sparkle and the smile came around her little mouth thicker and faster,
like lady bugs around a full blown rose. I begun to feel to hum with her
right off, so when she sot down and looked into my face with them sarcy
mischievous eyes of her'n, and hitched up to the square cushion sort of
inviting, I jest divided my coat tail with both hands and sot down tu.
But when I got down I'll be darned if I knew what on arth to talk about;
I stretched one of my new boots out on the carpet, and then crossed
t'other over it and then I did it all over agin, but still I kept
growing more and more streaked, till by-am-by I jest sidled towards her
kind of insinivating, and sez I--
"Wal, Miss Elssler, what's the news?"
"E--a de what," sez she, a looking puzzled half to death.
"Oh nothing partic'lar," sez I. "I swow, Miss Elssler, you've got a
tarnal purty foot--git out you critter you!" and with that I gave my
yaller hankercher a flirt and upset a fly that had lit on the tip eend
of her finefied silk shoe. Arter I'd finished his bisness, I folded up
my hankercher and wiped my nose, and then put it in my pocket agin. Then
I begun to think it was best to take a new start, and sez I--
"Its rather pleasant weather for the season, don't you think
so--beautiful day yesterday, wasn't it?"
She gave me one of her sweet smiles, and sez she--
"Yes it was, indeed. I was on board one French vessel in the harbor
yesterday, and was so delighted."
"What sort of a consarn was it?" sez I, "a sloop mebby"--
"Oh no," sez she, "it was a _La Belle Poule_."
"Oh," sez I, "they don't call them sloops in France, I s'pose; but I
say, Miss Elssler, have you ever been aboard a regular Yankee craft, say
a Connecticut river sloop or a two mast schooner from down East? them's
the ginuine sea birds for you! Now my Par's got one a lying down to Peck
Slip that'll take the shine off from any of your Bell pulls or Bell
ropes either, I'll bet a cookey. I should raly like to show you the
critter, I'm sartin Captin Doolittle would go off the handle, he'd be so
tickled. Supposing you and I go down some day and git a peep at her, and
take a glass of cider and a cold bite in the cabin. Now what do you
say?"
"Oh, I shall be very happy;" sez she, yet I thought she looked kinder
puzzled, and so to make her feel easy about it sez I--
"Don't be oneasy about the trouble, it won't be no put out to Captin
Doolittle, he's al'rs on hand for a spree. Supposing we set day after
to-morrow, it's best to give the old chap time to slick up a leetle,"
sez I.
"Any time that pleases Mr. Sleeke," sez she, a bowing her head.
I wish to gracious Par, you could hear how the critter talks. She nips
off some words and strings out others, like a baby jest larning. The way
she draws out Mr. Slick is funny enough, you'd think she'd been greasing
her tongue to do it fust rate.
Wal, arter we'd settled about the sloop, there come another dead calm
and I begun to feel awk'ard agin, so I got up and went to a table that
was a'most kivered over with tumblers and chiny cups, stuffed full of
posies, and taking one of 'em up, I stuck my nose into the middle on it
and giv a good snuff. By the time I got through, Miss Elssler she cum
and stood close by me, alooking so tempting that I bust rite out and sez
I--
"I swan, Miss Elssler, its eenamost as sweet as your face."
She looked at me again, sort of wild, as if she wasn't used to have
folks praise her, so I choked in, and sez I--
"Are you fond of posies?"
She chewed up some soft words that I couldn't make out, and then sez I
agin--
"You've got a swad of 'em here, any how. Some of your beaus sent them to
you, now, I'll bet something."
"Oh," sez she, a larfing, "dey were all flung on de stage last night, de
new York gentlemen dey are _so_ gallant."
I said nothing but kept a darned of a thinking. There wasn't a ginuine
prime posey among 'em, nothing but leetle finefied roses, and buds and
leaves, and white posies tied up in bunches, jest sich leetle things as
a feller might give to a young critter of a gal that he took a notion
tu, but no more fit for sich a smasher as Miss Elssler than a missionary
psalm book. She begun to untie one of the bunches, and stuck a few into
her bosom, and then she twisted the ribbon round a harnsome red rose and
a heap of green leaves, and puckering up that sweet mouth of her'n, she
gin it to me with a half curchy. Gaury! didn't my heart flounder, and
didn't the fire flash up into my eyes. I pinned the rose into my shirt
bosom with my new broach, and then I looked at the posies that lay on
her bosom so tantalizing, and sez I--
"Oh dear! how I wish I was a honey bee--I guess I know what bunch of
posies I'd settle in."
She didn't seem to know how to take this, and I was eenamost scared into
a caniption fit to think what I'd been a saying. Think sez I, now
Jonathan, if you hain't done it! I ruther guess you'd better cut dirt,
and not try agin; so I took out my watch, and sez I--
"Goodness gracious! its time for me to be a going. Don't forgit, our
bargin is clinched about the sloop, will you now, Miss Elssler?"
With that I edged towards the door, and arter making another prime bow,
I went out, feeling sort of all-overish, I can't tell how. I kinder
think she wasn't very wrothy arter all, for she curchied and smiled so,
I guess there wasn't much harm done.
The minit I got to my room I was all in a twitter to find out what was
on the paper Miss Elssler had sent to me, for I hadn't found out yet.
Every word that I could make out was, Madame ma Selle Elssler, and
something that looked like compliments spelt wrong: you can't think how
I was puzzled. I turned the paper upside down, and up, and every which
way, but if the rest wasn't writ in some sort of hog Latin, I hadn't no
idee what it was, for I couldn't make out another word, so at last I
chucked the paper onto the mantel-shelf, for I wouldn't hold in no
longer, and sez I, all alone to myself, as wrathy as could be, sez I,
"Madam ma Selle Elssler, and be darned, for what I care; I wish to
gracious she knew how to write coarser."
By-am-by I took up the thing agin, for it made me feel sheepish to think
I couldn't make out to read so much Latin as a gal could write, arter
going to grammar school so long, but it wasn't of no use, so think sez
I, I'll jest go down to the bar-room and see where the critter is to be
sold, and what madam it is that's going to knock her off. So down I
went, and sez I to the man sort of easy, sez I,
"So you're a going to have an auction here, aint you?"
The chap looked up, and at fust he didn't seem to know me agin in my fix
up, but arter a minit he smiled, and sez he,
"Dear me, Mr. Slick, is it you agin? An auction! no, not as I know on."
"Oh!" sez I, and with that I begun to twistify the square paper about
in my fingers, and at last I seemed to be a reading it as arnest as
could be, all the while a leaning sort of easy towards him as if I'd
forgot he was there. He kept a eyeing it kinder slantindicular, till at
last, sez he--
"That's purty writing, Mr. Slick--a lady's, I should think?"
"Mebby you've seen it afore," sez I, a trying to look careless, and as
if I'd read every word on't a dozen times. "Ruther scrumptous leetle
curlecues them are, don't you think so?"
With that I handed over the pesky thing kind of nat'ral, as if I didn't
really think what I was a doing, and he seemed to read it off as easy as
water.
"Oh yes," sez he, "this is her _own_ handwriting; a great compliment,
Mr. Slick. I know of many a fine feller that would give his ears to get
sich a card from 'the Elssler.'"
"Oh," sez I, "if she has a notion for ears, she'd better bargain for
them Baltimore chaps that we've heard on. She'll get prime ones there,
as long as beet leaves, but I'm afeared she'll find 'em ruther scarce
here in York; the sile ain't rich enough for 'em."
Here the chap bust out a larfing, and haw-hawed till it seemed as if
he'd go right off the handle. He tried to choke in, but that only made
him top off short with a touch of the hooping-cough. Arter a while he
wiped his eyes, and sez he--
"Very good, Mr. Slick! very good indeed! But of course you accept the
Elssler's invitation to the theatre to-night!"
"To the theatre," sez I, "so she goes off there, does she; well, a
feller may see the fun without bidding, so mebby I'll go."
"Jest inquire for the Astor House box, and it'll be all right," sez the
chap, and with that he took up the thick paper, and, sez he,
"How neatly they do turn off these compliments in French, don't they?"
"In what?" sez I.
"In French," sez he.
"Oh!" sez I, and more and more I was anxious to find out what the French
gal had writ to me.
"How beautifully she's turned this sentence about your talents," sez he.
"Yes," sez I, all of a twitter inside, but cool as a cucumber for what
he knew. "Yes, purty well, considering, but look a here now, I'll bet a
cookey you can't turn that into fust rate English as soon as I can, and
I'll give you the fust chance tu."
The chap larfed agin, and sez he, "If you'd a said fust rate Yankee I
should a gin right up tu once, but I ruther think I can cum up to you in
English."
"The proof of the pudding is in eating the bag," sez I.
"Wal," sez he, "I can but try;" so he looked at the paper, and read it
off jest as easy as git out.
"Miss Elssler's compliments to Mr. Jonathan Slick, and hopes that he
will do her the honor to accept a seat in a private box at the theatre
this evening, where she performs in Nathalie and the Cachuka." Then he
went on with a grist of the softest sodder that ever you heard on, about
my talents and genius, and the cute way I had of writing about the gals,
that put me all in a twitteration; but he read so fast that I couldn't
ketch only now and then a word sartin enough to write it down, and if I
could it would make me feel awful sheepish to think Judy White would
ever see it, so the least said, the soonest mended.
"Wal," sez I, sort of condescending, when the chap had got through, "I
give up beat--you've done it as cute as a razor. I raly could a parsed
the words as you went along. Mebby you might have tucked in a few more
long words, but all things considered, it aint best to be critical, so I
guess I may as well agree to owe you the cookey." With that I went to my
room agin.
Your affectionate son,
JONATHAN SLICK.
* * * * *
LETTER XX.
Jonathan goes to the Express Office--His Opinion of Zeke Jones and the
"Brother Jonathan" Newspaper--Explains his Absence, and enters into a
new Agreement with the Editors.
DEAR PAR:
Arter I'd made a visit to Miss Elssler, I went up to my room, as I was a
telling you, and begun to think over what we'd been a talking about, and
it made me feel sort of streaked to think she took me for one of the
Editors of the _Express_, when I was eenamost scared to death for fear
they wouldn't print my letters agin, arter I give them the mitten so
slick, and went off to Weathersfield. I didn't suppose the critters ever
knew what it was to be humsick, as I was in this tarnal place, and was
afeard they might rise right up agin having anything to do with me. But
think sez I, there's nothing like keeping a stiff upper lip, and putting
on airs of independence, and talking right up to these newspaper chaps;
so I on with my hat, and cut along towards the _Express_ Office,
detarmined to du up my chores in that quarter, without chawing over the
matter any longer.
Wal, I streaked it along about the quickest, like a string of onions
broke loose at the leetle eend. I begun to feel awful anxious jest as I
got in sight of the office, and the feeling made me slack foot and ketch
breath, I can tell you. As I went by the corner in a sort of a half
canter, with my hands in both pockets--for I felt kinder ashamed of the
streaked mittens marm knit for me when my yaller gloves wore out, they
didn't exactly gibe with my other fix up--the people stopped and stared
like all possessed.
"If that aint Mr. Slick!" sez one;--"Sure enough," sez another, "so it
is." "Didn't I tell you he wasn't dead," sez another.
With that I shirked up a leetle, and sez I to myself, sez I--Who cares
if the Editors of the _Express_ be mad, cause I cut stick when they
wanted to send me off to Washington, when it was as hot as all natur,
and jest planting time. If my letters were good for any thing, they'll
be glad on 'em agin, and if they aint, why I'll let 'em see that I'm a
true born ginuine American, died in the wool, and that I can up stakes
and go hum agin in the old sloop as independent as a cork screw.
Arter I'd hung about the corner of the office a leetle while, I got up
pluck, and walked right straight ahead into the office. I begun to feel
to hum the minit I opened the door--every thing looked so nat'ral. There
was the counter, jest like old times, and the pigeon holes stuck full of
newspapers, and a pile of white printer's paper a lying up in one
corner, and there sot the clark, a rale ginuine cute leetle Yankee; he
was a writing on leetle scraps of brown paper, and a looking as if all
creation would stop if he didn't go ahead.
I jest give a peak in for a minit and streaked it up stairs, to see if I
couldn't find somebody there. I wish you could have seen how the work
hands stared and looked at one another when I went in, but I didn't stop
to say nothing to nobody, but up I went, through a room chuck full and
brimming over with work hands, and there in a leetle room, about as big
as an undersized calf pen, sot the critter hisself, eenamost buried up
in a pile of newspapers. It raly did my heart good to look at him, he'd
grown so chirk and hearty, it seemed to me as if he must a fatted up two
inches on the ribs since I'd seen him.
"Gracious me," sez I to myself, "I kinder wish I'd stuck to and tried to
tucker it out last year, and mebby I should a had something to fat up
about. Now I wonder what he's a reading that tickles him so."
Jest as I was a thinking this, the Editor of the _Express_ he looked up,
and see me a standing there, as if I'd been a growing on that identical
spot ever since last summer. Gauly offilus! but didn't the newspapers
fly, when he was sartin who it was. I see that he was eenamost tickled
to death to see me agin.
"I hain't lost my chance here yet," sez I to myself, and so I walked
right straight up to him, and held out my fist, mitten and all, and sez
I--
"How do you do?"--jest so.
"Why Mr. Slick," sez he, "where did you come from?"
"Right straight from hum," sez I; "but how du you git along about these
times--every thing going along about straight, I s'pose."
By this time he seemed to think that there was something that he ought
to git mad about. You'd a thought he'd swollered a basket of cowcumbers
all of a sudden, he looked so frosty.
"Now for it," sez I to myself.
"Mr. Slick," sez he, a looking as parpendicular as if he'd eat tenpenny
nails for breakfast, and topped off with a young crowbar, "Mr. Slick,
I'm happy to see you in York agin, but what on arth was the reason that
you left us in the lurch about them letters from Washington?"
"Did you ever have a touch of humsickness?" sez I, a straightening up
and putting my hands in my pockets, till the tip eend of my nose
eenamost come on a level with his'n.
"I ruther think I have," sez he, a hitching up his shoulders.
"And the ager, too?" sez I.
"Don't mention it," sez he, jest a shaking the leastest mite all over
with thinking about it.
"Awful sort of a chilly animal, that ager, ain't it?" sez I.
"Dreadful," sez he.
"Didn't it seem as if you'd have to take up all your bones for salt and
battery on one another, afore they'd keep still?" sez I.
"A most," sez he, a larfing.
"Wal," sez I, "I didn't ketch the fever and ager."
"What did you ketch, then?" sez he, sort of impatient.
"Oh, I felt kinder as if I should git it if I didn't go hum and doctor,"
sez I.
"But that wasn't quite reason enough for your goin off so," sez he.
"Wasn't it?" sez I, "but that wasn't all; I got a letter from par, and
he wrote that marm was ailing, and that he was getting down in the
mouth, and didn't feel very smart himself, and there wasn't nobody to
weed the onions--only Judy White--and she seemed sort of molancholy, and
so"----
"Oh, I understand," sez he, a cutting me off short in what I was going
to say. I guess he took notice how the blood biled up in my face, for he
went right to talking about something else as nat'ral as could be.
So arter confabulating a spell about things in general, the Editor of
the Express he begun to poke around among the newspapers agin, and to
hitch around as if he'd jest as lief I wasn't there. I pulled out my
mittens, for it was cold enough to snap a feller's ears off, early as it
was. So I put 'em on sort of deliberate, and begun to smooth up the red
and blue fringe on the top, jest as if I wanted to go, and yet didn't
feel in much of a hurry.
By-am-by I got up, and sez I, "Wal, good-day--I s'pose it's about time
for me to be a jogging."
"Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Slick," sez he, a fumbling over the newspapers
all the time.
Think sez I, "If you have any notion to print my letters, it's about
time to come up to the scratch tu once;" but he kept on a reading, and
sez I, a sliding back'ards towards the door,--
"I shouldn't be in such a pucker to go, but I want to stop at the office
of the Brother Jonathan to see Zeke Jones, from our parts. He's a prime
feller, Zeke is; one of them sort of chaps that make one proud of human
natur. We used to be as thick as three in a bed afore either of us took
to literature. I haint seen him since, but his stories are the clear
grain and no chaff, ginuine all over, and enough to bring the tears into
a feller's eyes once in a while, I can tell you. The critter 'll go
right off the handle when he sees me, he'll be so tickled," sez I, "and
I haint no doubt but he can get the editors of that creation large paper
to print some of my letters for me."
"There," think sez I, "if that don't bring him up to the trough, fodder
or no fodder, I don't know what will."
Sure enough, I hadn't but jest got the words out of my mouth, when the
chap he spoke up like a man.
"Mr. Slick," sez he, "don't think of sich a thing as writing for any
paper but the New York Express. I can't bear the idee of it a minit. You
raly can't think how bad we felt for fear you was dead when we didn't
git no more letters from you arter you went to Weathersfield. Now what
do you say to staying in New York and going ahead agin? Supposing you
pull off your mittens and take hold now?"
I seem'd to sort of deliberate a spell, for I didn't want him to think I
come to York a purpose to stay; so arter a while sez I,--
"Wal, I'll think about it. Par is a getting old, but I guess he'd about
as lief do the foddering an help marm about the chores as not this
winter, and mebby Captain Doolittle will board there and help about when
he hives up for the winter. But I don't jest know how to manage it. I
hain't no go-to-meeting clothes, that are quite up to the notch. The
knees of my dandy trousers bust out the fust time I got down to weed
onions in 'em, and I feel rather unsartin how this new fix of mine would
take the gals' eyes in Broadway."
"Oh! don't stand on trifles Mr. Slick," sez he, "Editors never do,"--and
with that he took a squint at my trousers, as if he was mightily tickled
with the fit of 'em and wanted to get a pattern. This sot me in conceit
of 'em a leetle.
"A feller might see that with half an eye, any how," sez I. "But now I
come to think of it, this ere suit of go-to-meeting clothes that I've
got on aint to be sneezed at, now, are they? Marm spun and made them for
me afore I cum away from hum. She cut 'em by my dandy coat and trousers,
and got a purty scrumptious fit. So mebby they'll be jest the thing.
Every body in Weathersfield took to cuttin their clothes arter mine,"
sez I, sort of bragging,--because, you know, with some folks it's best
to put the best foot for'ard, and pass for all you're worth, and
sometimes for a leetle more, tu.
It's all a mistake for a man to think tu well of himself; but the
experience I've had here in York tells me, that a man, to make others
think well of him, must make the most of himself and of all his
imperfections. "A good outside for the world, and a good heart within,"
was one of the best lessons you larned me, par, when I left
Weathersfield for York. So sez I to the editor, standing as straight as
a broomstick, and striking my hand upon my hat, and then putting both in
my pockets, to appear sort of independent,--
"If you think they'll du, why I don't care if I hitch tackle with you
agin; but if the notion takes me to cut stick for Washington or
Weathersfield some of these days, I ain't sartin but you'll find me
among the missing, but howsomever, I'll give you a try at a few letters;
but I've got my hand out, I can tell you. Stringing onions and writing
letters on genteel society, ain't the same thing by no sort of means. So
now that's all settled, I'm off like shot off a shovel."
With that I shook hands with the Editor of the Express, and made tracks
for the sloop about the tickledest feller that ever you did see.
Your loving son,
JONATHAN SLICK.
* * * * *
LETTER XXI.
Jonathan Visits Mr. Hogg's Garden and gets a Bouquet--Puzzled about the
propriety of Paying for it--Purchases a Ribbon, and starts for the
Theatre.
DEAR PAR:
The minit I got to the sloop I took off my coat, for I didn't seem to
hum enough in the Astor House to write there. I sot down in the cabin,
and stretching out my legs on a butter-tub, I turned up my ristbands and
wrote off the letter that I sent you t'other day on the top of an onion
barrel, without stopping once, I was so tarnationed anxious to let you
know how I was a getting along.
I had to bite off short, for a chap come aboard the sloop with Captin
Doolittle to bargain for the cargo of cider and garden sarse. I was
afeared that they would want to overhaul my writing desk, and so made
myself scarce, and went up to the Express with the letter stuck loose
inside the crown of my hat, editor fashion.
I left the hull letter with the clark, and axed him where on arth a chap
could git a smashing bunch of posies, if he took a notion to want sich a
thing. He told me to go right straight up to Mr. Hogg's, clear up town
along the East River, and said that I'd better git aboard a Harlem car,
and it would carry me right chock agin the spot for a ninepence.
"Wal," sez I, "the expense aint nothing to kill, so I guess I'll ride."
With that, I got into one of them allfired awk'ard things that look like
a young school-house sot on wheels, and running away with the scollars
stowed inside; and arter shelling out my ninepence, we sot out up
Centre-street, through the Bowery, and all along shore, till we stopped
short nigh agin the Astoria ferry, clear up town. Arter searching around
a little, I found Mr. Hogg's gardin, and went in. A great, tall,
good-natured looking chap cum up to me as I was a peaking about--a
feller that made me feel hum-sick in a minit, he looked so much like our
folks.
"How do you du?" sez I, "I'm tickled to see you; they told me that you
keep posies about these ere premises, but I don't see no signs of 'em."
"Oh," sez he, as good as pie, "come this way, and I guess we can find as
many as you want."
"Wal, that'll be a good many, for I'm a hard critter on marygolds and
holly-hocks," sez I, "and I want a smashing heap on 'em."
With that, Mr. Hogg, instead of taking me into a garden, jest opened the
door of a great long, low house, with an allfired great winder covering
the hull roof, and sez he--
"Walk in."
I guess I did walk in, for the house was chuck full of the harnsomest
trees and bushes that I ever sot eyes on, all kivered over with posies,
and smelling so sweet, that a bed of seed onions, jest as it busts out
in a snow-storm of white flowers, aint nothing compared to it. Didn't I
give good long snuffs as I went in! This idea, to my notion, of posies
amongst big trees and bushes, are like wimmen folks and young ones in
the world of human natur. If they arnt good for something else they are
plaguey harnsome to look at, and the world would be awful dark and
scraggy without them. Some wimmen may be bad enough and hateful as
henbane, but consarn me if I wouldn't rather love thorn bushes than none
at all.
There was one tree that took my eye the minit I went in; it hung chuck
full of great big oranges, and tell me I lie right out, it there wasn't
a swad of white posies a busting out through the great green leeves in
hull handfuls, all around on the same limbs where the oranges were a
growing. Think sez I, this raly is a ginuine scripture lesson, spring
and fall a gitting in love with each other and hugging together on the
same bush; oh, gracious! how the parfume did pour out from the middle of
that tree! I felt it a steaming up my nose and creeping through my hair,
till I begun to feel as sweet as if I'd been ducked all over in a kettle
full of biled rose leaves.
Mr. Hogg he went along among the great high rows of bushes sot in a
heap, one on top of t'other almost to the glass ruff, with a good sized
jack-knife in his hand, and then he cut and slashed among the green
leaves and red roses, and piled up a bunch of posies about the quickest!
Yet I wasn't satisfied, he didn't seem to pick out the rale critters,
but tucked in the leetle finefied buds jest as if he couldn't guess what
I wanted 'em for.