So it happened that Mr. James was in the counting-room that day; but
that he happened also to be alone requires further explanation. Two
glasses of the old Governor Bowdoin white port had been left untasted
on the dinner-table the night before,--the one, that meant for Mr.
James Bowdoin, who had himself swept out of the room as he made that
last remark about sweeping out the office; the other, that of his son,
Mr. James, who had instantly gone out by the other door, and betaken
himself for sympathy to the home of Miss Abigail Dowse, which stood on
Fort Hill, close by, where the sea breezes blew fresh through the
white June roses, and Mr. James found her walking in the garden path.
"You must tell him," said Miss Dowse, when Mr. James had recounted his
late conversation to her, after such preliminary ceremonies as were
proper--under the circumstances.
So Mr. James walked down to the head of India Wharf the next morning,
determined to make a clean breast of his engagement. The ocean air
came straight in from the clear, blue bay, spice-laden as it swept
along the great rows of warehouses, and a big white ship, topgallant
sails still set, came bulging up the harbor, not sixty minutes from
deep water. Mr. James found McMurtagh already in the office and the
mail well sorted, but he insisted on McMurtagh finding him a broom,
and, wielding that implement on the second pair of stairs (for the
counting-room of James Bowdoin's Sons was really a loft, two flights
up in the old granite building), was discovered there shortly after
by Mr. James Bowdoin. The staircase had not been swept in some years,
and the young man's father made his way up through a cloud of aromatic
dust that Mr. James had raised. He could with difficulty see the door
of his counting-room. This slammed behind him as he entered; and a few
seconds after, Mr. James received a summons through McMurtagh that Mr.
James Bowdoin wished to see him.
"An' don't ye mind if Mr. James Bowdoin is a bit sharp-set the morn,"
said Jamie McMurtagh.
Mr. James nodded; then he went in to his father.
"So, sir, it was you kicking up that devil of a dust outside there,
was it?"
"Yes, sir," says Mr. James. (I have this story from McMurtagh.) "You
told me to sweep out the counting-room."
"Precisely so, sir. I am glad your memory is better than your
intelligence. I told you to sweep _it out_, and not all outdoors in."
Mr. James bowed, and wondered how he was to speak of Miss Dowse at
this moment. The old gentleman chuckled for some minutes; then he
said, "And now, James, it's time you got married."
Mr. James started. "I--I only graduated yesterday, sir," says he.
"Well, sir," answers the old gentleman testily, "you may consider
yourself devilish lucky that you weren't married before! I have got a
house for you"--
"Perhaps, sir, you have even got me a wife?"
"Of course I have; and a devilish fine girl she is, too, I can tell
you!"
"But, sir," says Mr. James, "I--I have made other arrangements."
"The devil you have! Then damme, sir, not a house shall you have from
me,--not a house, sir, not a shingle,--nor the girl, either, by gad!
I'll--I'll"--
"Perhaps, sir," says Mr. James, "you'll wait and marry her yourself?"
"Perhaps I will, sir; and if I do, what of it? Older men than I have
married, I take it! Insolent young dog!"
"May I tell my mother, sir?"
Now, Mrs. James Bowdoin was an august person; and here McMurtagh's
anxiety led him to interfere at any cost. An ill-favored, slight man
was he, stooping of habit; and he came in rubbing his hands and
looking anxiously, one eye on the father, the other on the son, as his
oddly protuberant eyes almost enabled him to do.
"There is a ship coming up the harbor, sir, full-laden, and I think
she flies the signal of James Bowdoin's Sons."
"Damn James Bowdoin's Sons, sir!" says Mr. James Bowdoin. "And as for
you, sir, not a stick or shingle shall you have"--
"If you'll only take the girl, you're welcome to the house, sir," says
Mr. James.
"Oh, I am, am I? Then, by gad, sir, I'll take both houses, and Sam
Dowse's daughter'll live in one, and your mother and I in the other!"
"Sam Dowse's daughter?"
"Yes, sir, Miss Abby Dowse. Have you any objections?"
"Why, she--she's the other arrangement," says Mr. James.
"Oh, she is, is she?"
Mr. James Bowdoin hesitated a moment, as if in search of some
withering reply, but failed to find it.
"Humph! I thought it was time you came to your senses. Now, here's
the keys, d'ye see? And the house was old Judge Allerton's; it's too
large for his daughter, and, now that you'll marry the girl I've got
for you, I'll let you have it."
"I shall marry what girl I like," says Mr. James; "and as for the
house, damme if I'll take it,--not a stick, sir, not a shingle!"
Mr. James Bowdoin looked at his son for one moment, speechless; then
he slammed out of the room. Mr. James put his foot on the desk and
whistled. McMurtagh rubbed his hands.