A BALL IN THE BASEMENT.
The day wore on. Everything was in a state of preparation in the old
mansion-house. The last ovenful of cake had been placed by an open
window in the pantry, that its frosted surface might harden into beauty.
The ice-cream freezers, ready to yield up their precious contents, were
set away in a cool place, and Victoria, a pretty mulatto girl who had
come to the house an orphan child, was busy carving red and white roses
out of a little pile of turnips and delicately shaped blood-beets,
intended to ornament divers plates of cold turkey and chicken salad.
This pretty fancy work was carried on in the front basement or
housekeeper's room, while a bustle of preparation gave promise of great
things from the kitchen. Clorinda, the moving spirit of all this
commotion, rushed from basement to kitchen, and then to pantry and
store-room, in a state of exhilaration that set fresh currents of air in
circulation wherever she went. This was the great day of the faithful
servant's life, and she felt its importance in every cord of her heart.
"Now," she called out, addressing Victoria with a pompous lift of the
head, "yer can come up stairs and help about thar. Them roseys ain't so
bad but that I've seen wuss; but there's 'nuff of 'em, so cum 'long o'
me, and shut up de draw'n'-room winder-blinds."
Victoria ran up stairs, two steps at a leap, and, in a breath, was
shutting out the beautiful sunset, and quenching a thousand flashes of
arrowy rays that scattered gold over the plate-glass.
"Now," said Clorinda, as the last shutter was closed, "yer can take the
spy-glass and see if any pusson is comin' up from the pint."
Victoria was only too glad. She sprang across the tessellated pavement
of the hall, and seizing the glass, swept the shore with a slow movement
of her slender person from right to left.
"Nary a pusson coming," she said, laying down the glass, with a
disappointed air.
"Don't talk," snapped Clorinda, snatching up the glass and levelling it
fiercely at the ocean. "Jes like yer, now--can't see yer hand afore yer
face. There's a boat put inter the cove whilst yer was looken, and here
am Caleb Benson."
"So thar am," cried Victoria, snatching the glass, "acomin' full split
across the medder. Now for it!"
The lithe limbed mulatto gave a hop on to the portico, and another bound
to the soft grass of the lawn, whence she ran, like a deer, to meet our
sea-loving friend, with the high shoulders, who was crossing towards the
house at a far brisker pace than was usual to him.
"Hav yer give the instergations?" cried Victoria, out of breath with
swift running. "Am the folks a coming to our party?"
Caleb looked wonderfully grave, and attempted to shake his head; but Vic
saw, by the gleam in his eyes, that it was all pretence, and clapping
her hands like a little gypsy as she was, dashed into a break-down on
the grass, calling out, "Hi, dic-a-dory, I told yer so--I told yer so!"
"Well, what am all dis muss 'bout?" exclaimed Clorinda, sailing out to
the lawn with a broad straw flat overshadowing her like an umbrella.
"Well, Caleb, I 'low ebbery ting am pernicious 'bout de party."
Caleb, who was ah old fisherman, reared at Cape Cod, and not to be put
out of his way easily, occupied plenty of time before he answered. The
afternoon was warm, so he took the oil-cloth cap from his head, and
wiped its baldness vigorously with an old silk handkerchief. Then he
deposited the handkerchief in the crown of his cap, and settled himself
into his garments with a shake, sailor fashion.
Clorinda's broad flat vibrated with its wearer's impatience, and
Victoria was stamping down the grass, and menacing the old man with her
fist during the whole of his slow performance.
"Now," she said, "now."
"Wal, the long and the short of it is, they're all a coming, especially
from Squir Rhodes. Miss Jemima wasn't willing at first, but the Squir
sot in and said his colored people hadn't much chance for fun anyhow,
and shouldn't be kept back from what come along in a nat'ral way."
"Squir Rhodes was ales a pusson as I s'pected," said Clorinda. "Let's
see how many of 'em will count up."
She made rather bungling work in counting her fingers, going over them
three or four times, and getting terribly puzzled in the end.
In the midst of her confusion, Victoria gave a little cry of dismay, and
made a rush for the house, where she frantically tore off her apron and
tucked it under one of the hall mats.
Clorinda, filled with indignation by this strange proceeding, turned in
search of the cause, and lo! there was Dolf, Mr. Mellen's own man,
crossing the lawn, with two other gentlemen of color, evidently from the
city.
Clorinda snatched the broad straw flat from her head, and began to
arrange her Madras turban with both hands, thus unhappily exposing some
tufts of frosty gray that had managed to creep, year after year, into
her wool. After this rather abrupt toilet, she drew herself up with a
grand air, and marched forward to receive the strangers in a glorious
state of self-complacency.
"Mr. Dolf, yer welcome as hot-house peaches--and these gemmen, may I
'quest an interdiction?"
Dolf had just been informing his companions that the lady approaching
them was not to be sneezed at in any particular whatever, as she ruled
the roost of Piney Cove, and had, everybody said, laid up lots of rocks;
besides, as for cooking--well, he said nothing, it was not necessary;
they would see what Clorinda was in that line when the supper came on.
She had learned down South where people knew how to live.
This speech prepared the strangers to receive their sable hostess with
great distinction, and when she launched a stupendous courtesy at them
in acknowledgment of their elaborate bows, the mutual admiration that
sprang up among the whole group then and there, was an oasis in the
desert of human nature.
"Miss Clorinda--Mr. Sparks, of the Metropolitan Hotel; Mr. Hannibal,
private attendant of an upper-crust gentleman, who is going to stop at
the Sailor's Safe Anchor, fishing and shooting."
Clorinda had just recovered herself from one courtesy, but she took the
wind in her garments and fluttered off into a couple more without loss
of time.
"I 'low de neighborhood am obligated to any gemmen as brings sich
pussons inter de serciety ob Piney Cove. If yer hasn't had deceived an
invite from Mr. Benson, dat white pusson yer sees up yunder, remit me de
ferlicity."
Clorinda took two buff envelopes from her bosom as she spoke, and gave
them to Mr. Sparks, of the Metropolitan, and Mr. Julius Hannibal,
private, with a smile that flitted across her face like smoke from a
furnace.
"It speaks ob pumps and yeller gloves as bein' indispenserable, but dem
as comes promiscus as yer friends dus, Dolphus, can't be spected ter
imply."
The gentlemen smiled in bland thankfulness, exhibiting a superb display
of ivory and second-hand white kids in the operation.
"You didn't expect me," whispered Dolf, joining Clorinda when she turned
to conduct the party to the house, "but the hart will pant after clear
water. I couldn't stand it three days longer; so when the master told me
to come over and see that every thing was ready, I jumped at it. Hope
you're not offended at my bringing these fellows?"
"'Fended!" exclaimed Clorinda, stepping upon the grass as if it had been
egg-shells, that she had resolved not to crush. "When was yer Clo ebber
fended wid yer, Dolphus?"
"Poor fellows," said Dolf, looking back at his friends, "They see my
ferlicity and are ready to burst with envy."
"Am dey?" exclaimed Clorinda, bridling--"poor souls; but no pusson can
be spected to cut up inter half a dozen, so dey am bound ter suffer."
The whole group had reached the front portico by this time. Vic, who had
stolen behind the hall-door and stood watching their approach through
the crevice, came forth now, blushing till the golden bronze on her
cheeks burned red. Clorinda flamed up at the sight.
"What hab yer done wid yer apron, chile? jes march right 'bout an' get
it ter once. Who ebber hearn bout a chile ob yer age widout apron?"
Victoria's black eyes flashed like diamonds; she drew aside, leaning
against the wall, with the grace of a bronze-figure, half-frightened out
of her wits, but defiant still. What right had Clorinda to tell about
her apron, or drive her down stairs? She cast an imploring glance at
Dolf, but he looked resolutely away.
"Come in, gemmen, out ob sight ob dis obstinit chile," cried Clorinda,
almost sweeping poor little Vic down with a flourish of her skirts.
"No," interposed gentlemanly Dolf, who had a genius for keeping out of
storms. "The gentlemen were just saying, as we came up, how much they
would like a walk towards the woods. So with your permission, Miss
Clorinda, we will leave you to the feminine duties of the toilet; though
beauty when unadorned is most adorned."
"'Cept when de gray hairs will peek out. Hi! hi! look dar!"
These audacious words were uttered by Victoria, whose pouting wrath
could no longer be restrained.
The two city gentlemen fell to examining their gloves with great
earnestness. Dolf made a hasty retreat through the door, calling on them
to follow him, and Clorinda left five handsomely defined finger-marks on
Victoria's hot cheek before she darted off to a looking-glass, and fell
into a great burst of tears over the state of her treacherous turban.
"Now," said Vic, gathering herself up from the wall, and rubbing her
cheek, down which great hot tears were leaping with passionate
violence--"Now I'se gone and done it, sure; she won't let me--"
"Vic! Vic!"
It was the treacherous voice of Dolf, who came stealing in from the
portico.
"Vic, don't be so audacious, you lovely spitfire; go this minute and
make up with her, or we've lost all chance of that new cotillion I was
learning you."
"I can't! I won't!" burst forth the pretty, bronze fury, stamping down
the mat and her apron under it. "She's a--a--she's fat cattle, thar!"
Dolf snatched the little sprite from the rug, and stopped her mouth
with--no, it wasn't with his _hand_. And I'd rather say no more about
it.
Five minutes after, Victoria went demurely in search of Clorinda, found
her sitting before the glass in utter humiliation, and protested that
the whole thing was nonsense. That she hadn't seen a gray hair, and if
the turban was awry, it must have happened when Clorinda ran up stairs
in such hot haste. Victoria was sorry: oh, very, very sorry. Would Miss
Clo only overlook it this once, and begin to dress for the ball?
Clorinda's heart swelled like a rising tide under Vic's hypocritical
condolence, but she could not be quite convinced about the turban; she
was a woman of resources, however, and felt that the evil was not
without its remedy. So she kindled an immense quantity of wax-lights,
crowded them before her looking-glass, and at once commenced the
mysteries of a full toilet. The result was so satisfactory when she took
a survey of her pink barege dress, covered with innumerable small
flounces, and the gorgeous white gauze scarf, glittering with silver,
which formed a turban, with long sweeping ends falling to the left
shoulder--that she melted at once towards the girl who had helped to
make her so resplendent.
"Jes see what splendiferous idees that chile Miss Elsie hab, Vic," she
cried, shaking the flounces into place over her enormous crinoline. "Now
'serve she never wore dis sumptious dress more en once, but sent it down
here good as new; 'sides de turban, jes see it shine. Yes, Vic, I
forgives yer, so don't rub dem knuckles in yer eyes no more."
Vic darted away, and in a marvellously short time came back glorious,
her hair braided in with scarlet ribbons, and a dress of several
gorgeous colors fluttering with every joyous movement of her slender
person. She was pluming herself before the glass when Clorinda started
up.
"What am dat?"
"Dat? why it am a carriage. Oh, golly, golly, they'm coming," cried Vic,
wild with delight; and away the two darkies went down the great
staircase and into the hall, where the honors of the house were extended
with astonishing elegance.
Two or three wagons sat down their sable loads, and directly the sounds
of a brace of fiddles rang though the basement story, and the laundry
floor vibrated to the elastic tread of dancers, whose natural love of
music gave grace and spirit to every movement. The two fiddles poured
out triumphant strains of music, and in every particular Clorinda's ball
was a success.
At last Clorinda disappeared from the laundry, and Dolf followed her
into the supper-room, where he fell into raptures over the gorgeousness
of the table.
"Yes," said the housekeeper, modestly, "but how am we to get 'long
without wine; Marse Mellen carried off de keys, and without dat--"
"Jes look here!" cried Dolf, holding up a key which had been resting in
his pocket; "catch me unprepared; I thought about the wine."
Clorinda almost embraced Dolf in her delight, but in his haste to reach
the wine-cellar, he did not seem to observe the demonstration.
When her lover came back with his arms full of long-necked bottles,
Clorinda's happiness was supreme, and directly after there was a rush of
feet and abrupt silence with the two fiddlers. The company had gone in
to supper.
After the rush and bustle had subsided a little, Dolf placed himself at
the head of the table, with a corkscrew in one hand and a bottle in the
other.
"Oh, my!" whispered Virginia, "I hope dar's lots of pop in it."
A rushing explosion, and the rich gurgle of amber wine into the crowding
goblets satisfied her completely.
Dolf lifted his glass and prepared himself for a speech.
"Ladies of the fair sect and gentlemen--"
That moment Mr. Julius Hannibal, who had allowed himself to be crowded
towards the door, stole out and went softly up stairs. With the stealthy
motion of a cat, he crept along the hall and opened the front door.
A man came out from the shadows of the portico, and glided into the
hall. It was Mr. North, Hannibal's master.