University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
PETER MULLENS ACQUIRES A VERY LARGE STOK OF OLD
CLOTHES.

Though Mr. Peter Mullens had but slender relations to my
outer life—hardly enough to warrant the notice I have already
taken of him—there was a relation which I recognized in my
experience and circumstances that makes it necessary for me
to say more of him. He had recognized this relation himself,
and it was this that engendered my intense personal dislike
of him. I knew that his willing dependence on others had
robbed him of any flavor of manhood he might at one time
have possessed, and that I, very differently organized, was suffering
from the same cause. I watched the effect upon him of
this demoralizing influence, with almost a painful curiosity.

Having, as he supposed, given up himself, he felt that he
had a right to support. There seemed to him to be no sweetness
in bread that could be earned. Everything came amiss
to him that came with personal cost. He was always looking for
gifts. I will not say that he prayed for them, but I have no
doubt that he prayed, and that his temporal wants mingled in his
petitions. No gift humiliated him: he lived by gifts. His greed
for these was pitiful, and often ludicrous. Indeed, he was the
strangest mixture of piety, avarice, and beggarly meanness that
I had ever seen.

My second spring in college was verging upon summer.
The weather was intensely hot, and all the fellows had put
themselves into summer clothing—all but poor Peter Mullens.
He had come out of the winter very seedy, and his heavy
clothing still clung to him, in the absence of supplies of a
lighter character. Although he had a great many pairs of

woolen socks and striped mittens, and a dozen or two neck-ties,
which had been sent to him by a number of persons to
whom he gave the indefinite designation of “the sisters,” there
seemed to be no way by which he could transform them into
summer clothing. He was really in a distressed condition, and
“the sisters” failed to meet the emergency.

At a gathering of the fellows of our clique one night, his
affairs were brought up for discussion, and it was determined
that we should go through our respective wardrobes and weed
out all the garments which we did not intend to wear again,
and, on the first dark night, take them to his room. I was to
make the first visit, and to be followed in turn by the others.

Accordingly, having made up a huge bundle of garments
that would be of use to him, provided he could wear them—
and he could wear anything, apparently—I started out one
evening, and taking it in my arms, went to his room. This
was located in a remote corner of the dormitory, at the bottom
of a narrow hall, and as the hall was nearly dark, I deposited
my bundle at the door and knocked for admission.

“Come in!” responded Mullens.

I entered, and by good fortune found him alone. He was
sitting in the dark, by the single open window of his room, and
I could see by the dim light that he was stripped of coat and
waistcoat. He did not know me at first, but, rising and striking
a light, he exclaimed: “Well, this is kind of you, Bonnicastle.
I was just thinking of you.”

He then remembered that his glasses had been laid aside.
Putting them on, he seemed to regard himself as quite presentable,
and made no further attempt to increase his clothing. I
looked around the bare room, with its single table, its wretched
pair of chairs, its dirty bed, and its lonely occupant, and contrasting
it with the cosy apartment I had just left, my heart
grew full of pity for him.

“So you were thinking of me, eh?” I said. “That was very
kind of you. Pray, what were you thinking? Nothing bad, I
hope.”

“No, I was thinking about your privileges. I was thinking
how you had been favored.”

It was strange that it had never occurred to Mullens to think
about or to envy who held money by right, or by the
power of earning it. It was only the money that came as a
gift that stirred him. There were dozens or hundreds of fellows
whose parents were educating them, but these were never the
subject of his envious thoughts.

“Let's not talk about my privileges,” I said. “How are you
getting along yourself?”

“I am really very hard up,” he replied. “If the sisters
would only send me trousers, and such things, I should be all
right, but they don't seem to consider that I want trousers any
more than they do, confound them.”

The quiet indignation with which this was uttered amused
me, and I laughed outright. But Mullens was in sober earnest,
and going to his closet he brought forth at least a dozen pairs
of thick woolen socks, and as many pairs of striped mittens,
and laid them on the table.

“Look at that pile,” said Mullens, “and weep.”

The comical aspect of the matter had really reached the
poor fellow's apprehension, and he laughed heartily with me.

“What are you going to do with them?” I asked.

“I don't know,” he replied; “I've thought of an auction.
What do you say?”

“Why don't you try to sell them at the shops?” I inquired.

“Let me alone for that. I've been all over the city with
'em,” said he. “One fellow said they didn't run even, and I
don't think they do, very, that's a fact. Another one said they
looked like the fag end of an old stock; and the last one I went
to asked me if I stole them.”

“Well, Mullens, the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb,” I
said, consolingly. “It's June.”

“But it don't apply,” said Mullens. “I'm not shorn. The
trouble is that I've got too much wool.”

This was bright for Mullens, and we both laughed again.

After the laugh had passed, I said: “I think I know of eight
or ten fellows who will relieve you of your surplus stock, and,
as I am one of them, I propose to take a pair of socks and a
pair of mittens now.”

The manner of the man changed immediately. His face
grew animated, and his eyes fairly gleamed through his spectacles.
He jumped to his feet as I spoke of purchasing, and exclaimed:
“Will you? What will you give? Make us an
offer.”

“Oh, you must set your own price,” I said.

“Well, you see they are very good socks, don't you?” said
Mullens. “Now, every stitch in those socks and mittens was
knit upon honor. There isn't a mercenary inch of yarn in 'em.
Take your pick of the mittens. By the way, I haven't shown
you my neck-ties,” and, rushing to his closet, he brought forth
quite an armful of them.

The humble sufferer had become a lively peddler, bent upon
driving the sharpest bargain and selling the most goods possible
to a rare customer. Selecting a pair of socks, a pair of mittens,
and a neck-tie of a somewhat soberer hue than I had been accustomed
to wear, he laid them by themselves, and then, wiping
his forehead and his glasses with a little mop of a handkerchief,
he put on a mildly judicial face, and said:

“Bonnicastle, my dear friend, I've always taken a great deal
of interest in you; and now you bave it in your power to do
me a world of good. Think, just think, Bonnicastle, of the
weary hours that have been spent on these articles of apparel
by those of whom the world is not worthy! Think of the benevolence
that inspired every stitch. Think of the—of the—
thoughts that have run through those devoted minds. Think
of those sisters respectively saying to themselves: `I know not
whom I am laboring for—it may be for Mullens or it may be
for one more worthy,—but for whomsoever it is, it is for one who
will stand up in defense of the truth when I am gone. His feet,
bent upon errands of mercy, will be kept comfortable by these
stockings. His hands, carrying succor to the fallen and consolation

to the afflicted, will be warmed by these mittens.
These neck-ties will surround the neck—the—throat—of one
who will breathe words of peace and good-will.' My dear Bonnicastle,
there is more in these humble articles of apparel than
appears to the carnal eye—much more—incalculably more.
Try to take it in when we come to the matter of price. Try to
take it all in, and then discharge your duty as becomes a man
who has been favored.”

“Look here, Mullens,” said I, “you are working on my feelings,
and the articles are getting so expensive that I can't buy
them.”

“Oh, don't feel that way;” said he, “I only want to have
you get some idea what there is in these things. Why, there's
love, good-will, self-sacrifice, devotion, and woman's tender
heart.”

“Pity there couldn't have been some trowsers,” said I.

Mullens' lip quivered. He was not sure whether I was joking
or not, but he laid his hand appealingly upon my knee, and
then settled back in his chair and wiped his forehead and spectacles
again. Having made up my mind that Mullens had determined
to raise an enormous revenue from his goods, I was
somewhat surprised when he said briskly, “Bonnicastle, what
do you say to a dollar and a half? That's only fifty cents an
article, and the whole stock will bring me only fifteen or twenty
dollars at that price.”

“I'll take them,” said I.

“Good!” exclaimed Mullens, slapping his knee. “Who'll
have the next bowl? Walk up, gentlemen!”

Mullens had evidently officiated in an oyster booth at militia
musters. In his elated state of feeling, the impulse to run into
his old peddler's lingo was irrepressible. I think he felt complimented
by the hearty laugh with which I greeted his cry.

“If I'm going into this business,” said Mullens, “I really
must have some brown paper. Do you suppose, Bonnicastle,
that if you should go to one of the shops, and tell them the
object,—a shop kept by one of our friends, you know,—one

who has the cause at heart—he would give you a package of
brown paper? I'd go myself, but I've been around a good
deal.”

“Wouldn't you rather have me buy some?” I asked.

“Why, no; it doesn't seem to be exactly the thing to pay
out money for brown paper,” responded Mullens.

“I'm not used to begging,” I said.

“Why, it isn't begging, Bonnicastle; it's asking for the cause.”

“You really must excuse me, Mullens.”

“All right,” said he; “here's an old newspaper that will do
for your package. Now don't forget to tell all your friends that
I am ready for 'em. Tell 'em the cause is a good one—that
it really involves the—the welfare of society. And tell 'em
the things are dirt cheap. Don't forget that.”

Mullens had become as cheerful and lively as a cricket; and
while he was doing up my package, I opened the door and
brought in my bundle. As I broke the string and unfolded the
bountiful contents, he paused in a pleased amazement, and
then, leaping forward and embracing me, exclaimed: “Bonnicastle,
you're an angel! What do you suppose that pile is
worth, now, in hard cash?”

“Oh, I don't know; it's worth a good deal to you,” I replied.

“And you really don't feel it at all, do you now? Own up.”

“No,” I answered, “not at all. You are welcome to the
whole pile.”

“Yes, Bonnicastle,” said he, sliding smoothly back from the
peddler into the pious beneficiary, “you've given out of your
abundance, and you have the blessed satisfaction of feeling that
you have done your duty. I don't receive it for myself, but
for the cause. I am a poor, unworthy instrument. Say, Bonnicastle,
if you should see some of these things on others, would
you mind?”

“Not in the least,” I said. “Do you propose to share your
good fortune with your friends?”

“Yes,” said Mullens, “I shall sell these things to them,

very reasonably indeed. They shall have no cause to complain.”

At this moment there was a knock, and Livingston, with a
grave face, walked in with his bundle, and opening it, laid it
upon the table. Mullens sank into his chair, quite overwhelmed.

“Fellows,” said he, “this is too much. I can bear one bundle,
but under two you must excuse me if I seem to totter.”

Another and another followed Livingston into the room, and
deposited their burdens, until the table was literally piled. Mullens
actually began to snivel.

“It's a lark, fellows,” said Mullens, from behind his handkerchief.
“It's a lark: I know it. I see it; but oh, fellows! it's
a blessed lark—a blessed, blessed lark! Larks may be employed
to bring tribute into the storehouse. Larks may be
overruled, and used as means. I know you are making fun of
me, but the cause goes on. If there isn't room on the table,
put them on the floor. They shall all be employed. If I have
ever done you injustice in my thoughts, fellows, you must forgive
me. This wipes out everything; and as I don't see any
boots in your parcels, perhaps you'll be kind enough to remember
that I wear tens, with a low instep. Has the last
man come? Is the cup full? What do you suppose the whole
pile is worth?”

Mullens ran on in this way, muddled by his unexpected good
fortune and his greed, with various pious ejaculations which,
for very reverence of the words he used, my pen refuses to
record.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that he was not making the
most of his opportunities. Springing to his feet, and turning
peddler in an instant, he said: “Fellows, Bonnicastle has
bought a pair of socks, a pair of striped mittens and a neck-tie
from my surplus stock. I've got enough of them to go all
around. What do you say to them at fifty cents apiece?”

“We've been rather expecting,” said Livingston, with a
quiet twinkle in his eye, “that you would make us a present of
these.”

This was a new thought to Mullens, and it sobered him at
once. “Fellows,” said he, “you know my heart; but these
things are a sacred trust. They have been devoted to a cause,
and from that cause I cannot divert them.”

“Oh! of course not,” said Livingston; “I only wanted to
test your faithfulness. You're as sound as a nut.”

The conversation ended in a purchase of the “surplus stock,”
and then, seeing that the boys had not finished their fun, and
fearing that it might run into some unpleasant excesses, Livingston
and I retired.

The next morning our ears were regaled with an account of
the remaining experiences of the evening, but it does not need
to be recorded here. It is sufficient to say that before the
company left his room, Mullens was arrayed from head to foot
with a dress made up from various parcels, and that in that
dress he was obliged to mount his table and make a speech.
He appeared, however, the next morning, clothed in comfortable
garments, which of course were recognized by their former
owners, and formed a subject of merriment among them.
We never saw them, however, upon any others of his set, and
he either chose to cover his good fortune from them by selling
his frippery to the Hebrew dealers in such merchandise, or
they refused to be his companions in wearing garments that
were known in the college.