IN WHICH PHIL MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MRS. WHIPPLETON.
Mr. Collingsby, though not more than forty-two or three years old, was
quite stout; indeed, I should say that he was already qualified by his
proportions to be an alderman. I was disposed to regard him with great
respect, as he was my uncle--at least I had made up my mind that he
was. I certainly had no objection to acknowledging such a relation. He
corresponded with the description given by my father.
[Illustration: A MAN WITH CAPITAL TAKES WHATEVER SEAT IN THE CAR HE
FANCIES. Page 38.]
The dignified gentleman took up a fair half of the seat which was to be
divided between him and the old lady, and the latter wriggled, and
twisted, and squirmed for some time before she had adjusted her frame
and her dress to her own satisfaction. Mr. Collingsby took no notice
whatever of her, as it was evidently beneath his dignity to do so, or
even to be annoyed by her uneasy motions. Opening the newspaper he
carried in his hand, he began to read the leader, totally oblivious of
her presence. I rather liked his way of treating a disagreeable
subject; and just then, if I had been permitted to vote, I would
cheerfully have cast my ballot in his favor for an alderman of Chicago
or St. Louis.
The more I studied the face of my presumed uncle, the better I liked
him, though perhaps I was biassed by the relationship. He looked like a
very substantial man, though I should have regarded it as dangerous to
perpetrate a joke upon him. On the whole, therefore, I was entirely
satisfied to have him turn out to be the brother of my mother. In about
an hour the train stopped; and by this time I was ready to sit down.
But only one gentleman left the car in which I was riding; and he sat
directly opposite the dignified gentleman. I started for the vacant
seat; but, before I could secure it, Mr. Collingsby sprang quite
nimbly, for a person of his weight, into the place. Doubtless the
rudeness of the old lady had annoyed him, for he made haste to beat a
retreat.
However, I had the alternative of taking the seat just vacated, or
standing up still longer. I chose the former; and before the old lady
could transfer her bundles from the rack to the chair, I dropped into
it. I made myself as comfortable as possible, though my porcupine
companion hitched violently towards the middle of the seat, so as to
make sure that she had her full share of the space. She cast a savage
glance at me, as though she thought I had invaded her privileges; but I
endeavored to follow the example of my predecessor in the seat, and be
too dignified to be annoyed.
"Goodness knows! I am glad that hog has gone!" ejaculated the old lady,
with no little venom in her tones, and loud enough to have been heard
by Mr. Collingsby, if his dignity had not closed his ears to such an
unfeminine expression.
I did not deem it prudent to take any notice of her; and, across the
aisle, I read the headings in large type in Mr. Collingsby's newspaper,
for I had none of my own to help me in preserving my dignity, or rather
in cultivating it.
"Some folks don't know much," added the old lady, spitefully.
I was perfectly willing to grant the truth of this proposition, even
without knowing whether it was intended to apply to Mr. Collingsby or
to me; though I was compelled to believe it was all in the family, and
made no difference. It was undeniable that "some folks didn't know
much;" but I was forced to deduce the corollary that the old lady was
one of the unfortunates included in the proposition.
"I say, some folks don't know much," repeated the old lady, forcibly.
"That Mr. Collingsby needn't put on airs, and pretend he don't know me.
I know'd him the moment that conductor-man spoke his name. He ain't no
better'n I am. My son's his pardner in business."
I couldn't help looking at her then. Her lips wore pursed up, and she
was the very impersonation of offended dignity. Her remark rather
startled me, and if it was true, I wished to make her acquaintance.
"Perhaps he didn't recognize you," I ventured to suggest.
"Perhaps he didn't; but none are so blind as them that won't see. Yes,
that man is my son's pardner in business; and my son is every bit and
grain as good as he is, though I say it, who ought not to say it. My
name's Whippleton, and my son's name is Charles Whippleton. I s'pose
you've heard of the firm of Collingsby and Whippleton--hain't you?"
"I never did," I replied.
Mr. Collingsby read his newspaper, and did not appear to hear a word
that was said; but I fancied his dignity was subjected to a severe
trial.
"Where have you been all your life, if you never heard of Collingsby
and Whippleton, the biggest lumber firm in Chicago?" added the old
lady.
"I never was in Chicago," I replied.
"O, you never was! Well, it's a sight to see! You hain't seen much of
the world if you never was in Chicago. Well, you are like a chicken
that ain't hatched; all your troubles are to come. There's a great many
mean folks in the world; you'll find that out soon enough. For my part,
if there's anything in this world that I hate, it's mean folks,"
continued Mrs. Whippleton, glancing maliciously across the aisle at Mr.
Collingsby. "That man's meaner'n gravel-stone chowder."
The old lady dropped her voice a little, as though she meant to be
confidential on this point. I was rather sorry to have the character of
my presumed uncle damaged in this manner, but I was not sufficiently
acquainted with him to attempt a defence.
"It was meaner'n dirt for him to set down side of me, and not even say
how d'ye do! I hate mean folks. I ain't mean myself. There ain't a mean
bone in my body--no, there ain't, if I do say it, that oughtn't to say
it."
"Probably the gentleman did not recognize you," I suggested again.
"He didn't want to re-cog-nize me," she persisted, throwing a bitter
emphasis on the middle of the word. "He didn't even look at me."
I wanted to ask her some questions about the Collingsby family; but I
did not like to do so while one of its members was so near me, for I
fancied that, deeply as he was absorbed in the newspaper, he heard
every word that was said by the garrulous old lady, who appeared to
have been talking more for his benefit than mine in some of her
remarks. But the appearance of the conductor at the forward end of the
car, taking up the tickets, changed the current of her thoughts, and
she commenced a violent demonstration upon her bag, her pocket, and her
bundles, in search of her ticket.
Most of the passengers produced their tickets, conscious, perhaps, how
nervous it makes the "gentlemanly conductor" when compelled to wait for
excited men or women to search through all their pockets, and all their
portable effects, for the evidence that they had paid their fare. I
noticed that Mr. Collingsby continued to gaze unmoved at the columns of
his newspaper, and when the conductor reached him, he slowly drew off
his kid glove, and deliberately took from his pocket-book the ticket,
which his dignity did not permit him to have ready before.
"Tickets, if you please," said the conductor, as he politely bowed to
Mr. Collingsby, and turned to the less important people in the car.
I gave up mine, and received a check; but Mrs. Whippleton was still
ransacking her bags and parcels.
"As I live and breathe, I've lost my ticket, or else somebody's stole
it!" exclaimed the old lady, glancing again towards Mr. Collingsby, who
must have been, in her estimation, the root of all evil and all
mischief.
"Did you buy one?" asked the conductor.
"Sartin I did," protested Mrs. Whippleton; "and it took nigh on to
every cent of money I had. I hain't got enough left to buy my dinner."
"Look round and find it," added the official.
"Look round! I've looked into everything I have. You hustled all my
things over, and I reckon it's your fault, more'n 'tis mine."
"Look again, and I will come back," added the conductor, as he passed
on his way.
"You hain't seen nothin' of my ticket--have you?" said Mrs. Whippleton,
as she commenced another onslaught upon her pockets and bundles.
"I have not."
But I did the best I could to assist her in the search. I got out of my
seat, and looked upon the floor in the vicinity. Neither of us was
successful in finding the lost pasteboard, for which the handsome sum
of twelve dollars had been expended. I really pitied the old lady, for
she did not appear to be in good circumstances herself, judging by the
quality of her clothing and her baggage. What seemed to make it worse
to me was the fact that she had spent all her money.
"I don't see what's become on't!" said she, in despair.
"Are you sure you bought one?" I asked, rather for the want of anything
else to say than because this was the most pertinent question.
"Why, do you think I'd lie about it?"
"Certainly not," I protested, alarmed at this violent deduction from my
remark.
"If I didn't buy a ticket, where's my money gone to?"
"You may have lost it before you got into the car."
"No, I didn't. I had it, I know, after I sot down here. You don't think
I'd try to cheat--do you?"
"Why, no! I didn't think of such a thing."
"Well, madam, have you found your ticket?" asked the conductor,
returning from the rear of the car.
"Hain't seen hide nor hair on't."
"Just get out of the seat and shake yourself. If you had a ticket at
all, it is here somewhere," added the gentlemanly official.
"Do you think I didn't have no ticket?" demanded Mrs. Whippleton,
pursing up her lips to express her wounded feelings.
"I don't know; jump up, and we will see."
I left my seat, and with a labored effort the old lady followed my
example. The conductor searched on the floor, and in the chair,
overhauled the bundles, and turned up the back of the seat, but with no
better success than had attended our previous efforts.
"Sartin 'tain't there," said the old lady, as she worked herself into
her seat again.
"No, it is not. Are you sure you had a ticket?"
"Do you think I'd lie about it?"
"Perhaps you lost it before you got into the car."
"No, I didn't. I had it while I sot here. I reckon you lost it when you
stirred up my things. If you hadn't teched 'em, it would have been all
right."
"Well, madam, I want your ticket or your fare."
"But I hain't got no ticket."
"Then give me twelve dollars."
"Twelve dollars!" ejaculated the old lady. "Do you think I'm made of
money?"
"I don't know that I care what you are made of, if you pay your fare."
"But I've spent all my money. I hain't got twelve dollars. Besides, I
don't want to pay twice."
"If you find your ticket, I will give you back your money."
"I tell you I hain't got twelve dollars. You can't hatch wooden eggs."
"Then you must leave the car, madam."
"Leave the car! And not go back to Chicago?"
"I must have your ticket or your fare before we stop next time," said
the conductor, passing on.