"MUST I give up every thing?" asked Mr. Hardy of his lawyer, with whom he was holding a consultation as to the mode and manner of getting clear of certain responsibilities in the shape of debt.
"Yes, every thing, or commit perjury. The oath you have taken is very comprehensive. If you keep back as much as ten dollars, you will swear falsely."
"Bad—bad. I have about seven thousand dollars, and I owe twenty thousand. To divide this among my creditors, gives them but a small sum apiece, while it strips me of every thing. Is there no way, Mr. Dockett, by which I can retain this money, and yet not take a false oath? You gentlemen of the bar can usually find some loop-hole in the law out of which to help your clients. I know of several who have gone through the debtors' mill, and yet not come forth penniless; and some of them, I know, would not be guilty of false swearing."
"Oh yes, the thing is done every day."
"Ah, well, how is it done?"
"The process is very simple. Take your seven thousand dollars, and make it a present to some friend, in whom you can confide. Then you will be worth nothing, and go before the insolvent commissioners and swear until you are black and blue, without perjuring yourself."
"Humph! is that the way it is done?" said Mr. Hardy.
"The very way."
"But suppose the friend should decline handing it back?"
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders as he replied, "You must take care whom you trust in an affair of this kind. At worst, however, you would be just as well off, assuming that your friend should hold on to what you gave him, as you would be if you abandoned all to your creditors."
"True, if I abandon all, there is no hope of, even getting back a dollar. It is the same as if I had thrown every thing into the sea."
"Precisely."
"While, in adopting the plan you propose, the chances for getting back my own again are eight to ten in my favour."
"Or, you might almost say, ten to ten. No friend into whose hands you confided the little remnant of your property would be so base as to withhold it from you."
"I will do it," said Mr. Hardy, as he parted with the lawyer.
One day, a few weeks after this interview took place, the client of Mr. Dockett came hurriedly into his office, and, drawing him aside, said, as he slipped a small package into his hand, "Here is something for you. You remember our conversation a short time ago?"
"Oh, very well."
"You understand me, Mr. Dockett?"
"Oh, perfectly! all right; when do you go before the commissioners?"
"To-morrow."
"Ah?"
"Yes—good morning. I will see you again as soon as all is over."
"Very well—good morning."
On the next day, Mr. Hardy met before the commissioners, and took a solemn oath that he had truly and honestly given up into the hands of his assignee every dollar of his property, for the benefit of his creditors, and that he did not now possess any thing beyond what the law permitted him to retain. Upon this, the insolvent commissioners gave him a full release from the claims that were held against him, and Mr. Hardy was able to say, as far as the law was concerned, "I owe no man any thing."
Mr. Dockett, the lawyer, was sitting in his office on the day after his client had shuffled off his coil of debt, his mind intent upon some legal mystery, when the latter individual came in with a light step and cheerful air.
"Good morning, Mr. Hardy," said the lawyer, smiling blandly.
"Good morning," returned the client.
"How are things progressing?" inquired the lawyer.
"All right," returned Hardy, rubbing his hands. "I am at last a free man. The cursed manacle of debt has been stricken off—I feel like a new being."
"For which I most sincerely congratulate you," returned the lawyer.
"For your kindness in so materially aiding me in the matter," said Mr. Hardy, after a pause, "I am most truly grateful. You have been my friend as well as my legal adviser."
"I have only done by you as I would have done by any other man," replied the lawyer. "You came to me for legal advice, and I gave it freely."
"Still, beyond that, you have acted as my disinterested friend," said Mr. Hardy; "and I cannot express my gratitude in terms sufficiently strong."
The lawyer bowed low, and looked just a little mistified. A slight degree of uneasiness was felt by the client. A pause now ensued. Mr. Hardy felt something like embarrassment. For some time he talked around the subject uppermost in his mind, but the lawyer did not appear to see the drift of his remarks. At last, he said—
"Now that I have every thing arranged, I will take the little package I yesterday handed you."
There was a slight expression of surprise on the countenance of Mr. Dockett, as he looked inquiringly into the face of his client.
"Handed to me?" he said, in a tone the most innocent imaginable.
"Yes," returned Hardy, with much earnestness. "Don't you recollect the package containing seven thousand dollars, that I placed in your hands to keep for me, yesterday, while I went before the commissioners?"
The lawyer looked thoughtful, but shook his head.
"Oh, but Mr. Dockett," said Hardy, now becoming excited; "you must remember it. Don't you recollect that I came in here yesterday, while you were engaged with a couple of gentlemen, and took you aside for a moment? It was then that I gave you the money."
Mr. Dockett raised his eyes to the ceiling, and mused for some time, as if trying to recall the circumstance to which allusion was made. He then shook his head, very deliberately, two or three times, remarking, as he did so, "You are evidently labouring under a serious mistake, Mr. Hardy. I have not the most remote recollection of the incident to which you refer. So far from having received the sum of money you mention, I do not remember having seen you for at least a week before to-day. I am very certain you have not been in my office within that time, unless it were when I was away. Your memory is doubtless at fault. You must have handed the money to some one else, and, in the excitement of the occasion, confounded me with that individual. Were I not charitable enough to suppose this, I should be deeply offended by what you now say."
"Mr. Dockett," returned the client, contracting his brow heavily, "Do you take me for a simpleton?"
"Pray don't get excited, Mr. Hardy," replied the lawyer, with the utmost coolness. "Excitement never does any good. Better collect your thoughts, and try and remember into whose hands you really did place your money. That I have not a dollar belonging to you, I can positively affirm."
"Perhaps you call my seven thousand dollars your own now. I gave you the sum, according to your own advice; but it was an understood matter that you were to hand the money back so soon as I had appeared before the commissioners."
"Mr. Hardy!" and the lawyer began to look angry. "Mr. Hardy, I will permit neither you nor any other man to face me with such an insinuation. Do you take me for a common swindler? You came and asked if there was not some mode by which you could cheat your creditors out of six or seven thousand dollars; and I, as in duty bound, professionally, told you how the law might be evaded. And now you affirm that I joined you as a party in this nefarious transaction! This is going a little too far?"
Amazement kept the duped client dumb for some moments. When he would have spoken, his indignation was so great that he was afraid to trust himself to utter what was in his mind. Feeling that too much was at stake to enter into any angry contest with the man who had him so completely in his power, Mr. Hardy tore himself away, by a desperate effort, in order that, alone, he might be able to think more calmly, and devise, if possible, the means whereby the defective memory of the lawyer might be quickened.
On the next day, he went again to the office of his legal adviser, and was received very kindly by that individual.
"I am sure, Mr. Dockett," he said, after he was seated, speaking in a soft, insinuating tone of voice, "that you can now remember the little fact of which I spoke yesterday."
But Mr. Dockett shook his head, and answered, "You have made some mistake, Mr. Hardy. No such sum of money was ever intrusted to me."
"Perhaps," said Hardy, after thinking for a few minutes, "I may have been in error in regard to the amount of money contained in the package. Can't you remember having received five thousand dollars from me? Think now!"
The lawyer thought for a little while, and then shook his head.
"No, I have not the slightest recollection of having received such a sum of money from you."
"The package may only have contained four thousand dollars," said Mr. Hardy, driven to this desperate expedient in the hope of inducing the lawyer to share the plunder of the creditors.
But Mr. Dockett again shook his head.
"Say, then, I gave you but three thousand dollars."
"No," was the emphatic answer.
"But I am sure you will remember having received two thousand dollars from my hand."
"No, nor one thousand, nor one hundred," replied the lawyer positively.
"Mr. Dockett, you are a knave!" exclaimed the client, springing to his feet and shaking his clenched fists at the lawyer.
"And you are both a knave, and a fool," sneeringly replied Mr. Dockett.
Hardy, maddened to desperation, uttered a threat of personal violence, and advanced upon the lawyer.
But the latter was prepared for him, and, before the excited client had approached three paces, there was heard a sharp click; and at the same moment, the six dark barrels of a "revolver" became visible. While Mr. Dockett thus coolly held his assailant at bay, he addressed him in this wise:
"Mr. Hardy, from what you have just said, it is clear that you have been playing a swindling game with your creditors, and stained your soul with perjury into the bargain!—Now, if you do not leave my office instantly, I will put your case in the hands of the Grand Jury, at present in session, and let you take your chance for the State prison on the charge of false swearing!"
Mr. Hardy became instantly as quiet as a lamb. For a few moments, he looked at the lawyer in bewildered astonishment, and then, turning away, left his office, in a state of mind more easily imagined than described.
Subsequently, he tried, at various times and on various occasions, to refresh the memory of Mr. Dockett on the subject of the seven thousand dollars, but the lawyer remained entirely oblivious, and to this day has not been able to recall a single incident attending the alleged transfer.
Mr. Dockett has, without doubt, a shocking bad memory.
WE know a great many businessmen, famous for driving hard bargains, who would consider an insinuation that they were not influenced by honest principles in their dealings a gross outrage. And yet such an insinuation would involve only the truth. Hard bargains, by which others are made to suffer in order that we may gain, are not honest transactions; and calling them so don't in the least alter their quality.
We have our doubts whether men who overreach others in this way, are really gainers in the end. They get to be known, and are dealt with by the wary as sharpers.
A certain manufacturer—we will not say of what place, for, our story being substantially true, to particularize in this respect would be almost like pointing out the parties concerned—was obliged to use a kind of goods imported only by two or three houses. The article was indispensable in his business, and his use of it was extensive. This man, whom we will call Eldon, belonged to the class of bargain makers. It was a matter of principle with him never to close a transaction without, if possible, getting an advantage. The ordinary profits of trade did not satisfy him; he wanted to go a little deeper. The consequence was that almost every one was on the look out for him; and it not unfrequently happened that he paid more for an article which he imagined he was getting, in consequence of some manoeuvre, at less than cost, than his next-door neighbour, who dealt fairly and above-board.
One day, a Mr. Lladd, an importer, called upon him, and said—
"I'd like to close out that entire lot of goods, Eldon. I wish you'd take them."
"How many pieces have you left?" inquired Eldon, with assumed indifference. It occurred to him, on the instant, that the merchant was a little pressed, and that, in consequence, he might drive a sharp bargain with him.
"Two hundred."
Eldon shook his head.
"What's the matter?" asked Lladd.
"The lot is too heavy."
"You'll work up every piece before six months."
"No, indeed. Not in twelve months."
"Oh, yes, you will. I looked over your account yesterday, and find that you have had a hundred aid fifty pieces from me alone, and in six months."
"You must be in error."
"No. It is just as I say."
"Well, what terms do you offer?"
"If you will take the entire lot, you may have them for ten and a quarter, three months."
Eldon thought for a few moments, and then shook his head.
"You must say better than that."
"What better can you ask? You have been buying a dozen pieces at a time, for ten and a half, cash, and now I offer you the lot at ten and a quarter, three months."
"Not inducement enough. If you will say ten at six months, perhaps I will close with you."
"No. I have named the lowest price and best terms. If you like to take the goods, well and good; if not, why you can go on and pay ten and a half, cash, as before."
"I'll give you what I said."
"Oh, no, Mr. Eldon. Not a cent less will bring them."
"Very well. Then we can't trade," said the manufacturer.
"As you like," replied the merchant.
And the two men parted.
Now Eldon thought the offer of Lladd a very fair one, and meant to accept of it, if he could make no better terms; but seeing that the merchant had taken the pains to come and offer him the goods, he suspected that he was in want of money, and would take less than he asked, in order to get his note and pass it through bank. But he erred in this. Eldon fully expected to see Mr. Lladd before three days went by. But two weeks elapsed, and as there had been no visit from the dealer, the manufacturer found it necessary to go to him, in order to get a fresh supply of goods. So he went to see him.
"I must have a dozen pieces of those goods to-day," said he, as he met Mr. Lladd.
"Very well. They are at your service."
"You'll sell them at ten and a quarter, I suppose?"
Mr. Lladd shook his head.
"But you offered them at that, you know."
"I offered the whole lot at that price, and the offer is still open; though I am in no way particular about selling."
Since ten dollars and a quarter a piece had been mentioned; the idea of paying more had become entirely obliterated from the mind of Eldon.
"But if you can sell for ten and a quarter, three months, you can sell for the same, cash."
"Yes, so I can; but I don't mean to do it."
The merchant felt a little fretted. Eldon was disappointed. He stood chaffering for some time longer; but finding it impossible to bring Lladd over to his terms, he finally agreed to take the two hundred pieces at ten and a quarter, on his note at three months.
Still he was far from being satisfied. He had fully believed that the merchant was pressed for money, and that he would in consequence be able to drive a hard bargain with him. Notwithstanding he had been compelled to go to Lladd, and to accept his terms, he yet believed that money was an object to him, and that, rather than not have the sale confirmed, he would let it be closed at ten dollars a piece, on a note at six months. So firmly was he impressed with this idea, that he finally concluded to assume, boldly, that ten dollars was the price agreed upon, and to affect surprise that the bill expressed any other rate.
In due time, the goods were delivered and the bill sent in. Immediately upon this being done, Eldon called upon the merchant and said, in a confident manner, as he laid the bill he had received upon his desk.
"You've made a mistake, haven't you?"
"How?"
"In charging these goods."
"No. I told you the price would be ten and a quarter, didn't I?"
"I believe not. I understood the terms to be ten dollars, at six months."
"You offered that, but I positively refused it."
"I am sure I understood you as accepting my offer, and ordered the goods to be sent home under that impression."
"If so, you erred," coolly replied Lladd.
"I can't take them at the price called for in this bill," said Eldon, assuming a positive air, and thinking, by doing so, Lladd would deem it his better policy to let the goods go at ten dollars.
"Then you can send them home," replied the merchant, in a manner that offended Eldon.
"Very well, I will do so, and you may keep your goods," he retorted, betraying, as he spoke, a good deal of warmth.
And the goods were sent back, both parties feeling offended; Lladd at the glaring attempt made to overreach him, and Eldon because the other would not submit to be overreached.
On the day following, Eldon started out in search of another lot of the goods he wanted, and thought himself fortunate in meeting with some in the hands of a dealer named Miller, but demurred when twelve dollars and a half a piece were asked for them.
"I can't take less," was replied.
"But," said Eldon, "Lladd has the same article for ten and a half."
"You don't pretend to put his goods alongside of mine?" returned Miller.
Eldon examined them more closely.
"They are better, it is true. But the difference is not so great as the price."
"Look again."
Another close examination was made.
"They are finer and thicker certainly. But you ask too much for them."
"It's my lowest price. They will bring it in the market, which is now bare."
"Won't you let me have a dozen pieces at twelve dollars?" asked Eldon.
"Can't sell a piece for less than what I said."
Eldon hung on for some time, but finally ordered a dozen pieces to be sent home, and paid the bill, though with a bad grace. Still, he was so angry with Lladd because he had shown a proper resentment at the effort made to overreach him, that he determined to buy no more of his goods if he could supply himself at a higher price. Thus matters went on for five or six months, Eldon supplying himself at the store of Miller, and reconciling himself to the serious advance in price, with the reflection that Lladd's goods were remaining dead on his hands.
At last, Miller's supply was exhausted. Eldon called, one day, and ordered a dozen pieces, and received for answer—
"Not a piece in the store."
"What? All gone?" said Eldon.
"Yes, you got the last some days ago."
"I'm sorry for that. Lladd has a good stock on hand, but I don't care about dealing with him, if I can help it. He's a crusty sort of a fellow. Has no other house a supply?"
"Not to my knowledge. There is only a limited demand for the article, you know, and but few importers care about ordering it, for the reason that it goes off slowly."
Eldon tried several places, but couldn't find a yard. By the next day, his workmen would be idle; and so he had no alternative but to call upon Lladd. The merchant received him pleasantly; and they chatted for a while on matters and things in general. At last Eldon, though it went against the grain, said—
"I want you to send me twenty pieces of those goods around, with the bill."
The merchant smiled blandly and replied—
"Sorry I can't accommodate you. But I haven't a yard in the store."
"What?" Lladd looked blank.
"No. I have sold off the entire lot, and concluded not to import any more of that class of goods."
"Ah? I supposed they were still on hand."
"No, I placed them in the hands of Miller, and he has worked them all off for me at a considerable advance on former prices. He notified me, a week ago, that the lot was closed out, and rendered account sales at twelve and a half per piece."
Lladd said all this seemingly unconscious that every word he was uttering fell like a blow upon his old customer. But he understood it all very well, and had caught the hard bargain maker in a trap he little dreamed had been laid for his feet.
Eldon stammered out some half coherent responses, and took his departure with more evidences of his discomfiture in his face and manner than he wished to appear. He had, in fact, been paying twelve dollars and a half for the very goods he had sent back because he couldn't get them for ten dollars, at six months credit.
Eldon did not understand how completely he had overreached himself, until a part of his establishment had been idle for days, and he had been compelled to go to New York, and purchase some fifty pieces of the goods he wanted, for cash, at twelve dollars per piece, a price that he is still compelled to pay, as neither Lladd nor any other importing house in the city has since ordered a case from abroad. So much for driving a hard bargain.
"HADN'T you better give your landlord notice to-day, that we will move at the end of the year, Mr. Plunket?"
"Move! For heaven's sake, Sarah, what do we want to move for?"
"Mr. Plunket!"
"Mrs. Plunket!"
"It's a very strange way for you to address me, Mr. Plunket. A very strange way!"
"But for what on earth do you want to move, Sarah? Tell me that. I'm sure we are comfortable enough off here."
"Here! I wouldn't live in this miserable house another twelve months, if you gave me the rent free."
"I don't see any thing so terribly bad about the house. I am well satisfied."
"Are you, indeed! But I am not, I can tell you for your comfort."
"What's the matter with the house?"
"Every thing. There isn't a comfortable or decent room in it, from the garret to the cellar. Not one. It's a horrid place to live in; and such a neighbourhood to bring up children in!"
"You thought it a 'love of a house' a year ago."
"Me! Mr. Plunket, I never liked it; and it was all your fault that we ever took the miserable affair."
"My fault! Bless me, Sarah, what are you talking about? I didn't want to move from where we were.I never want to move."
"Oh, no, you'd live in a pigstye for ever, if you once got there, rather than take the trouble to get out of it."
"Mrs. Plunket!"
"Mr. Plunket!"
Wise from experience, the gentleman deemed it better to run than fight. So, muttering to himself, he took up his hat and beat a hasty retreat.
Mrs. Plunket had a mother, a fact of which Mr. Plunket was perfectly aware, particularly as said relative was a member of his family. She happened to be present when the above spicy conversation took place. As soon as he had retired, she broke out with—"Humph! just like him; any thing to be contrary. But I wouldn't live in this old rattle-trap of a place another year for any man that ever stepped into shoe-leather. No, indeed, not I. Out of repair from top to bottom; not a single convenience, so to speak; walls cracked, paper soiled, and paint yellow as a pumpkin."
"And worse than all, ma, every closet is infested with ants and overrun with mice. Ugh! I'm afraid to open a cupboard, or look into a drawer. Why, yesterday, a mouse jumped upon me and came near going into my bosom. I almost fainted. Oh, dear! I never can live in this house another year; it is out of the question. I should die."
"No one thinks of it, except Mr. Plunket, and he's always opposed to every thing; but that's no matter. If he don't notify the landlord, we can. Live here another twelvemonth! No, indeed!"
"I saw a bill on a house in Seventh street yesterday, and I had a great mind, then, to stop and look at it. It was a beautiful place, just what we want."
"Put your things on, Sarah, right away, and go and see about it. Depend upon it, we can't do worse than this."
"Worse! No, indeed, that's impossible. But Mr. Plunket!"
"Pshaw! never mind him; he's opposed to every thing. If you had given him his way, where would you have been now?"
Mrs. Plunket did not reply to this, for the question brought back the recollection of a beautiful little house, new, and perfect in every part, from which she had forced her husband to move, because the parlours were not quite large enough. Never, before nor since, had they been so comfortably situated.
Acting as well from her own inclination as from her mother's advice, Mrs. Plunket went and made an examination of the house upon which she had seen the bill.
"Oh, it is such a love of a house!" she said, upon her return. "Perfect in every respect: it is larger than this, and is full of closets; and the rent is just the same."
"Did you get the refusal of it?"
"Yes. I told the landlord that I would give him an answer by to-morrow morning. He says there are a great many people after it; that he could have rented it a dozen times, if he had approved the tenants who offered. He says he knows Mr. Plunket very well, and will be happy to rent him the house."
"We must take it, by all means."
"That is, if Mr. Plunket is willing."
"Willing! Of course, he'll have to be willing."
"Oh, it is such a love of a house, ma!"
"I'm sure it must be."
"A very different kind of an affair from this, you may be certain."
When Mr. Plunket came home that evening, his wife said to him, quite amiably—"Oh, you don't know what, a love of a house I saw to-day up in Seventh street; larger, better, and more convenient than this in every way, and the rent is just the same."
"But I am sure, Sarah, we are very comfortable here."
"Comfortable! Good gracious, Mr. Plunket, I should like to know what you call comfort. How can any one be comfortable in such a miserable old rattletrap of a place as this?"
"You thought it a love of a house, you remember, before we came into it."
"Me? Me? Mr. Plunket? Why, I never liked it; and it was all your fault that we ever moved here."
"My fault?"
"Yes, indeed, it was all your fault. I wanted the house in Walnut street, but you were afraid of a little more rent. Oh, no, Mr. Plunket, you mustn't blame me for moving into this barracks of a place; you have only yourself to thank for that; and now I want to get out of it on the first good opportunity."
Poor Mr. Plunket was silenced. The very boldness of the position taken by his wife completely knocked himhors du combat. His fault, indeed! He would have lived on, year after year, in a log cabin, rather than encounter the horrors of moving; and yet he was in the habit of moving about once a year. What could he do now? He had yielded so long to his wife, who had grown bolder at each concession, that opposition was now hopeless. Had she stood alone, there might have been some chance for him; but backed up, as she was, by her puissant mother, victory was sure to perch on her banner; and well did Mr. Plunket know this.
"It will cost at least a hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars to move," he ventured to suggest.
"Indeed, and it will cost no such thing. I'll guaranty the whole removal for ten dollars."
"It cost over a hundred last year."
"Nonsense! it didn't cost a fifth of it."
But Mr. Plunket knew he had the best right to know, for he had paid the bills.
From the first, Mr. Plunket felt that opposition was useless. A natural repugnance to change and a horror of the disorder and discomfort of moving caused him to make a feeble resistance; but the opposing current swept strongly against him, and he had to yield.
The house in Seventh street was taken, and, in due time, the breaking up and change came. Carpets were lifted, boxes, barrels, and trunks packed, and all the disorderly elements of a regular moving operation called into activity. Every preparation had been made on the day previous to the contemplated flight; the cars were to be at the door by eight o'clock on the next morning. In anticipation of this early movement, the children had been dragged out of bed an hour before their usual time for rising. They were, in consequence, cross and unreasonable; but not more so than mother, grandmother, and nurse, all of whom either boxed them, scolded them, or jerked them about in a most violent manner. Breakfast was served early; but such a breakfast! the least said about that the better. It was well there were no keen appetites to turn away with disappointment.
"Strange that the cars are not here!" said Mr. Plunket, who had put himself in going order. "It's nearly half an hour past the time now. Oh, dear! confound all this moving, say I."
"That's a strange way for you to talk before children, Mr. Plunket," retorted his wife.
"And this is a much stranger way for you to act, madam; for ever dragging your husband and children about from post to pillar. For my part, I feel like Noah's dove, without a place to rest the sole of my foot."
"Mr. Plunket!"
"Mrs. Plunket!"
A war of words was about commencing, but the furniture-cars drove up at the moment, when an armistice took place.
In due time, the family of the Plunkets were, bag and baggage, in their new house. A lover of quiet, the male head of the establishment tried to refrain from any remarks calculated to excite his helpmate, but this was next to impossible, there being so much in the new house that he could not, in conscience, approve. If Mrs. Plunket would have kept quiet, all might have gone on very smoothly; but Mrs. Plunket could not or would not keep quiet. She was extravagant in her praise of every thing, and incessant in her comparisons between the old and the new house. Mr. Plunket listened, and bit his lip to keep silent. At last the lady said to him, with a coaxing smile, for she was not going to rest until some words of approval were extorted from her liege lord—"Now, Mr. Plunket, don't you think this a love of a house?"
"No!" was the gruff answer.
"Mr. Plunket! Why, what is your objection? I'm sure we can't be more uncomfortable than we have been for a year."
"Oh, yes, we can."
"How so?"
"There is such a thing as going from the frying-pan into the fire."
"Mr. Plunket!"
"Just what you'll find we have done, madam."
"How will you make that appear, pray?"
"In a few words. Just step this way. Do you see that building?"
"I do."
"Just to the south-west of us; from that quarter the cool breezes of summer come. We shall now have them fragrant with the delightful exhalations of a slaughter-house. Humph! Won't that be delightful? Then, again, the house is damp."
"Oh, no. The landlord assured me it was as dry as a bone."
"The landlord lied, then. I've been from garret to cellar half a dozen times, and it is just as I say. My eyes never deceive me. As to its being a better or more comfortable house, that is all in my eye. I wouldn't give as much for it, by fifty dollars, as for the one we have left."
Notwithstanding Mrs. Plunket's efforts to induce her husband to praise the house, she was not as well satisfied with it as she was at the first inspection of the premises.
"I'm sure," she replied, in rather a subdued manner, "that it is quite as good as the old house, and has many advantages over it."
"Name one," said her husband.
"It is not overrun with vermin."
"Wait a while and see."
"Oh, I know it isn't."
"How do you know?"
"I asked the landlord particularly."
"And he said no?"
"He did."
"Humph! We shall see."
And they did see. Tired but with a day's moving and fixing, the whole family, feeling hungry, out of humour, and uncomfortable, descended to the kitchen, after it had become dark, to overhaul the provision-baskets, and get a cold cut of some kind. But, alas! to their dismay, it was found that another family, and that a numerous one, already had possession. Floor, dresser, and walls were alive with a starving colony of enormous cockroaches, and the baskets, into which bread, meats, &c. had been packed, were literally swarming with them.
In horror, man, woman, and child beat a hasty retreat, and left the premises.
It would hardly be fair to record all the sayings and doings of that eventful evening. Overwearied in body and mind, the family retired to rest, but some of them, alas! not to sleep. From washboards and every other part of the chamber in which a crevice existed, crept out certain little animals not always to be mentioned to ears polite, and, more bold than the denizens of the kitchen, made immediate demonstrations on the persons of master, mistress, child, and maid.
It took less than a week to prove satisfactorily to Mrs. Plunket, though she did not admit the fact, that the new house was not to be compared with the old one in any respect. It had not a single advantage over the other, while the disadvantages were felt by every member of the family.
In a few months, however, Mr. Plunket began to feel at home, and to settle down into contentment, but as he grew better and better satisfied, his wife grew more and more desirous of change, and is now, as the year begins to draw to a close, looking about her for bills on houses, and examining, every day, the "to let" department of the newspapers with a lively degree of interest. Mr. Plunket will, probably, resist stoutly when this lady proposes some new "love of a house," but it will be of no use; he will have to pull up stakes and try it again. It is his destiny; he has got a moving wife, and there is no help for him.
"IS any body dead?"
"Yes, somebody dies every second."
"So they say. But I don't mean that. Why are you looking so solemn?"
"I am not aware that I look so very solemn."
"You do, then, as solemn as the grave."
"Then I must be a grave subject." The young man affected to smile.
"You smile like a death's head, Abel. What is the matter?"
Abel Lee took his interrogator by the arm, and drew him aside. When they were a little apart from the company, he said in a low voice—
"You know that I have taken a fancy to Arabella Jones?"
"Yes, you told me that a month ago."
"She is here to-night."
"So I see."
"And is as cold to me as an icicle."
"For a very plain reason."
"Yes, too plain."
"Whiskers and moustaches are driving all before them. The man is nothing now; hair is every thing. Glover will carry off the prize unless you can hit upon some plan to win back the favour of Miss Arabella. You must come forward with higher attractions than this rival can bring."
Lee drew his fingers involuntarily over his smooth lip and chin, a movement which his friend observed and comprehended.
"Before the hair can grow Arabella will be won," he said.
"Do you think I would make such a fool of myself."
"Fool of yourself! What do you mean by that? You say you love Arabella Jones. If you wish to win her, you must make yourself attractive in her eyes. To make yourself attractive, you have only to cultivate whiskers, moustaches, and an imperial, and present a more luxuriant crop than Glover. The whole matter is very simple, and comprised in a nut-shell. The only difficulty in the way is the loss of time consequent upon the raising of this hairy crop. It is plain, in fact, that you must take a shorter way; you must purchase what you haven't time to grow. Hide yourself for a week or two, and then make your appearance with enough hair upon your face to conceal one-half or two-thirds of your features, and your way to the heart of Miss Jones is direct."
"I feel too serious on the subject to make it a matter of jesting," said Lee, not by any means relishing the levity of his friend.
"But, my dear sir," urged the friend, "what I propose is your only chance. Glover will have it all his own way, if you do not take some means to head him off. The matter is plain enough. In the days of chivalry, a knight would do almost any unreasonable thing—enter upon almost any mad adventure—to secure the favour of his lady-love; and will you hesitate when nothing of more importance than the donning of false whiskers and moustaches is concerned? You don't deserve to be thought of by Miss Jones."
"Jest away, Marston, if it is so pleasant to you," remarked Lee, with a slightly offended air.
"No, but my dear fellow, I am in earnest. I really wish to serve you. Still if the only plan at all likely to succeed is so repugnant to your feelings, you must let the whole matter go. Depend upon it, there is no other chance for you with the lady."
"Then she must go. I would not make a fool of myself for the Queen of Sheba. A man who sacrifices his own self-respect in order to secure the love of a woman becomes unworthy of her love."
"Well said, Abel Lee! That is the sentiment of a right mind, and proves to me that Arabella Jones is unworthy of you. Let her go to the whiskers, and do you try to find some one who has soul enough to love the man."
The young men separated, to mingle with the company. Marston could not help noticing Miss Arabella Jones more particularly than before, and perceived that she was coldly polite to all the young men who ventured to approach her, but warm and smiling as a June morning to an individual named Glover who had been abroad and returned home rich in hairy honours, if in nothing else. The manners of this Glover distinguished him as much as his appearance.
"To think that a woman could be attracted by a thing like that!" he said to himself a little pettishly, as he saw the alacrity with which Arabella seized the offered arm of Glover to accompany him to the supper table.
Marston was a fellow of a good deal of humour, and relished practical joking rather more than was consistent with the comfort of other people. We cannot commend him for this trait of character. But it was one of his faults, and all men have their failings. It would have given him great pleasure, could he have induced Abel Lee to set up a rivalry in the moustache and whisker line; but Abel had too much good sense for that, and Marston, be it said to his credit, was rejoiced to find that he had. Still, the idea having once entered his head, he could not drive it away. He had a most unconquerable desire to see some one start in opposition to Glover, and was half tempted to do it himself, for the mere fun of the thing. But this was rather more trouble than he wished to take.
Not very long after this, a young stranger made his appearance in fashionable circles, and created quite a flutter among the ladies. He had, besides larger whiskers, larger moustache, and larger imperial than Glover, a superb goatee, and a decided foreign accent. He soon threw the American in the shade, especially as a whisper got out that he was a French count travelling through the country, who purposely concealed his title. The object of his visit, it was also said, was the selection of a wife from among the lovely and unsophisticated daughters of America. He wished to find some one who had never breathed the artificial air of the higher circles in his own country; who would love him for himself alone, and become his loving companion through life.
How all these important facts in relation to him got wind few paused to inquire. Young ladies forgot their plain-faced, untitled, vulgar lovers, and put on their best looks and most winning graces for the count. For a time he carried all before him. Daily might he be seen in Chestnut street, gallanting some favoured belle, with the elegant air of a dancing-master, and the grimace of a monkey. Staid citizens stopped to look at him, and plain old ladies were half in doubt whether he were a man or a pongo.
At last the count's more particular attentions were directed toward Miss Arabella Jones, and from that time the favoured Glover found that his star had passed its zenith. It was in vain that he curled his moustache more fiercely, and hid his chin in a goatee fully as large as the count's; all was of no avail. The ladies generally, and Miss Arabella in particular, looked coldly upon him.
As for Abel Lee, the bitterness of his disappointment was already past. The conduct of Arabella had disgusted him, and he therefore looked calmly on and marked the progress of events.
At length the count, from paying marked attention to Arabella in company, began to visit her occasionally at her father's house, little to the satisfaction of Mr. Jones, the father, who had never worn a whisker in his life, and had a most bitter aversion to moustaches. This being the case, the course of Arabella's love did not, it may be supposed, run very smooth, for her father told her very decidedly that he was not going to have "that monkey-faced fellow" coming about his house. Shocked at such vulgar language, Arabella replied—
"Gracious me, father! Don't speak in that way of Mr. De Courci. He's a French count, travelling in disguise."
"A French monkey! What on earth put that nonsense into your head?"
"Everybody knows it, father. Mr. De Courci tried to conceal his rank, but his English valet betrayed the secret. He is said to be connected with one of the oldest families in France, and to have immense estates near Paris."
"The largest estates he possesses are in Whiskerando, if you ever heard of that place. A French count! Preposterous!"
"I know it to be true," said Arabella, emphatically.
"How do you know it, Miss Confidence?"
"I know it from the fact that I hinted to him, delicately, my knowledge of his rank abroad, and he did not deny it. His looks and his manner betrayed what he was attempting to conceal."
"Arabella!" said Mr. Jones, with a good deal of sternness, "if you were silly enough to hint to this fellow what you say you did, and he was impostor enough not to deny it on the spot in the most unequivocal terms, then he adds the character of a designing villain to that of a senseless fop. In the name of homely American common sense, can you not see, as plain as daylight, that he is no nearer akin to a foreign nobleman than his barber or boot-black may be?"
Arabella was silenced because it was folly to contend in this matter with her father, who was a blunt, common-sense, clear-seeing man; but she was not in the least convinced Mr. De Courci was not a French count for all he might say, and, what was better, evidently saw attractions in her superior to those of which any of her fair compeers could boast.
"My dear Miss Jones," said the count, when they next met, speaking in that delightful foreign accent, so pleasant to the ear of the young lady, and with the frankness peculiar to his nature, "I cannot withhold from you the honest expression of my sentiments. It would be unjust to myself, and unjust to you; for those sentiments too nearly involve my own peace, and, it may be, yours."
The count hesitated, and looked interesting. Arabella blushed and trembled. The words, "You will speak to my father," were on the young lady's tongue. But she checked herself, and remained silent. It would not do to make that reference of the subject.
Then came a gentle pressure of hair upon her cheek, and a gentle pressure from the gloved hand in which her own was resting.
"My dear young lady, am I understood?" Arabella answered, delicately, by returning the gentle pressure of her hand, and leaning perceptibly nearer the Count De Courci.
"I am the happiest of men!" said the count, enthusiastically.
"And I the happiest of women," responded Arabella, not audibly, but in spirit.
"Your father?" said De Courci. "Shall I see him?"
"It will not be well yet," replied the maiden, evincing a good deal of confusion. "My father is"—
"Is what?" asked the nobleman, slightly elevating his person.
"Is a man of some peculiar notions. Is, in fact, too rigidly American. He does not like"—
Arabella hesitated.
"Doesn't like foreigners. Ah! I comprehend," and the count shrugged his shoulders and looked dignified; that is, as dignified as a man whose face is covered with hair can look.
"I am sorry to say that he has unfounded prejudices against every thing not vulgarly American."
"He will not consent, then?"
"I fear not, Mr. De Courci."
"Hum-m. Ah!" and the count thought for some moments. "Will not consent. What then? Arabella!" and he warmed in his manner—"Arabella, shall an unfounded prejudice interpose with its icy barriers? Shall hearts that are ready to melt into one, be kept apart by the mere word of a man? Forbid it, love! But suppose I go to him?"
"It will be useless! He is as unbending as iron."
Such being the case, the count proposed an elopement, to which Arabella agreed, after the expression of as much reluctance as seemed to be called for. A few weeks subsequently, Mr. Jones received a letter from some person unknown, advising him of the fact that if at a certain hour on that evening he would go to a certain place, he would intercept Mr. De Courci in the act of running away with his daughter. This intelligence half maddened the father. He hurried home, intending to confront Arabella with the letter he had received, and then lock her up in her room. But she had gone out an hour before. Pacing the floor in a state of strong excitement, he awaited her return until the shadows of evening began to fall. Darkness closed over all things, but still she was away, and it soon became evident that she did not mean to come back.
It was arranged between De Courci and Arabella that he was to wait for her with a carriage at a retired place in the suburbs, where she was to join him. They were then to drive to a minister's, get the marriage ceremony performed, and proceed thence to take possession of an elegant suite of rooms which had been engaged in one of the most fashionable hotels in the city. To escape all danger of interference with her movements, the young lady had left home some hours before evening, and spent the time between that and the blissful period looked for with such trembling delight, in the company of a young friend and confidante. Darkness at length threw a veil over all things, and under cover of this veil Arabella went forth alone, and hurried to the appointed place of meeting. A lamp showed her the carriage in waiting, and a man pacing slowly the pavement near by, while she was a considerable distance off. Her heart beat wildly, the breath came heavily up from her bosom. She quickened her pace, but soon stopped suddenly in alarm, for she saw a man advancing rapidly from another quarter. It a few moments this individual came up to the person who was walking before the carriage, and whom she saw to be her lover. Loud words instantly followed, and she was near enough to hear an angry voice say—
"Ill count you, you base scoundrel!"
It was the voice of her father! Fearful lest violence should be done to her lover, Arabella screamed and flew to the spot. Already was the hand of Mr. Jones at De Courci's throat, but the count in disguise, not relishing the rough grasp of the indignant father, disengaged himself and fled ingloriously, leaving poor Arabella to the unbroken fury of his ire. Without much ceremony he thrust her into the waiting carriage, and, giving the driver a few hurried directions, entered himself. What passed between the disappointed countess, that was to be, and her excited father, it is not our business to relate.
Not content with having interrupted this nice little matrimonial arrangement, Mr. Jones called at the hotel where De Courci put up, early on the next morning. But the elegant foreigner had not occupied his apartments during the night. He called a few hours later, but he had not yet made his appearance; in the morning, but De Courci was still away. On the next morning the following notice appeared in one of the daily newspapers:—
"NIPPED IN THE BUD.—Fashionable people will remember a whiskered, mustachioed fellow with a foreign accent, named De Courci, who has been turning the heads of half the silly young girls in town for the last two months. He permitted it to leak out, we believe, that he was a French count, with immense estates near Paris, who had come to this country in order to look for a wife. This was of course believed, for there are people willing to credit the most improbable stories in the world. Very soon a love affair came on, and he was about running off with the silly daughter of a good substantial citizen. By some means the father got wind of the matter, and repaired to the appointed place of meeting just in time. He found De Courci and a carriage in waiting. Without much ceremony, he laid violent hands on the count, who thought it better to run than to fight, and therefore fled ingloriously, just as the daughter arrived on the ground. He has not been heard of since. We could write a column by way of commentary upon this circumstance, but think that the facts in the case speak so plainly for themselves, that not a single remark is needed to give them force. We wish the lady joy at her escape, for the count in disguise is no doubt a scheming villain at heart."
Poor Arabella was dreadfully cut down when this notice met her eye. It was a long time before she ventured into company again, and ever after had a mortal aversion to mustaches and imperials. The count never after made his appearance in Philadelphia.
The young man named Marston, who had jested with Abel Lee about the loss of his lady-love, was seated in his room some ten minutes after the sudden appearance of Mr. Jones at the place of meeting between the lovers, when his door was thrown open, and in bounded De Courci, hair and all! Cloak, hat, and hair were instantly thrown aside, and a smooth, young, laughing face revealed itself from behind whiskers, moustaches, imperials, and goatee.
"Where's the countess?" asked Marston, in a merry voice. "Did she faint?"
"Dear knows. That sturdy old American father of hers got me by the throat before I could say Jack Robinson, and I was glad to make off with a whole skin. Arabella arrived at the moment, and gave a glorious scream. Of any thing further, deponent sayeth not."
"She'll be cured of moustaches, or I'm no prophet."
"I guess she will. But the fact is, Marston," and the young man looked serious, "I'm afraid this joke has been carried too far."
"Not at all. The moral effect will tell upon our silly young ladies, whose heads are turned with a foreign accent and a hairy lip. You acted the whiskered fop to a charm. No one could have dreamed that all was counterfeit."
"So far as the general effect is concerned, I have no doubt; but I'm afraid it was wrong to victimize Miss Arabella for the benefit of the whole race of weak-minded girls. The effect upon her may be more serious than we apprehend."
"No, I think not. The woman who could pass by as true a young man as Abel Lee for a foreign count in disguise, hasn't heart enough to receive a deep injury. She will be terribly mortified, but that will do her good."
"If it turn out no worse than that, I shall be glad. But I must own, now that the whole thing is over, that I am not as well satisfied with myself as I thought I would be. I don't know what my good sisters at the South would say, if they knew I had been engaged in such a mad-cap affair. But I lay all the blame upon you. You, with your cool head, ought to have known better than to start a young hot-brained fellow like me, just let loose from college, upon such a wild adventure. I'm afraid that if Jones had once got me fairly into his clutches, he would have made daylight shine through me."
"Ha! ha! No doubt of it. But come, don't begin to look long-faced. We will keep our own counsel, and no one need be the wiser for our participation in this matter. Wait a while, and let us enjoy the nine days' wonder that will follow."
But the young man, who was a relative of Marston, and who had come to the city fresh from college, just in the nick of time for the latter, felt, now that the excitement of his wild prank was over, a great deal more sober about the matter than he had expected to feel. Reason and reflection told him that he had no right to trifle with any one as he had trifled with Arabella Jones. But it was too late to mend the matter. No great harm, however, came of it; and perhaps, good; for a year subsequently, Abel Lee conducted his old flame to the altar, and she makes him a loving and faithful wife.