University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.
THE TROUBLES OF AN ENGAGED MAN.

Our Congressman was not quite as happy
during his return journey to Washington
as an accepted lover has a presumed right
to be.

They were always in crowded conveyances,
where betrothal bussings were out of
the question, and squeezings of the hand
scarcely more practicable; and, moreover,
Mr. Hollowbread found — whatever other
and younger gentlemen may have found before
him—that Josie did not seem to be one
of the snuggling sort.

She sat a little apart from him, with a wide
crack of daylight always between them,
keeping her fingers carefully gloved and beyond
the reach of his pulpy grasp, and, in
short, enforcing a disagreeably high-toned
decorum.

Her talk, too, was of the same unaffianced
character, consisting largely of remarks upon
interesting objects by the wayside, and never
intentionally approaching any topic more
emotional than “her money.”

If he spoke of his love, she answered him
with merely a steady, studious gaze, and a
smile which would have appeared to any
one else either roguish or downright quizzical.
If he pressed her to name the marriage-day,
she laughed gayly and responded
evasively; or she seized the opportunity to
impress upon him once more a duty which
he already held in abomination—the duty of
keeping the engagement a secret until her
claim should be secured.

“Pour encourager les autres,” she explained,
with a merriment that seemed to him almost
heartless. “If people should find out

that I am promised to you, they might care
just enough about it to vote against me.”

Necessarily, even an old lover could not
be charmed with these proprieties and precautions.
To be sure, he thought her beautiful
in all that she did, and fascinatingly
clever in all that she said; but, nevertheless,
he was not quite as happy during every
minute of his betrothal as he had supposed
that he should be. Then came a railroad
accident. Two hundred passengers were
tumbled off the track in a bunch, without
damage, indeed, to life or limb, but with the
loss of a connection.

Mr. Hollowbread and Josie had to take
up for the night with such quarters as they
could find in the Penn House, in the little
town of Keystone.

He would have liked this detention immensely,
only that his carcass had been
bruised and his nerves badly shaken by the
upset, so that he felt like anointing himself
and going to bed, rather than sitting up to
make love in a populous parlor.

Josie, also, was so far tired that she went
to her hen-coop of a room early, forgetting, or
deliberately neglecting, to press her lover's
hand at parting.

So Mr. Hollowbread limped up to his own
hen-coop, and made his somewhat elaborate
preparations for rest. Among his necessaries
was a vessel of the kind known to Congressmen
as a quart bottle. He surely needed
something strong, if ever a man did; and
he always carried his own strength, to be
sure of a good article. This bottle he took
from his carpet-bag, with sincere thankfulness
that it had not been broken, and placed
it on his almost imperceptible night-table,
a diminutive skeleton with rattling lower
limbs. Then he perceived that he had no
ice-water, and rang his bell some minutes for
a servant who did not come. At last, finding
it chilly standing there without a dressing-gown,
he gave the bell-cord a superhuman
jerk, and got into bed. Shortly afterward
heavy steps ascended the neighboring stairway,
marched with provoking deliberation
down the hall, and in due course of time
marched by his room.

“I say!” called Mr. Hollowbread, out of
patience and indignant. “I say!”

The steps halted, and then tramped loudly
back; the door was flung open violently,
as if by the lurch of some heavy body; and
Mr. Hollowbread beheld before him an intoxicated
gentleman of flashy costume, herculean
proportions, and ferocious countenance.

“You say! What do you say?” roared
this alarming visitor, advancing toward the
sheeted and blanketed and counterpaned
lawgiver, and shaking a huge bediamonded
fist at his horror-stricken visage. “What
do you mean, sir, by calling to a gentleman
in that style? You say, do you? So do I
say, sir. I say you are an impudent ass, sir.
What do you mean by lying there in bed,
and hollering I say at a gentleman who is
going by? Can't a man pass your door in a
quiet, inoffensive manner, without your sassing
him? what do you mean by it, sir? Do
you want to pick a fight with me? Get up
and go at it, then.”

But as Mr. Hollowbread did not want to
pick a fight, and was in no proper condition
to get up to go at it, he declined the chivalrous
invitation.

“I did not speak to you at all, sir,” he
said, with some appearance of spirit, though
really he was a good deal scared. “I took
you for a waiter.”

“Took me for a waiter! Took me for a
nigger!” exclaimed the stranger, with an
emphasis on the word “nigger,” which at
once suggested a Southern lineage. “Took
me for a nigger, hey! I've the greatest
mind in the world to shoot you,” he added,
pulling out a revolver and aiming at our
worthy member. “I could shoot you, sir.
I could shoot you on the spot, sir. It's hard
work not to shoot you, sir. By the Lord, sir,
I don't know why I shouldn't shoot you.”

“Good heavens! don't blow my brains out
in bed!” stuttered Hollowbread, very eager,
of course, to get a hearing.

“I won't blow your brains out in bed,”
magnanimously declared the flashy gentleman.
“I'll blow your brains out of bed.
What a mark your great red face is! I can
hardly help firing at it.”

The besieged legislator had an impulse
to pull his face under the bedclothes, combined
with a spasmodic desire to jump up
and run out of the room. But, of course, the
most natural thing for a dignified gentleman
in a recumbent position to do was to
essay further expostulation.

“I assure you that I was not speaking to
you at all,” he urged. “I rang for some ice-water,
and when I heard you passing, I
thought it might be coming. I am not the
kind of person to go about insulting people
and picking chances to fight. I am a member
of Congress.”

“A member of Congress!” grunted the
visitant. “That's nothing. I am a member
of Congress myself. That's nothing.
But you are a member of Congress, are you?
Who the dence are you, then? Why, good
Lord, I believe it's Hollowbread! I'm glad
to see you, Hollowbread. How the deuce
should I recognize you in bed?”

“Is it—is it—Senator Rigdon?” asked Mr.
Hollowbread, who knew that member of the
upper house not at all, and had only taken
note of his person cursorily.

“To be sure it is,” answered the Southerner,
beaming with joy. “Pickens Rigdon, at
your service. Delighted—overjoyed to see
you, my honorable confrère. Shake hands.”

So they exchanged that sign of good-fellowship,

Mr. Hollowbread lying on his back,
and looking up with some visible disgust at
his new acquaintance, while the latter, revolver
tucked under his arm, “weeved” dangerously
over him, his inflamed face full of
geniality.

“Are you drunk, too, Hollowbread?” went
on the senator. “By-the-way, so am I. I
came here drunk. I floated here on a pile
of whisky. I meant to stop at Washington.
But I missed it. Couldn't find Washington
along the whole route. Washington
is busted up and blown away. I'm sorry I
left it. In fact, I don't know why I did
leave it. Anyhow, I can't get back to it.
Washington has skedaddled and vamosed
off the face of the earth. Never mind. The
republic is saved. Wherever I go I find
this great republic, overflowing with milk
and honey, or, in other words, whisky. So,
not being able to discover Washington, I
came on here. Glad to find you, Hollowbread—I'll
be drawn and quartered if I an't
glad to find you.”

It will be observed that Mr. Rigdon was
more than half-seas over; was drunker by
several seas, or one might say several oceans,
than when we last listened to him; and,
though still capable of conscious humor, was
far beyond the line of sentimental speech
and poetical quotation.

“I am sure I am pleased to make your
acquaintance,” murmured Mr. Hollowbread,
meekly and falsely.

“Are you!” exclaimed the senator, joyfully,
giving our friend's hand a fearful
squeeze. “I'm glad of it—glad to hear you
say so. I'll sleep with you, Hollowbread.
By George, I will—if I can get my toggery
off—and I will if I can't. You don't mind
boots in bed, do you, old fellow? No spurs
on. No; you sha'n't be kicked in your innocent
slumbers; a member of Congress
sha'n't run such a dishonoring risk. I'll ring
for a waiter to undress me. I'll tell him I'm
a fool and don't know how to take my toggery
off. Lord! how the nigger will stare!”
he chuckled. “Whereabouts do you conceal
your blasted bell-rope, Hollowbread?”

“It is of no possible use ringing, senator,”
urged our friend, nearly as anxious to get
rid of his caller as when the latter was
threatening to shoot him. What if the man
should actually go to bed with him, and then
pick another quarrel, or perhaps fire off a
few barrels by accident? “I told you,” he
added, “that I had been ringing half an
hour for ice-water, without getting it.”

“Can't get any ice-water, Hollowbread!”
exclaimed Mr. Rigdon, with indignant sympathy.
“My friend and brother legislator
can't get any ice-water! By George, I'll see
to that. I'll see that these lazy scoundrels
bring you ice-water. I'll get you a hogshead
of ice-water.”

He wheeled around, knocked down a chair
which upheld Mr. Hollowbread's raiment,
and fell prostrate over that wondrous mass
of broadcloth and sartorial machinery. Then
he arose slowly and spent half a minute in
trying to kick the ruin out of his way, while
the owner thereof looked on in silence, trembling
for his pads and springs and pulleys.
At last the senator got into the hall, leaned
in a most startling fashion over the stairway-railing,
and commenced shouting to the
regions below.

“Hi! Hullo down there!” he bawled.
“Hurry up, you yardful of niggers! Here's
a gentleman—here's my friend, the Honorable
Mr. Hollowbread, choking to death for
some ice-water!”

“Good gracious! will she hear the brute?”
thought our affianced lover, referring to Josie.

“I say, where is that yardful of niggers?
Hurry up with that ice-water! Hurry up,
or I'll fire!”

No answer being audible (they were in the
fifth story), he turned to his brother Congressman,
waving his revolver in a manner
which might have dismayed the bravest beholder,
and said:

“Don't be anxious, Hollowbread. You
shall have your ice-water. I'll go down
there and get after those niggers. Be easy,
Hollowbread; rely upon Rigdon. I'll have
your ice-water up here if I shoot every
scoundrel in the hotel, from the gentlemanly
proprietor to the bootblack. No man
shall suffer for ice-water while I can help it.
You shall get your pitcher slopping full, if
they have to freeze the ice for it. Don't be
afraid, Hollowbread; I'll be back in a minute.”

Then he was heard descending the stairs,
threatening and swearing all down the four
flights. The moment he was out of hearing,
Hollowbread got up with an alacrity
unusual in him, hurried to the door, shut it
softly, and locked it.

Senator Rigdon made a tremendous row
at the office, threatening to break the skull
of every colored person whom he set eyes
on, and was not pacified until the grinning
clerk promised that every guest in the house
should at once have a pitcher of ice-water,
by way (the senator said) of acknowledgment
and indirect damages.

This business transacted, he fell into an
amicable conversation with the bar-keeper,
forgot his purpose of sleeping with our hero,
Hollowbread, and was eventually borne to
repose in his own compartment of the attic.

Will it be believed that Josie Murray was
an auditor of this drama; that during nearly
the whole of it she stood holding her door
ajar, listening and giggling; and that, far
from abhorring the inebriated Rigdon, she
perversely longed to make his acquaintance?
She was all eyes and ears next morning when
he stalked into the breakfast-room and took

his seat near them at table. Surely he would
do or say something amusing, something to
gratify her keen sense of the humorous and
her taste for moral oddities. He disappointed
her, he astonished her, and yet he pleased
her. We have seen this specimen of the
ruder Southern gentry “disguised;” we have
seen him about as drunk as he could stagger;
now we are to see him sober.

He recognized Hollowbread and Mrs. Murray
at once, and, having some dim, awkward
recollection of the scene of the night before,
he would have been pleased to avoid them;
but they were all three late together, and he
was obliged to place himself near them at
the laggards' table.

Josie, who easily divined his embarrassment,
absolutely admired the manner in
which he bore it. He did not speak; he did
far better. He made a bow which was not a
claim of acquaintance, but an apology for
intrusion and for all possible offense, past or
present. Then he sat him down unconfused,
decorous, solemn, huge, and magnificent. A
rude mountaineer by birth, he had nevertheless
saught somewhat of the grace of the old-time
Southern gentleman, that sedate, urbane,
and chivalrous image which he had
reverenced during all his youth, and which
he still considered the noblest specimen of
humanity conceivable.

Nor was there a break in his lion-like dignity
while he remained at table. There was
no noisiness and no fidgeting; he was as
proper as a soldier on dress-parade; he was
as calm as Buddha. His orders to the waiter
were given in a mellow bass murmur, and
with an almost elaborate civility of diction.
He called the gray-headed fellow “boy,” and
yet he won his eager good-will at once.
Doubtless this “boy” had been a slave; he
had been ruled, bought and sold, perhaps
whipped, by the sort of man before him; yet
he recognized the old master-type with instant
respect, obsequiousness, and friendliness;
he needed but a word of kindness from
it, and he was its bondsman once more.

Josie noted this circumstance promptly,
and was much impressed by it. There is
perhaps no surer passport to a woman's consideration
than showing that you can easily
win the respect of men. In our country one
of the severest tests of this faculty is the securing
of civil attention from the so-called
lower classes. How they do love to take
down the pride of gentlemen and the vanity
of ladies!

This same “boy” had been negligent toward
Mr. Hollowbread, and sulky with other
guests; yet when the Southerner gently
beckoned to him, he seemed ready to crouch
and wriggle like a spaniel. Mrs. Murray
could not help granting her esteem and admiration
to this gentleman, who had been so
ridiculously drunk the evening previous.

Even Mr. Hollowbread was impressed, part
ly with the same feeling of respect and partly
with satisfaction. He looked upon Rigdon's
air of restraint and decorum as a sort
of apology to himself for the spree in his bedroom.
Moreover, the fellow was at any rate
a senator, and it was well to have friends in
the other House. So he at last decided to
smile, and say:

“I believe, Senator Rigdon, that we have
met before. Allow me to recall myself to
you as Mr. Hollowbread.”

“I am charmed to continue the acquaintance,
Mr. Hollowbread,” bowed Rigdon, without
making any allusion to the previous
meeting, concerning which he in fact remembered
very little. “I have long wished
to know you more intimately.”

Next, obedient to a glance from Josie, Hollowbread
added:

“Mr. Rigdon, Mrs. Murray—a niece of Colonel
Julian Murray,” he explained, with a
little excusable pomposity over the respectable
relationship. “Mrs. Murray had the
good fortune to escape from the same railroad
accident which detained me here. We
shall go on to Washington together, I suppose.”

“It will give me great pleasure to be allowed
to join you,” said the senator, bowing
to Josie so gracefully and deferentially that
she wanted to flirt with him at once. “I
have often observed Mrs. Murray in Washington
society. I hope she will pardon me
if I confess that I have drunk to her in the
words of Pinckney's famous toast. You remember
how it runs, Mrs. Murray: `A woman,
of her gentle sex the seeming paragon.'
I drank it at a distance and in silence.
There is an air of exaggeration about it, you
think? Well, I am a Southerner, and say
what I feel. You must pardon me.”

“I pardon,” laughed Josie, meanwhile suspecting
that he had taken a cocktail, though
he had not. Perhaps the residuary fumes of
last evening's whiskies had made him somewhat
more audacious and fervent in speech
than he would have been naturally. Perhaps
the hyperbolical compliment was only
an outbreak of that “hifalutin” which belongs
to a certain uncultivated type of the
eloquent Southerner. It is, however, the
honest truth that Rigdon had really drunk
the toast in question (and copiously, too),
and that he fervently admired at least the
outer womanhood of Mrs. Murray.

Well, the breakfast passed very pleasantly,
and it was decided that they should voyage
in company. Of course this was not
what Hollowbread wanted, and he sought,
in a timorous way, to evade it; but it happened
all the same. Josie, the adroit little
flirt, managed it easily.

“Oh, you brazen thing!” she said to her
lover, when they were left alone at table.
“You had a dreadful spree with that man
last night, and here you meet as if you had

never seen each other before, and put on such
a deluding air of innocence! Ah! you are
all alike, you men. There is no getting to
the bottom of you. Below each deep a deeper
still.”

In vain did Hollowbread protest his innocence
of spreeing, and tell the true story
of his ludicrous bedroom adventure. She
pretended for a time not to believe him, then
she put on a pitiful air of trying to believe
him, but in vain; and, dear me, such a touching
look of anxious doubt as there was in
her eyes! It seemed to Hollowbread that
she was on the point of bursting into tears
with affectionate terror lest he were deceiving
her, and should prove to be a man of
debauched habits. He was sincerely distressed
by her sham suspicions, and ready
to do any thing to soothe and please her.

“I am sorry I introduced the beast to
you,” he said, humbly. “The comradeship
which Congressmen feel bound to concede
to each other is my only excuse for it. We
must try to drop him — give him the cold
shoulder—get shut of him!”

“Oh, we can't do that!” cried Josie, with
an alarmed dilation of her eyes. “We can't
cut a senator, and my claim coming on!”

“But after his outrageous behavior last
night, in the hearing of scores of people?”
argued Hollowbread.

“That is the very reason,” insisted Josie.
“He would understand our cutting him all
the easier. We must not have the least air
of avoiding him. I think, in fact, that we
ought to urge him to sit with us, and treat
him in every way as civilly as possible.”

So Senator Rigdon traveled with them all
the way to Washington, sitting on the same
seat with Mrs. Murray, and holding long
coquettish dialogues with her, while poor
Hollowbread puffed to and fro on her errands.

Actually our love-lorn legislator reached
home without getting a kiss from his betrothed
since that happy moment when he
handed her Jeremiah Drinkwater's affidavit.

Nevertheless, he was her âme damnée; he
continued to work at her scandalous business
with the devotion which love inspires;
he went before the Spoliations Committee
with a demand for something like one hundred
thousand dollars.