University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER SIXTH.
BROTHER CALEB'S TRIUMPH.

“This trifling door is six inches thick,” he
exclaimed with a laugh which resounded
harshly through the stillness: “Four inches
of iron, woven and welded together, and two
inches wood. It opens and shuts by a spring.
My Friend has discovered the spring which
gives admittance to the closet — how long before
he will discover the spring which gives
him egress? A half an hour or a half a century
— ho, ho, Charles, Charles, it is bad to
play cards with Caleb Goodleigh when Caleb
Goodleigh has all the trumps in his own hand.”

With this philosophical remark Caleb left
the Chamber, and familiar with the windings
of his mansion, descended toward the first
floor.

“Ah, curses upon the stupidity of the Police
Officer,” he muttered, as he reached the head
of the first stairway, from which branched the
passage leading to the wing of the main building
— “Lester indeed is cared for. He cannot
harm any one. But the tin box, the tin box,
— I must rogain it at every hazard.”

Descending the stairs he hurried along the
entry, and in a moment, stood in the midst of
his guests again.

“Pardon friends, pardon this apparent neglect.
But this Lester is a wild fellow — son
of an old friend of mine — came into my house
by mistake — a little affair of gallantry you
understand. I took some pains to soothe his
feelings, which, as you may suppose, were a
little ruffled by the charge of burglary.”

The guests were gathered in a circle around
the buxom Mrs. North. They were whispering
together in a low tone, and with every appearance
of a confidential conversation, as Caleb
Goodleigh entered the room.

There was an universal start as the voice of
Caleb resounded suddenly, drowning the low
tones of the good lady,

“La, Mr. Goodleigh, you quite take one's
breath, with your melo-dramatic surprises,”
said she with a mock-heroic gesture of terms
— “But where did you leave the young man.”

“Gone home — was a little ashamed of his
lark — did not like to face this formidable company
again. I saw him out of the first door a
moment ago. Bless me, how late! After two
o'clock, I vow!”

This was all said in an off-hand conversational
way, and at the last words he drew forth
a massive gold watch from his vest pocket.

The guests stood gazing at Goodleigh and

then into each other's faces, with a look of
wonder that was quite grotesque.

“Gone home,” said a voice from the sofa,
and Mr. Mervyn, the Millerite Preacher, started
up like a ghost —“Gone home did you say?
And without a word for me? This is rather
strange —”

The good man looked up inquiringly into
Caleb's face, as he stood holding his broad-rimmed
hat in both hands

“Ah, you here yet?” cried Brother Caleb
with a good humored chuckle — “Mr. Tomkins
I believe?”

“Mervyn is my name.”

“Mervyn — oh, yes I remember now. Said
Lester at the door, `Tell Mervyn to call round
at my hotel after dinner to-morrow.' If I do
not mistake he has something of great importance
to communicate. Will you bear his request
in mind?”

He laid his hand on Mr. Mervyn's shoulder
in a friendly way, regarding him, at the same
time, with a face that smiled in every feature.

“I will certainly bear his request in mind,”
said Mr. Mervyn, whose pallid face was undisturbed
by a single shade of doubt — “Good
evening gentlemen and —” ladies, he was
about to say, but observing only Mrs. North,
he concluded — “and lady.”

He left the room. Brother Caleb kindly
saw him to the door, observing as he was about
to cross the threshold — “Keep an eye on
Charles. He needs a friend — he does indeed,
a friend like you — good night, my dear Mr.
Mervyn.”

Mr. Mervyn did not reply, but hurried down
the marble steps without another word. This
midnight supper party had not impressed him
with the very highest notions of Brother Caleb's
decorum or morality.

When Goodleigh once more entered the
scene of the festival, he found his guests in that
peculiar stage of commotion, which indicates
that the hour of retirement has arrived.

Various parties of half-tipsy convivialists
were hunting for hats and cloaks all along the
room, under sofas, chairs, and tables. Bung
was sternly endeavoring to bring Scissleby to
his feet, if not to his senses. Mrs. North, all
cloaked and muffled, had taken the arm of the
fat man — the tallest of the fat men — who
although very sleepy about the eyes, an
nounced his intention of seeing her safe through
the streets, even to the door of her residence.

And Mr. Goodleigh, bowing and smiling,
was so sorry to see them depart so early, and
`hoped to have the pleasure of all their companies
once more, at one of his little recherche
bachelor suppers, before a week went over
their heads.'

“Steamer in?” interrupted Scissleby, as lean
and very limp, in his melancholy inebriation
he staggered to his feet. “What, the foreign
news? Cotton easy — corn moderate — money
tight — Queen Victoria in daily expectation of
another —.”

“By the bye where's Mr. Pydgeon?” exclaimed
Brother Caleb, noticing the absence
of that distinguished personage for the first
time.

“Said 'twas getten' rayther late,” answered
Bung — “and the female Pydgeon and the five
little Pydgeons would be uneasy if he staid
away much longer. He went half an hour
ago.”

A sudden cloud came over Caleb's visage.

“Gone?” he cried in a tone of impatience.
“And I wished to see him very much before he
left — in relation to the robbery too. Very
provoking. Isn't it my dear Mrs. North?”

But Mrs. North was already making her
adieux, and Brother Caleb presently followed
all his guests to the door, where he wished
them “good night, good night!” until they
were out of hearing.

Bung and Scissleby, last of all, toiled down
the marble steps, Scissleby leaning all his
weight upon his friend, and asking incessantly
for the Steamer while the Dry Goods Man
with a crushed hat and an aching shoulder,
heartly wished Scissleby, the steamer and the
Daily Copper to the — dogs.

“That farce is over any how,” was the remark
of Brother Caleb, as he gazed from his
doorway, down the wide street after the retreating
forms of his guests. “How brightly
the moon shines to-night! The street is almost
as light as at noonday.”

He closed the door, and was alone in that
great mansion. His steps awoke no echo as
he traversed the hall, and yet the very sound
of his shoes upon the carpet impressed him
with a sensation of loneliness akin to awe.

He entered the room of the midnight supper.

The candles were burning low; the plate on
the sideboard glimmered with a faint dull lustre;
the mirrors reflected the ungainly form of
Brother Caleb, as he stood in the centre of the
scene, his bright blue coat and white vest, only
throwing his repulsive features into bolder relief.

“I am alone,” he said, while his thick lips
imparted in a smile: “There is no spy in the
shape of a servant to listen at the keyholes of
my house. No — no! On ship board and
on shore it's a grand thing to be alone! These
folks to-night, doubtless wondered at this
splendid supper spread before them, without
the presence of a single menial. Their surprise
amused me. And yet it was very easy.
While they were talking in the back room, the
people of a neighboring Hotel, took care of
the table, and arranged the champagne. Yes,
— y-e-s! 'Tis a good thing to eat yourself into
the good opinion of society.”

Talking aloud — a habit acquired by persons
who are much alone —he strode up and down
the splendid rooms, while the candles were
burning fast toward their sockets.

“I have a large mansion, furnished in `exquisite
style,' (as the auctioneers have it) —
with gold plate — a cellar stored with the best
wines — chambers adorned with rare pictures
— blooded horses at a livery stable not far off
— have all these, and plenty of funds, and am
not so very old a man!”

He surveyed his face in a mirror by the light
of an expiring candle.

“Better than all, there is no one to spy out
my thoughts, or to listen to my half muttered
words. If I want company, why I can buy
the best with a good dinner. Do I want friends,
they can be had for money. In fact, I consider
myself as an individual remarkably comfortable
and as well-to-do as any man in America.”

He paused in his meditative walk.

“Only two men can cross my path. The
Preacher, but he is bound to me by the purest
friendship. I feed him, and feed his appetites.
This Lester — ah! wonder what he's thinking
about just now?”

Brother Caleb smiled. It was a peculiar
smile, something between a grimace and a
scowl. His wide mouth made a gash in his
sunken cheeks — his eyes retreated within the
protruding lids.

“The tin box! The tin box! By Jove, it
is curious! How slight a thing may change a
man's fate! That box must be in my possession
before to-morrow night, if it costs me the
price of — this house.”

Turning suddenly in his walk, he continued:
“Where's the Preacher? What has become
of the Girl?”

These questions seemed to involve a great
deal of reflection. For Brother Caleb, pacing
the length of both rooms, hands behind his
back, and head sunken on his breast, was
silent for a long time.

A newspaper spread open on a chair, at last
attracted him from his reverie. He took it up,
and at a glance, saw that it was the Daily
Copper of the previous day.

The first paragraph that caught his eye was
headed

“ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.”

Brother Caleb sank languidly in a chair,
and perused the paragraph with great satisfaction,
remarking to himself:

“It is singular how many of these `mysterious
disappearances' occur in this quiet City.
A man with well filled pockets comes to
Philadelphia, and is heard of no more. An
item in the daily papers, is at once his obituary
and his epitaph. How does he disappear?
Where?”

“Really this subject admits of infinite reflection
— furnishes matter for hours of quiet musing.
But it's late and I must get to bed.”

Accordingly Brother Caleb laid down the
paper and went leisurely up stairs to his bed
chamber, in the second story of the splendid,
but still desolate mansion.

In the meantime, while he is sleeping
soundly, let us ask, what has became of the
Preacher and the Orphan Girl?

Where is Charles Lester, who disappeared
through the closet door in the third story?

And Ralph — what has been the fate of this
barefoot and half naked ruffian boy?