_Adapted from_ EDGAR A. POE
NOTE.--The ingeniousness of the idea in this story marks it as
Poe's, though it lacks some of the characteristics which we expect
to find in everything that came from the brain of that most unusual
writer. Many of his poems and many of his most famous stories, such
as _Ligeia_, _The Fall of the House of Usher_, _Eleanora_ and _The
Masque of the Red Death_, have a fantastic horror about them which
is scarcely to be found in the writings of any other man. _The Gold
Bug_, which is included in Volume IX of this series is a
characteristic example of another type of Poe's stories; it shows
at its best his marvelous inventive power.
_Three Sundays in a Week_, as given here, has been abridged
somewhat, though nothing that is essential to the story has been
omitted.
"You hard-hearted, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty,
fusty, old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my granduncle,
Rumgudgeon, shaking my fist at him in imagination. Only in imagination.
The fact is, some trivial difference did exist, just then, between what
I said and what I had not the courage to say--between what I did and
what I had half a mind to do.
The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting with
his feet upon the mantelpiece, making strenuous efforts to accomplish a
ditty.
"My _dear_ uncle," said I, closing the door gently and approaching him
with the blandest of smiles, "you are always so very kind and
considerate, and have evinced your benevolence in so many--so very many
ways--that--that I feel I have only to suggest this little point to you
once more to make sure of your full acquiescence."
"Hem!" said he, "good boy! go on!"
"I am sure, my dearest uncle (you confounded old rascal!) that you have
no design really and seriously to oppose my union with Kate. This is
merely a joke of yours, I know--ha! ha! ha!--how very pleasant you are
at times."
"Ha! ha! ha!" said he, "curse you! yes!"
"To be sure--of course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all that
Kate and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us--as regards
the _time_--you know, uncle--in short, when will it be most convenient
for yourself that the wedding shall--shall come off, you know?"
"Come off, you scoundrel! what do you mean by that?--Better wait till it
goes on."
"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--oh, that's good--oh, that's capital--such a
wit! But all we want, just now, you know, uncle, is that you should
indicate the time precisely."
"Ah!--precisely?"
"Yes, uncle--that is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself."
"Wouldn't it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at random--sometime
within a year or so, for example?--_must_ I say precisely?"
"_If_ you please, uncle--precisely."
"Well, then, Bobby, my boy--you're a fine fellow, aren't you?--since you
_will_ have the exact time, I'll--why, I'll oblige you for once."
"Dear uncle!"
[Illustration: "WELL, THEN, BOBBY, MY BOY"]
"Hush, sir!" (drowning my voice)--"I'll oblige you for once. You shall
have my consent--and the _plum_, we mustn't forget the plum--let me see!
When shall it be? To-day's Sunday--isn't it! Well, then, you shall be
married precisely--_precisely_, now mind!--_when three Sundays come
together in a week_! Do you hear me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say,
you shall have Kate and her plum when three Sundays come together in a
week--but not _till_ then--you young scapegrace--not _till_ then, if I
die for it. You know me--_I'm a man of my word_--_now be off_!" Here he
grinned at me viciously, and I rushed from the room in despair.
A very "fine old English gentleman" was my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, but,
unlike him of the song, he had his weak points. He was a little, pursy,
pompous, passionate, semi-circular somebody, with a red nose, a thick
skull, a long purse, and a strong sense of his own consequence. With the
best heart in the world, he contrived, through a predominate whim of
contradiction, to earn for himself, among those who only knew him
superficially, the character of a curmudgeon. Like many excellent
people, he seemed possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which might
easily, at a casual glance, be mistaken for malevolence. To every
request, a positive "No!" was his immediate answer; but in the end--in
the long, long end--there were exceedingly few requests which he
refused. Against all attacks upon his purse he made the most sturdy
defence; but the amount extorted from him at last, was generally in
direct ratio with the length of the siege and the stubbornness of the
resistance. In charity, no one gave more liberally, or with a worse
grace.
For the fine arts, especially for the belles-lettres, he entertained a
profound contempt. Thus my own inkling for the Muses had excited his
entire displeasure. He assured me one day, when I asked him for a new
copy of Horace, that the translation of "_Poeta nascitur, non
fit_"[456-1] was "a nasty poet for nothing fit"--a remark which I took
in high dudgeon. His repugnance to the "humanities" had, also, much
increased of late, by an accidental bias in favor of what he supposed to
be natural science. Somebody had accosted him in the street, mistaking
him for a no less personage than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the lecturer upon
quack physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at the epoch of
this story, my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, was accessible and pacific only
upon the points which happened to chime in with the hobby he was riding.
I had lived with the old gentleman all my life. My parents in dying had
bequeathed me to him as a rich legacy. I believe the old villain loved
me as his own child--nearly if not quite as well as he loved Kate--but
it was a dog's existence that he led me after all. From my first year
until my fifth, he obliged me with very regular floggings. From five to
fifteen, he threatened me, hourly, with the House of Correction. From
fifteen to twenty not a day passed in which he did not promise to cut me
off with a shilling. I was a sad dog it is true, but then it was a part
of my nature--a point of my faith.
In Kate, however, I had a firm friend, and I knew it. She was a good
girl, and told me very sweetly that I might have her (plum and all)
whenever I could badger my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, into the necessary
consent. Poor girl! she was barely fifteen, and without this consent her
little amount in the funds was not come-at-able until five immeasurable
summers had "dragged their slow length along." What then to do? In vain
we besieged the old gentleman with importunities. It would have stirred
the indignation of Job himself to see how much like an old mouser he
behaved to us two little mice. In his heart he wished for nothing more
ardently than our union. He had made up his mind to this all along. In
fact he would have given ten thousand pounds from his own pocket (Kate's
plum was _her own_) if he could have invented anything like an excuse
for complying with our very natural wishes. But then we had been so
imprudent as to broach the matter ourselves. Not to oppose it under
the circumstances, I sincerely believe, was not in his power.
[Illustration: "IN KATE, HOWEVER, I HAD A FIRM FRIEND"]
My granduncle was, after his own fashion, a man of his word, no doubt.
The spirit of his vows he made no scruple of setting at naught, but the
letter was a bond inviolable. Now it was this peculiarity in his
disposition of which Kate's ingenuity enabled us one fine day, not long
after our interview in the drawing-room, to take a very unexpected
advantage.
It happened then--so the Fates ordered it--that among the naval
acquaintances of my betrothed were two gentlemen who had just set foot
upon the shores of England, after a year's absence, each, in foreign
travel. In company with these gentlemen, Kate and I, preconcertedly,
paid uncle Rumgudgeon a visit on the afternoon of Sunday, October the
tenth--just three weeks after the memorable decision which had so
cruelly defeated our hopes. For about half an hour the conversation ran
upon ordinary topics; but at last we contrived, quite naturally, to give
it the following turn:
_Capt. Pratt._ "Well, I have been absent just one year. Just one year
to-day, as I live--let me see! yes!--this is October the tenth. You
remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called this day year, to bid you good-bye.
And by the way, it does seem something like a coincidence, does it
not--that our friend, Captain Smitherton, has been absent exactly a year
also, a year to-day?"
_Smitherton._ "Yes! just one year to a fraction. You will remember, Mr.
Rumgudgeon, that I called with Captain Pratt on this very day last year,
to pay my parting respects."
_Uncle._ "Yes, yes, yes--I remember it very well--very queer indeed!
Both of you gone just one year. A very strange coincidence indeed! Just
what Doctor Dubble L. Dee would denominate an extraordinary concurrence
of events. Doctor Dub--"
_Kate_ (_interrupting_). "To be sure papa, it _is_ something strange;
but then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn't go altogether the
same route, and that makes a difference you know."
_Uncle._ "I don't know any such thing, you hussy! How should I? I think
it only makes the matter more remarkable. Doctor Dubble L. Dee--"
_Kate._ "Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round Cape Horn, and Captain
Smitherton doubled the Cape of Good Hope."
_Uncle._ "Precisely! the one went east and the other went west, you
jade, and they have both gone quite round the world. By the bye, Doctor
Dub--"
_Myself_ (_hurriedly_). "Captain Pratt, you must come and spend the
evening with us to-morrow--you and Smitherton--you can tell us all about
your voyage, and we'll have a game of whist, and--"
_Pratt._ "Whist, my dear fellow--you forget. To-morrow will be Sunday.
Some other evening--"
_Kate._ "Oh, no, fie!--Robert's not _quite_ so bad as that. _To-day's_
Sunday."
_Uncle._ "To be sure--to be sure."
_Pratt._ "I beg both your pardons--but I can't be so much mistaken. I
know to-morrow's Sunday, because--"
_Smitherton_ (_much surprised_). "What _are_ you all thinking about?
Wasn't _yesterday_ Sunday, I should like to know?"
_All._ "Yesterday, indeed! you _are_ out!"
_Uncle._ "To-day's Sunday, I say--don't I know?"
_Pratt._ "Oh, no!--to-morrow's Sunday."
_Smitherton._ "You are _all_ mad--every one of you. I am as positive
that yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit upon this chair."
_Kate_ (_jumping up eagerly_). "I see it--I see it all. Papa, this is a
judgment upon you, about--about you know what. Let me alone, and I'll
explain it all in a minute. It's a very simple thing, indeed. Captain
Smitherton says that yesterday was Sunday: so it was; he is right.
Cousin Bobby, and papa and I, say that to-day is Sunday: so it is, we
are right. Captain Pratt maintains that to-morrow will be Sunday: so it
will, he is right, too. The fact is, we are all right, and thus _three
Sundays have come together in a week_."
_Smitherton_ (_after a pause_). "By the bye, Pratt, Kate has us
completely. What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter stands
thus: the earth, you know, is twenty-four thousand miles in
circumference. Now this globe turns upon its own axis--revolves--spins
around--these twenty-four thousand miles of extent, going from west to
east, in precisely twenty-four hours. Do you understand, Mr.
Rumgudgeon?"
_Uncle._ "To be sure--to be sure. Doctor Dub--"
_Smitherton_ (_drowning his voice_). "Well sir, that is at the rate of
one thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from this position
a thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the rising of the sun here
at London by just one hour. I see the sun rise one hour before you do.
Proceeding, in the same direction, yet another thousand miles, I
anticipate the rising by two hours--another thousand, and I anticipate
it by three hours, and so on, until I go entirely round the globe, and
back to this spot, when having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I
anticipate the rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-four
hours; that is to say, I am a day _in advance_ of your time. Understand,
eh?"
_Uncle._ "But Dubble L. Dee--"
_Smitherton_ (_speaking very loud_). "Captain Pratt, on the contrary,
when he had sailed a thousand miles west of this position, was an hour,
and when he had sailed twenty-four thousand miles west was twenty-four
hours, or one day, _behind_ the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterday
was Sunday--thus with you, to-day is Sunday--and thus with Pratt,
to-morrow will be Sunday. And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is
positively clear that that we are _all right_; for there can be no
philosophical reason assigned why the idea of one of us should have
preference over that of the other."
_Uncle._ "My eyes!--well, Kate--well Bobby!--this _is_ a judgment upon
me as you say. But I am a man of my word--_mark that_! You shall have
her, my boy (plum and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove! Three
Sundays in a row! I'll go and take Dubble L. Dee's opinion upon _that_."