In due time we found our way, through deafening clatter, to Miss Post's
door, a little below the Astor House, and in the midst of all that
female feet the soonest seek. In Maiden Lane and on Broadway it was easy
to find all that a Weston fancy painted in the shape of dry goods; and I
did my errands up with conscientious speed before indulging in a
fashionable lounge on the Battery.
The first twenty-four hours were full of successive surprises, which
ought to have been chronicled on the spot and at the time. They affected
me like electric shocks; but in a day or two I forgot to be surprised at
the queer Dutch signs over the shops and the swine in the streets. Now I
only remember the oddity of Miss Post's poverty in the water-line; and
that she had to buy fresh water by the gallon and rain-water by the
barrel. Also, the faithlessness of the two brilliant black boys who
waited on table and at the door, and who couldn't be depended on to
take up a bundle or carry a message to your room, so unmitigatedly
wicked were they.
"If I owned 'em," said Miss Post to me, confidentially, "I would have
'em whipped every day of their lives. It's what they need, and can't do
without. They're just like bad children!"
That was true enough. However, she didn't own them, and got very little
out of them but show; and they looked like princes, with their white
aprons and jackets, and their glittering, haughty eyes. They played with
their duties, and disdained all directions. I used to follow them with
my eyes at the table with amused astonishment. It was very grand, and,
as the Marchioness says, "If you made believe a good deal," reminded one
of barbaric splendor, and Tippoo Saib. But poor Miss Post couldn't order
an elephant to tread their heads off, or she would have extinguished her
household twice a day. I looked back with a feeling of relief to Weston,
and my good Polly, who would scorn to be an eye-servant or men-pleaser.
At the long table, where sat Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Mr.
and Mrs. Bennett, Babbit, and so on, I looked sharply for Mr. and Mrs.
Lewis. But neither was there the first day. All the people were
childless and desolate-looking, though much bedecked with braids and
curls, which ladies wore at that time without stint. Nobody looked as if
she could be Mr. Lewis's wife. However, the ladies all treated me with
so much cordiality and politeness that I set New York down at once as a
delightful spot.
Happening to speak of Mrs. Lewis, I saw that the corners of Mrs. Jones's
mouth went immediately down, and Mrs. Smith's eyebrows immediately up.
Of course, no woman is going to stand that; and I inquired minutely
enough to satisfy myself either that Mrs. Lewis was very peculiar, or
that a boarding-house was not a favorable atmosphere for character. My
husband, to whom I told all they said, considered "the abundant leisure
from family-cares which these ladies enjoyed as giving them
opportunities for investigation which they carried to excess."
"But think of Gus not being Mr. Lewis's child!" said I, after faithfully
relating all I had heard.
"He looks like an Italian. I always thought so. But Lewis seems very
fond of him."
"Yes, they said so. But that the mother cared nothing for him, nor for
her other children, who are off in Genesee County somewhere."
"For health, doubtless," said my "he," dryly.
"And the way they talked of Mr. Remington! calling him George, and more
than insinuating that she likes too well to be at the Oaks,--that is his
place. They say she has been there all the time Mr. Lewis has been
gone!"
"Mr. Remington has been gone too, as you and I can testify," more dryly.
"So he has. I wish I had thought to tell them so."