At the appointed hour, the young gentleman whom Mr. Joslin had addressed
as 'Hill' waited on Hiram at the Franklin House. He sent up his card,
and Hiram descended to meet him. He could scarcely recognize the young
man before him, dressed in a ridiculous extreme of fashion, and covered
with rings, pins, and gold chains, as the clerk hard at work with coat
off, superintending the stowing away of a lot of merchandise. But Hiram
was in no way deceived or taken in by the imposing manner in which Mr.
Hill had got himself up. He saw quickly the difference between the real
and the flash fashionable. But he did not betray this by word or sign,
and continued to maintain the character he had assumed of an
unsophisticated, verdant country youth.
Mr. Hill at the outset proposed they should take a drink, to which Hiram
readily assented. They proceeded to the bar, when the young man asked
his companion what he would have.
'A glass of lemonade,' replied Hiram.
'Lemonade!' exclaimed the other. 'You don't call that drinking with a
fellow, do you?'
'I can't take anything stronger,' answered Hiram. 'I belong to the
temperance society.'
'Temperance society!' retorted Hill, a good deal chapfallen that he was
to lose his chief weapon of attack. 'I thought the pledge didn't hold
when you were away from home?'
'Oh, yes it does; our minister says it holds everywhere. Still, I
wouldn't mind taking some soda and sarsaparilla, though Dr. Stevens says
there's alcohol in the sarsaparilla.'
Hiram was impracticable. Hill could not induce him even to take a little
wine. He was so much chagrined that he poured out for himself a double
portion of brandy, and, before he had finished it, regained his good
humor.
'Well, what do you say to another glass? I think I can stand the brandy,
if you can the lemonade.'
Hiram had no objections.
Hill lighted a segar. Hiram did not smoke.
'I hope you are not going to refuse my next invitation,' said Hill. 'I
have got tickets for the theatre: what do you say?'
Hiram had often discussed the theatre question, both at the lyceum and
on other occasions. It was to be condemned--no doubt about it. But the
Rev. Mr. Goddard had once remarked in his hearing that he thought if a
good opportunity was presented for a young man to visit the theatre, he
had perhaps better do so, than feel an irritating curiosity all his life
about it.
Seeing Hiram hesitate, Hill proceeded to urge him. 'You had better go,'
he said. 'Lots to be seen. You don't know what you are losing, I tell
you.'
Hiram was not influenced by his companion's importunity, but he decided
to go, nevertheless. The elder Kean was then in New York, and the old
Park Theatre in all its glory. That evening Kean was to play Shylock in
the 'Merchant of Venice.' Hill, greatly pleased that at last he had made
some headway, took another glass of brandy and water, and the young men
proceeded to the theatre. The house was crowded from galleries to pit.
The orchestra was playing when they entered.
Hiram was blinded by the brilliancy of the gaslights. His heart beat
fast in spite of his effort to be composed.
The play began with some second-rate actors, who went through the first
scene with the usual affected stage strut and tone. Hiram thought he
never witnessed anything more unnatural and ridiculous. Even in the
second, where Portia and Nerissa hold a dialogue, he was rather
disgusted than otherwise. The machinery had scarcely been adjusted for
the third scene, when a storm of applause burst from all parts of the
house; clapping of hands, stamping of feet, bravos, and various noises
of welcome commingled, and Hiram beheld an old man enter, somewhat bent,
dressed in a Hebrew cap and tunic, having a short cane, which would
serve either for support or as a means of defence. As he advanced, he
cast sidelong, suspicious, and sinister glances from beneath bushy,
beetling eyebrows.
At first Hiram was inclined to believe it was a real personage, so
natural was his entrance--so destitute of all trick, or of anything got
up.
'That's Kean,' whispered Hill.
Hiram held his breath as the words of the Jew broke distinctly on the
house:
'_Three thousand ducats--well._'
He entered at once with the deepest interest into the play. With head
leaning forward, eyes open wide and fixed on the speaker, he drank in
every word. From the first he sympathized with the main character. When
Shylock went on to say: 'Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an
argosy bound to Tipolis, another to the Indies. I understand, moreover,
upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England; and
other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships are but boards,
sailors but men. There be land rats and water rats, land thieves and
water thieves--I mean pirates; and there is the peril of waters, winds,
and rocks. The man is notwithstanding sufficient:'--Hiram unconsciously
shook his head, as if he doubted it.
His whole soul was now centred in the performance. When it came to the
trial, in the fourth act, he turned and twisted his body, as if he could
with difficulty abstain from advising Shylock to accept the offer of
Bassanio: 'For the three thousand ducats here is six.'
It does not appear that Hiram felt any sympathy for the merchant who was
to lose the pound of flesh; but for Shylock, when turned out of court
stripped of all he had, it was intense. When at last he exclaims:
'Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:
You take my house when you do take the prop
That doth sustain my house; you take my life
When you do take the means whereby I live:'
Hiram leaned back, and exclaimed audibly: 'It's too bad, I declare!'
All this time, Hill sat as quietly as he could. He laughed whenever
Launcelot Gobbo appeared; and tried hard to get Hiram to go out and take
more lemonade between the acts. Hiram would not move. He offered to
introduce him to lots of pretty girls whom he pointed out in the
distance; but it was useless. Hill began to think he would not make much
of Hiram, after all. The evening was past, and he had as yet
accomplished just nothing.
The play was over. The farce had been performed. It did not interest
Hiram. He thought everything over-strained and unnatural. It was now
late, Hiram had declined various seductive invitations of Hill, when the
latter finally insisted they should have some oysters. Hiram assented,
and the two descended into Windust's.
'Well, old fellow, what are you doing here?' was Hill's exclamation to a
young man with notebook and pencil, seated at one of the small tables,
on which already smoked an oyster stew and some brandy toddy.
'Hallo, Hill, is that you? Sit down. What will you have?' was the reply.
Hiram regarded the speaker curiously. He was twenty-two or three years
old--serious looking, with black hair, dark eyes, and pale, bony
features. He had the easy, indifferent air of one careless of opinion,
or independent of it.
'My friend, Mr. Meeker, from Connecticut.'
'Mr. Meeker, Mr. Innis.'
After these salutations, the parties sat down, and orders were given.
'Excuse me,' said Innis; 'I am not quite through my work.'
'Go ahead,' replied Hill; whereat the other proceeded with his pencil
and notebook, scratching away in a most rapid manner.
Seeing Hiram look as if he did not exactly comprehend the employment,
Hill remarked, 'Innis is _item_ man and reporter for the _Clarion_, and
you will see his notice of Kean's performance, which he is just
finishing, in to-morrow morning's paper.'
This struck Hiram as rapid work, considerably increasing his respect for
the stranger, and led him to regard Innis still more critically. His
appearance had impressed him favorably from the first.
Suddenly he exclaimed, 'Wern't you at Newton Academy?'
'Yes; and so were you. I remember now. You were a little fellow. You
took the first prize in bookkeeping.'
'And _you_ learned shorthand of Chellis.'
'Which counts now, at any rate. I should starve without it.'
During this colloquy Hill sat in utter amazement.
'You a Newton boy?' he exclaimed at last.
'Yes,' said Hiram.
'And you know him, and no mistake?' to Innis.
Innis nodded.
'Then old Joslin may go to the devil. I--'
'He'll go soon enough, and without your permission; and if you are not
careful, you'll go with him,' interrupted Innis, rising. 'I am all right
now,' he continued. 'I've but to step a block and a half and back. I
will be with you again in three minutes;' and he darted off to hand in
his evening's report.
Hill sat looking at Hiram, who, with all his impenetrability wore a
surprised and puzzled expression.
'You don't remember me,' he said.
'No.'
'Why, I am Deacon Hill's son, of Newton. I quit the academy, I guess,
just about the time you came. Innis and I were there together. Well, I
declare, your innocent look threw me off the track; but I have seen you
many a time in Hampton. You used to be with Jessup, didn't you?'
'Yes.'
'You've been coming possum over Joslin; isn't it so?'
'I don't understand you.'
'Oh, never mind; he's a cursed knave, anyway. I shall quit him first of
January--keeps me on promises and the lowest kind of a salary, and no
end of the dirty work--'
'Such as sham sales of my employer's paper sold A.H. Hill,' interrupted
Hiram, dryly.
'Hallo! where did you get hold of that?' said Hill, laughing.
Hiram made no reply; and Innis entering at this moment, the subject was
changed.
Hill, who had already imbibed more than was good for him, ordered a
brandy toddy; and Hiram, true to his temperance principles, partook of a
cup of hot coffee. Before the toddy was half finished, Hill, who was
already illustrating the proverb that 'children, fools, and drunken men
speak truth,' commenced again about his employer, Joslin.
'Really, Mr. Hill, I don't think you ought to refer to your confidential
relations with your principal,' said Hiram, gravely. He knew, cunning
fellow, it would only be adding fuel to the fire.
'You be----,' said Hill. 'I tell you what it is, Innis: here's a sell.
I'm fairly come over. He is on Joslin's track--I know it, and I'll own
up.' He thereupon proceeded to give a general account of Joslin, and how
he did business, and what a cowardly, lying knave he was.
Innis laughed. Hiram was quiet, but he did not miss a word. The little
supper was finished, and the trio rose to depart.
'I had no idea it was so late,' said Innis.
'Have you far to go?' said Hiram.
'Yes, to Chelsea; and the omnibuses have stopped.'
'Come and stay with me: I have a very nice room.'
Innis saw Hiram was in earnest, and after a little hesitation he
assented. Hill bid them good night, and hiccoughed off toward his own
quarters; and Hiram with Innis went to the Franklin House.
When these young men reached their room, they did not go to bed. They
sat up for an hour or two. What this conference led to we shall see
by-and-by.