University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
JOEL SLOCUM.

In this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce
an individual who, though not a very important personage,
is still in some degree connected with our story. On
the night when Durward and his father were riding home
from Frankfort, the family at Maple Grove, with the exception
of grandma, were as usual assembled in the parlor.
John Jr. had returned, and purposely telling his
mother and Carrie whom he had left with 'Lena, had succeeded
in putting them both into an uncomfortable humor,
the latter secretly lamenting the mistake which she
had committed in suffering 'Lena to stay with Mabel.
But it could not be remedied now. There was no good
reason for calling her home, and the lady broke at least
three cambric-needles in her vigorous jerks at the handkerchief
she was hemming.

A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell,
and Carrie straightened up, thinking it might possibly be
Durward, who had called on his way home, but the voice
was strange, and rather impatiently she waited.

“Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?” asked the
stranger of the negro who answered the summons.

“Yes, sir,” answered the servant, eyeing the new
comer askance.

“And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?”

The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and
asking the young man to walk in.

“Wall, guess I will,” said he, advancing a few steps
toward the parlor door. Then suddenly halting, he added,
more to himself than to the negro, “Darned if I

don't go the hull figger, and send in my card as they do
to Boston.”

So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card,
and bending his knee for a table, he wrote with sundry
flourishes, “Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts.”

“There, hand that to your boss,” said he, “and tell
him I'm out in the entry.” At the same time he stepped
before the hat-stand, rubbing up his oily hair, and thinking
“Mr. Joel Slocum would make an impression anywhere.”

“Who is it, Ben?” whispered Carrie.

“Dunno, miss,” said the negro, passing the card to his
master, and waiting in silence for his orders.

“Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts,”
slowly read Mr. Livingstone, wondering where he had
heard that name before.

“Who?” simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while
their mother looked wonderingly up.

Instantly John Jr. remembered 'Lena's love-letter, and
anticipating fun, exclaimed, “Show him in Ben—show
him in.”

While Ben is showing him in, we will introduce him
more fully to our readers, premising that the picture is not
overdrawn, but such as we saw it in our native state. Joel
belonged to that extreme class of Yankees with which we
sometimes, though not often, meet. Brought up among
the New England mountains, he was almost wholly ignorant
of what really belonged to good manners, fancying
that he knew everything, and sneering at those of his acquaintance
who, being of a more quiet turn of mind, were
content to settle down in the home of their fathers, caring
little or nothing for the world without. But as for him,
“he was bound,” he said, “to see the elephant, and if his

brothers were green enough to stay tied to their mother's
apron-strings, they might do it, but he wouldn't. No, sir!
he was going to make something of himself.”

To effect this, about two years before the time of which
we are speaking, he went to Boston to learn the art of
daguerreotype-taking, in which he really did seem to excel,
returning home with some money, a great deal of
vanity, and a strong propensity to boast of what he had
seen. Recollections of 'Lena, his early, and, as he sentimentally
expressed it, “his undying, all-enduring” love,
still haunted him, and at last he determined upon a tour
to Kentucky, purchasing for the occasion a rather fantastic
suit, consisting of greenish pants, blue coat, red vest,
and yellow neck-handkerchief. These he laid carefully
by in his trunk until he reached Lexington, where he intended
stopping for a time, hanging out a flaming sign,
which announced his presence and capabilities.

After spending a few days in the city, endeavoring to
impress its inhabitants with a sense of his consequence,
and mentally styling them all “Know Nothings,” because
they did not seem to be more affected, he one afternoon
donned his best suit, and started for Mr. Livingstone's,
thinking he should create a sensation there;
for wasn't he as good as anybody? Didn't he learn his
trade in Boston, the very center and source of all the
isms of the day, and ought not Mr. Livingstone to feel
proud of such a guest, and wouldn't 'Lena stare when
she saw him so much improved from what he was when
they picked checkerberries together?

With this comfortable opinion of himself, it is not at
all probable that he felt any misgivings when Ben ushered
him at once into the presence of Mr. Livingstone's family,
who stared at him in unfeigned astonishment. Nothing
daunted, he went through with the five changes of a bow,

which he had learned at a dancing-school, bringing himself
up finally in front of Mr. Livingstone, and exclaiming,
“How-dy-do?—Mr. Livingstone, I s'pose, though it comes
more natural to say cousin John, for I've hearn Miss
Nichols and Aunt Nancy talk of you ever since I was knee
high, and seems as how you must be related. How is
the old lady, and Helleny, too. I don't see 'em here,
though I thought, at fust, this might be her,” nodding
to Anna.

Mr. Livingstone was confounded, while his wife had
strong intentions of ordering the intruder from the room;
but John Jr. had no such idea. He liked the fun, and
now coming forward, said, “Mr. Slocum, as your card indicates,
allow me the pleasure of presenting you to my
mother—and sisters;” at the same time ringing the bell,
he ordered a servant to go for his grandmother.

“Ah, ladies, how-dy-do? Hope you are well till we
are better acquainted,” said Joel, bowing low, and shaking
out the folds of his red silk handkerchief, strongly
perfumed with peppermint.

Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly,
while Anna said, “Good evening, Mr. Slocum.”

“Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone's silence, Joel
turned to John Jr., saying, “Don't believe she heard
you—deaf, mebby?”

John Jr. nodded, and at that moment grandma appeared,
in a great flurry to know who wanted to see her.

Instantly seizing her hand, Joel exclaimed, “Now,
Aunt Martha, if this ain't good for sore eyes. How do
you do?”

“Pretty well, pretty well,” she returned, “but you've
got the better of me, for I don't know more'n the dead
who you be.”

“Now how you talk,” said Joel. “If this don't beat all

my fust wife's relations. Why, I should have known
you if I'd met you in a porridge-pot. But then, I s'pose
I've altered for the better since I see you. Don't you
remember Joel Slocum, that used to have kind of a snickerin'
notion after Helleny?”

“Why-ee, I guess I do,” answered grandma, again
seizing his hand. “Where did you come from, and why
didn't your Aunt Nancy come with you!”

“'Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke's sister's boy.
Car'line and Anny, this is Joel; you've heard tell of him.”

“I've been introduced, thank you,” said Joel, taking a
seat near Carrie, who haughtily gathered up the ample
folds of her dress, lest it should be polluted.

“Bashful critter, but she'll get over it by the time she's
seen as much of the world as I have,” soliloquized Joel;
at the same time thinking to make some advances, he
hitched a little nearer, and taking hold of the strip of
embroidery on which she was engaged, he said, “Now,
du tell, if they've got to workin' with floss way down
here. Waste of time, I tell 'em, this makin' holes for the
sake of sewin' 'em up. But law!” he added, as he saw
the deepening scowl on Carrie's face, “wimmin may jest
as well be putterin' about that as anything else, for their
time ain't nothin' more'n an old settin' hen's.”

This speech called forth the first loud roar in which
John Jr. had indulged since Nellie went away, and now
settling back in his chair, he gave vent to his feelings in
peals of laughter, in which Joel also joined, thinking he'd
said something smart. When at last he'd finished laughing,
he thought again of 'Lena, and turning to Mrs. Livingstone,
asked where she was, raising his voice to a high
key on account of her supposed deafness.

“Did you speak to me?” asked the lady, with a look
which she meant should annihilate him, and in a still louder

tone Joel repeated his question, asking Anna, aside,
if her mother had ever tried “McAllister's All-Healing
Ointment,” for her deafness, saying it had “nighly cured
his grandmother when she was several years older than
Mrs. Livingstone.”

“Much obliged for your prescription, which, fortunately,
I do not need,” said Mrs. Livingstone, angrily, while
Joel thought, “how strange it was that deaf people would
always hear in the the wrong time!”

“Mother don't seem inclined to answer your question
concerning 'Lena,” said John Jr., “so I will do it for her.
She is in Frankfort, taking music lessons. You used to
know her, I believe.”

“Lud, yes! I chased her once with a streaked snake,
and if she did't put 'er through, then I'm no judge. Takin'
music lessons, is she? I'd give a fo'pence to hear her
play.”

“Are you fond of music?” asked John Jr., in hopes of
what followed.

“Wall, I wouldn't wonder much if I was,” answered
Joel, taking a tuning-fork from his pocket and striking it
upon the table. “I've kep' singin' school one term, besides
leadin' the Methodis' choir in Slocumville; so I orto
know a little somethin' about it.”

“Perhaps you play, and if so, we'd like to hear you,”
continued John Jr., in spite of the deprecating glance
cast upon him by Carrie.

“Not such a dreadful sight,” answered Joel, sauntering
toward the piano and drumming a part of “Auld Lang
Syne.” “Not such a dreadful sight, but I guess these
girls do. Come, girls, play us a jig, won't you?”

“Go, Cad, it wont hurt you,” whispered John, but
Carrie was immovable, and at last, Anna, who entered

more into her brother's spirit, took her seat at the instrument,
asking what he would have.

“Oh, give us “Money Musk,” “Hail Columby,”
“Old Zip Coon,” or anything to raise a feller's ideas.”

Fortunately, Anna's forte lay in playing old music,
which she preferred to more modern pieces, and Joel
was soon beating time to the lively strains of “Money
Musk.”

“Wall, I declare,” said he, when it was ended, “I don't
see but what you Kentucky gals play most as well as
they do to hum. I did'nt s'pose many on you ever seen
a pianner. Come,” turning to Carrie, “less see what you
can do. Mebby you'll beat her all holler,” and he offered
his hand to Carrie, who rather petulantly said she “must
be excused.”

“Oh, git out,” he continued. “You needn't feel so
bashful, for I shan't criticise you very hard. I know how
to feel for new beginners.”

“Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum?” asked Mr.
Livingstone, pitying Carrie, and wishing to put an end
to the performance.

“No, I hain't, and I'm hungrier than a bear,” answered
Joel, whereupon Mrs. Nichols, thinking he was
her guest, arose, saying she would see that he had some.

When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone's
wrath boiled over.

“That's what comes of harboring your relatives,” said
she, looking indignantly upon her husband, and adding
that she hoped “the insolent fellow did not intend staying
all night, for if he did he couldn't.”

“Do you propose turning him into the street?” asked
Mr. Livingstone, looking up from his paper.

“I don't propose anything, except that he won't stay
in my house, and you needn't ask him.”

“I hardly think an invitation is necessary, for I presume
he expects to stay,” returned Mr. Livingstone;
while John Jr. rejoined, “Of course he does, and if mother
doesn't find him a room, I shall take him in with me,
besides going to Frankfort with him to-morrow.”

This was enough, for Mrs. Livingstone would do almost
anything rather than have her son seen in the
city with that specimen. Accordingly, when the hour
for retiring arrived, she ordered Corinda to show him
into the “east chamber,” a room used for her common
kind of visitors, but which Joel pronounced “as neat as a
fiddle.”

The next morning he announced his intention of visiting
Frankfort, proposing to grandma that she should accompany
him, and she was about making up her mind to
do so, when 'Lena and Mabel both appeared in the yard.
They had come out for a ride, they said, and finding the
morning so fine, had extended their excursion as far as
Maple Grove, sending their servant back to tell where
they were going. With his usual assurance, Joel advanced
toward 'Lena, greeting her tenderly, and whispering
in her ear that “he found she was greatly improved
as well as himself,” while 'Lena wondered in what the improvement
consisted. She had formerly known him as a
great, overgrown, good-natured boy, and now she saw
him a “conceited gawky.” Still, her manner was friendly
toward him, for he had come from her old home, had
breathed the air of her native hills, and she well remembered
how, years ago, he had with her planted and watered
the flowers which he told her were still growing
at her mother's grave.

And yet there was something about her which puzzled
Joel, who felt that the difference between them was
great. He was disappointed, and the declaration which

he had fully intended making was left until another time,
when, as he thought, “he shouldn't be so confounded shy
of her.” His quarters, too, at Maple Grove were not the
most pleasant, for no one noticed him except grandma
and John Jr., and with the conviction that “the Kentuckians
didn't know what politeness meant,” he ordered
his horse after dinner, and started back to Lexington, inviting
all the family to call and “set for their picters,” saying
that “seein' 'twas them, he'd take 'em for half price.”

As he was leaving the piazza, he turned back, and
drawing a large, square case from his pocket, passed it
to 'Lena, saying it was a daguerreotype of her mountain
home, which he had taken on purpose for her, forgetting
to give it to her until that minute. The look of joy which
lighted up 'Lena's face made Joel almost repent of not
having said to her what he intended to, but thinking he
would wait till next time, he started off, his heart considerably
lightened by her warm thanks for his thoughtfulness.