7. CHAPTER VII.
'Tis a dull thing to travel like a mill horse,
Still in the place he was born in, round and blinded.
Beaumont and Fletcher.
A novel-maker may claim a privilege which his betters
must forego. So, in the teeth of dramatic unities, let the
story leap a chasm of some two years.
Not that the void was a void to Morton. His nature
spurred him into perpetual action; but his wanderings were
over at length; and he and Meredith sat under the porch
of Morton's house, a few miles from town. The features of
the latter were swarthy from exposures, while those of his
friend were somewhat pale, and had the expression of one
insufferably bored.
“Colonel, you are the luckiest fellow I know. Here you
have been following the backbone of the continent from Darien
to the head of the Missouri, mixing yourself up with
Spaniards and Aztecs, poking sticks into the crater of Popocatapetl,
and living hand and glove with Blackfeet and Assinnaboins,
while I have been doing penance among bonds and
mortgages, and title deeds and leases. My father has thrown
up responsibility and gone to Europe — and so has every
body else — and left all on my shoulders.”
“Your time will come.”
“I hope so.”
“But what news is there?”
“Nothing.”
“What, nothing since I went away?”
“The old story. You know it as well as I. Now and
then, a new engagement came out. Mrs. A. approved it, and
Mrs. B. didn't; and then characters were discussed on both
sides. Something has been said of the balls, the opera, and
what not; with the usual talk about the wickedness of the
democrats and the fanaticism of the abolitionists.”
“You appear to have led a gay life.”
“Very! — we need a war, an invasion, — something of the
sort. It would put life into us, and rid us of a great deal of
nonsense. You were born with a stimulus in yourself, and
can stand this stagnant sort of existence; but I need something
more lively.”
“Then go with me on my next journey.”
“Are you thinking of another already? Rest in peace,
and thank Heaven that you have come home in a whole skin.”
“I have done the North American continent; but there
are four more left, not to mention the islands.”
“And you mean to see them all?”
“Certainly.”
“Your science is a convenient hobby. It carries you wherever
you fancy to go.”
“You could not do better than go with me.”
“I know it; but, if wishes were horses — I am training
Dick to take my place. I am a model elder brother to
that youngster in the way of cultivating his mind and morals;
and when I have him up to the mark, I shall gain a year's
furlough for my pains. But when is your next journey to
begin — next week?”
“No, I mean to pin myself down here, and dig like a mole,
for the next ten months, at least.”
“If I had not had ocular proof of what a determined dig
you can be, I should set down your studies as mere humbug.”
“But I wish to hear the news.”
“I would tell it willingly, if I knew any.”
“Have the Primroses come home from Europe yet?”
“Yes.”
“And the Everills?”
“I believe not.”
“Nor the Leslies, I suppose.”
“For a reasonably sensible and straightforward fellow, you
have a queer way of making inquiries. You question like a
lady's letter, with the pith in the postscript. You ask after the
Primroses and the Everills, a stupid, priggish set, for whom
you care nothing, as earnestly as if you were in love with
them, and then grow indifferent when you come to the Leslies,
whom you like.”
“Did I?” said Morton, in some discomposure; “I ask
their pardon. Have they come home?”
“Not yet, but I believe they mean to come as soon as they
have staid their year out.”
“And that will be very soon — early in the spring, or
sooner.”
“Now I think of it, I made the acquaintance, a few evenings
ago, of a person who, I believe, is a relation or connection
of yours — Miss Fanny Euston.”
“O, yes, she is my third, fourth, or fifth cousin, or something
of that sort; but I have not seen her since she was ten
years old. She was a great romp, then, and very plain.”
“That last failing is cured. She has grown very handsome.”
“The first failing ought to be cured, too, by this time.”
“I am not so clear on that point. She is a girl with an
abundance of education, and a good deal of a certain kind of
accomplishment — music, and so on — but no breeding at all.
If she had had the training of good society, she would have
been one of a thousand. As it is she cares for nobody, and
does and says whatever comes into her mind, without the
least regard to consequences or appearances.”
“Does she affect naturalness, independence, and all that?”
“No, she affects nothing. The material is admirable. It
only needs to be refined, polished, and toned down. It's unlucky,
colonel, but in this world every thing worth having is
broken in pieces and mixed with something that one doesn't
want. It's an even balance, good and bad; there's no use in
going off into raptures about any thing. One thing is certain,
though; this cousin of yours has character enough to
supply material for a dozen Miss Primroses, without any visible
diminution.”
“I should like to see her. I'll go to-morrow.”
“You'd better. But now tell me something more about
your journey.”
And, in reply to his friend's questions, Morton proceeded
to relate such incidents as had befallen him.
