and Scotch girls standing before the office,
had been all the time making themselves
merry at the absorbing attention with which
she was scanning these placards. Pouting
her beautiful lips as girls of sixteen sometimes
will do, when offended, she took up her bundle,
and entered the office. It was a deep,
narrow room, with a desk latticed in all round,
on the left, near the door, and a long wooden
bench placed against the opposite wall its whole
length. On this bench were seated some
twenty females of all ages, from ten to fifty
years; waiting for situations as nurses, cooks,
chambermaids, seamstresses, etc. The majority
of them, thought Biddy, seemed very
contented at sitting there and having nothing
to do all the forenoon; and she saw that they
amused themselves with watching those coming
in and going out, and listening to the negociations
of the man behind the desk, with
those who were applicants for places. Biddy
dropped her veil before the gaze of so many
rude and insulting eyes, for she felt that each
one looked upon all subsequent comers as interlopers
and rivals, who might possibly forestall
them in a place. Notwithstanding the
occasional laughter, and childish romping of
the poor creatures together, she could not but
see the envy and hatred rankled in their
breasts towards one another. Most of them
were neater dressed than she expected to see
servants that were `out of place,' and all,
without exception, wore red or white cotton
shawls, and brown cotton gloves. It seemed,
to her—so much they looked and dressed alike
—to be an Intelligence Office uniform! Nearly
all of them were pock-marked, and scarce
one face in the whole was good looking.
Biddy made these observations at a glance,
and with a sinking heart took a seat beside an
old woman in iron spectacles, plaited cap, and
an old second hand quaker bonnet; who seeing
her waiting till the Intelligence office
man had got through with a gentleman who
had just come in, and who wanted a child's
nurse, had made room for her to be seated.
She felt grateful for the offer, for she was
both fatigued and embarrassed. She felt, too,
that by a little delay, she could see how business
was done, and the experience might be
of service to her in enabling her to apply for
herself in a proper form. Shrinking from observation,
she drew her veil half aside, and
observed what passed that she might profit by
helplessness now that the crisis of her position
approached. Her first glance was directed
towards the desk. Within the latticed
enclosure, sat a little, thin, sallow man, with
brushy, black hair, a low, fleshy forehead,
keen black eyes, a long sharp nose, and a
large lipped, ugly mouth, filled with decayed
and snaggled teeth. He wore half whiskers,
very long and silky, a white cravat and a black
coat of three fashions agone. Such was the
untoward appearance of Beal Tucker! He
looked like a snivelling, mean man, who would
sell his soul for three pence, and his heart and
character did not belie his looks. In his fingers
he held a counting-house steel pen; a
book of entries lay open before him, and he
was looking up beneath his covert eye-brows,
listening to the gentleman who was giving
him through the bars of the lattice a description
of the kind of servant he wanted.
`Yes, sir, I think I can suit you to a t,' said
Beal Tucker, dropping his large black brows,
and examining the book in which he recorded
the names, ages, character, occupation, and
address of the applicants for situation, on receipt,
in advance, of fifty cents from each applicant,
who, by this douccur, became entitled
to his services for a period of three months to
aid in obtaining them places. Without this
payment in advance, and the registering of
the names on his book, no one, though sitting
in his office, could be allowed to take a situation
that persons called on him to have filled.
Biddy had yet to learn this disagreeble
fact! `Yes, sir,' said Beal Tucker, after examining
the book, `I have one here that will
just suit you. What is your address?'
`'Tis here,' said the gentleman, giving him
a card.
`Ah, yes! Mr. Sancroft!' said Mr. Tucker,
in a humming half tone, and drawing near
another book in which he entered the names
of those who wanted servants, he quietly recorded
the address in a very handsome hand,
of which he evidently was proud as one of his
numerous accomplishments.
`Is she here present?' asked the gentleman,
a young married man, looking round with visible
confusion upon the array of woman's eyes
that sought his, each female hoping to be herself
selected.
`Yes,' replied Beal Tucker, coldly.
`I should like to see her.'
Beal extended his hand, with the palm significantly
turned upwards, and said in a bland
voice—
`Fifty cents, if you please.'
`For what?' asked the novice in Intelligence
offices.
`For registering your name, and sending
a nurse to you,' answered Beal, with a sneer
of contempt at the gentleman's greenness.
`But she may not suit.'
`I will then send you another and another,
'till you get one that suits you. I cannot pay
rent for a room for girls to sit in all day, 'till
people come and take 'em away to places,
nothing for it.'
The gentleman seemed to see the force of
his reasoning, and placed a half dollar in
Beal's extended palm. The fingers instinctively
closed over it, and something like a
smile gleamed in his eyes.
`Mary Cotter!' he called aloud, like a
school-master to a pupil. `Mary Cotter!
where is she?' he asked angrily, opening his
latticed door, and looking over the room.—
Every head was turned in search, and at
length there was a general exclamation from
the women that she had gone out.
`Then she deserves to lose her place,' said
Beal, petulantly. `Hush that noise and jabbering
there, in the further part of the room,
he shouted to two or three young Irish girls
of fourteen or fifteen years of age, beating
each other with their bonnets, to the amusement
of those around. `If I hear any more
noise, I'll turn you out!'
All was still as death, for Beal's voice was
like thunder, and carried terror with it to the
hearts of his unruly petticoat subjects.
`Here's a young American girl,' he added,
`wanted to take care of a baby—experienced
and good character, and all that! Who wants
the place?'
There was a general movement of heads
but no one replied.
`Is there no American girl here?'
`Yes, sir, I'm one,' said a thin, shabby-respectable
old maid, who, poor creature! looked
as if she had drank the cup of poverty to
its very dregs; and she came with a hesitating
step towards the desk.
There was a general scornful titter among
the Irish women and wenches, as the applicant,
with her left arm hugging together the
fore part of her lank garments, laid her right
hand, bony and blue with famine and time,
upon the corner of the desk. Biddy's generous
spirit resented this unfeeling expression
of their scorn, but she reflected that they were
all perhaps nearly equally as wretched as the
victim of it, and had no pity or compassion to
spare for others. It is the degraded poor who
are ever the most bitter and unfeeling to the
poor and miserable.
`Yes, you're American what there is left of
you,' said Beal Tucker, with a laugh at his
wit; `the gentleman don't want a frame, I
guess! I' thinkin' he'd rather get a nurse as
is already got her flesh laid on.'
`No good woman,' said the gentleman, seeing
she shrunk from the cruel language of
the unfeeling brute, `I fear you will not quite
suit me; I want a young and healthy person!
Perhaps this will atone for your disappointment!'
and he placed a dollar in her hand.
`That's what I call throwing pearls before
swine, if I might be so bold,' said Beal, who
witnessed this generosity with surprise.—
`She'll get drunk before night.'
`Indeed, sir, I never get drunk,' said the
woman, earnestly.
`Don't tell me no, when I say yes! Go to
your seat or off out o' the way; its no use
for you to stay here any longer Nobody'll
come for you but the doctors.'
`I have paid you my half a dollar Mr Beal,'
said the poor woman pleadingly.
`And you have been loafing here nearly
three months on it.'
`There sits a young person whose appearance
prepossesses me,' said the gentleman,
disgusted, and wishing to change the subject;
`call her this way.'
`Jane Mannus, the gentleman wants to
speak to you, come up to the desk,' said Beal
sternly. `Here, you old hag of bones, stand
out of the way, and make room!'
`Are you an American girl?' asked the gentleman,
of a very pretty, modest, ruddy-cheeked
lass, of about sixteen, with brown hair
laid neatly on either cheek, and large, clear
blue eyes,
She hesitated, colored, and dropped her
eyes, though not before she had caught Beal's
meaning glance for her to say `Yes.' After
a moment's silence she looked up, and with a
frank, open countenance, said—
`I will not belie my counthry, sir, for the
sake of getting a situation. I am an Irish
girl.'
`How long have you been in this country?'
asked the gentleman, smiling, and as much
pleased with the blunt honesty of her reply,
as Beal was vexed by it.
`Sinct I was eight year, sir.'
`You may send this young woman to my
house at four o'clock,' said the gentleman,
turning to Beal; `she will, perhaps, suit us.'
`Very well, sir, she shall be there,' said the
Intelligence office keeper, as the gentleman
left his little despotic empire. Then writing
upon a printed card prepared with blanks, his
address, with her name and occupation beneath
it, he gave it to her with the injunction
to be at the place designated, precisely at four
o'clock. Jane received it with a curtsy, and
soon after left the office, elated with the prospect
of getting `a place.'
Biddy, our heroine, had silently observed
all that had transpired, and she found that she
had learned something by seating herself
down and waiting. She felt delighted to see
with what ease places were obtained by those
suitable to fill them. But she had much yet
to learn.
`All I have got to do,' she said to herself,
`is to ask him who it is that wants a straw
sewer, or a girl for light housework, and he
gives me a ticket and sends me to the place!
What excellent things these Intelligence offices
are for poor girls! Now if I had to pay
the half dollar, instead of the person that
should want me, what would I do when I
haven't a cent in my purse!' I will not be
afraid of these women here, but go right up
and ask him before some other person gets the
place!'
As she came to this resolution, a melancholy-looking
young woman came into the
office, and approached the desk. Everything
she had on was faded, and she was without
stockings. Beal Tucker eyed her sharply
through the bars, and then said abruptly—
`Well what's your business?'
`I want to get a place, sir,' she said meekly.
`Place is a broad word! One would think
there was but one place, or you was the one
for all places!' and the Intelligence office
lord chuckled at his own wit, and looked
around upon the Irish and Scotch women for
applause. In the eyes of servants seeking
`place,'—be it observed, in passing—an Intelligence
office man is a very great man, and
by and by he very naturally begins to think
he is so himself! Beal Tucker was, in his
own opinion, a very great man!
`I meant no offence, sir,' said the young
woman.
`No, ah. no, I guess you didn't! I guess
you'd know better than to give offence to
me.' No young woman nor old woman never
did it! No one would dare do it!'
`I'm sure they wouldn't, sir,' said the applicant,
humbly.
Beal was pleased and mollified by the manner
in which she spoke this, and said blandly,
`Well, what place do you want? here's
cooks, chambermaids, all house-work, seamstresses,
child's nurses, lady's maids—every
thing but wives! and I might supply them
too for a fair premium! he, he, ho, ha!'
`I'd like a situation to do house work, sir.'
`You are too delicate, young woman. A
seamstress would suit you better.'
`Oh, no, sir! It's sewing that has injured
me—working fifteen hours a day, and no exercise,
and earning, at that, but two shillings
a day. I wish to do house work, sir.'
`Well, I'll look out for you. Where's your
half dollar?'—and Beal Tucker's palm lay
open upward on his desk, before her.
Tremblingly she drew from the bosom of her
faded frock a bit of green silk. She unfolded
it with a sigh, and displayed to the greedy
eyes of Mr. Beal Tucker, the whole of her
little store, viz: three quarter dollar pieces,a
pistareen, a ten cent piece, three pennies, and
a soiled Murphy's omnibus ticket. She separated
two of the quarters, and placed them,
with another sigh, in his hand. Biddy, all
forgetful of her own needful situation, pitied
her, and wished she could pay the half dollar
for her. But instantly the thought flashed
upon her, `How shall I pay it for myself?'
Poor Biddy! how, indeed, was she to pay
for herself? Now that she saw farther into
the mysteries of intelligence offices, she did
not think they were altogether just the benevolent
institutions for aiding young females she
at first believed them to be.[1]
Now that she
discovered that servants seeking places were
charged half a dollar, as well as those who
came to seek for servants, she became very
much embarrassed, and her self-possession,
for a few moments, nearly deserted her. What
should she do? She must obtain some situation
before the day closed, but to obtain it, she
must pay in advance! `Oh, where shall I
get this money? what shall I do?' were questions
which she put to herself fifty times.—
She looked round upon the women in the office,
for some kind, sympathizing face, for she
felt like seeking and asking sympathy. But
eyes then sought the harsh visage of Mr.
Beal Tucker, against whom she had already
conceived a prejudice. But she could read
only in his countenance, avarice and half dollars.
Poor Biddy! she was in a sad perplexity.
At one time the idea struck her, of going
from house to house, and asking for employment,
as this course would not require
money. But a seecond reflection convinced
her of its folly, and probable frultless issue;
else, if it were possible, why did not the poor
women around her, ill able to spare a half
dollar, pursue this course, and save their money?
Tears at length filled her eyes, and
drawing her thick green veil over her face,
she let them trickle freely, for it relieved her
heavy heart.
`What ails thee, my pretty miss?' at length
asked the old woman in the faded quaker bonnet,
who had asked her to take a seat beside
her.
`I am without money,' said Biddy, hastily
drying her eyes, snd speaking with that frankness
of innocence which conceals nothing
from the designing. `I did not expect to have
to pay.'
`So you thought to get a place for nothing;
he, he, he! Poor child! you don't know Intelligence
offices well as I does.'
Biddy thought she had known full enough
of them, and felt no inclination to learn more.
Encouraged by the old woman's sociable
mood, she ventured to ask her if she thought
`the intelligence man' would not get her a
place, if she would promise to pay him with
her first wages.
`Well, sich things has been done, when
folks is known; I'll ax him for you.'
`I wish you would,' said Biddy, with grateful
earnestness, `for I haven't courage to do
it myself.'
`I'll do it, poor thing!' she said, good naturedly;
`but then I don't think but with
your pretty face you'd do better with Beal
Tucker than an old woman. There's them as
knows him, says he likes a bright eye; and
what intelligence man don't? I can tell you,
miss, there's young girls been sent from these
places more than once, that wan't advertized
for in print, by them they went to!'
Biddy would have asked her the meaning
of her words, but she immediately called out
in a shrill tone from where she sat—
`Mr. Tucker, here's a young voman as is
without money, and wants to know if as how
you would register her name, for a place, and
let her pay you the `half' from her first wages?'
Biddy's face burned with shame and confusion
at this open address, and felt that all
eyes—as, in truth, they were—directed towards
her. Twice she caught the old woman
by the gown to check her, but in vain.
`A young woman without money, hey?'
gruffly repeated Beal Tucker, without looking
up from an advertisement he was writing
for the morning's paper.
`Yes, and more's the pity, for she has a
pretty face that should bring her gold.'
Whether it was `pretty face,' or the magic
word `gold,' or both that caused Beal Tucker
to stick his pen on the top of his ear, and
look through his bars towards the speaker and
her confused protege, must be left for determination
after his character shall be more fully
developed. But certain it is, that he looked
very hard, and with increasing interest at
Biddy, as one after another the perfections of
her foot, waist and hand, were revealed to his
practiced eye.
`Humph,' he said, after a moment's survey,
which satisfied him that Biddy was of a superior
order of beauty to any he had seen in
his office, though he had not yet seen her
face, which she kept concealed by her veil.
`Humph!' and he gave a second and closer
survey; which determined his conduct.
`Young, is she, Aunt Kitty, and no money?'
he said, in a tone of mock sympathy; `bad,
very bad!' and Beal Tucker shook his head
as if he had heard she had committed a great
crime. Biddy never before felt that it was so
wicked thing to be without money. Again
Beal scrutinized her. `Suppose, young woman,
you put up your veil,' he said, coarsely;
`perhaps, after I see your face, I can tell
whether to trust you or not.'
Biddy's cheek burned at this rude address,
but instinctively raised her hand, and put
aside her veil. If Beal Tucker had been before
struck with the symmetry of her figure,
he was now filled with surprize at the fresh
and youthful beauty of her face. He would
have started back with an exclamation at this
discovery, but habitual caution enabled him
to restrain all outward expressions of emotion.
`Didn't I tell ye she was a pretty one?' said
the keen old woman, exultingly, on observing
the effect which he vainly would have concealed
even from her penetrating gaze.
`Hush,' woman, he said, in a tone of stern
reproof: `come hither, miss,' he added, carelessly
nodding to Biddy. She hesitated, when
the old woman, raising her from the bench,
thrust her forward.
`Why don't you go, child? He'll trust
you, I know by his eye—he, he, he! won't
you, Beal Tucker?
`Silence,' thundered Mr. Tucker. `So,
young miss,' he said, assuming the blandest
expression he could bring his forbidding countenance
to wear, `so you have no money, and
want a place?'
`Yes sir,' answered Biddy, in a low, timid
tone.
`We don't wish to be hard with you.—
What place would you like?'
`I saw a straw sewer advertised for sir!'
`That place is taken, I am sorry to say,'
answered Beal, with an insinuating smile,
shaded with regret
`There is a person wanted to make dresses,'
continued Biddy, beginning to feel the first
bitterness of disappointment.
`I am sorry to say that place is also engaged,'
said Beal, who gracefully leaned over his
desk in one of his favorite attitudes, and from
which he had not moved since she came before
him. `Can you think of nothing else?'
`I can do general house work, sir,' said our
heroine, now willing, so embarrassed was her
situation, to accept of any employment that
would relieve her from it.
`House work!' repeated Beal, with surprize.
`Oh, no! Go and sit down, if you
please, 'till I get through with some little
business, and I will look over my list and see
what I can do for you.' And all the while
Beal Tucker's eyes were drinking in the intoxicating
draaght of her beacty.
Biddy felt relieved by his words, and as she
took her seat, began to think she had taken
too hasty a prejudice against him.
It was then about eleven o'clock, and Biddy
sat there until twelve, a silent observer of
all the singular scenes that transpired. As
the clock struck twelve, Mr. Tucker, who
had been long impatiently waiting to hear it,
briskly shut up his books, and opening the
door of his latticed den, said, in a hasty tone,
`Twelve o'clock! Home to dinner, girls,
and let me to mine. I shan't be open again,
'till two, to-day!'
There was a general preparatory movement
among the women, and those near the
door began to quit the office. `Home! dinner!'
sighed Biddy; `and am I to wander in
the streets 'till two o'clock, perhaps all day,
as he has not asked my name to regester it?'
`Come, miss, with `the pretty face,' don't
block up the way!' said a savage looking
Irish woman, thrusting her rudely aside.
Biddy stepped aside, and stood still until
nearly all had left the office, when, recollecting
that she must act with more firmness than
she had hitherto shown, she took up her bundle
to go, and spoke to Bruin, who, all the
while, had lain under the bench, where he
had crouched when she first seated herself.
Beal Tucker had his eyes upon her, however,
and did not mean she should leave without
his seeing her again. She was stepping across
the threshhold, when he artfully called, as if
just accidentally rememebring her presence.
`Oh, young woman, there, in the green
veil! I had like to have forgotten you. Just
wait a moment, and I'll give you a ticket to a
place that I think will just suit you. You can
pay me any time.'
These words, though addressed to Biddy,
were also intended for the ears of the two or
three that lingered in the office, as an excuse
to them for detaining her. She heard him
with a sensation of joy, and hope once mors
shone in her hitherto downcast eyes, as she
turned back. Beal Tucker re-entered hie
desk, and opened one of his books. The old
woman in the quaker bonnet still lingered in
the door. Beal looked at her angrily:
`What do you stay for, old woman? Go!
I'll now just examine my books for you miss.'
`The place you mean to give that miss,
you'll not find on either of them books o'
yourn, Beal Tucker,' said she, chuckling, as
she stepped from the door.
`Begone!' cried Beal, his color heightened
by anger and guilt.
`He he, he!' chuckled the old woman, as
she disappeared from the office.
`Sit down, miss—these old women would
vex the —, devil, Beal would have said, did
he swear, but being as he often boasted, a
`reg'lar moral man,' he never indulged in profanity;
being so strict, therefore, he ended by
substituting `saints' for the devil.
Biddy re-seated herself, pondering in her
mind what the old woman meant, by saying
the place that he intended to give her, was
not found on his books; but she was too young
and innocent of the world, and of evil, to arrive
at the truth. Beal now pored for a few
moments, seemingly with great earnestness
and interest over his list of entries, but his
eyes, instead of falling on the page, were
scanning, from beneath his pent house brows,
the lovely and ingenuous features of our heroine.
At length he seemed to look as if he
had come to some satisfactory decision, to
which he intended to conform his intermediate
conduct.
`What is your name, miss?'
`Bridget Woodhull, sir,' said Biddy, looking
up, and answering, while one hand laid
on Bruin's shaggy mane.
He pretended to write it on the book, but
really wrote it on a card, which he had previously
laid upon the page.
`Where do you live?' he asked, in a low tone
for persons were constantly passing the door.
`Sir!' said our heroine, embarrassed by the
question.
`Where do you live, my dear?'
`In West Chester county, sir.'
`When did you come to the city?'
`This morning, sir, in the stage, to get a
place.'
`Have you worked out before?'
`No, sir.'
`Are you acquainted in the city?'
`No, sir.'
`And you have no money?'
`I gave my last shilling to a black man,
who showed me the office, not knowing I
should have to pay to get a place.'
These questions were answered with a directness
and frankness singularly contrasting
the duplicity and double intention with which
they were put to her. Beal Tucker looked at
her for a few seconds, and a singular smile
passed across his face. `Yes,' he said to himself,
`she shall be sent to him, and he shall
pay well for so rare a treasure. By-the-by,
miss. how came you to leave home?'
`Because, sir, my mother and sister's treated
me very badly.'
`So you run away, eh?'
`Yes, sir, I did,' answered our heroine, with
mirth mingled embarrassment.
`Better still,' soliloquised Beal Tucker,
rubbing his hands, and showing his snaggled
teeth with secret delight. `It's a fair prize!'
he added, aloud.
`Sir,' said Biddy.
`I said this dust was bad for sore eyes. I
will shut the door 'till I make out your ticket.'
And the plausible Beal Tucker left his chair
and closed the street door, confining it, unperceived,
by a finger bolt. He then returned
to his desk.
`What place do you think you would prefer,
pretty one?' he said, in a tone of gallantry,
and looking, as he conceived, very loving.
`A dress maker's, sir,' answered the unsuspecting
maiden.
`Suppose you just step into the desk, and
look at the list, yourself,' said Beal, in his
most insinuating manner.
By this time, Biddy had discovered, what
every other true woman would have done,
that there was mingled in Mr. Tucker's manner,
a good deal of freedom and pretension. In
a man exactly like Beal Tucker, such demonstrations
could not be very acceptable to any
one: though his victories and frequent lip-favors
from some of his hideous `out of place'
servants had a tendency to inspire him with
great confidence in his powers in that line
Biddy instinctively felt the moral impurity of
his presence—for a chaste woman, like the
sensitive plant, involuntarily shrinks at proximity
with a libertine. This instinctive feeling
or sense, Biddy now experienced, and she
began to entertain fears at being in his presence.
When, therefore, he desired her to enter
his desk, she declined, saying, with firmness,
`that she would leave it to him to name a
place.'
Beal was struck by the tone and manner,
and looked at her suspiciously, for guilt is
ever on the alert. A glance was sufficient to
tell him she feared him, and had instinctively
divined his feelings towards her. Beal only
intended, however, by inviting her to his desk,
to steal from her ripe lips a kiss: for though
sensual and unprincipled, he loved gold much
better than lust, or the gratification of any
other passion, that he was always prepared to
sacrifice all of them for it. Gold now protected
Biddy, not only from baser designs, but
even from the insult to her modesty that he
had intended; for he meant to be paid in gold
coin, even for the kiss he feared to take, now
that he saw she knew him. Besides, Beal
Tucker had a wife up stairs, and he had come
to a conclusion, in order to forward a purpose
he had in view, to invite Biddy to dinner.
`Oh, very well then,' he said, in a tone
which he intended should restore her confidence,
`I will act for you.' He then looked
over his entries, and said, `Here is a lady
wants a dress-maker, and will pay good wages.
Will that suit you?'
`Yes, sir.'
`Very well, then, I'll recommend you.'
`I thank you, sir,' said Biddy. `I will be
sure to pay you from my very first wages.'
`No doubt, no doubt,' said Beal, with a sardonic
smile; `here's your ticket. Let no
one see it, but when you leave here, go directly
to the house No —, Chambers street.'
`Yes, sir,' answered Biddy, about to go.
`No, don't go yet. I dare say you haven't
had breakfast or dinner.'
`No, sir,' answered Biddy, for the first time
conscious of her long fasting.
`Well, then, come into the next door, upstairs,
and take dinner with my wife, and stay
there until I get back. You had best give me
the ticket, and I will give it to you again
when I return.'
Beal then opened his door, and stepping to
the next, called up the stairs to his wife—
`Mrs. Tucker, I say! Mrs. Tucker.'
A woman with a red head, a red face, and
a red baby in her arms, came to the stair head,
and shrieked back, `Well, what you want,
Beal?'
`Here's a young woman come for a place,
and as I can't attend to her just now, having
business out, give her some dinner, and keep
her until I come in. You understand me.'
Mrs. Tucker understood him. The two were
not only one, connubially, but in all else.
`Yes, Beal, send her up. Oh, there she is.
Come up, miss.'
Biddy, who at first, resolved not to go with
Mr. Tucker to his dinner, on hearing a woman's
voice in reply, took confidence, and
with the faithful Bruin bounding after her,
went up stairs at her invitation. Beal saw
her safety up, and then gave his wife a significant
wink; when seeing her return a comprehensive
glance from her pink edged eyes, he
closed his office, and hastened up the street
towards Broadway.
| Biddy Woodhull, or, The pretty haymaker | |