I don't exactly know why Cap'n Jonadab and me went to the post-office
that night; we wa'n't expecting any mail, that's sartin. I guess likely
we done it for the reason the feller that tumbled overboard went to the
bottom--'twas the handiest place TO go.
Anyway we was there, and I was propping up the stove with my feet and
holding down a chair with the rest of me, when Jonadab heaves alongside
flying distress signals. He had an envelope in his starboard mitten,
and, coming to anchor with a flop in the next chair, sets shifting the
thing from one hand to the other as if it 'twas red hot.
I watched this performance for a spell, waiting for him to say
something, but he didn't, so I hailed, kind of sarcastic, and says:
“What you doing--playing solitaire? Which hand's ahead?”
He kind of woke up then, and passes the envelope over to me.
“Barzilla,” he says, “what in time do you s'pose that is?”
'Twas a queer looking envelope, more'n the average length fore and aft,
but kind of scant in the beam. There was a puddle of red sealing wax on
the back of it with a “D” in the middle, and up in one corner was a kind
of picture thing in colors, with some printing in a foreign language
underneath it. I b'lieve 'twas what they call a “coat-of-arms,” but it
looked more like a patchwork comforter than it did like any coat ever
_I_ see. The envelope was addressed to “Captain Jonadab Wixon, Orham,
Mass.”
I took my turn at twisting the thing around, and then I hands it back to
Jonadab.
“I pass,” I says. “Where'd you get it?”
“'Twas in my box,” says he. “Must have come in to-night's mail.”
I didn't know the mail was sorted, but when he says that I got up and
went over and unlocked my box, just to show that I hadn't forgot how,
and I swan to man if there wa'n't another envelope, just like Jonadab's,
except that 'twas addressed to “Barzilla Wingate.”
“Humph!” says I, coming back to the stove; “you ain't the only one
that's heard from the Prince of Wales. Look here!”
He was the most surprised man, but one, on the Cape: I was the one. We
couldn't make head nor tail of the business, and set there comparing the
envelopes, and wondering who on earth had sent 'em. Pretty soon “Ily”
Tucker heads over towards our moorings, and says he:
“What's troubling the ancient mariners?” he says.
“Barzilla and me's got a couple of letters,” says Cap'n Jonadab; “and we
was wondering who they was from.”
Tucker leaned away down--he's always suffering from a rush of funniness
to the face--and he whispers, awful solemn: “For heaven's sake, whatever
you do, don't open 'em. You might find out.” Then he threw off his
main-hatch and “haw-hawed” like a loon.
To tell you the truth, we hadn't thought of opening 'em--not yet--so
that was kind of one on us, as you might say. But Jonadab ain't so slow
but he can catch up with a hearse if the horses stop to drink, and he
comes back quick.
“Ily,” he says, looking troubled, “you ought to sew reef-points on your
mouth. 'Tain't safe to open the whole of it on a windy night like this.
First thing you know you'll carry away the top of your head.”
Well, we felt consider'ble better after that--having held our own on
the tack, so to speak--and we walked out of the post-office and up to my
room in the Travellers' Rest, where we could be alone. Then we opened up
the envelopes, both at the same time. Inside of each of 'em was another
envelope, slick and smooth as a mack'rel's back, and inside of THAT was
a letter, printed, but looking like the kind of writing that used to
be in the copybook at school. It said that Ebenezer Dillaway begged the
honor of our presence at the marriage of his daughter, Belle, to Peter
Theodosius Brown, at Dillamead House, Cashmere-on-the-Hudson, February
three, nineteen hundred and so forth.
We were surprised, of course, and pleased in one way, but in another we
wa'n't real tickled to death. You see, 'twas a good while sence Jonadab
and me had been to a wedding, and we know there'd be mostly young folks
there and a good many big-bugs, we presumed likely, and 'twas going to
cost consider'ble to get rigged--not to mention the price of passage,
and one thing a' 'nother. But Ebenezer had took the trouble to write
us, and so we felt 'twas our duty not to disappoint him, and especially
Peter, who had done so much for us, managing the Old Home House.
The Old Home House was our summer hotel at Wellmouth Port. How me and
Jonadab come to be in the summer boarding trade is another story and
it's too long to tell now. We never would have been in it, anyway, I
cal'late, if it hadn't been for Peter. He made a howling success of our
first season and likewise helped himself along by getting engaged to the
star boarder, rich old Dillaway's daughter--Ebenezer Dillaway, of the
Consolidated Cash Stores.
Well, we see 'twas our duty to go, so we went. I had a new Sunday
cutaway and light pants to go with it, so I figgered that I was pretty
well found, but Cap'n Jonadab had to pry himself loose from considerable
money, and every cent hurt as if 'twas nailed on. Then he had chilblains
that winter, and all the way over in the Fall River boat he was fuming
about them chilblains, and adding up on a piece of paper how much cash
he'd spent.
We struck Cashmere-on-the-Hudson about three o'clock on the afternoon of
the day of the wedding. 'Twas a little country kind of a town, smaller
by a good deal than Orham, and so we cal'lated that perhaps after all,
the affair wouldn't be so everlasting tony. But when we hove in sight of
Dillamead--Ebenezer's place--we shortened sail and pretty nigh drew
out of the race. 'Twas up on a high bank over the river, and the
house itself was bigger than four Old Homes spliced together. It had a
fair-sized township around it in the shape of land, with a high
stone wall for trimming on the edges. There was trees, and places for
flower-beds in summer, and the land knows what. We see right off
that this was the real Cashmere-on-the-Hudson; the village folks were
stranded on the flats--old Dillaway filled the whole ship channel.
“Well,” I says to Jonadab, “it looks to me as if we was getting out of
soundings. What do you say to coming about and making a quick run for
Orham again?”
But he wouldn't hear of it. “S'pose I've spent all that money on duds
for nothing?” he says. “No, sir, by thunder! I ain't scared of Peter
Brown, nor her that's going to be his wife; and I ain't scared of
Ebenezer neither; no matter if he does live in the Manufacturers'
Building, with two or three thousand fathom of front fence,” he says.
Some years ago Jonadab got reckless and went on a cut-rate excursion to
the World's Fair out in Chicago, and ever sence then he's been comparing
things with the “Manufacturers' Building” or the “Palace of Agriculture”
or “Streets of Cairo,” or some other outlandish place.
“All right,” says I. “Darn the torpedoes! Keep her as she is! You can
fire when ready, Gridley!”
So we sot sail for what we jedged was Ebenezer's front-gate, and just
as we made it, a man comes whistling round the bend in the path, and
I'm blessed if 'twa'n't Peter T. Brown. He was rigged to kill, as usual,
only more so.
“Hello, Peter!” I says. “Here we be.”
If ever a feller was surprised, Brown was that feller. He looked like
he'd struck a rock where there was deep water on the chart.
“Well, I'll be ----” he begun, and then stopped. “What in the ----” he
commenced again, and again his breath died out. Fin'lly he says: “Is
this you, or had I better quit and try another pipe?”
We told him 'twas us, and it seemed to me that he wa'n't nigh so tickled
as he'd ought to have been. When he found we'd come to the wedding,
'count of Ebenezer sending us word, he didn't say nothing for a minute
or so.
“Of course, we HAD to come,” says Jonadab. “We felt 'twouldn't be right
to disapp'int Mr. Dillaway.”
Peter kind of twisted his mouth. “That's so,” he says. “It'll be worth
more'n a box of diamonds to him. Do him more good than joining a 'don't
worry club.' Well, come on up to the house and ease his mind.”
So we done it, and Ebenezer acted even more surprised than Peter.
I can't tell you anything about that house, nor the fixings in it;
it beat me a mile--that house did. We had a room somewheres up on
the hurricane deck, with brass bunks and plush carpets and crocheted
curtains and electric lights. I swan there was looking glasses in every
corner--big ones, man's size. I remember Cap'n Jonadab hollering to me
that night when he was getting ready to turn in:
“For the land's sake, Barzilla!” says he, “turn out them lights, will
you? I ain't over'n' above bashful, but them looking glasses make me
feel's if I was undressing along with all hands and the cook.”
The house was full of comp'ny, and more kept coming all the time.
Swells! don't talk! We felt 'bout as much at home as a cow in a dory,
but we was there 'cause Ebenezer had asked us to be there, so we kept on
the course and didn't signal for help. Travelling through the rooms down
stairs where the folks was, was a good deal like dodging icebergs up on
the Banks, but one or two noticed us enough to dip the colors, and one
was real sociable. He was a kind of slow-spoken city-feller, dressed as
if his clothes was poured over him hot and then left to cool. His
last name had a splice in the middle of it--'twas Catesby-Stuart.
Everybody--that is, most everybody--called him “Phil.”
Well, sir, Phil cottoned to Jonadab and me right away. He'd get us, one
on each wing, and go through that house asking questions. He pumped me
and Jonadab dry about how we come to be there, and told us more yarns
than a few 'bout Dillaway, and how rich he was. I remember he said that
he only wished he had the keys to the cellar so he could show us the
money-bins. Said Ebenezer was so just--well, rotten with money, as you
might say, that he kept it in bins down cellar, same as poor folks
kept coal--gold in one bin, silver half-dollars in another, quarters in
another, and so on. When he needed any, he'd say to a servant: “James,
fetch me up a hod of change.” This was only one of the fish yarns he
told. They sounded kind of scaly to Jonadab and me, but if we hinted at
such a thing, he'd pull himself together and say: “Fact, I assure you,”
in a way to freeze your vitals. He seemed like such a good feller that
we didn't mind his telling a few big ones; we'd known good fellers afore
that liked to lie--gunners and such like, they were mostly.
Somehow or 'nother Phil got Cap'n Jonadab talking “boat,” and when
Jonadab talks “boat” there ain't no stopping him. He's the smartest
feller in a cat-boat that ever handled a tiller, and he's won more races
than any man on the Cape, I cal'late. Phil asked him and me if we'd ever
sailed on an ice-boat, and, when we said we hadn't he asks if we won't
take a sail with him on the river next morning. We didn't want to
put him to so much trouble on our account, but he said: “Not at all.
Pleasure'll be all mine, I assure you.” Well, 'twas his for a spell--but
never mind that now.
He introduced us to quite a lot of the comp'ny--men mostly. He'd see a
school of 'em in a corner, or under a palm tree or somewheres, and steer
us over in that direction and make us known to all hands. Then he begin
to show us off, so to speak, get Jonadab telling 'bout the boats he'd
sailed, or something like it--and them fellers would laugh and holler,
but Phil's face wouldn't shake out a reef: he looked solemn as a fun'ral
all the time. Jonadab and me begun to think we was making a great hit.
Well, we was, but not the way we thought. I remember one of the gang
gets Phil to one side after a talk like this and whispers to him,
laughing like fun. Phil says to him: “My dear boy, I've been to
thousands of these things”--waving his flipper scornful around the
premises--“and upon honor they've all been alike. Now that I've
discovered something positively original, let me enjoy myself. The
entertainment by the Heavenly Twins is only begun.”