Mr. Stevens falls into Bad Hands.
The amiable partner of Mr. Stevens sat in high dudgeon, at being so long
restrained from her favourite beverage by the unusually deferred absence of
her husband. At length she was rejoiced by hearing his well-known step as
he came through the garden, and the rattle of his latch-key as he opened
the door was quite musical in her ears.
"I thought you was never coming," said she, querulously, as he entered the
room; "I have been waiting tea until I am almost starved."
"You needn't have waited a moment, for you will be obliged to eat alone
after all; I'm going out. Pour me out a cup of tea--I'll drink it whilst
I'm dressing; and," continued Mr. Stevens, "I want you to get me that old
brown over-coat and those striped trowsers I used to wear occasionally."
"Why, you told me," rejoined Mrs. Stevens, "that you did not require them
again, and so I exchanged them for this pair of vases to-day."
"The devil you did!" said Mr. Stevens, angrily; "you let them lie about the
house for nearly a year--and now, just as they were likely to be of some
service to me, you've sold them. It's just like you--always doing something
at the wrong time."
"How on earth, Stevens, was I to know you wanted them?"
"Well, there, Jule, they're gone; don't let's have any more talk about it.
Get me another cup of tea; I must go out immediately." After hastily
swallowing the second cup, Mr. Stevens left his home, and walked to an
omnibus-station, from whence he was quickly transported to a street in the
lower part of the city, in which were a number of second-hand clothing
stores. These places were supported principally by the country people who
attended the market in the same street, and who fancied that the clothing
they purchased at these shops must be cheap, because it was at second-hand.
Mr. Stevens stopped at the door of one of these establishments, and paused
to take a slight survey of the premises before entering. The doorway was
hung with coats of every fashion of the last twenty years, and all in
various stages of decay. Some of them looked quite respectable, from much
cleaning and patching; and others presented a reckless and forlorn aspect,
as their worn and ragged sleeves swung about in the evening air. Old hats,
some of which were, in all probability, worn at a period anterior to the
Revolution, kept company with the well-blacked shoes that were ranged on
shelves beside the doorway, where they served in the capacity of signs, and
fairly indicated the style of goods to be purchased within.
Seeing that there were no buyers in the store, Mr. Stevens opened the door,
and entered. The sounds of his footsteps drew from behind the counter no
less a personage than our redoubtable friend Kinch, who, in the absence of
his father, was presiding over the establishment.
"Well, Snowball," said Mr. Stevens, "do you keep this curiosity-shop?"
"My name is not Snowball, and this ain't a curiosity-shop," replied Kinch.
"Do you want to buy anything?"
"I believe I do," answered Mr. Stevens. "Let me look at some coats--one
that I can get on--I won't say fit me, I'm indifferent about that--let me
see some of the worst you've got."
Kinch looked surprised at this request from a gentleman of Mr. Stevens's
appearance, and handed out, quite mechanically, a coat that was but
slightly worn. "Oh, that won't do--I want something like this," said Mr.
Stevens, taking down from a peg a very dilapidated coat, of drab colour,
and peculiar cut. What do you ask for this?"
"That's not fit for, a gentleman like you, sir," said Kinch.
"I'm the best judge of that matter," rejoined Mr. Stevens. "What is the
price of it?"
"Oh, that coat you can have for a dollar," replied Kinch.
"Then I'll take it. Now hand out some trowsers."
The trowsers were brought; and from a large number Mr. Stevens selected a
pair that suited him. Then adding an old hat to his list of purchases, he
declared his fit-out complete.
"Can't you accommodate me with some place where I can put these on?" he
asked of Kinch; "I'm going to have a little sport with some friends of
mine, and I want to wear them."
Kinch led the way into a back room, where he assisted Mr. Stevens to array
himself in his newly-purchased garments. By the change in his attire he
seemed completely robbed of all appearance of respectability; the most
disagreeable points of his physique seemed to be brought more prominently
forward by the habiliments he had assumed, they being quite in harmony with
his villanous countenance.
Kinch, who looked at him with wonder, was forced to remark, "Why, you don't
look a bit like a gentleman now, sir."
Mr. Stevens stepped forward, and surveyed himself in the looking-glass. The
transformation was complete--surprising even to himself. "I never knew
before," said he, mentally, "how far a suit of clothes goes towards giving
one the appearance of a gentleman."
He now emptied the pockets of the suit he had on;--in so doing, he dropped
upon the floor, without observing it, one of the papers.
"Fold these up," said he, handing to Kinch the suit he had just taken off,
"and to-morrow bring them to this address." As he spoke, he laid his card
upon the counter, and, after paying for his new purchases, walked out of
the shop, and bent his steps in the direction of Whitticar's tavern.
On arriving there, he found the bar-room crowded with half-drunken men, the
majority of whom were Irishmen, armed with bludgeons of all sizes and
shapes. His appearance amongst them excited but little attention, and he
remained there some time before he was recognized by the master of the
establishment.
"By the howly St. Patherick I didn't know you, squire; what have you been
doing to yourself?"
"Hist!" cried Mr. Stevens, putting his fingers to his lips; "I thought it
was best to see how matters were progressing, so I've run down for a little
while. How are you getting on?"
"Fine, fine, squire," replied Whitticar; "the boys are ripe for anything.
They talk of burning down a nigger church."
"Not to-night--they must not do such a thing to-night--we are not ready for
that yet. I've made out a little list--some of the places on it they might
have a dash at to-night, just to keep their hands in." As Mr. Stevens
spoke, he fumbled in his pocket for the list in question, and was quite
surprised to be unable to discover it.
"Can't you find it, squire?" asked Whitticar.
"I must have lost; it on the way," replied Mr. Stevens. "I am sure I put it
in this pocket," and he made another search. "No use--I'll have to give it
up," said he, at length; "but where is McCloskey? I haven't seen him since
I came in."
"He came here this afternoon, very far gone; he had been crooking his elbow
pretty frequently, and was so very drunk that I advised him to go home and
go to bed; so he took another dram and went away, and I haven't seen him
since."
"That's bad, very bad--everything goes wrong this evening--I wanted him
to-night particularly." "Wouldn't the boys go out with you?" suggested
Whitticar.
"No, no; that wouldn't do at all. I mustn't appear in these things. If I'm
hauled up for participation, who is to be your lawyer--eh?"
"True for you," rejoined Whitticar; "and I'll just disperse the crowd as
soon as I can, and there will be one peaceable night in the district at any
rate."
Not liking to give directions to the mob personally, and his useful
coadjutor McCloskey not being at hand, Mr. Stevens came to the conclusion
he would return to his home, and on the next evening a descent should be
made upon the places marked on the list.
Taking out his watch, he found it would be too late to return to the store
where he had purchased his present adornments, so he determined to start
for home.
The coat that temporarily adorned the person of Mr. Stevens was of peculiar
cut and colour--it was, in fact, rather in the rowdy style, and had, in its
pristine state, bedecked the person of a member of a notorious fire
company. These gentry had for a long time been the terror of the district
in which they roamed, and had rendered themselves highly obnoxious to some
of the rival factions on the borders of their own territory; they had the
unpleasant habit of pitching into and maltreating, without the slightest
provocation, any one whom their practised eyes discovered to be a rival;
and by such outrages they had excited in the bosoms of their victims a
desire for revenge that only awaited the occasion to manifest itself.
Mr. Stevens, in happy unconsciousness, that, owing to his habiliments, he
represented one of the well-known and hated faction, walked on quite
leisurely; but, unfortunately for him, his way home lay directly through
the camp of their bitterest and most active enemies.
Standing in front of a tavern-window, through which a bright light shone,
were a group of young men, who bestowed upon Mr. Stevens more than passing
attention. "I'm blest," exclaimed one of them, if there ain't a ranger!
now that it a saucy piece of business, ain't it! That fellow has come up
here to be able to go back and play brag-game."
"Let's wallop him, then," suggested another, "and teach him better than to
come parading himself in our parts. I owe 'em something for the way they
served me when I was down in their district."
"Well, come on," said the first speaker, "or he will get away whilst we are
jawing about what we shall do."
Advancing to Mr. Stevens, he tapped that gentleman on the shoulder, and
said, with mock civility, and in as bland a tone as he could assume, "It's
really very obliging of you, mister, to come up here to be flogged--saves
us the trouble of coming down to you. We would like to settle with you for
that drubbing you gave one of our boys last week."
"You must be mistaken," replied Mr. Stevens: "I don't know anything of the
affair to which you allude."
"You don't, eh! Well, take that, then, to freshen your memory," exclaimed
one of the party, at the same time dealing him a heavy blow on the cheek,
which made the lamplights around appear to dance about in the most
fantastic style.
The first impulse of Mr. Stevens was to cry out for the watchman; but a
moment's reflection suggested the impolicy of that project, as he would
inevitably be arrested with the rest; and to be brought before a magistrate
in his present guise, would have entailed upon him very embarrassing
explanations; he therefore thought it best to beg off--to throw himself, as
it were, upon their sympathies.
"Stop, gentlemen--stop--for God's sake, stop," he cried, as soon as he
could regain the breath that had been almost knocked out of him by the
tremendous blow he had just received--"don't kill an innocent man; upon my
honour I never saw you before, nor ever assaulted any of you in my life. My
dear friends," he continued, in a dolorous tone, "please let me go--you are
quite mistaken: I assure you I am not the man." "No, we ain't mistaken,
either: you're one of the rangers; I know you by your coat," replied one of
the assaulters.
It now flashed upon Mr. Stevens that he had brought himself into these
difficulties, by the assumption of the dress he then wore; he therefore
quickly rejoined--"Oh, it is not my coat--I only put it on for a joke!"
"That's a likely tale," responded one of the party, who looked very
incredulous; "I don't believe a word of it. That's some darned stuff you've
trumped up, thinking to gammon us--it won't go down; we'll just give you a
walloping, if it's only to teach you to wear your own clothes,"--and
suiting the action to the word, he commenced pommelling him unmercifully.
"Help! help!" screamed Mr. Stevens. "Don't kill me, gentlemen,--don't kill
me!"
"Oh! we won't kill you--we'll only come as near it as we can, without quite
finishing you," cried one of his relentless tormenters.
On hearing this, their victim made a frantic effort to break away, and not
succeeding in it, he commenced yelling at the top of his voice. As is usual
in such cases, the watchman was nowhere to be seen; and his cries only
exasperated his persecutors the more.
"Hit him in the bread-crusher, and stop his noise," suggested one of the
party farthest off from Mr. Stevens. This piece of advice was carried into
immediate effect, and the unfortunate wearer of the obnoxious coat received
a heavy blow in the mouth, which cut his lips and knocked out one of his
front teeth.
His cries now became so loud as to render it necessary to gag him, which
was done by one of the party in the most thorough and expeditious manner.
They then dragged him into a wheelwright's shop near by, where they
obtained some tar, with which they coated his face completely.
"Oh! don't he look like a nigger!" said one of the party, when they had
finished embellishing their victim.
"Rub some on his hands, and then let him go," suggested another. "When he
gets home I guess he'll surprise his mammy: I don't believe his own dog
will know him!"
A shout of laughter followed this remark, in the midst of which they
ungagged Mr. Stevens and turned him from the door.
"Now run for it--cut the quickest kind of time," exclaimed one of them, as
he gave him a kick to add impetus to his forward movement.
This aid was, however, entirely unnecessary, for Mr. Stevens shot away from
the premises like an arrow from a bow; and that, too, without any
observation upon the direction in which he was going.
As soon as he felt himself out of the reach of his tormentors, he sat down
upon the steps of a mansion, to consider what was best to be done. All the
shops, and even the taverns, were closed--not a place was open where he
could procure the least assistance; he had not even an acquaintance in the
neighbourhood to whom he might apply.
He was, indeed, a pitiable object to look upon The hat he had so recently
purchased, bad as it was when it came into his possession, was now
infinitely less presentable. In the severe trials it had undergone, in
company with its unfortunate owner, it had lost its tip and half the brim.
The countenance beneath it would, however, have absorbed the gazer's whole
attention. His lips were swelled to a size that would have been regarded as
large even on the face of a Congo negro, and one eye was puffed out to an
alarming extent; whilst the coating of tar he had received rendered him
such an object as the reader can but faintly picture to himself.
The door of the mansion was suddenly opened, and there issued forth a party
of young men, evidently in an advanced state of intoxication. "Hallo!
here's a darkey!" exclaimed one of them, as the light from the hall fell
upon the upturned face of Mr. Stevens. "Ha, ha! Here's a darkey--now for
some fun!"
Mr. Stevens was immediately surrounded by half a dozen well-dressed young
men, who had evidently been enjoying an entertainment not conducted upon
temperance principles. "Spirit of--hic--hic--night, whence co-co-comest
thou?" stammered one; "sp-p-peak--art thou a creature of the
mag-mag-na-tion-goblin-damned, or only a nigger?--speak!" Mr. Stevens, who
at once recognized one or two of the parties as slight acquaintances, would
not open his mouth, for fear that his voice might discover him, as to them,
above all persons, he would have shrunk from making himself known, he
therefore began to make signs as though he were dumb.
"Let him alone," said one of the more sober of the party; "he's a poor dumb
fellow--let him go." His voice was disregarded, however, as the rest seemed
bent on having some sport.
A half-hogshead, nearly filled with water, which stood upon the edge of the
pavement, for the convenience of the builders who were at work next door,
caught the attention of one of them.
"Let's make him jump into this," he exclaimed, at the same time motioning
to Mr. Stevens to that effect. By dint of great effort they made him
understand what was required, and they then continued to make him jump in
and out of the hogshead for several minutes; then, joining hands, they
danced around him, whilst he stood knee-deep in the water, shivering, and
making the most imploring motions to be set at liberty.
Whilst they were thus engaged, the door again opened, and the fashionable
Mr. Morton (who had been one of the guests) descended the steps, and came
to see what had been productive of so much mirth.
"What have you got here?" he asked, pressing forward, until he saw the
battered form of Mr. Stevens; "oh, let the poor darkey go," he continued,
compassionately, for he had just drunk enough to make him feel humane; "let
the poor fellow go, it's a shame to treat him in this manner."
As he spoke, he endeavoured to take from the hands of one of the party a
piece of chip, with which he was industriously engaged in streaking the
face of Mr. Stevens with lime, "Let me alone, Morton--let me alone; I'm
making a white man of him, I'm going to make him a glorious fellow-citizen,
and have him run for Congress. Let me alone, I say."
Mr. Morton was able, however, after some persuasion, to induce the young
men to depart; and as his home lay in a direction opposite to theirs, he
said to Mr. Stevens, "Come on, old fellow, I'll protect you."
As soon as they were out of hearing of the others, Mr. Stevens exclaimed,
"Don't you know me, Morton?"
Mr. Morton started back with surprise, and looked at his companion in a
bewildered manner, then exclaimed, "No, I'll be hanged if I do. Who the
devil are you?"
"I'm Stevens; you know me."
"Indeed I don't. Who's Stevens?"
"You don't know me! why, I'm George Stevens, the lawyer."
Mr. Morton thought that he now recognized the voice, and as they were
passing under the lamp at the time, Mr. Stevens said to him, "Put your
finger on my face, and you will soon see it is only tar." Mr. Morton did as
he was desired, and found his finger smeared with the sticky article.
"What on earth have you been doing with yourself?" he asked, with great
surprise; "what is all this masquerading for?"
Mr. Stevens hereupon related his visit at Whitticar's, and detailed the
events that had subsequently occurred.
Mr. Morton gave vent to shouts of laughter as he listened to the recital of
his friend. "By George!" he exclaimed, "I'll have to tell that; it is too
good to keep."
"Oh, no, don't," said Mr. Stevens; "that won't do--you forget what I came
out for?"
"True," rejoined Mr. Morton; "I suppose it will be best to keep mum about
it. I'll go home with you, you might fall into the hands of the Philistines
again."
"Thank you--thank you," replied Mr. Stevens, who felt greatly relieved to
have some company for his further protection; "and," continued he, "if I
could only get some of this infernal stuff off my face, I should be so
glad; let us try."
Accordingly they stopped at the nearest pump, and endeavoured to remove
some of the obnoxious tar from his face; but, unfortunately, the only
result obtained by their efforts was to rub it more thoroughly in, so they
were compelled to give up in despair, and hasten onward.
Mr. Stevens rang so loudly at the door, as to quite startle his wife and
the charity-girl, both of whom had fallen into a sound sleep, as they sat
together awaiting his return. Mr. Morton, who, as we have said before, was
not entirely sober, was singing a popular melody, and keeping time upon the
door with the head of his cane. Now, in all her life, Mrs. Stevens had
never heard her husband utter a note, and being greatly frightened at the
unusual noise upon the door-step, held a hurried consultation with the
charity-girl upon the best mode of proceeding.
"Call through the key-hole, ma'am," suggested she, which advice Mrs.
Stevens immediately followed, and inquired, "Who's there?"
"Open the door, Jule, don't keep me out here with your darned nonsense; let
me in quick."
"Yes, let him in," added Mr. Morton; "he's brought a gentleman from Africa
with him."
Mrs. Stevens did not exactly catch the purport of the words uttered by Mr.
Morton; and, therefore, when she opened the door, and her husband, with his
well-blacked face, stalked into the entry, she could not repress a scream
of fright at the hideous figure he presented.
"Hush, hush," he exclaimed, "don't arouse the neighbours--it's me; don't
you know my voice."
Mrs. Stevens stared at him in a bewildered manner, and after bidding Mr.
Morton "Good night," she closed and locked the door, and followed her
husband into the back room. In a short time he recapitulated the events
of the night to his astonished and indignant spouse, who greatly
commiserated his misfortunes. A bottle of sweet oil was brought into
requisition, and she made a lengthened effort to remove the tar from her
husband's face, in which she only partially succeeded; and it was almost
day when he crawled off to bed, with the skin half scraped off from his
swollen face.