 | Dukesborough tales |  |
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK.
1. CHAPTER I.
That do converse, and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love.”
Merchant of Venice.
MR. BENJAMIN (but as everybody called him, Uncle Ben)
Pea resided two miles out of Dukesborough. He was a small
farmer — not small in person, but a farmer on a small scale. He
raised a fair crop of corn, a trifle of cotton, great quantities of potatoes,
and some pinders. It was said that in his younger days he used to be
brisk in his business, and to make something by hauling wood to town.
He spent as little as he could and saved as much as he could; but
for a certain purpose he kept as good an establishment as he could.
His little wagon used to be good enough to carry him and the old
woman to town; yet he bought a second-hand gig, and did other things
in proportion. It was extravagant, and he knew it, but he had a
purpose. That purpose was to marry off his daughter Georgiana.
Now, Georgiana had told him for years and years, even before the old
woman died, that if he wanted to marry her off (a thing she cared
nothing about herself), the only way to do that was for the family to go
in a decent way. And now that the old woman had died and her
father had grown old, she had her own way, and that was as decent as
could be afforded, and no more.
Miss Georgiana Pea was heavy — heavy of being married off, and
heavy of body. Her weight for fifteen years at the least had not been
of highest health, which were probably oftener in the latter part of the
Fall than at any other period of the year, people used to guess that
it might be even more; but there was no getting at it at any time,
because she always stoutly refused to be weighed. True, she laced;
but that did not seem to diminish her materially; for what was pressed
down in one region re-appeared in another. She had a magnificent
bust. This bust was her pride, that was evident. Indeed, she as
good as confessed as much to me one day. I knew the family well;
she didn't mind me, I was a very small boy, and she was aware that I
considered that bust a wonderful work of nature. I have often been
amused, since I have grown old and less impressible by such things,
to remember how tremendously magnificent I used to regard the bust
of Georgiana Pea.
Yet she didn't marry. The old gentleman had been so anxious
about it that he had long ago rather given it out in a public way, that
upon her marriage with his consent (she was the only child — Peterson
died when a boy, of measles) he should give up everything, houses,
lands, furniture, and money, and live upon the bounty of his son-in-law.
These several items of property had been often appraised by the
neighbors as accurately as could be done (considering that the exact
amount of money could not be verified), in view of ascertaining for
their own satisfaction what her dowry might be. The appraisement
had gone through many gradations of figures while the bridegroom
delayed his coming. At the period of which I am now telling, there
were those who maintained that Uncle Ben was worth four thousand
dollars; others shook their heads and said thirty-five hundred; while
others yet, who professed to know more about it than anybody else,
they didn't care who it was, insisted that three thousand was the outside.
Many a man, it seemed to me, and some that would have been worth
having, might have been caught by that bust and that prospective
fortune. But they were not; and now, at thirty, or thereabout, she was
evidently of the opinion that even if she had many desires to enter
into the estate of marriage, their chances of gratification were few.
Indeed, Miss Pea was at that stage when she was beginning to speak
at times of the other sex with disgust.
Mr. Jacob Spouter resided in the very heart of Dukesborough, and
kept a hotel. The town being small, his business was small. He was
a small man, but looked bright, capable, and business-like. He dressed
snare. It was for a sign for his hotel. To look at him, you would
have supposed that he kept a good hotel; but he did not. It is surprising,
indeed, to consider how few men there are who do. But this
is a great theme, and entirely independent of what I wish to tell,
except so far as it may relate to the fact that Mr. Spouter had yet
living with him an only child, a daughter, whose name was Angeline.
Miss Angeline, instead of taking after the Spouters, who were short,
took after the Fanigans, who were long. She was a very thin young
lady, almost too thin to look well, and her hair and complexion were
rather sallow. But then that hair curled — every hair curled.
Who has not a weakness? Miss Pea had hers, as we have seen; and
now we shall see, as everybody for years had seen, that Miss Spouter
had hers also. It was an innocent one: it was her curls. In the memory
of man that hair had never been done up; but through all changes of
circumstances and weather it had hung in curls, just as it hung on the
day when this story begins. They had been complimented thousands
of times, and by hundreds of persons; the guests of years had noticed
them, and had uttered and smiled their approbation; and there had
been times when Miss Spouter hoped, in spite of the want of other as
striking charms, and in spite of the universally known fact that her
father had always been insolvent and always would be, that those curls
would eventually entangle the person without whom she felt that she
could never be fully blest. While this person was a man, it was not
any particular individual of the speices. Many a time had she seen
one who, she thought, would answer. She was not very fastidious, but
she positively believed (and this belief made her appear to be anxious)
that in view of all the circumstances of her life, the best thing that she
could do for herself would be to marry. Yet Miss Spouter did not
regard herself as wholly selfish in this wish; for there was something
in her, she thought, which she constantly understood to be telling her
that if she had the opportunity she could make some man extremely
happy.
But though those curls had been so often praised — yea, though
they had been sometimes handled — to such a degree did people's
admiration of them extend, that Miss Spouter, like her contemporary
in the country, was unmarried, and beginning to try to feel as if she
despised the vain and foolish world of man.
These young ladies were friends, and always had been. They were
that she had been born for but one special purpose, and that was to
help the other to get married; for Miss Spouter believed and Miss
Pea knew that marriage was a subject which, without intermission,
occupied the mind of her friend. It was pleasant to hear Miss Pea
extol Miss Spouter's curls; then it was pleasant to hear Miss Spouter,
who was more sentimental and the better talker of the two, praise Miss
Pea's “figger,” by which term she meant only her bust. No one ever
dreamed that it was possible for any jealousy to rise between them;
for Miss Spouter had no figure worth mentioning, and not a hair of
Miss Pea's head could be curled. Not only so, but the fact was, that
in her heart of hearts (so curious a thing is even the most constant
friendship) neither thought much of the other's special accomplishment;
rather, each thought that there was entirely too much of it,
especially Miss Spouter touching the “figger.” If Miss Pea considered
the property qualification in her favor, Miss Spouter did not forget that
she resided right in the very heart of Dukesborough, and that her
father kept a hotel. Now, as long as the world stands, persons of their
condition who live in town will feel a little ahead of those who live in
the country; while the latter, though never exactly knowing why, will
admit that it is so. Miss Pea was generally very much liked by the
neighbors; Miss Spouter had not made a great number of friends.
Probably town airs had something to do in the matter. Miss Pea was
considered the superior character of the two, but neither of them
thought so; Miss Spouter, especially, who knew the meaning of many
more words in the dictionary than her friend, and who had read Alonzo
and Melissa, and the Three Spaniards, until she had the run of them
fully, never dreamed of such a thing.
Miss Spouter was fond of visiting Miss Pea, especially in watermelon
time. Miss Pea valued the friendship of Miss Spouter because
it afforded her frequent opportunities of staying at a hotel, a privilege
which she well knew not many country girls enjoyed. To stay there,
not as a boarder, but as a friend of the family, to eat there and
sleep there, and not to pay for either of these distinctions as other
people did, but to do these things on invitation. Now, while Miss
Pea got much better eating and sleeping at home, yet she could but
consider the former as privileges. She never would forget that once
when there was a show in Dukesborough, given by a ventriloquist
who was also a juggler, she had been at Mr. J. Spouter's, and had been
talk about general matters just as other people did.
But time was waxing old. The bust had about ceased to be
ambitious, and the curls, though wishful yet, were falling into the habit
of giving only despondent shakes.
2. CHAPTER II.
Miss Spouter sat in the hotel parlor; it was on the first floor and
opened upon the street. In it were two wooden rocking-chairs, six
split-bottoms, and a half-round. I shall not undertake to describe the
window-curtains. She was pensive and silent; the still summer
evening disposed her to meditation. She sat silent and pensive, but
not gloomy. Looking out from the window, she espied on the further
side of the square, Miss Pea, who was in the act of turning towards
her. Here she came, in yellow calico and a green calash. As she
walked, her arms were crossed peacefully upon her chest.
“Howdye, stranger!” saluted Miss Spouter. They had not met in
a fortnight.
“Stranger yourself,” answered Miss Pea, with a smile and a sigh.
They embraced; the curls fell upon the bust and the bust fostered
the curls, as only long tried friends can fall upon and foster. Miss
Pea came to stay all night; never had they slept in the same house
without sleeping together.
“Well, Georgy,” Miss Spouter remarked, sweetly, but almost invidiously,
as they were getting into bed, “figger is figger.”
“It's no sich a thing,” answered Miss Pea, with firm self-denial;
“it's curls, you know it's curls.”
“No, George, its figger.”
“Angeline Spouter, you know it aint; it's curls, and you know it's
curls.”
They blew out the candle, and for a short time continued this
friendly discussion; but soon Miss Pea got the best of it, as usual,
and Miss Spouter, by silence and other signs, admitted that it was
curls.
“We've been sleeping a long time together, George.”
“We have that.”
“Ten years.”
“Yes, fifteen of 'em.”
“Gracious me! fifteen?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Well, but I was but a child then.”
Miss Pea coughed. She was the elder by exactly six months.
“Did we think ten years ago that you would now be a Pea and I a
Spouter?”
“I didn't think much about myself, but I had no idea you would.”
“Yet so it is; you with your figger and yet a Pea.”
“And what is worse, you with your curls and yet a Spouter.”
“No, not worse. You ought to have been married years ago,
Georgiana Pea.”
“If I had had your curls and had wanted to marry, I should a been
married and forgot it.”
“No, George, I never had the requisite figger.”
“Angeline Spouter, do hush.”
“Suppose we had married, George?”
“Well.”
“I think I could have made my husband love me, as few men have
ever loved, be they whomsoever they might.”
“Ah! everybody knows that.”
“No, alas! none but thee, George.”
“Yes, but I know better.”
Miss Spouter again gave it up.
Miss Pea would fain have gone to sleep. Her hour for that purpose
had come. But there was yet no slumber upon the eyelids of Miss
Spouter. She talked away. She made hypothetical cases; supposing
for instance they were married. Miss Spouter ventured to look far into
such a possible future, and made some speculations upon the best and
properest ways of bringing up families. It appeared during the conversation
that Miss Spouter, as a general thing, liked girls in families
better than boys, while Miss Pea's preference for boys was bold and
decided. She admitted Miss Pea's argument to be true, that girls are
prettier, especially if they have curls; but, La me! they are such a
trouble! Besides, boys were bad. She must admit that too. But
then they could be whipped and made to mind.
“Oh, you cruel creature!” right there exclaimed the merciful Miss
Spouter.
“No, Angeline,” remonstrated her companion, “no, I am not cruel;
but I believe in makin children mind and behave theirselves.” Miss
Pea was as firm as a rock.
“So do I,” replied Miss Spouter; “but I can't understand how a
woman, a good woman, and a kind woman, and an affectionate woman,
and a woman that had — La, bless me! how could such a woman beat
her own family to death, when in the wide, wide world there was none
others to stand by them in the solemn hour, and —”
“No! no! no!” interposed Miss Pea, “I don't mean that. What I
do mean — La! Angeline Spouter, what are you and me a talkin about?
It's redickerlous. I'm done.”
Miss Pea laughed outright. But Miss Spouter sighed, and remarked
that it wasn't in people to say neither what was to be, nor what wasn't
to be.
“George, I do believe you are going to sleep.”
Miss Pea declared that she wasn't, and like all persons of her size,
she thought she was telling the truth. Miss Spouter had one or two
other remarks which she always made on such occasions, and which
she wanted to make now.
“Georgiana Pea, do you or do you not ever expect to marry? I
ask you candidly.”
“No, Angeline, I don't. I may have had thoughts, I may have had
expectations; pap looks as if he would go distracted if I don't marry;
but to tell you the truth, I have about come to the conclusion that
there's more marries now than ever does well. Pap declares that he
means to marry me off to somebody before he dies. He thinks that I
couldn't take care of myself if he was to die, and that he takes care
of me now himself. I think I'm the one that takes care of him, and I
think I could take as good care of myself then as I do now. He says
I shall marry though, and I'm waitin to see how it'll be. But I tell
you, Angeline Spouter, that there's more marries now than ever does
well.”
“And — well,” answered Miss Spouter, “and so have I concluded
about it. It is the honest expression of the genuine sentiments of my
innermost heart. What is man? A deceitful, vain and foolish creature,
who will to-day talk his honey words and praise a girl's curls, and to-morrow
What is your opinion of man, George? What now is your opinion of
Tom Dyson, who used to melt before the sight of you like summer
clouds ere the sun had set?”
“I think of Tom Dyson like I think of Barney Bolton who used to
praise your curls just like they were so much gold, and like I think
of all of 'em, and that's about as much as I think of an old dead pine
tree or post-oak.”
Miss Pea had not read many books like Miss Spouter, and must
necessarily, therefore, borrow her comparisons from objects familiar to
her country life. Miss Spouter noticed the difference, but refrained
from remarking on it.
“And yet, Georgiana, there is something in me; I feel it. It tells
me that I could have made Barney Bolton much happier than Malinda
Jones has. Barney Bolton is not happy, Georgiana Pea.”
Miss Pea only coughed.
“Yes, indeed! Alas! I see it in his eye; I see it in his walk; I see
it in his every action. The image of Angeline Spouter is in his breast,
and it will stay there forever.”
Miss Pea was always perfectly silent, and endeavored to feel solemn
when this last speech was said.
“If you were to marry, George, I should be the lonesomest creature
in the wide, wide world.”
“Ah, well! when I marry, which is never going to be the case (that
is exceptin pap do go distracted and hunt me up a good chance),
you'll be married and forgot it, and that little curly-headed girl
will be readin, ritin and cypherin.” Miss Pea yawned and laughed
slightly.
“Never, never! But won't you let your little boy come sometimes
in a passing hour to see a lonesome girl, who once was your friend,
but now, alas! abandoned?”
“Angeline Spouter, do hush.”
“George, it is very warm to-night. Is it late?”
“I should — think — it was,” answered Miss Pea, and snored.
Miss Spouter lay for some time awake, but silent. She then lifted
the curtain from the window, through which the moon, high in heaven,
shone upon the bed, withdrew from her cap five or six curls, extended
them upon her snowy breast, smiled dismally, put them up again, looked
went to sleep.
3. CHAPTER III.
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us — O, and is all forgot?”
Midsummer-Night's Dream.
But friendship, like other good things, has enemies. One of the most
dangerous of these is a third person. These beings are among the most
inconvenient and troublesome upon earth. Not often do confidential
conversations take place in a company of three, especially conversations
appertaining to friendship or love. When sentiment, hot from
the heart, has to move in triangles, it must often meet with hindrances
and cool itself before it has reached its destination. As in mathematics,
between two points, so in social life between two hearts, the
shortest way is a straight line. A third person makes a divergence
and a delay. Third persons have done more to separate very friends
and lovers than all the world besides. They had gotten between
other persons before, and now one of them had come to get between
Miss Spouter and Miss Pea.
Adiel Slack had left his native Massachusetts, and from going to
and fro upon the earth, came in an evil day and put up at the inn of
Jacob Spouter. He was tall, deep-voiced, big-footed, and the most
deliberate-looking man that had ever been in Dukesborough. He was
one of those imperturbable Yankees that could fool you when you were
watching him just as well as when you were not. When he said that
he was twenty-eight his last birth-day, his fresh-looking hair, his unwrinkled
and unblushing cheek, and his entire freedom from all signs
of wear and care, made one believe that it must be so. If he had said
that he was forty-five, the gravity of his countenance, the deliberation
of his gait, and the deep worldly wisdom of his eye would have made
one believe that he spoke truly.
The mere arrival of such a person in that small community must
necessarily create some stir. He was decidedly the most remarkable
of all the passengers who came by that morning's stage. While they
public, he took his time. The stage went away and left him at the
table eating his fifth biscuit, while Mrs. Spouter's eyes were fixed upon
him with that steadfast look with which she was wont to regard all
persons who ate at her table more than she thought was fair. He
took another biscuit, looked about for more butter, and attempted to
open a conversation with that lady; but she was not in the mood to be
communicative, so he set to the work of studying her. He made her
out to be a woman of a serious turn of mind, less attentive to dress
than her husband, but at the same time aspiring, and possibly with
propriety and with success, to be the head of the family. After breakfast,
he stood about, sat about, picked his teeth (“with a ivory lancet,
blamed if it weren't,” Mr. Spouter said), then took his hat and strolled
about the village all the forenoon. He went into both the stores, got
acquainted with the doctor, and the blacksmith, and the shoemaker,
found and bargained for the rent of a room, and at dinner announced
himself a citizen of Georgia and a merchant of Dukesborough. In
less than a week a small stock of goods had arrived, and were neatly
arranged in the room, over the door of which hung a sign-board, painted
by himself, which made Mr. Boggs and Messrs. Bland & Jones wish
either that they had never had sign-boards, or that Adiel Slack, dry-goods
merchant, had never come there.
Being a single man, Mr. Slack boarded at the hotel of J. Spouter.
Now, no sooner was it settled that he was to become a citizen, than
Miss Spouter, according to ancient usage in such cases, felt herself to
be yielding to the insidious influences of yet another love. Who
knew, she thought, that the fond dream of her life was not destined
now to become a blissful realisation? The fact that Mr. Slack had
come from afar, made her sentimental soul only the more hopeful.
How this was so she could not tell; but it was so, and the good girl
began at once to bestow the most assiduous cultivation upon every
charm which she thought she possessed. Mr. Slack soon began to be
treated with more consideration than any of the boarders. He had
within a week moved from Mr. Spouter's end of the table up to Mrs.
Spouter's, and become, as it were, that lady's left bower, Miss Angeline
being, of course, her right. The hot biscuit were always handed first
to him, and if anybody got a hot waffle, it was he. People used to
look up towards Mrs. Spouter and get occasional glimpses of little plates
of fresh butter and preserves that tried to hide behind the castors or
because, among other things, he was the more sure of getting another
piece, if the pie, as it sometimes would happen, in spite of precaution,
should not go around the second time.
The servants did not like him because he never gave them a kind
word nor a cent of money. But let any one of them omit to hand the
best things to him first. Oh, the partiality that was shown as plain as
day to that man! Everybody saw it, and spoke of it among confidential
friends. Some said it was a sin; some said it was a shame; and some
went so far as to say it was both.
Among the boarders was one whom we have seen before. For Mr.
Bill Williams had now been installed in his office, and had already
begun to take new responsibilities. When this conduct towards the
new-comer had become notorious, he was heard by many persons even
to swear that he'd “be dinged ef he had had a hot waffle, even when
thar was waffles, sense that dadblasted Yankee had moved up to old
Miss Spouter's eend. As for the second piece of pie, he had done
gin out ever hearin of the like any more, thro'out the ages of a sorrowful
and ontimely world.” He spoke with feeling, it is true; but he was
a clerk in Mr. Bland's store, and he thought that if he could not take
some responsibility, the question was who could. “Consequenches
mout be consequenches,” said Mr. Bill, “be they now or at some futer
day. I takes the responsibility to say that the case ar a onfair, and
a imposition on the boarders and on the transhent people, and it war
also a shame on Dukesborough, and also —” Mr. Bill shook his
head for the conclusion.
But in spite of everybody and everything, Mr. Slack kept his place.
He soon discovered Miss Spouter's weakness and her passion. Flattering
as it might be to find himself the favored object of her pursuit,
yet the reflection that her only capital was a head of curls which in
time would fade, caused him to determine, after making his calculations,
that no profit was to be netted in being caught. It was not to be overlooked,
however, that there would be, if not an entire saving of expense,
at least a postponement of its payment in keeping his thoughts to
himself and in seeming to be drawing nearer and nearer the vortex
which was ready to swallow him up. The terms of board at Mr.
Spouter's included monthly payments. These did not suit calculations
which were made upon the principle of collecting his own dues at once
and postponing his payments as long as possible, and if possible, to
needs, that affectionate father would not be the man to run the risk of
driving off his daughter's suitor by worrying him with dues for a little
item of board, which might all come back again into the family. In
addition to this, he was not insensible to the advantage of maintaining
his seat at the dinner table, where biscuits, waffles and pies, when they
came at all, were wont to make their first appearance. These several
matters, being actual money to him, were not to be overlooked by a
man who did nothing without deliberation. After deliberating, therefore,
he determined to so conduct himself before the Spouters as to
create the hope that the time would come when he would solicit the
hand of her who long had been willing to bestow it upon somebody.
But he was careful to keep his own advances and his meetings of advances
without the pale of such contingencies as he had learned were
accustomed in the South to follow breaches of marriage contracts.
If there was anything that Mr. Slack was afraid of, it was a cane, or
perhaps a cowhide. He maintained his place at the table, therefore,
and took what it afforded in the manner of a man who was very near to
being one of the family. He chatted in a very familiar manner with Mrs.
Spouter, and sympathised with her and Mr. Spouter's complaints of
the high price of everything except board. He lounged in the parlor,
where he told to Miss Angeline touching stories of his boyhood's home.
He bestowed due admiration upon those curls which, every time he
saw them, reminded him of a portrait of his mother (now a saint in
heaven), taken when she was a girl eighteen years old. Then he spoke
feelingly of how he had been a wanderer, and how he began to think
it was time he had settled himself for good; how he had never felt
exactly ready for that until since he had come to Dukesborough; and
how — and how — and how — embarrassment would prevent him
from saying more. But whenever he got to this point, and Miss Angeline's
heart would be about to burst, and she would be getting ready
to cast herself upon his faithful bosom, he would change abruptly,
become frightened, and go away and stay away for a week.
At their first meeting at the breakfast table after such scenes, Miss
Spouter would appear quite conscious, hold herself yet straighter, and
endeavor to show that she had spirit. But before she had carried it
far, she would conclude to stop where she was, go back and begin
again.
4. CHAPTER IV.
But while these things were going on among the Spouters, what
had become of the Peas? Whoever supposes that Miss Georgiana
was buried in the country dead or alive, is simply mistaken. When
she heard that there was a new store in town she wanted to see it;
and when Uncle Ben heard that it was kept by a bachelor, he was
determined that he should see his daughter; for as he grew older, his
anxiety became more intense for Georgiana to find somebody, as he
expressed it, “to take keer of her when my head gits cold.” He
begged her several times to go before she was ready.
“Georgy, put on your yaller calliker, and go long.”
“Pap, do wait till I get ready. I do believe you will go distracted.”
Georgiana waited until she got ready, and when she did get ready
she went. Her plan was to go and spend the night with Miss
Spouter, and in company with her visit the new store the next morning.
Some persons believe in presentiments, and some do not. I hardly
know what to think of such things, and have never yet made up my
mind whether they are reliable or not. Sometimes they seem to foreshadow
coming events, and sometimes they are clearly at fault. I have
occasionally had dreams, and subsequent events were in such exact
sequence with them that I have been inclined to accord to them much
of the importance that by some persons it is maintained they have.
Then again, the dreams I have had (for I have always been a dreamer)
have been so entirely unreasonable, nay, absurd, and even ridiculous,
as to be impossible of fulfilment. For instance, I have more than once
dreamed that I was a woman; and I have since been much amused by
the recollection of some of the strange things that I did and said while
in that estate. I do not consider this an opportune place to mention
them, even if they were worthy of mention on any occasion, and I
allude to them for the purpose of saying that after such dreams I have
been disposed to reject the whole of the theory of dreams.
But all this is neither here nor there. The divergence from my
story, though natural, cannot with propriety be farther extended; and
I will return at once to my two heroines, in whose deportment will be
found the reason why such divergence was made.
No sooner had Miss Spouter determined fully in her mind that she
would catch Mr. Slack if she could, than she was conscious of a
was destined to be the greatest, if not the only barrier between her
and the object of her pursuit. She, Miss Spouter, had seen him first,
she thought. She had, as it were, found him, and when George was
not even looking for any such property. George did not have even a
shadow of the remotest claim to him. It was wrong and unkind in
George to interfere. She, Miss Spouter, wouldn't have treated her so.
Now all this was before Miss Pea had ever laid eyes on Mr. Slack,
and Miss Spouter knew it. That made no difference, she said to
herself. If anything, it made it worse. She was hurt, and she could
not help it.
Miss Pea might have had a presentiment of this state of things, and
she might not. But at all events, when she went upon her visit she
carried a bucket of butter as a present to Mrs. Spouter. It was just
before supper-time, and consequently too late for her to return that
evening. If it had not been, as she afterwards declared upon her
word and honor, she would have done so. The Spouters were as cold
as ice. Not even the bucket of butter could warm Mrs. Spouter a
single degree. Strange conduct for her! Miss Angeline at first
thought that she would not go in to the supper table. But then that
would be too plain, and upon reflection she thought she preferred to
be there.
Miss Pea and Mr. Slack, of course, had to be introduced. He
found her disposed to be chatty. Miss Spouter looked very grave,
and raised her pocket handkerchief to her mouth as an occasional
provincialism fell from the lips of her country visitress, while her dear
mother, taking the cue, would glance slyly at Mr. Slack and snicker.
“This is oncommon good butter, Mrs. Spouter,” he remarked to the
lady of the house; and oh, the quantities of butter that man did consume!
Now, it was from Miss Pea's bucket; they did not like to confess it,
but they had it to do.
“Want' know! Wal, Miss Pea's mother must be a noble housekeeper.”
Mrs. Pea had been dead several years.
“Dew tell! You, then?”
Miss Georgiana would have told a lie if she had not acknowledged
that it was.
Mr. Slack bestowed a look of intense admiration upon her, which
angry.
After supper the gentleman followed the ladies into the parlor.
Miss Spouter was pensive, and complained of headache. Miss Pea
did not believe she had it, and therefore she spoke freely of her
father's plantation, of what he was to her and she to him, and of how
he was always urging her to get married, a thing which she had made
up her mind never to do. When they retired for the night, Miss
Spouter being no better, but rather worse, they did what they had never
done in their lives before, whenever there had been an opportunity of
doing differently — they slept apart. This was capping the climax, and
Miss Pea went home the next morning, asking herself many times on
the way if friendship was anything but a name.
It seemed to be a sad thing that these young ladies should part.
Hand in hand they had traveled the broad road of life, and never
jostled each other when men were plentiful. But these animals had
broken from them like so many wild cattle, some dodging and darting
between them, some taking to by-paths, and some wildly leaping over
precipices, until now they were drawing nigh to the road of young
womanhood, and there was but one left for them both. If they could
have divided him it might have been well; but he was indivisible.
The fact is, Mr. Slack ought never to have come there, or he ought to
have brought his twin-brother with him.
“Wal, where's your friend?” he inquired at breakfast.
“She's gone to look after what she calls her father's plantation, I
reckon,” answered Mrs. Spouter, sharply.
“Be n't her father got no plantation, then?”
“He's got a little bit of two hundred acres of tolerble poor land.
That's all the plantation he's got.”
“Oh, Ma!” interceded Miss Angeline, “Georgiana is a very good
girl.”
“She may be good, but if you call her a girl I don't know what you
would call them that's fifteen or twenty years younger; and if she is
young that wouldn't make her daddy rich.”
“Oh, no! But, oh, Ma!” Miss Spouter persisted in a general way,
for she seemed to think that this was all that could be said in her
favor. Upon reflection she asked Mr. Slack if he did not think Miss
Pea had a good figger. Then she took a very small sip of water, wiped
her mouth carefully and coughed slightly.
“Wal, I — ah,” began Mr. Slack, but Ma laughed so immoderately
that he laughed too, and did not finish giving his opinion in words.
Alas, for Miss Pea! Big as she was, she was cut all to pieces and
salted away by Mrs. Spouter, while Miss Angeline could only look a
little reproachfully now and then, and say “Oh, Ma!”
“Two hundred acres,” mused Mr. Slack on his bed that night. “In
Maas'chewsetts that is a considerable farm; other property in proportion.
What would it bring in ready money if the old man (I cal'late
he's old) should take a notion tew give it up neow? Already some
money. He brought me a watermelon this morning, and asked me to
go out and see them all. I'm a going. Quick work, Adiel, quick
work.”
Mr. Slack was a hard man to catch; it had been tried before and
had failed. Nevertheless, Mrs. Spouter and Miss Spouter, about six
weeks later, actually caught him in the act of coming away from Mr.
Pea's. What made it worse, he had a bunch of pinks in his hand.
The next time Miss Spouter met Miss Pea she did not speak to her.
She only shook her curls and said to herself in words which were
audible, “Such is life!” Georgiana folded her hands over her bosom
and asked, if friendship was anything but a name, what was it?
But the man maintained his place at the table, to which he marched
with unusual confidence and good humor at the first meal after his
detection; what is more, the little plates maintained their places. In
spite of all his goings to the Peas and his returning with bunches of
pinks in his hands, his deportment in any other respect had not, at
least for the worst, changed. Indeed, he looked oftener and more
fondly at the curls. Yes, thought Miss Spouter, he may marry her,
but the image of Angeline Spouter is in his breast, and it will stay
there forever. But for her entreaties her Ma would have removed the
little plates and sent him back to the other end of the table, where he
came from.
“I'm jest the woman to do it,” she said. “That long-legged Yankee
has eat more than his worth in butter alone. The house'll break or
be eat up, it makes no difference which, and nary cent of money has
he paid yit. Settle hisself, indeed! He'll never settle his nasty self
except whar thar's money, or everlastin butter, and he not to pay for
it neither. And I'll move them plates to-morrow mornin. If I don't
you may —”
“Oh, Ma! he DON'T love her, I know he don't. Let them stay a
while longer.”
And the next morning the little plates would come in, take their
places and look as cheerful as if nothing had happened.
Mr. Slack did a cash business. Time rolled on; the faster it rolled
the cheaper he sold. His stock dwindled, and everybody asked why
it was not being replenished. It began to be rumored that he was
going to buy a plantation and settle himself. The rumor was traced
to Uncle Ben Pea. Miss Georgiana was asked about it and became
confused.
“She jest as well a give it up,” said Mr. Bill Williams, at Mr.
Spouter's table. Mr. Bill was gradually edging up towards “quality
eend,” as he termed the head. “In fac, she did give it up farly. I
axed her a plain question; she couldn't say nothin, and she didn't.
She merrily hung her head upon her bres, and she seemed monsous
comfortubble. She ar evidently scogitatin on the blessed joys of a
futur state.”
The next morning the little plates were absent, and Mr. Slack,
without seeming to notice that Mr. Bill Williams had usurped his
place, took his seat by Mr. Spouter and talked with him in the manner
of a man who had been on a journey of some weeks and had now
returned. That gentleman did not seem to be at all congratulatory on
the occasion, but immediately after breakfast brought within view of
his guest an account for three months' board. The latter looked over
it carefully, remarked that he thought it was correct, begged that it
might be considered as cash, and walked away. This was an eventful
day to Mr. Slack, for besides the aforementioned incident, he sold out
the remainder of his stock to Messrs. Bland & Jones, went without his
dinner, borrowed a gig from the Justice of the Peace, took him along
with him to Mr. Pea's, where, at three o'clock P. M. he was married to
Miss Georgiana.
“Wretched creature!” exclaimed Angelina, the forsaken, when her
mother informed her of the news at night. At first she thought she
would faint; but she did not. She retired to her room, undressed,
looked at her curls in the glass even longer than was her wont, put
them away tenderly, got into bed, apostrophised property and the other
sordid things of this world, and went to sleep with this thought upon
her mind: “Georgiana Pea may be by his side; but the image of
Angeline Spouter is in his breast, and it will stay there forever.”
5. CHAPTER V.
“Are we not one? are we not joined by Heaven?”
Fair Penitent.
Georgiana was married, and her father was glad of it. It was
what he had wanted long to see. The danger of going distracted
was over. He was happy; indeed, jubilant. For the truth is, he had
made the match. He and Mr. Slack had persuaded and begged, and
made such fair promises, that she had been won rather against her
judgment. Uncle Ben at one time would have preferred a Southern
man; but all of that class had shown such a want of sense to appreciate
his Georgy that he persuaded himself that she had made a narrow escape
in not marrying one of them. Then Mr. Slack had come from such
an immense distance, and knew so much, and talked so much, that
Uncle Ben, as he admitted, was actually proud of him. He maintained
upon the day of the marriage that Mas-sa-chu-setts was the biggest
word in the English language. But Georgiana, who was as honest and
as truthful a woman as was in the world, insisted that her “Pap” went
too far, or rather that he did not go far enough, and that Con-stan-tí-no-ple
was a bigger. Uncle Ben didn't like to have to give it up; but when he
found out from Mr. Slack that the place bearing that name was not in
this country, and not even in America, he and Mr. Slack together got
Georgy so badly, and wound her up so completely that — oh, how they
all did laugh and go on! The truth is that Uncle Ben was rapidly
lapsing into a state where he could scarcely be considered faithful to
his native section.
Yet in spite of all this, his son-in-law had some ways of doing and
talking that he did not quite understand; but he trusted that they
would wear off. Georgy now had a husband to take care of her when
his head got cold; by which he meant to signify the time when he
should be a dead man. She did not seem to be perfectly happy, but,
on the contrary, somewhat ill at ease. But then she wasn't any young
thing to let getting married run her raving distracted. He liked Mr.
Slack upon the whole; he suited him well enough, and that is what
parents generally care most for. He was a business man, that's what
he was. He talked upon business even on the afternoon of his marriage,
and renewed the subject after supper and the next morning.
honeymoon had shone out and gone down long ago. It did not look
exactly right; but now that Mr. Slack was a married man, he was for
making something. If he owned the farm, he should do this thing and that
thing; sell this piece of property and convert it into cash; in short, he
should sell out the whole concern and go where land was cheaper and
better. If it were left to him, he should turn it over so that in twelve
months it should be worth at least twice as much as it was now. It was
very clear to Uncle Ben that his son-in-law was a business man. Still
he did not make out the title-deeds. Notwithstanding his hints to that
effect heretofore, he had never entertained the slightest notion of such
a thing. When Mr. Slack persisted in saying what he should do if he
were the owner, the old gentleman took occasion to say, but in a somewhat
jocose way, that he and Georgy would have to wait for that until
his head got cold; which, he said by way of consoling for the disappointment,
wouldn't be much longer. Mr. Slack seemed to be somewhat
hurt, but he merely remarked that he had a plenty to live on, and
that all he wanted with property was for Georgiana to enjoy it. He
had money enough to buy a tract of land adjoining Mr. Pea's, and two
or three “fellows.” If Georgiana had a good house-woman it would save
her from a good deal of work which now, since she was his wife, he
would rather she didn't have to do; but — ah — he supposed he should
have to wait for that.
Yes, but he needn't do any such thing, Mr. Pea stoutly maintained.
Those being Mr. Slack's intentions, the 'oman should be bought. The
money was there in that side-board drawer whenever they found one
to suit them. He should buy the 'oman himself. The son-in-law's
countenance brightened a little. He might have to go to Augusta in
a few days; the likeliest gangs were there generally; and it might suit
just as well to take the money along with him and buy the woman
there. Georgiana didn't say anything; but, La me! what did she know
about business?
Mr. Slack sent into the village every day for the mail, for Dukesborough
being immediately on the great line of travel, had its daily
mail. He had been married just two days, when one morning a letter
was brought to him which made him turn a little pale. Upon his
father-in-law's inquiry from whence it came, he answered after a
moment's hesitation that it was from a man who owed him some
money, and who had written to say that if he would meet him the next
note. A hundred dollars, indeed! The rascal had promised to pay
half the note, and now as he was about settling himself he was to be
put off with a hundred dollars! He had a good mind not to go, and
would not but for the importance of having the note renewed. But
could he get there in time? How was that, Mr. Pea? Why, it was
easy enough; the stage would pass in a couple of hours, and as it
travelled all night, he could reach Augusta by nine o'clock the next
morning. Mr. Slack hesitated. He was loth to go so soon after being
married; but as he had expected to go in a few days anyhow, he
guessed he had as well go on at once, especially as negroes seemed
to be rising in price, and it was important to get the woman as soon as
possible. Certainly; business was business, if people were married.
Mr. Slack ought to go at once; he should, if it was him.
Uncle Ben took out the money, and Georgiana ordered lunch. Mr.
Slack had so often complained of the old gentleman's time-piece that
the latter, upon his entreaties to be allowed to take it with him for
repairs (at no expense to the owner, of course), consented. The man
of business then went to packing his trunk and satchel. Although he
was to stay but three days at furthest, yet, not knowing but that he
might need them, he packed in all his clothes, looking about all over
the house to be sure that he had not mislaid anything.
It was a nice lunch. It ought to have been, for it took a long time
in getting ready. Mr. Slack was not sure that he was going to get his
supper, and he therefore determined to put away enough to last him to
the end of his journey. He had barely finished when the servant, who
had been stationed to watch for the stage, announced that it was
coming. He bade both an affectionate adieu, looked into the stage to
see if there was any person in it whom he knew, didn't seem to be
disappointed that there was not, hopped in, and off he went.
Far from pining on account of the absence of her mate, Georgiana,
sensible woman that she was, went about her work as cheerfully as if
nothing had happened. She had been so taken up with Mr. Slack that
several small domestic matters needed to be put to rights again, and
she seemed to be even glad of the opportunity to look after them.
She actually sang at her work; she was a good singer, too. The
Peas always had been: I knew the family well. Georgiana wasn't
going to fret herself to death; so she resumed her old tasks and
habits, moved things back to their old places, and in every respect
did as if she had forgotten that she had ever been married.
Uncle Ben was glad to see her in such gay spirits. He knew what
it was all for, and he laughed inwardly and became gay himself. It
was that nigger 'oman. The old man counted the days and nights.
As much as he wanted to see Mr. Slack, he wanted yet more to see
his watch; without it he felt like a man without a newly-amputated
leg; but he would not allow it to trouble him very much. He
talked a great deal, especially at meal times, about his Georgy's prospects,
joked her about many things, talked of the prospects again, and
what he and Mr. Slack were going to do to make her the happiest
woman in the world. Georgiana never suggested any change of
their plans, and looked as if she intended to be but clay in their
hands.
Three days passed. Mr. Slack's very longest time was out. The
stage hove in view; Mr. Pea was at his gate; his hat was in his hand.
“Good mornin, Uncle Ben,” said the driver, and was passing on.
“Hello! hello, Thompson!” shouted the old man. Thompson drew
up.
“Haint you got Mr. Slack aboard?”
“No, Sir!”
“Haint you got a nigger 'oman?”
“No, Sir.”
“Whar's Mr. Slack?”
“I don't know.”
“Haint you seed him?”
“No, Sir.”
“Haint you heern of him?”
“No, Sir.”
“Why, what upon yearth does it mean?”
“Mr. Slack didn't go to nary tavern, but got off at a privit 'ouse way
up town. I haint seed him nor heern from his sence. Was he to get
back to-night?”
“Why, yes, certain and shore, without fail.”
“Well, he aint here, certin. Good evenin.”
“He haint come, Georgy,” said Uncle Ben as he went into the
house.
“Hasn't he?”
“Why, no, he haint.”
“Well, we must try and wait till he does come.”
Uncle Ben was too much occupied with his own disappointment to
bed-time; the daughter went to her room: the father sat up at least
half an hour longer than usual. He was disappointed, certain and
sure. When people told people they were coming at a certain time,
people wanted 'em to come; especially when they had people's watches.
Oh, how he had missed it! If he had missed it by day, he had missed
it as much by night. It used to hang by a nail over his bed, and he
longed for the gentle lullaby of its tickings. He had to go to bed, of
course, but he lay awake another half hour. A dreadful thought came:
What if Mr. Slack, after all, was an IMPOSTERER! Oh, he couldn't
bear it! So he turned over and went to sleep; but it wouldn't stay
behind, it crawled over and came close to him in his sleep, and he
dreamed that he was the owner of a jeweller's shop, and that while he
had no power to move, thieves were breaking through and stealing.
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Uncle Ben stood at
his gate. He had a notion that Mr. Slack was coming in a private
conveyance. Sure enough, yonder came a gig with a man in it, and a
horse behind with something on the horse. Uncle Ben's eyes were
dim, and he couldn't make it out; but he hoped and believed that it was
a nigger 'oman. Vain hope and vain belief! The gig carried Mr.
Triplet, the sheriff, and the horse bore Mr. Pucket, a young lawyer
from town. Uncle Ben had no business with them; so he bade
them a good-morning as they came up, and again turned his eyes
up the road. But the gentlemen stopped and inquired if Mr. Slack
was at home. No, but Mr. Pea looked for him every instant. He
had been gone to Augusty three days, and was to a been back last
night, but he didn't.
Mr. Triplet looked upon Mr. Pucket and smiled. We must observe
that a new election had come on, and Mr. Triplet had beaten Mr.
Sanks. Mr. Pucket looked upon Mr. Triplet, but did not smile.
“You must follow him.”
“Them must some foller him that kin run faster than I kin,”
answered Mr. Triplet.
“Foller who?” asked Mr. Pea.
“Mr. Slack.”
“Why, he'll be here to-night. Or I'll be bound he's in a private
conveyance, and'll be here this mornin. In cose he's comin back,
becase he's got four hundred dollars of my money to buy a nigger
oman with, and my watch besides. In cose he's coming back.”
Mr. Triplet looked upon Mr. Pea and smiled compassionately. Mr.
Pea looked upon Mr. Triplet and frowned threateningly.
“What's the matter, Jim Triplet?”
“The matter ar, that you won't see your four hundred dollars agin,
nor your watch, nor the gentleman what carried 'em off.”
“Why, what upon yearth is you talkin about?”
“I ar talkin about the business of my office; which ar to arress Mr.
Adiel Slack, or Mr. Elishay Lovejoy, or Mr. Ephraim Hamlin, or
what mout be the name of the gentleman that carried off your four
hundred dollars and your watch.”
“Don't kick before you're spurred, Triplet; becase nobody aint
accused him of takin the money and watch — leastways of stealin it.
Mr. Slack is a honest man and my son-in-law; and I tell you he'll be
back to-night, and I look for him every minnit of the day.”
“So much the better for us if he do come. I has not come to arress
him for taking of the money and the watch, which is misdemeanors
that I didn't know tell now. But he is charge of obtainin credit by
false pretensions, of stealin divers money, of tradin with niggers, and
finually, with marryin three wimming, and not waitin for nary one of
'em to die fust.”
“Oh, Lordy!” exclaimed Mr. Pea. He then approached the sheriff,
and in a tone which invited candor and confidence, and even hinted
at gratitude, said, “Jeems Triplet, I voted for you: you know I did;
I always has. Ar what you say a fac?”
“I know you did, Uncle Ben, and I tell you the plain truth — it ar a
fac. Thay aint no doubt about it. Mr. Pucket here can tell you all
about it.”
Mr. Pea, without waiting to hear further, turned and got into the
house as fast as he could. He went into a shed-room with uncommon
desperation for a man of his years, and raised his hands in order to
take down a shot-gun from two forks on which it used to hang. The
forks were there, but the gun was gone. He looked at the forks with
the most resentful astonishment, and with a voice towering with passion
asked them what in the name of thunder had become of his gun? Not
receiving any answer, he put the same interrogatory to the corner
behind the door, to the space under the bed, and even to two small
glass drawers, after opening and shutting them with great violence.
He then ran back to the front door and questioned the whole universe
on the subject.
“Robbed! robbed!!” roared the old man. “Gen-tul-men, ef I
aint robbed —” Mr. Pea had not “cussed” before (as he afterwards
declared upon his word and honor) “in twenty year.”
“Georgy! Where's Georgy?” It just now occurred to him that it
was possible Georgy might not like the state of things herself.
Georgiana had been at the diary, superintending her butter. She
had seen the men as they came, had gone into the house as quietly as
she could, and was peeping and listening through the window of her
own room.
“Pap,” she said, not loudly, but earnestly, “do come here, if you
please.”
He went into her room.
“I reckon now you're satisfied. He's got what he came here for;
he's stole from you, and he's stole from me; I haint got a pocket-handkerchief
to my name. But do, for goodness' sake, go and send
them men away.”
“Oh, Lordy!” reiterated Mr. Pea, retiring. “Gen-tul-men, it's no
use: we are cotcht; Georgy and me has both been cotcht — I acknowledge
the corn; and what is worser, it seem that I am the cause of it
all. He have took my money; he have took my watch; he have took
my gun; he have took my rumberiller; and da-ing his low-life skin, he
have even took Georgy's pocket-handkerchers. It seem like he jest
picked me and Georgy out for all his rascalities. And to think that I
should be 'cused of it all. I did want her to marry. It look like a
pity for her not to git married. And now she is married, and what
have she married? A nasty, dad-blasted, thievious Yankee; and aint
even married at that! She is married, and she aint married; and
she's a orphlin; and she's a widder; and nobody can't tell what she
ar and what she aint; and I don't understand it; and Georgy's name
will go down to posterity, and the Peas wont be nobody any more;
and — oh, Lordy!”
“Pap, do for goodness gracious' sake hush and come in the house!”
said Georgiana, advancing to the front door. “The Lord knows, I'm
glad I aint married; and if them other women don't grieve after him
any more than I grieve after him, they've done forgot him, that's all.
Pap, do come in the house.”
Mr. Pea subsided, and the men rode away. Mr. Pucket begged
Mr. Triplet to hasten; but the latter, who was too old to be running
for nothing, declared in round terms that he'd be dinged ef he did.
“I wouldn't a made myself ridicerlous, Pap, before company, if I'd
a been in your place. That was pretty talk to have before men, and I
in the house hearin every word.”
Mr. Pea, hearing himself accused of a new crime, couldn't stand it.
“I do believe that if old Saton was to come, it would be me
that fotch him; or leastways sent for him; and I'd leave he had a
come as that d-adblasted Yankee. Yes, it's me: in cose it's me. Anything
wrong, I done it; oh yes, in cose: certing. Whar's my hat?”
And the good man sallied forth to his field, where he remained until
dinner-time. There were so many contending emotions in his breast
that he ate in silence. Georgiana had a good appetite; she ate away
with a gusto and eyed her father amusedly.
“Pap, if I'll tell you something will you swear you'll keep it?”
Uncle Ben laid down his knife and fork and gazed at her in amazement.
“Wipe your mouth, Pap, and tell me if you'll swear.”
“What is it?” he demanded authoritatively.
“Will you swear, I asked you?”
“That's a mighty pooty question for a child to ask its parrent.”
“Oh, very well.” And she helped herself again from her favorite
dish. “Won't you have some more, Pap?”
“Georgy, what does you mean?”
“Will you swear?”
“No, I won't.”
“Oh, very well then.” And she peppered and salted.
“Well, I never 'spected to come to this while my head was hot. My
own child: that I've raised: and raised respectable: to be setting thar,
at my own table: a axin her own parrent to swar: jest the same as ef
I was gwine into a Free Mason's lodge: which she knows I don't hold
with no sich.”
“Pap, I've heard you often talking against the Free Masons. I never
thought they were so mighty bad. What do they do that is so awful
bad?”
“You don't, do you? No, I suppose you don't; in cose you don't:
takin arter them as you do: in cose you don't. I sposen you'll be a
jinin 'em yourself befo long. For they tells me they takes in wimming
too; and swars them; and they rips and rears round jest like the men,
and car's on ginnilly. Oh no: in cose you don't: takin arter 'em as
you do.”
“I don't know what I might do after what I've done already. But
how do I take after 'em?”
“In havin o' secrets that's a sin to keep; and in trying to make
peoples swar that they won't tell 'em; and not even to their own parrents.
That's how you are takin arter 'em.”
“Oh, yes, I see now,” she said, appearing to muse. “Still, this is
something that I couldn't tell without your swearing not to mention to
a blessed soul. It's worth swearin for, Pap.”
The old man was silent for a moment.
“Ar it anything concernin that mean runaway Yankee?”
“If it is, will you swear?”
“Yes, I will, and cuss too, if you want me. I've been a cussin to
myself all day anyhow.”
“You've cursed to other people besides yourself; but I only want
you to swear.”
She brought the family Bible.
“La, Georgy! is you in yearnest, sure enough? Why, what do you
mean? You aint no Jestice.”
It made no difference; she made him place his hand on the book
and swear that he would never reveal what she was going to tell him
without her consent. Uncle Ben was very solemn while the oath was
being administered. It required several minutes to impart the secret.
When it was over the old man's joy was boundless. He jumped up and
ran into his own room, where he cut up more capers than any one
could have believed that he could cut up; he ran back again, made
Georgiana rise from the table, hugged her, and made her sit down
again; he rushed to the front door and huzzaed to the other world;
he rushed back again and hugged Georgy as she sat. Then he took
his seat again and looked upon her with ineffable admiration. Suddenly
he grew serious.
“Oh, Georgy, now if I only had —”
Before he could speak further she had taken something from her
bosom, and handed it to him. He seized it with both hands, gazed
at it, held it at arm's length and gazed at it, opened and looked into
it, shut it up again, held it for a moment to his ear, patted it gently,
laid it on the table, then lifted up his voice and wept.
6. CHAPTER VI.
`I grant I am a woman.”
Julius Cœsar.
When the news of Mr. Slack's escapade reached Dukesborough,
there was running to and fro. Business was suspended. Some asked
if the like had ever been heard of; others asked everybody if they
hadn't told him so. J. Spouter was among the former, and Mr. Bill
Williams among the latter. He got leave of absence from the store,
in order to roam up and down all the forenoon for the purpose of
proving that he had prophesied what had taken place, or its equivalent.
He was delighted: my observation is that almost everybody is, by the
verification of a prophecy which he has made, or which he thinks he
has made. Miss Spouter tried to laugh, but she didn't make much out
of it. Mrs. Spouter didn't laugh at all. How could she when she
remembered the plates of butter that had been consumed, not only
without thanks but without pay? She did all the talking in the domestic
circle. Mr. Spouter seemed inclined to be taciturn. He merely
remarked that he had never been so outed in his born days, and then
shut up. But then Mr. Spouter never had much to say when Mrs.
Spouter had the floor; if, however, he had had the floor now, there
was nothing for him to say. He had not sued his debtor, but for
reasons other than the being a merciful creditor. He was not used to
such things. Indeed, the very word suit was, and had long been,
disagreeable to his ear; so much so that he had never gone into
court of his own accord. It was one of his boasts, in comparing
himself with some others, that he had never been plaintiff in an action,
and never expected to be. He always discouraged people from going
to law, maintaining that people never got much by going there: a
remark that was true when confined in its application to those who
had gone there carrying him with them. Yet, Mr. Spouter seldom
lost a bill. It was always a wonder to me how rapidly persons in his
condition could collect their bills. But this time Mr. Spouter, as he
said, was “outed.” As he didn't relish Mr. Bill Williams' jokes; and
as Mrs. Spouter didn't, and at last as Miss Spouter didn't, Mr. B.
W. had to suspend.
Poor Mr. Pucket! his mind had been set upon a fee; but as no one
fugitive had three days' start, there was no pursuit. None but a briefless
lawyer can imagine how badly Mr. Pucket felt.
“And so she isn't married after all!” said Miss Spouter to herself,
when she was alone in her chamber that night. “Not married after
all; no more than I am. Yes, I suppose more than I am; because
she thought she was married, and I knew I wasn't. That makes some
difference; and then — and then —” But it was too wonderful for
Miss Spouter: she couldn't make it out. So she only said, “Oh, I
wonder how she feels!”
Now, there was but one way to get the desired information, and
that was to see her and hear it from her own mouth. To most persons
that way would seem to be barred, because the last time the two ladies
met, Miss Spouter had refused to speak. But it did not seem so to
her; she would herself remove all obstacles. She would forgive
George! Yes, that she would. Wasn't it noble to forgive? Didn't
the Bible teach us to forgive? Yes, she would forgive. What a glory
overspread the heart of the injured when, in that tender moment, she
found she could forgive. She wished now that she had gone to
Georgiana to-day; she would go to-morrow. Malice should never
have an abiding place in that heart. It might have it in other people's
hearts, but it should never have it in that one. Never, no never,
while memory remains. She laid herself calmly and sweetly upon her
bed, and was forcibly reminded, as she thought of herself and her
conduct, of the beauty and the serenity of a summer's evening.
7. CHAPTER VII.
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.”
Midsummer-Night's Dream.
Mr. Pea writhed and chafed under his oath. He begged his Georgy
to let him tell somebody. He swore another oath — that he should
die if he didn't. He did tell it there in the house several times to
imaginary auditors, after looking out of the doors and windows to see
if no real ones were near. Even when he was out of doors, he went
tumultuously. Georgiana became uneasy.
“Pap, are you going to run distracted again?”
“Georgy, ef I don't believe I am, I'll — you may kill me!”
Georgiana had to yield. She wished to see Mr. Spouter upon a
little matter of business connected with Mr. Slack, and she concluded
to consent for him to be sent for and her father to inform him of what
she saw he must inevitably tell somebody. The old man was extremely
thankful, but he wanted to make a request.
“Georgy, you must let me send for Triplet. I've got a good joke on
Triplet: a powerful joke on him. And he's a officer, Georgy, too,” he
added, seriously. “Things like them, when they ar told, ought to be
told befo a officer, Georgy. Triplet is a officer. This case, an a leetle
more, an it would a got into cote; an as Triplet ar a officer, he ought to
be here, in cose.”
Georgiana consented on hearing this last argument. But she expressly
enjoined upon her father, that at any period of his disclosures,
when she called upon him to stop, he would have to do it. He promised
to obey; and the servant was sent into Dukesborough with the request
that Messrs. Spouter and Triplet should come out the next morning on
particular business. Georgiana knew fully what she, who was her
friend, but now, alas! abandoned, was thinking about, and therefore she
was included in the summons.
Early the next morning the party arrived. Miss Spouter alighted in
great agitation, rushed through the front room into Georgiana's, who
was there waiting for what she knew was to happen, looked all around
as if she was expecting to find somebody besides Georgiana, fell upon
her in the old way, pronounced her pardon, and then demanded to be
told all about it. Oh, my! Dreadful! Did ever! Vain and foolish
man! How did Georgiana feel?
Georgiana led her into her father's room, which also served for the
parlor. She was surprised and annoyed to find Mr. Pucket there with
the other gentlemen. Mr. Pucket had, somehow, gotten the wind of
it, and said to himself that he didn't know what might happen. He
had been told by an old lawyer that the only way for a young man to
succeed at the bar was to push himself forward. So he determined
to go, and he went. Uncle Ben was glad of it. He was going, for
the first time in his life, to make a speech; and he wished as large an
audience as possible. No, no; in cose there wern't no intrusion, and
no nothin of the sort, nor nothin else.
Georgiana sat very near her father.
Then Uncle Ben opened his mouth, and began:—
“You see, gentul-men, it was all my fault, from the fust. After
Georgy seed him she didn't think much of him. She said she didn't
keer about marryin nohow, and ef she did, she wanted it to be to a
Southering man. But I and him too, we overpersuaded her. He
seemed to think so much of me and her too; and he had a store, and
'peared like a man well to do. And I did want to see my only daughter
settle herself. The feelin is nat'ral, as you know yourself, Mr. Spouter;
all parrents that has daughters, has 'em: aint it so, Mr. Spouter?”
Mr. Spouter answered rather by his manner than in words. Miss
Spouter became confused, and didn't look at Mr. Pucket when he
coughed. Mr. Triplet had seen something of life in his time: still he
took a chew of tobacco.
“Go on, Pap,” said Georgiana.
“Yes. Well, you see, gentulmen, sich it war — anyhow they got
married. Georgy said when she gin her consent she gin it to keep me
from runnin distracted, as it did 'pear like I war. Howbeever, I ar
clean out o' that now. Circumances is altered powerful. Well, as I
said, anyhow they got married — that is, they didn't git married;
because he were already married, and thay warn't no law for it, as you
know yourself, Mr. Pucket, thay warn't. But — ah — leastways they
went throo the — ah — the motions, and the — ah — gittin out lisens,
and the — ah — stannin up in the floor and jinin o' hands; and he
come here to live. Well, now, don't you b'leeve that Georgy, she
spishuned him from the very fust day: for no sooner were he married
hardly, than he begun to sarch behind every nuke and corner about
here, and before night, bless your soul, he knowed more about whar
things was in this house than I did. Leastways, Georgy says so,
and it's obleeged to be so; for there's things, many of 'em in this
house, that I don't know whar they are.” And Mr. Pea looked around
and above, taking as big a view as if he were surveying the whole
universe.
“Well, Georgy, she and he tuk a walk that fust evenin. Instid of
talkin along like tother folks that's jest got married, he went right
straight to talkin about settlin hisself, and put at her to begin right
away to git all she could out'n me; which Georgy she didn't like no
sich, and nobody wouldn't a liked it that thought anything of herself.
You wouldn't, Angeline Spouter, you know you wouldn't, the very fust
day you was married.”
“Go on, Pap, please.”
“Yes. Well, Georgy spishuned him again at supper, from the way he
looked at the spoons on the table; which ef they had a been the
ginuine silver, they wouldn't a been in this house now, to my opinion;
probly; leastways, ef—” Uncle Ben smiled, and concluded to postpone
the balance of this sentence.
“Well, you see, Georgy Ann, arter supper, she got sick, she did, and
she hilt on to her head powerful. In cose, bed-time, hit had to come
arter a while. When hit did come, she were wusser, and she give that
feller a candle to go long to bed. When Georgy goes to bed, she
goes on throo into the little jinin back room and she locked the door
arter her. I never knowed one word o' this untel arter he went off.
Well, arter he went to sleep, Georgy she heerd a mighty groanin. So
she ups, she does, an onlocks the door, and creeps in mighty sly. It
seem like he were dreamin and talkin in his sleep powerful. He called
names, sich as Jemimy, Susan Jane, Betsy Ann, and — what was all
them names, Georgy?”
“It makes no difference, Pap; go on.”
“And a heap more of 'em. Georgy can tell you, cose she heard
'em over and ofting. Well, he seemed to be powerful shamed of all
of 'em, and he swore he wern't married, and them that said so was a
liar, and all sich. Well, sich carrin on made Georgy b'leeve that he
was a married man befo, and had two or three wives already, or probable
four or five. And so Georgy seed rightaway that she wasn't no wife o'
his'n, and didn't have no intrust in no sich a d-evil. And she war
right, Triplet. Triplet, warn't she right?”
“In cose,” answered Mr. Triplet.
“Do go on, Pap.”
“Well, yes. Yit still she didn't let on. She kept up tolerble well
in the day-time, but when night come agin, Georgy she gits sick agin and
goes into the jinin little room agin. I never seed sich carrin on befo.”
Uncle Ben had to stop and laugh a while. Georgy begged him to
go on.
“Well, she kep on hearin him a goin on, and you think she would
tell me the fust thing o' all this? Ef she had a told me — howbeever,
that aint neither here nor thar. Well, it seem he talked in his sleep
about other people besides wimming, about men and about money, and
declared on his soul that he never stole it, which goes to show Georgy
that he war a rogue, as well as a rascal about wimming. Yit in this
that he would like to have the whole plantation and all that's on
it!” Mr. Pea showed plainly by his manner, after making this last
remark, that no man had ever had an ambition more boundless than
the late Mr. Slack. “But I mighty soon give him to understand that
he war barkin up the wrong tree ef he thought I was gwine to give
up this plantation and my property before my head got cold. Them's
always fools that does it. Howbeever, he talked so much about settlin
hisself, and so easy and good about Georgy, and how that all he keered
about property was for her, and I knowed that was all I keered about it
for, that I told him I'd pay for a nigger 'oman for 'em. Well, you see,
I no sooner says that than he ups with a lie about havin to go to Augusty.
But shore enuff, arter he had been here two days, he had to go too
Augusty, or somewhar else. Becase he got a letter which skeered him
powerful, and he said he war goin right off. I didn't spishun nothin
agin the man, and I lets him have the money to buy the nigger 'oman. I
had no more spishun of him, Jeems Triplet, than I have of you, only
knowin that he was monstrous fond of money, which is all right enough
ef a man comes by it honest. Well, Georgy she was tuk back tremenduous
by his gittin the money so all on a sudding. Yit she didn't let on,
but makes out like she's mighty sorry he war goin so soon, but mighty
glad he's goin to fetch her a nigger 'oman when he come back. She has
him got a mighty good snack of vittles, and what ain't common for
dinner, she puts on the table a plate of nice fresh butter and a plenty
of biscuit, Triplet.” Mr. Pea now looked as sly and as good-humored
as it was possible for him to be. “Triplet, I've got a good joke on
you.”
Mr. Triplet seemed to guess what it was, and smiled subduedly.
“You know what you said about my never seein certing people and
certing things — certing property no more?”
Mr. Triplet acknowledged that he did.
“Well, Triplet, part of it was so and part of it were not so; all which
both is jest as I wants it to be. Triplet, that butter and them biscuit
is what saved me. He never expected to eat no more tell he got to
Augusty, and I tell you he hung to that butter and them biscuit. While
he was at 'em, and Georgy she made 'em late a comin in a purpose,
she takes some old keys which she had picked up, and finds one that
could onlock his peleese whar she seed him put the money, and whar
she knowed he kep all he had.”
Uncle Ben intended to laugh mercilessly at Triplet, but he was
stopped by the sight of Mr. Pucket, who did look as if he was trying
to swallow something that was too big for his throat.
“Ar anything the matter with you, Mr. Pucket? Is you got a cold?
Ar your thoat so'?” asked the old gentleman, with undisguised interest.
Triplet snickered as Mr. Pucket denied being sick.
Uncle Ben proceeded:
“So she jest opened it sly as a mice and tuk out my money —”
“And what else?” eagerly asked Mr. Pucket.
“My watch, that the villion beg me to let him take with him to have
it worked on, which I didn't like no —”
“What else?” asked Mr. Pucket again.
“That's the last pint I'm a comin too, and that's why Georgy sent
arter Mr. Spouter. She knowed that he owed Mr. Spouter thirty
dollars, and she made up her mind to pay the debt as now she seed
his money, and she tuk out thirty dollars o' his money, which here it
ar for you, Mr. Spouter.”
“I garnishee the thirty dollars!” interposed Mr. Pucket, holding out
his hands.
“You are too late,” answered Mr. Spouter, taking the money, putting
it into his pocket, and looking as if he had gotten in again after being
outed by Mr. Slack.
“Can't I garnishee, Triplet?”
“Garnishee for what?”
“For my fee?”
“Fee for what?”
“Why, for my services in — ah — coming out here on two occasions.”
“Well, you can't garnishee.”
Mr. Triplet looked as if he was ashamed of Mr. Pucket. Uncle
Ben hoped there was goin to be no bad feelins, and no difficulties.
“Certainly not,” answered Mr. Triplet. “Mr. Pucket ar a young
lawyer, and forgot at the minnit that it war other people that owed him
for his services instid of Mr. Slack. Besides, furthermo, Mr. Pucket
ought to know that you can't garnishee jest dry so, without fust gittin
out some sort o' paper from the cote. That would take so much time
that Spouter here mout spend his thirty dollars befo he got it, that
is ef Spouter wanted too.” Mr. Triplet looked interrogatively at the
other gentleman.
“Yes, ef I wanted too,” answered Mr. S., oracularly.
“But,” persisted Mr. Pucket, “there was other moneys.”
“Whar?” asked Mr. Triplet.
“In Mr. Slack's trunk.”
“No thay wan't,” answered Mr. Pea, who thought he ought to keep
Mr. Pucket to the true word. “They was in his peleese.”
“Well, in his peleese. That makes no difference,” and Mr. Pucket
looked as if he thought he had them on that point.
“Pucket,” said Triplet, “it won't make no difference. You are
right. It don't make nary bit o' difference with nobody, ner with your
fee neither. That fee ar a lost ball. Thay aint no money here to pay
it with, an ef there was, it would be Mr. Slack's lawyer and not you
that would git it. Well, gin it up, and another time try to have better
luck.”
Mr. Pucket was a young lawyer, and was, in part, owned by Mr.
Triplet. So he subsided. Uncle Ben looked troubled, until the
sheriff assured him that there could be no difficulties. “Go on, Uncle
Ben. You got your gun, of course?”
“Triplet, you rascal! You may laugh; but I don't want the gun.
He may keep it, and do what he pleases with it, even to blowin out his
own thievious brains with it for what I keer. He's welcome to the gun.
You, Triplet!”
“Don't mind me, Uncle Ben. Go on.”
“Well, thar's lots more to tell, ef Georgy would only let me; and
some things as would make you laugh powerful, Triplet, ef you was to
hear 'em. But she's made me swar, actilly swar, that I won't tell without
her leave. Maybe she'll tell your ole 'oman some o' these days.
Well, I felt mighty glad when I got my money back, and, ef anything,
a leetle gladder when I got back my watch agin. Triplet, when I
seed her” (and the old man drew out a watch as big and as round as
a turnip), “when I seed her agin, ef I didn't cry you may kill me. I've
had her thirty year, and none o' your new-fangled ones can beat her
runnin when you clean her out and keep her sot right with the sun.
Ah, well,” he continued, putting it back and shaking his foot in mild
satisfaction, “the thing is over, and the best of it all ar that —”
“Hush, Pap,” said Georgiana, raising her finger.
The old man smiled, and hushed.
After hearing parts of the story over several times, the party rose to
go. Mr. Triplet rising, said that in cose it war not any of his bisiness,
but he would like to ax Miss Georgy one question, ef he wouldn't be
why she didn't tell on the villion as soon as she found him out?
Georgiana answered:
“Well, Mr. Triplet, I many times thought I would; but you see I
didn't know for certain that he had done all the things that I was afraid
he had. Besides, Mr. Triplet, even if he wasn't my husband, I one
time thought he was, and before God and man I had promised to be
faithful to him. And then he had stayed in this house: and eat at our
table: and — and called Pap father, and — and — and — Well, Mr.
Triplet, somehow it didn't look right for me to be the first one to turn
against him; and — and when I did think of telling on him, something
would rise up and tell me that I ought not.”
“Wimming aint like men nohow, Uncle Ben,” said Triplet, wiping
his eye as he bade him good-bye.
“No they aint, Triplet,” and he laid his hand fondly on his daughter's
shoulder while the tears ran down his cheeks.
The visitors now left, all except Miss Spouter. She wished to get
behind the scenes and know more. How much more she learned I
cannot say. They went to bed early when the day ended, and to sleep
late. There was something which made them easily reunite. It was
pity. Miss Spouter imagined that she pitied her friend because she
had been deceived by a man, even more than herself had ever been,
and because of the hurtful influence which that deception would
probably exert upon any future expectations of marriage. Miss Pea,
who, instead of having any regrets, felt relief in the thought that henceforth
her father would be satisfied to allow her to manage such matters
for herself, and that she should be satisfied to have none to manage,
really pitied her friend because she yet yearned for an impossible
estate. When the time came for them to go to sleep (and Georgiana
thought it long coming), she did not wait a moment. Miss Spouter
lay awake some time further. She pondered long on what she had
heard. It was strange. It was almost like a novel. How could
George be still the same Georgiana Pea? She had been Mrs. Slack.
Wasn't she Mrs. Slack now? And how, oh! how exciting everything
must have been. Her thoughts followed Mr. Slack a while; but he
was so far away that they came back and went looking after Mr. Bill
Williams. He was not much; but he was something. He had never
exhibited any regard for her yet, but it was possible that he would
some day. He was at least ten years younger than herself. But her
heaven? or were they not a lottery, or something of the sort? Mr.
Bill Williams, after all, might be the very one to whom the something
in her alluded when it had so repeatedly told her that she was destined
to make some man so happy; who knows? Then her mind turned
again, and notwithstanding Mr. Slack's great distance ahead, it started
forth in the direction he had taken. She dwelt upon his strange conduct
and his running away, and although it was plain that he had done the
like before, and when he had never seen her nor heard of her, yet she
half persuaded herself that she was the cause, though the perfectly
innocent cause of it all. “Yes, yes!” she was saying to herself, as
sleep stole upon her at last, “he is gone; but the image of Angeline
Spouter is in his breast, and it will stay there forever!”
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