MR. TOOSYPEGS "TURNS UP" AGAIN.
"His looks do argue him replete with modesty."
--SHAKSPEARE.
"Why, Mr. Harkins, it ain't possible, now!" exclaimed a struggling,
incredulous voice. "Just to think we should meet again after such a long
time! I'm sure it's real surprising."
The speaker, a pale young man, with a profusion of light hair and
freckles, and a gaudy hand carpet-bag, was taking a stroll on the
classic banks of the Serpentine, when suddenly espying a short,
plethoric, gruff-looking, masculine individual coming toward him, he
made a sudden plunge at him, and grasped his hand with an energy that
was quite startling.
The short individual addressed, with a wholesome distrust of London
pickpockets before his eyes, raised a stout stick he carried, with the
evident intention of trying the thickness of the pale young man's skull;
but before it could come down, the proprietor of the freckles began, in
a tone of mild expostulation:
"Why, Mr. Harkins, you haven't forgotten me--have you? Don't you
recollect the young man you brought to London in your wagon one rainy
night? Why, Mr. Harkins, I'm O. C. Toosypegs!" said the pale young man,
in a slightly aggrieved tone.
"Why, so hit be!" exclaimed Mr. Harkins, brightening up, and lowering
his formidable weapon. "Blessed! if you 'adn't gone clean hout my 'ead!
Why, Mr. Toosypegs, this is the most surprisingest thing as ever was! I
hain't seen you I don't care when!"
"I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Harkins," said Mr. Toosypegs,
gratefully. "I knew you'd be very glad to see me, and it's real kind of
you to say so. I hope Mrs. Harkins and your infant family are all quite
well, I thank you."
"Yes, they're hall among the middlin's" said Mr. Harkins,
indifferently. "Mrs. Harkins 'as been and gone and 'ad the--what's this
now?" said Mr. Harkins, pausing, with knit brows, and scratching his
head in perplexity. "Blessed! if I hain't clean forgot the name, it was
'tongs,' No--yes--it was 'tongs,' hand something else."
"And poker," suggested Mr. Toosypegs, thoughtfully.
"Mr. Toosypegs," said Mr. Harkins, facing round fiercely, "I 'ope you
don't mean for to hinsult a cove, do you?"
"Why, Mr. Harkins!" remonstrated the astonished and aggrieved Mr.
Toosypegs. "I'm sure I never meant any such thing; I wouldn't insult you
for all the world for--for--" Mr. Toosypegs paused for a figure of
speech strong enough. "For any amount of money, Mr. Harkins," added Mr.
Toosypegs, warmly.
"Well, it don't make no matter hif you did," said Mr. Harkins, cooling
suddenly down. "But what has this Mrs. 'Arkins 'ad--tongs--tongs? Oh,
yes! _tongs-will-eat-us!_ that's the name, Mr. Toosypegs. Mrs. 'Arkins
'ad that," said Mr. Harkins, triumphantly.
"Tonsilitus, perhaps," insinuated Mr. Toosypegs, meekly.
"Well, hain't that wot I said?" exclaimed Mr. Harkins, rousing up again.
"Hand my John Halbert, he's been and 'ad a Sarah Bell affection--"
"Cerebral," again ventured Mr. Toosypegs, humbly.
"Well, hain't that wot I said?" shouted Mr. Harkins, glaring savagely at
the republican, who wilted suddenly down. "Blessed! if I hain't a good
mind to bring you a clip 'long side the 'ead, for your imperence in
conterdicting me like this 'ere hev'ry time? Why, you'd perwoke a saint,
so you would!" exclaimed the outraged Mr. Harkins.
"Mr. Harkins, I'm sure I never meant to offend you, and I'm real sorry
for your trouble," apologized Mr. Toosypegs, in a remorse-stricken tone.
"Well, it wasn't no trouble," said Mr. Harkins, testily. "'Cos he got
took to the 'orsepittle for fear hany the rest hof the family would take
it. Mary-Hann, she got her feet wet, and took the inn-flue-end-ways;
whot yer got to say ag'in' that?" fiercely demanded Mr. Harkins.
Mr. Toosypegs, who had been muttering "influenza" to himself, and
chuckling inwardly, as he thought how he could correct Mr. Harkins, in
his own mind, in spite of him, was so completely overpowered by this
bristling question, that the blood of conscious guilt rushed to his
face, and Mr. O. C. Toosypegs stood blushing like a red cabbage.
"Because if you've got hanything to say ag'in hit," went on Mr. Harkins,
pointing one stubby forefinger at society in general, "you 'ad better
let hit hout for a little hexercise, that's all. Come now!"
"Mr. Harkins, it's very kind of you to give me permission, and I am very
much obliged to you," said Mr. Toosypegs, looking severely at a small
boy who had a hold of his coat-tails behind. "But I hadn't the remotest
idea of saying anything, whatever, against it. I'm sure it's perfectly
right and proper Mary Ann should have the influenza, if she wants to."
"Ah! I didn't know but what you might think she 'adn't," said Mr.
Harkins blandly. "There wasn't hany tellin', you know, but what you
might say a Hinglishman's 'ouse wasn't his castle, and he couldn't 'ave
whatever he likes there. Well, the baby, he got the crook, which 'ad the
meloncholic heffec' hof turning 'im perfectly black in the face."
Mr. Toosypegs, though inwardly surmising Mr. Harkins meant the croup,
thought it a very likely effect to be brought about by either.
"Then Sary Jane took the brown skeeters, hand I 'ad the lum-beggar hin
my hown back, but on the whole we were all pretty well, thanky!"
"I am real glad to hear it," said Mr. Toosypegs, with friendly warmth.
"I've been pretty well myself since, too. I'm very much obliged to you."
"Let's see, it's near a month, hain't it, since the night I took you to
London?" said Mr. Harkins.
"Three weeks and five days exactly," said Mr. Toosypegs, briskly.
"I suppose you don't disremember the hold gipsy has we took him that
night--do you? 'I was a stranger hand you took me him.' That's in the
Bible, Mr. Toosypegs," said Mr. Harkins, drawing down the corners of his
mouth, and looking pious, and giving Mr. Toosypegs a dig in the ribs, to
mark the beauty of the quotation.
"Yes, Mr. Harkins, but not so hard, if you please--it hurts," said Mr.
Toosypegs, with tears in his eyes, as he rubbed the place.
"What does? that there piece hout the Bible?" said Mr. Harkins, with one
of his sudden bursts of fierceness.
"Oh, Lor', no!" said the deeply-scandalized Mr. Toosypegs, surprised
into profanity by the enormity of the charge. "It's your elbow, Mr.
Harkins, it hurts," said Mr. Toosypegs, with a subdued sniffle.
"Humph!" grunted Mr. Harkins; "well hit's hof no squenceyance, but you
don't disremember the hold gipsy-woman we took in, do you?"
"The one with the black eyes and short frock? Oh, I remember her!" said
Mr. Toosypegs. "I've never seen her since."
"No, I shouldn't s'pose you 'ad," said Mr. Harkins, gruffly, "seein'
she's as mad as a March 'are, down there with her tribe. Mysterious are
the ways of Providence. You blamed little rascal! hif you do that again,
I'll chuck you inter the Serpentine! blessed hif I don't."
His last sentence, which began with a pious upturning of the whites, or
rather the yellows, of Mr. Harkins' eyes, was abruptly cut short by a
depraved youth, who, turning a course of summersaults for the benefit of
his constitution, rolled suddenly against Mr. Harkins' shins, and the
next instant found himself whimpering and rubbing a portion of his
person, where Mr. Harkins had planted a well-applied kick.
"The way the principuls of perliteness is neglected to be hinstilled
hinto the minds of youths now-a-days, is distressin' to behold," said
Mr. Harkins, with a grimace of pain; "but has I was sayin' habout the
hold gipsy queen, she's gone crazy, hand"--(here Mr. Harkins lowered his
voice to a hoarse whisper)--"she's went hand got a baby."
"Do tell!" ejaculated Mr. Toosypegs, who saw it was expected of him to
be surprised, and who consequently was, though he could not see any
earthly reason for it.
"A baby," went on Mr. Harkins, who would have emphasized his words by
another dig in the ribs, but that Mr. Toosypegs dodged back in alarm; "a
real baby, alive and kickin'!"
"Pshaw! it ain't possible!" said Mr Toosypegs, in a voice betraying not
the slightest particle of emotion.
"It is--hincredulous as it may sound, it's true," said Mr. Harkins,
solemnly. "The way I found hit hout was this: I was comin' halong 'ome,
one night hafter bringing hoff a cove w'at got waylaid to Lunnon,
a-singin' to myself that there song, the 'Roast Beef hof Hold Hingland,'
hand a-thinkin' no more 'arm, Mr. Toosypegs, nor a lot hof young pigses
goin' to market," said Mr. Harkins, giving his stick a grand flourish to
mark this bold figure of speech. "It wasn't a dark night, Mr. Toosypegs,
nor yet a light one; the starses was a-shinin' like heverything, when,
hall hof a suddint, a 'and was laid hon the reins, hand a voice, so deep
and orful-like hit made me fairly jump, said:
"'Will you let me ride hin your vagging has far has you're going?'
"I looked round, Mr. Toosypegs," continued Mr. Harkins, in a husky
whisper, "and there I see'd that there gipsy queen, lookin' so dark,
hand fierce, and wild-like, I nearly jumped clean hout the wagging.
Blessed! if I wasn't skeert! Just then I heerd a cry from a bundle she'd
got in her arms, hand what do you think I saw, Mr. Toosypegs?"
The startling energy with which Mr. Harkins, carried away by the
excitement of his story, asked this question, so discomposed the mild
young man with the freckles, that he gave a sudden jump back, and
glanced in terror at the narrator's elbow.
"Really, Mr. Harkins, I don't know, I'm sure," said Mr. Toosypegs,
grasping his carpet-bag, nervously.
"A baby!" said Mr. Harkins, in the same mysterious, husky whisper; "a
baby, Mr. Toosypegs! Now, the question his, where did that there baby
come from?"
Mr. Harkins gave his hat a slap on the crown, for emphasis, and, resting
both hands on the top of his stick, came to a sudden halt, and looked
Mr. Toosypegs severely in the face.
"A--really, Mr. Harkins--I--a--I hadn't the remotest idea," said Mr.
Toosypegs, blushing to the very roots of his hair, "I hope you don't
suspect me--"
"Bah!" interrupted Mr. Harkins, with a look of disgust; "nobody never
said nothin' about you! Well, Mr. Toosypegs, I took her hin, has she
hasked, and brought her along has far has my 'ouse, where Missus 'Arkins
gave her something to eat for the little 'un, which was has fine a
little fellow has you'd wish to see. Then she went hoff, and the next
week we heard she'd gone and went crazy."
"Poor thing. Why, I'm real sorry, Mr. Harkins. I dare say she was a real
nice old lady, if she'd been let alone," said Mr. Toosypegs, in a tone
of commiseration.
"Why, who tetched her?" said Mr. Harkins, testily.
"Well, they went and transported her son, and I'm sure it wasn't right
at all, when he did not want to go. She looked real put out about it
that night, herself, too."
"S'pose you heerd her son was drown-ded?"
"Yes; I saw it in the papers, and I was real sorry--I really was. Mr.
Harkins, I dare say you was, too?"
Mr. Harkins grunted.
"All hands was lost, wasn't they?" said Mr. Harkins, after a short
pause.
"Yes; all hands and feet," said Mr. Toosypegs, venturing on a weak joke;
but, catching the stern look of Mr. Harkins, at this improper levity, he
instantly grew serious again; "the ship struck against something--"
"A mermaid," suggested Mr. Harkins.
"Mr. Harkins, I'm very much obliged to you, but it wasn't a mermaid, it
was a coral reef--that's the name--and went to the bottom with all hands
and the cook."
"Which is a melancholic picture hof the treacherousness hof the hocean,"
said Mr. Harkins, in a moralizing tone, "hand should be a severe warning
to hall, when they steal, not to let themselves get tooken hup, lest
they be tooken down a peg or two, hafter."
"But you know, Mr. Harkins, it's been found out since he wasn't the one
who stole the plate, at all. That man they arrested for murder, and are
going to hang, confessed he did it. I'm sure you might have seen it in
the papers, Mr. Harkins."
"I don't put no faith hin the papers myself," said Mr. Harkins, in a
severe tone; "they hain't to be believed, none of 'em. Hif they says one
thing, you may be sure hit's just hexactly the tother. That there's my
opinion."
"But, Mr. Harkins, look here," said Mr. Toosypegs, deeply impressed
with this profound view of the newspaper press, in general, "I dare say
that's true enough, and it's real sensible of you to say so; but in this
case it must be true. Why, they're going to hang the man, Mr. Harkins,
and he confessed he did that, along with ever so many other unlawful
things. I wonder if hanging hurts much, Mr. Harkins?" said Mr.
Toosypegs, involuntarily loosening his neck-cloth, as he thought of it.
"Well, I don't know," returned Mr. Harkins, thoughtfully, "I never was
'anged myself, but I had a cousin who married a vidder." Here, Mr.
Harkins, taking advantage of a moment's unguarded proximity, gave Mr.
Toosypegs a facetious dig in the ribs, which caused that ill-used young
gentleman to spring back with something like a howl.
"You don't know how sharp your elbow is, Mr. Harkins; and my ribs are
real thin. I ain't used to such treatment, and it hurts," said Mr.
Toosypegs, with whom this seemed to be the climax of wrong, and beyond
which there was no proceeding further.
"I have heerd it was honly their shins as was tender hin Hamerica," said
Mr. Harkins. "When are you goin' back to Hamerica, Mr. Toosypegs?"
"Not before a year--perhaps two," said Mr. Toosypegs, brightening
suddenly up. "And I tell you what, Mr. Harkins, America is a real nice
place, and I'll be ever so glad to get back to it. There was the nicest
people round where we lived that ever was," went on Mr. Toosypegs,
getting enthusiastic. "There was Judge Lawless, up at Heath Hill; and
old Admiral Havenful, at the White Squall, and lots of other folks.
Where I lived was called Dismal Hollow, owing to its being encircled by
huge black rocks on all sides, and a dark pine forest on the other."
"Pleasant place it must 'ave been," said Mr. Harkins, with a strong
sneer.
"Well, it wasn't so pleasant as you might think," seriously replied Mr.
Toosypegs, on whom his companion's sarcasm was completely thrown away;
"the sun never shone there; and as Dismal Creek, that run right before
the house, got swelled up every time it rained, the house always made a
point of getting flooded, and so we lived most of the time in the attic
in the spring. There were runaway niggers in the woods, too, who used
to steal and do a good many other nasty things, so it wasn't safe to go
out at night, but, on the whole, it was pretty pleasant."
"Wot ever made you leave sich a nice place?" said Mr. Harkins, with a
little suppressed chuckle.
"Why, Mr. Harkins, I may tell you as a friend, for I know you won't
mention it again," said Mr. Toosypegs, lowering his voice to a
deeply-confidential and strictly private cadence. "My pa died when I was
a little shaver about so-year-old, and ma and I were pretty poor, to be
candid about it. Well, then, three years ago my ma died, too, which was
a serious affliction to me, Mr. Harkins, and I was left plunged in
deepest sorrow and poverty. The niggers worked the farm, and I was
employing my time in cultivating a pair of whiskers to alleviate my
grief when I received a letter from an uncle here in England, telling me
to come right on, and, if he liked me, he'd make me his heir when he
died, which was real kind of him. That's what brought me here, Mr.
Harkins; and I'm stopping with my uncle and his sister, who is an
unmarried woman of forty-five, or so."
"Hand the hold chap's 'live yet?" inquired Mr. Harkins.
"Mr. Harkins, my uncle, I am happy to say, still exists," answered Mr.
Toosypegs, gravely.
"Humph! 'As he got much pewter, Mr. Toosypegs?"
"Much what?" said the mild owner of the freckles, completely at a loss.
"You'll excuse me, I hope, Mr. Harkins, but I really don't understand."
"Green," muttered Mr. Harkins, contemptuously to himself. Then aloud:
"'Ow much do you think he'll leave you?"
"Well, about two thousand pounds or so," said Mr. Toosypegs,
complacently.
"Two--thousand--poun'!" slowly articulated the astounded Mr. Harkins.
"Oh, my heye!--w'y you'll be rich, Mr. Toosypegs! What will you do with
all that there money?"
"Why, my aunt, Miss Priscilla Dorothea Toosypegs, and I are going home
to Maryland (that's where I used to live, Mr. Harkins), and we're going
to fit up the old place and live there. Aunt Priscilla never was in
America, and wants to see it real bad."
"Two--thousand--poun'," still more slowly repeated Mr. Harkins. "Well,
things is 'stonishing. Jest think hof me now, the honest and
'ard-working father of ten children, hand you won't catch nobody going
hand dying hand leaving me one single blessed brass farden, while here's
a cove more'n 'alf a hass. I say, Mr. Toosypegs, you wouldn't lend me a
guinea or two, would you?" insinuated Mr. Harkins in his most
incredulous voice.
"Why, certainly, Mr. Harkins," said Mr. Toosypegs, briskly, drawing out
his purse. "I'm real happy to be able to be of service to you. Here's
two guineas, and don't put yourself out about paying it."
"Mr. Toosypegs, you're a brick!" said Mr. Harkins, grasping his hand
with emotion. "I won't put myself hout in the least, since you're kind
enough to request it; but hif you'll come and dine with me some day,
I'll give you a dinner of b'iled pertaters and roast honions fit for a
king. Will you come?" urged Mr. Harkins, giving him a friendly poke with
his fore-finger.
"Certainly I will, Mr. Harkins; and it's real kind in you to ask me,"
said Mr. Toosypegs, politely. "I see you're in a hurry, so I'll bid you
good-day, now. Most certainly I'll come, Mr. Harkins. I'm very much
obliged to you."