University of Virginia Library

31. XXXI.
ABNER'S LETTER.

ALTHOUGH Squire Pelt enjoyed the luxury of
getting his rival convicted by a jury, and lodged
in jail for the winter, Mad had achieved a Parthian
revenge. An arrow had pierced Pelt's heart, — an
epistolary shaft from the vindictive beau, barbed with triumphant
taunts, and poisoned with the perfidy of Sophy.

Just as Sophy expected; and she accordingly had prepared
in her defence an intricate web of explanations and excuses,
ingenious, but ineffectual. Mad's letter detailed the circumstances
of the night-ride; which, together with other stinging
statements, overwhelmed the legal mind of Elphaz with proofs,
and caused him, not exactly to break his heart, but to break
the engagement. Widow Pinworth was disconsolate. But
Sophy, when all was over, laughed heartlessly at her mother
for intermeddling; said she was glad of it; that she detested
Pelt, and that she meant to accept the first man now who
offered himself.

The first who offered himself was red-headed Abner Roane,
to Widow Pinworth's infinite disgust.

Meanwhile the Pelt mansion verged towards completion,
with its noble portico and iron fence, a source of lasting heart-ache
to the widow, and of reviving hopes to other mothers of
interesting daughters. But Elphaz, all that winter, was saturnine;
was grim; mistrustful of the sex; and kept both eyes
on his business.

In the beautiful spring days, however, when the birds
choose their mates with song, and the bubble-cheeked frogs
shrill their amatory strains in the marshes, Pelt is reminded
of his blasted hopes. By many things: among others, a most
provoking circumstance; namely, Abner's engagement with
Sophy.

He can't stand that. For some time, indeed, he has treated
the red-headed youth with intolerable contumely; and now,
bursting abruptly into the office this fine April afternoon, and
catching him at a letter, he rushes to seize it.

“Show me that!” he commands, nose white, and eyes
scintillant.

“This — this is a private dokemunt,” says breathless Abner,
putting both hands over it, and looking up scared at
Elphaz.

“Give it here, I say!” — the nasal gristle whitening
more and more under the pressure of rage, like wet sand
which barefoot boys tread upon to make it “lighten.” And
Pelt clutches the Roane collar.

“I — I'd ruther not!” articulates red-head, presenting a
no less curious facial appearance, with his terrified smile, stereotype

edition, not improved. “I'd ruther you'd leg'go my
clo'es fust! you've tore 'em now!” — struggling to remove
the hand from his collar, and turning up a countenance diversified
with flushes and pale streaks.

“If you think,” — Pelt relaxes his clutch; for he has
ripped the lappel a little, and he fears he may be laying himself
liable to damages; but he speaks in his fiercest browbeating
way, — “if you think I rent this office for you to transact
private business in, you're grandly mistaken. Nothing
goes on here that I can't have cognizance of. Now understand
that.”

“I guess I do,” says Abner, beginning to breathe again,
and putting on a certain insolent knowingness of expression
very offensive. “I shall show you this dokemunt just when
I please, and not much sooner, I tell ye!” And he grins
pallidly.

Wonder and wrath possess Elphaz, and wrath is uppermost.

“Young man!” — and with a snaky finger he points to
the door.

“Go?” simpers Abner, with more of the expression Pelt
does not like.

“Start!” roars Elphaz. “Down them stairs, or I'll kick
ye down!”

“All ready!” says Roane coolly. “But mabby you'd
like to see the letter fust.”

Pelt would decidedly; and Abner is reprieved while he

flashes his fiery double vision on the sheet. Wonder and
wrath possess him; and now wonder is uppermost: for the letter,
which he supposed intended for Sophy, is addressed to
Lucy, and commences in this fashion: —

Here the sense of the letter disappears in blots where Abner
put his hands on it before the ink was dry. It takes the lawyer
a minute to recover from the stroke; his features twitching
and working remarkably the while. Then he strides to
the door, and locks it.

“You keep your distance,” ejaculates Roane, rushing to
the window, “or I'll put my head out, and screech murder.”

“Shet that winder!” — Pelt speaks in the dialect of his
boyhood, as he is apt to do when excited. “I ain't a-goin' to

hurt ye,” — drawing back to avoid publicity. “Think I'd
dirty my hands with ye?”

“Yes, you would! you'd be glad to murder me, and keep
your villany secret! But I've wrote another letter, containing
all the facts, and only hesitated to deliver it on your account;
and it's in the hands of a responsible party now; and, jest as
sure as any thing happens to me, it'll be sent to Lucy forthwith
instanter!”

“You're excited, Abner,” says Pelt. “Be calm. Le's
talk it over. We've always been friends, Abner; haven't
we?”

“Friends! And how you've treated me lately! — threatened
jest now to kick me down stairs!”

“This is ungrateful, Abner, — because I happen to have an
irritable temper,” says the conciliatory Pelt, — “after all I've
done for you.”

“Done for me! you've done for me sights! Hain't you
used me like a dog ever since you thought I had a notion
after Sophy? Come!”

“Be calm, be calm!” And Elphaz sits down to show
an example of coolness. “Think I care for Sophy?”

“Wal, you're like the dog in the manger, then, — mad
'cause I want her, though you don't want her yourself. I'd
made up my mind to leave ye. I've stood all I can. But I
ain't goin' to go 'thout exposin' ye, by darn!” With which
mild oath, Abner pulls on his cap.

“Exposing me? exposing me?” Pelt, forgetful that he

is keeping cool, jumps up excitedly; but sits down again, and
pares his nails. “What do you mean by that? Be calm,
be calm, my young friend, and tell me what you mean.”

“You've robbed Lucy and her father; you took that
new house right out of Arlyn's pocket, and burnt his letters
to her, and kep' from her where his address was, so she
couldn't git a letter to him. You see, I know all about it!”

“You're a bigger scoundrel than I thought!” And Pelt
rises rampant, glaring on Abner. “Been prying into my
private affairs? — breaking open my letters, have ye? A
state's prison job, young man; and, if you don't bring up
in a pair of trousers with one blue leg and one red one 'fore
you git through, it's 'cause I'm your friend. I be your friend,
Abner, spite of every thing. I was thinking only yesterday
of taking you into pardnerships, and giving you a chance for
yourself. As for t'other matter, you don't know nothin' about
it. If Arlyn has confided any money to me, he'll find it's
much better invested than as if I'd gi'n it to Lucy after her
disgrace, and had her give it to Guy; as of course she would,
and had him put it into the money-diggings.”

This is a new view of things to Abner, and he scratches his
head over it.

“But who's goin' to live in the new house?” he wants to
know.

“Maybe you will, if you behave yourself,” says the friendly
Elphaz; “if you go into pardnerships with me, make money,
and marry Sophy. I beg of ye, don't be a fool, Abner. You

can't hurt me none, you can only hurt yourself, and make
a miserable fuss, by blabbing. Probably,” adds the crafty
one, “I never shall marry, myself; and if Arlyn don't come
back (as is quite probable), why, then, you may as well have
a little of his money as anybody: for he would certainly
disinherit Lucy, you know; and Sophy's his next heir. You
see it'll all come right. Only be discreet. A home in that
house, my friend, 'll be a good deal preferable to five years
in state's prison; ha, ha!” — patting him significantly on the
shoulder.

Pelt has had sufficient experience with juries to know by
Abner's look that he has closed with a telling argument; and
as feet just now mount the stairs, and the latch is tried, he does
not hesitate to turn the key, and fling open the door.

Enter Guy Bannington.

“Ha! delighted!” says Pelt, with no end of smiles and
flourishes, — light waves of affability, amid which Guy stands
unmoved as a rock.

“Are you at leisure?” he asks, with a glance at Abner.

“Always at leisure to serve my noble friend. Seddown;”
placing a chair. “You know Mr. Roane, my confidential
clerk,” — with a flattering glance at Abner, who fawningly
rubs his hands and wrinkles up his face in consequence.
“Never need hesitate to open your business before him.”

Guy wishes the red-head away, but nevertheless proceeds.

“Squire Pelt, I want some money.”

“Reasonable, extremely reasonable: some folks do,” says
the facetious lawyer.

“And you,” adds Guy, “must help me to it.”

“Any thing in my power — most happy — certainly, my
friend,” jingles the metallic voice. “But how happens it
you — son of a rich and liberal father” —

“My father and I do not agree on certain subjects,”
answers Guy.

“Ah! is it possible? You allude to a certain young lady?
or to spiritualism, maybe? Colonel B. is violent on that subject,
I allow: and, if he suspects you want money for any
object connected with that,” — winking slyly at Abner, — “he
might object; rather guess he would object, on the whole.”

“But I have a little property of my own; a farm, you remember.”

“Ah, yes! the colonel did give you the Jacobs Farm, over
the mountain: I recollect. But have you the deed of it?”

“The deed,” says Guy somewhat anxiously: “isn't it in
your hands?”

“I declare, I believe it is. Locked up in the safe there
now, ain't it, Mr. Roane? It never was made over to you,
I think.”

“Pelt,” — Guy comes at once to the point, — “I want
to raise money on that land, by sale or mortgage. I rely on
you to get me the deed of it, and to negotiate the loan.”

“But wouldn't it be as well to speak to the colonel about
it yourself?” Pelt blandly inquires.

“I prefer to avoid every thing that may lead to a discussion
of unhappy topics with my father. You need not touch

upon them. Say to him simply, that, since the farm is mine,
the title should be transferred; and let me know the result
at once.”

“I'll do so; and no doubt my mission will be successful,”
answers Pelt in the most cordial manner. “Always at your
service, sir; your most obedient, — delighted with the honor,
— good-day.”

Then, as soon as Guy is gone, the lawyer throws himself
upon a chair, rubs his face up and down with both hands
as if washing it thoroughly in waters of glee, and strokes his
foretop back with immense content.

“The upstart! Did you see how confounded independent
he was? But I'll fix him! I've been expecting him here
about that very deed. Oh, I'll play with him as you would
with a trout, Abner, that you've got well hooked!”

Abner, who likewise cherishes a grudge against Guy for
taking Lucy away from him, grins attention while Pelt unfolds
his plan. In haste to put it into execution, the lawyer claps
on his hat, and, just as he is going, gives red-head his hand.
“It's all right between us, Abner?”

Resistless Pelt! credulous, confiding, flattered Abner! —
behold them amicably shaking hands!

“And the letter?” says Elphaz.

Abner strikes a match, and burns the “dockemunt” on the
spot.

“T'other one, — in the hands of the responsible party?”
queries the lawyer.

Abner smilingly takes it from his pocket.

“Ah, you rogue!” laughs Pelt approvingly. “You
haven't been two years in my office for nothing, you sly dog!
You've learnt a thing or two. There's no other letter? and
nobody knows what you know?”

Abner takes his oath of it, and returns the letter to his
pocket.

“No, no! Burn it, Abner.”

“And about the pardnership?” — Roane desires to know,
still holding on to the letter.

“Oh! we'll arrange that. By the way, you need a new
coat. Here — here's twenty dollars, my boy, from the hand
of the best friend you've got in the world!” — earnestly, with
tears in the legal eyes.

Abner is overcome; whether by the tears, or by the “XX,”
is a question. And the “t'other” letter is burned also.
And Pelt, having given red-head's hand a final affecting
squeeze, departs on his mission, with one eye intent on circumventing
Guy, and the other glassily looking to see
how that rascal Roane is to be cut off in his sins, and
silenced.