A STATESMAN--AND STATESWOMAN.
In the same twilight Mrs. Dinks and Alfred sat together in her room.
"Alfred, my dear, I see that Bowdoin Beacon drives out your Cousin Hope
a good deal."
Mrs. Dinks arranged her cap-ribbon as if she were at present mainly
interested in that portion of her dress.
"Yes, a good deal," replied Mr. Alfred, in an uncertain tone, for he
always felt uncomfortably at the prospect of a conversation with his
mother.
"I am surprised he should do so," continued Mrs. Dinks, with
extraordinary languor, as if she should undoubtedly fall fast asleep
before the present interview terminated. And yet she was fully awake.
"Why shouldn't he drive her out if he wants to?" inquired Alfred.
"Now, Alfred, be careful. Don't expose yourself even to me. It is too hot
to be so absurd. I suppose there is some sort of honor left among young
men still, isn't there?"
And the languid mamma performed a very well-executed yawn.
"Honor? I suppose there is. What do you mean?" replied Alfred.
Mamma yawned again.
"How drowsy one does feel here! I am so sleepy! What was I saying? Oh I
remember. Perhaps, however, Mr. Beacon doesn't know. That is probably the
reason. He doesn't know. Well, in that case it is not so extraordinary.
But I should think he must have seen, or inferred, or heard. A man may
be very stupid; but he has no right to be so stupid as that. How many
glasses do you drink at the spring in the morning, Alfred? Not more than
six at the outside, I hope. Well, I believe I'll take a little nap."
She played with her cap string, somehow as if she were an angler playing
a fish. There is capital trouting at Saratoga--or was, thirty years ago.
You may see to this day a good many fish that were caught there, and with
every kind of line and bait.
Alfred bit again.
"I wish you wouldn't talk in such a puzzling kind of way, mother. What do
you mean about his knowing, and hearing, and inferring?"
"Come, come, Alfred, you are getting too cunning. Why, you sly dog, do
you think you can impose upon me with an air of ignorance because I am
so sleepy. Heigh-ho."
Another successful yawn. Sportsmen are surely the best sport in the
world.
"Now, Alfred," continued his mother, "are you so silly as to suppose for
one moment that Bowdoin Beacon has not seen the whole thing and known it
from the beginning?"
"Why," exclaimed Alfred, in alarm, "do you?"
"Of course. He has eyes and ears, I suppose, and every body understood
it."
"Did they?" asked Alfred, bewildered and wretched; "I didn't know it."
"Of course. Every body knew it must be so, and agreed that it was highly
proper--in fact the only thing."
"Oh, certainly. Clearly the only thing," replied Alfred, wondering
whether his mother and he meant the same thing.
"And therefore I say it is not quite honorable in Beacon to drive her
out in such a marked manner. And I may as well say at once that I think
you had better settle the thing immediately. The world understands it
already, so it will be a mere private understanding among ourselves, much
more agreeable for all parties. Perhaps this evening even--hey, Alfred?"
Mrs. Dinks adjusted herself upon the sofa in a sort of final manner, as
if the affair were now satisfactorily arranged.
"It's no use talking that way, mother; it's all done."
Mrs. Dinks appeared sleepy no longer. She bounced like an India-rubber
ball. Even the cap-ribbons were left to shift for themselves. She turned
and clasped Alfred in her arms.
"My blessed son!"
Then followed a moment of silent rapture, during which she moistened his
shirt-collar with maternal tears.
"Alfred," whispered she, "are you really engaged?"
"Yes'm."
She squeezed him as if he were a bag of the million dollars of which she
felt herself to be henceforth mistress.
"You dear, good boy! Then you _are_ sly after all!"
"Yes'm, I'm afraid I am," rejoined Alfred very uncomfortably, and with
an extremely ridiculous and nervous impression that his mother was
congratulating him upon something she knew nothing about.
"Dear, _dear_, DEAR boy!" said Mrs. Dinks, with a crescendo affection
and triumph. While she was yet embracing him, his father, the unemployed
statesman, the Honorable Budlong Dinks, entered.
To the infinite surprise of that gentleman, his wife rose, came to him,
put her arm affectionately in his, and leaning her head upon his
shoulder, whispered exultingly, and not very softly,
"It's done without the wagon. Our dear boy has justified our fondest
hopes, Budlong."
The statesman slipped his shoulder from under her head. If there were
one thing of which he was profoundly persuaded it was that a really
great man--a man to whom important public functions may be properly
intrusted--must, under no circumstances, be wheedled by his wife. He
must gently, but firmly, teach her her proper sphere. She must _not_
attempt to bribe that judgment to which the country naturally looks in
moments of difficulty.
Having restored his wife to an upright position, the honorable gentleman
looked upon her with distinguished consideration; and, playing with the
seals that hung at the end of his watch-ribbon, asked her, with the most
protective kindness in the world, what she was talking about.
She laid her cap-ribbons properly upon her shoulder, smoothed her dress,
and began to fan herself in a kind of complacent triumph, as she
answered,
"Alfred is engaged as we wished."
The honorable gentleman beamed approval with as much cordiality as
statesmen who are also fathers of private families, as well as of the
public, ought to indulge toward their children. Shaking the hand of his
son as if his shoulder wanted oiling, he said,
"Marriage is a most important relation. Young men can not be too cautious
in regard to it. It is not an affair of the feelings merely; but common
sense dictates that when new relations are likely to arise, suitable
provision should be made. Hence every well-regulated person considers
the matter from a pecuniary point of view. The pecuniary point of view is
indispensable. We can do without sentiment in this world, for sentiment
is a luxury. We can not dispense with money, because money is a
necessity. It gives me, therefore, great pleasure to hear that the
choice of my son has evinced the good sense which, I may say without
affectation, I hope he has inherited, and has justified the pains and
expense which I have been at in his education. My son, I congratulate
you. Mrs. Dinks, I congratulate you."
The honorable gentleman thereupon shook hands with his wife and son, as
if he were congratulating them upon having such an eloquent and dignified
husband and father, and then blew his nose gravely and loudly. Having
restored his handkerchief, he smiled in general, as it were--as if he
hung out signals of amity with all mankind upon condition of good
behavior on their part.
Poor Alfred was more speechless than ever. He felt very warm and red, and
began to surmise that to be engaged was not necessarily to be free from
carking care. He was sorely puzzled to know how to break the real news to
his parents:
"Oh! dear me," thought Alfred; "oh! dear me, I wonder if Fanny wouldn't
do it. I guess I'd better ask her. I wonder if Hope would have had me!
Oh! dear me. I wonder if old Newt is rich. How'd I happen to do it? Oh!
dear me."
He felt very much depressed indeed.
"Well, mother, I'm going down," said he.
"My dear, dear son! Kiss me, Alfred," replied his mother.
He stooped and kissed her cheek.
"How happy we shall all be!" murmured she.
"Oh, very, very happy!" answered Alfred, as he opened the door.
But as he closed it behind him, the best billiard-player at the
Trimountain billiard-rooms said, ruefully, in his heart, while he
went to his beloved,
"Oh! dear me! Oh!--dear--me! How'd I happen to do it?"
Fanny Newt, of course, had heard from Alfred of the interview with his
mother on the same evening, as they sat in Mrs. Newt's parlor before
going into the ball. Fanny was arrayed in a charming evening costume. It
was low about the neck, which, except that it was very white, descended
like a hard, round beach from the low shrubbery of her back hair to the
shore of the dress. It was very low tide; but there was a gentle ripple
of laces and ribbons that marked the line of division. Mr. Alfred Dinks
had taken a little refreshment since the conversation with his mother,
and felt at the moment quite equal to any emergency.
"The fact is, Fanny dear," said he, "that mother has always insisted that
I should marry Hope Wayne. Now Hope Wayne is a very pretty girl, a deuced
pretty girl; but, by George! she's not the only girl in the world--hey,
Fanny?"
At this point Mr. Dinks made free with the lips of Miss Newt.
"Pah! Alfred, my dear, you have been drinking wine," said she, moving
gently away from him.
"Of course I have, darling; haven't I dined?" replied Alfred, renewing
the endearment.
Now Fanny's costume was too careful, her hair too elaborately arranged,
to withstand successfully these osculatory onsets.
"Alfred, dear, we may as well understand these little matters at once,"
said she.
"What little matters, darling?" inquired Mr. Dinks, with interest. He was
unwontedly animated, but, as he explained--he had dined.
"Why, this kissing business."
"You dear!" cried Alfred, impetuously committing a fresh breach of the
peace.
"Stop, Alfred," said Fanny, imperiously. "I won't have this. I mean,"
said she, in a mollified tone, remembering that she was only engaged,
not married--"I mean that you tumble me dreadfully. Now, dear, I'll make
a little rule. You know you don't want your Fanny to look mussed up, do
you, dear?" and she touched his cheek with the tip of one finger. Dinks
shook his head negatively. "Well, then, you shall only kiss me when I
am in my morning-dress, and one kiss, with hands off, when we say
good-night."
She smiled a little cold, hard, black smile, smoothing her rumpled
feathers, and darting glances at herself in the large mirror opposite,
as if she considered her terms the most reasonable in the world.
"It seems to me very little," said Alfred Dinks, discontentedly;
"besides, you always look best when you are dressed."
"Thank you, love," returned Fanny; "just remember the morning-dress,
please, for I shall; and now tell me all about your conversation with
your mother."
Alfred told the story. Fanny listened with alarm. She had watched Mrs.
Dinks closely during the whole summer, and she was sure--for Fanny knew
herself thoroughly, and reasoned accordingly--that the lady would stop at
nothing in the pursuit of her object.
"What a selfish woman it is!" thought Fanny. "Not content with Alfred's
share of the inheritance, she wants to bring the whole Burt fortune into
her family. How insatiable some people are!"
"Alfred, has your mother seen Hope since she talked with you?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Why didn't you warn her not to?"
"I didn't think of it."
"But why didn't you think of it? If you'd only have put her off, we could
have got time," said Fanny, a little pettishly.
"Got time for what?" asked Alfred, blankly.
"Alfred," said Fanny, coaxing herself to speak gently, "I'm afraid you
will be trying, dear. I am very much afraid of it."
The lover looked doubtful and alarmed.
"Don't look like a fool, Alfred, for Heaven's sake!" cried Fanny; but
she immediately recovered herself, and said, with a smile, "You see,
dear, how I can scold if I want to. But you'll never let me, I know."
Mr. Dinks hoped certainly that he never should. "But I sha'n't be a very
hard husband, Fanny. I shall let you do pretty much as you want to."
"Dearest, I know you will," rejoined his charmer. "But the thing is now
to know whether your mother has seen Hope Wayne."
"I'll go and ask her," said Alfred, rising.
"My dear fellow," replied Fanny, with her mouth screwed into a semblance
of smiling, "you'll drive me distracted. I must insist on common sense.
It is too delicate a question for you to ask."
Mr. Dinks grinned and look bewildered. Then he assumed a very serious
expression.
"It doesn't seem to me to be hard to ask my mother if she has seen my
cousin."
"Pooh! you silly--I mean, my precious darling, your mother's too smart
for you. She'd have every thing out of you in a twinkling."
"I suppose she would," said Alfred, meekly.
Fanny Newt wagged her foot very rapidly, and looked fixedly upon the
floor. Alfred gazed at her admiringly--thought what a splendid Mrs.
Alfred Dinks he had secured, and smacked his lips as if he were tasting
her. He kissed his hand to her as he sat. He kissed the air toward her.
He might as well have blown kisses to the brown spire of Trinity Church.
"Alfred, you must solemnly promise me one thing," she said, at length.
"Sweet," said Alfred, who began to feel that he had dined very much,
indeed--"sweet, come here!"
Fanny flushed and wrinkled her brow. Mr. Dinks was frightened.
"Oh no, dear--no, not at all," said he.
"My love," said she, in a voice as calm but as black as her eyes, "do you
promise or not? That's all."
Poor Dinks! He said Yes, in a feeble way, and hoped she wouldn't be
angry. Indeed--indeed, he didn't know how much he had been drinking. But
the fellers kept ordering wine, and he had to drink on; and, oh! dear, he
wouldn't do so again if Fanny would only forgive him. Dear, dear Fanny,
please to forgive a miserable feller! And Miss Newt's betrothed sobbed,
and wept, and half writhed on the sofa in maudlin woe.
Fanny stood erect, patting the floor with her foot and looking at this
spectacle. She thought she had counted the cost. But the price seemed
at this instant a little high. Twenty-two years old now, and if she
lived to be only seventy, then forty-eight years of Alfred Dinks! It
was a very large sum, indeed. But Fanny bethought her of the balm in
Gilead. Forty-eight years of married life was very different from an
engagement of that period. _Courage, ma chère!_
"Alfred," said she, at length, "listen to me. Go to your mother before
she goes to bed to-night, and say to her that there are reasons why she
must not speak of your engagement to any body, not even to Hope Wayne.
And if she begins to pump you, tell her that it is the especial request
of the lady--whom you may call 'she,' you needn't say Hope--that no
question of any kind shall be asked, or the engagement may be broken.
Do you understand, dear?"
Fanny leaned toward him coaxingly as she asked the question.
"Oh yes, I understand," replied Alfred.
"And you'll do just as Fanny says, won't you, dear?" said she, even more
caressingly.
"Yes, I will, I promise," answered Alfred.
"You may kiss me, dear," said Fanny, leaning toward him, so that the
operation need not disarrange her toilet.
Alfred Dinks kept his word; and his mother was perfectly willing to do
as she was asked. She smiled with intelligence whenever she saw her son
and his cousin together, and remarked that Hope Wayne's demeanor did
not in the least betray the engagement. And she smiled with the same
intelligence when she remarked how devoted Alfred was to Fanny Newt.
"Can it possibly be that Alfred knows so much?" she asked herself,
wondering at the long time during which her son's cunning had lain
dormant.