On the morning on which the great steamer glided within the tranquil waters of Long Island, Quackinboss appeared at Layton's berth, to announce the fact, as well as report progress with the stranger. “I was right, sir,” said he; “he's been and burnt his fingers on 'Change; that's the reason he's here. The crittur was in the share-market, and got his soup too hot! You Britishers seem to have the bright notion that, when you've been done at home, you 'll be quite sharp enough to do us here, and so, whenever you make a grand smash in Leadenhall Street, it's only coming over to Broadway! Well, now, sir, that's considerable of a mistake; we understand smashing too,—ay, and better than folk in the old country. Look you here, sir; if I mean to lose my ship on the banks, or in an ice-drift, or any other way, I don't go and have her built of strong oak plank and well-seasoned timber, copper-fastened, and the rest of it; but I run her up with light pine, and cheap fixin's everywhere. She not only goes to pieces the quicker, but there ain't none of her found to tell where it happened, and how. That's how it comeswefounder, and there 's no noise made about it; while one of your chaps goes bumpin' on the rocks for weeks, with fellows up in the riggin', and life-boats takin' 'em off, and such-like, till the town talks of nothing else, and all the newspapers are filled with pathetic incidents, so that the very fellows that calked her seams or wove her canvas are held up to public reprobation. That's how you do it, sir, and that's where you 're wrong. When a man builds a cardhouse, he don't want iron fastenings. I've explained all to that crittur there, and he seems to take it in wonderful.” “Who is he—what is he?” asked Layton.
“His name's Trover; firm, Trover, Twist, and Co., Frankfort and Florence, bankers, general merchants, rag exporters, commission agents, doing a bit in the picture line and marble for the American market, and sole agents for the sale of Huxley's tonic balsam. That's how he is,” said the Colonel, reading the description from his note-book.
“I never heard of him before.”
“He knows you, though,—knew you the moment he came aboard; said you was tutor to a lord in Italy, and that he cashed you circular notes on Stanbridge and Sawley. These fellows forget nobody.”
“What does he know of the Heathcotes?”
“Pretty nigh everything. He knows that the old Baronet would be for makin' a fortune out of his ward's money, and has gone and lost a good slice of it, and that the widow has been doin' a bit of business in the share-market, in the same profitable fashion,—not but she's a rare wide-awake 'un, and sees into the 'exchanges' clear enough. As to the gal, he thinks she sold her—”
“Sold her! What do you mean?” cried Layton, in a voice of horror.
“Jest this, that one of those theatrical fellows as buys singing-people, and gets 'em taught,—it's all piping-bullfinch work with 'em,—has been and taken her away; most probably cheap, too, for Trover said she was n't nowise a rare article; she had a will of her own, and was as likely to say 'I won't,' as 'I will.'”
“Good heavens! And are things like this suffered,—are they endured in the age we live in?”
“Yes, sir. You've got all your British sympathies very full about negroes and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' you 're wonderful strong about slavery and our tyrants down South, and you 've something like fifty thousand born ladies, called governesses, treated worse than housemaids, and some ten thousand others condemned to what I won't speak of, that they may amuse you in your theatres. I can tell you, sir, that the Legrees that walk St. James's Street and Piccadilly are jest as black-hearted as the fellows in Georgia or Alabama, though they carry gold-headed walking-sticks instead of cow-hides.”
“But sold her!” reiterated Layton. “Do you mean to say that Clara has been given over to one of these people to prepare her for the stage?”
“Yes, sir; he says his name's Stocmar,—a real gentleman, he calls him, with a house at Brompton, and a small yacht at Cowes. They 've rather good notions about enjoying themselves, these theatre fellows. They get a very good footing in West End life, too, by supplying countesses to the nobility.”
“No, no!” cried Layton, angrily; “you carry your prejudices against birth and class beyond reason and justice too.”
“Well, I suspect not, sir,” said Quackinboss, slowly. “Not to say that I was n't revilin', but rather a-praisin' 'em, for the supply of so much beauty to the best face-market in all Europe. If I were to say what's the finest prerogatives of one of your lords, I know which I 'd name, sir, and it would n't be wearin' a blue ribbon, and sittin' on a carved oak bench in what you call the Upper House of Parliament.”
“But Clara—what of Clara?” cried Layton, impatiently.
“He suspects that she's at Milan, a sort of female college they have there, where they take degrees in singin' and dancin'. All I hope is that the poor child won't learn any of their confounded lazy Italian notions. There's no people can prosper, sir, when their philosophy consists inCome si fa? Come si fa?means it's no use to work, it's no good to strive; the only thing to do in life is to lie down in the shade and suck oranges. That's the real reason they like Popery, sir, because they can even go to heaven without trouble, by paying another man to do the prayin' for 'em. It ain't much trouble to hire a saint, when it only costs lighting a candle to him. And to tell me that's a nation wants liberty and free institutions! No man wants liberty, sir, that won't work for his bread; no man really cares for freedom till he's ready to earn his livin', for this good reason, that the love of liberty must grow out of personal independence, as you'll see, sir, when you take a walk yonder.” And he pointed to the tall steeples of New York as he spoke. But Layton cared little for the discussion of such a theme; his thoughts had another and a very different direction.
“Poor Clara!” muttered he. “How is she to be rescued from such a destiny?”
“I'd say by the energy and determination of the man who cares for her,” said Quackinboss, boldly. “Come si fa?won't save her, that's certain.”
“Can you learn anything of the poor child's history from this man, or does he know it?”
“Well, sir,” drawled out the Colonel, “that ain't so easy to say. Whether a man has a partic'lar piece of knowledge in his head, or whether a quartz rock has a streak of gold inside of it, is things only to be learned in the one way,—by hammering,—ay, sir, by hammering! Now, it strikes me this Trover don't like hammering; first of all, the sight of you here has made him suspicious—”
“Not impossible is it that he may have seen you also, Colonel,” broke in Layton.
“Well, sir,” said the other, drawing himself proudly up, “and if he had, what of it? You don't fancy thatweare like the Britishers? You don't imagine that when we appear in Eu-rope that every one turns round and whispers, 'That's a gentleman from the United States'? No, sir, it is the remarkable gift of our people to be cosmopolite. We pass for Russian, French, Spanish, or Italian, jest as we like, not from our skill in language, which we do not all possess, so much as a certain easy imitation of the nat-ive that comes nat'ral to us. Even our Western people, sir, with very remarkable features of their own, have this property; and you may put a man from Kentucky down on the Boulevard de Gand to-morrow, and no one will be able to say he warn't a born Frenchman!”
“I certainly have not made that observation hitherto,” said Layton, dryly.
“Possibly not, sir, because your national pride is offended by our never imitatingyou!No, sir, we never do that!”
“But won't you own that you might find as worthy models in England as in France or Italy?”
“Not for us, sir,—not for us. Besides, we find ourselves at home on the Continent; we don't withyou. The Frenchman is never taxing us with every little peculiarity of accent or diction; he 's not always criticising our ways where they differ from his own. Now, your people do, and, do what we may, sir, they will look on us as what the Chinese call 'second chop.' Now, to my thinking, we are first chop, sir, and you are the tea after second watering.”
They were now rapidly approaching the only territory in which an unpleasant feeling was possible between them. Each knew and felt this, and yet, with a sort of national stubbornness, neither liked to be the one to recede first. As for Layton, bound as he was by a debt of deep gratitude to the American, he chafed under the thought of sacrificing even a particle of his country's honor to the accident of his own condition, and with a burning cheek and flashing eye he began,—
“There can be no discussion on the matter. Between England and America there can no more be a question as to supremacy—”
“There, don't say it; stop there,” said Quackinboss, mildly. “Don't let us get warm about it. I may like to sit in a rockin'-chair and smoke my weed in the parlor; you may prefer to read the 'Times' at the drawing-room fire; but if we both agree to go out into the street together, sir, we can whip all cre-ation.”
And he seized Layton's hand, and wrung it with an honest warmth that there was no mistaking.
“And now as to this Mr. Trover,” said Layton, after a few minutes. “Are we likely to learn anything from him?”
“Well, sir,” said the Colonel, lazily, “I 'm on his track, and I know his footmarks so well now that I 'll be sure to detect him if I see him again. He 's a-goin' South, and so arewe. He's a-looking out for land; that's exactly whatwe'rearter!”
“You have dropped no hint about our lecturing scheme?” asked Layton, eagerly.
“I rayther think not, sir,” said the other, half indignant at the bare suspicion. “We 're two gentlemen on the search after a good location and a lively water-power. We 've jest heard of one down West, and there's the whole cargo as per invoice.” And he gave a knowing wink and look of mingled drollery and cunning.
“You are evidently of opinion that this man could be of use to us?” said Layton, who was well aware how fond the American was of acting with a certain mystery, and who therefore cautiously abstained from any rash assault upon his confidence.
“Yes, sir, that'smyticket; but I mean to take my own time to lay the bill on the table. But here comes the small steamers and the boats for the mails. Listen to that bugle, Britisher. That air is worth all Mozart. Yes, sir,” said he proudly, as he hummed,—
“There's not a man beneath the moon,Nor lives in any land heThat hasn't heard the pleasant timeOf Yankee doodle dandy!“In coolin' drinks, and clipper ships,The Yankee has the way shown!On land and sea 't is he that whipsOld Bull and all creation.”
Quackinboss gradually dropped his voice, till at the concluding line the words sank into an undistinguishable murmur; for now, as it were, on the threshold of his own door, he felt all the claim of courtesy to the stranger. Still it was not possible for him to repress the proud delight he felt in the signs of wealth and prosperity around him.
“There,” cried he, with enthusiasm, “there ain't a land in the universe—that's worth calling a land—has n't a flag flying yonder! There's every color of bunting, from Lapland to Shanghai, afloat in them waters, sir; and yet you 'll not have to go back two hundred years, and where you see the smoke risin' from ten thousand human dwellin's there was n't one hearth nor one home! The black pine and the hemlock grew down those grassy slopes where you see them gardens, and the red glare of the Indian's fire shone out where the lighthouse now points to safety and welcome! It ain't a despicable race as has done all that! If that be not the work of a great people, I 'd like to hear what is!” He next pointed out to Layton the various objects of interest as they presented themselves to view, commenting on the very different impressions such a scene of human energy and activity is like to produce than those lands of Southern Europe from which they had lately come. “You 'll never hearCome si fa?here, sir,” said he, proudly. “If a man can't fix a thing aright, he 'll not wring his hands and sit down to cry over it, but he 'll go home to think of it at his meals, and as he lies awake o' nights; and he 'll ask himself again and again, 'If there be a way o' doin' this, why can'tIfind it out as well as another?'”
It was the Colonel's belief that out of the principle of equality sprang an immense amount of that energy which develops itself in inventive ability; and he dilated on this theory for some time, endeavoring to show that the subdivision of ranks in the Old World tended largely to repress the enterprising spirit which leads men into paths previously untrodden. “That you 'll see, sir, when you come to mix with our people. And now, a word of advice to you before you begin.”
He drew his arm within Layton's as he said this, and led him two or three turns on the deck in silence. The subject was in some sort a delicate one, and he did not well see how to open it without a certain risk of offending. “Here's how it is,” said he at last. “Our folk isn't your folk because they speak the same language. Inyourcountry, your station or condition, or whatever you like to call it, answers for you, and the individual man merges into the class he belongs to. Not so here.Wedon't care a red cent about your rank, but we want to know about you yourself! Now, you strangers mistake all that feeling, and call it impertinence and curiosity, and such-like; but it ain't anything of the kind! No, sir. It simply means what sort of knowledge, what art or science or labor, can you contribute to the common stock? Are you a-come amongst us to make us wiser or richer or thriftier or godlier; or are you just a loafer,—a mere loafer? My askingyouon a rail-car whence you come and where you 're a-goin' is no more impertinence than my inquirin' at a store whether they have got this article or that! I want to know whether you and I, as we journey together, can profit each other; whether either of us mayn't have something the other has never heard afore. He can't have travelled very far in life who has n't picked up many an improvin' thing from men he didn't know the names on, ay, and learned many a sound lesson, besides, of patience, or contentment, forgiveness, and the like; and all that ain't so easy if people won't be sociable together!”
Layton nodded a sort of assent; and Quackinboss continued, in the same strain, to point out peculiarities to be observed, and tastes to be consulted, especially with reference to the national tendency to invite to “liquor,” which he assured Layton by no means required a sense of thirst on his part to accede to. “You ain't always charmed when you say you are, in French, sir; and the same spirit of politeness should lead you to accept a brandy-smash without needing it, or even to drink off a cocktail when you ain't dry. After all,” said he, drawing a long breath, like one summing up the pith of a discourse, “if you're a-goin' to pick holes in Yankee coats, to see all manner of things to criticise, condemn, and sneer at, if you 're satisfied to describe a people by a few peculiarities which are not pleasin' to you, go ahead and abuse us; but if you 'll accept honest hospitality, though offered in a way that's new and strange to you,—if you 'll believe in true worth and genuine loyalty of character, even though its possessor talk somewhat through the nose,—then, sir, I say, there ain't no fear that America will disappoint you, or that you 'll be ill-treated by Americans.” With this speech he turned away to look after his baggage and get ready to go ashore.
Though Quackinboss understood thoroughly well that it devolved upon him to do the honors of his country to the “Britisher,” he felt that, in honest fairness, the stranger ought to be free to form his impressions, without the bias that would ensue from personal attentions, while he also believed that American institutions and habits stood in need of no peculiar favor towards them to assert their own superiority.
“Don't be on the look-out, sir, for Eu-ropean graces,” he would say, “in this country, for the men that have most of 'em ain't our best people; and don't mistake the eagerness with which everybody will press you to admire America for any slight towards the old country. We all like her, sir; and we'd like her better if she wasn't so fond of saying she's ashamed of us.”
These were the sort of warnings and counsels he would drop as he guided Layton about through the city, pointing out whatever he deemed most worthy of curiosity, or whatever he conceived might illustrate the national character. It was chiefly on the wealth of the people, their untiring industry, and the energy with which they applied themselves to money-getting, that he laid stress; and he did this with a degree of insistence that betrayed an uneasy consciousness of how little sympathy such traits meet with from the passing traveller.
“Mayhap, sir, you 'd rather see 'em loafing?” said he one day in a moment of impatience, as Layton half confessed that he 'd like to meet some of the men of leisure. “Well, you 'll have to look 'em up elsewhere, I expect. I 'll have to take you a run down South for that sort of cattle,—and that's what I mean to do. Before you go before our people, sir, as a lecturer, you 'll have to study 'em a little, that's a fact! When you come to know 'em, you 'll see that it's a folk won't be put off with chaff when they want buckwheat; and that's jest what your Eu-ropeans think to do. I will take a trip to the Falls first; I 'd like to show you that water-power. We start away on Monday next.”
Layton was not sorry to leave New York. The sight of that ever busy multitude, that buzzing hive of restless bees, was only addling to one who never regarded wealth save as a stage to something farther off. He was well aware how rash it would be to pronounce upon a people from the mere accidents of chance intercourse, and he longed to see what might give him some real insight into the character of the nation. Besides this, he felt, with all the poignant susceptibility of his nature, that he was not himself the man to win success amongst them. There was a bold rough energy, a daring go-ahead spirit, that overbore him wherever he went. They who had not travelled spoke more confidently of foreign lands than he who had seen them. Of the very subjects he had made his own by study, he heard men speak with a confidence he would not have dared to assume; and lastly, the reserve which serves as a sanctuary to the bashful man was invaded without scruple by any one who pleased it.
If each day's experience confirmed him in the impression that he was not one to gain their suffrages, he was especially careful to conceal this discouraging conviction from Quackinboss, leaving to time, that great physician, to provide for the future. Nor was the Colonel himself, be it owned, without his own misgivings. He saw, to his amazement, that the qualities which he had so much admired in Layton won no approval from his countrymen; the gifts, which by reading and reflection he had cultivated, seemed not to be marketable commodities; there were no buyers,—none wanted them. Now Quackinboss began to think seriously over their project, deeply pained as he remembered that it was by his own enthusiastic description of his countrymen the plan had first met acceptance. Whether it was that the American mind had undergone some great change since he had known it, or that foreign travel had exaggerated, in his estimation, the memory of many things he had left behind him; but so it was, the Colonel was amazed to discover that with all the traits of sharp intelligence and activity he recognized in his countrymen, there were yet some features in the society of the old continent that he regretted and yearned after. Again and again did he refer to Italy and their life there; even the things he had so often condemned now came up, softened by time and distance, as pleasant memories of an era passed in great enjoyment If any passing trait in the scenery recalled the classic land, he never failed to remark it, and, once launched upon the theme, he would talk away for hours of the olive-woods, the trellised vines, the cottages half hid amidst the orange-groves, showing how insensibly the luxurious indolence he had imbibed lingered like a sort of poison in his blood.
“Yes, sir,” said he, one day, as with an amount of irritation he acknowledged the fatal fascination of that land of dreamy inactivity, “it'smynotion that Italy is a pasture where no beast ought to be turned out that's ever to do any work again. It ain't merely that one does nothing when he 's there, but he ain't fit for anything when he leaves it. I know what I 'd have thought of any man that would have said to me, 'Shaver Quackinboss, you 'll come out of them diggin's lazy and indolent. You 'll think more of your ease than you ought, and you 'll be more grateful for being jest left alone to follow your own fancies than for the best notion of speculation that ever was hit upon.' And that's exactly what I 've come to! I don't want a fellow to tell me where I can make thirty or forty thousand dollars; I 've lost all that spring in me that used to make me rise early and toil late. What I call happiness now is to sit and smoke with one of your sort of an afternoon, and listen to stories of chaps that lived long ago, and worked their way on in a world a precious sight harder to bully than our own. Well now, sir, I say, that ain't right, and it ain't nat'ral, and, what's more, I ain't a-goin' to bear it. I mean to be stirrin' and active again, and you 'll see it.”
It was a few days after he had made this resolve that he said to Layton,—
“Only think who I saw at the bar this morning. That fellow we came over with in the passage out; he was a-liquoring down there and treating all the company. He comes up to me, straight on end, and says,—
“'Well, old 'oss, and how doyouget on?'
“'Bobbish-like,' says I, for I was minded to be good-humored with him, and see what I could get out of him about hisself.
“'Where's the young 'un I saw with you aboard?' says he.
“'Well,' said I, 'he ain't very far off, when he's wanted.'
“'That's what he ain't,' said he; 'he ain't wanted nowhere.' When he said this I saw he was very 'tight,' as we call it,—far gone in liquor, I mean.
“'Have you found out that same water-power you were arter?' said he.
“'No,' said I. 'It's down West a man must go who has n't a bag full of dollars. Everything up hereabouts is bought up at ten times its worth.'
“'Well, look sharp after the young 'un,' said he, laughing; 'that'smyadvice to you. Though you're Yankee, he 'll be too much for you in the end.' He said this, drinking away all the time, and getting thicker in his speech at every word.
“'I ain't a man to neglect a warnin',' says I, in a sort of whisper, 'and ifyoumean friendly by me, speak out.'
“'And ain't that speaking out,' says he, boldly, 'when I say to a fellow I scarcely know by sight, “Mind your eye; look out for squalls!” I wonder what more he wants? Does he expect me to lend him money?' said he, with an insolent laugh.
“'No,' said I, in the same easy way, 'by no manner o' means; and if it's myself you allude to, I ain't in the vocative case, sir. I 've got in that old leather pocket-book quite enough for present use.'
“'Watch it well, then; put it under your head o' nights, that's all,' said he, hiccuping; 'and if you wake up some morning without it, don't say the fault was Oliver Trover's.' This was a-tellin' me his name, which I remembered the moment I heard it.
“'You 'll take a brandy-smash or a glass of bitters withmenow, sir?' said I, hopin' to get something more out of him; but he wouldn't have it. He said, with a half-cunning leer, 'No more liquor, no more liquor, and no more secrets! If you was to treat me to all in the bar, you 'd get nothing more out of Noll Trover.'”
“But what does the fellow mean by his insinuations about me?” said Layton, angrily. “I never knew him, never met him, never so much as heard of him!”
“What does that signify if he has heard ofyou, and suspects you to know something abouthim?He ain't all right, that's clear enough; but our country is so full of fellows like that, it ain't easy work tracking 'em.”
Layton shrugged his shoulders with an indifference, as though to say the matter did not interest him; but Quackinboss rejoined quickly, “I 've a notion that it concerns us, sir. I heerd his inquiry about all the lines down South, and asking if any one knew a certain Harvey Winthrop, down at Norfolk.”
“Winthrop—Winthrop? Where have I heard that name?”
“In that book of your father's,—don't you remember it? It was he was mentioned as the guardian of that young girl, the daughter of him as was pisoned at Jersey.”
“And is this man Trover in search of Winthrop?” asked Layton, eagerly.
“Well, he's a-lookin' arter him, somehow, that's certain; for when somebody said, 'Oh, Harvey Winthrop ain't at Norfolk now,' he looked quite put out and amazed, and muttered something about having made all his journey for nothing.”
“It is strange, indeed, that we should have the same destination, and stranger still would it be if we should be both on the same errand.”
“Well,” said Quackin boss, after a long pause, “I've been a-rolling the log over and over, to see which way to cut it, and at last, I believe, I 've found the right side o' it. You and I must quarrel.”
“What do you mean?” asked Layton, in astonishment.
“I mean jest this. I must take up the suspicion that he has aboutyou, and separate from you. It may be to joinhim. He's one of your Old-World sort, that's always so proud to be reckoned 'cute and smart, that you 've only to praise his legs to get his leggin's. We'll be as thick as thieves arter a week's travelling, and I 'll find out all that he's about. Trust Old Shaver, sir, to get to windward of small craft like that!”
“I own to you frankly,” said Layton, “that I don't fancy using a rogue's weapons even against a rogue.”
“Them's not the sentiments of the men that made laws, sir,” said Quackinboss. “Laws is jest rogues' weapons against rogues. You want to do something you have n't no right to, and straight away you discover that some fellow was so wide awake once that he made a statute against it, ay, and so cleverly too, that he first imagined every different way you could turn your dodge, and provided for each in turn.”
Layton shook his head in dissent, but could not repress a faint smile.
“Ain't it roguery to snare partridges and to catch fish, for the matter o' that?” said he, with increased warmth. “Wherever a fellow shows hisself more 'cute than his neighbors, there's sure to be an outcry 'What a rogue he is!'”
“Your theory would be an indictment against all mankind,” said Layton.
“No, sir, forIonly call him a rogue that turns his sharpness to bad and selfish ends. Now, that's not the case with him as hunts down varmint: he's a-doin' a good work, and all the better that he may get scratched for his pains.”
“Well, what is your plan?” said Layton, rather fearful of the length into which his friend's speculations occasionally betrayed him.
“Here it is, sir,” said the Colonel. “I'll come down upon that crittur at Detroit, where I hear he's a-goin', and flatter him by saying that he was all right aboutyou.”
“Indeed!” said Layton, laughing.
“Yes, sir,” said the other, gravely. “I'll say to him, 'Stranger, youarea wide-awake 'un, that's a fact.' He'll rise tothat, like a ground-shark to a leg of pork,—see if he don't,—and he 'll go on to ask aboutyou; that will give me the opportunity to give a sketch of myself, and a more simple, guileless sort of bein' you 've not often heerd of than I 'll turn out to be. Yes, sir, I 'm one as suspects no ill of anybody, jest out of the pureness of my own heart. When we get on to a little more intimacy, I mean to show him twenty thousand dollars I 've got by me, and ask his advice about investin' 'em. I guess pretty nigh what he'll say: 'Give 'em over to me.' Well, I 'll take a bit of time to consider about that. There will be, in consequence, more intimacy and more friendship atween us: but arter he's seen the money, he 'll not leave me; human natur' could n't dothat!”
“Shall I tell you fairly,” said Layton, “that I not only don't like your scheme, but that I think it will not repay you?”
“Well, sir,” said Quackinboss, drawing himself up, “whenever you seemebaitin' a rat-trap, I don't expect you 'll say, 'Colonel, ain't that mean? Ain'tyouashamed of yourself to entice that poor varmint there to his ruin? Why don't you explain to him that if he wants that morsel of fried bacon, it will cost him pretty dear?'”
“You forget that you're begging the question. You're assuming, all this time, that this man is a rogue and a cheat.”
“I am, sir,” said he, firmly, “for it's not at this time o' day Shaver Quackinboss has to learn life. All the pepperin' and lemon-squeezin' in the world won't make a toad taste like a terrapin: that crittur's gold chains don't impose uponme!You remember that he was n't aboard four-and-twenty hours when I said, 'That sheep's mangy.'”
“Perhaps I like your plan the less because it separates us,” said Layton, who now perceived that the Colonel seemed to smart under anything that reflected on his acuteness.
“That's jest what galls me too,” said he, frankly. “It's been all sunshine in my life, since we 've been together. All the book-learnin' you 've got has stolen into your nature so gradually as to make part of yourself, but what you tell me comes like soft rain over a dry prairie, and changing the parched soil into something that seems to say, 'I 'm not so barren, after all, if I only got my turn from fortune.' You 've shown me one thing, that I often had a glimmerin' of, but never saw clearly till you pointed it out, that the wisest men that ever lived felt more distrust of themselves than of their fellows. But we only part for a while, Layton. In less than a month we 'll meet again, and I hope to have good news for you by that time.”
“Where are we to rendezvous, then?” asked Layton, for he saw how fruitless would be the attempt at further opposition.
“I'll have the map out this evening, and we 'll fix it,” said the Colonel. “And now leave me to smoke, and think over what's afore us. There's great thoughts in that bit of twisted 'bacco there, if I only have the wit to trace 'em. Every man that has had to use his head in life finds out by the time he's forty what helps him to his best notions. Bonaparte used to get into a bath to think, Arkwright went to bed, and my father, Methuselah Grip Quackinboss, said he never was so bright as standing up to his neck in the mill-race, with the light spray of the wheel comin' in showers over him. 'I feel,' says he, 'as if I was one-half Lord Bacon and the other John C. Colhoun.' Now my brain-polisher is a long Cuban, a shady tree, and a look-out seaward,—all the better if the only sails in sight be far away.”
After a great deal of discussion it was agreed between Layton and the Colonel that they should meet that day month at St. Louis. Layton was to employ the interval in seeing as much as he could of the country and the people, and preparing himself to appear before them at the first favorable opportunity. Indeed, though he did not confess it, he yielded to the separation the more willingly, because it offered him the occasion of putting into execution a plan he for some time had been ruminating over. In some measure from a natural diffidence, and in a great degree from a morbid dread of disappointing the high expectations Quackinboss had formed of the success he was to obtain, Layton had long felt that the presence of his friend would be almost certain to insure his failure. He could neither venture to essay the same flights before him, nor could he, if need were, support any coldness or disinclination of his audience were Quackinboss there to witness it. In fact, he wanted to disassociate his friend from any pain failure should occasion, and bear all alone the sorrows of defeat.
Besides this, he felt that, however personally painful the ordeal, he was bound to face it. He had accepted Quackinboss's assistance under the distinct pledge that he was to try this career. In its success was he to find the means of repaying his friend; and so confidently had the Colonel always talked of that success, it would seem mere wilfulness not to attempt it.
There is not, perhaps, a more painful position in life than to be obliged to essay a career to which all one's thoughts and instincts are opposed; to do something against which self-respect revolts, and yet meet no sympathy from others,—to be conscious that any backwardness will be construed into self-indulgence, and disinclination be set down as indolence. Now this was Alfred Layton's case. He must either risk a signal failure, or consent to be thought of as one who would rather be a burden to his friends than make an honorable effort for his own support. He was already heavily in the Colonel's debt; the thought of this weighed upon him almost insupportably. It never quitted him for an instant; and, worse than all, it obtruded through every effort he made to acquit himself of the obligation; and only they who have experienced it can know what pain brain labor becomes when it is followed amidst the cares and anxieties of precarious existence; when the student tries in vain to concentrate thoughts thatwillstray away to the miserable exigencies of his lot, or struggle hopelessly to forget himself and his condition in the interest of bygone events or unreal incidents. Let none begrudge him the few flitting moments of triumph he may win, for he has earned them by many a long hour of hardship!
The sense of his utter loneliness, often depressing and dispiriting, was now a sort of comfort to him. Looking to nothing but defeat, he was glad that there was none to share in his sorrows. Of all the world, he thought poor Clara alone would pity him. Her lot was like his own,—the same friendlessness, the self-same difficulty. Why should he not have her sympathy? She would give it freely and with her whole heart. It was but to tell her, “I am far away and unhappy. I chafe under dependence, and I know not how to assert my freedom. I would do something, and yet I know not what it is to be. I distrust myself, and yet there are times when I feel that one spoken word would give such courage to my heart that I could go on and hope.” Could she speak that word to him? was his ever present thought. He resolved to try, and accordingly wrote her a long, long letter. Full of the selfishness of one who loved, he told her the whole story of his journey, and the plan that led to it. “I have patience enough for slow toil,” said he, “but I do not seek for the success it brings. I wanted the quick prosperity that one great effort might secure, and time afterwards to enjoy the humble fortune thus acquired. With merely enough for life, Clara, I meant to ask you to share it. Who are as friendlessly alone as we are? Who are so bereft of what is called home? Say, have you a heart to give me,—when I can claim it,—and will you give it? I am low and wretched because I feel unloved. Tell me this is not so, and in the goal before me hope and energy will come back to me.” Broken and scarce coherent at times, his letter revealed one who loved her ardently, and who wanted but her pledge to feel himself happy. He pressed eagerly to know of her own life,—what it was, and whether she was contented. Had she learned anything of the mystery that surrounded her family, or could she give him the slightest clew by which he could aid her in the search? He entreated of her to write to him, even though her letter should not be the confirmation of all he wished and prayed for.
The very fact of his having written this to Clara seemed to rally his spirits. It was at least a pledge to his own heart. He had placed a goal before him, and a hope.
“I am glad to see you look cheerier,” said Quackinboss, as they sat talking over their plans. “The hardest load a man ever carried is a heavy heart, and it's as true as my name's Shaver, that one gets into the habit of repinin' and seein' all things black jest as one falls into any other evil habit. Old Grip Quackinboss said, one day, to Mr. Jefferson, 'Yes, sir,' says he, 'always hearty, sir,—always cheery. There 's an old lady as sweeps the crossin' in our street, and I give her a quarter-dollar to fret for me, for it's a thing I've sworn never to do for myself.'”
“Well,” said Layton, gayly, “you 'll see I 've turned over a new leaf; and whatever other thoughts you shall find in me, causeless depression shall not be of the number.”
“All right, sir; that's my own platform. Now here's your instructions, for I 'm a-goin'. I start at seven-forty, by the cars for Buffalo. That spot down there is our meetin'-place,—St. Louis. It looks mighty insignificant on the map, there; but you 'll see it's a thrivin' location, and plenty of business in it. You 'll take your own time about being there, only be sure to arrive by this day month; and if I be the man I think myself, I 'll have news to tell you when you come. This crittur, Trover, knows all about that widow Morris, and the girl, too,—that Clara,—you was so fond of. If I have to tie him up to a tree, sir, I 'll have it out of him! There 's five hundred dollars in that bag. You 'll not need all of it, belike, if you keep clear of 'Poker' and Bully-brag; and I advise you to, sir,—I do,” said he, gravely. “It takes a man to know life, to guess some of the sharp 'uns in our river steamers. There's no other dangers to warn you of here, sir. Don't be riled about trifles, and you 'll find yourself very soon at home with us.”
These were his last words of counsel as he shook Layton's hand at parting. It was with a sad sense of loneliness Layton sat by his window after Quackinboss had gone. For many a month back he had had no other friend or companion: ever present to counsel, console, or direct him, the honest Yankee was still more ready with his purse than his precepts. Often as they had differed in their opinions, not a hasty word or disparaging sentiment had ever disturbed their intercourse; and even the Colonel's most susceptible spot—that which touched upon national characteristics—never was even casually wounded in the converse. In fact, each had learned to see with how very little forbearance in matters of no moment, and with how slight an exercise of deference for differences of object and situation, English and American could live together like brothers.
There was but one thought which embittered the relations between them, in Layton's estimation. It was the sense of that dependence which destroyed equality. He was satisfied to be deeply the debtor of his friend, but he could not struggle between what he felt to be a fitting gratitude, and that resolute determination to assert what he believed to be true at any cost. He suspected, too,—and the suspicion was a very painful one,—that the Colonel deemed him indolent and self-indulgent. The continued reluctance he had evinced to adventure on the scheme for which they came so far, favored this impression.
As day after day he travelled along, one thought alone occupied him. At each place he stopped came the questions, Will this suit? Is this the spot I am in search of? It was strange to mark by what slight and casual events his mind was influenced. The slightest accident that ruffled him as he arrived, an insignificant inconvenience, a passing word, the look of the place, the people, the very aspect of the weather, were each enough to assure him he had not yet discovered what he sought after. It was towards the close of his fifth day's ramble that he reached the small town of Bunkumville. It was a newly settled place, and, like all such, not over-remarkable for comfort or convenience. The spot had been originally laid out as the centre of certain lines of railroad, and intended to have been a place of consequence; but the engineers who had planned it had somehow incurred disgrace, the project was abandoned, and instead of a commercial town, rich, populous, and flourishing, it now presented the aspect of a spot hastily deserted, and left to linger out an existence of decline and neglect. There were marks enough to denote the grand projects which were once entertained for the place,—great areas measured off for squares, spacious streets staked off; here and there massive “blocks” of building; three or four hotels on a scale of vast proportion, and an assembly-room worthy of a second-rate city. With all this, the population was poor-looking and careworn. No stir of trade or business to be met with. A stray bullock-car stole drearily along through the deep-rutted streets, or a traveller significantly armed with rifle and revolver rode by on his own raw-boned horse; but of the sights and sounds of town life and habits there were none. Of the hotels, two were closed; the third was partially occupied as a barrack, by a party of cavalry despatched to repress some Indian outrages on the frontier. Even the soldiers had contracted some of the wild, out-of-the-world look of the place, and wore their belts over buckskin jackets, that smacked more of the prairie than the parade. The public conveyance which brought Layton to the spot only stopped long enough to bait the horses and refresh the travellers; and it was to the no small surprise of the driver that he saw the “Britisher” ask for his portmanteau, with the intention of halting there. “Well, you ain't a-goin' to injure your constitution with gayety and late hours, stranger,” said he, as he saw him descend; “that's a fact.”
Nor was the sentiment one that Layton could dispute, as, still standing beside his luggage in the open street, he watched the stage till it disappeared in the distant pine forest. Two or three lounging, lazy-looking inhabitants had, meanwhile, come up, and stood looking with curiosity at the new arrival.
“You ain't a valuator, are you?” asked one, after a long and careful inspection of him.
“No,” said Layton, dryly.
“You 're a-lookin' for a saw-mill, I expect,” said another, with a keen glance as he spoke.
“Nor that, either,” was the answer.
“I have it,” broke in a third; “you 've got 'notions' in that box, there, but it won't do down here; we 've got too much bark to hew off before we come to such fixin's.”
“I suspect you are not nearer the mark than your friends, sir,” said Layton, still repressing the slightest show of impatience.
“What'll you lay, stranger, I don't hit it?” cried a tall, thin, bold-looking fellow, with long hair falling over his neck. “You're a preacher, ain't you? You're from the New England States, I 'll be bound. Say I 'm right, sir, for you know I am.”
“I must give it against you, sir, also,” said Layton, preserving his gravity with an effort that was not without difficulty. “I do not follow any one of the avocations you mention; but, in return for your five questions, may I make bold to ask one? Which is the hotel here?”
“It's yonder,” said the tall man, pointing to a large house, handsomely pillared, and overgrown with the luxuriant foliage of the red acanthus; “there it is. That's the Temple of Epicurus, as you see it a-written up. You ain't for speculatin' in that sort, are you?”
“No,” said Layton, quietly; “I was merely asking for a house of entertainment.”
“You 're a Britisher, I reckon,” said one of the former speakers; “that 's one oftheirwords for meat and drink.”
Without waiting for any further discussion of himself, his country, or his projects, Layton walked towards the hotel. From the two upper tiers of windows certain portions of military attire, hung out to air or to dry, undeniably announced a soldierly occupation; cross-belts, overalls, and great-coats hung gracefully suspended on all sides. Lower down, there was little evidence of habitation; most of the windows were closely shuttered, and through such as were open Layton saw large and lofty rooms, totally destitute of furniture and in part unfinished. The hall-door opened upon a spacious apartment, at one side of which a bar had been projected, but the plan had gone no further than a long counter and some shelves, on which now a few bottles stood in company with three or four brass candlesticks, a plaster bust, wanting a nose, and some cooking-utensils. On the counter itself was stretched at full length, and fast asleep, a short, somewhat robust man, in shirt and trousers, his deep snoring awaking a sort of moaning echo in the vaulted room. Not exactly choosing to disturb his slumbers, if avoidable, Layton pushed his explorations a little further; but though he found a number of rooms, all open, they were alike empty and unfinished, nor was there a creature to be met with throughout. There was, then, nothing for it but to awaken the sleeper, which he proceeded to, at first by gentle, but, as these failed, by more vigorous means.
“Don't! I say,” growled out the man, without opening his eyes, but seeming bent on continuing his sleep; “I 'll not have it; let me be,—that's all.”
“Are you the landlord of this hotel?” said Layton, with a stout shake by the shoulder.
“Well, then, here's for it, if you will!” cried the other, springing up, and throwing himself in an instant into a boxing attitude, while his eyes glared with a vivid wildness, and his whole face denoted passion.
“I came here for food and lodging, and not for a boxing-match, my friend,” said Layton, mildly.
“And who said I was your friend?” said the other, fiercely: “who toldyouthat we was raised in the same diggins? and what do you mean, sir, by disturbin' a gentleman in his bed?”
“You'll scarcely call that bench a bed, I think?” said Layton, in an accent meant to deprecate all warmth.
“And why not, sir? If you choose to dress yourself like a checker-board, I 'm not going to dispute whether you have a coat on. It'smybed, and I like it. And now what next?”
“I 'm very sorry to have disturbed you; and if you can only tell me if there be any other hotel in this place—”
“There ain't; and there never will be, that's more. Elsmore's is shut up; Chute Melchin 's a-blown his brains out; and so wouldyouif you 'd have come here. Don't laugh, or by the everlastin' rattlesnake, I 'll bowie you!”