I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.
It is a serious thing to be as bashful as I am. There's nothing at all
funny about it, though some people seem to think there is. I was
assured, years ago, that it would wear off and betray the brass
underneath; but I must have been triple-plated. I have had rubs enough
to wear out a wash-board, yet there doesn't a bit of brass come to the
surface yet. Beauty may be only skin-deep; modesty, like mine,
pervades the grain. If I really believed my bashfulness was only
cuticle-deep, I'd be flayed to-day, and try and grow a hardier
complexion without any Bloom of Youth in it. No use! I could pave a
ten-thousand-acre prairie with the "good intentions" I have wasted,
the firm resolutions I have broken. Born to be bashful is only another
way of expressing the Bible truth, "Born to trouble as the sparks are
to fly upward."
When I sat down by the elderly lady in the railway train, I felt
comparatively at ease. She was older than mother, and I didn't mind
her rather aggressive looks and ways; in short, I seemed to feel that
in case of necessity she would protect me. Not that I was afraid of
anything, but she would probably at least keep me from proposing to
any more young ladies. Alas! how _could_ I have any presentiment of
the worse danger lurking in store for me? How could I, young,
innocent, and inexperienced, foresee the unforeseeable? I could not.
Reviewing all the circumstances by the light of wiser days, I still
deny that I was in any way, shape, or manner to blame for what
occurred. I sat in my half of the seat, occupying as little room as
possible, my eyes fixed on the crimson plush cushions of the seat
before me, my thoughts busy with the mortifying past, and the great
unknown future into which I was blindly rushing at the rate of thirty
miles an hour--sat there, dreading the great city into which I was so
soon to plunge--when a voice, closely resembling vinegar sweetened
with honey, said, close to my ear:
"Goin' to New York, sir?"
"Yes, ma'am," I answered, coming out of my reverie with a little jump.
"I'm real glad," said my companion, taking off her blue spectacles,
and leaning toward me confidentially; "so I am. I'm quite unprotected,
sir, quite, and I shall be thankful to place myself under your care.
I'm goin' down to the city to buy my spring stock o' millinery, an'
any little attention you can show me will be gratefully
received--gratefully. I don't mind admitting to _you_, young man, for
you look pure and uncorrupted, that I am terribly afraid of men. They
are wicked, heartless creatures. I feel that I might more safely trust
myself with ravening wolves than with men in general, but _you_ are
different. _You_ have had a good mother."
"Yes, ma'am, I have," I responded, rather warmly.
I was pleased at her commendation of me and mother, but puzzled as to
the character of the danger to which she referred. I finally concluded
that she was afraid of being robbed, and I put my lips close to her
ear, so that no one should overhear us, and asked:
"Do you carry your money about you?--you ought not to run such a risk.
I've been told there are always one or more thieves on every express
train."
"My dear young friend," she whispered back, very, very close in my
ear, "I was not thinking of money--_that_ is all in checks, safely
deposited in--in--in te-he! inside the lining of my waist. I was only
referring to the dangers which ever beset the unmarried lady,
especially the unsophisticated maiden, far, far from her native
village. Why, would you believe it, already, sir, since I left home, a
man, a _gentleman_, sitting in the very seat where you sit now, made
love to me, out-and-out!"
"Made love to you?" I stammered, shrinking into the farthest corner,
and regarding her with undisguised astonishment.
"You may well appear surprised. Promise me that you will remain by my
side until we reach our destination."
She appeared kind of nervous and agitated, and I promised. Instead of
being protected, I found myself figuring in the _role_ of protector.
My timid companion did the most of the talking; she pumped me pretty
dry of facts about myself, and confided to me that she was doing a
good business--making eight hundred a year clear profit--and all she
wanted to complete her satisfaction was the right kind of a partner.
She proposed to me to become that partner. I said that I did not
understand the millinery business; she said I had been a clerk in a
dry-goods store, and that was the first step; I said I didn't think I
should fancy the bonnet line. She said I should be a _silent_ partner;
all in the world I'd have to do would be to post the books, and she'd
warrant me a thousand dollars a year, for the business would double. I
said I had but one hundred and thirty dollars; she said, write to my
pa for more, but she'd take me without a cent--there was something in
my face that showed her I was to be trusted.
She was so persistent that I began to be alarmed--I felt that I should
be drawn into that woman's clutches against my will. I got pale and
cold, and the perspiration broke out on my brow. Was it for this I
had fled from home and friends? To become a partner in the
hat-and-bonnet business, with a dreadful old maid, who wore blue
spectacles and curled her false hair. I shivered.
"Poor darling!" said she, "the boy is cold," and she wrapped me up in
a big plaid shawl of her own.
The very touch of that shawl made me feel as if I had a thousand
caterpillars crawling over me; yet I was too bashful to break loose
from its folds. I grew feverish.
"There," said she, "you are getting your color back."
The more attention she paid to me the more homesick I grew. I looked
piteously in the conductor's face as he passed by. He smiled
relentlessly. I glanced wildly yet furtively about to see if,
perchance, a vacant seat were to be descried.
"Rest thy head on this shoulder; thou art weary," she said. "I will
put my veil over your face and you can catch a nap."
But I was not to be caught napping.
"No, I thank you--I never sleep in the day time," I stammered.
Oh, what a ride I was having! How wretched I felt! Yet I was too
bashful to shake off the shawl and stand up before a car-load of
people.
Suddenly, something happened. The blue spectacles flew over my head,
and I flew over the seat in front of me. Thank goodness! I was saved
from that female! I picked myself up from out of the _débris_ of the
wreck. I saw a green veil, and a lady looking around for her lost
teeth, and having ascertained that no one was killed, I limped away
and hid behind a stump. I stayed behind that stump three mortal hours.
When the train went again on its winding way I was not one of the
passengers. I walked, bruised and sore as I was, to the nearest
village, and took the first train in the opposite direction. That
evening, as father and mother were sitting down to their solitary but
excellent tea, I walked in on 'em.
"No more foreign trips for me," said I; "I will stick to Babbletown,
and try and stand the consequences."
About four days after this, father laid a letter on the counter before
me--a large, long, yellow envelope, with a big red seal. "Read that,"
was his brief comment.
I took it up, unfolded the foolscap, and read:
"JOHN FLUTTER, SENIOR:--I have the honor to inform you that
my client, Miss Alvira Slimmens, has instructed me to
proceed against your son for breach of promise of marriage,
laying her damages at twelve hundred dollars. As your son is
not legally of age, we shall hold you responsible. A
compromise, to avoid publicity of suit, is possible. Send
us your check for $1,000 and you will hear no more of this
matter.
"Respectfully,
"WILLIAM BLACK, Attorney-at-Law,
"_Pennyville, N. Y._"
"Oh, father!" I cried, "I swear to you this is not my fault!" Looking
up in distress I saw that my parent was laughing.
"I have heard of Alvira before," said he; "no, it is _not_ your fault,
my poor boy. Let me see, Alvira was thirty twenty-one years ago when I
was married to your ma. I used to be in Pennyville sometimes, in those
days, and she was sweet on me, John, then. I'll answer this letter,
and answer it to her, and not her lawyer. Don't you be uneasy, my son.
I'll tend to her. But you had a narrow escape; I don't wonder you,
with your bashfulness, fled homeward to your ma."
"Then it wasn't my blunder this time, father?"
"I exonerate you, my son!"
For once a glow of happiness diffused itself over my much-tried
spirits. I was so exalted that when a young lady came in for a bottle
of bandoline I gave her Spaulding's prepared glue instead; and the
next time I met that young lady she wore a bang--she had used the
new-fangled bandoline, and the only way to get the stuff out of her
hair was to cut it off.