A GREAT EXHIBITION.
Little John was not the one to spread the tidings of the schooner's
arrival. He had to take his whipping,--a hard one it was!--and then he
was sent down into the cellar to sift ashes, as the most unpleasant
thing that could be devised for a fine afternoon. But the news spread,
for all that. John was not the only boy in the village of Tidewater, and
by twelve o'clock every man, woman and child was talking about the new
arrival; and by two o'clock, the dinner dishes being put away, and the
time of the evening chores still some hours off, nearly every man, woman
and child was hastening in the direction of the wharf. Of course the
boys were going. It was vacation time, and what else should boys do but
see all that was to be seen? And of course it was the duty of the elders
to see that the children came to no harm. So the fathers were strolling
leisurely down, saying to each other that 'twas all nonsense, most
likely, and nothing worth seeing, but some one ought to be looking out
that the boys and the women folks didn't get cheated. The mothers were
putting on their bonnets, in the serene consciousness that if anyone was
going to be cheated it was not they, and that goodness knew what those
men-folks would be up to on that schooner if they were left to
themselves. And the little girls were shaking the pennies out of their
money boxes, or if they had no boxes, watching with eager eyes their
more fortunate sisters. Truly, it was a great day in the village.
The Skipper welcomed one and all. He stood by the gang-plank, and Franci
stood by him, cap in hand, smiling in a beautiful way. On the rail were
perched two little monkeys, their arms round each other's shoulders,
their bright eyes watching with eager curiosity all that went on. When
the Skipper bowed, they bowed; when he smiled, they grinned; and when he
put out his hand to help a woman or a child aboard, they laid their
hands on their hearts, and tried to look like Franci. The Skipper was
their lord and master, and they loved and feared him, and did his
bidding as often as their nature would allow; but in the depths of their
little monkey hearts they cherished a profound admiration for Franci,
and they were always hoping that this time they were looking like him
when they smiled. (But they never were!)
The only other visible member of the crew was a long, lazy-looking
Yankee, whom the Skipper called Rento, and the others plain "Rent," his
full name of Laurentus Woodcock being more than they could away with.
But it was not to see the crew, neither the schooner (though she was a
pretty schooner enough, as anybody who knew about such matters could
see), that the village had come out; it was to see the exhibition, and
the exhibition was ready for them. An awning was spread over the
after-deck, and under this was arranged with care the main collection of
corals and shells, the commoner sorts, such as found a ready sale at
low prices. There was pure white coral, in long branches, studded with
tiny points, like the wraith of the fairy thorn; there were great piles
of the delicate fan-coral, which the sailors call sea-fans, and which
Franci would hold out to every girl who had any pretence to good looks,
with his most gracious bow, and "Young lady like to fan herself, keep
the sun off, _here_ you air, ladies!" While Laurentus would blush and
hang his head if any woman addressed him, and would murmur the wrong
price in an unintelligible voice if the woman happened to be young and
pretty.
Then there were mushroom corals, so inviting that one could hardly
refrain from carrying them home and cooking them for tea; and pincushion
corals, round and hard, looking as if they had been stolen from the best
bedroom of some uncompromising New England mermaid. Yes; there was no
end to the corals. The lovely white branches were cheap, and nearly
every child went off with a branch, small or large, dwelling on it with
eyes of rapture, seeing nothing else in the world, in some cases failing
to see even the way, and being rescued from peril of water by the
Skipper or Rento. The favourite shells were the conches, of all sizes
and varieties, from the huge pink-lipped Tritons of the "Triumph of
Galatea," down to fairy things, many-whorled, rainbow-tinted, which were
included in the "handful for five cents" which Franci joyously
proclaimed at intervals, when he thought the children looked wistful and
needed cheering up, since they could not have all they saw.
But the Cypræas were beautiful, too, and of every colour, from white or
palest amber to deep sullen purples and browns that melted into ebony.
These were the shells with voices, that spoke of the sea; many a child
raised them to his ear, and listened with vague delight to the far-away,
uncertain murmur; but not to every child is it given to hear the sound
of the sea, and it may be doubted whether any boy or girl would have
understood what the boy John meant, if he had declared the things that
the shell had said to him.
Where was John? Franci and Rento had charge of the deck exhibition, but
the Skipper kept his station at the head of the gang-plank, and while
courteously receiving his visitors, with a word of welcome for each, he
looked often up the road to see if his little friend was coming. He
thought the gleam of red hair would brighten the landscape; but it came
not, and the Skipper was not one to neglect a possible customer. Now and
again he would touch some one on the arm, and murmur gently, "In a few
moments presently, other exhibition in the cabin, to which I have the
pleasure of invite you. I attend in person, which is free to visitors."
He spoke without accent, the Skipper, but his sentences were sometimes
framed on foreign models, and it was no wonder if now and then he met a
blank stare. He looked a little bored, possibly; these faces, full of
idle wonder, showed no trace of the collector's eager gaze; yet he was
content to wait, it appeared. Mr. Bill Hen Pike judged, from the way in
which everything was trigged up, that the schooner "cal'lated to make
some stay hereabouts;" and the Skipper did not contradict him, but bowed
gravely, and said, "In a few moments, gentleman, do me the honour to
descend to the cabin, where I take the pleasure of exhibit remarkable
collection of shells."
But now the Skipper raised his head, and became in a moment keenly
alert; for a new figure was seen making its slow way to the wharf,--a
new figure, and a singular one.
An old man, white-haired and wizen, with a face like a knife-blade, and
red, blinking eyes. The face wore a look of eager yet doleful
anticipation, as of a man going to execution and possessed with an
intense desire to feel the edge of the axe. His thin fingers twitched
and fumbled about his pockets, his lips moved, and he shook his head
from time to time. This old gentleman was clad in nankeen trousers of
ancient cut, a velvet waistcoat and a blue swallow-tail coat, all
greatly too large for him. His scant locks were crowned by a cheap straw
hat of the newest make, his shoes and gaiters were of a twenty-year-old
pattern. Altogether, he was not an ordinary-looking old gentleman, nor
was his appearance agreeable; but the village people took no special
notice of him, being well used to Mr. Endymion Scraper and his little
ways. They knew that he was wearing out the clothes that his extravagant
uncle had left behind him at his death, twenty years ago. They had seen
three velvet waistcoats worn out, and one of brocade; there were sixteen
left, as any woman in the village could tell you. As for the nankeen
trousers, some people said there were ten dozen of them in the great
oak chest, but that might be an exaggeration.
Walking just behind this pleasant old person, with feet that tried to go
sedately, and not betray by hopping and skippings the joy that was in
them, came the boy John; brought along in case there should be a parcel
to carry. Mr. Scraper had brought, too, his supple bamboo cane, in case
of need; it was a cane of singular parts, and had a way that was all its
own of curling about the legs and coming up "rap" against the tender
part of the calf. The boy John was intimately acquainted with the cane;
therefore, when his legs refused to go steadily, but danced in spite of
him, he had dropped behind Mr. Endymion, and kept well out of reach of
the searching snake of polished cane.
The Skipper greeted the new-comer with his loftiest courtesy, which was
quite thrown away on the old gentleman.
"Hey! hey!" said Mr. Scraper, nodding his head, and fumbling in his
waistcoat pocket, "got some shells, I hear! Got some shells, eh? Nothing
but rubbish, I'll swear; nothing but rubbish. Seen 'em all before you
were born; not worth looking at, I'll bet a pumpkin."
"Why, Deacon Scraper, how you do talk!" exclaimed pretty Lena Brown, who
was standing near by. "The shells are just elegant, I think; too
handsome for anything."
"All rubbish! all rubbish!" the old gentleman repeated, hastily.
"Children's nonsense, every bit of it. Have you got anything out of the
common, though? have you, hey?"
He looked up suddenly at the Skipper, screwing his little eyes at him
like animated corkscrews; but he read nothing in the large, calm gaze
that met his.
"The gentleman please to step down in the cabin," the Skipper said, with
a stately gesture. "At liberty in a moment, I shall take the pleasure to
exhibit my collection. The gentleman is a collector?" he added, quietly;
but this Mr. Scraper would not hear of.
"Nothing of the sort!" he cried, testily, "nothing of the sort! Just
came down here with this fool boy, to keep him from falling into the
water. Don't know one shell from another when I see 'em."
This astounding statement brought a low cry from John, who had been
standing on one foot with joy and on the other with fear, the grave
dignity of his new friend filling him with awe. Perhaps he would not be
noticed now, when all the grown people were here; perhaps--but his
thoughts were put to flight by Mr. Scraper's words. John was a truthful
boy, and he could not have the Spanish man think he had lied in saying
that the old man was a collector. He was stepping forward, his face
alight with eager protest, when Mr. Endymion Scraper brought his cane
round with a backward sweep, catching John on the legs with spiteful
emphasis. The Skipper saw it, and a dark red flushed through the bronze
of his cheek. His glance caught the child's and held it, speaking anger,
cheer, and the promise of better things; the boy dropped back and
rubbed his smarting shins, well content, with a warm feeling about the
heart.
"The gentleman will step down to the cabin," said the deep, quiet voice.
"I will attend him, the ladies also."
He led the way, and pretty Lena Brown came next; she glanced up at him
as he held out his strong hand to help her down the ladder. Her blue
eyes were very sweet as she met his gaze, and the faint wild-rose blush
became her well. Certainly, Lena was a very pretty girl. Franci nearly
tumbled over the companion-rail in his endeavours to look after her, and
Laurentus Woodcock, catching one glimpse of her face, retreated to the
farthest corner of the after-deck, and sold a Triton for ten cents, when
the lowest price was thirty.
Several other persons came down into the cabin at the same time. There
was Mr. Bill Hen Pike. Mr. Bill Hen had been a sailor himself fifty
years ago, and it was a point of honour with him to visit anything with
keel and sails that came up the river. He used nautical expressions
whenever it could be managed, and was the village authority on all
sea-going matters.
There were Isaac Cutter and his wife, who had money to spend, and were
not averse to showing it; there was Miss Eliza Clinch, who had spent her
fifty years of life in looking for a bargain, which she had not yet
found; and some others. But though the Skipper was courteous to all, he
kept close to the side of Mr. Endymion Scraper; and the boy John, and
Lena Brown, who was always kind to him, kept close beside the other two.
The girl was enchanted with what she saw, but her joy was chiefly in
the trinkets that filled the glass counter,--the necklaces and
bracelets, the shell hairpins and mother-of-pearl portemonnaies.
"Aint they handsome?" she cried, over and over, surveying the treasures
with clasped hands and shining eyes. "Oh, Johnny! isn't that just
elegant? Did you ever see such beautiful things? I don't think the
President's wife has no handsomer than them!"
John frowned a little at these ecstasies, and glanced at the Skipper;
but the Skipper was apparently absorbed in polishing the Royal Tritons,
and showing them to Mr, Scraper, who regarded them with disdainful eyes,
while his fingers twitched to lay hold of them.
"Why, Lena, you don't want to be looking at those things!" the boy
urged. "See! here are the shells! Here are the real ones, not made up
into truck, but just themselves. Oh, oh! Lena, look!"
The Skipper was coming forward with a shell in his hand of exquisite
colour and shape.
"Perhaps the young lady like to see this?" he said. "This the Voluta
Musica,--a valuable shell, young lady. You look, and see the lines of
the staff on the shell, so? Here they run, you see! The mermaids under
the water, they have among themselves no sheet-music, so on shells they
must read it. Can the young lady follow the notes if she take the shell
in her hand?"
He laid the lovely thing in the girl's hand, and marked how the polished
lip and the soft pink palm wore the same tender shade of rose; but he
said nothing of this, for he was not Franci.
Lena examined the shell curiously. "It does look like music!" she said.
"But there ain't really any notes, are there? Not like our notes, I
mean. If there was, I should admire to see how they sounded on the reed
organ. It would make a pretty pin, if 't wasn't so big!"
She was about to hand the shell back quietly--she looked like a
rose-leaf in moonlight, this pretty Lena, but she was practical, and had
little imagination--but John caught it from her with a swift yet
timorous motion.
"I want to hear it," he said, his pleading eyes on the Skipper's face.
"I want to hear what it says!"
The dark man nodded and smiled; but a moment later, seeing the lean
fingers of Mr. Endymion Scraper about to clutch the treasure, he took it
quietly in his own hand again, and turned to the old man.
"Gentleman spoke to me?" he inquired, blandly.
The gentleman had not spoken, but had made a series of gasps and grunts,
expressive of extreme impatience and eagerness.
"That's a poor specimen," he cried now, eying the shell greedily, "a
very poor specimen! What do you expect to get for it, hey?"
"A perfect specimen!" replied the Skipper, calmly. "The gentleman has
but to look at it closer"--and he held it nearer to the greedy corkscrew
eyes--"to see that it is a rare specimen, more perfect than often seen
in museums. I brought up this shell myself, with care choosing it; its
price is five dollars."
Mr. Endymion Scraper gave a scream, which he tried to turn into a
disdainful chuckle.
"Five cents would be nearer it!" he cried, angrily. "Think we're all
fools down here, hey? Go 'long with your five dollars."
"No, Señor, not all fools!" said the Skipper. "Many varieties among men,
as among shells. I am in no haste to sell the Voluta Musica. It has its
price, as gentleman knows by his catalogue. Here is a razor-shell;
perhaps the gentleman like that. Shave yourself or other people with
this!"
"I want to know!" interposed Mrs. Isaac Cutter, leaning forward eagerly,
spectacles on nose. "Can folks really shave with those, sir? They do
look sharp, now, don't they? What might you ask for a pair?"
"Perhaps not very easy to grind, lady!" replied the Skipper, with a
smile which won Mrs. Isaac's heart. "Not a rare shell, only fifty cents
the pair. Thank you, madam! To show you this? With gladness! This is the
Bleeding Tooth shell, found in plenty in West Indies. They have also
dentists under the sea, graciously observe. See here,--the whole family!
The baby, he have as yet no tooth, the little gum smooth and white.
Here, the boy! (_Como ti_, Juan Colorado!" this in a swift aside, caught
only by John's ear.) "The boy, he have a tooth pulled, you observe,
madam; here the empty space, with blood-mark, thus. Hence the name,
Bleeding Tooth. Here the father, getting old, has lost two teeth,
bleeding much; and this being the old grandfather, all teeth are gone,
again. Yes, curious family! You kindly accept these persons, madam,
with a wish that you never suffer of this manner."
Mrs. Isaac Cutter drew a long breath, and took the shells with a look of
delighted awe. "Well, I'm sure!" she said, "you're more than kind, sir.
I never thought--I do declare--Bleeding Tooth! Well, father, if that
isn't something to tell the folks at home!" Mr. Isaac Cutter grunted,
well pleased, and said, "That so!" several times, his vocabulary being
limited.
"Again, here," the Skipper continued, with a glance around, to make sure
that his audience was attentive, "again, here a curious thing, ladies
and gentlemen. The Nighthawk shell, not common in any part of the world.
The two halves held together of this manner, behold the nighthawk, as he
flies through the air!"
A murmur of delight ran through the little group, and Mr. Endymion
Scraper edged to the front, his fingers twitching convulsively.
"How much--how much do you want for that Nighthawk?" he asked,
stammering with eagerness. "'Taint wuth much, but--what--ten dollars?
I'll give ye three, and not a cent more."
But the Skipper put him aside with a wave of his hand.
"Another time, sir," he said; "at future interview I will make
arrangements with you, and hope to satisfy; at present I instruct these
ladies a little in life under the sea.
"Lady," he said, and it was observable that although he spoke to Mrs.
Isaac Cutter, his eyes rested on Lena, and on the boy John, who stood
behind her, "Nature of her abundance is very generous to the sea. Here
all fishes swim, great and small; but more! All things that on earth
find their place, of them you find a picture, copy, what you please to
call it, at the bottom of the sea. A few only are yet found by men, yet
strange things also have I seen. Not under the ocean do you think to
find violets growing, is it so? yet here you observe a handful of
violets, in colour as on a green bank, though without perfume, the
sunshine wanting in those places."
He drew from a box some of the exquisite little violet snail-shells, and
gave them to Lena, who cried out with delight, and instantly resolved to
have a pair of ear-rings made of them.
"The ladies are hungry?" the quiet voice went on. "They desire
breakfast? I offer them a poached egg, grown under the sea. The colour
and shape perfect; the water ladies eat them every morning, but with the
air they grow hard and lose their flavour. Thank you, madam! for thirty
cents only, the poached egg, not a rare variety. Your smile perhaps will
make it soft again. I hope you enjoy it at luncheon.
"But before luncheon you desire to prepare your charming toilet? Here I
offer you a comb, ladies, as they use under the sea. The story, that
Venus, goddess of beauty, when she rose from the ocean, dropped from her
hand the comb with which she arranged even then her locks of gold: hence
the name, Venus's Comb. Observe the long teeth, necessary for fine hair,
like that of Venus and these ladies."
Mrs. Isaac Cutter bridled, smoothed her "fluffy Fedora" (price one
dollar and fifty cents, ready curled), and bought the "comb" on the
spot.
"Of little boys under the sea," the Skipper continued,--and once more
his smile fell on the boy John, and produced that agreeable sensation of
warmth about the heart to which the little fellow had been long
unaccustomed,--"there are many. They swim about, they play, they sport,
they go to school, as little boys here. They ride, some persons have
told me, on the horse-mackerel, but of that I have no knowledge. I see
for myself, however, that they play tops, the small sea-boys. Here,
little gentleman, is the Imperial Top,--very beautiful shell. You like
to take it in your hand?"
John took the splendid thing, and straightway lost himself and the world
in a dream of rapture, in which he descended to the depths that his soul
desired, and played at spinning tops with the sea-boys, and rode a
horse-mackerel, and did many other wonderful things.
"The bat shell!" the Skipper went on, lifting one treasure and then
another. "The Voluta Aulica, extremely rare,--the Mitres, worn by
bishops under the sea. The bishops must be chosen very small, lady, to
fit the shell, since shells were made first. The Queen Conch! This
again,--pardon me, gentleman, you desire to assist me? Too kind, but I
shall not give that trouble to a visitor!"
The last remark was addressed to Mr. Endymion Scraper, who had for the
last five minutes been sidling quietly, and as he thought unobserved,
toward the shelf on which lay the Voluta Musica. His claw-like fingers,
after hovering over the prize, had finally closed upon it, and he was
about to slip it into his pocket without more ado, when a strong brown
hand descended upon his wrist. The shell was quietly taken from him, and
looking up in impotent rage, he met the dark eyes of the Skipper gazing
at him with cheerful gravity.
"Price five dollars!" he murmured, courteously. "In a box, gentleman?
But, certainly! A valuable specimen. Thank you kindly. Five-dollar bill,
quite right! Exhibition is over for this morning, ladies and gentlemen,
to resume in afternoon hours, if graciously pleased to honour the shell
schooner,--schooner 'Nautilus,' from the Bahamas, with remarkable
collection of marine curiosities."