HUGH.
An unexpected turn in Hugh’s affairs made it no longer necessary for him
to remain in the sultry climate of New Orleans, and just one week from
his mother’s departure from Spring Bank he reached it, expressing
unbounded surprise when he heard from Aunt Eunice where his mother had
gone, and how she had gone.
“Fool and his money soon parted,” Hugh said,
“But who is that woman,—the one who sent the money?”
“A Mrs. Johnson, an old friend of your mother,” Aunt Eunice replied,
while Hugh looked up quickly, wondering why the Johnsons should be so
continually thrust upon him, when the only Johnson for whom he cared was
dead years ago.
“And the young lady—what about her?” he asked, while Aunt Eunice told
him the little she knew, which was that Mrs. Johnson wished her daughter
to come to Spring Bank, but she did not know what they had concluded
upon.
“That she should not come, of course,” Hugh said. “They had no right to
give her a home without my consent, and I’ve plenty of young ladies at
Spring Bank now. Oh, it was such a relief when I was gone to know that
in all New Orleans there was not a single hoop annoyed on my account. I
had a glorious time doing as I pleased,” and helping his aunt to mount
the horse which had brought her to Spring Bank, Hugh returned to the
house, which seemed rather lonely, notwithstanding that he had so often
wished he could once more be alone, just as he was before his mother
came.
On the whole, however, he enjoyed his freedom from restraint, and very
rapidly fell back into his old loose way of living, bringing his dogs
into the parlor, and making it a repository for both his hunting and
fishing apparatus.
“It’s splendid to do as I’m a mind to,” he said, one hot August morning,
nearly three weeks after his mother’s departure, as with his box of
worms upon the music stool, in the little room which ’Lina claimed as
exclusively her own, he sat mending his long fish line, whistling
merrily, and occasionally thrusting back from his forehead the mass of
curling hair, which somewhat obstructed his vision.
Around him upon the floor lay half a dozen dogs, some asleep, and others
eyeing his movements curiously, as if they knew and appreciated what he
was doing.
“There isn’t a finer lot of dogs in Kentucky,” soliloquized the young
man, as he ran his eye over them; “but wouldn’t my lady at Saratoga rave
if she knew I’d taken her _boudoir_ for a kennel, and kept my bootjack,
my blacking brush, and Sunday shirts all on her piano! Good place for
them, so handy to get at, though I don’t suppose it’s quite the thing to
live so like a savage. Halloo, Mug, what do _you_ want?” he asked, as a
little mulatto girl appeared in the door.
“Claib done _buy_ you this yer,” and the child handed him the letter
from his mother, which had been to New Orleans and was forwarded from
there.
The first of it was full of affection for her boy, and Hugh felt his
heart growing very tender as he read, but when he reached the point
where poor, timid Mrs. Worthington tried to explain about Alice, making
a wretched bungle, and showing plainly how much she was swayed by ’Lina,
it began to harden at once.
“What the plague!” he exclaimed as he read on, “Supposes I remember
having heard her speak of her old school friend, _Alice Morton_? I don’t
remember any such thing. Her daughter’s name’s _Alice_—_Alice Johnson_,”
and Hugh for an instant turned white, so powerfully that name always
affected him.
Soon rallying, however, he continued, “Heiress to fifty thousand
dollars. Unfortunate Alice Johnson! better be lying beside the Golden
Haired; but what! actually coming to Spring Bank, a girl worth fifty
thousand, the most refined, most elegant, most beautiful creature that
ever was born, coming where _I_ am, without my consent, too! That’s cool
upon my word!” and for a moment Hugh went off in a towering passion,
declaring “he wouldn’t stand it,” and bringing his foot down upon the
little bare toes of Muggins, crouched upon the floor beside him.
Her loud outcry brought him to himself, and after quieting her as well
as he could, he finished his mother’s letter, chafing terribly at the
thought of a strange young lady being thrust upon him whether he would
have her or not.
“She is going to Colonel Tiffton’s first, though they’ve all got the
typhoid fever, I hear, and that’s no place for her. That fever is
terrible on Northerners—terrible on anybody. I’m afraid of it myself,
and I wish this horrid throbbing I’ve felt for a few days would leave my
head. It has a fever feel that I don’t like,” and the young man pressed
his hand against his temples, trying to beat back the pain which so much
annoyed him.
Just then Colonel Tiffton was announced, his face wearing an anxious
look, and his voice trembling as he told how sick _his Nell_ was, how
sick they all were, and then spoke of Alice Johnson.
“She’s the same girl I told you about the day I bought Rocket; some
little kin to me, and that makes it queer why her mother should leave
her to you. I knew she would not be happy at Saratoga, and so we wrote
for her to visit us. She is on the road now, will be here day after
to-morrow, and something must be done. She can’t come to us, without
great inconvenience to ourselves and serious danger to her. Hugh, my
boy, there’s no other way—she must come to Spring Bank,” and the old
colonel laid his hand on that of Hugh, who looked at him aghast, but
made no immediate reply.
He saw at a glance that Alice could not go to Moss Side with impunity,
and if not there she must, of course come to Spring Bank.
“What can I do with her? Oh, Colonel, it makes me sweat like rain just
to think of it, and my head thumps like a mill-hopper, but, I suppose,
there’s no help for it. You’ll meet her at the depot. You’ll give her an
inkling of what I am. You’ll tell her what a savage she may expect to
find, so she won’t go into fits at sight of me.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll fix it; but, I thought, maybe, you’d have Aunt Eunice
come over till your mother’s return. Women are gossipping things, and
they’d’ talk if she was to live here alone with you. I tell you, she’s
handsome; and if I’s you, I’d be a little good, that is, I wouldn’t walk
the lots Sundays, but go to church instead.”
“I always do, sir,” and Hugh spoke quickly, for slowly, surely, Adah
Hastings was influencing him for good, and more changes than one were
already apparent in him.
“That’s right,” rejoined the colonel. “Going to church is well enough
for them that like it, which I can’t say I do, but I’ll see her, I’ll
meet her; I’ll tell her. Good-bye, my boy. Now, I think of it, you look
mighty nigh sick. Your face is as red as a beetle, and eyes kind of
blood shot. The very way my wife looked. Are you sick?”
“No, not sick, but this hot weather affects my head which feels much as
if there were a snare-drum inside.”
“No, that ain’t the symptom. My wife’s felt like a bumble-bee’s nest.
You are all right if you’ll take an emetic, a good big one, such as will
turn your stomach inside out. Good-bye—Nelly’s awful sick. Struck to her
brain last night. Good-bye. I wouldn’t lose Nell for a farm, if she is a
little gritty,” and wringing Hugh’s hand, the colonel hurried off,
leaving Hugh to his own reflections.
“A pretty state of things, and a pretty place to bring a young lady,” he
muttered, glancing ruefully round the room, and enumerating the
different articles he knew were out of place. “Fish-worms, fish-hooks,
fish-lines, bootjack, boot-blacking, and rifle, to say nothing of the
dogs—and ME!”
The last was said in a tone as if the me were the most objectionable
part of the whole, as, indeed, Hugh thought it was.
“I wonder how I do look to persons wholly unprejudiced!” Hugh said, and
turning to Muggins he asked what she thought of him.
“I thinks you berry nice. I likes you berry much,” the child replied,
and Hugh continued, “Yes; but how do I look, I mean? What do I look
like, a dandy or a scarecrow?”
Muggins regarded him for a moment curiously, and then replied, “I’se
dunno what kind of thing that dandy is, but I ’members dat yer
_scarecrow_ what Claib make out of mars’r’s trouses and coat, an’ put up
in de cherry tree. I thinks dat look like Mas’r Hugh—yes, very much
like!”
Hugh laughed long and loud, pinching Mug’s dusky cheek, and bidding her
run away.
“Pretty good,” he exclaimed, when he was left alone. “That’s Mug’s
opinion. Look like a scarecrow. I mean to see for myself,” and going
into the sitting-room, where the largest mirror was hung, he scanned
curiously the figure which met his view, even taking a smaller glass,
and holding it so as to get a sight of his back. “Tall,
broad-shouldered, straight, well built. My form is well enough,” he
said. “It’s the clothes that bother. I mean to get some new ones. Then,
as to my face,” and Hugh turned himself around, “I never thought of it
before; but my features are certainly regular, teeth can’t be beaten,
good brown skin, eyes to match, and a heap of curly hair. I’ll be hanged
if I don’t think I’m rather good-looking!” and with his spirits
proportionably raised, Hugh whistled merrily as he went in quest of Aunt
Chloe, to whom he imparted the startling information that on the next
day but one, a young lady was coming to Spring Bank, and that, in the
meantime, the house must be cleaned from garret to cellar, and
everything put in order for the expected guest.
With growing years, Aunt Chloe had become rather cross and less inclined
to work than formerly, frequently sighing for the days when “Mas’r John
didn’t want no clarin’ up, but kep’ things lyin’ handy.” With her hands
on her fat hips she stood, coolly regarding Hugh, who was evidently too
much in earnest to be opposed. Alice was coming, and the house must be
put in order.
Accordingly, two hours afterwards, there was a strong smell of soap suds
arising from one room, while from another a cloud of dust was issuing,
as Hugh himself bent over the broom, wondering where all that dirt came
from, inasmuch as his six dogs had only lain there for a few days!
Aunt Eunice, too, was pressed into the service, and greatly against her
will, come to play the hostess for Hugh, who drove both herself and Aunt
Chloe nearly distracted with his orders and counter orders.
Particularly was he interested in what was to be Alice’s room, sending
for Adah to see if it were right, and would be likely to strike a young
lady favorably.
The cleaning and arranging was finished at last, and everything within
the house was as neat and orderly as Aunt Eunice and Adah could make it,
even Aunt Chloe acknowledging that “things was tip-top,” but said “it
was no use settin’ ’em to rights when Mas’r Hugh done _on-sot_ ’em so
quick,” but Hugh promised to do better. He would turn over a new leaf;
so by way of commencement, on the morning of Alice’s expected arrival he
deliberately rolled up his towel and placed it under his pillow instead
of his night-shirt, which was hung conspicuously over the washstand. His
boots were put behind the fireboard, his every day hat jammed into the
bandbox where ’Lina kept her winter bonnet, and then, satisfied that so
far as his room was concerned, every thing was in order, he descended
the stairs and went into the garden to gather fresh flowers with which
to adorn Alice’s room. Hugh was fond of flowers, and two beautiful
bouquets were soon arranged and placed in the vases brought from the
parlor mantel, while Muggins, who trotted beside him, watching his
movements and sometimes making suggestions, was told to see that they
were freshly watered, and not allowed to stand where the sun could shine
on them, as they might fade before Miss Johnson came.
“You likes her?” and Mug looked inquiringly at him.
“I never saw her,” he replied, “but I mean to like her yes,” and Hugh
spoke the truth.
He could not account for it, but now that it came so near, there was
something enlivening in the prospect of Alice’s coming. He meant to like
her—meant that she should like him. Not as the Golden Haired might have
done had she lived, but as a friend, a sister. He’d try his best to win
her respect before ’Lina came to prejudice her against him, if indeed
she had not done so already and a pang shot through his heart as he
thought how possible it was that Alice Johnson was prepared already to
dislike him. But no, Ad could not be so mean as that, and Hugh went down
to the breakfast which Aunt Eunice had prepared, and of which he could
scarcely taste a morsel.
During the excitement of the last few days, the pain in his head had in
a measure been forgotten, but it had come back this morning with
redoubled force, and the veins upon his forehead looked almost like
bursting with their pressure of feverish blood. Hugh did not think it
possible for him to be sick, and he tried hard to forget the giddy, half
blinding pain warning him of danger, and after forcing himself to sip a
little coffee in which he would indulge this morning, he ordered Claib
to bring out the covered buggy, as he was going up to Lexington, hoping
thus to obtain a sight of Alice without being himself seen, or at least
known as Hugh Worthington.