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[Illustration: THE SQUIRREL INN.]
THE SQUIRREL INN
BY
FRANK R. STOCKTON
_AUTHOR OF "RUDDER GRANGE," "THE LADY, OR THE TIGER?" "THE LATE MRS.
NULL," "THE CASTING AWAY OF MRS. LECKS AND MRS. ALESHINE," "THE MERRY
CHANTER," "THE HUNDREDTH MAN," ETC._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1891
COPYRIGHT, 1891,
BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.
_All rights reserved._
THE DE VINNE PRESS.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I THE STEAMBOAT PIER 1
II THE BABY, THE MAN, AND THE MASTERY 7
III MATTHEW VASSAR 16
IV LODLOE UNDERTAKES TO NOMINATE HIS
SUCCESSOR 25
V THE LANDLORD AND HIS INN 32
VI THE GREEK SCHOLAR 40
VII ROCKMORES AHEAD 47
VIII MISS MAYBERRY 56
IX THE PRESERVATION OF LITERATURE 61
X ROSE VERSUS MAYBERRY 68
XI LANIGAN BEAM 78
XII LANIGAN CHANGES HIS CRAVAT 90
XIII DECREES OF EXILE 96
XIV BACKING OUT 101
XV THE BABY IS PASSED AROUND 110
XVI MESSRS. BEAM AND LODLOE DECLINE TO WAIT
FOR THE SECOND TABLE 119
XVII BANANAS AND OATS 132
XVIII SWEET PEAS 138
XIX THE AROUSED ROSE 149
XX AN INGENUOUS MAID 157
XXI TWISTED TRYSTS 163
XXII THE BLOSSOM AND THE LITTLE JAR 175
XXIII HAMMERSTEIN 181
XXIV TRANSLATIONS 197
XXV MR. TIPPENGRAY MOUNTS HIGH 204
XXVI ANOTHER SQUIRREL IN THE TAP-ROOM 213
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE SQUIRREL INN FRONTISPIECE
ON DECK 11
A WAGON-LOAD OF NURSE-MAIDS 28
STEPHEN PETTER 33
THE SIGN 38
A GREEK IN AN OUTHOUSE 42
MR. TIPPENGRAY 44
"I SUPPOSE THIS IS MRS. CRISTIE" 49
LODLOE IS INTRODUCED TO STEPHEN PETTER 53
"PASSING NEARER, MR. TIPPENGRAY STOPPED" 65
"TEACH THE OLD HENS GOOD MANNERS" 76
"DON'T GET EXCITED" 80
"HAVE YOU HAPPENED TO HEAR ANYBODY SPEAK
OF ME?" 83
"I AM HERE FOR A PURPOSE" 92
IDA MAKES HERSELF COMFORTABLE 102
"BACK!" 108
"HE BEGAN SLOWLY TO PUSH IT TOWARDS
THE SQUIRREL INN" 112
"I WILL WHEEL IT DOWN TO MY SUMMER-HOUSE
WHERE IT IS COOL AND SHADY" 113
"HE LEANED OVER THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CARRIAGE" 118
"CALTHY, THIS IS TRULY LIKE OLD TIMES" 129
"WILL YOU NOT TAKE THESE INSTEAD?" 143
"I HAVE DISSECTED ONE" 147
MRS. CRISTIE CONSIDERS 153
A MATRIMONIAL CONVERSATION 160
CALTHEA HOLDS HIM WITH HER LISTENING EAR 165
THE BABY AND THE SWEET-PEA BLOSSOM 179
MISS CALTHEA STEPS OUT 187
"WHAT SKEERED HIM?" 191
MR. TIPPENGRAY STOPPED AND LISTENED 192
THE TRANSLATION 198
THE PROPOSAL 206
MR. PETTER TAKES OFF HIS HAT 209
LANIGAN BEAM WANTS HIS LADDER 210
THE SQUIRREL INN
I
THE STEAMBOAT PIER
The steamboat _Manasquan_ was advertised to leave her pier on the east
side of the city at half-past nine on a July morning. At nine o'clock
Walter Lodloe was on the forward upper deck, watching the early
passengers come on board, and occasionally smiling as his glance fell
upon a tall man in a blue flannel shirt, who, with a number of other
deck-hands, was hard at work transferring from the pier to the steamer
the boxes, barrels, and bales of merchandise the discouraging mass of
which was on the point of being increased by the unloading of a newly
arrived two-horse truck.
Lodloe had good reason to allow himself his smiles of satisfaction, for
he had just achieved a victory over the man in the blue shirt, and a
victory over a busy deck-hand on a hot day is rare enough to be
valuable. As soon as he had stepped on board, he had deposited his
hand-baggage in a place of safety, and walked forward to see the men run
on the freight. It was a lively scene, and being a student of incident,
character, and all that sort of thing, it greatly interested him.
Standing by a strangely marked cask which had excited his curiosity, he
found himself in the way of the deck-hand in the blue shirt, who, with
red face and sparkling forehead, had just wheeled two heavy boxes up the
incline of the gang-plank, and was about to roll them with easy rapidity
to the other side of the deck; but Lodloe, with his back turned and
directly in front of him, made it necessary for him to make a violent
swerve to the right or to break the legs of a passenger. He made the
swerve, missed Lodloe, and then, dumping his load, turned and swore at
the young man with the promptness and accuracy of a cow-boy's revolver.
It was quite natural that a high-spirited young fellow should object to
be sworn at, no matter what provocation he had given, and Lodloe not
only objected but grew very angry. The thing which instantly suggested
itself to him, and which to most people would seem the proper thing to
do, was to knock down the man. But this knocking-down business is a
matter which should be approached with great caution. Walter was a
strong young fellow and had had some practice in boxing, but it was not
impossible that, even with the backing of justifiable indignation, the
conventional blow straight from the shoulder might have failed to fell
the tall deck-hand.
But even had Lodloe succeeded in stretching the insulting man upon the
dirty deck, it is not at all probable that he would have staid there. In
five seconds there would have been a great fight, and it would not have
been long before the young gentleman would have found himself in the
custody of a policeman.
Lodloe's common sense was capable of considerable tension without giving
way, even under a strain like this, and, although pale with anger, he
would not engage in a personal contest with a deck-hand on a crowded
steamboat; but to bear the insult was almost impossible. Never before
had he been subjected to such violent abuse.
But in a flash he remembered something, and the man had scarcely turned
his empty truck to go back to the pier, when Lodloe stepped in front of
him, and with a wave of the hand stopped him.
Two nights before Lodloe had been sitting up late reading some papers on
modern Italian history, and in the course of said reading had met with
the text of the _anathema maranatha_ pronounced by Pius IX. against
disbelievers in his infallibility. The directness, force, and
comprehensiveness of the expressions used in this composition made a
deep impression upon Lodloe, and as it was not very long he had
committed it to memory, thinking that he might some time care to use it
in quotation. Now it flashed upon him that the time had come to quote
this _anathema maranatha_, without hesitation he delivered the whole of
it, and square, straight into the face of the petrified deck-hand.
Petrified immediately he was not. As first he flushed furiously, but
after a few phrases he began to pale and to turn to living stone; enough
mobility, however, remained to allow him presently to raise his hand
imploringly, but Lodloe had now nearly finished his discourse, and with
a few words more he turned and walked away. The deck-hand wiped his
brow, took in a long breath, and went to work. If another passenger had
got in his way, he would not have sworn at him.
Therefore it was that, gently pleased by the sensations of victory,
Walter Lodloe sat on the upper deck and watched the busy scene. He soon
noted that passengers were beginning to come down the pier in
considerable numbers, and among these his eye was caught by a young
woman wheeling a baby-carriage.
When this little equipage had been pushed down nearly to the end of that
side of the pier from which the passengers were going on board, it
stopped, and its motive power looked behind her. Presently she turned
her head towards the steamer and eagerly scanned every part of it on
which she could see human beings. In doing this she exhibited to Lodloe
a very attractive face. It was young enough, it was round enough, and
the brown eyes were large enough, to suit almost any one whose taste was
not restricted to the lines of the old sculptors.
When she completed her survey of the steamboat, the young woman turned
the carriage around and wheeled it up the pier. Very soon, however, she
returned, walking rapidly, and ran the little vehicle over the broad
gang-plank on to the steamboat. Now Lodloe lost sight of her, but in
about five minutes she appeared on the forward upper deck without the
baby-carriage, and looking eagerly here and there. Not finding what she
sought, she hastily descended.
The next act in this performance was the appearance of the
baby-carriage, borne by the blue-shirted deck-hand, and followed by the
young woman carrying the baby. The carriage was humbly set down by its
bearer, who departed without looking to the right or left, and the baby
was quickly deposited in it. Then the young woman stepped to the rail
and looked anxiously upon the pier. As Lodloe gazed upon her it was easy
to see that she was greatly troubled. She was expecting some one who did
not come. Now she went to the head of the stairway and went down a few
steps, then she came up again and stood undecided. Her eyes now fell
upon Lodloe, who was looking at her, and she immediately approached him.
"Can you tell me, sir," she said, "exactly how long it will be before
this boat starts?"
Lodloe drew out his watch.
"In eight minutes," he answered.
If Lodloe had allowed himself to suppose that because the young woman
who addressed him was in sole charge of a baby-carriage she was a nurse
or superior maid-servant, that notion would have instantly vanished when
he heard her speak.
The lady turned a quick glance towards the pier, and then moved to the
head of the stairway, but stopped before reaching it. It was plain that
she was in much perplexity. Lodloe stepped quickly towards her.
"Madam," said he, "you are looking for some one. Can I help you?"
"I am," she said; "I am looking for my nurse-maid. She promised to meet
me on the pier. I cannot imagine what has become of her."
"Let me go and find her," said Lodloe. "What sort of person is she?"
"She isn't any sort of person in particular," answered the lady. "I
couldn't describe her. I will run down and look for her myself, and if
you will kindly see that nobody knocks over my baby I shall be much
obliged to you."
Lodloe instantly undertook the charge, and the lady disappeared below.
II
THE BABY, THE MAN, AND THE MASTERY
The young man drew the baby-carriage to the bench by the rail and,
seating himself, gazed with interest upon its youthful occupant. This
individual appeared to be about two years of age, with its mother's eyes
and a combative disposition. The latter was indicated by the manner in
which it banged its own legs and the sides of its carriage with a wicker
bludgeon that had once been a rattle. It looked earnestly at the young
man, and gave the edges of its carriage a whack which knocked the
bludgeon out of its hand. Lodloe picked up the weapon, and, restoring it
to its owner, began to commune with himself.
"It is the same old story," he thought. "The mother desires to be rid of
the infant; she leaves it for a moment in the charge of a stranger; she
is never seen again. However, I accept the situation. If she doesn't
come back this baby is mine. It seems like a good sort of baby, and I
think I shall like it. Yes, youngster, if your mother doesn't come back
you are mine. I shall not pass you over to the police or to any one
else; I shall run you myself."
It was now half-past nine. Lodloe arose and looked out over the pier. He
could see nothing of the young mother. The freight was all on board, and
they were hauling up the forward gang-plank. One or two belated
passengers were hurrying along the pier; the bell was ringing; now the
passengers were on board, the aft gang-plank was hauled in, the hawsers
were cast off from the posts, the pilot's bell jingled, the wheels began
to revolve, and the great steamboat slowly moved from its pier.
"I knew it," said Lodloe, unconsciously speaking aloud; "she hadn't the
slightest idea of coming back. Now, then," said he, "I own a baby, and I
must consider what I am to do with it. One thing is certain, I intend to
keep it. I believe I can get more solid comfort and fun out of a baby
than I could possibly get out of a dog or even a horse."
Walter Lodloe was a young man who had adopted literature as a
profession. Earlier in life he had worked at journalism, but for the
last two years he had devoted himself almost entirely to literature pure
and simple. His rewards, so far, had been slight, but he was not in the
least discouraged, and hoped bravely for better things. He was now on
his way to spend some months at a quiet country place of which he had
heard, not for a summer holiday, but to work where he could live cheaply
and enjoy outdoor life. His profession made him more independent than an
artist--all he needed were writing materials, and a post-office within a
reasonable distance.
Lodloe gazed with much satisfaction at his new acquisition. He was no
stickler for conventionalities, and did not in the least object to
appear at his destination--where he knew no one--with a baby and a
carriage.
"I'll get some country girl to take care of it when I am busy," he said,
"and the rest of the time I'll attend to it myself. I'll teach it a lot
of things, and from what I have seen of youngster-culture I shouldn't
wonder if I should beat the record."
At this moment the baby gave a great wave with its empty rattle, and,
losing its hold upon it, the wicker weapon went overboard. Then, after
feeling about in its lap, and peering over the side of the carriage, the
baby began to whimper.
"Now then," thought the young man, "here's my chance. I must begin
instantly to teach it that I am its master."
Leaning forward, he looked sternly into the child's face, and in a
sharp, quick tone said:
"Whoa!"
The baby stopped instantly, and stared at its new guardian.
"There," thought Lodloe, "it is just the same with a baby as with a
horse. Be firm, be decided; it knows what you want, and it will do it."
At this instant the baby opened its mouth, uttered a wild wail, and
continued wailing.
Lodloe laughed. "That didn't seem to work," said he; and to quiet the
little creature he agitated the vehicle, shook before the child his
keys, and showed it his watch, but the wails went on with persistent
violence. The baby's face became red, its eyes dropped tears.
The young man looked around him for assistance. The forward upper deck
was without an awning, and was occupied only by a few men, the majority
of the passengers preferring the spacious and shaded after deck. Two of
the men were laughing at Lodloe.
"That's a new way," one of them called out to him, "to shut up a young
one. Did it ever work?"
"It didn't this time," answered Lodloe. "Have you any young ones?"
"Five," answered the man.
"And how do you stop them when they howl like that?"
"I leave that to the old woman," was the answer, "and when she's heard
enough of it she spanks 'em."
Lodloe shook his head. That method did not suit him.
"If you'd run its wagon round the deck," said another man, "perhaps that
would stop it. I guess you was never left alone with it before."
Lodloe made no reply to this supposition, but began to wheel the
carriage around the deck. Still the baby yelled and kicked. An elderly
gentleman who had been reading a book went below.
"If you could feed it," said one of the men who had spoken before, "that
might stop it, but the best thing you can do is to take it down to its
mother."
[Illustration: ON DECK.]
Lodloe was annoyed. He had not yet arranged in his mind how he should
account for his possession of the baby, and he did not want an
explanation forced upon him before he was ready to make it. These men
had come on board after the departure of the young woman, and could know
nothing of the facts, and therefore Lodloe, speaking from a high,
figurative standpoint, settled the matter by shaking his head and
saying:
"That can't be done. The little thing has lost its mother."
The man who had last spoken looked compassionately at Lodloe.
"That's a hard case," he said; "I know all about it, for I've been in
that boat myself. My wife died just as I was going to sail for this
country, and I had to bring over the two babies. I was as seasick as
blazes, and had to take care of 'em night and day. I tell you, sir,
you've got a hard time ahead of you; but feedin' 's the only thing. I'll
get you something. Is it on milk yet, or can it eat biscuit?"
Lodloe looked at the open mouth of the vociferous infant and saw teeth.
"Biscuit will do," he said, "or perhaps a banana. If you can get me
something of the sort I shall be much obliged"; and he gave the man some
money.
The messenger soon returned with an assortment of refreshments, among
which, happily, was not a banana, and the baby soon stopped wailing to
suck an enormous stick of striped candy. Quiet having been restored to
this part of the vessel, Lodloe sat down to reconsider the situation.
"It may be," he said to himself, "that I shall have to take it to an
asylum, but I shall let it stay there only during the period of
unintelligent howling. When it is old enough to understand that I am its
master, then I shall take it in hand again. It is ridiculous to suppose
that a human being cannot be as easily trained as a horse."
The more he considered the situation the better he liked it. The
possession of a healthy and vigorous youngster without encumbrances was
to him a novel and delightful sensation.
"I hope," he said to himself, "that when the country girl dresses it she
will find no label on its clothes, nor any sign which might enable one
to discover the original owners. I don't want anybody coming up to claim
it after we've got to be regular chums."
When the boat made its first landing the two men who had given advice
and assistance to Lodloe got off, and as the sun rose higher the forward
deck became so unpleasantly warm that nearly everybody left it; but
Lodloe concluded to remain. The little carriage had a top, which
sufficiently shaded the baby, and as for himself he was used to the sun.
If he went among the other passengers they might ask him questions, and
he was not prepared for these. What he wanted was to be let alone until
he reached his landing-place, and then he would run his baby-carriage
ashore, and when the steamboat had passed on he would be master of the
situation, and could assume what position he chose towards his new
possession.
"When I get the little bouncer to Squirrel Inn I shall be all right, but
I must have the relationship defined before I arrive there." And to the
planning and determination of that he now gave his mind.
He had not decided whether he should create an imaginary mother who had
died young, consider himself the uncle of the child, whose parents had
been lost at sea, or adopt the little creature as a brother or a
sister, as the case might be, when the subject of his reflections laid
down its stick of candy and began a violent outcry against circumstances
in general.
Lodloe's first impulse was to throw it overboard. Repressing this
natural instinct, he endeavored to quiet the infantile turbulence with
offers of biscuit, fresh candy, gingercakes, and apples, but without
effect. The young bewailer would have nothing to do with any of these
enticements.
Lodloe was puzzled. "I have got to keep the thing quiet until we land,"
he thought; "then I will immediately hire some one to go with me and
take charge of it, but I can't stand this uproar for two hours longer."
The crying attracted the attention of other people, and presently a
country woman appeared from below.
"What is the matter with it?" she asked. "I thought it was some child
left here all by itself."
"What would you do with it?" asked Lodloe, helplessly.
"You ought to take it up and walk it about until its mother comes," said
the woman; and having given this advice she returned below to quiet one
of her own offspring who had been started off by the sounds of woe.
Lodloe smiled at the idea of carrying the baby about until its mother
came; but he was willing to do the thing in moderation, and taking up
the child resolutely, if not skilfully, he began to stride up and down
the deck with it.
This suited the youngster perfectly, and it ceased crying and began to
look about with great interest. It actually smiled into the young man's
face, and taking hold of his mustache began to use it as a doorbell.
"This is capital," said Lodloe; "we are chums already." And as he strode
he whistled, talked baby-talk, and snapped his fingers in the face of
the admiring youngster, who slapped at him, and laughed, and did its
best to kick off the bosom of his shirt.
III
MATTHEW VASSAR
In the course of this sociable promenade the steamboat stopped at a
small town, and it had scarcely started again when the baby gave a
squirm which nearly threw it out of its bearer's arms. At the same
instant he heard quick steps behind him, and, turning, he beheld the
mother of the child. At the sight his heart fell. Gone were his plans,
his hopes, his little chum.
The young woman was flushed and panting.
"Upon my word!" was all she could say as she clasped the child, whose
little arms stretched out towards her. She seated herself upon the
nearest bench. In a few moments she looked from her baby to Lodloe; she
had not quite recovered her breath, and her face was flushed, but in her
eyes and on her mouth and dimpled cheeks there was an expression of
intense delight mingled with amusement.
"Will you tell me, sir," she said, "how long you have been carrying this
baby about? And did you have to take care of it?"
Lodloe did not feel in a very good humor. By not imposing upon him, as
he thought she had done, she had deceived and disappointed him.
"Of course I took care of it," he said, "as you left it in my charge;
and it gave me a lot of trouble, I assure you. For a time it kicked up a
dreadful row. I had the advice of professionals, but I did all the work
myself."
"I am very sorry," she said, "but it does seem extremely funny that it
should have happened so. What did you think had become of me?"
"I supposed you had gone off to whatever place you wanted to go to,"
said Lodloe.
She looked at him in amazement.
"Do you mean to say," she exclaimed, "that you thought I wanted to get
rid of my baby, and to palm him off on you--an utter stranger?"
"That is exactly what I thought," he answered. "Of course, people who
want to get rid of babies don't palm them off on friends and
acquaintances. I am very sorry if I misjudged you, but I think you will
admit that, under the circumstances, my supposition was a very natural
one."
"Tell me one more thing," she said; "what did you intend to do with this
child?"
"I intended to bring it up as my own," said Lodloe; "I had already
formed plans for its education."
The lady looked at him in speechless amazement. If she had known him she
would have burst out laughing.
"The way of it was this," she said presently. "I ran off the steamboat
to look for my nurse-maid, and if I hadn't thought of first searching
through the other parts of the boat to see if she was on board I should
have had plenty of time. I found her waiting for me at the entrance of
the pier, and when I ran towards her all she had to say was that she had
made up her mind not to go into the country. I was so excited, and so
angry at her for playing such a trick on me at the last moment, that I
forgot how time was passing, and that is why I was left behind. But it
never entered my mind that any one would think that I intended to desert
my baby, and I didn't feel afraid either that he wouldn't be taken care
of. I had seen ever so many women on board, and some with babies of
their own, and I did not doubt that some of these would take charge of
him.
"As soon as I saw that the steamboat had gone, I jumped into a cab, and
went to the West Bank Railroad, and took the first train for Scurry,
where I knew the steamboat stopped. The ticket agent told me he thought
the train would get there about forty minutes before the boat; but it
didn't, and I had to run every inch of the way from the station to the
wharf, and then barely got there in time."
"You managed matters very well," said Lodloe.
"I should have managed better," said she, "if I had taken my baby ashore
with me. In that case, I should have remained in the city until I
secured another maid. But why did you trouble yourself with the child,
especially when he cried?"
"Madam," said Lodloe, "you left that little creature in my charge, and
it never entered my mind to hand it over to anybody else. I took advice,
as I told you, but that was all I wanted of any one until I went
ashore, and then I intended to hire a country girl to act as its nurse."
"And you really and positively intended to keep it for your own?" she
asked.
"I did," he answered.
At this the lady could not help laughing. "In all my life," she said, "I
never heard of anything like that. But I am just as much obliged to you,
sir, as if I were acquainted with you; in fact, more so."
Lodloe took out his card and handed it to her. She read it, and then
said:
"I am Mrs. Robert Cristie of Philadelphia. And now I will take my baby
to the other end of the boat, where it is more sheltered, but not
without thanking you most heartily for your very great kindness."
"If you are going aft," said Lodloe, "let me help you. If you will take
the baby, I will bring its carriage."
In a few minutes the mother and child were ensconced in a shady spot on
the lower deck, and then Lodloe, lifting his hat, remarked:
"As I suppose two people cannot become conventionally acquainted without
the intervention of a third person, no matter how little each may know
of said third party, I must take my leave; but allow me to say that, if
you require any further assistance, I shall be most happy to give it. I
shall be on the boat until we reach Romney."
"That is where I get off," she said.
"Indeed," said he; "then perhaps you will engage the country girl whom I
intended to hire."
"Do you know any one living there," she asked, "who would come to me as
nurse-maid?"
"I don't know a soul in Romney," said Lodloe; "I never was in the place
in my life. I merely supposed that in a little town like that there were
girls to be hired. I don't intend to remain in Romney, to be sure, but I
thought it would be much safer to engage a girl there than to trust to
getting one in the country place to which I am going."
"And you thought out all that, and about my baby?" said Mrs. Cristie.
"Yes, I did," said Lodloe, laughing.
"Very well," said she; "I shall avail myself of your forethought, and
shall try to get a girl in Romney. Where do you go when you leave
there?"
"Oh, I am going some five or six miles from the town, to a place called
the 'Squirrel Inn.'"
"The Squirrel Inn!" exclaimed Mrs. Cristie, dropping her hands into her
lap and leaning forward.
"Yes," said Lodloe; "are you going there?"
"I am," she answered.
Now in his heart Walter Lodloe blessed his guardian angel that she had
prompted him to make the announcement of his destination before he knew
where this lady was going.
"I am very glad to hear that," he said. "It seems odd that we should
happen to be going to the same place, and yet it is not so very odd,
after all, for people going to the Squirrel Inn must take this boat and
land at Romney, which is not on the railroad."
"The odd part of it is that so few people go to the Squirrel Inn," said
the lady.
"I did not know that," remarked Lodloe; "in fact I know very little
about the place. I have heard it spoken of, and it seems to be just the
quiet, restful place in which I can work. I am a literary man, and like
to work in the country."
"Do you know the Rockmores of Germantown?" asked Mrs. Cristie.
"I never heard of them," he answered.
"Well, then, you may as well stay on board this steamboat and go back
home in her," said Mrs. Cristie; "if you do not know the Rockmores of
Germantown Stephen Petter will not take you into his inn. I know all
about the place. I was there with my husband three years ago. Mr. Petter
is very particular about the guests he entertains. Several years ago,
when he opened the inn, the Rockmores of Germantown spent the summer
with him, and he was so impressed with them that he will not take
anybody unless they know the Rockmores of Germantown."
"He must be a ridiculous old crank," said Lodloe, drawing a camp-chair
near to the lady, and seating himself thereon.
"In one way he is not a crank," said Mrs. Cristie; "you can't turn him.
When he has made up his mind about anything, that matter is settled and
fixed just as if it were screwed down to the floor."
"From what I had been told," said the young man, "I supposed the
Squirrel Inn to be a free and easy place."
"It is, after you get there," said Mrs. Cristie, "and the situation and
the surroundings are beautiful, and the air is very healthful. My
husband was Captain Cristie of the navy. He was in bad health when he
went to the Squirrel Inn, but the air did him good, and if we had staid
all winter, as Stephen Petter wanted us to, it would have been a great
advantage to him. But when the weather grew cool we went to New York,
where my husband died early in the following December."
"I will take my chances with Stephen Petter," said Lodloe, after a
suitable pause. "I am going to the Squirrel Inn, and I am bound to stay
there. There must be some road not through Germantown by which a fellow
can get into the favor of Mr. Petter. Perhaps you will say a good word
for me, madam?"
"I don't know any good word to say," she answered, "except that you take
excellent care of babies, and I am not at all sure that that would have
any weight with Stephen Petter. Since you are going to the inn, and
since we have already talked together so much, I wish I did properly
know you. Did you ever have a sister at Vassar?"
"I am sorry to say," said Lodloe, "that I never had a sister at that
college, though I have one who wanted very much to go there; but instead
of that she went with an aunt to Europe, where she married."
"An American?" asked Mrs. Cristie.
"Yes," said Lodloe.
"What was his name?"
"Tredwell."
"I never heard of him," said the lady. "There don't seem to be any
threads to take hold of."
"Perhaps you had a brother at Princeton," remarked Lodloe.
"I have no brother," said she.
There was now a pause in the dialogue. The young man was well pleased
that this very interesting young woman wished to know him properly, as
she put it, and if there could be found the least bit of foundation on
which might be built a conventional acquaintance he was determined to
find it.
"Were you a Vassar girl?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Cristie; "I was there four years."
"Perhaps you know something of old Matthew Vassar, the founder?"
Mrs. Cristie laughed. "I've heard enough about him, you may be sure; but
what has he to do with anything?"
"I once slept in his room," said Lodloe; "in the Founder's Room, with
all his stiff old furniture, and his books, and his portrait."
"You!" cried Mrs. Cristie. "When did you do that?"
"It was two years ago this spring," said Lodloe. "I was up there getting
material for an article on the college which I wrote for the 'Bayside
Magazine.'"
"Did you write that?" said Mrs. Cristie. "I read it, and it was just as
full of mistakes as it could be."
"That may be, and I don't wonder at it," said the young man. "I kept on
taking in material until I had a good deal more than I could properly
stow away in my mind, and it got to be too late for me to go back to the
town, and they had to put me into the Founder's Room, because the house
was a good deal crowded. Before I went to bed I examined all the things
in the room. I didn't sleep well at all, for during the night the old
gentleman got down out of his frame, and sat on the side of my bed, and
told me a lot of things about that college which nobody else ever knew,
I am sure."
"And I suppose you mixed up all that information with what the college
people gave you," she said.
"That may be the case," answered Lodloe, laughing, "for some of the old
gentleman's points were very interesting and made a deep impression upon
me."
"Well," said Mrs. Cristie, speaking very emphatically, "when I had
finished reading that article I very much wished to meet the person who
had written it, so that I might tell him what I thought of it; but of
course I had no idea that the founder had anything to do with its
inaccuracies."
"Madam," said Lodloe, "if it had not been for the mistakes in it you
never would have thought of the man who wrote the paper, but you did
think of him, and wanted to meet him. Now it seems to me that we have
been quite properly introduced to each other, and it was old Matthew
Vassar who did it. I am sure I am very much obliged to him."
Mrs. Cristie laughed. "I don't know what the social authorities would
say to such an introduction," she answered, "but as baby is asleep I
shall take him into the saloon."
IV
LODLOE UNDERTAKES TO NOMINATE HIS SUCCESSOR
It was late in the afternoon when the Romney passengers were landed, and
Mrs. Cristie and Lodloe, with a few other persons, repaired to the
village hotel.
"There is a sort of stage-wagon," said the lady, "which takes people
from this house to the Squirrel Inn, and it starts when the driver is
ready; but before I leave Romney I must try to find some one who will go
with me as nurse-maid."
"Madam," said Lodloe, "don't think of it. I have made inquiries of the
landlord, and he says the roads are rough, and that it will take more
than an hour to reach the Squirrel Inn, so that if you do not start now
I fear you and the baby will not get there before dark. I prefer to stay
here to-night, and it will be no trouble at all for me to look up a
suitable person for you, and to take her with me to-morrow. It will be a
good plan to take four or five of them, and when you have selected the
one you like best the others can come back here in the wagon. It will be
a lark for them."
Mrs. Cristie drew a long breath. "Truly," she said, "your proposition is
phenomenal. Half a dozen nurse-maids in a wagon, from whom I am to pick
and choose! The thing is so startling and novel that I am inclined to
accept. I should very much dislike to be on the road after dark, and if
you have planned to stay here to-night, and if it will not be much
trouble--"
"Say not another word," cried Lodloe; "project your mind into to-morrow
morning, and behold a wagon-load of willing maidens at the door of the
inn."
When Mrs. Cristie and the baby and an elderly woman who lived in
Lethbury, a village two miles beyond the Squirrel Inn, had started on
their journey, Walter Lodloe set about the task he had undertaken. It
was still hot, and the Romney streets were dusty, and after an hour or
two of inquiry, walking, and waiting for people who had been sent for,
Lodloe found that in the whole village there was not a female from
thirteen to seventy-three who would think of such a thing as leaving her
home to become nurse-maid to a city lady. He went to bed that night a
good deal chagrined, and not in the least knowing what he was going to
do about it.
In the morning, however, the thing to do rose clear and plain before
him.
"I can't go to her and tell her I've failed," he said to himself. "A
maid must be got, and I have undertaken to get one. As there is nobody
to be had here, I must go back to the city for one. There are plenty of
them there."
So when the early morning boat came along he took passage for the
nearest railroad station on the river, for he wished to lose no time on
that trip.
The elderly lady who was going to Lethbury took a great interest in Mrs.
Cristie, who was to be her only fellow-passenger. She was at the hotel
with her carpet-bag and her paper bundle some time before the big
spring-wagon was ready to start, and she gave earnest attention to the
loading thereon of Mrs. Cristie's trunk and the baby-carriage. When they
were on their way the elderly woman promptly began the conversation:
"I think," said she to Mrs. Cristie, "that I've seed you before."
"Perhaps so," said the other; "I was in this region three years ago."
"Yes, yes," said the elder woman; "I thought I was right. Then you had a
husband and no child. It now looks as if you had a child and no
husband."
Mrs. Cristie informed her that her surmise was correct.
"Well, well," said the elderly woman; "I've had 'em both, and it's hard
to say which can be spared best, but as we've got nothin' to do with the
sparin' of 'em, we've got ter rest satisfied. After all, they're a good
deal like lilock bushes, both of 'em. They may be cut down, and grubbed
up, and a parsley bed made on the spot, but some day they sprout up
ag'in, and before you know it you've got just as big a bush as ever.
Does Stephen Petter know you're comin'?"
[Illustration: A WAGON-LOAD OF NURSE-MAIDS.]
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Cristie, quite willing to change the subject; "all
that is arranged. I was so pleased with the place when I was here
before, and Mrs. Petter was so good to me, that I quite long to spend a
summer there with my child."
"Well, I'm glad he knows you are comin', but if he didn't, I was goin'
ter say to you that you'd better go on to Lethbury, and then see what
you could do with Stephen to-morrow. It's no use stoppin' at his house
without givin' notice, and like as not it ain't no use then."
"Is Mr. Petter's house filled?" asked Mrs. Cristie.
"Filled!" said the elderly woman. "There's nobody on the place but his
own family and the Greek."
"Greek!" exclaimed Mrs. Cristie.
"Yes," said the other; "he keeps a Greek in an outhouse, but what for
nobody knows. I think Stephen Petter is gettin' more oncommon than he
was. If he wants to get custom for his house the best thing he can do is
to die. There ain't no other way, for Stephen's not goin' to do no
changin' of himself. My niece, Calthea Rose, the daughter of Daniel
Rose, who used to keep the store,--she keeps it now herself,--goes over
there a good deal, for she's wonderful partial to Susan Petter, and
there's a good reason for it too, for a better woman never lived, and
the walk over there is mostly shady, or through the fields, to both of
which Calthea is partial, and so she knows most things that's goin' on
at the Squirrel Inn, which latterly has not been much, except the comin'
of the Greek; an' as nobody has been able to get at the bottom of that
business, that isn't much, neither."
"I think I remember Miss Calthea Rose," said Mrs. Cristie. "She was
tall, wasn't she, with a very fair complexion?"
"Yes," said the elderly woman; "and it's just as fair now as it was
then. Some of it's owin' to sun-bonnet, and some of it to cold cream.
Calthea isn't as young as she was, but she's wonderful lively on her
feet yit, and there ain't many that could get ahead of her walkin' or
bargainin'."
"And she keeps the store?" asked Mrs. Cristie.
"Yes," said the other; "she keeps it, and in more ways than one. You
see, when Dan'el died--and that was two years ago last March--he left
everything to Calthea, and the store with the rest. Before he died he
told her what he had done, and advised her to sell out the stock, and
put the money into somethin' that would pay good interest, and this she
agreed to do, and this she is doing now. She wouldn't consent to no
auction, for she knew well enough the things wouldn't bring more 'n half
they cost, so she undertook herself to sell 'em all out at retail, just
as her father intended they should be sold when he bought 'em. Well,
it's took her a long while, and, in the opinion of most folks, it'll
take her a long while yit. You see she don't lay in no new goods, but
just keeps on sellin' or tryin' to sell what she's got on hand.
"It was purty easy to get rid of the groceries, and the iron and wooden
things got themselves sold some way or other; but old dry-goods, with
never any new ones to lighten 'em up, is about as humdrum as old people
without youngsters in the family. Now it stands to reason that when a
person goes into a store and sees nothin' but old calicoes, and some
other odds and ends, gettin' mustier and dustier and a little more
fly-specked every time, and never a new thing, even so much as a spool
of cotton thread, then persons isn't likely to go often into that store,
specially when there's a new one in the village that keeps up to the
times.
"Now that's Calthea Rose's way of doin' business. She undertook to sell
out them goods, and she's goin' to keep on till she does it. She is
willin' to sell some of the worst-lookin' things at cost, but not a cent
below that, for if she does, she loses money, and that isn't Calthea
Rose. I guess, all put together, she hasn't sold more 'n ten dollars'
worth of goods this year, and most of them was took by the Greek, though
what he wants with 'em is more 'n I know."
"I am sorry to hear that there are no guests at the Squirrel Inn," was
Mrs. Cristie's only reply to this information.
"Oh, you needn't give yourself no trouble about loneliness and that sort
of thing," said the elderly woman; "before to-morrow night the whole
house may be crowded from cockloft to potato-cellar. It never has been
yit, but there's no tellin' what Stephen Petter has a-brewin' in his
mind."
V
THE LANDLORD AND HIS INN
Stephen Petter was a man of middle age, who had been born on a farm, and
who, apparently, had been destined to farm a farm. But at the age of
thirty, having come into a moderate inheritance, he devoted himself more
to the business of cultivating himself and less to that of cultivating
his fields.
He was a man who had built himself up out of books. His regular
education had been limited, but he was an industrious reader, and from
the characters of this and that author he had conceived an idea of a
sort of man which pleased his fancy, and to make himself this sort of
man he had given a great deal of study and a great deal of hard labor.
The result was that he had shaped himself into something like an
old-fashioned country clergyman, without his education, his manners, his
religion, or his clothes. Imperfect similitudes of these Stephen Petter
had acquired, but this was as far as he had gone. A well-read man who
happened also to be a good judge of human nature could have traced back
every obvious point of Stephen Petter's character to some English
author of the last century or the first half of this one.
[Illustration: STEPHEN PETTER.]
It was rather odd that a man like this should be the landlord of an inn.
But everything about Stephen Petter was odd, so ten years before he had
conceived the notion that such a man as he would like to be would be
entirely unwilling to live in the little village of Lethbury, where he
had no opportunity of exercising an influence upon his fellow-beings.
Such an influence he thought it fit to exercise, and as he was not
qualified to be a clergyman, or a physician, or a lawyer, he resolved to
keep a tavern. This vocation would bring him into contact with
fellow-beings; it would give him opportunities to control, impel, and
retard.
Stephen Petter did not for a moment think of buying the Lethbury
"Hotel," nor of establishing such a house as was demanded by the
village. What he had read about houses of entertainment gave him no such
motives as these. Fortunately he had an opportunity of carrying out his
plan according to the notions he had imbibed from his books.
Some years before Stephen Petter had decided upon his vocation, a rich
gentleman had built himself a country-seat about two miles out of
Lethbury. This house and its handsome grounds were the talk and the
admiration of the neighborhood. But the owner had not occupied his
country-home a whole summer before he determined to make a still more
attractive home of it by lighting it with a new-fashioned gas of
domestic manufacture. He succeeded in lighting not only his house but
the whole country-side, for one moonless night his mansion was burned to
the ground. Nothing was left of the house but the foundations, and on
these the owner felt no desire to build again. He departed from the
Lethbury neighborhood and never came back.
When Mr. Petter became impressed with the belief that it would be a good
thing for him to be an innkeeper, he also became impressed with the
belief that the situation which the rich man had chosen for his
country-home would be an admirable one for his purposes. He accordingly
bought the property at a very reasonable price, and on the stone
foundations of the house which had been burned he built his inn.
This edifice was constructed very much as he had endeavored to construct
himself. His plans for one part of it were made up from the
descriptions in one of his books, and those of another part from the
descriptions or pictures in some other book. Portions of the structure
were colonial, others were old English, and others again suggested the
Swiss chalet or a chateau in Normandy. There was a tall tower and there
were some little towers. There were peaks here and there, and different
kinds of slopes to the various roofs, some of which were thatched, some
shingled in fanciful ways, and some covered with long strips or slabs.
There were a good many doors and a good many windows, and these were of
different forms, sizes, and periods, some of them jutting boldly
outward, and some appearing anxious to shrink out of sight.
It took a great deal of thought and a good deal of labor to build this
house; which was also true of Mr. Petter's character. But the
first-named work was the more difficult of the two, for in building up
himself he consulted with no one, while in planning his inn he met with
all sorts of opposition from the village workmen and builders.
But at the cost of all the time that was needed and all the money he
could spare, he had his house built as he wanted it; and when it was
finished it seemed to exhibit a trace of nearly everything a house
should possess excepting chronology and paint. Mr. Petter had selected
with a great deal of care the various woods of which his house was
built, and he decidedly objected to conceal their hues and texture by
monotonous paint. The descriptions that he had read of houses seldom
mentioned paint.
The interior was not in the least monotonous. The floors of the rooms,
even in the same story, were seldom upon the same level; sometimes one
entered a room from a hallway by an ascent of two or three steps, while
access to others was obtained by going down some steps. The inside was
subordinated in a great degree to the outside: if there happened to be a
pretty window like something Mr. Petter had seen in an engraving, a room
of suitable shape and size was constructed behind the window. Stairways
were placed where they were needed, but they were not allowed to
interfere with the shapes of rooms or hallways; if there happened to be
no other good place for them they were put on the outside of the house.
Some of these stairways were wide, some narrow, and some winding; and as
those on the outside were generally covered they increased the
opportunities for queer windows and perplexing projections. The upper
room of the tower was reached by a staircase from the outside, which
opened into a little garden fenced off from the rest of the grounds, so
that a person might occupy this room without having any communication
with the other people in the house.
In one of the back wings of the building there was a room which was more
peculiar than any other, from the fact that there was no entrance to it
whatever, unless one climbed into it by means of a ladder placed at one
of its windows. This room, which was of fair size and well lighted, was
in the second story, but it appeared to be of greater height on account
of the descent of the ground at the back of the inn. It had been
constructed because the shape of that part of the building called for a
room, and a stairway to it had been omitted for the reason that if one
had been built in the inside of the house it would have spoiled the
shape of the room below, and there seemed no good way of putting one on
the outside. So when the room was finished and floored the workmen came
out of it through one of the windows, and Stephen Petter reserved his
decision in regard to a door and stairway until the apartment should be
needed. The grounds around the Squirrel Inn were interesting and
attractive, and with them Stephen Petter had interfered very little. The
rich man had planned beautiful surroundings for his country-home, and
during many years nature had labored steadily to carry out his plans.
There were grassy stretches and slopes, great trees, and terraces
covered with tangled masses of vines and flowers. The house stood on a
bluff, and on one side could be seen a wide view of a lovely valley,
with the two steeples of Lethbury showing above the treetops.
Back of the house, and sweeping around between it and the public road,
was a far-reaching extent of woodland; and through this, for the
distance of half a mile, wound the shaded lane which led from the
highway to the Squirrel Inn.