I don't care where you come from,--we'll make a Boston man of you,--said
the little gentleman. Pray, what part of Maryland did you come from, and
how shall I call you?
The poor youth had to speak pretty loud, as he was at the right upper
corner of the table, and the little gentleman next the lower left-hand
corner. His face flushed a little, but he answered pleasantly, telling
who he was, as if the little man's infirmity gave him a right to ask any
questions he wanted to.
Here is the place for you to sit,--said the little gentleman, pointing
to the vacant chair next his own, at the corner.
You're go'n' to have a young lady next you, if you wait till
to-morrow,--said the landlady to him.
He did not reply, but I had a fancy that he changed color. It can't be
that he has susceptibilities with reference to a contingent young lady!
It can't be that he has had experiences which make him sensitive! Nature
could not be quite so cruel as to set a heart throbbing in that poor
little cage of ribs! There is no use in wasting notes of admiration. I
must ask the landlady about him.
These are some of the facts she furnished.--Has not been long with her.
Brought a sight of furniture,--could n't hardly get some of it upstairs.
Has n't seemed particularly attentive to the ladies. The Bombazine
(whom she calls Cousin something or other) has tried to enter into
conversation with him, but retired with the impression that he was
indifferent to ladies' society. Paid his bill the other day without
saying a word about it. Paid it in gold,--had a great heap of
twenty-dollar pieces. Hires her best room. Thinks he is a very nice
little man, but lives dreadful lonely up in his chamber. Wants the care
of some capable nuss. Never pitied anybody more in her life--never see a
more interestin' person.
--My intention was, when I began making these notes, to let them consist
principally of conversations between myself and the other boarders. So
they will, very probably; but my curiosity is excited about this little
boarder of ours, and my reader must not be disappointed, if I sometimes
interrupt a discussion to give an account of whatever fact or traits I
may discover about him. It so happens that his room is next to mine, and
I have the opportunity of observing many of his ways without any active
movements of curiosity. That his room contains heavy furniture, that
he is a restless little body and is apt to be up late, that he talks
to himself, and keeps mainly to himself, is nearly all I have yet found
out.
One curious circumstance happened lately which I mention without drawing
an absolute inference. Being at the studio of a sculptor with whom I am
acquainted, the other day, I saw a remarkable cast of a left arm. On my
asking where the model came from, he said it was taken direct from the
arm of a deformed person, who had employed one of the Italian moulders
to make the cast. It was a curious case, it should seem, of one
beautiful limb upon a frame otherwise singularly imperfect--I have
repeatedly noticed this little gentleman's use of his left arm. Can he
have furnished the model I saw at the sculptor's?
--So we are to have a new boarder to-morrow. I hope there will be
something pretty and pleasing about her. A woman with a creamy
voice, and finished in alto rilievo, would be a variety in the
boarding-house,--a little more marrow and a little less sinew than our
landlady and her daughter and the bombazine-clad female, all of whom are
of the turkey-drumstick style of organization. I don't mean that these
are our only female companions; but the rest being conversational
non-combatants, mostly still, sad feeders, who take in their food as
locomotives take in wood and water, and then wither away from the table
like blossoms that never came to fruit, I have not yet referred to them
as individuals.
I wonder what kind of young person we shall see in that empty chair
to-morrow!
--I read this song to the boarders after breakfast the other morning. It
was written for our fellows;--you know who they are, of course.