Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Sankar
Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
The author of this book is Metta Victoria Fuller Victor writing under the
Pen name of Walter T. Gray. But the Author's name is not given in the
original text.
The Table of Contents is not part of the original text.
THE BLUNDERS
OF A
BASHFUL MAN.
_By the Author of_
"A BAD BOY'S DIARY"
COPYRIGHT, 1881, BY STREET & SMITH.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
57 ROSE STREET.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
II. HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.
III. GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
IV. HE DOES HIS DUTY AS A CITIZEN.
V. HE COMMITS SUICIDE.
VI. HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.
VII. I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.
VIII. HE ENACTS THE PART OF GROOMSMAN.
IX. MEETS A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
X. HE CATCHES A TROUT AND PRESENTS IT TO A LADY.
XI. HE GOES TO THE CIRCUS.
XII. A LEAP FOR LIFE.
XIII. ONE OF THE FAIR SEX COMES TO HIS RESCUE.
XIV. HIS DIFFIDENCE BRINGS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT.
XV. HE BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH A CHICAGO WIDOW.
XVI. AT LAST HE SECURES A TREASURE.
XVII. HE ENJOYS HIMSELF AT A BALL.
XVIII. HE OPENS THE WRONG DOOR.
XIX. DRIVEN FROM HIS LAST DEFENCE.
* * * * *
THE
BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.
CHAPTER I.
HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
I have been, am now, and shall always be, a bashful man. I have been
told that I am the only bashful man in the world. How that is I can
not say, but should not be sorry to believe that it is so, for I am of
too generous a nature to desire any other mortal to suffer the mishaps
which have come to me from this distressing complaint. A person can
have smallpox, scarlet fever, and measles but once each. He can even
become so inoculated with the poison of bees and mosquitoes as to make
their stings harmless; and he can gradually accustom himself to the
use of arsenic until he can take 444 grains safely; but for
bashfulness--like mine--there is no first and only attack, no becoming
hardened to the thousand petty stings, no saturation of one's being
with the poison until it loses its power.
I am a quiet, nice-enough, inoffensive young gentleman, now rapidly
approaching my twenty-sixth year. It is unnecessary to state that I am
unmarried. I should have been wedded a great many times, had not some
fresh attack of my malady invariably, and in some new shape, attacked
me in season to prevent the "consummation devoutly to be wished." When
I look back over twenty years of suffering through which I have
literally stumbled my way--over the long series of embarrassments and
mortifications which lie behind me--I wonder, with a mild and patient
wonder, why the Old Nick I did not commit suicide ages ago, and thus
end the eventful history with a blank page in the middle of the book.
I dare say the very bashfulness which has been my bane has prevented
me; the idea of being cut down from a rafter, with a black-and-blue
face, and drawn out of the water with a swollen one, has put me so out
of countenance that I had not the courage to brave a coroner's jury
under the circumstances.
Life to me has been a scramble through briers. I do not recall one
single day wholly free from the scratches inflicted on a cruel
sensitiveness. I will not mention those far-away agonies of boyhood,
when the teacher punished me by making me sit with the girls, but will
hasten on to a point that stands out vividly against a dark background
of accidents. I was nineteen. My sentiments toward that part of
creation known as "young ladies" were, at that time, of a mingled and
contradictory nature. I adored them as angels; I dreaded them as if
they were mad dogs, and were going to bite me.
My parents were respected residents of a small village in the western
part of the State of New York. I had been away at a boys' academy for
three years, and returned about the first of June to my parents and to
Babbletown to find that I was considered a young man, and expected to
take my part in the business and pleasures of life as such. My father
dismissed his clerk and put me in his place behind the counter of our
store.
Within three days every girl in that village had been to that store
after something or another--pins, needles, a yard of tape, to look at
gloves, to _try on shoes_, or examine gingham and calico, until I was
happy, because out of sight, behind a pile high enough to hide my
flushed countenance. I shall never forget that week. I ran the
gauntlet from morning till night. I believe those heartless wretches
told each other the mistakes I made, for they kept coming and coming,
looking as sweet as honey and as sly as foxes. Father said I'd break
him if I didn't stop making blunders in giving change--he wasn't in
the prize-candy business, and couldn't afford to have me give
twenty-five sheets of note paper, a box of pens, six corset laces, a
bunch of whalebones, and two dollars and fifty cents change for a
two-dollar bill.
He explained to me that the safety-pins which I had offered Emma Jones
for crochet-needles were _not_ crochet-needles; nor the red wafers I
had shown Mary Smith for gum-drops, gum-drops--that gingham was not
three dollars per yard, nor pale-blue silk twelve-and-a-half cents,
even to Squire Marigold's daughter. He said I must be more careful.
"I don't think the mercantile business is my _forte_, father," said I.
"Your fort!" replied the old gentleman; "fiddlesticks! We have nothing
to do with military matters. But if you think you have a special call
to anything, John, speak out. Would you like to study for the
ministry, my son?"
"Oh, no, indeed! I don't know exactly what I would like, unless it
were to be a Juan Fernandez, or a--a light-house keeper."
Then father said I was a disgrace to him, and I knew I was.
On the fourth day some young fellows came to see me, and told me there
was to be a picnic on Saturday, and I must get father's horse and
buggy and take one of the girls. In vain I pleaded that I did not know
any of them well enough. They laughed at me, and said that Belle
Marigold had consented to go with me; that I knew her--she had been in
the store and bought some blue silk for twelve-and-a-half cents a
yard; and they rather thought she fancied me, she seemed so ready to
accept my escort; should they tell her I would call for her at ten
o'clock, sharp, on Saturday morning?
There was no refusing under the circumstances, and I said "yes" with
the same gaiety with which I would have signed my own death-warrant.
Yet I wanted to go to the picnic, dreadfully; and of all the young
ladies in Babbletown I preferred Belle Marigold. She was the
handsomest and most stylish girl in the county. Her eyes were large,
black, and mischievous; her mouth like a rose; she dressed prettily,
and had an elegant little way of tossing back her dark ringlets that
was fascinating even at first sight. I was told my doom on Thursday
afternoon, and do not think I slept any that or Friday night--am
positive I did not Saturday night. I wanted to go and I wanted to take
that particular girl, yet I was in a cold sweat at the idea. I would
have given five dollars to be let off, and I wouldn't have taken
fifteen for my chance to go. I asked father if I could have the horse
and buggy, and if he would tend store. I hoped he would say No; but
when he said Yes, I was delighted.
"I'll take the opportunity when you are at the picnic to get the
accounts out of the quirks you've got 'em into," said he.
Well, Saturday came. As I opened my eyes my heart jumped into my
throat. "I've got to go through with it now if it kills me," I
thought.
Mother asked me why I ate no breakfast.
"Saving my appetite for the picnic," I responded, cheerfully; which
was one of the white lies my miserable bashfulness made me tell every
day of my life--I knew that I should go dinner-less at the picnic
unless I could get behind a tree with my plate of goodies.
I never to this day can abide to eat before strangers; things _always_
go by my windpipe instead of my æsophagus, and I'm tired to death of
scalding my legs with hot tea, to say nothing of adding to one's
embarrassment to have people asking if one has burned oneself, and
feeling that one has broken a cup out of a lady's best china tea-set.
But about tea and tea-parties I shall have more to say hereafter. I
must hurry on to my first picnic, where I made my first public
appearance as the Bashful Man.
I made a neat toilet--a fresh, light summer suit that I flattered
myself beat any other set of clothes in Babbletown--ordered Joe, our
chore-boy, to bring the buggy around in good order, with everything
shining; and when he had done so, had the horse tied in front of the
store.
"Come, my boy," said father, after a while, "it's ten minutes to ten.
Never keep the ladies waiting."
"Yes, sir; as soon as I've put these raisins away."
"Five minutes to ten, John. Don't forget the lemons."
"No, sir." But I _did_ forget them in my trepidation, and a man had
to be sent back for them afterward.
It was just ten when I stepped into the buggy with an attempt to
appear in high spirits. As I drove slowly toward Squire Marigold's
large mansion on Main Street, I met dozens of gay young folks on the
way out of town, some of them calling out that I would be late, and to
try and catch up with them after I got my girl.
As I came in sight of the house my courage failed. I turned off on a
by-street, drove around nearly half a mile, and finally approached the
object of my dread from another direction. I do believe I should have
passed the house after I got to it had I not seen a vision of pink
ribbons, white dress, and black eyes at the window, and realized that
I was observed. So I touched the horse with the whip, drove up with a
flourish, and before I had fairly pulled up at the block, Belle was at
the door, with a servant behind her carrying a hamper.
"You are late, Mr. Flutter," she called out, half gayly, half crossly.
I arose from the seat, flung down the reins, and leaped out, like a
flying-fish out of the water, to hand the beautiful apparition in. In
my nervousness I did not observe how I placed the lines, my foot
became entangled in them, I was brought up in the most unexpected
manner, landing on the pavement on my new hat instead of the soles of
my boots.
This was not only embarrassing, but positively painful. There was a
bump on my forehead, the rim of my hat was crushed, my new suit was
soiled, my knee ached like Jericho, and there was a rent in my
pantaloons right opposite where my knee hurt.
Belle tittered, the colored girl stuffed her apron in her mouth, and
said "hi! hi!" behind it. I would have given all I had in life to give
if I could have started on an exploring expedition for China just
then, but I couldn't. The pavement was not constructed with reference
to swallowing up bashful young men who wanted to be swallowed.
"I hope you are not hurt, Mr. Flutter, te-he?"
"Oh, not at all, not in the least; it never hurts me to fall. It was
those constricted reins, they caught my foot. Does the basket go with
us? I mean the servant. No, I don't, I mean the basket--does she go
with us?"
"The hamper does, Mr. Flutter, or we should be minus sandwiches. Jane,
put the hamper in."
Miss Marigold was in the buggy before I had straightened my hat-rim.
"I hope your horse is a fast one; we shall be late," she remarked, as
I took my place by her side. "Here is a pin, Mr. Flutter; you can pin
up that tear."
I was glad she asked me to let the horse go at full speed; it was the
most soothing thing which could happen at that time. As he flew along
I could affect to be busy with the cares of driving, and so escape
the trials of conversation. I spoke to my lovely companion only three
times in the eight miles between her house and the grove. The first
time I remarked, "We are going to have a warm day"; the second, "I
think the day will be quite warm"; the third time I launched out
boldly: "Don't you think, Miss Marigold, we shall have it rather warm
about noon?"
"You seem to feel the heat more than I do," she answered, demurely,
which was true, for she looked as cool as a cucumber and as
comfortable as a mouse in a cheese, while I was mopping my face every
other minute with my handkerchief.
When we reached the picnic grounds she offered to hold the reins while
I got out. As I lifted her down, the whole company, who had been
watching for our arrival, burst out laughing. Miss Belle looked at me
and burst out laughing, too.
"What's the matter?" I stammered.
"Oh, nothing," said she; "only you dusted your clothes with your
handkerchief after you fell, and now you've wiped your face with it,
and it's all streaked up as if you'd been making mud pies, and your
hat's a little out of shape, and--"
"You look as if you'd been on a bender," added the fellow who had
induced me to come to the confounded affair.
"Well, I guess I can wash my face," I retorted, a little mad. "I've
met with an accident, that's all. Just wait until I've tied my horse."
There was a pond close by--part of the programme of the picnic was to
go out rowing on the pond--and as soon as I had fastened my horse, I
went down to the bank and stooped over to wash my face, and the bank
gave way and I pitched headlong into twelve feet of water.
I was not scared, for I could swim, but I was puzzled as to how to
enjoy a picnic in my wet clothes. I wanted to go home, but the boys
said:
"No--I must walk about briskly and let my things dry on me--the day
was so warm I wouldn't take cold."
So I walked about briskly, all by myself, for about two hours, while
the rest of them were having a good time. Then some one asked where
the lemons were that I was to bring, and I had to confess that they
were at home in the store, and dinner was kept waiting another two
hours while a man took my horse and went for those lemons. I walked
about all the time he was gone, and was dry enough by the time the
lemonade was made to wish I had some. But the water had shrunk my
clothes so that the legs of my pantaloons and the arms of my coat were
about six inches too short, while my boots, which had been rather
tight in the first place, made my feet feel as if they were in a
red-hot iron vise. I couldn't face all those giggling girls, and I
got down behind a tree and the tears came in my eyes, I felt so
miserable.
Belle was a tease, but she wasn't heartless; she got two plates,
heaped with nice things, and two tumblers of lemonade, and sat down by
my side coaxing me to eat, and telling me how sorry she was that I had
had my pleasure destroyed by an accident.
I had a piece of spring chicken, but being too bashful to masticate it
properly, I attempted to swallow it whole. It stuck!--she had to pat
me on the back--I became purple and kicked about wildly, ruining her
new sash by upsetting both plates. She became seriously alarmed, and
ran for aid; two of the fellows stood me on my head and pounded the
soles of my feet, by which wise course the morsel was dislodged, and
"Richard was himself again."
After the excitement had partially subsided, the punster of the
village--there is always one punster in every community--broke out
with:
"Oh, swallow, swallow, flying South, fly to her and tell her what I
tell to thee."
The girls laughed; I looked and saw Belle trying to wipe the ice-cream
from her sash.
"Never mind the sash, Miss Marigold," I said, in desperation, "I'll
send you another to-morrow. But if you'll excuse me, I'll go home now.
I'm not well, and mother'll be alarmed about me--I ought not to have
left father alone to tend store, and I feel that I've taken cold. I
presume some of these folks will have a spare seat, and my boots have
shrunk, and I don't care for picnics as a general thing, anyway. My
clothes are shrinking all the time, and I think we're going to have a
thunder-shower, and I guess I'll go."--and I went.