University of Virginia Library

4. IV.
CYRUS.

At this interesting moment the gate clanged, a shuffling
of shoes on the stoop-floor followed, and Cyrus Drole
walked unceremoniously into the room.

“I am saved!” thought Archy. But it must be confessed
he would have preferred not to be saved quite so
soon. His chair, as Cyrus entered, was at least a yard and
a half from the widow's, and their hands looked perfectly
innocent of contact. The hero of the wheelbarrow might
have perceived that he was expected to withdraw from the
sacred precincts of grief; but he coolly took a chair and
sat down, with his hat on.

“Everybody is askin' about Uncle Archy; you 'd think
the President had come to town!” said Cyrus, tipping

back against the wall, and setting his feet upon the chair-round.
“But did n't they all la'f when I told about takin'
him for a minister, and runnin' him on to the beds!” And
Cyrus chuckled under his hat-brim, hugging his elevated
knees.

The two votaries of grief heard these ill-timed words in
appropriate solemn silence. Nobody else appearing inclined
to talk, Mr. Drole “improved” the occasion. He quoted
popular remarks concerning the surviving Mr. Blossom.
Elder Spoon's daughter thought he walked “drea'ful stiff”;
Miss Brespin, the dressmaker, declared that he winked at
her as he passed her window. Archy writhed at this stinging
imputation, but contented himself with frowning upon
Cyrus.

“Brother Archy don't want to hear all this, Cyrus,”
interposed the serious-faced Priscilla.

“Jeff Jones said he looked like a horned pout with his
white-bellied jacket on!” continued Cyrus. “Cap'in Fling
wanted to know if he was an old bach; an' when I said he
was, says he, `I 'll bet fifty dollars,' says he, `he 'll marry
the widder!' `If he does,' says Old Cooney, says he, `he
won't look so much as if he 'd just walked out of a ban'box
time he 's been married a month,' says he. I did n't say
nothin', but la'ft!”

“Cyrus Drole!” cried the indignant widow, “if you
can't behave yourself, you shall go straight to bed. What
must Brother Archy think of your impudence?”

“I guess he 'll think it 's natur'!” laughed Cyrus. “I
s'posed you would n't mind, bein' we 're all cousins.”

Archy had arisen. He inquired, in some agitation, for
his hat and cane.

“Why, Brother Archy!” said Priscilla, alarmed, “where
are you going?” Archy explained that he had engaged
his lodging at the hotel, where his baggage remained. “I

can't bear the thought of your going back there to sleep!”
And the widow's tearful eyes looked up pleadingly. “Do
stay with us! Cyrus shall go for your carpet-bag!”

Archy said something about “giving trouble.” She reproached
him tenderly. It would be a comfort, she assured
him, to know that he was beneath her roof; and
it would soothe her loneliness to remember the pathetic
circumstance after he was gone.

“I am a victim!” thought Archy; but he could not
resist such winning entreaties. Cyrus was despatched for
the carpet-bag. He was absent not much more than five
minutes; and on his return, placing the article of luggage
on the table, he seated himself, tipped against the wall,
with his hat on, as before.

“Any time you wish to retire, Brother Archy, — ” suggested
the widow's softened voice.

Archy cast a scowling glance at Cyrus (who appeared
immovable), and replied that he felt the need of rest after
his long journey.

“Don't hurry on my account,” said Cyrus. “I jest
as lives set up and keep ye comp'ny!”

Unseduced by this generous offer, Archy took his
carpet-bag and proceeded, under the widow's guidance,
to the spare bedroom. It was a neat little chamber, with
a rag-carpet on the floor, and cheap lithographs in cheap
frames on the wall. The lamp was placed on the white-spread
stand, and the carpet-bag on a chair. Archy gave
the widow his hand.

“Good night, sister!” Priscilla wept. “Afflicted one!”
said Archy, drawing her near him. He put down his lips;
she put up hers. At that affecting moment a chuckle was
heard. Both started.

“Ye 'fraid of muskeeters, Uncle Archy?” said Cyrus,
putting his head in at the door.

Archy had never in his life felt so powerful an impulse
to fracture somebody's cervical column. Had there been
a weapon at hand, Cyrus would have suffered. As it was,
he advanced with impunity into the room.

“'Cause, ef you be, there 's some in this room that long!”
he added, measuring off a piece of his hand. “Ain't they,
P'scill?”

“Cyrus Drole! there is n't a mosquito in the house, and
you know it!” exclaimed the widow. “What do you talk
so for?”

“They 've got some over to the tavern bigger yit,” said
Cyrus, seating himself astride a chair, and resting his
arms on the back. “They hitched six on 'em to a handcart
t'other day, and they ripped it all to flinders!”

“Come, Cyrus,” expostulated the widow, “you 've no
business here; brother wants to go to bed.”

“He won't mind me; I 'll keep him comp'ny till he
wants to go to sleep. You need n't stop, if you don't
want to!”

Thereupon the widow hastily withdrew, calling upon
him to follow. Cyrus rocked to and fro, in his reversed
position, appearing perfectly and entirely at home. Archy
regarded him sternly.

“What d'ye haf to pay for them kind o' boots?” asked
Cyrus. “Pegged or sewed? hey?” No reply. “Psho!
what 's the matter? You look as though you 'd forgot
suth'n'!”

“Young man,” said Archy, loftily, “will you have the
kindness to postpone the entertainment of your personal
presence and conversation to some remote future period?
In other words, will you oblige me by leaving this room?”

“Don't feel like talkin', hey? Wal, I d'n' know but I
will, seein' it 's you!” Cyrus, rising deliberately, knocked
over his chair, set it up again, and walked slowly to the

door. “I forgot what you said you give for them boots?
Oh! you 're in a hurry, be ye?”

Seeing Archy advancing upon him with a somewhat
ferocious look, he quickened his step, and with a grin of
insolent good-nature dodged out of the room.