"I give that up. For Miss Margaret's sake, I'll burn my nose and
mouth with those damned stumps of cigars."
"Drinks no whisky," continued I. "He is president of a temperance
society."
"The devil fly away with him!" growled Moreland; "I wouldn't give up
my whisky for all the girls in the world."
"If you don't, she'll always be fainting away," replied I, laughing.
"Ah! It's because I talked of the Monongahela that she began with her
hystericals, and went away for all the evening! That's where the wind
sits, is it? Well, you may depend I ain't to be done out of my grog
at any rate."
And he backed his assertion with an oath, swallowing off the contents
of his glass by way of a clincher. We sat joking and chatting till
past midnight during which time I flattered myself that I gave
evidence of considerable diplomatic talents. As we were returning
home, however, Richards doubted whether I had not driven the old boy
rather too hard
"No matter," replied I, "if I have only succeeded in ridding poor
Margaret of him."
Cool, calculating Richards shook his head.
"I don't know what may come of it," said he; "but I do not think you
are likely to find much gratitude for your interference."
The next day was taken up in arranging matters of business consequent
on the arrival of Richards. At least ten times I tried to go and see
Arthurine, but was always prevented by something or other; and it was
past tea-time when I at last got to the Bowsends' house. I found
Margaret in the drawing-room, deep in a new novel.
"Where is Arthurine?" I enquired.
"At the theatre, with mamma and Mr Moreland," was the answer.
"At the theatre!" repeated I in astonishment. They were playing Tom
and Jerry, a favourite piece with the enlightened Kentuckians. I had
seen the first scene or two at the New Orleans theatre, and had had
quite enough of it.
"That really _is_ sacrificing herself!" said I, considerably out of
humour.
"The noble girl!" exclaimed Margaret. "Mr Moreland came to tea, and
urged us so much to go"--
"That she could not help going, to be bored and disgusted for a
couple of hours."
"She went for my sake," said Margaret sentimentally. "Mamma would
have one of us go."
"Yes, that is it," thought I. Jealousy would have been ridiculous. He
fifty years old, she seventeen. I left the house, and went to find
Richards.
"What! Back so early?" cried he.
"She is gone to the theatre with her mamma and Moreland."
Richards shook his head.
"You put a wasp's nest into the old fellow's brain-pan yesterday,"
said he. "Take care you do not get stung yourself."
"I should like to see how she looks by his side," said I.
"Well, I will go with you. The sooner you are cured the better. But
only for ten minutes."
There was certainly no temptation to remain longer in that atmosphere
of whisky and tobacco fumes. It was at the Bowery theatre. The light
swam as though seen through a thick fog; and a perfect shower of
orange and apple peel, and even less agreeable things, rained down
from the galleries. Tom and Jerry were in all their glory. I looked
round the boxes, and soon saw the charming Arthurine, apparently
perfectly comfortable, chatting with old Moreland as gravely, and
looking as demure and self-possessed, as if she had been a married
woman of thirty.
"That is a prudent young lady," said Richards; "she has an eye to the
dollars, and would marry Old Hickory himself, spite of whisky and
tobacco pipe, if he had more money, and were to ask her."