 | CHAPTER V. Clinton Bradshaw, or, The adventures of a
lawyer |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
The sun was up some hours, before Bradshaw
left his room; when he did, it was noiselessly, so
as not to disturb Selman. He went forth to take
exercise, in the hope of alleviating a severe headach.
In returning from a long walk, he met Cavendish
and Willoughby, strolling along towards
the court-house, and joined them.
“The top of the morning to you, Bradshaw,”
said Willoughby.
“The top is toppling down towards the meridian,”
said Cavendish. “But where's Selman?”
“I left him, nearly an hour since, at my office,
fast asleep,” replied Bradshaw.
“The deuce you did!” exclaimed Cavendish.
“I should have supposed he would have been long
ago chewing the cud of bitter or sweet memory,
according as Miss Penelope frowned or smiled
last night.”
“The fact is, Selman is completely in for it. I
could not help laughing at him last night,—he
looked, to me, exactly like Jefferson's Tony
Lumpkin, when his mother `snubbed him,”' remarked
Bradshaw.
“He's a good-natured fellow,” said Willoughby.
no spendthrift habits. I wish he could get that
girl—he is really attached to her; and, then, the
old man has fortune enough; beside, some spendthrift
of a fool may run away with her some of
these days. I don't believe she could make a better
match.”
“How old is Selman?” asked Cavendish.
“He told me, the other day, that he was twenty-two,”
replied Bradshaw. “He intends going
into business for himself in a short time. I'm
told he's an excellent book-keeper, and that he
has a good deal of business tact.”
“If that be the fact, I should not think old Perry
would veto him,” said Willoughby.
“The old man has not the veto power—it belongs
to the other side of the house,” remarked
Bradshaw.
“He's afraid of Bates,” remarked Cavendish.
“Bates thinks that the world was made for him,
and all that he has to do is to smile upon the lady
to win her. He only wants to cut Selman out,
and gratify a contemptible vanity. I don't think
he means to address her.”
“I tell you what it is, gentlemen, all,” said
Bradshaw, half quizically, “let us turn conspirators,
and bring the matter about: it can be done.
Let us make a public opinion on the subject—tell
all the women what a fine fellow Selman is—
how much he is admired by their sex and by ours;
and let us all be sure to let Miss Penelope know
that there are several ladies who, we have every
reason to believe, are very much taken with him.
old man; and we must not forget, often to talk of
his good family, and his respect for his mother,
before the old lady. It is not, perchance, the
thing to plot such manœuvres, except upon such
occasions. But, recollect, gentlemen, to work
surely we must work secretly—that is, we must
not blab the business. Just for the joke of the
affair, as well as to do Selman a service, let us see
if we can't succeed.”
“Agreed! agreed!” shouted Willoughby.
“Bradshaw,” said the Judge, “that's a good notion;
when I go a wooing, I'll come to you for advice.
I won't let you plead the case for me to the
lady, for there I would not trust you; but I'll get
you to make a little public opinion for me. In the
mean time, take care that some one does not make
a little public opinion on you, about your manner
of spending your evenings.”
In such conversation, arm in arm, the young
men entered the court-house. Some common case
occupied the attention of the court, and, after
listening carelessly to the trial for a few minutes,
and speaking with his different acquaintances of
the party of the previous evening, &c., Bradshaw
quit his companions to go to his office. As Bradshaw
was leaving the court-room, Mr. Tompson, a
member of the bar, came up to him with Mr.
Glassman—the gentleman about whose character,
our readers may remember, he had been disputing
with Cavendish, at the oyster cellar—and, after
introducing him to Glassman, left them together.
“Mr. Bradshaw,” said Glassman, “to defend the
not absent last evening, when you so eloquently
defended and complimented me—I am not the last
criminal, I suspect, sir, whom you will eloquently
defend;—yet it was a generous offering to one, sir,
whom you thought absent—whom you did not personally
know. Permit me to say, sir, it gives me
more pleasure to make your acquaintance than any
I have made for years: I hope we may be better
acquainted; though I feel, in that better acquaintance,
I may lose the good opinion which you have
been pleased to express of me.”
“Were you present, sir?” inquired Bradshaw,
perfectly astonished.
“Yes, sir; I was in the number in which, you
may remember, one of your friends remarked there
was a light.”
“I assure you, Mr. Glassman, that my friend
spoke as he did merely for the sake of argument;
and he would not, on any consideration, so have
expressed himself, if he had known you were within.”
“I believe it, sir; but don't speak in that way;
it forces on me too strongly the conviction, that
you spoke for argument too. I assure you, sir,
that I am not the least hurt with Mr. Cavendish.—But,
come, let us walk down street.” So
saying, Glassman placed his arm in Bradshaw's;
and they entered the street.
Glassman was truly an accomplished and intellectual
man. The commendation which Bradshaw
had bestowed on him was, perhaps, not undeserved.
He was a man to please Bradshaw; and ere they
invitation to dine with him on that day.
“I keep bachelor's hall,” said Glassman, “and
you must come early. In the same house with
my office I have a suite of rooms; and I try to
congregate there the comforts that one of my means
and habits can gather round him. I like to have
as many inducements to keep me at my office, and
near my business as possible. I feel happiest when
I am engaged in business, or conversing with a
friend; so do not fail me. I shall expect you at
two.”
After Glassman and Bradshaw parted, Bradshaw
called on Miss Carlton. She was at home and
alone.
“Mary, how did you enjoy yourself last night?”
“Oh, very much, indeed. I spent a delightful
evening.”
“So did I. I have come this morning to be disenchanted—but
in vain. I used to think that, if
a gentleman was struck with a lady's surpassing
loveliness at an evening party, he should call on
her the next morning, when the gayety and adornment
of the party were over, if he meant to pursue
his studies with any thing like a determination of
retaining a single idea of what he was reading.
But you are one of those who, Thomson would
say, was now `adorned the most.”'
“You sinner!” exclaimed the laughing, blushing
Mary; “I'm going to make some morning calls, and
you must go with me. Wait till I put on my bonnet.
I am determined, if I stay in town, and while
I stay, you shall not be such a recluse as you have
been.”
“Let me assist you, Mary—there—to fix a lady's
bonnet is the poetry of life. I've tied it in a double
beau. Here's your shawl, 'tis a beautiful
one—let me arrange it with the end a little to one
side. It looks better so; there is a carelessness
about it which has fascination in its folds. Now,
lady, as I am not much of a beau, you must remember
I am under your especial patronage.”
“You are a politician in your courtesy; you assume
least where you know you have the most
power. If I were to tell you all the compliments
I heard paid to you last night, you would not forget
them for a twelvemonth.”
“Suppose I were to tell you all I heard paid to
you—I can repeat them all by heart.”
“There; a compliment again. I shall never
know when to believe you sincere. If a girl had
a lover like you, she would never know when to
believe him. He would have to protest very hard
when he made his declaration.” Here, Miss Carlton
blushed, and quickly said, “Clinton, you don't
look as well as you did when you lived in the country:
you look very thin. Do you study hard, or do
you—”
“Dissipate, Mary? Not much, nor study much
either. Let me see: yes, 'tis just three months to-day—this
very day—since I last saw you. Do
you discover that I have grown thin? There are
many causes for thinness, you know. Well, I never
saw you look better. I suppose, you enjoyed
yourself very much.”
“No; I did not a great deal: I would rather have
been at home. Father was talking politics all the
they were merely casual acquaintances, and one
never enjoys oneself in such society; at least, I never
could.”
“Do you go to Washington City this winter?”
“Father wishes me to go, but I tell him I am
too young yet, and that I would rather remain at
home—I mean in town here—and attend to my
music masters and my teachers, for that I only
consider myself a school girl as yet. What do you
think about it?”
“I think about it! Upon my word, you compliment
me. Like you, I consider myself as yet but
at school—and, Mary, I am much too selfish to wish
my old schoolmate away,—even, to tell you the
truth, though I thought she would like the holiday.
If she does not like it, why then the selfishness is
justified.”
“The old school-house on the top of the hill!
I passed by it yesterday; Mr. Lusby came to the
door and stopped the carriage. He told me not
to forget to thank you for him for the books you
sent him.”
“He's a fine old gentleman.”
“Indeed he is; and he takes much pride in his
scholars. He said, if you only had paid more attention
to the Latin and the mathematics, he would
have had no fault to find with you, bating a little
occasional laziness,” said Miss Carlton, archly.
“Laziness! yes; he used to lecture me for that
often, and tell me it was my besetting sin. Do you
remember the time I caught you crying over little
Red Ridinghood. I looked through the window at
saw me. You had your hair pushed back—you
were leaning with your cheeks on your open hands,
with the book before you:—the tears were streaming
down your cheeks.”
“I remember it well, and how furiously you
fought Joseph Sloan, who was a much larger boy
than yourself, for hissing at me, when he saw me
crying. Mr. Clinton, do you know, sir, that you
have a very ferocious countenance, when you are
in a passion?”
“Have I?”
“Yes, you have—and you must quit scowling so.
I observed you once or twice last night: when any
one, who did not know you, would have thought
that you were angry. Let us turn around this
corner—I am going to Mr. Perry's.”
“What! is it fashionable to call the morning after
a party?”
“O, I know the girls very well, and I promised
them, last night, that I would call this morning.”
“What kind of a girl is Miss Penelope?”
“A very fine girl; she's kind-hearted and amiable,
and as accomplished as most girls: if I may dare
to say it, perhaps, she is too fond of admiration. If
she had a lover, she would require a great many
attentions.”
“Pray, who of your gentle sex does not; and
what lover would not give them?”
“Certainly; what lover would not give them?
but I thought you, gentlemen, would make a voluntary
offering, where you would not pay an extorted
tribute.”
“What do you think of Mr. Selman, Mary?”
“What—the gentleman who came with you last
night? I like him very much, what little I've seen
of him. He was very attentive to Penelope.”
“Very.”
“Do you think he is pleased with Penelope?”
“Don't you think Penelope is pleased with him?”
“I hope no lady would show a preference for a
gentleman, until that gentleman has shown that he
preferred her,” said Miss Carlton, quickly, with a
slight blush.
“O, certainly not,” replied Bradshaw, “but you
have already observed that he showed a preference
for her.”
“I believe she does like him, and, also, that she
likes to torment him a little.”
Bradshaw smiled. “Which is the best way, do
you think, Mary, for a lover to treat such a lady?”
“Indeed, I do not know; I should ask you that
question.”
“No, indeed; I should ask you—no man can understand
your sex as well as yourselves.”
“Now, there, sir, you are wrong: we girls differ
as much from ourselves as we differ from you.”
“Well, Mary, I have reason to believe that Selman
is attached to Miss Penelope; and, if you like
him, speak a good word for him.”
“Certainly, I will, if it will do any good. I really
think she likes him.”
They here arrived at and entered Mr. Perry's
house. They found Miss Penelope alone, and looking
her best, notwithstanding the excitement and
of the entertainers, she must have experienced.
“Miss Penelope,” said Bradshaw, “I was telling
Miss Carlton how well she looked this morning, and
I may say the same to you. Your party was such
a delightful one, that, instead of exhausting one's
spirits, as parties generally do, it has renovated
them.”
“I am truly glad to hear that you enjoyed yourself.”
“O, very much, indeed,” said Miss Carlton.
“Yes,” observed Bradshaw, “every body appeared
to enjoy themselves. Did you observe, too,
what a great beau Henry Selman is getting to be?”
“No, I did not. Is he?” asked Miss Penelope.
“Quite so, I assure you,” replied Bradshaw.
“Miss Carlton and myself were speaking of him as
we came here. I thought Miss Sutherland, last
night, was very much disposed to be merciful to
him.”
“Merciful! how? what do you mean?” asked
Miss Penelope.
“Why, not cruel. I think he stands A, number
one there. O, Miss Penelope, what a beautiful
fancy basket! Did you work it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Really, you must suffer me to compliment you
on it. We were speaking, last night, of the different
ornaments of the kind possessed by you ladies,
and Selman warmly maintained that yours was, by
far, the handsomest of all—he is a man of fine
taste.”
“Yes, sir, I believe he is a gentleman of taste,”
the fire; “but I did not observe that he was very
attentive to Miss Sutherland—was he?”
“He went home with her,” said Bradshaw.
“Miss Penelope,” he continued, “you know, I suppose,
that Miss Carlton will not go to Washington
this winter.”
“Yes, I know she does not; and, as the country
will be very dreary in the winter, she will, of
course, spend it with us. I think we shall have a
very gay winter: there will be the theatre and the
balls—O! I long for the balls to commence; they
do, next Thursday—and the parties, and, I suppose,
we shall have a wedding or two. Miss Carlton,
you will enjoy yourself as much here as you
would in Washington.”
“I have no doubt I should enjoy myself more,”
replied Miss Carlton. “I like to be among those
whom I know well;—that constitutes the enjoyment,
I think, and not the mere party or the ball.”
In this, and similar calls, Miss Carlton and her
companion passed the morning; he left her only in
time to keep his appointment with Glassman.
| CHAPTER V. Clinton Bradshaw, or, The adventures of a
lawyer | |