By LINA REDWOOD FAIRFAX.
He is our office-boy and messenger, and, my senior tells me, has been
employed by the firm in this capacity for about thirty years. He is a
negro, about sixty years old, rather short and stout, with a mincing,
noiseless gait, broad African features, beautiful teeth, and small,
round, twinkling eyes, the movements of which are accompanied by little
abrupt, sidewise turns of the head, like a bird. His manner is a curious
mixture of deference and self-importance, his voice a soft, sibilant
whisper, and as he was born and bred in Alexandria, Virginia, it seems
almost superfluous to add that he and the letter "r" are not on speaking
terms.
He has a prominent characteristic, which always attracts attention at
first sight. This is the shape of his head, which is immensely large in
proportion, very bald, and so abundant in various queer, knobby
excrescences about the forehead and sides, and so unnaturally long and
level on top, that for some time after I made his acquaintance I could
never see him without finding myself forming absurd conjectures as to
whether his cranium and the hydrostatic press could ever have become
acquainted at some early period of his life; and so strong is this
association of ideas that, even now, his sudden appearance invariably
suggests to me the study of natural philosophy. Poor fellow! his chagrin
was great when this peculiar conformation of his skull was first brought
to his notice. He had been telling me for some time past of the
"splendid piccha" he had had "took," and I had been promised a sight of
it just as soon as it arrived from the photographer's. I confess I had
not been sanguine as to the result, although I knew a handsome portrait
was confidently expected by the sitter. One morning he deposited the
photograph before me.
"Hello!" I cried, taking it in my hand; "here you are, hit off to the
life."
"Do' say _that_, Mist' Dunkin, _do_' say hit, seh," he replied, in a
tone of deep mortification. Then, catching a glimpse of the picture, his
ire broke forth: "Nevvah wuz like _me_ in de wueld," he cried, in an
elevated key; "nevvah _wuz_ ha'f so ugly ez that. I'm--I'm a
bettah-lookin' man, Mist' Dunkin. Why, look at de color of de thing,"
contemptuously. "Cain' tell de face f'om de coat I nevvah set up to be
what you'd call _faih_-cumplectid, but disha things iss same is that
thaih ink; jess iss same. My hade do' look that a way, neitha. Naw,
_seh_, 'taint s' bad 's that."
"Why, Thomas," said I, "_I_ think it a very good likeness--the
complexion _is_ a little dark to be sure, but do you know I particularly
admire the head. Look at that forehead; any one can see that you are a
man of intellect. I tell you it isn't every one who can boast of such a
forehead."
"The--the 'mahk you make 'bout me, has been made 'fo'; I may say, has
been made quite frequent--quite frequent; on'y lass Tuesd'y fohtni't,
Sistah Ma'y Ann Jinkins--a promnunt membeh of ouh class (that is, Asba'y
class, meets on Gay Street), Sistah Ma'y Ann Jinkins, she ups an' sez,
befo' de whole class, dat she'd puppose de motion, dat Bro' Thomas
Wheatley wuz 'p'inted fus' speakah in de nex' 'Jug-breakin' an'
Jaymiah's Hamma,' by de i-nanemous vote of de class. I'm clah to say I
wuz 'stonished; but ahta class wuz ovvva, Bro' Moss tole me de
'p'intment wuz made jes' f'on de 'peahunce of my hade, ''Cause,' he sez,
'no man cain't be a po' speakah with sich a fine intellec' which we see
expressed in de hade of Bro' Thomas Wheatley--but, same time, I knowed
all time de fus' motion come f'om Sistah Ma'y Ann Jinkins--she's a ve'y
good friend o' mine, Sistah Ma'y Ann Jinkins--thinks a sight o' me; I
'scohts heh to class ev'y Tuesd'y--ev'y Tuesd'y, sine die."
"You do? What does your wife have to say to that?" I asked,
maliciously.
He stared at me an instant, then replied:
"My wife!--oh--oh, Law bless yoh soul, seh, _she_ do' keeh. Bro'
'Dolphus Beam, _he_ sees ahta heh: you see, seh, she's I-o-n-g way
'moved f'om Asba'y class; 'twont admit none but fus'-class
'speience-givvahs in Asba'y, an' my wife she wa'n't nevvah no han' to
talk; haint got de gif' of de tongue which Saul, suhname Paul, speaks of
in de Scripcheh--don't possess hit, seh."
"She must be a very nice person to live with," I remarked.
"Well, y-e-es, seh," replied Thomas, after reflecting awhile. "I hain't
got nuth'n' 'g'in' Ailse; she's quite, an' ohdaly, a good cook, an'
laundriss, an' she's a lady,[1] an' all that, but sh' ain't not to say
what you'd call a giftid 'oman."
"Like Sister Mary Ann Jinkins, eh?"
"_Egg_-zac'ly, seh. Mist' Dunkin, you put hit kehrec', seh. Ailse hain't
possessed with none of the high talence, cain't exhoht, naw sing with
fehveh, naw yit lead in praieh; heh talence is mos'ly boun' up in
napkins--as Scripcheh say--mos'ly boun' up in napkins; foh I do' deny
she kin do up all kines o' table-linen, she kin indeed. Naw, seh, I
cain't say I got nuth'n' 'g'in' Ailse."
He was, I think, the worst manager of finances that I have ever known.
He cleaned all the offices in our building, and earned, as near as I
could estimate, about thirty-five dollars a month. Three of his four
children were self-supporting, and his wife was honest and industrious,
taking in washing, and getting well paid for her work. Yet, he was
perpetually in debt, and his wages were always overdrawn. Whenever I
came into the office after my two-o'clock lunch, and found him seated on
his wooden chair, in the corner, gazing absently out at the dingy
chimneys opposite--apparently too abstracted to observe my entrance, I
knew I had only to go to my desk to find, placed in a conspicuous
position thereon, a very small, dirty bit of paper, with these words
laboriously inscribed upon it: "Mr. Dunkin Sir cen you oblidge me with
the sum of three dolers an a half [or whatever the sum might be] an
deduc thee same from mi salry i em in grate kneed of thee same yours mos
respecfull thomas wheatley."
The form was always the same, my name in imposing capitals and the
remainder in the very smallest letters which he could coax his stiff old
fingers to make, and all written on the tiniest scrap of writing-paper.
I think his object was to impress me with his humiliation,
impecuniosity, and general low condition, because as soon as he received
the money--which he always did, I vowing to myself each time that this
advance should be the last, and as regularly breaking my vow--he would
tip-toe carefully to the mantel-piece, get down his pen and ink, borrow
my sand-bottle, and proceed to indite me a letter of acknowledgment.
This written, he would present it with a sweeping bow, and then retire
precipitately to his corner, chuckling, and perspiring profusely. He
usually preferred foolscap for these documents, and the capitals were
numerous and imposing. Like the others, however, they were invariably
word for word the same, and were couched in the following terms:
"MR. DUNKIN
"SIR I have Recieved thee Sum of Three Dolers an a half
from Your hans an I Recieve thee same with Joy an Grattetude.
"Yours respecfull
"THOMAS WHEATLEY."
I said his applications for money were always granted. I must, however,
make an exception, which, after all, will only go to prove the rule. One
bright morning he met me at the office-door, his face as beaming as the
weather. He hardly waited for me to doff my overcoat and hat, when he
announced that he had bought a second-hand parlor organ the evening
before, on credit, for seventy-five dollars, to be paid in instalments
of twelve dollars and a half each. He had been very hard up for a month
past, as I had abundant occasion to know, and it was therefore with a
feeling rather stronger than surprise, that I received the announcement
of this purchase.
"But you haven't fifty cents toward paying for it. And what on earth can
you possibly want with a parlor organ? Can you play?--can any of your
family play?"
"Well, naw, seh," scratching his head reflectively. "I cain't s'ay they
_kin_ not to say _play_"--as if they were all taking lessons, and
expected to become proficient at some not far distant day. "In fac',
seh, none on um knows a wued o' music. I didn't mean, seh, I didn't
'tend the--the instrument fu' househol' puhpasses--I--I 'tended hit as a
off'in' to ouh Sabbath-school. We--we has no instrument at present,
an'--"
I am afraid I uttered a very bad word at this juncture. Thomas started,
and retired in great discomfiture, and I thought I had made an end of
the matter, but that afternoon I found the small scrap of paper on my
desk--really, I think, with a little practice, Thomas might hope to
rival the man who goes about writing the Lord's Prayer in the space of
half a dollar. My name was in larger capitals, the rest in smaller
letters, than usual, and I was requested "to oblidge him with the sum of
twelve dolers an' a half." I knew then that the first organ-instalment
was due, but I think it needless to add, his application was refused.
About a week afterward, I learned that the Sabbath-school was again
without a musical instrument, the organ having been pawned for twenty
dollars, Thomas paying ten per cent a month on the money. It was so with
everything he undertook. Once he gave me elaborate warning that I must
furnish myself with another messenger at once, as he was going to make
a fortune peddling oranges and apples. Accordingly, he bought a barrel
(!) of each kind of fruit, sold half at reasonable rates, and then, the
remainder beginning to decay on his hands, he came to me, offering
really fine Havana oranges at a cent apiece.
"I'm driffin' 'em off et coss--driffin' 'em off et coss," he whispered,
speaking rapidly, and waving his hands about, oriental fashion, the
palms turned outward and the fingers twirling; this peculiar gesture
seemed intended to indicate the cheapness of his wares. "Dey coss me
mo'n that; heap mo', but I'm faih to lose um all now, en I'm driffin'
'em off, sine die."
After that, some dozen or more of the large wholesale houses engaged him
to furnish their counting-rooms with lunch, and he began with brilliant
prospects. He brought his basket around to me for first choice.
Everything was very nice; a clean new basket, covered with a white
cloth, wherein lay piles of neatly arranged packages done up in
letter-paper, with a strange-looking character inscribed upon each.
"What do these letters mean?" I asked, taking up one of the packages,
and trying in vain to decipher the cabalistic sign upon it.
Thomas chuckled.
"Oh, that's to show de kine of san'wich dey is, Mist' Dunkin. You see,
seh, I got th'ee kines--so I put 'B' on de beef, 'H' on de _hahm_, an' I
stahtid to put 'H' on de hystehs too, but den I foun' I couldn't tell
de _hystehs_ f'om de _hahm_, so den I put 'H I' on de hystehs."
"Oh, I see," said I, opening one of the "hysteh" packages. It was very
good; an excellent French roll, well spread with choice butter, and two
large, nicely fried oysters between. I ate it speedily, took another,
and, that disposed of, asked the price.
"Ten cents, seh."
"For two!"
"Yes, seh; fi' cents 'piece."
"Why, Thomas," I exclaimed, "you mustn't begin by asking five cents
apiece; you'll ruin yourself. These things are _worth_ at least twice as
much money. Why, I pay ten cents for a sandwich at an eating-house, and
it doesn't begin to have as good materials in it as yours. You ought to
ask more."
"Naw, seh; naw, seh; Mist' Dunkin; as' less, an' sell mo'--that's my
motteh. I have all dese yeah clean sole out 'fo' two 'clock--clean sole
out 'fo' two 'clock."
I interrupted him, asking the cost of each article, and then proving to
him by calculation that he lost money on each sandwich he sold at five
cents. But I could not convince him--he received the twenty-five cents
which I insisted on paying him with many expressions of gratitude, but
he left me reiterating his belief in "quick sales and small profits."
"Be back yeah clean sole out by two 'clock, sine die," he exclaimed,
brightly, as he departed.
This venture brought him six dollars in debt at the expiration of a
fortnight, and after that, by my advice, he abandoned peddling,
condemning it as a "low-life trade," and agreeing to stick to legitimate
business for the future.
One of his famous expressions, the most formidable rival of _sine die_
(which, as the reader has doubtless discovered, he intended as an
elegant synonym for _without fail_), was entirely original--this was
"Granny to Mash" (I spell phonetically), used as an exclamation, and
only employed when laboring under great mental excitement.
As I was proceeding homeward one evening, I spied him standing on a
street corner, holding forth to a select assemblage of his own color,
who were listening to him with an appearance of the profoundest respect.
His back was toward me, and I stopped and caught his words without
attracting observation. He had assumed a very pompous, hortatory manner,
and I could well believe he held a prominent position in Asbury class.
"Yes, gentlemun; yes," he was saying, "ez Brotheh Jones 'mahks, I _do_
live in a ve'y _su_-peeiaw at-mos-pheeh--suh-roundid by people of
leahnin', with books, pens, blottehs, letteh-pess, _en_ what not, ez
common ez these yeah bricks which I see befo' me. But thaih hain't no
trueh wued then ev'y station has its hawdships, gentlemun, en mine ah
not exemp', mine ah _not_ exemp'.
"Fus'ly, thaih's the 'sponsebility. W'y, this yeah ve'y mawnin' I banked
nigh on to a thousan' dollehs fu' de young boss. En w'en I tell you
mo'n two hundred stamps is passed my mouth this yeah blessid evenin', 't
will give you some slight idee of the magnitude of the duties I has to
puffawn. W'y, gentlemun, I is drank wateh, an' I is drank beeh, but my
mouth hain't got back hits right moistuh yit."
The day of the 20th of July, 1877, was very quiet We had heard, of
course, of the "strikes" all over the country, and the morning papers
brought tidings of the trouble with the Baltimore and Ohio railroad
employés at Martinsburg, but no serious difficulty was apprehended in
Baltimore.
That afternoon I was detained very late at the office. I intended
beginning a three weeks' holiday next morning, and was trying to get
beforehand with my work. My senior was out of town, and Thomas and I had
been very busy since three o'clock--I writing, he copying the letters.
After five, we had the building pretty much to ourselves, and a little
after half past five, the fire alarm sounded. The City Hall bell was
very distinctly heard, and Thomas--who had finished his work and was
waiting to take some papers to the office of the Baltimore and Ohio
Railroad for me--took down a list of the different stations, to
ascertain the whereabouts of the fire.
"1--5," he counted, as the strokes fell; "that makes fifteen, and that
is," passing his finger slowly down the card, "that is Eastun Po-lice
station, cawneh--naw, _on_ Bank Street. On Bank Street, seh."