THE BOARDING-HOUSE.
Turn we now to the _highly-genteel_ establishment where Henry Travers
and his young wife are now domiciliated, presided over by a little
more than middle-aged, severe-looking personage, who rejoiced in the
euphonious name of GRIMGRISKIN; her temper, phraseology, and general
disposition may be better illustrated by the conversation which is now
going on between her and her two unfortunate inmates. The mid-day
accumulation of scraps, which was dignified by the name of dinner, but
just over, Henry Travers, in his small, uncomfortable bed-room, was
ruminating upon the darkness of his present destiny, when a sharp knock
at his door admonished him that he was about to receive his usual
dunning visit from his amiable landlady.
"Come in," he gasped, with the articulation of a person about to
undergo a mild species of torture.
"You'll excuse me, good people," said Grimgriskin, "for the intrusion;
but business is business, and if one don't attend _to_ one's business,
it's highly probable one's business will make unto itself wings, and,
in a manner of speaking, fly away: not that I want to make you feel
uncomfortable. I flatter myself, in this establishment, nobody need
be under such a disagreeable apprehension; but houses won't keep
themselves, at least _I_ never knew any so to do. Lodgings is
lodgings, and board is board; moreover, markets--specially at this
season of the year--may reasonably be said to be _markets_; beef
and mutton don't jump spontaneously into one's hands; promiscuous-like,
neither do the hydrants run tea and coffee--at least as far as my
knowledge of hydrants goes."
"The plain sense of all this is"----
"Exactly what I am coming to," interrupted the voluble hostess. "I'm a
woman of few words; but those few, such as they are, I'm proud to say,
are generally to the purpose. I make it a point to send in my bills
regularly every month, and I presume that it's not an unreasonable
stretch of imagination to expect them to be paid. Now, for the last
three months they have come up to you receipted, and down to me with
what one might call the autographical corner torn off. Now, as it is
not in my nature to make any one feel uncomfortable, and being a woman
of very few words, I would merely intimate to you that rents is
rents--and, moreover, must be paid--and mine, I am sorry to observe, is
not a singular exception in such respect."
"My dear Mrs. Grim"----
"One moment!" interposed the woman of few words. "Perhaps you may not
be aware of the circumstance, but I have my eyes open--and, moreover,
my ears--whispers is whispers, and I _have_ heard something that
_might_ make you uncomfortable; but as that is not my principle, I
won't repeat it; but talkers, you know, will be talkers, and boarders
can never be anything else in the world but boarders."
"What have they dared to say of us?" inquired Henry.
"Nothing--oh! nothing to be repeated--dear, no! I'm proud to observe
that my boarders pay regularly every month, and are therefore highly
respectable; and respectable boarders make a respectable house, and I
wouldn't keep anything else. Thank Heaven, I have that much
consideration for my own respectability!"
"May I be permitted to ask what all this amounts to?" asked Henry, with
commendable resignation.
"Just two hundred dollars," sharply replied Mrs. Grimgriskin; "being
eighty for board, and one hundred and twenty for extras. I'm a woman of
few words"----
"And I'm a man of less," said Henry, "I can't pay it."
"I had my misgivings," cried the landlady, tartly, "notwithstanding
your boast of being connected with the rich Mr. Granite. Allow me to
say, sir," she continued, seating herself upon a chair, "I've just sent
for a hackman to take your trunks away, and I mean to retain the
furniture until some arrangement is made."
"May I come in?" murmured a small, but apparently well-known voice at
the door, from the alacrity with which Henry's poor, young wife rushed
to open it, admitting old Sterling, the clerk.
"Let me look in your eyes," cried she; "is there any hope?"
Sterling shook his head.
"No--no more!"
"Heaven help us!" she exclaimed, as she tottered back to her seat.
"Heaven has helped you, my bright bird," said Sterling. "I only shook
my head to make your joy the greater."
"What say you?" exclaimed Travers; "has that stony heart relented?"
"It is not a stony heart," replied Sterling; "I am ashamed of you for
saying so. It's a good, generous heart. It has made mine glow with
long-forgotten joy this day."
"Does he give us relief?" inquired Henry.
"He does," said the old man, the enthusiasm of generous happiness
lighting up his features; "great, enduring relief. What do you think of
five thousand dollars?"
"You dream, I dream!" cried Travers, starting up in astonishment; while
Mrs. Grimgriskin, smoothing her unamiable wrinkles, and her apron at
the same time, at the mention of so _respectable_ a sum, came forward,
saying, in her newest-lodger voice--
"You'll excuse me; but I'm a woman of few words. I hope you won't take
anything I've said as at all personal to you, but only an endeavor, as
far as in me lies, to keep up the credit of my own establishment; as
for that little trifle between us, of course you can take your own time
about that." So saying, and with a profusion of unnoticed courtesies,
she quitted the room.
She had scarcely done so, when, with a deep groan of agony, Sterling
pressed his hand against his head, and staggered to a chair. In an
instant, Henry and his wife were by his side.
"What is the matter, my dear Sterling?" cried Henry.
"Don't come near me," replied the old clerk, the very picture of
despair and wretchedness; "I am the destroyer of your peace, and of my
own, for ever. Oh! why was I allowed to see this dreadful day? Curse
me, Travers! Bellow in my blunted ear, that my vile sense may drink it
in. I've lost it--lost it!"
"Not the money?" exclaimed Henry and his wife at a breath.
"That's right! kill me--kill me! I deserve it!" continued Sterling, in
an agony of grief. "Oh! careless, guilty, unhappy old man, that in your
own fall must drag down all you love, to share your ruin!
lost--lost--lost, for ever!"
"Forgive even the appearance of injustice, my good, kind old friend,"
soothingly observed Travers. "It is I who am the doomed one. There is
no use in striving against destiny."
"Don't, Henry, don't!" gasped the old clerk, through his fast-falling
tears. "This kindness is worse than your reproof. Let me die--let me
die! I am not fit to live!" Suddenly starting to his feet, he cried:
"I'll run back--perhaps I may find it. Oh! no--no! I cannot; my old
limbs, braced up by the thought of bringing you happiness, are weakened
by the effect of this terrible reaction!"
"Come--come, old friend, take it not so much to heart!" said Travers,
cheering him as well as he could. "There, lean upon me; we'll go and
search for it together, and even if it be not found, the loss is not a
fatal one, so long as life and health remain."
"You say this but to comfort me, and in your great kindness of heart,
dear, dear boy!" cried Sterling, as he rose from the chair, and
staggered out to retrace his steps, in the hope of regaining that which
had been lost.