her setting there as cool as a cucumber.
"You don't know what I mean, do you?" sez he. "Look a here, marm, haint
I been to see you off and on for more than a year? Haint I footed up
your books and made out bills and done all your out-door business, this
ever so long? Haint I give you ounces on ounces of jujube paste, emptied
a hull jar of lemon drops, and more than half kept you in pearl powder
and cold cream?"
"Wal, you needn't talk so loud and tell everybody of it," sez the
milliner a going on with her work all the time, but the leetle chap had
got his grit up, and there was no "who" to him. On he went like a house
afire.
"Wasn't it me that stopped you from taking them are darn'd Brandreth's
pills. Didn't I tell you they warn't no better than rank pisin, and that
no rale lady would ever think of stuffing herself with such humbug
trash? I'll be choked if I don't wish I'd let you swaller fifty boxes of
'em--I wish I had--I do by gracious!"
"Don't make such a noise," sez the milliner, "it wont do no good, I can
tell you."
"Wont it though? wont it? I rather guess you'll find out in the end.
I'll sue you for a breach of promise--if I don't jest tell me on't,
that's all."
The 'pothecary was a going on to say a good deal more, but jest as he
begun to let off steam agin some customers come into the front shop.
Miss Josephine Burgess put down her work and went out as if nothing on
arth had happened. The 'pothecary waited a few minits a biling over with
spite, and then he kicked a bonnet block across the room, upset a chair,
and cut off through the store like all possessed. The milliner was a
bargaining away with her customers for dear life--she looked up and
larfed a little easy, as the poor feller sneaked through the store, and
that was all she cared about it.
The poor coot of an apothecary went over to his shop and slammed the
door tu hard enough to shake the house down. Then he went back of the
counter, took down a jar full of corrosive supplement and poured some on
it out in a tumbler, but somehow there was something in the thought of
dying all of a sudden, that didn't exactly come up to his idee of
comfort; so he poured back the pison and took a mint julep instead--that
sort of cooled him down a trifle--so he made up his mind to put off
drinking the pison till by-am-by.
Every day for three weeks that green buggy waggon, and the tall man with
the whiskers, stopped before Miss Josephine Burgess' door. The
'pothecary grit his teeth and eyed the pisin with so awful desperate
look every time the buggy came in sight; and when he heard that Miss
Josephine Burgess was a gitting her wedding frock made, and was raly a
going to be married to a foreign chap as rich as a Jew, that had fallen
in love with her at the Tammany ball, he filled the tumbler agin
brimming full, and then chucked the pison in the grate, and said he'd be
darned if he made sich an etarnal fool of himself any longer; the
critter wasn't worth taking a dose of salts for, much less a tumbler
brim full of pison. Arter this he bore up like a man; and one day when
he saw the green buggy come a trifle arlier than ever it did afore, and
see the tall chap jump out all dressed off tu kill, with white gloves
on, and a white hankercher a streaming out of his coat pocket, he jest
put his teeth together and looked on till he saw Miss Josephine Burgess
come out with a white silk bonnet on, and a great long white veil
streaming over it, and see her take a seat in the buggy waggon with the
tall man in whiskers. It wasn't no news to him when he heard that Miss
Josephine Burgess was married, and had sold out her shop; but when he
heard that the young gal that took charge of the work-room had got some
relation to buy out the stock for her, the apothecary brightened up like
anything; and he was heard to say that arter all the young gal that took
charge of the work-room wasn't to be grinned at in a fog; for his part,
he thought her full as harnsome as Miss Josephine Burgess.
There was no two ways about it,--Miss Josephine Burgess was raly married
to the tall man in whiskers, and she had sold out to the young gal that
had taken charge of the work-room. About three days arter the wedding,
the tall man with whiskers sot in the room over what had been Miss
Josephine Burgess's store, and leetle she that had been Miss Josephine
Burgess herself, sot in the tall man's lap, with one arm round his neck.
Her purty slim fingers had been a playing with his shiny black curls so
long that some of the black color came off and made them leetle fingers
look sort of smutty. Once in a while the bride would pat the tall man's
cheek and call him a naughty critter, and ask him how many ladies he'd
been in love with afore he see her; and the tall man would say--"not one
upon my honor!" at which she would pat his cheek agin and say she didn't
believe a word on it. Then the tall man in whiskers would begin to look
as if he raly had been a killing critter with the women folks, and would
say that he wouldn't deny it--he had now and then his leetle
flirtations, like all men of rale fashion--but he'd never in his whole
life took _sich_ a notion to a critter as he had to her. With that Miss
Josephine Burgess (that was) would fling both of her arms round the tall
man's neck, and declare that there was not so proud and happy a critter
on the hull arth as she was.
Wal, arter this, the tall man in wiskers took hold of the chain that his
bride had round her neck, and sez he, "My dear love, I raly can't bear
to see you rigged out in these ere old fashioned things. When you was
only a milliner they did well enough, but now you musn't wear no jewelry
that aint at the top of the notch; jest pack all on 'em up, that are
watch of your'n and all, and I'll go and swap 'em off for a set of
jewelry that's worth while. When I take you hum among all my folks,
they'd larf at these awk'ard things."
With that the bride begun to looked streaked enough, so she sot to work
and lugged out all the gold things she had; her watch and great heavy
chain, and ear-rings, and ever so many gim-cracks. So the tall man put
them all in his pocket and took up his hat, and sez he, "I'll soon get
rid of these ere things, and bring you something that is something."
Miss Josephine Burgess that was, said there never was so kind a
critter, and jest to let her see that she wasn't much out in saying that
are, he cum back from the door, and sez he, "Seeing as I'm a going out,
I may as well take that are little sum of money and put in some bank for
you; of course I don't want anything of it, but it raly don't seem jest
safe here, among all these sewing gals." Miss Josephine Burgess that was
went to her chest of drawers and took out a heap of bank bills and gave
them to him. The tall man in whiskers put the bills in his trousers'
pocket, buttoned it up tight, then give the pocket a leetle slap and was
a going out agin. But Miss Josephine Burgess that was she follered arter
and sticking her head through the door she sung out sort of easy, sez
she,
"My dear darling, you've forgot something!"
"You don't say so," sez the tall man in whiskers, and he stood up
straight as a loon's leg, "what is it--any more jewelry, my pet?"
"Can't you guess?" said Miss Josephine Burgess that was, sort of sly, a
twisting her head a one side, and pussing out her mouth awful tempting.
"Oh," sez the man in whiskers, and then there was a little noise as if a
bottle of Newark cider had been uncorked kinder easy.
"You'll come right straight back, dear?" sez Miss Josephine Burgess that
was, a running to the door agin--"you will, won't you?"
"Sartinly, my sweet love," sez the tall man in whiskers, a stopping on
the stairs and kissing her hand over the railing.
"By-by," sez Miss Josephine Burgess that was.
"By-by," sez the tall man in whiskers.
Miss Josephine Burgess that was sot by the window and looked arter the
tall man till he got eenamost down to Chatham square. She waited a hull
hour and he didn't come back; then she waited two hours; then all night;
and the next week and the next, till she'd been a waiting three hull
months,--and arter all the tall man in whiskers didn't seem to hurry
himself a bit.
About a year arter the Tammany ball, the leetle 'pothecary was sitting
in the back room of what once was Miss Josephine Burgess's milliner
store--his wife that used to take charge of the work-room, stood close
by; and the 'pothecary was a looking over his wife's day book. Jest as
he was a adding up a tarnal long row of figures, one of the hands come
down stairs and was a going out.
"Look a here, Miss Josephine Burgess, or Miss what's your name." sez the
'pothecary, "if you're determined to go home the minit your hour is up,
these hurrying times, it's my idee that you'd better look out for some
other shop to work in."
The color riz up in the poor woman's face, but it was her turn to be
snubbed and drove about, without daring to say her soul was her own. So
instead of riling up, she spoke as meek as could be, and sez she, "I
aint very well, I've got a dreadful headache."
"Cant help that," sez the 'pothecary, "we pay you twenty shillings a
week, fust rate wages, to _work_, so you may jest step back to the
work-room with your headache, or I'll dock off fifty cents when it comes
Saturday night if you don't. Go troop--I'll have you to know you aint
mistress in this shop, or master neither."
Miss Josephine Burgess had a temper of her own, but she owed for her
board, and so choked in and went up stairs as mad as all natur.
The apothecary's wife was a good hearted critter, and it raly made her
feel bad to see her old boss used so.
"Don't speak so to her," sez she to the 'pothecary, "she raly looks
tired and sick, don't hurt her feelings."
"Humbug," sez the 'pothecary, stretching himself up, and a buttoning his
trousers' pocket as pompously as could be, "humbug, what bisness have
sewing girls with feelings."
"I was a sewing gal once," sez the 'pothecary's wife.
"Yes--and how did that darned stuck up critter use you, tell me that?"
sez he.
The 'pothecary's wife didn't answer; but the minit her husband had gone
out she went into the kitchen and took a bowl of ginuine hot tea up to
the work room. Miss Josephine Burgess that was, sot on a stool looking
as mad as a march hare; she began to sew as soon as the 'pothecary's
wife come in, as grouty as could be; but when the kind critter gin her
the bowl of tea, and told her it would be good for her head-ache, the
poor sewing girl boo-hooed right out a crying.
JONATHAN SLICK.
* * * * *
LETTER XVII.
Jonathan gets Ill and Homesick--Resists all entreaties to go to
Washington, and resolves on going back to "the Humstead" with Captain
Doolittle.
DEAR PAR:
Wal, arter writing that story about the Bowery Milliner, I begun to
think York was a going to be rather too hot to hold me. All the boss
milliners in York got into a tantrum and kicked up sich a darned rumpus
that I raly begun to be afear'd that they'd cum down to my office in
Cherry-street, and get up a fourth of July oration, or a she caucus, and
girt me to death in a pair of them darned French corsets. But the peaked
little working gals, they were eenamost tickled to death with that
story, and there warn't no eend to the harnsome sweet critters that cum
to my office a crying and yet half a smiling, to thank me for taking up
on their side. One thing though made me feel bad enough. That etarnal
leetle stuck up old maid got so allfired wrothy that she turned Susan
Read out of her place, and cheated her out of some of her wages too.
Darn her it makes me gritty only jest to think on it. But she'd better
look out, I can tell her; for if I take her up agin, consarn me if I
don't use her up till she aint bigger than the tip eend of a pine stick
whittled down to nothing.
Wal, as the spring come on I began to git peaked, and every morning felt
sort of wamblecropped in my stomach when I woke up. I s'pose it was
cause I couldn't git pork and dandelines and prime fresh young onions
right out of the arth, as I used tu to hum. The editors of the
_Express_, they wanted me to take an emetic, but I told 'em I couldn't
think of sich a thing, it was agin natur. I looked sort of solemn, jest
as I always do when they use any of them French words that I don't
understand, and made up my mind to look in Boyer's Dictionary, and find
out the meaning of emetic the fust thing arter I got hum.
"Wal," sez they, "if you don't like that, Mr. Slick, s'posing you take a
trip to the Seat of Gineral Government, and see how them Loco Foco chaps
are a carrying on there, it'll answer all the same."
"Wal," sez I, arter thinking it all over in arnest, "it seems to me as
if I was kinder hankering arter the green trees and the grass and cows,
and the wind that comes straight down from heaven, where you can breathe
it out on your own hook, and not take it second hand, as we do in York.
I raly think I should feel like a new critter if I could only go hum a
spell and weed the young onions." With that I begun to think about the
humsted, and how it was gitting towards planting time; and think sez I,
par 'll miss me about these times, and marm too, for she wont have any
body to do her milking when it rains, nor to bring water and du up all
the leetle chores that I al'rs did for her. Then I seemed to see our
orchard all a leaving out thick and kivered over with apple blows; and
it seemed tu me as if I was a setting on the stun wall, jest as I used
to when I was a leetle shaver, a looking how fast the grass grew and a
wondering how long it would be afore green apple time. There was the
well-crotch and the pole, and the bucket a hanging to it, as plain as
day, and the peach tree that grows by it chuck full of pink blows. There
was you a gitting out the oxen to go to ploughing, and there was marm
out in the meadow at the back door, a picking plantin leaves for greens,
with her old sun bonnet on, and a tin pail to put the greens in.
Oh dear, how humsick I did feel! I could a boo-hooed right out, if it
would a done any good, when I sort of come tu, and found out that I was
setting in the _Express_ office, with nothing but picters of that old
critter, Gineral Harrison, and a heap of newspapers scattered every
which way over the floor, to look at.
"Wal," sez the Editor, sez he, "Mr. Slick, what do you think about it?
you raly ought to go to Washington, to see the President and the lions."
I put one leg over t'other, and winked my eyelids for fear he'd see how
near I come to crying; and arter a leetle while, sez I--
"I haint no kind of doubt that that are Washington is a smasher of a
city; but somehow, if you'd jest as livs, I'd a leetle ruther go hum."
"Yes," sez he, "I haint the least doubt on it; but then, if you git out
of the city, it don't make much difference which way you go."
I see that he'd made up his mind to have his own way; but think sez I,
you don't git it without another tough pull, anyhow; so sez I--
"I raly feel as if I must doctor a leetle; and when a feller feels
tuckered out, or down-hearted, there is no place like hum, if it's ever
so homely,--and nobody can take care of a feller like his own marm. Now
I know jest how it'll be--the minit I git hum, the old woman will go to
making root-beer; she'll sarch all over the woods for saxafax-buds to
make tea on, and there'll be no eend to the snake root and fennel seed
bitters that she'll make me drink. I raly feel as if I must go; so don't
you say any more about it," sez I; "I shall come back agin as bright as
a new dollar."
If there is anything on arth that holds on hard, it's a York Editor; a
lamper-eel is nothing to one on 'em. They'd have their own way, if the
Old Nick himself stood afore them as big as the side of a house.
By-am-by the hull truth come out; sez the Editor, sez he, a speaking as
soft and mealy-mouthed as could be, sez he--
"But, Mr. Slick, you can't write any letters for _us_ in Weathersfield;
so jest make up your mind to start right off. You can go hum any time."
"But I want to doctor," sez I.
"Oh, take a box of Sherman's cough lozengers," sez he, a smiling; "they
cured you last winter, you know." With that, he let off a stream of soft
sodder, sez he, "a man of your talents oughtn't to bury himself in the
country. The members of Congress are all a-tip-toe to see you, and so
are the gals in Washington--the Russian Embassador's wife and all on
'em."
It warn't in human natur to stand agin this; so I sort of relented.
"Oh, you're a joking," sez I, a hitching on my chair; "I don't raly
s'pose the Washington gals ever heard of me in their hull lives."
"Hain't they, though," sez he.
"Wal," sez I, "I should kinder like tu go, jest to see what Congress
people look like. I've a sort of a notion that mebby I shall run for
Congressman myself one of these days. I don't believe there's a feller
in all York better qualified. When I come away from Weathersfield, I
could lick any feller there, big or leetle; and I've a sort of a sort of
a notion that I can dress out any of them varmints in the Capitol, if
they do practice a leetle more than I du."
The Editor of the Express, he larfed a leetle easy, and sez he, "Well,
Mr. Slick, it's all settled then--and the sooner you start the better."
"I'll think about it," sez I.
Wal, I went back tu the office and sot down, kinder loth tu go so far
from hum as Washington City, and yet anxious to oblige the Editor of the
Express; but all I could du, thoughts of the humsted kept a crowding
intu my mind till I couldn't stand it no longer, but kivered up my face
with both of my hands and took tu crying like a sick baby. Jest
then--while I was a feeling dreadfully--somebody opened the door of my
office, and in walked Captain Doolittle, with his hand out, and a
grinning from ear tu ear as if he was eenajest tickled tu death to see
me agin.
I jumped right up and shook hands with him, while I turned my face away
and wiped my eyes with the cuff of my coat, for I felt ashamed to let
him ketch me a crying.
But there is no cheating that old coot, he's wide awake as a night hawk.
"Jonathan," sez he, "What's the matter--you look as thin as a shad in
summer--consarn me if I don't believe you have been boo-hooing."
"You've lost your guess this time," sez I, a trying to put on a stiff
upper lip.
The old feller, he looked in my face, and then agin on the cuff of my
coat--then he folded his arms and stepped back and eyed me all over, and
sez he at last,
"Jonathan, one thing is sartin, either you've been a crying, or you've
told a whopper to your old friend, or--"
"Or what?" sez I, wiping the cuff of my coat on my trousers' leg--"or
what?"
"Or your deginerated--deginerated!" sez he, "deginerated from the
Weathersfield stock!"
"Wal, I don't seem to understand how you'll make that out," sez I.
"Jonathan," sez he, as arnest as could be, "there was tears in your eyes
jest as I come in, and you was ashamed on 'em. Now, sich tears as a
smart, honest young man may feel in his eyes naturally, are nothing to
be ashamed on; when he gets to thinking of hum or old friends, or
perhaps them that are dead and gone,--the drops that come up unawares to
moisten his eyes are wholesome to his natur. I've seen the time,
Jonathan, when a minister's prayer didn't seem half so easing to the
heart. An honest chap might as well feel streaked about saying the
Lord's Prayer; for the tears that thinking of them that we love sets a
going, have eenamost as much religion in 'em as singing and praying and
going to meeting altogether. Prayer, Jonathan, prayer falls upon the
natur like the warm sun on a patch of young onions--and tears, ginuine
tears that come from tender thoughts, Jonathan, darn me if they ain't
the rain that keeps the young shoots green. You wouldn't have been
scared about my seeing sich tears, Jonathan, and I know you've got tu
much grit for any other--you aint the chap to snuffle and cry because
things go crooked with you--I'm sartin of that."
"I reckon you may be," sez I.
"Wal, Jonathan," says the captin, a folding his arms close up to the red
shirt that kivered his bosom, "there aint but one way of accounting for
it. I never would a believed it, but you've deginerated. These Yorkers
have larned you to be ashamed of eating onions--it's jest arter dinner
time--I see through it all--you've been a thinking of hum, and tried a
raw onion for once--your eyes aint used to it now, and that's what makes
'em so red and misty. I have seen the time, Jonathan Slick, when you
could cut up a hull peck without winking; I've seen you cronch one like
a meller apple; and now, arter living in York, this is the eend on't."
"Come, captin," sez I, a holding out my hand, "don't make a coot of
yourself, I can eat a raw onion without winking as well as ever I could.
Seeing as you can peak so consarned far into a mill-stun, I may as well
own up and settle the hash to once. I've been kinder peaked and hum-sick
ever since spring opened. I sot down here all alone, got a thinking of
old times and things to hum, and that sort of made me cry afore I knew
it; that's the hull truth, and I'd jest as livs you knew it as not."
Captin Doolittle, he gin my hand a grip, and sez he, "That's right,
Jonathan, own up like a man, I see intu it now--hum-sick as git
out--just what I wanted. The old sloop is ready to sail right off--pack
up your saddle-bags, jump aboard, and we'll be in Weathersfield in less
than no time. Your par and mar, and Judy White, and all the folks tu hum
will be tickled eenamost tu death to see you."
I felt my heart jump right intu my mouth, but it sunk agin like a chunk
of lead when I thought that I'd eenajest agreed to go tu Washington.
"Captin," sez I, "I'm afeared I can't go--I've nigh about promised to go
tu Washington City."
"Washington City be darned," sez he, a going intu my back room and a
lugging out my saddle-bags; "Washington City can't hold a candle tu
Weathersfield this time of the year. You can't think how fresh and green
everything looks; the square before the meeting-house is as green as
grass can be--the laylock trees in front of the humstead are all in full
blow--we've had young lettuce and pepper-grass there these three
weeks--think of that! with good sharp vinegar, plenty of pepper and
salt, and a sprinkle of young onion-tops mixed in jest as they come from
the patch by the eend of the barn,--Gosh, but don't it make your mouth
water only to think on it, Jonathan."
"I swow, captin, there's no standing it, I must go."
"Sartinly you must--the old woman would go off the handle if I should
come back without you and Judy White. That Judy is a nation harnsome
gal, Jonathan. She told me tu jest mention that the orchard over agin
the house was in full blow and every tree chuck full of robins' nests.
You can smell that orchard half-a-mile off, Jonathan, but Judy says it
kinder makes her molencholy tu see the trees a budding out so agin, and
the birds a singin from mornin to night among 'em, and nobody tu enjoy
it but her."
"I'll go, by gauly offalus--I'll go," sez I, "but what will the editors
of the Express say," sez I, feelin all over in spots about goin off so.
"The Express go tu grass," sez Captin Doolittle, a crowding my pepper
and salt trousers intu the saddle-bags.
"Jest so," sez I, a helping him strap up the bags; "I'll write a letter
hum tu say I'm jest a startin, and send it through the Express, and that
will let the editors know what I've detarmined on."
"Jest so," sez Captin Doolittle, "and I guess I'll go down to the sloop
with the saddle-bags. I only jest got in last night, took out the ladin
this morning, and we shall be a cuttin down the East river afore sunset;
quick work, I reckon, don't you think so, Jonathan?"
"I should rather think it was," sez I.
"Wal," sez he, a shoulderin the saddle-bags, "write off the letter and
come right down. You mustn't let the grass grow under your feet, now I
tell you. Your marm will be about the tickledest critter that you ever
sot eyes on when you git back agin--she's got a hull lot of winter
apples saved up yit agin you cum. I wish you could a seen the old
critter a knittin away all the long winter evenings tu git you a hull
grist of socks made up; she seamed every darned one on 'em clear
through, jest because it was for you, Jonathan."
"You don't say so!" sez I, kinder half cryin agin; "now du git out, will
you? I want tu write my letter."
With that, the Captin he went off saddle-bags and all. I sot down and
wrote off this letter about the quickest, I can tell you. I shall send
it up tu the Express office, and if we have good luck, it won't be long
arter you git it afore you will shake hands with us.
Your loving son,
JONATHAN SLICK.
* * * * *
LETTER XVIII.
JONATHAN SLICK RETURNED.