MCGUSHER _versus_ LUNDER.
Ben Lunder’s speech was heartily applauded, and so, indeed, was
that of every one who spoke or attempted to speak. It was the “era
of good feelings.” The complimentary part of the proceedings having
been disposed of, the arrangements for the up-river excursion were
considered and adopted. A time was fixed to start, and the meeting
dissolved.
When Ben got up to make his speech, Mr. McGusher approached Kate and
placed himself by her side, intent upon regaining the ground he had
lost. All the boys laughed at Ben’s “nauticals,” and most of the girls
knew enough about vessels to appreciate the absurdity of his remarks.
Everybody was amused except the long-lost; and Ben could say nothing to
provoke a smile from him. He was determined not to be amused.
“Those wemawks aw vewy silly, Miss Bildaw,” said he, in a low tone.
“Now I think they are very funny,” replied Kate. “I think Mr. Lunder is
a splendid fellow.”
“Do you, indeed?” groaned Mr. McGusher. “I think he is lacking in
bwains.”
“Excuse me; but I should like to hear him,” added Kate.
The long-lost was obliged to be silent after this hint. In his
eloquence Ben had stepped forward a few steps from the rock where he
had been seated at Kate’s side, and Mr. McGusher, who was prominently
developed on each side of his face, took the place which had been
vacated. As Ben was working up his peroration, he unconsciously backed
up to the rock again, not aware that his late seat had been occupied
by another. As he finished, he bowed, and, without looking behind him,
dropped into his former position. He was considerably excited by his
oratorical effort, and bounced rather heavily into Mr. McGusher’s lap.
Either out of respect to the lady at his side, or because his brow was
fevered by the misfortunes of the hour, this gentleman had taken off
his white stove-pipe hat, and placed it upon his knees. Ben struck upon
the crown of the tile, crushing it down as flat as a pancake.
[Illustration: BEN STRUCK UPON THE CROWN OF THE TILE. Page 171.]
Ben instantly sprang to his feet again, when he realized the mischief
he had done. Possibly he feared, in the confusion of the moment, that
he had sat down in Miss Bilder’s lap. The mishap was greeted with roars
of laughter from the boys and the girls; and doubtless some sides
ached, and some of the party were in danger of choking to death with
their mirth, when Mr. McGusher held up his damaged tile, which looked
very much like one of those telescopic hats which shut into a box only
two inches deep.
“Do you see what you have done?” demanded Mr. McGusher, as he sprang to
his feet, with the crushed hat in his hand.
“I see; and, in its present condition, I admit that yours is a shocking
bad hat,” replied Ben, good-naturedly, as the tile was not his own.
“You have cwushed my hat,” wailed the long-lost.
“What did you get into my seat for? I didn’t know you were there; and
it was not my fault,” laughed Ben.
“You did it on pawpose! You intended to insult me! You have insulted me
thwee times befaw to-day,” howled Mr. McGusher.
“All right my hearty,” said Ben, moving towards the seat on the rock
which the swell had vacated.
But Mr. McGusher was not to be flanked a second time, and he dropped
into the place by Kate’s side.
“You have wuined my hat,” he continued, trying to restore it to its
former shape.
“See here, my jovial biscuit-nibbler, if I am to blame, I’ll buy you
a more decent hat than that one ever was; and I will leave it to any
three gentlemen here to say if it was my fault or yours. I suggest
Captain Bilder and Captain Patterdale as two of the referees, and they
may select the third.”
“That’s fair!” shouted the yachtmen.
“I will apologize into the bargain,” added Ben; “and that will be the
most humiliating part of the business.”
“Referees!” shouted the boys, who expected some fun to come out of the
hearing.
Mr. McGusher was compelled to submit to the popular will; and after the
meeting the trial of the case was to take place. But it was past seven
o’clock when the plan for the excursion was adopted; and it was time
to return to the city, especially as there was a shower coming up in
the west. But the long-lost was not permitted to enjoy the place he had
stolen by the side of Kate. She seemed to be rather partial to Ben; at
any rate she enjoyed his funny speeches; and when Mr. McGusher resumed
his seat, she abandoned her own, and walked away with the “old salt” to
a bench which was not occupied, where they remained till the close of
the meeting. The long-lost felt that his “sister” was abusing him, and
he was determined, as soon as his position was established, that Kate
should treat the marine monster as he deserved.
“Miss President of the Dorcas Club,” said Neil, when the meeting was
dissolved, “I am afraid there will be a shower before you can pull back
to the city.”
“It looks like one,” replied Minnie, anxiously. “And it will be half
past nine before we can reach home.”
“I think you had better go up in the steamer.” added Neil.
“What shall we do with our boats?”
“We can put them on our hurricane deck.”
“I should be very glad to go up in the Ocean-Born.”
“I am afraid we shall not get back to-night with the yachts,” said Ned
Patterdale. “There is not a breath of wind.”
“I will tow you up; and if it rains we can all stay under cover,”
replied Neil.
“We don’t care for the rain,” laughed Ned; “but we rather like the
arrangement, for there will be some fun in that trial.”
“I can tow two of those yachts on each side, and the other two astern,”
added Neil.
All the party were informed of the plan, and the invited guests and
members of the clubs were embarked in the steamer. Two of the yachts
were then lashed on each side of her, and hawsers from the other two
were passed to her stern. But it was found that the club boats could
be better carried upon the decks of the yachts, as no sails were to
be set, and they were carefully taken out of the water, so as not to
strain them, and cradled in convenient places. The anchor of the
Ocean-Born was weighed, and the bell to go ahead was sounded. Martin
Roach had stirred up the fires in the furnaces, so that she had plenty
of steam for the heavy tow she had undertaken. The ladies’ cabin was
open, and one of the ladies was playing a waltz on the piano. Groups in
various parts of the deck were singing, and no livelier party was ever
gathered than that on board of the Ocean-Born.
The trial was to take place in the forward cabin, where the referees
opened the session soon after the steamer started. Dr. Darling had been
chosen as the third referee. Ben and Mr. McGusher were summoned to the
tribunal, whereof the doctor was the presiding officer, by the choice
of his fellows. The cabin was crowded to its utmost capacity, and those
who could not get in stationed themselves at the doors and windows.
Perhaps no one but Mr. McGusher regarded it as a serious proceeding,
and he had some fears that it might afford his tormentor an opportunity
to torture him.
“Gentlemen, this is a Court of Reference to try the case of--What’s
his name?” asked Dr. Darling, opening the proceedings.
“Mr. Arthur McGusher,” replied Captain Bilder.
“Mr. Arthur McGusher _versus_ Mr. Ben Lunder, alias Bounding Billow
Ben,” continued the doctor. “Both of the parties were strangers to most
of us till to-day, and therefore we shall be able to deal impartially
with both of them. Mr. McGusher appears to be the plaintiff, and brings
this suit to recover the value of one white hat, encircled with a black
weed, according to the fashion of the day--or perhaps I should say, the
fashion of the extremists. I don’t know the value of it, but perhaps
that will appear in the evidence.--Mr. McGusher, will you take the
stand?”
Mr. McGusher took the stand, which was the end of the table opposite
the chairman of the referees.
“Your name in full, sir?” Dr. Darling proceeded.
“Arthur McGushaw,” replied the plaintiff, doubtfully, for the case
opened rather formidably.
“Your residence?”
“New Yawk city.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Do you consider that you have attained the age of discretion?”
“The age of discwetion? Goodness gwacious! I should hope so.”
“How much do you weigh when you are fat?”
“I don’t know,” replied the long-lost, almost discouraged by the
choking laughter of the spectators.
“This is important.”
“What odds can it make how much I weigh?” demanded Mr. McGusher.
“It is not usual for courts of justice to be questioned. How much do
you weigh?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you never been weighed in the balance, and found wanting?”
“No, saw.”
“How old did you say you were?”
“I said I was eighteen.”
“Just eighteen?”
“Yes, saw.”
“Eighteen now?”
“Of cawse I’m eighteen now. I nevaw was eighteen befaw. How could a
fellaw be eighteen befaw he is eighteen?”
The company laughed at this answer. Mr. McGusher believed he had made a
point, and he enjoyed it. He was encouraged.
“Eighteen now?”
“Of cawse.”
“How old shall you be when you are twenty-one?”
“I don’t know,” replied the long-lost, who was, perhaps, thinking of
the point he had made; but his answer produced a roar of smiles.
“You don’t know?”
“How old shall I be when I am twenty-one?” repeated Mr. McGusher,
putting his whole mind to the question. “Of cawse I shall be twenty-one
when I am twenty-one.”
“That may be true in your case,” added Dr. Darling, looking very wise.
“Now, will you please to state your view of the unhappy difficulty
between Mr. Lunder and yourself.”
“It is soon told, saw. Seeing my fwiend, Miss Bildaw, seated on a
wock--”
“On a what?”
“On a wock,” replied the long-lost, with emphasis.
“On a wock?” repeated the examiner. “What’s that?”
“On a wock! Don’t you know what a wock is?”
“I do not,” replied the doctor, shaking his head, and looking very much
puzzled. “On a wock?”
“On a wock! On a big stone!” said the plaintiff, desperately.
“O! on a rock! I beg your pardon. I understand now. Proceed, if you
please. Miss Bilder was seated on a rock.”
“Miss Bildaw is my fwiend, and I seated myself at her side, as I think
I had a pawfect wight to do, if the lady did not object.”
“Then Miss Bilder did not object?”
“She did not. Then Mr. Lundaw sat down in my lap, and cwushed my hat.
That’s the whole of it.”
“Where was Mr. Lunder when you seated yourself at Miss Bilder’s side?”
“He was standing up.”
“What was he doing?”
“Making what he called a speech.”
“What he called a speech. What did you call it?”
“It was hardly an owation or a hawang. I call it nonsense,” replied Mr.
McGusher, candidly.
“But--
‘A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the wisest men.’
You did not relish the nonsense, Mr. McGusher?”
“No, saw, I did not.”
“Are we to conclude, therefore, that you are not to be classed among
the wisest men?”
“I am not a fool, an idiot, to welish such stuff as that was.”
“Then those of us who did enjoy it are to be considered fools and
idiots--are they? That will do, Mr. McGusher. You may step down.”
“I don’t mean to say that,” protested the long-lost.
“Mr. Lunder will take the stand,” added the doctor.
Ben took the stand.
“Your name sir?”
“B. Lunder, O. S.”
“O. S. Old style?”
“No, sir; old salt.”
“Your occupation?”
“Seaman.”
“How long have you been to sea?”
“Four days--perhaps five now, counting to-day as one.”
“Had the measles?”
“Yes, sir--had ’em good.”
“Fighting weight?”
“One hundred and twenty-one pounds, eleven and one half ounces,
Avoirdupois.”
“Now state if you please, your view of the difficulty between Mr.
McGusher and yourself.”
“The principal difficulty lies in Mr. McGusher’s inability to
appreciate my speeches,” laughed Ben.
“The facts in the case, if you please.”
“I was sitting with Miss Bilder on the rock, when I was called upon
by the high and mighty commander of the Ocean-Born to make a little
speech. He had eaten so much chowder himself that he was too full
for utterance, and I had to utter for him. I beg to remind you, Mr.
Chairman, that I am an old salt by profession. Lot’s wife was a first
cousin of mine. The first duty of a sailor, sir, is to obey.
‘Theirs not to make reply;
Theirs not to reason why;
Theirs but to do and die,’
or make a speech; and, with becoming modesty, it was a capital speech,
in my opinion, whatever Mr. McGusher may say or think.”
“That’s so!” shouted the spectators.
“Order in the court!” said Dr. Darling, pounding on the table most
vigorously. “Go on, Mr. Lunder.”
“I was seated by Miss Bilder, on the rock. Etiquette required that I
should stand when I made that speech. I did what the immortal General
Warren told the Bunker Hillers to do when he said, ‘Stand! the ground’s
your own, my braves.’
“I am not so sure I should have had the courage to stand, if I had
thought I should lose my ground on the rock by doing so. But I did
stand. Milton says,--
‘They also serve who only stand.’
“It was my duty to stand, Mr. Chairman. My commander had ordered me
to stand. I rose, Mr. Chairman; I rose modestly and gracefully to obey
the order of my great commander. As ‘the rose is fairest when ’tis
budding,’ I budded upon that audience. I rose, and though there were
onions in the chowder, ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’
I rose and made my speech. Under the fiery inspiration of the moment,
I waxed eloquent. I depicted the wild scene upon the stormy ocean,
when the mad waves dashed savagely over the helpless Sea Foam, when
the bob-scuttle had gone by the board; when the angry tide twisted the
cleats, cat-harpings, bowlines, bobstays, dead-eyes, dead-lights, and
dead reckoning into half-hitches, when--”
“Do you intend to repeat your speech, Mr. Lunder?” asked the doctor.
“If the court particularly desire it,--yes, sir.”
“Nothing but the want of time prevents the court from particularly
desiring its repetition.”
“I should be happy to oblige the court at another time then. I only
intended to show how it was that I waxed eloquent. As I waxed, I took
a step forward, as great orators do unconsciously when stirred by
the fires of eloquence. Of course, Mr. Chairman, as I orated, I was
unconscious of the movements of the plaintiff. I could see nothing but
the sea of upturned faces before me; and I did not see Mr. McGusher
take the seat which I had vacated but a moment before. When I finished
I sat down, and as the plaintiff was in my seat, I sat down in his lap,
and squashed his hat. How could I know, sir, that the plaintiff had
surreptitiously and flagitiously taken my seat?”
“Did you consider that the seat belonged to you?”
“As much as though I had foreclosed a mortgage upon it. Consider the
circumstances, Mr. Chairman. I was freely lavishing my eloquence upon
the company. I was laboring for the information and entertainment of
the party. If I used my shining talents for this purpose, should I
suffer for it? Should I lose my seat for it?”
“No! No! No!” shouted the young men.
“Certainly not; and of course, Mr. Chairman, you will decide in favor
of the defendant.”
“You may step down, Mr. Lunder,” added Dr. Darling. “Have you anything
further to say, Mr. McGusher?”
“I have, sir. I don’t wish to quawwel with Mr. Lundaw, and I’m willing
to accept his apology,” replied the long-lost.
“When he makes one, you may,” added Ben.
“The court will settle that question,” interposed the doctor. “The law
applicable to this case, may be found in Shakespeare’s play of Much
Ado about Nothing--‘Sits the wind in that corner?’ Metaphorically, Mr.
McGusher is the wind, and ‘that corner’ is the rock. It is admitted
that Mr. McGusher sat down on the rock; and ‘sits the wind in that
corner.’ Lunder had not abandoned that seat. If he had deliberately
got up, and gone off, like a gun, he might thus have relinquished
possession of it. But he did not go off like a gun or otherwise, and
not having relinquished possession of it, the seat was his, both in
law and equity; and according to Shakespeare, standing up in front of
his seat to make a speech, in obedience to the order of his superior
officer, and in answer to the call of the company, does not amount to
a relinquishment of the seat. He had vacated it only for the moment,
at the call of the crowd. Now, if he had got up to make that speech
with the evil and vicious intent and purpose of inflicting his remarks
upon the company, as some ill-bred persons do, the case would have been
different, and he would have voluntarily relinquished his seat, both
in law and fact. Lunder was, therefore, still in legal possession of
the seat, though not in actual bodily possession of it, at the precise
instant when McGusher took possession of it. A tenant cannot be said
to have abandoned the house he hires, to have relinquished possession
thereof, because he temporarily leaves it to go to the corner grocery
for a cent’s worth of milk. My associates agree with me that this is
sound law. The law being thus indisputably clear, it only remains to
consider the facts, upon which there is no material disagreement. The
seat belonged to Lunder; McGusher took it; in other words, he took what
did not belong to him, and what did belong to Lunder. McGusher is at
fault. This court finds for the defendant, and sentences McGusher to
apologize to Lunder for taking his seat.”
“Who pays for my hat?” demanded Mr. McGusher, amid roars of laughter.
“The court decides that the hat was _particeps criminis_ in the act of
the owner. It was in the place of Lunder, where it had no right to be.
The hat was crushed because it was an intruder, like a mosquito in the
boudoir of a lady! ‘Truth crushed to earth shall rise again;’ but hats
never,” said Dr. Darling.
Mr. McGusher was not satisfied with the decision of the referees,
but there was no appeal. He refused to apologize, however, and gazed
ruefully at his twisted and misshapen hat.
The rain was falling in torrents when the Ocean-Born with her heavy tow
arrived at the city; but all the party were under cover, and continued
to have a jolly time till the weather permitted the ladies to go to
their homes. Ben Lunder walked home with Kate Bilder, and spent the
evening at the house. Mr. McGusher was disgusted, and at an early
hour retired to his room. He did so only to get out of the way of his
tormentor, who would not insult him, or even take any notice of him.
Mr. McGusher was troubled; his hat was spoiled, and he had hardly ten
dollars in his pocket--not more than enough to pay his expenses to
New York. He must buy a new hat; he could hardly go into the street
with the crushed tile on his head. He was worried about his financial
prospects. He walked the room. As he passed the bureau on which stood
his lamp, he saw a letter, the corner of which was thrust into the side
of the looking-glass frame. It had evidently been placed there where it
could be seen, perhaps as a reminder that something was to be done with
it at a future period. Raising the lamp, he read the address: “MRS.
MARY J. BANFORD.” From the character of the stamp upon it, he judged
that the letter had been sent some years before.
Mr. McGusher took the letter from its place. He looked at it for
some time, and then he opened it, being very careful not to tear the
envelope. He wet it, and worked upon it for ten minutes before he got
it open. He took the contents from it, and found in the sheet of note
paper it contained two five hundred dollar bills. Whether or not he
knew Mrs. Banford, to whom the letter was addressed, and whether or not
he expected to find so much money in the letter, does not yet appear.