amuse him, and the instant he took it he stopped crying, and very soon
went to sleep. There it is; I declare, he is holding it yet."
Mrs. Cristie went softly to the bedside of the child and, bending over
him, gently drew the sweet-pea blossom from his chubby little fist.
XXIII
HAMMERSTEIN
Miss Calthea Rose was up and about very early the next morning. She had
work to do in which there must be no delay or loss of opportunity. It
was plain enough that her scheme for driving away Ida Mayberry had
failed, and, having carefully noted the extraordinary length of time
which Mrs. Cristie and Mr. Lodloe spent together under the stars the
previous evening, she was convinced that it would not be easy to make
that lady dissatisfied with the Squirrel Inn. She therefore determined
to turn aside from her plans of exile, to let the child's nurse stay
where she pleased, to give no further thought to Lanigan Beam, and to
devote all her energies to capturing Mr. Tippengray. She believed that
she had been upon the point of doing this before the arrival of
intruders on the scene, and she did not doubt that she could reach that
point again.
Miss Calthea was very restless that morning; she was much more anxious
to begin work than was anybody else on the place. She walked about the
ground, went into the garden, passed the summer-house on her way there
and back again, and even wandered down to the barnyard, where the
milking had just begun. If any one had been roaming about like herself,
she could not have failed to observe such person. But there was no one
about until a little before breakfast-time, when Mr. Petter showed
himself.
This gentleman greeted Calthea coolly. He had had a very animated
conversation with his wife on the evening before, and had been made
acquainted with the unwarrantable enmity exhibited by this village
shopkeeper toward Mrs. Cristie's blooded assistant. He was beginning to
dislike Calthea, and he remembered that the Rockmores never liked her,
and he wished very much that she would cease to spend so much of her
time at his house. After breakfast Calthea was more fortunate. She saw
the Greek scholar walking upon the lawn, with a piece of writing-paper
in his hand. In less than five minutes, by the merest accident in the
world, Mr. Tippengray was walking across the lawn with Miss Rose, and he
had put his piece of paper into his pocket.
She wanted to ask him something. She would detain him only a few
minutes. The questions she put to him had been suggested to her by
something she had read that morning--a most meager and unsatisfactory
passage. She held in her hand the volume which, although she did not
tell him so, had taken her a half-hour to select in Mr. Petter's book
room. Shortly they were seated together, and he was answering her
questions which, as she knew, related to the most interesting
experiences of his life. As he spoke his eyes glistened and her soul
warmed. He did not wish that this should be so. He wanted to bring this
interview to an end. He was nervously anxious to go back on the lawn,
that he might see Miss Mayberry when she came out of doors; that he
might show her the lines of "Pickwick" which he had put into Greek, and
which she was to turn back into English.
But he could not cut short the interview. Miss Calthea was not an
Ancient Mariner; she had never even seen the sea, and she had no
glittering eye, but she held him with a listening ear, and never was
wedding guest, or any other man, held more securely.
Minutes, quarter-hours, half-hours passed and still he talked and she
listened. She guided his speech as a watchful sailor guides his ship,
and whichever way she turned it the wind always filled his sails. For
the first ten minutes he had been ill at ease, but after that he had
begun to feel that he had never so much enjoyed talking. In time he
forgot everything but what he had to say, and it was rapture to be able
to say it, and to feel that never before had he said it so well.
His back was towards the inn, but through some trees Miss Calthea could
see that Mr. Petter's spring wagon, drawn by the two grays, Stolzenfels
and Falkenberg, was at the door, and soon she perceived that Mr. Lodloe
was in the driver's place, and that Mrs. Cristie, with Ida Mayberry
holding the baby, was on the back seat. The place next Lodloe was
vacant, and they seemed to be waiting for some one. Then Lanigan Beam
came up. There was a good deal of conversation, in which he seemed to
be giving information, and presently he sprang up beside the driver and
they were off. The party were going for a long drive, Miss Calthea
thought, because Mrs. Petter had come out and had put a covered basket
into the back of the wagon.
Mr. Tippengray was so absorbed in the interest of what he was saying
that he did not hear the roll of the departing wheels, and Miss Calthea
allowed him to talk on for nearly a quarter of an hour until she thought
she had exhausted the branch of the subject on which he was engaged, and
was sure the spring wagon was out of sight and hearing. Then she
declared that she had not believed that any part of the world could be
as interesting as that region which Mr. Tippengray had been describing
to her, and that she was sorry she could not sit there all the morning
and listen to him, but duty was duty, and it was necessary for her to
return to Lethbury.
This announcement did not seem in the least to decrease the good spirits
of the Greek scholar, but his chin and his spirits fell when, on
reaching the house, he heard from Mrs. Petter that his fellow-guests had
gone off for a long drive.
"They expected to take you, Mr. Tippengray," said his hostess, "but
Lanigan Beam said he had seen you and Miss Rose walking across the
fields to Lethbury, and so they asked him to go. I hope they'll be back
to dinner, but there's no knowing, and so I put in a basket of
sandwiches and things to keep them from starving before they get home."
Miss Calthea was quite surprised.
"We were sitting over yonder the whole time," she said, "very much
occupied with talking, it is true, but near enough to hear if we had
been called. I fancy that Lanigan had reasons of his own for saying we
had gone to Lethbury."
Poor Mr. Tippengray was downcast. How much time must elapse before he
would have an opportunity to deliver the piece of paper he had in his
pocket! How long would he be obliged to lounge around by himself waiting
for Ida Mayberry to return!
"Well," said Calthea, "I must go home, and as I ought to have been there
long ago, I am going to ask Mr. Petter to lend me a horse and buggy.
It's the greatest pity, Mr. Tippengray, that you have lost your drive
with your friends, but as you can't have that, suppose you take one with
me. I don't mind acknowledging to you that I am a little afraid of Mr.
Petter's horses, but with you driving I should feel quite safe."
If Mr. Tippengray could have immediately thought of any good reason why
he should have staid at home that morning he would probably have given
it, but none came into his mind. After all, he might as well be driving
to Lethbury as staying there doing nothing, and there could be no doubt
that Miss Calthea was very agreeable that morning. Consequently he
accepted the invitation.
Calthea Rose went herself to the barn to speak to Mr. Petter about the
horse, and especially requested that he would lend her old Zahringen,
whom she knew to be the most steady of beasts, but Zahringen had gone to
be shod, and there was no horse at her service except Hammerstein, and
no vehicle but a village cart. Hammerstein was a better horse than
Zahringen, and would take Calthea home more rapidly, which entirely
suited Mr. Petter.
It may be here remarked that the barn and stables were not of Mr.
Petter's building, but in order that they might not be entirely exempt
from the influence of his architectural fancies, he had given his horses
the names of certain castles on the Rhine.
Calthea was not altogether satisfied with the substitution of the big
black horse for the fat brown one, but she could make no reasonable
objection, and the vehicle was soon at the door.
Mr. Tippengray was very fond of driving, and his spirits had risen
again. But he was a good deal surprised when Miss Calthea declined to
take the seat beside him, preferring to occupy the rear seat with her
back to the horse. By turning a little to one side, she said she could
talk just as well, and it was more comfortable in such a small vehicle
as a village cart to have a whole seat to one's self.
As soon as they were in the road that ran through the woods she proved
that she could twist herself around so as to talk to her companion, and
look him in the face, quite as easily as if she had been sitting beside
him. They chatted together, and looked each other in the face, and the
Greek scholar enjoyed driving very much until they had gone a mile or
more on the main road, and had come upon an overturned wagon lying by
the roadside. At this Hammerstein and the conversation suddenly stopped.
The big black horse was very much opposed to overturned vehicles. He
knew that in some way they were connected with disaster, and he would
not willingly go near one. He stood head up, ears forward, and slightly
snorting. Mr. Tippengray was annoyed by this nonsense.
[Illustration: MISS CALTHEA STEPS OUT.]
"Go on!" he cried, "Get up!" Then the driver took the whip from the
socket and gave the horse a good crack.
"Get up!" he cried.
Hammerstein obeyed, but got up in a manner which Mr. Tippengray did not
intend. He arose upon his hind legs, and pawed the air, appearing to the
two persons behind him like a tall, black, unsteady steeple.
When a horse harnessed to a village cart sees fit to rear, the hind part
of the vehicle is brought very near to the ground, so that a person
sitting on the back seat can step out without trouble. Miss Calthea
perceived this and stepped out. On general principles she had known that
it was safer to alight from the hind seat of a village cart than from
the front seat.
"Don't pull at him that way," she cried from the opposite side of the
road, "he will go over backwards on top of you. Let him alone and
perhaps he will stop rearing."
Hammerstein now stood on all his feet again, and Miss Calthea earnestly
advised Mr. Tippengray to turn him around and drive back.
"I am not far from home now," she said, "and can easily walk there. I
really think I do not care to get in again. But I am sure he will go
home to his stable without giving you any trouble."
But Mr. Tippengray's spirit was up, and he would not be conquered by a
horse, especially in the presence of a lady.
"I shall make him pass it," he cried, and he brought down his whip on
Hammerstein's back with such force that the startled animal gave a great
bound forward, and then, finding himself so near the dreaded wreck, he
gave a wilder bound, and passed it. Then, being equipped with blinders,
which did not allow him to see behind him, he did not know but the
frightful wagon, its wheels uppermost, was wildly pursuing him, and,
fearing that this might be so, he galloped onward with all his speed.
The Greek scholar pulled at the reins and shouted in such a way that
Hammerstein was convinced that he was being urged to use all efforts to
get away from the oncoming monster. He did not turn into the Lethbury
road when he came to it, but kept straight on. At such a moment the
straighter the road the better. Going down a long hill, Mr. Tippengray,
still pulling and shouting, and now hatless, perceived, some distance
ahead of him, a boy standing by the roadside. It was easy enough for the
practised eye of a country boy to take in the state of affairs, and his
instincts prompted him to skip across the road and open a gate which led
into a field recently plowed.
Mr. Tippengray caught at the boy's idea and, exercising all his
strength, he turned Hammerstein into the open gateway. When he had made
a dozen plunges into the deep furrows and through the soft yielding
loam, the horse concluded that he had had enough of that sort of
exercise, and stopped. Mr. Tippengray, whose senses had been nearly
bounced out of him, sprang from the cart, and, slipping on the uneven
surface of the ground, tumbled into a deep furrow, from which, however,
he instantly arose without injury, except to his clothes. Hurrying to
the head of the horse he found the boy already there, holding the now
quiet animal. The Greek scholar looked at him admiringly.
"My young friend," said he, "that was a noble thought, worthy of a
philosopher."
The boy grinned.
"They generally stop when they get into a plowed field," he said. "What
skeered him?"
Mr. Tippengray briefly related the facts of the case, and the horse was
led into the road. It was soon ascertained that no material harm had
been done to harness or vehicle.
"Young man," said Mr. Tippengray, "what will you take for your hat!"
The boy removed his head-covering and looked at it. It was of coarse
straw, very wide, very much out of shape, without a band, and with a
hole in the crown surrounded by a tuft of broken straw.
"Well," said he, "it ain't worth much now, but it'll take a quarter to
buy a new one."
"Here is a quarter for your hat," said the Greek scholar, "and another
for your perspicacity. I suppose I shall find my hat on the road, but I
cannot wait for that. The sun is too hot."
[Illustration: "WHAT SKEERED HIM?"]
The Greek scholar now started homeward, leading Hammerstein. He liked
walking, and had no intention whatever of again getting into that cart.
If, when they reached the overturned wagon, the animal should again
upheave himself, or in any way misbehave, Mr. Tippengray intended to let
go of him, and allow him to pursue his homeward way in such manner and
at such speed as might best please him.
[Illustration: MR. TIPPENGRAY STOPPED AND LISTENED.]
The two walked a long distance without reaching the object of
Hammerstein's fright, and Mr. Tippengray began to think that the road
was a good deal narrower and more shaded than he had supposed it to be.
The fact was, that a road diverged from the right, near the top of the
hill, which he had not noticed when passing it in mad career, and
naturally turning to the right, without thinking very much about it, he
had taken this road instead of the one by which he had come. Our
scholar, however, did not yet comprehend that he was on the wrong road,
and kept on.
Soon his way led through the woods, with great outstretching trees, with
wide-open spaces, interspersed here and there with masses of
undergrowth. Mr. Tippengray greatly enjoyed the shaded road, the smell
of the pines, and the flowers scattered along the edges of the wood. But
in a few minutes he would doubtless have discovered that he had gone
astray, and, notwithstanding the pleasantness of his surroundings, he
would have turned back, had he not suddenly heard voices not far away.
He stopped and listened.
The voices came from behind a clump of evergreens close by the roadside,
and to his utter amazement Mr. Tippengray heard the voice of Lanigan
Beam saying to some one that true love must speak out, and could not be
silenced; that for days he had been looking for an opportunity, and now
that it had come she must hear him, and know that his heart was hers
only, and could never belong to anybody else. Then the voice of Ida
Mayberry, very clear and distinct, replied that he must not talk to her
in that way, that her line of life and his were entirely different. And
she was doubtless going to say more, when her companion interrupted, and
vowed with all possible earnestness that whatever line of life she chose
should be his line; that he would gladly give up every plan and purpose,
follow her in whatever direction she chose to lead, and do whatever she
wished he should do.
Mr. Tippengray was very uneasy. The subject-matter of the conversation
he was overhearing disturbed him in a manner which he did not
understand, and he felt, moreover, that it was not proper for him to
listen to another word. He did not know what to do; if he moved forward
they would hear the wheels, and know that he had been near, and if he
attempted to back out of the vicinity there was no knowing what hubbub
he and Hammerstein might create. While standing undecided, he heard
Lanigan speak thus:
"And as for Greek, and that sort of thing, you shall have all you want.
I'll hire old Tippengray by the year; he shall be the family pedagogue,
and we'll tap him for any kind of learning we may happen to want."
Instantly all thought of retreat fled from the mind of the scholar; his
eyes glittered, and he was on the point of doing something, when there
came from a little distance the voice of Mrs. Cristie, loudly calling
for Ida. There was shuffling of feet, and in a few moments Mr.
Tippengray perceived the nurse-maid rapidly walking away between the
trees while Lanigan leisurely followed.
With head erect and nostrils dilated, as if he had been excited by the
perception of something upside down, Mr. Tippengray again laid hold of
the bridle of Hammerstein, and went on. In a few minutes he emerged upon
an open space, through which flowed a little brook, and where sat Mrs.
Cristie, Lodloe, Ida Mayberry with the baby in her lap, and Lanigan
Beam. All of these persons, excepting the infant, were eating
sandwiches.
At the sight of the little man and the tall horse, the former spattered
with mud, smeared with the earth of the plowed field, and crowned with a
misshapen hat with the expansive hole in the top, the sandwich-eaters
stopped eating, gazed open-eyed, and then burst out laughing. Mr.
Tippengray did not laugh; his eyes still glittered.
It was half an hour before the tale was told, order restored, and Mr.
Tippengray had washed his face and hands in the brook and taken
refreshment. Then he found himself alone with Mrs. Cristie.
"Truly you have had a hard time," said she, kindly.
"Madam," answered the Greek scholar, "you are entirely correct. This has
been an unfortunate day for me. I have been cunningly entrapped, and
heartlessly deserted; I have been nearly frightened out of my wits; have
had my soul nearly burned out of my body, and have been foully
besmirched with dirt and mud. But, worse than all, I have heard myself
made the subject of contempt and contumely."
"How is that?" exclaimed Mrs. Cristie. "I do not understand."
"I will quickly make it plain to you," said the indignant scholar, and
he related the conversation he had overheard.
"What a shameful way to speak of you, Mr. Tippengray!" cried Mrs.
Cristie. "I did not suppose that Mr. Beam would dare to say such things
to one whom he knew to be your friend. I have no doubt that if I had not
called Ida at that moment, you would have heard her resent that
disrespectful speech."
"I hope so; with all my heart, I hope so," replied the Greek scholar.
He said this with so much feeling that his companion looked at him a few
moments without speaking.
"Mr. Tippengray," she said presently, "it is time for us to go home. How
would you like to take Ida Mayberry back in your cart?"
The brightness in the eyes of the Greek scholar changed from the glitter
of indignation to gleams of joy.
"Madam," said he, "I should like it of all things. It would remove from
the anticipated pleasures of this day the enormous Alpha privative which
has so far overshadowed them."
The young widow did not exactly comprehend this answer, but it was
enough to know that he was glad to accept the opportunity she offered
him. No sooner had he spoken than Mr. Tippengray remembered the hazards
to which he was exposing himself by again taking the reins of
Hammerstein, but not for an instant did he think of drawing back. His
desire to take Ida Mayberry away from that fellow, and have her by
himself, overpowered fear and all other feelings.
Mrs. Cristie's arrangement for the return pleased everybody except
Lanigan Beam. The nurse-maid was perfectly willing to go in the village
cart, and was not at all afraid of horses, and Walter Lodloe had no
objection to sit on the back seat of the wagon with his lady-love, and
help take care of the baby. Lanigan made few remarks about the
situation; he saw that he had made a mistake, and was being punished for
it, and without remonstrance he took the front seat and the reins of the
grays.
XXIV
TRANSLATIONS
Lanigan Beam had no more fear of Mr. Tippengray as a rival than he would
have had of Mr. Petter, but the apportionment of companions for the
return trip nettled him a good deal, and, as a consequence of this, the
pair of grays traveled homeward at a smarter pace, and Hammerstein and
the village cart were soon left far behind.
The road was not the one by which Mr. Tippengray had arrived on the
scene, but led through the woods to the main road, which it joined at a
point not far from the sign of the Squirrel Inn. Hammerstein traveled
very quietly and steadily of his own accord, slackening his gait at the
rough places, thus giving Mr. Tippengray every opportunity for an
uninterrupted converse with his fellow scholar; and he lost no time in
submitting to her his Greek version of the lines from "Pickwick."
"I am very glad you have it with you," said Ida, "for I put my Greek
dictionary in my pocket this morning, when I first came down, hoping to
have a chance to do some translating, and what better chance could I
have than this?"
[Illustration: THE TRANSLATION.]
Drawing out her dictionary and a little blank-book she immediately began
her labors. Mr. Tippengray did not altogether like this. He felt an
intense and somewhat novel desire to converse with the young woman on no
matter what subject, and he would have preferred that she should
postpone the translation. But he would not interrupt the engrossing
occupation into which she now plunged with ardor. Rapidly turning
backward and forward the leaves of the little dictionary, and tapping
her front teeth with her pencil as she puzzled over the correlation of
Greek and English words and expressions, she silently pursued her work.
Although he did not talk to her, it was very pleasant for Mr. Tippengray
to sit and look upon this fair young scholar. At her request he made
the tall steed walk, in order that her pencil might not be too much
joggled, slyly thinking, the while, that thus the interview would be
prolonged. The air was warm and balmy. Everything was still about them.
They met no one, and every minute Mr. Tippengray became more and more
convinced that, next to talking to her, there could be no greater joy in
life than basking in the immediate atmosphere of this girl.
At last she shut up her dictionary.
"Now, then!" she exclaimed, "I have translated it, and I assure you that
it is a fair and square version, for I do not in the least remember the
original paragraph."
"I have the original here," said Mr. Tippengray, pulling the second
volume of "Pickwick" from his pocket, "and we will compare it with your
translation, if you will be so good as to read it. You do not know with
what anxious enthusiasm I await the result."
"And I, too," said Ida, earnestly. "I do not think there could be a
better test of the power of the Greek language to embalm and preserve
for future generations the spirit of Dickens. Now I will read, and you
can compare my work with the original as I go on."
The translation ran thus:
"For the reason that he who drives a vehicle of the
post-road holds high office above the masses," to him
answered the Sire Weller with eyes affiliated; "for the
reason that he who drives a vehicle of the post-road acteth
at will, undoubted, humanity otherwise prohibited. For the
reason that he who drives a vehicle of the post-road is able
to look with affection on a woman of eighty far distant,
though it is not publicly believed that in the midst of any
it is his desire to wed. Among males which one discourseth
similarly, Sammy?"
"I wrote Sammy," she explained, "because I remembered that is the way
the name is used in English."
Mr. Tippengray raised his eyebrows very high, and his chin slowly began
to approach the sailor knot of his cravat.
"Oh, dear," he said, "I am afraid that this would not express to future
ages the spirit and style of Dickens. The original passage runs thus,"
and he read: