“Lucy passed her soft, white arm around her grandfather’s neck.”Page 108
“Lucy passed her soft, white arm around her grandfather’s neck.”
Page 108
“As Princess Lucy does not like it, she thinks that should be a sufficient reason for the visitsto 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 prettyvis-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 hergrandfather’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 theyoung 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 Harvardconcerning 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 suddendeparture 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 afoundered 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 tohear 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 secondmate 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.
It’s a Yankee ship,It’s a Yankee crew,That’s first on waters blue.
It’s a Yankee ship,
It’s a Yankee crew,
That’s first on waters blue.
Early in the morning after Mr. Dunlap’s dinner-party in honor of Professor Charlton, when the newly risen sun had made a dazzling field of glittering diamonds of the snow that lay white and spotless about the ‘Eyrie,’ Walter Burton threw up the sash of one of the long, low windows in his sitting-room and stepped out on the balcony.
With a sigh of relief he drank in deep draughts of the fresh, crisp air, and exclaimed as he shaded his eyes:
“What a blessing is fresh air and sunlight after the closeness of the house and gas-light.”
The man’s face was haggard and drawn like one who has passed a night of vigil and suffering. His eyes were surrounded by bands of black that gave to them a hollow appearance.
“How utterly idiotic and inexplicable seems my mood and conduct of last night out here inthe sunshine, now that I am my natural self once more.”
Burton walked down from the balcony on the crackling snow that lay dry and sparkling on the lawn in front of the house. After a few moments spent in the exercise of pacing about and swinging his arms, he returned to his sitting-room refreshed and apparently restored to his usual condition of mind.
All around the room that he entered were scattered promiscuously, musical instruments, books, cushions, flowers and fragments of a late supper, all in that confusion that could not fail to impress the beholder with the idea that the room had been recently the scene of reckless orgies. Pillows heaped upon a sofa still bore the imprint of some one’s head, and was evidently the couch from which the young man had risen when he went forth into God’s bright sunlight.
With supreme disgust depicted on his aesthetic countenance, Walter Burton gazed at the evidence of his nocturnal revel while in that state of mind he had named idiotic.
“These sporadic spells of silliness which comeover my spirit are as revolting to me, when relieved from their influences, as is incomprehensible the cause of their coming,” muttered Burton, kicking aside the various articles that littered the floor.
“What earthly reason could there be for the peculiar effect produced upon me by the scrutiny of that old professor from the South? There exists nothing natural to account for the strange sensation caused by the penetrating gaze of that old Southerner.
“The cause must be sought in the sphere of the supernatural, a province wherein reason, education and culture protest against my wandering.” Pausing the young man strove to recall the scenes and sensations of the previous night, but in vain.
“It is useless for me to struggle to bring back the vanished state of feeling that possessed me last evening. It refuses to pass before the spectrum of my mind.
“It is ever thus while the normal condition of my mental faculties exists. I always fail to catch the fleeting shadow of that distorting spectre thathaunts my spirit with its degrading, masterful influence.
“Could I but hold that sensation that steals upon me, while my mental powers are yet unimpaired by its presence, I might make a diagnosis of the disease, analyze the cause and produce the remedy, but my attempts are always futile. I fail to reproduce the feeling that was all-pervading a few short hours before the current of my mind returned to its accustomed channel.”
The helplessness and baffled look upon the man’s face as he ended this self-communion was piteous. Throwing himself into a chair and covering his face with his hands, he cried almost with a moan:
“To what depth of degradation, brutality and crime may I not be carried while actuated by a power foreign and antagonistic to all that Christianity, morality and education have imparted to me?”
“My God! How I had hoped that time and marriage would cause a diminution in the power of these strange spells and the frequency of theirvisits, until, at last, I might be freed from a thralldom repugnant to all my better self.”
“Vain that hoped for release! Rather do the mysterious visitations increase in frequency, and alas! also in power.”
“Like insidious waves that sap and undermine the foundation of some massive granite cliff, the delusive tide recedes but to return, each succeeding visit adding to the inroad already made. Though small may be the gain, they never once relax their firm grip upon the headway won before, until the toppling mass comes crashing from its majestic height, vanquished by and victim of unremitting insidiousness.”
“So I find with each recurrence of the tide of the strange spell that submerges me. That granite cliff of Christianity whereon I builded my castle of morality, that bastion of education, those redoubts of refinement, culture, aesthetics, deemed by me as creating an impregnable fortress wherein by the aid of civilization I should find secure shelter, are trembling and toppling, undermined by the waves of that inexplicable, relentless influence.”
“Each attack finds me weaker to resist, each advance carries me further from my fortress; I feel my defense falling; I am drawing nearer to the brink; shall I fall? Shall I go crashing down, dragged from my high estate by some fiendish tendency as inexorable as it is degrading?”
“As yet I am enabled to resist beyond the point of insensate silliness and folly, but each returning shock is accompanied by ever stronger suggestion of immorality, brutality and crime. Shall I be strong enough always to repulse this tireless current of assault? Shall I finally succumb and fall to the level of the barbarian and the beast? Soul harrowing thought!”
“The insane or drink frenzied man is unconscious of his acts, but such is not my miserable fate, while held in bondage by that unknown power I appreciate the absurdity of my every act. I still am I, but powerless to control myself, I catch the look of wonder that fills the eyes of others. I feel the shame, but am powerless to remove the cause.”
“And, oh! the horror of seeing and recognizinga look of rebuke and repulsion in the eyes of those I love and those who love me. To see the smile of pride vanish and the blush of mortification succeed it on the face of that being of all the world to me the dearest and fairest.”
“Last night in my dear Lucy’s eyes I read reproof, rebuke, and on her cheeks I saw the red flag of shame. Cognizant of the cause, I, like a leaf upon the current of some mighty cataract, helpless, rushed along in humiliation and self-disgust. I beat against the stream with all my remaining strength of mind; I struggled to regain the shore of my accustomed dignity, but all in vain.”
“I was carried on and on, until plunging over the brink of the fall I struck the bottom where lie those self-respect destroying rocks of disgrace. In ignominy I fled and sought refuge here; ceasing my unavailing efforts to break the chain that held me I gave free rein to the influences that governed my mood.”
“Wild and ribald songs burst from my lips, hilarious and lascivious music poured from the instruments that I touched, movements, rythmicbut novel, fantastic, barbarous, jerked my limbs about in the measure of some savage dance. I ate and drank more as an untutored tribesman of the jungle than a civilized citizen of our cultured country.”
“All unrestrained and unopposed that mystifying mood bore me on recklessly, abandoned, until it swept me to the very verge of wickedness and sin. On the extremist edge of that precipice, below which lies the gulf of infamy, I found strength to grasp and hold the feeble tendrils of that higher estate that still clung around me; in every fiber of my being there surged Satanic suggestions to relinquish my hold upon the fragile stay to which I desperately clung, and take the plunge into that dark gulf below.”
“Go where base associates await you! Where lewdness, lasciviousness, brutality, beastliness and licensed libidinousness lead to savage satiety that ends in blood. These were the suggestive words whispered to me by that fiendish spirit of these strange spells. They vibrated through every nerve and vein of my racked and straining being.”
“Thank God! I still had power of soul sufficient to resist, but Lord! how long shall I be enabled to avert that which is seemingly my doom?”
Burton arose and for several minutes walked about the apartment with agitated, nervous tread. Passing before a long mirror that stood between the windows, he stopped suddenly before it, gazed intently at his image reflected there, and cried out:
“The reflection there tells me that I appear to be as other men around me. In stature and features I seem not essentially at variance with the average man I meet, perhaps I am even more comely. What then is it that caused me to fall shamefaced, embarrassed and simpering like a silly school boy, before the scrutiny of that old scholar last night?”
“I hold the Christian faith; I possess more than the ordinary degree of education common in this country; I have acquired proficiency in many accomplishments; I bear the impress of the culture and refinement of this most enlightened century, and yet! and yet!”
“The searching, piercing glance of that old scientist seemed to penetrate some concealing veil and tearing it aside revealed me in my very nakedness; I seemed to stand forth an exposed impostor; I felt myself a self-confessed charlatan, caught in the very act of masquerading in the stolen trappings of my superiors; I became the buffoon in borrowed gown and cap of the philosopher, an object of ridicule and wrath.”
“Before those deep seeing eyes I was no longer self-assured; convicted of mimicking manners foreign to myself, I seemed to cast aside the unavailing, purloined mask and mummery and thus reveal myself a fraud. Seeking safety from the scorn and just resentment of the defrauded I took refuge in pitiful imbecility and silliness.”
“Once before the same experience was mine. In Paris, at the American Ambassador’s reception I met the Liberian minister. As soon as the gigantic black man fastened his gaze upon me, I became disconcerted. When we clasped hands all the feeling of superiority that education gives departed from me, all the refined sentiments created by culture vanished, I could only simperand chuckle like a child over senseless jokes as did the negro giant beside me.”
“On that occasion, fearing to shock and disgust my bride, I stole like a thief from her side and feigning sudden illness begged a friend to take my place as escort of my wife, while as one bereft of reason I raced along the boulevards and buried myself beneath the dark shade of the trees in the Bois de Boulogne, where, capering and shouting madly I danced until, exhausted, I fell to the ground.”
As Burton stood regarding his image reflected in the mirror, he became suddenly aware of how wan and worn was the face before him and turning wearily away he exclaimed,
“I must throw aside these wretched recollections and forebodings. I look absolutely ill. I shall be in no condition to appear either at the office or at my home unless I succeed in obliterating some of the evidences of my suffering last night.”
When, by a mighty effort, he had acquired sufficient control of his nerves and voice as not to attract the attention of his valet, he rang the bell.
“Victor, prepare my bath, lay out some linen and a proper suit of clothing. Order my breakfast served as soon as I ring, open the windows and let fresh air into the room when I leave it,” said Burton to his attendant, when the valet appeared in answer to his master’s summons.
A refreshing bath, a liberal indulgence in strong, black coffee, assisted by the will power of the man enabled Burton to enter the office of “J. Dunlap” almost entirely restored to his customary appearance.
The Manager had just finished examining the reports submitted by the heads of the various departments of the great Shipping and Banking house when the door of his office opened and the Superintendent entered.
David Chapman looked even more hawk-like, hungry and eager than when he had stood one year before in the same place.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Burton, but I thought you might wish to be informed of the fact that under instructions from Mr. Dunlap, I am forwarding by the steamer that leaves today for Hong Kong, a package and some letters that Mr. Dunlap gaveme to send to Captain Jack Dunlap. The package contains, I believe, a testimonial of Mr. Dunlap’s admiration for the noble conduct of his kinsman in connection with the rescue from the wreck of that emigrant ship. As I am availing myself of the opportunity to communicate my own opinion concerning Captain Jack’s action, I thought it not improbable that you would wish to send some message,” said the Superintendent, peering stealthily at Burton as he spoke.
“I thank you, Chapman, most heartily for letting me know this,” cried Burton warmly.
“How much time may I have to prepare a letter and package to accompany yours and Mr. Dunlap’s?”
“Mr. Dunlap told me to hold the package until he arrived at the office as it was likely that his granddaughter would wish to place some communication for her cousin with his.”
“And I am sure she will! My wife’s admiration for her cousin Jack is unbounded. I will hasten to prepare my contribution to the congratulations sent to Captain Jack. He is a magnificent man and I am proud to be connected in any way with such a noble character.”
“You are right, sir. Jack Dunlap is a brave, true man and comes of a brave, true race. His actions prove that blood will tell,” rejoined Chapman with more enthusiasm than it seemed possible for one of his disposition to exhibit.
“Oh! Pshaw! Nonsense! I give Jack greater credit for his courage and faithfulness than you do when you announce the absurd doctrine that men inherit such qualities. I give him alone credit for what he is, not his race or blood. Blood may be well enough in hounds and horses, but education and culture make the man not the blood in his veins,” exclaimed Burton impatiently.
“The same reason that exists for the superiority of the well-bred horse or dog, causes the man of a good race to be the superior of the man of an inferior race,” said Chapman meaningly, with an almost imperceptible sneer in the tone of his voice.
“That argument might hold good provided that men like horses carried jockeys to furnish the intelligence or like hounds had huntsmen to guide them,” replied the Manager with more heat than seemed justified.
“Give a mule the most astute jockey on earth and he is no match for the thorough-bred horse. Give the mongrel cur the craftiest huntsman, he can neither find nor hold as the hound of pure blood. Give the man of inferior race every advantage that education and culture can furnish, he still remains inferior to the man of the purer, better race and blood. The superiority of the latter lies in the inherent qualities of his race,” replied Chapman, while a sinister smile distorted his thin scarlet lips, and a baleful light flashed from his black eyes. For a moment he waited to see the effect of his last speech, then turned and glided from the Manager’s office.
Arabella Chapman was the neatest of housekeepers. The sitting room of the home of David Chapman was a pattern of tidiness and cleanliness, the furniture was rubbed and polished until it shone like glass, every picture, rug and curtain was as speckless as newly fallen snow.
Miss Arabella seemed especially created to form the central figure of her surroundings, as seated on a low rocking chair, she plied a neat little needle on some nice little article of lace-work.
No tiny, tidy wren was ever brighter and more chipper in its shining little brass cage than was Miss Arabella, as, bird-like, she peeped at her brother, when he drew the cover from the violoncello which stood in one corner of the room.
“I am glad to see that you intend passing the evening at home, David,” piped up the ancient maiden.
“It has really been so long since we had any music that I am delighted to see you uncover your violoncello,” continued the twin sister of David Chapman.
“Well, Arabella, the fact is that in my many excursions during the last year I have collected such a quantity of food for thought, that, like a well filled camel I feel it necessary to pause and chew the cud awhile,” replied David arranging some sheets of music on a stand and passing his hand lovingly over the chords of the instrument that he held.
“I must admit that I should prefer to remain hungry mentally forever if to procure food for thought it were necessary to don the apparel of a tramp, and prowl around at all hours of the night, seeking, doubtless, in the vilest dens, among the lowest vagabonds for mental sustenance,” chirped Arabella sharply, prodding her needlework spitefully.
“Perhaps, my good sister, you will never quite understand that some men are born investigators. By nature they are led to investigate any phenomenon that presents itself.”
“Then I insist that it is a most unfortunate thing for one so born,” pecked Miss Arabella with the sharpness of a quarrelsome English sparrow.
“It causes one to make a Paul Pry of himself and wander about in a very questionable manner at unseemly hours, to the injury of both health and reputation. When one of your age, David, is so endowed by nature it is a positive misfortune.”
Chapman appeared greatly amused by the irritated manner of his sister, for he smiled in that ghastly way of his as he leaned back in his chair, still with his violoncello resting between his legs, and said,
“You see, Arabella, there may be a great difference in the way we regard the affairs of life. Doubtless scientific researches may not afford much pleasure to a spinster of your age, but such researches are very attractive to me.”
“All I can add to the opinion already expressed is that when your so-called scientific researches not alone lead you to assume the character of an outcast, and cause you to wander about at nightlike a homeless cat, but also induce you to make our home a receptacle for all the stray, vulgar, dirty negroes that happen to come to Boston, I must certainly protest against indulgence in such researches by you,” retorted the elderly maiden severely, as she cast her glances about her immaculately clean apartment, and remembered some disagreeable event of the last few months.
David was highly amused by this speech, for he gave utterance to a cackling kind of laugh and exclaimed,
“Arabella, you’ll never get to heaven if the road be muddy. You will be fearful of getting your skirts soiled. I shall be right sorry for your soul if the path to the other place be clean. I fear in that event that nothing could hold you back from going straight to Hades.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, David. You know full well that I am no more particular about tidiness than every other decent woman.”
What monomaniac on the subject of cleanliness ever thought otherwise?
“I insist,” continued Miss Arabella indignantly, “that when one indulges a fad to theextent of disarranging an entire household, under the pretense that it is part of a scientific research, it is time to protest against such proceedings.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine that the entire household has seriously suffered by my investigations in the field of ethnology,” replied the brother still enjoying his sister’s perturbation of mind as she recalled some recent experiences.
“It may be highly amusing to you, David. I hope that you enjoy the joke, but it has been anything but amusing to me and to Bridget, having to clean, rub and air every article of furniture in the house two or three times each week, and it is no laughing matter to freeze while the cold wind blows the disgusting odors left by your guest out of the rooms. Bridget has notified me that she will leave if you continue to make a hostelry for dirty darkies out of the house,” said the sister fairly shivering at the remembrance of the condition in which she had found her spotless premises after a visit of some of her brother’s newly found associates.
“I don’t think that I am the only member of this family that has a hobby, Arabella,” repliedChapman grinning at the flushed little lady.
“I am unaware of what you refer to, David. I certainly have no such uncomfortable idiosyncrasy as a hard ridden hobby.”
“Don’t you think even cleanliness may become a most pestiferous hobby?” queried Chapman with assumed guilelessness.
“Cleanliness and tidiness are but other words for common decency, and can never be classed with the vagaries of a ‘born investigator,’” said the spinster sarcastically, sticking her dictum into her needlework, savagely.
“You doubtless have heard, Arabella, of the woman who possessed so much of what you call ‘common decency’ that she forced her family to live in the barn in order that the dwelling might remain clean and tidy,” answered Chapman, to whom the wrath of Arabella was the greatest pleasure imaginable.
“I only wish that we had a barn. I would soon enough force you to entertain your negro visitors there instead of bringing their odoriferous persons and filthy accompaniments into this house,” cried the sister vindictively.
“You must be reasonable, my most precise sister,” said David.
“When I became interested in the science of ethnology, I deemed it expedient to begin by studying the negro race, their habits, characteristics, manners and tendencies. Being a man born and bred in a northern state I have never had the opportunities possessed by southerners, who are surrounded by negroes from infancy, to know the traits of that most interesting race. Hence I have been forced, on behalf of science, to go forth and gather such material as was obtainable for subjects of study and observation.”
“David, don’t be hypocritical with me; you know that neither ethnology nor the negro race possessed the slightest interest for you, until you learned that Walter Burton had a strain of negro blood in his veins.”
“I do not deny that my zeal was not diminished by that fact,” answered Chapman shortly and dryly.
“And I maintain that your zeal is caused entirely by that fact, and I wish to say further, David Chapman,” exclaimed the withered wisp ofa woman, drawing herself up very straight in her chair and looking angrily at her brother, “if all this investigation and research lead to anything that may cause trouble, annoyance or pain to Lucy Dunlap, whom I have held in these arms as a baby, then I say that you are a wicked, ungrateful man, and I wish to know nothing of your diabolic designs, nor of the disgusting science that you call ethnology.”
God bless the dried-up spinster! God bless thy bony, skinny arms that held that baby! Thrice blessed be the good and kindly heart that beats warmly in thy weak and withered little body.
Seriously and steadily did Chapman gaze for a minute at the vehement, fragile figure before him, then said meditatively,
“I believe she loves the Dunlap name as much as I do myself.”
“More, indeed a great deal more, for I could not cause pain to one of that name even though I benefited all the other Dunlaps who have ever been born by so doing,” quickly cried the old maid.
“Don’t alarm yourself needlessly, sister,” said Chapman earnestly.
“My investigations are neither undertaken to injure Lucy nor could they do so even had I that intention. It is too late. I am perfectly frank and truthful when I state that the subject is exceedingly interesting to me, and the developments fascinating. Since I have familiarized myself somewhat with the leading peculiarities of the negro race I recognize much more of the negro in Burton than I imagined could possibly exist in one possessing so great a preponderance of the blood of the white race.”
“I am glad to learn that no harm can come to Lucy by your persistent pursuit after knowledge of ethnology, but I must say it does not seem to me a very genteel course of conduct for a man of you age and education to be spying about and watching an associate in business,” said the candid Arabella.
“I assure you that I am not obliged either to play the spy or watch particularly, for it seems to me that the negro in Burton positively obtrudes itself daily. In fact I am certain that it is neitherbecause I am watching for such evidences, nor because I can now recognize negro traits better than formerly, but simply because the negro in the man becomes daily more obtrusively apparent,” answered Dunlap’s superintendent as he began tuning and testing his favorite musical instrument.
Even the most prejudiced critic would be forced to admit that whatever David Chapman undertook to do he accomplished well. He never relaxed in persistent effort until an assigned task was performed. He became for the time being absolutely fanatic upon any subject he had before him. His performance on the violoncello was of the same character as his efforts in other directions where his attention was demanded. It was artistic, magnificent, sympathetic and impressive.
To the violoncello Chapman seemed to tell his soul-story; through it he breathed those hidden sentiments that were so deeply buried in the secret recesses of his heart that their existence could never be suspected. Music seemed the angel guarding with flaming sword the gateway of this peculiar man’s soul. When music raisedthe barrier glimpses of unexpected beauties surprised all those who knew the jealous, prying, cynical nature of the man.
As David Chapman began playing his sister with closed eyes rested her head on the back of the rocking chair and bathed her lonely old heart in the flood of melody that poured from the instrument in her brother’s hands.
How that music spoke to the poor, craving, hungry heart within her flat and weazen bosom. Youth and hope seemed singing joyous songs of life’s springtime; love then burst forth blushing while whispering the sweet serenade of that glorious summer season of womankind. Then in cadence soft and tender, gently as fall the autumn leaves, the music sadly told of blighting frosts. Youth and hope like summer roses withered and vanished. Now the gloom, despair and disappointment of life’s winter wailing forth filled the heart of the forlorn old maiden; tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks unheeded and almost a sob escaped from her quivering lips.
Weep no more sad heart. The music in pealing tones of triumph is shouting the Glad Tidingsof that eternity of endless spring, where all is Love and all is Joy; where the flowers of everlasting summer never fade and die; where no blighting frost can come to wither the blossoms of Youth and Hope; where the cold blasts of winter’s gloom and disappointment never blow to chill and sadden the soul.
Grandly resound those notes triumphant; open seem the gates of that promised future, together brother and sister their souls seem ascending; above all is bright, refulgent with the great light of gladness, now, coming sweetly, faintly, they catch the sound of welcome, sung above by that heavenly chorus.
The music died away in silence. Brother and sister sat for a long time, each busy with their own thoughts. Who but the All-wise can ever tell what thoughts come on such occasions to those who in silence hold self-communion in the sanctuary of their own souls.
“David, it seems strange to me that one having the tenderness of heart that you have, should never have found some good woman to love,” said the sister softly when the silence was finally broken.
“Indeed, sister, I sometimes think I might have done so and been happier far than I am, had I not early in life given, in the intense way that is part of my nature, all the love of my heart and consecrated all my devotion to the business in which I then engaged and submerged my every emotion in the glory and honor of the house of ‘J. Dunlap.’”
“Ah, brother, I often think of that and wonder what would happen if aught should go wrong with the object of your life-long devotion.”
“It would kill me, Arabella,” said Chapman quietly.
The certainty of the result to the man, should misfortune shatter the idol of his adoration, was more convincingly conveyed to the listener by that simple sentence and quiet tone than excited exclamation could have carried; Arabella uttered a sigh as she thought of the unshared place that ‘J. Dunlap’ held in the strenuous soul of her brother.
“Brother, you should not allow your mind and heart to become so wrapped up in the house of Dunlap; remember the two old gentlemen, in the course of nature, must soon pass away and thatthen there is no Dunlap to continue the business, and the career of the firm must come to an end.”
“No, Arabella, that may not happen,” replied Chapman. His voice, however, gave no evidence of the pleasure that such a statement from him seemed to warrant.
“There was an ante-nuptial contract entered into by Burton, in which it is agreed that any child born to James Dunlap’s granddaughter shall bear the name of Dunlap; hence the career of our great house will not necessarily terminate upon the death of the twin brothers.”
“I am so glad to know that, David. I have been much concerned for your sake, brother, fearing the dire consequences of the death of both of the old gentlemen whom you have served so devotedly for forty odd years.” The reassured little creature paused and then a thought, all womanly, occurred to her mind reddening her peaked visage as she exclaimed,
“What beautiful children the Burton-Dunlaps should be!”
A worried, anxious, doubtful look came over Chapman’s countenance. He gazed at the floorthoughtfully for several minutes and then apparently speaking to himself said,
“That is the point; there is where I am at sea; it is that question that gives me most anxiety.”
“Why, what can you mean, most inscrutable man, Mr. Burton is one of the handsomest men that I ever saw and surely no prettier woman ever lived than sweet Lucy Dunlap,” cried the loyal-hearted old maid.
“It is not a question of beauty, it is a question of blood. If it be only a matter of appearances Lucy Burton’s children would probably be marvels of infantine loveliness, but it is a scientific problem,” replied David seriously and earnestly.
“What in the name of all that is nonsensical has science to do with Lucy’s babies if any be sent to her?” cried out Miss Arabella, forgetting in her excitement that maidenly reserve that was usually hers.
“I regret to say that science has a great deal to do with the subject,” answered the brother quietly. “It is a matter of grave doubt in the minds of many scientific men whether, under any circumstances, an octoroon married to one of the whiterace ever can produce descendants; it is claimed by many respectable authorities that negro blood is not susceptible of reduction beyond the point attained in the octoroon; that it must terminate there or breed back through its original channel,” continued Chapman.
“It is not true! I don’t believe a word of such stuff,” ejaculated Miss Arabella, dogmatically.
“Authorities admit, it is true, that there may be exceptions to the invariability of this law, but claim that such instances are faults in nature and likely, as all faults in nature, to produce the most astounding results. These authorities assert that the progeny of an octoroon and one of the white race being the outcome of a fault in nature, are certain to be deficient in strength and vigor, are apt to be deformed, and even may possibly breed back to a remote coal-black ancestor,” said Chapman, speaking slowly, punctuating each sentence with a gasping sound, almost a groan.
“Stuff and nonsense!” exclaimed his sister rising in indignation from her chair and moving toward the door, saying,
“I positively will hear no more of your absurdscience. It’s all foolishness. If that be the idiocy that you learn from ethnology I think that you had better occupy your time otherwise. Thanks to your ‘authorities’ and their crazy notions, I suppose that I shall dream all night of monkeys and monsters, but even that is better than sitting her and listening to my brother, whom I supposed had some brains, talk like a fit subject for the lunatic asylum.” With the closing sentence, as a parting shot at her brother the incensed spinster sailed out of the door and with a whisk went up stairs to her virgin chamber.
“Lucy Burton is a perfect dream tonight, is she not?” exclaimed enthusiastically Alice Stanhope, gazing admiringly at the fair companion of her school days who had just entered the room leaning on the arm of her husband.
“Almost as pretty as you are,” gallantly replied ‘Bertie’ Winthrop, to whom the remark of the young woman was addressed.
“Well, don’t expect me to vie with you in flattery and reply by saying that Mr. Burton is almost as handsome as you are, for I am like the father of our country, ‘I can’t tell a lie.’”
“Oh! Now, that’s good. I am justified in supposing from that speech that Burton is not nearly as handsome as I am, much obliged,” replied young Winthrop, laughing and making a profound obeisance to the pretty creature beside him.
“You know what I mean you rascal, so don’ttry to look innocent. See with what adoring glances Lucy looks up into her husband’s face,” said Miss Stanhope again calling her attendant’s attention to the group of guests near the entrance.
“Are you going to look at me like that a year from now?” asked ‘Bertie’ in a quizzical fashion as he slyly squeezed the dimpled elbow near his side. On dit, Alice Stanhope and Albert Winthrop will soon be married.
“Bertie, you horrid tease, I don’t believe you will ever deserve to be looked at except angrily,” retorted the blushing girl and added as she moved a little further from him,
“And you behave, sir, or I won’t let you remain by me another minute.”
“It’s a deuce of a crush you have gotten up,” said ‘Bertie’ promptly disregarding the warning that he had received by stepping up close to the side of his fiancee.
“Where did you get all these people anyway, Alice?”
“There’s no ‘all these people’ about it, they are the musical set among my friends in Boston and New York; as Signor Capello and Mme. Cantaraare to sing of course everyone invited was eager to be present.”
“Never invite all your musical friends to dine with us when we are—”
“Hush, you embarrassing wretch,” cried Miss Stanhope turning to welcome some recently arrived guests.
After considerable diplomatic finessing and resort to that most efficacious auxiliary, “Papa’s cheque book,” Miss Stanhope had secured the services of the two great operatic luminaries to sing at a grand musicale given by her.
All the “swell set” of Boston and New York thronged the palacious home of the Stanhope’s on the occasion. The gray-haired, courtly governor of Massachusetts was chatting as gaily with petite Bessie Winthrop as he had done with her grandmother a half century before. Foreign diplomatists and Federal potentates discussed in corners the comparative merits of Italian and German composers of music; literary lights from all over New England joined the musical element of New York and Boston in filling the Stanhope’s halls.
“I insisted upon coming here tonight, Alice, even though this over-worked husband of mine did complain of a headache at dinner and I was loathe to have him accompany me. You remember this is the anniversary of my wedding and I wished to celebrate the day,” said Lucy Burton to the hostess when at last Burton had managed to make a way for himself and wife through the crowded rooms and reached the place where Miss Stanhope was receiving her guests.
“I am awfully glad you came, dear. We are sure to have a treat. Signor Capello has promised to sing something from the new opera by Herman that has just been produced in Berlin,” and addressing Burton Miss Stanhope added,
“I trust that your headache has disappeared.”
“Thank you, Miss Alice, it has entirely vanished under the influence of my charming wife’s ministrations, and the brilliant gathering about me here,” replied Burton.
“A slight pallor and circles around sad eyes, you know, Mr. Burton, give an exceedingly interesting and romantic appearance to dark men,” rejoined Alice Stanhope smiling in spite of hereffort not to do so when she noticed the anxious, worshiping look with which Lucy regarded her husband.
“Really, I believe Lucy is more in love than she was a year ago,” said the laughing hostess as she turned to receive the German Ambassador, who had traveled all the way from Washington in the hope of hearing selections from Herman’s new opera.
In all that gathering of fair women and gallant men, there was no couple so noticeable as the splendid pair who this day one year before were wedded.
As Burton and his wife passed through the crowded halls all eyes were turned toward them, paying mute tribute to the exceeding beauty of both man and woman.
Burton, by one of those sudden rebounds of spirit to which he was subject, inspired by the gaiety about him was in a perfect glow of intellectual fire. The brilliancy of his well trained mind never shone more brightly, his wit scintillated in apt epigrams, and incomparably clever metaphors. He won the heart of the GermanAmbassador by discussing with the taste and discrimination of a savant that distinguished Teuton’s favorite composer, Herman, using the deep gutturals of the German language with the ease of a native of Prussia.
He exchanged bon-mots with wicked old Countess DeMille, who declared him apreux chevalierand the only American whom she had ever met who spoke her language, so she called French, like a Parisian.
Lucy’s beaming face and sparkling eyes told of the rapture of pride and love that filled her heart. She looked indeed the “Princess” as with her well-turned head, with its gold-brown crown, held high, she proudly looked upon her lover and her lord and caught the approval and applause that appeared in every eye about her.
Never had her husband seemed so much superior to all other men, in Lucy’s mind, as he did this night. Wherever they paused in their passage around the rooms, that spot immediately became the center of a group of people eager to render homage to the regal beauty of the young matron, and to enjoy the wit and vivacity of the mostdistingueman present.
“Ah, Mr. Burton, I see that the splendor of the Rose of Dunlap remains undiminished, notwithstanding its transference from the garden of its early growth,” said the gallant Governor of the old Bay State when greeting the young couple as they stopped near him.
“The splendor of the roses of Massachusetts is so transcendent that it would remain unimpaired in any keeping how e’er unworthy,” replied Lucy’s husband, bowing gracefully to the Executive of the State.
“When I saw you enter the room, Mrs. Burton, I hoped to see my old friend, your grandfather, follow. How is James? You see I take the liberty of still speaking of him as I did many years before your bright eyes brought light into the Dunlap mansion.”
“Grandfather is very well, thank you, Governor, but I failed to coax him away from his easy chair and slippers this evening; beside I think he was a little ‘grump,’ as I call it, about having lost a wager to a certain young woman of about my height; he declared it was not the box of gloves but loss of prestige that he disliked,” answeredLucy merrily as she looked up at the amused countenance of the Governor.
“I fear that I shall be obliged to exercise my official prerogative and give that gay youth, James Dunlap, a lecture if I hear anything more of his reckless wagers,” said the jocose old gentleman, and then added:
“By the way, Mrs. Burton, the newspapers this evening contain long accounts of the magnificent conduct of a New England sea captain, to whom the King of England has sent a letter of congratulation and praise. As the name given is Captain John Dunlap, I have been wondering if it can be that stubborn fellow whom your Uncle John and I endeavored to convince that he ought to enter Harvard.”
“It is the same stubborn, dear old cousin Jack who preferred the sea to being sent to Harvard, and he is the best and bravest sailor on the waters blue,” answered Lucy quickly, her face flushed by pleasure at hearing Jack’s praises sung and pride in knowing that he was her kinsman.
“It seems the lad was wiser than we were when he refused to be convinced by John and me. Agrand sailor might have been spoiled in the making of a poor scholar. As long as the sailor sons of Uncle Sam can number men of your cousin Jack’s kind among them we need never fear for honor of the Gem of the Ocean,” said the Governor quite seriously.
“I heartily endorse that sentiment, your Excellency, but fear that on land or sea it would be difficult to discover many men like Jack Dunlap,” exclaimed Walter Burton warmly.
“When is he coming home, Lucy? You know that I lost my heart the first time that I met your bronzed sailor cousin, and am waiting anxiously for my mariner’s return,” said Bessie Winthrop, her violet-colored eyes twinkling with the gladness of youth and happiness.En passantshe was a fearful little flirt.
“He does not say in his letters when we may expect him, but when I write I’ll tell him what you say, and if he does not hurry home after that nothing can induce him to do so,” said Lucy as she moved away with her husband to make room for several admirers of Miss Winthrop who were eagerly awaiting an opportunity to pay court to that popular young lady.
Just as Burton and his wife left the Governor and his pretty companion, the tuning of instruments announced the prelude to the programme for the evening. Silence fell upon the assembly, the gentlemen sought seats for the ladies and secured the most available standing room for themselves.
Surely Signor Capello never sang so grandly before. The superb harmony of Herman’s great composition filled the souls of that cultivated audience. The German Ambassador was in a perfect ecstasy of delight, and even the least appreciative were impressed, while the hypercritic, casting aside all assumption ofennui, became enthusiastic.
Madame Cantara trilled and warbled in tones so clear, flute-like and sweet that to close one’s eyes was to imagine the apartment some vast forest, filled with a myriad of feathered songsters, vying with each other for woodland supremacy in Apollo’s blessed sphere.
Miss Stanhope’s musicale was a pronounced and splendid success. Nothing approaching it had entertained Boston’s fastidious “four hundred” that season.
Burton declared that it was the most delightful function he had attended in years, when Lucy, enwrapped in furs, was closely nestled at his side in the carriage after the entertainment was over. Burton waspar excellencea judge of such affairs. In fact, he had been accorded the position ofarbiter elegantiarumby a tacit understanding among people of taste and culture in Boston’s elite society.
It was among such scenes, surroundings, environments and society as above described that Burton’s life had been passed since coming to America. It was in this joyous atmosphere that the first year of Lucy’s married life glided by so rapidly that the length of time seemed difficult for her to realize. It was like the dream of a summer’s day, so bright, cloudless and calm, so fragrant with the perfume of love’s early blossoms, that its passage was as that of a fleeting shadow.
The sinking sun cast lengthening shadows across Manila Bay, where swinging peacefully at their anchors lay the great war ships of several nations, and where the tall masts of a fleet ofmerchantmen caused bars of shade to stripe the burnished waters of the Bay.
The starry flag of the great Republic had received that salute, ever loyally given by the sons of Columbia, as the sun sank beneath the horizon, and the bugle blew its farewell to the departing orb of day.
Four majestic, floating fortresses, on whose decks stood uncovered crews as the proud flag of the union descended, gave notice to the world of the might of that young giant of the west that held dominion in the Philippines.
Striding along in the rapidly darkening twilight, up the main street of Manila, walked one who would have been known as a sailor by his swinging, rolling gait, even without the nautical cut and material of the clothing that he wore.
As he approached the newly erected, palacious American hotel, around which ran a broad veranda filled with tables and chairs, the chief resort of the army and naval officers stationed at Manila, a voice cried from the balcony above him:
“Jack Dunlap, by all that is marvelous!”
The sailor-man looked up and with an exclamation of pleased recognition, shouted:
“Tom Maxon, by all that is fortunate!”
“Come up here this instant, you sea-dog, wet your whistle and swap yarns with me,” called the first speaker, rising from the table at which he was seated and hurrying to the top of the half dozen steps that rose from the sidewalk to the entrance on the veranda.
The two men shook hands with the warmth and cordiality of old cronies, when the sailor reached the balcony. The meeting was evidently as agreeable as it was unexpected.
The man who had been seated on the veranda, when the sailor approached, was apparently of the same age as the friend whose coming he had hailed with delight. He, too, was evidently a son of Neptune, for he wore the cap and undress uniform of a lieutenant in the United States Navy.
He was a big, fine man on whose good-looking, tanned face a smile seemed more natural, and, in fact, was more often seen than a frown.
“Jack, old man, you can’t imagine how glad Iam to run afoul of you. Had the choice been left to me as to whom I would choose to walk up the street just now, I’d have bawled out ‘Good old Jack Dunlap!’ Well, how are you anyway? Where’ve you been? and how are all in Boston? But first let’s have a drink; what shall it be, bully?”
All of these questions and ejaculations were made while the naval man still held Jack’s hand and was towing him along like a huge, puffing tug toward the table from which the officer sprang up to welcome his companion.
“By Jove, Tom, give me time to breathe; you’ve hurled a regular broadside of questions into my hull. Haul off and hold a minute; cease firing! as you fighters say,” expostulated our old acquaintance, Captain Jack, as he was fairly shoved into a chair at the table and opposite the laughing and red-faced lieutenant.
“Come here, waiter,” called Maxon to a passing attendant, in high glee over Jack’s cry for quarter and his own good luck in meeting an old chum when he was especially lonely and eager to have a talk about home and friends.
“Bring us a bottle of champagne and let it be as cold as the Admiral’s heart when a poor devil of a lieutenant asks for a few day’s shore leave.”
“Now, my water-logged consort, we will first and foremost drink in a brimming bumper of ‘Fizz’ the golden dome in Boston and the bonny-bright eyes of the beauties that beam on it,” exclaimed jolly Tom Maxon, bubbling over with happiness at having just the man he wished to talk about Boston with.
“I say! Tom, have you been studying up on alliteration? You rang in all the B’s of the hive in that toast,” said the merchant skipper, emptying his glass in honor of Boston and her fair daughters.
“I don’t require thought or study to become eloquent when the ‘Hub’ and her beauties be the theme, but you just up anchor and sail ahead giving an account of yourself, my hearty,” Tom replied with great gusto.
“To begin, then, as the typical story writer does, one November day some thirteen months ago, I sailed away (I’ve caught the complaint. I came near making a rhyme) from Boston in thegood ship ‘Adams.’ When a week out of harbor as per instructions from the house of Dunlap, I unsealed my papers to find that the ship had been presented to me by my kinsmen, the Dunlap brothers.”
“Stop! Hold, my hearty, until we drink the health of the jolly old twins. May their shadows never grow less and may the good Lord send along such kinsmen to poor Tom Maxon,” interrupted the irreverent Tom, filling the glasses and proceeding to honor the toast by promptly draining his.
Jack and Tom had been pupils in the same school in Boston when they were boys. Their tastes and dispositions being much alike they became chums and warm friends. Like young ducks, both of the lads naturally took to the water. When they had gotten through with the grammar-school an appointment to the Annapolis Naval Academy was offered to young Maxon by the representative of his Congressional district, which he joyfully accepted, and hence was now a United States officer. Jack had entered the High School and later the merchant marine service.