A SHAVE WHICH HAS A RESULT.
"Tommy, have you seen any one since you came to St. Louis?" asked Ben.
"Seen any one! Why of course--I've seen thousands," replied the boy
stopping and looking Ben in the face.
"I mean have you seen any one that I know?" explained Ben.
"Any one that you know! That's a singular question. Pray whom do you
know?"
"Come, Tom, you know there is only _one_ we both know. Have you
seen--_her_?"
"Her?" said Tommy obtusely. "Pray now who's _her_?"
"Be serious, Tom. There is only one _her_, and you know the one I mean.
You said I would see them in St. Louis. Are they here?"
"Oh, _that's_ it!" cried Tommy petulantly, and a shade of
disappointment crossed his bright face. "You men are such fools! You
never see a pretty face but you must fall in love with it," and then
the boy stopped, and stammered, and blushed, as though in some way he
had committed himself.
But Ben was absorbed in his own thoughts and did not notice his
companion's confusion.
"Never mind my failings, Tom. Perhaps you will have the same when you
get to be a man."
"_Mebbe_," replied Tommy sententiously.
"Tell me then, is the young lady and her companions here?"
Tommy's looks and manner suddenly underwent a startling change. The
light-hearted cheerful-faced boy was suddenly transformed into a grave,
thoughtful person, and on his countenance was a look of anxiety and
even a shadow of hatred, giving his face an expression that startled
Ben. After a moment's silence, he replied, with his eyes on the ground:
"Yes, they are here. She is here. You wish to see her?"
"I do, I do," exclaimed Cleveland.
"And for what earthly good or purpose?" petulantly asked Tom.
This caused our hero to stop and look troubled.
"True," he muttered, "for what end or for what purpose? Would she look
at me--_me_ a _tramp_! Preposterous! And yet I would like to see her,
if only for the pleasure of basking in the glow of those heavenly eyes.
For what good or purpose? Who may tell? I have as much right to win her
as any one. Pshaw! What an idiot am I!"
And yet he was as sensible as the majority of mankind, and had only
been indulging in the pleasant pastime of constructing air-castles.
Without ties of home or kindred to claim his thoughts during the long
days and nights of the tramp, his mind had constantly reverted to this
young woman, and builded in his heart a creation that had at last taken
full occupancy of it. No wonder then when his daydreams were about to
be brought face to face with reality the practical common-sense of his
nature had a hard struggle with the fascinations of imagination. Tommy
observed him closely and probably understood what was transpiring in
his mind.
"Ben," he said, "I have heard that all men are fools when in love, and
I think you must be in love. That's no concern of mine however, only
mind you, young man, after you have been well scorched, come to me and
I'll tell you something about love!"
There was such a peculiarly bitter and sarcastic expression in the
boy's tone and face that it recalled Ben's wits from dreamland with a
jump and he devoted his attention to his companion.
"Well, rooster, what is it about love that you profess to know so much?
Are you in love?" he asked with a smile.
"No, but I had a friend once who was," replied the youth.
"And what became of him?" asked Ben.
"It wasn't a _him_, it was a '_she_'! And this '_she_' fell in love.
_Love!_ It was something more than _love_--it was _worship_! She gave
up home, friends, happiness, _salvation_--everything did she sacrifice
on the altar of her love--and as a natural consequence she awoke to
find the sacrifice rejected."
"And what became of her?" asked Ben.
"She had her revenge! She turned dressmaker and never had her work
done when she promised!" and Tommy gave a whoop and a shrill laugh.
"There my boy," he continued, patronizingly patting Ben on the back,
"you didn't look for that windup, did you? Never mind. When your fair
maid rejects you, you and I'll join hands and tramp all the rest of
our lives together. But I'm a true prophet, Ben; I told you you should
see those people here, and so you shall. And now in return for the
service I am about to render you, you must promise that you will ask no
questions. Do you promise?"
Ben promised most faithfully, and the boy contined:
"You shall see her to-day."
"But what is her name, Tommy?" asked our hero.
"There you go, breaking your promise already. I'll forgive you this
time, only don't do it again. I don't know her name--at least only her
Christian name. That is Bertha. A woman, to-day, gave me a note to
deliver to her. I am to be on Olive Street, between Eighth and Ninth
this afternoon, at five o'clock, and hand it to her as she comes along.
The woman gave me ten cents for doing it. I transfer the duty to you
and we will go and dine off of the ten cents. Come on."
The two friends thereupon dined with the aid of the ten cents. To be
sure it was not an extravagant repast, consisting simply of two great
sheets of ginger-bread, known on the levee as "stage-planks"; but keen
appetites made them palatable, and with plenty of water they possessed
filling properties to a remarkable degree.
Ben then turned up Olive Street alone, and as he walked along the
thronged thoroughfare felt, for the first time during his tramp,
thoroughly ashamed of himself. Could it be that the dirty, ragged,
slouching, unshaved, unkempt reflection he saw in the plate glass
windows, was the Benjamin Cleveland he had known in other days?
Impossible! And yet too true. The effects of his tramp had altered him
wonderfully.
The elements, combined with coal dust and dirt, had bronzed his skin. A
nine days' growth of beard stuck out in prickly profusion on his face.
The hat, that had been shapely in New York, resembled a felt pouch
on which an elephant had stepped. His clothes hung on him strangely.
Altogether he hardly recognized himself.
"And she," thought he, "what will _she_ think? I've ten cents and I'll
have a shave if it sends me into bankruptcy, and look a little more
human."
When he came out of the barber's hands he certainly did look greatly
improved and his clothes seemed to fit him better.
Having reached Ninth Street he stationed himself on a corner and
awaited the owner of the great, glorious grey eyes. He was looking for
two glowing eyes in a head wrapped up in a snowy nubia.
So it is with us all. Our last remembrance holds tenaciously upon
its pictures; and refuses to surrender them to the march of time and
events. After years have changed the faces and scenes we love, we
return to them expecting to find them the same as when we left, and
feel a dull pain when we find that our memories of the past belong to
the past, and are not heirs of the present. So Ben stood, gazing down
the street in search of a white nubia, and was fairly startled into
open-mouthed amazement when a voice nearly opposite to him said:
"Bertha, dear, I am so sorry that you can not remain with us until next
week, if not longer. Must you _positively_ go to-morrow?"
And the person addressed replied:
"I should like to, Mary, but uncle says he positively must go."
The voice of the lady brought Ben's senses back, and there, right
before his eyes, was the object of his worship--more lovely, more
beautiful, he thought, than he had ever pictured her.
Bertha certainly was gifted with good looks far more generously than
her sisters. To be sure she no longer wore a billowy mass of white
worsted about her head, that Ben's picture was familiar with, but in
its place was a saucy little hat that turned up behind, and an ostrich
feather that turned up in front; and at the back of the head and under
the cocked-up rim of the hat was a great roll of chestnut hair, with
each particular hair leading from the snowy neck thereto drawn as tight
and as smooth as the top-hamper of a man-of-war. Two pretty shell-like
ears, that this peculiar mode of hair-dressing made stand out from
their owner's head like a pair of little wings, were kept from flying
away by two diminutive soltaire anchors. Under the feather and under
a broad expanse of snowy forehead--roofed over by the architecture
of the saucy hat--beamed forth the eyes that had so effectually
fastened themselves in Ben's soul. They were lustrous grey orbs in
which the sunlight of high noon seemed to have lost itself. Deep and
thoughtful, they were, beaming in purity and confidence; alive with
kind promptings, and singing an undying melody of love and faith. Just
such eyes as we _do_ sometimes see, and ever after remember.
And they lighted up a face worthy to bask in their sunshine. She was
dressed richly, but tastefully, with every external evidence of wealth
and refinement. Poor Ben's heart sank within him. When now brought face
to face with the object of his adoration all his sanguine hopes went
down below zero, and the airy castles of his daydreams crumbled to
dust. How could he aspire to this elegantly attired and lovely formed
mass of femininity! Absurd! He in rags and she in silks! Preposterous!
He an unknown _tramp_, she a wealthy belle! Outrageous! He hastily
arrived at the conclusion that he was a fool, and immediately called
himself one.