“As Princess Lucy does not like it, she thinks that should be a
sufficient reason for the visits to the ‘Eyrie’ at night to cease. Being
accustomed to that humble and abject obedience rendered to her slightest
wish by the old slaves John and James, and the young slave, Jack Dunlap.
Is that it, Princess?” said the old gentleman making a mocking salaam to
‘Her Highness’ as he sometimes called his pretty _vis-a-vis_.
“Stop making fun of me, grandfather; I think you are really unkind. I
never made slaves of you and Uncle John and good old Jack. Did I now?”
Lucy Burton surely was a beauty. Small wonder that the Dunlap men, old
and young, loved her long before Walter Burton came to win her. She
looked so pretty as she asked the last question that her grandfather held
out his hands and said:
“Come here, my dear, and kiss me. I forgive you if you have been an
exacting ruler.” When Lucy settled herself on the arm of his chair as
some graceful bird of gay plumage perches itself on a twig, the fine old
face was filled with tenderness and love as he kissed her.
Lucy passed her soft white arm around her grandfather’s neck, and
resting her dimpled cheek on his snowy head, she said seriously:
“That is not all of my reason for disliking the ‘Eyrie.’ You know,
grandfather, I should not discuss my husband with any one other than
yourself, so this is a secret; I have noticed that whenever Walter
makes an all-night visit to the ‘Eyrie’ that the trip is preceded by an
outburst of unusual hilarity on his part; in fact, on such occasions I am
almost annoyed by something nearly undignified in Walter’s demeanor; he
seems as thoughtless as a child, says and does things that are ridiculous
and silly.”
“Tut, tut, child, you have a very vivid imagination, and are so anxious
for everyone to regard your husband with the exaggerated admiration that
you have for him, that you are allowing yourself to become hypercritic,
my pet,” rejoined Mr. Dunlap reassuringly.
“No, grandfather, you are mistaken. I not alone notice something
peculiar about Walter’s periodical outbursts of unseemly mirth; I see
others regard with surprise this departure from his customary reposeful
dignity,” insisted the young wife earnestly with a note of indignation
in her voice when speaking of others observing any thing strange in the
conduct of her husband.
“Oh! nonsense, Lucy, all young men occasionally cast aside dignity.
In the fullness of youth and vigor they become now and again fairly
exuberant with happiness and forget all about the conventionalities of
society. I have seen nothing about Walter in that particular different
from other young men. Don’t make yourself wretched over nothing, little
girl.”
“Possibly I observe my husband with more attention than anyone else, even
than you, grandfather, for I certainly perceive a great differentiation
between Walter’s spasmodic mirth and similar exhibitions by other men.
Walter seems different in many ways that mystify me. On every occasion
that he remains all night at the ‘Eyrie,’ after a display of this
extraordinary and boyish merriment, he returns home the next day with
broad dark circles around his eyes, and is in a most depressed state of
spirits,” said the young wife, with real anxiety revealed in the tone of
her voice.
“Well, really, daughter, if you are anxious concerning what you say, I
shall observe Walter more closely. He may be over exerting himself by
the late hours that he keeps in your company, and the detail work that
he has taken off my hands. However, just as a venture, I will wager a
box of gloves against a kiss, deary, that Walter does not appear in the
condition you have described this evening, notwithstanding that he passed
last night at the ‘Eyrie’ and was markedly mirthful during last evening,”
said Lucy’s grandfather, passing his arm around her slim waist and
drawing his anxious girl to his heart.
“I am glad you mentioned last evening, for I wish to speak of something
I noticed during the serving of dinner and afterward. Who was that old
gentleman whom you introduced as Professor Charlton?” said the young
woman interrogatively.
“Oh, that is my old friend and fellow classmate when we were at Harvard.
He is a Georgian and is Dean of the Georgia University and one of the
most learned ethnologists in the world. He is here to consult with
Professor Wright of Harvard concerning a forthcoming book on which
Charlton has been engaged for years. Now, that I have answered fully, why
were you curious about that old book-worm and chum of mine, my pretty
inquisitor?”
“Simply because he seemed perfectly fascinated by my husband. He appeared
unable to remove his gaze from him even when addressed by you or any one
else. He would peer at him over his glasses, then raise his head and
inspect Walter through them just as botanists do when they come upon some
rare plant.”
“By Jove! What next will that brown head of yours conjure up to worry
over? Are you jealous of old Charlton’s admiring glances? If he were
a pretty woman I might understand, but old Cobb Charlton. Well! I am
prepared for anything, my pet, so go ahead. What about those glances
seen by your watchful eyes?” said her grandfather, chuckling over some
farcical suggestion in connection with old Professor Thos. Cobb Charlton.
“Yes, but they were not admiring glances, and I didn’t say so. They
were studious, scrutinizing, investigating, and I thought, insulting,”
indignantly replied Lucy.
“Ah! Now we are called upon to criticise the quality and kind of glance
with which an old student may regard a gay young fellow who is rattling
gleefully through a somewhat tedious dinner,” said Mr. Dunlap in an
amused manner.
“You may laugh at me, grandfather, as much as you please, but Walter was
made so nervous and uncomfortable by that old fellow’s disconcerting
scrutiny that he acted almost silly. I have never seen him quite so
ridiculously merry. That old Professor squinted even at Walter’s hands,
as if he wished for a microscope to examine them, and after dinner while
Walter was singing he edged up near the piano and peered down Walter’s
throat, listening intently as if to catch some peculiar note for which
he was waiting, all the time with his old head on one side like an ugly
owl,” said the exasperated young woman.
Lucy’s description of his old college friend and her manner of setting
forth his idiosyncracies was too much for James Dunlap’s risibility.
He threw back his head and incontinently laughed in his granddaughter’s
pretty flushed face.
“Oh! my, Oh! my! How old Cobb would enjoy this! My dearest, old Cobb
Charlton is the jolliest, most amiable fellow on earth. He would not
wound the sensibilities of a street-dog, and is one of the best bred
gentlemen alive. Oh! my, Lucy! You’ll be the death of me yet with your
whimsical notions,” cried the fine old fellow leaning back in his chair,
shaking with laughter.
“Well, I don’t care; it is just as I said, for finally, he seemed to
discover something about Walter for which he had been seeking. I saw a
self-satisfied smile steal over his face as he nodded his bushy white
head. Then he stared at you as if amazed, and then, if I be not blind
and I don’t think that I am, he had the impertinence to look at me with,
actually, pity in his big, staring black eyes,” retorted Lucy angrily as
she recalled the events of the previous evening.
“Imagination, pure and simple!” exclaimed Mr. Dunlap, continuing to
laugh, enjoying hugely Lucy’s anger.
“Charlton was possibly thinking about something connected with his
favorite science and probably did not even see us while apparently he was
casting about those peculiar glances that you depict so vividly.”
“Even so, I think it ill-bred and unkind in him to make my husband the
subject of a study in ethnology.”
“Ah!” gasped her grandfather, as though a sudden pain had struck his
heart. Some new idea had flashed upon his brain, the laughter vanished
from lips and the color from his face. He straightened up in his chair
while a look of anxiety replaced the merriment that had sparkled in his
eyes.
“Why, what is the matter, grandfather?” cried Lucy in undisguised alarm
at the change in his countenance.
“Nothing, my darling, it will pass away. Please hand me a glass of
water,” the old man answered.
Lucy hastened to fill a glass with water and while she was so engaged
Mr. Dunlap struggled to master some emotion that had caused the sudden
departure of all his jocoseness of the moment before she said that her
husband had been made a subject of a study in ethnology.
“I am better now, thank you, dear; it was just a little twinge of pain
that caught me unaware of its approach,” said the old gentleman forcing a
smile to his pale lips.
“And now let us talk about your Cousin Jack, and leave alone the vagaries
of a moth-eaten old scholar whom you will probably never see again,” he
continued, as if eager to banish some disagreeable thought from his mind.
“Oh, yes! Do tell me some news of dear old Jack. His very name seems to
bring the purity, freshness and freedom of the sea into this hot-house
life one leads in society. Where is he and how is he?” cried Lucy
enthusiastically at mention of the name of her sailor cousin.
“You recall, do you not, the brief mention that he made in the first
letter that we received after he sailed of a fearful storm encountered by
his ship when not less than a month out from Boston, and that his ship
(so he wrote) had been fortunate enough to rescue some people from a
foundered and sinking vessel during the gale?” asked Mr. Dunlap regaining
gradually his composure as his mind dwelt upon a subject pleasant to
contemplate.
“Yes, surely, I remember, grandfather, because the storm, I recall, was
at its height on my wedding day and I wondered at the time if in all that
fearful danger Jack even thought of me.”
“Well, then! to begin with I must let you into a state secret. Your good
Uncle John the day before Jack sailed insisted that he should carry old
Brice, who had been long in our service, as one of his mates. John’s
object was this: knowing Jack’s pride and obstinacy, he feared that he
might need help and not apply to us for it, so he sent for Brice and
bribed him to stick by our young kinsman and keep us informed concerning
his welfare. We have had only glowing accounts of Jack’s success as a
ship-owner from Brice. Yesterday there came a letter and a copy of a
London paper from him that filled my heart with pride and pleasure, and I
know will overjoy your uncle.
“Do hurry, grandfather. I can’t wait long to hear fine things about my
good, faithful old Jack,” exclaimed Lucy impatiently, as she resumed her
place on the arm of the old man’s chair.
“This is what the report in the London newspaper states, and is what
neither Jack nor Brice wrote home. The ship that foundered was filled
with emigrants from Ireland bound for Australia. The fourth day of
the storm she was sighted by the ‘Adams.’ While the wind had subsided
somewhat the waves were still rolling mountain high. When Jack called
for volunteers to man the boats the crew hung in the wind, until Jack,
noticing the women and children on the deck of the sinking ship, called
to Brice to come with him, and pushing aside the reluctant crew made
ready to spring into a boat which had been lowered. Then the shamed crew
rushed over the side and insisted that the captain allow them to make
the attempt to rescue the people from the wrecked vessel. With the last
boat-load of the emigrants that came safely on board of the ‘Adams’ was
a little girl who, weeping bitterly, cried that her sick mother had been
left behind. The sailors and Mr. Morgan, the second mate of the ‘Adams,’
said that the child’s mother was nearly dead, lying in a bunk in the
sick-bay, and that she had smallpox and no one dared lift and carry her
to the boat.”
“What an awful position! What did Jack say?” cried Lucy, breaking the
thread of her grandfather’s narrative.
“Jack did not say much, but he did that that makes me proud to call him
my kinsman, a Dunlap and a Yankee sailor. He whispered to the child
not to cry any more, that she should have her mother brought to her.
Then he leaped into the boat and was shoving off to make the trip alone
to the wreck when old Brice tumbled over the ship’s side and took his
place at an oar. Jack brought the woman in his arms from the sick-bay
and laid her in the boat, regaining his own ship, he made the smallpox
patient comfortable in his own cabin, nursed her himself and saved her
life,” said Mr. Dunlap exultantly, relating the report of the rescue as
published in the English journal.
“Hurrah! for our noble Jack!” cried Lucy, springing up and waving about
her head a napkin that lay upon the table.
“But hear the end, daughter, in recognition of the humanity of the
generous deed, the Royal Humane Society of England has presented both
Jack and Brice with medals, and as an extraordinary mark of distinction,
the King of England has, with his own hand, written a letter to our
Jack, congratulating him upon the performance of a noble, unselfish and
courageous act,” added the grandfather.
“Three times three! for brave Jack Dunlap! Hurrah, for the blood of a
good old Yankee race that tells its story in noble deeds,” and waving
the improvised banner above her fair head she bent down and kissed the
glowing cheek of the proud old man.
“Run along now, dear, and dress. You may take me for a sleigh-ride behind
your fast ponies before I go down to the office.”
As Lucy went upstairs, there came floating back to her grandfather’s ears
her fresh, musical voice singing:
It’s a Yankee ship,
It’s a Yankee crew,
That’s first on waters blue.