University of Virginia Library

TWELVE O'CLOCK.

By Henry Travers.

“Oh dear!” muttered Mr. Guzzler, as he stretched
and gaped in bed. “I wonder what o'clock it is?”

And he tried to rub his eyes open.

“It can't be late. Oh dear! O-o-o! Ah—Oush!”
And he gaped, and stretched, and shook himself.

“I wonder if the sun's up?” Yes; for at that
moment, a few rays of light came through his half-open
lids, and touched the retina as sharply as if
pricked with needles. “Yes, it's daylight, but I
guess the breakfast bell hasn't rung yet.”

And so Mr. Guzzler smuggled himself down under

the bed-clothes that he might take a little morning
comfort. As he did so, a pain shot through his
forehead; and he became aware of a sensation of
vacancy and sickness at the stomach, accompanied by
ardent thirst.

At twelve o'clock, Mr. Guzzler had a business engagement
of considerable importance to himself. In
fact, he had applied to a person for the loan of some
money, and this person had promised to call at his
store in order to talk the matter over with him at
twelve o'clock.

On the night before, Guzzler, as was his custom,
indulged himself freely in drinking; and, in order to
prolong this sensual pleasure, sat up until all his
senses were drowned by inebriety. Late drinking
usually made late rising, in the case of Mr. Guzzler.
He was hardly ever out of bed before nine o'clock;
and not unfrequently lay until the clock struck ten;
when he would creep forth, feeling about as uncomfortable
as a man need wish to feel.

“O-ow-ah!” gasped Guzzler again. On the present
occasion, he got a little wider awake, and once
more he threw his arms beyond the bed-clothes, and
stretched them to their widest extent.

Rat-tat-tat! Some one knocked at the door.

“Well, what's wanted?” cried Guzzler, a little
impatiently.

“It's twelve o'clock,” said a servant, pushing in
his head.

“Twelve o'clock! Impossible!” returned Guzzler
as he rose up.

“It's just struck, sir.”

“Not twelve?”

“Yes, sir. It's just struck twelve.”

“Why didn't you call me sooner, then, you rascal?”

“I did call you, sir. I called you at nine o'clock.”

“You must have called in a whisper, then.”

“No, sir. I called loud, and you answered me.”

“Twelve o'clock! Too bad! too bad!” muttered
Guzzler as he turned out and began to dress himself.

His quick movement and excitement of mind sent
the blood rushing to his head, where the pulses beat
along his temples as heavily and painfully as if they
were the strokes of a hammer.

“Twelve o'clock! To think that I should have
overslept myself this way! Too bad! too bad!”

Hurriedly throwing on his clothes, and half performing
his ablutions, Guzzler was soon ready to
leave his room. There was no time to wait for an
extra breakfast. Off for his store he went, hoping
that the individual with whom he had made the engagement
might still be there. He paused on the
way but once, and that was to get a glass of brandy
and water.

“Has Mr. R— been here?” he asked of his
young man, on entering the store.

“Yes, sir,” was replied.

“Did he wait any time?”

“Yes, sir; he waited for half an hour.”

“Did he say he would call again?”

“No, sir.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Only a few minutes.”

“Did he say any thing?”

“He said when he first came in, that he had some
money for you.”

“Ah! did he make any remark when he went
away?”

“He told me to tell you that he believed he
couldn't make the arrangement he was talking with
you about.”

“Couldn't make it?”

“That's what he said.”

The countenance of Mr. Guzzler fell. He stood
for some moments with his eyes upon the floor. Then
a thought went through his mind, and looking up, he
said to the clerk,

“Did Mr. R— make any remark about my not
meeting him here at the time appointed?”

“He asked if you had been at the store, this morning.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that you had not.”

“Well?”

“He then wished to know if you often remained
away from your business to so late an hour.”

“Well?”

“`Not often,' I answered.”

“Not often! Why didn't you say no?”

“Because I couldn't, sir.”

“You never knew me to be away from my store as
late as twelve o'clock before this, in your life.”

“Don't you remember, one day last week?”

“No, sir! I don't remember any thing of the
kind, nor do you, either!”

Mr. Guzzler spoke angrily.

“A pretty way to speak of your employer, whose
interest you are bound to protect! Had you no sense
nor prudence? And what else did Mr. R— say?
Had he any more questions to ask?”

“Yes, sir. He asked how early you came, as a
usual thing, to the store.”

“What reply did you make to that?”

“I told him the truth, sir,” answered the clerk,
whose mind was a little fretted.

“Why didn't you evade the question?”

“Because I didn't wish to do so.”

“What was your answer?”

“I said you were generally here by ten or eleven
o'clock.”

“Confound you!” exclaimed Guzzler, losing, still
further, his temper.

The clerk became now quite as angry as his employer.
Hurriedly taking up his hat, he left the store,
and did not again return.

Alone, and without having taken a morsel of food
since the night before, Guzzler was now in no very
pleasant condition in either mind or body. Moreover,
he had two notes to pay in bank, and no money on
hand.

About half on hour after his clerk went away, a lad
brought him a note, the contents of which we give.

When bank hours closed, Guzzler's two notes remained
unpaid. Not long afterwards, he was sold
out by the sheriff, and is now in a poor and miserable
condition. So much for late drinking and late rising.
The man who sits over the brandy bottle until twelve
o'clock at night, and then sleeps until twelve the
next day, in order to get over the effects of his
debauch, mustn't expect business confidence and success
in trade. The two never go together.