University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
CATCHING A BEAU.

JOSEPHINE MURRAY was one of those
young women whom every body likes
very much on a first acquaintance.

She was handsome enough to make it an
agreeable pastime to look at her; and her
manners, while proper and lady-like, were
exceedingly facile, gracious, and winning, if
one might not even say alluring; and, furthermore,
she was sufficiently bright, well-read,
well-traveled, and fluent in speech to
be remarkably entertaining; and, finally,
she was gifted with a coquettishness which
gave her a prompt hold upon the attention
of gentlemen.

Because of these attractions, she made
chance acquaintances easily, and pleased
them greatly. Never did she journey alone
but some agreeable stranger was drawn to
pay her some notable devoir of courtesy, and
to do his boldest and cleverest to engage her
in conversation.

Nor did this impromptu admirer ever fail
to have a delightful trip, to feel that he was
a thoroughly appreciated individual, to part
from his companion of an hour with regret,
and to think of her many times a day for
weeks afterward. Nor, indeed, was it uncommon
for him to confess and affirm to his
bosom friends that, if ever he met that lady
again, he should certainly marry her.

In fact, Josephine Murray had a wonderful
faculty not only for making people like
her on short notice, but also for leading
them to believe that she reciprocated the
yearning. Her passing flirtations had a
semblance of being love at first sight, and
love, too, of an impulsive, unreflecting, fascinated,
life-long nature.

When she conversed there was a mobility
of expression in her delicate features, and a
quick, nervous swaying and starting in her
graceful figure, which made her seem charmingly
impressionable. It was not easy for
a man to resist the sweet eagerness with
which she talked to him, and the air of appreciative,
sensitive interest with which she
listened to him, and the seeming tenderness
with which her liquid black eyes gazed at
him.

After an hour or so of exposure to these
witcheries he was generally ready to say
that he should have to marry her some day;
not in the least doubting but that she would
give herself to him for the asking, dropping
her trustful head upon his bosom in the
thankfulest manner.

On the occasion of her present journey,
which was a trip by the day-train from New
York to Washington, Josephine had embezzled
the admiration and attentions of that
eminent member of Congress, the Honorable
G. W. Hollowbread.

Mr. Hollowbread, we ought to state, was
easily caught by womankind, for nature had
given him a keen hankering after that surely
unparalleled dainty, and he had rather
increased than diminished the appetite by
long indulgence. He was over fifty years
old; in fact, we may as well confess at once
that he was fully sixty; yet not a session
passed over his comely, iron-gray head without
crowning it with some fresh flirtation.
In all Congress there was not another elderly
or middle-aged gentleman who did so
much love-making.

It was easy to discover signs of Mr. Hollowbread's
sweetness and strength of temperament
in his face and person. He was a
darkly florid man, with crimson veins in his
shapely, solid cheeks; his eyelids drooping
straight across the pupils of his black, settled,
ardent and, one might say, heated eyes;
his princely, aquiline nose somewhat overfull
at the end, as if bloated with luxury;
his lower lip rather too plump also, and
slightly inclining to be pendulous; his head
large enough in the brow, but still larger
behind the ears; his grizzled neck extraordinarily
thick and massive.

As for his figure, people who could put
up with a considerable circumference, and
who did not insist upon statuesque length
and sinewiness of limb, usually spoke of it
as portly, fine, handsome. He certainly held
up his face nobly, walked with an old-style
stateliness far more impressive than the gait
of modern days, and had an air which frequently
made strangers turn to gaze at him,
querying if he were not one of the great
ones of the earth. He looked intelligent
likewise, and, in truth, was a man of uncommon

natural parts, and would probably have
cut a very notable figure in our political
world, only that he was grievously hampered
by love of pleasure and by laziness.

Being the observing man that he was in regard
to womankind, Mr. Hollowbread began
to take minute note of Josephine Murray
almost as soon as he laid eyes on her. He
quickly became conscious of that charm of
allurement, that indescribable something approaching
to invitation, which exhaled from
her manner.

He wanted to fix her attention, to enter
into some sort of communication with her,
to get near her. And get near her he presently
did, quitting the seat which he had at
first selected, and moving to another of more
blessed proximity.

What manner of woman was she? She
looked like a lady of culture and refinement,
and yet she looked capable of a railroad
flirtation. She gazed about her at people a
good deal, and at himself she had glanced
three or four times.

Mr. Hollowbread, once a very handsome
man, and as yet unable to judge himself
elderly, easily drew encouragement from
such gossamer circumstances. He began to
hope that she was going to Washington to
beg for a clerkship, and that he had only to
announce himself as a Congressman to be
received with favor.

He had just prepared his little introductory
speech about the weather, with a subsequent
remark concerning the splendor of
palace-cars, when two passing gentlemen
pounced upon him.

“How are you, Hollowbread?” demanded
one of them, in a loud, hard, hammering
voice, at the same time slapping his shoulder
with a hand like a mallet. “Always
among the ladies, eh?” he added, emitting
two harsh snorts of a horse-laugh. “I told
Beauman we should find you here.”

Mr. Hollowbread had started smartly, for
the salutation had been rousingly vociferous,
and the slap rude enough to sting his fat
back.

His tone was a little plaintive, and even
a little remonstrative, as he answered:

“Oh! is that you, Mr. Drummond?”

Moreover, he put forth two pudgy fingers
in a dilatory, cooling way, which was equivalent
to saying, “Shake, if you must, and
then get along.”

Mr. Drummond smiled with insolent glee,
took the two doughy digits between two of
his own, and immediately dropped them.

He was clearly a man not easy to abash,
and prompt at rendering scoff for scorn. He
was a bold spirit also in other ways, for his
wide-open eyes were already settled upon
Josephine Murray's face, and he did not
withdraw them until he had put her out of
countenance.

As for her, she had looked up quickly at
the mention of his name, as if it were a
name of much interest to her. And so it
was, for she was journeying to Washington
on business which required the good offices
of Congressmen, and the member from her
district was one Mr. Sykes Drummond.

She did not know him by sight from
Adam, and this might be the very man. In
one instant she had judged him by his looks,
and had decided that he might be endured
as an acquaintance if he would serve as an
advocate.

He was about thirty years old, broad-shouldered,
and otherwise strongly built,
with a virile, audacious, trooper-like face,
and a devil-may-care, pugnacious bearing.
His forehead was large, and over the eyes
singularly prominent; his nose was Roman,
his chin vigorously defined, and his jaws
powerful. His complexion was dark, pallid,
and yet seemingly healthy; his black coarse
hair was long and abundant. There was an
interesting, and one might even say a fascinating,
expression of mirthful recklessness
about his flexible mouth, which was the
handsomest feature of his countenance, and
was indeed really handsome. On the whole,
and taking into special consideration his appearance
of puissant virility, he would be called
an extremely good-looking man—at least
by those who like the Robert-the-Devil type.

Meantime Mr. Hollowbread had exchanged
friendly salutations with Beauman, an olive-complexioned
dandy of about Drummond's
age, whose beauty and air of repose reminded
one of the Apollino, and who looked about
as ill-fitted to grind in the mill of American
life.

“And so you are going as Minister to
Spain?” said the Congressman. “I am
heartily glad to hear it. We need a gentleman
there, if only for a change. Our last
man at Madrid annoyed people by wetting
his thumb in his mouth when he dealt cards
at whist.”

“I don't feel so sure of Spain,” smiled
Beauman. “I rather think I shall only get
a castle there.”

“What do the New York Exchange bummers
say to your bill for unlocking the currency
reserve?” interrupted Drummond.

“I don't know in the least; I have only
been to Baltimore,” replied Hollowbread,
continuing to look quite unhappy at Mr.
Drummond's sticking to him.

“I sha'n't support you. It's a popular
whim just now, but a year hence it will be
considered a blunder. A fellow must keep
his feelers out for his—well, his re-election.”

And here Drummond haw-hawed loudly,
as if there were a delicious humor in this
coarse confession of mere egotism.

“If the public dislikes the working of the
bill, I shall be ready to move for its repeal,”
said Mr. Hollowbread, with a brevity and
gloom which seemed to discourage continued

discussion of the subject, or further conversation
of any nature.

“Just so — haw! haw!” laughed Drummond,
superciliously satirical. “It's a good
plan to take the advice of the public—haw!
haw!—only it's a better plan to foresee it
and take it before it comes—haw! haw!”

Mr. Drummond certainly had a very irritating
laugh, and we may as well state
here that it made him enemies. In a general
way people do not like to be overcrowed
and put down by mere boisterousness of
guffawing. I do not think that he habitually
meant to hurt the feelings of his fellow-men.
He purposed mainly, so far as he
had a purpose, to call attention to his own
superior wisdom or wit, and moreover his
cachinnation resulted partly from mere impulse
and superfluous animal force. But all
the same, he did frequently irritate people,
besides getting the harmful repute of being
a bear in manners.

“Is Brother Bradford — Aristides Cato
Bradford—aboard?” continued Drummond,
seeing that Hollowbread was indisposed to
discuss the currency question, and indeed
not caring a straw to hear him discuss it.

“I believe he is in the smoking-car,” responded
Hollowbread, quite lighted up with
the hope of getting shut of his guffawing
friend. “If you will look about there, I
think you will easily find him.”

“Come along, Beauman,” said Drummond;
“good-morning, Hollowbread; luck
to you!”

And with a knowing, impudent glance at
Josephine Murray—a glance which seemed
to say that the next time he met her he
should speak to her—he tramped away.

Beauman, who had seemed to be a trifle
ashamed of his ursine companion, raised his
hat to Mr. Hollowbread, and also departed.

Our mature Congressional beau was now
once more at liberty to light up a conversation
with his pretty fellow-traveler. But
his mind had been considerably perturbed
by Drummond's rude assault upon his shoulders,
his currency scheme, and his self-respect;
and he could not at once get himself
into a frame of spirit sufficiently tender and
alert for the requirements of even a railway
flirtation.

While he tried to collect his wits and sentiments,
Josephine was surveying him, cautiously
but wistfully. She had been interested
in him from the moment she learned
that he was a member of Congress. She
had glanced at the Honorable Drummond
with even greater interest, and she had quite
started at hearing the name of the Honorable
Bradford. Here were just the principalities
and powers whom she would need for
allies when she should commence her conjurings
in Washington. She was not accustomed
to be the first to speak when she
made her traveling acquaintanceships. In
general it was only necessary for her to turn
her graceful head a few times, and to flash
her lustrous eyes hither and thither, in order
to see some bewitched male creature flutter
toward her, settle within chippering distance,
and open his eager bill. But here
was a chance to win potent friends which
she must not let slip, nor waste through fastidions
dalliance. She decided to volunteer
a hail to this venerable legislator who was
so obviously trying to drift in her direction.

“Are you going through to Washington,
sir?” she asked, in a clear soprano voice, as
light and fresh and sweet as a bird, and all
the nicer for singing from that rosy nest, her
pretty mouth.

“I am,” smiled and bowed Mr. Hollowbread,
quite delighted with the invitation
to speak, as such an old beau must be. “Can
I be of service to you on the way, or there?
It will give me very great pleasure.”

“I wished to ask if I should have any
difficulty in finding respectable hackmen to
take me about the city,” said Josephine.

“I will see that you find such a one, if
you will allow me,” declared Mr. Hollowbread.

“I thank you very much,” smiled Josephine,
with a little bow and flutter, clearly as
grateful as man could desire. “I had been
told that the Washington hackmen are so
awkward to deal with! Too knowing in
the ways of their world. An overmatch for
strangers.”

“They are rather stupid than knavish,”
responded our legislator, who did not hesitate
to speak demeaningly of them, they not
being his constituents. “Many of them are
negroes who are unable to read, and don't
know one number from another.”

“I have often heard of you, Mr. Hollowbread,”
continued Josephine, slipping away
from a subject which was of no consequence
to her, and hastening on, as one may say, to
business; “I am glad that I have met you,
even in this unceremonious way.”

“If I had known what a pleasure awaited
me here, I should not have staid so long
in the smoking-car,” was the surely praiseworthy
response of the Congressman. He
knew that it was a pretty compliment, for
he had previously delivered it with good effect
to other chance acquaintances, and had
meditated considerably upon the neatness
and pith of it. Ah! what advantages these
beaus of immemorial experience have over
men who have done very little in the way of
gallantry!

“You are too good to tell me so,” nodded
Josephine, flashing her bright young optics
at the old gallant, and flashing them willfully,
knowingly, and with malice aforethought.

Mr. Hollowbread was encouraged; this
handsome creature was really making eyes

at him; he decided that he might safely
and wisely move nearer.

“This intolerable rumble of the cars!”
he complained. “If you will permit, I will
take a seat where we can hear each other
more distinctly.”

They were in a palace-car, and it was very
still indeed, so that there was no difficulty
whatever in hearing; but Josephine wanted
to make things entirely pleasant for her Congressman,
and she sighed out, with an alluring
smile, “So dreadfully noisy!”

Thereupon Mr. Hollowbread arose, balanced
himself as large men often have to
do, journeyed with bulky dignity across the
alley, and installed himself within arms-length
of his prey. It is amusing to think
that this able wire-puller and veteran flirt
did not by any means see both sides of his
present situation. It did not so much as
cross his statesman-like mind that, from
this young lady's point of view, he was the
mouse, and she the cat. Josephine, on the
contrary, who was by nature preternaturally
and almost diabolically knowing in the
matter of coquetry, guessed accurately that
the elderly magnate intended to make some
sort of a conquest of her. There was just one
item of his behavior which she was not old
enough to understand, or even to note. She
did not divine why he so promptly let down
the window - blind immediately behind his
legislative cranium. It was to hide the
cloudings of gray which lurked underneath
the well-oiled waves of his ebony, or rather
plumbago-colored, hair.

“This begins to have the air of a confessional,”
said Josephine, with a gay little laugh,
which had not a particle of protest in it, and
which was consequently very inspiriting.

“I shall be most happy to confess to you,”
simpered Hollowbread, with the cheerful air
of a man who sees his way clearly, and likes
the look of it.

A faint flush came into Josephine's smooth
cheek, and the slightest possible spark flashed
from her fine eyes. Ordinarily, a young
lassie does not know what to do with an
“auld man,” and feels both disgust and indignation
when she finds herself courted by
one. But this young lassie was as wise as
a serpent, and she stifled her annoyance with
admirable promptness.

“Oh, no!” she giggled, perhaps a little
nervously. “At all events, I must have the
first chance to say what weighs upon my
mind.”

“It is impossible that it should be any
thing bad!”

“No, it is nothing bad.”

“And it must be something good.”

“But it may be very tiresome to hear.”

“I hope and beg that you will put me to
the proof.”

“I shall. But, perhaps, not to-day. The
greatest of all days is to-morrow.”

“There is a time for all things, and the
best time is right away.”

“Sometimes it is the best time for holding
one's tongue.”

“But life will be a burden to me until I
hear this wonderful confession.”

“Then you must make sure, if you want
to live, to keep up the acquaintance.”

“I shall devote my existence to it, if you
permit.”

“Who wouldn't permit it? Perhaps I
came to Washington for that alone.”

Now this was rather lively dialogue for
Mr. Hollowbread; he was not accustomed
to such cantering repartee. He was a slow
man in body given to husky breathing, and
notably short-winded; and his mind was so
far similar, that, while he could make an
excellent speech, any thing like debate distressed
him. Moreover, although a Washington
beau of much practice, he had not
been accustomed to meet with the cleverest
of women, so that this easy prattler both
astonished and bothered him. Meanwhile
she liked it; felt not a bit the worse for her
spurt of dialogue; was ready to gallop along
in that way an hour or two.

But she had thoroughly roused his interest
and his strongest curiosity. He wondered
with all his wits who she was, and
whether she really had a confession of importance
to make, and whether she would
make it to him. It is astonishing, by-the-way,
how rapidly two experienced flirts can
become intimate. Mr. Hollowbread had not
talked with Josephine five minutes, and yet
he felt as if he had been acquainted with
her for years, and was resolved not to lose
sight of her until he had seen much more of
her.