Chapter IX: Part 9

The three couples were aghast at the coolness and effrontery of Mr. Smith. Mr. Adolphus Pipkin felt outraged, and stepped forward to remonstrate, suggesting to the new lord of the Hopkins place that the head of the hall had been reserved for Mr. Lumpkin and the accomplished Miss Pipkin.

“When _he_ comes, _I_ will go,” replied Mr. Smith, quietly.

“How rude!” exclaimed Miss Punkinton.

“What horrible impoliteness!” added Miss Pilkinton.

“Brought up in the woods,” suggested Miss Smythson.

“I declare he smells of the cow yard,” sneered Miss Punkinton.

“Will you abandon your position?” asked Mr. Pipkin, fiercely.

“No sir,” replied Smith, calmly.

“On with the dance!” shouted Joe Maple.

And on it went, for the leader of the band, knowing who his strongest friends were, started the music.

“Sir, you are no gentleman,” continued Mr. Pipkin.

“First couple, lead up to the right!” shouted the caller.

Mr. Smith and Lizzie, being the first couple, _led_ up to the right, and in doing so, had nearly borne the enraged Mr. Pipkin under their feet.

“_Balancez!_”

“I demand satisfaction, sir.”

“_Chassez_ to the right!”

Mr. Smith danced furiously; but the rest of the set, horrified at the idea of dancing with such company as the owner of the Hopkins place and Lizzie Lee, abandoned their positions. Joe Maple instantly filled them again, and things went on as merrily as a marriage bell.

Squire Rogers was repeatedly importuned for information in regard to the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin, whose consistency seemed quite as prominent as it had ever been before. The squire assured them he would come--that it was only ten o’clock, and genteel folks never appeared till a late hour.

The Hon. Mr. Lumpkin _did_ come at last.

_CHAPTER IV._

But when he came, the proprietor of the Pelatiah Hopkins place incontinently _vamosed_.

“Rogers,” said Mr. Smith, “_Lumpkin is come_.”

“High time,” replied Rogers.

“Please announce the fact.”

“There will be a tempest; hadn’t we better have the smelling salts handy?”

“Ay, cod-liver oil would do as well; there is a smell of codfish in this vicinity.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Squire Rogers to the little knot of uppercrusts that occupied the head of the hall, “I have the honor of informing you that the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin has come.”

This announcement produced a very decided sensation. Miss Araminta Pipkin heaved a deep sigh, and almost fainted in anticipation of the presentation.

“Where is he?” asked Mr. Adolphus Pipkin, glancing eagerly around the room.

“The illustrious gentleman is close at hand.”

“Band, play the grand march.”

The band struck up “Hail Columbia.”

Mr. Smith, exhibiting a most wonderful command of himself, while every body else was excited by the event about to transpire, stood by the side of Lizzie Lee, engaged in a familiar conversation. Joe Maple, in view of the very marked attentions of Mr. Smith to his intended, had begun to grow a little jealous, and half regretted that he had been so polite to the owner of the Hopkins place.

“Mr. Lumpkin,” said Rogers, breaking in upon the pleasant conference, “the company wait your presence.”

“Hey, squire! this is Mr. Smith,” said Maple.

“The Hon. Mr. Lumpkin,” continued Rogers.

“You will pardon the little trick I have played upon you,” said Mr. Smith; “my name is Lumpkin, M. C.”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Joe Maple.

“Just so.”

“And I’ve been talking to you just as though you was a common man.”

“So I am.”

“Ain’t you one of them ’ere Congress fellers?”

“Certainly, but one of the people; and, between you and I and the barn, as we say out west, I am no friend of such folks as these over here;” and Mr. Lumpkin pointed significantly to the _élite_ of Tiptop.

“You are a brick, squire!” and Joe hawhawed with right good will; “but I suppose we shan’t see you again to-night, if you are going over there?”

“Yes; Miss Lee, I claim your hand for the next dance, according to your promise.”

“I shall be almost afraid to dance with you now,” simpered Lizzie.

“Hush, Liz! talk up to him,” whispered Joe; “a Congress chap ain’t any better than any body else.”

“Mr. Lumpkin, your admirers will become impatient,” suggested Squire Rogers, with an ironical smile.

“Excuse me for a few moments, Miss Lee;” and Mr. Lumpkin, taking the arm of the squire, walked towards the head of the hall.

Joe Maple, whose keen relish for “some sport” did not permit him to remain in the background, followed in their wake.

“Miss Pipkin, the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin,” said Squire Rogers.

The amiable lady raised her eyes, which had been fixed in maidenly coyness upon the floor, and beheld the abominable Mr. Smith, the abhorred owner of the Pelatiah Hopkins place!

“Why--I--yes--I declare--I have met--you before, this evening,” stammered the leader of the female _ton_.

“Should rather think you had!” roared Joe Maple, who has since declared that he thought “he should ha’ died a larfin’.”

“We have; I had the honor of being refused the pleasure of your hand at the first dance,” said Mr. Lumpkin, with a full display of congressional dignity.

“Mr. Pipkin, the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin, M. C., from the west,” continued Squire Rogers, who, notwithstanding he felt a little nervous on account of the seat in the legislature, was in very tolerable spirits, and heartily enjoyed the discomfiture of the “codfish” party.

“Happy to know you, Mr. Pipkin. You demanded satisfaction of me in the early part of the evening; should be happy to afford it.”

“You will pardon me, sir; there was some mistake; I would not of course have spoken in that manner to a member of Congress.”

Mr. Lumpkin, not being above the infirmities of human nature, sneered rather rudely at the Tiptop exquisite, as much as to say, “You ought to treat every body well, whether they are public or private individuals.”

The master of ceremonies discharged the duties of his office with punctilious formality. It seemed to the sufferers that he was unnecessarily minute in his presentation ceremonial, permitting the distinguished gentleman to make a home thrust at each one of the persons who had been so rude to Mr. Smith.

The introductions were happily concluded, and a more chopfallen set than the _élite_ of Tiptop never gathered together in the same hall.

Miss Pipkin was in an agony. She had actually turned up her nose to a member of Congress. Of course she could no longer hope to make a conquest of his heart; the vision of being a distinguished lady melted quite away.

But then “it is an ill wind that blows no one any good.” If Miss Pipkin could not have a member of Congress, she at least had the consolation of saying that she had refused the hand of the Hon. Mr. Lumpkin, which, to a lady of her peculiar turn of mind, was an immense satisfaction.

Mr. Lumpkin returned to the side of Lizzie Lee, who, maugre her coyness, was tolerably sociable. Joe Maple, from the abundance of his good nature, vowed he might dance with her just as many times as he pleased.

About eleven o’clock, Miss Pipkin suggested to her brother that the delicate state of her health would not permit her to endure the excitement of the dance any longer, and when the leader of the _ton_ left, the followers went after her.

But the common folks “staid it out,” and Mr. Lumpkin confessed that he enjoyed the ball very much indeed; for, true to his duty as a public man, it had enabled him to administer a suitable reproof to the pretensions of the Tiptopites.

Joe Maple and Lizzie Lee--since Mrs. Maple--have not yet forgotten the part they acted, and perhaps they may be pardoned for a slight display of vanity, as they relate the particulars of _The Grand Reception Ball_.

MARRYING A BEGGAR.

_CHAPTER I._

“So much for bringing poor relations into the house! I really believe that Charles has fallen in love with the girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Mason to her husband, a merchant in moderate circumstances in the city of Boston.

“Well, suppose he has; she is a good girl, is she not?” quickly responded the merchant.

“I don’t know but that she is good enough; but she is a pauper!”

“Not exactly a pauper, Mrs. Mason.”

“Didn’t we take her into the family to keep her from starving?”

“I did not so understand it. You needed a young woman to assist you in sewing, and employed her at half the usual wages.”

“Yes, and isn’t she a pauper for all that?”

“Gently, Mrs. Mason: you forget that she is my sister’s daughter,” said the merchant, a little sternly.

“What if she is? She is a penniless girl for all that. A pretty match for _our_ son!”

“And why not for our son? I am not a _millionnaire_. If the times don’t come easier than they have been, I shall fail before the year is out.”

“So much the more reason why Charles should look out for himself.”

“If he loves my niece, I sincerely hope he will marry her, for I believe she is one of the best girls in the world; certainly she is vastly superior to the silly, affected, mincing, novel-reading misses of fashionable society. I commend his taste and his judgment.”

“Well, Mr. Mason, I _am_ surprised!”

“Not the least occasion to be surprised.”

“Let me tell you, Mr. Mason, that I never will consent to see Charles throw himself away on a pauper. If you haven’t the spirit to prevent so disgraceful a match, I shall send the girl away.”

“Don’t you do it, madam,” said Mr. Mason, in a firm, decided tone.

“I _shall_ do it!” replied the lady, waxing warm at the obstinacy of her husband, who in trivial matters, was in the habit of letting her have her own way.

“Better not,” quietly responded the gentleman.

“The minx put on such airs and smirked so, that I really believe she meant to catch him.”

“What, Grace? Impossible! She is a little gentle, quiet thing, and I am sure the idea of a flirtation never entered her simple head.”

“Humph!” sneered the lady. “I know better. And now that he is really making love to her, the provoking jade seems to look upon it as a matter of course; thinks it just as much a proper thing that she should be the wife of our Charles, as though she had been born a princess!”

“Poor thing! I suppose she is human, and actually loves the boy!”

“Loves him or not, I’ll make an end of it.”

“Don’t be rash, Mrs. Mason,” replied the husband, twirling in his fingers a buff envelope, marked “Telegraph.”

“What have you got there?”

“I had almost forgot to mention that brother Joseph had arrived in New York, and telegraphs that he shall be here to-night by the New Haven train.”

“Just like you! Never tell of a thing till the last moment!” said the lady, petulantly.

“I received the despatch only two hours ago.”

“Here is another kettle of fish,” continued the lady, musing. “That everlasting niece of yours is in the way again.”

“I hope the poor girl has no more sins to answer for.”

“Where do you suppose your brother Joseph will leave his property?”

“I have not the remotest idea.”

“Don’t you suppose that angelic niece of yours will wheedle him out of a part of it?”

“I hope so.”

“You don’t want he should leave it all in your family, then?” sneered the lady.

“No, I hope he will do justly.”

“I wish I could get her out of the way before he comes.”

“Don’t attempt it, Mrs. Mason,” said the merchant, with very decided emphasis.

“If she were only out of the way, Henrietta would come in for the whole,” added the lady, as she hurried out of the room to make arrangements for the reception of uncle Joseph.

_CHAPTER II._

Uncle Joseph was a Calcutta merchant, in which capacity he had accumulated an immense fortune. Being a bachelor, the probable disposition of his property became a question of considerable interest among his relations.

The family of Mr. Mason, the merchant introduced in the last chapter, included but two children, a son and a daughter.

Grace was the only daughter of a sister, recently deceased, who had been for many years a widow.

It was supposed that uncle Joseph would make one of his nieces his heiress. This was the old fellow’s whim, and no one could gainsay the whim of a bachelor. From some indications of preference which he had bestowed upon Henrietta in her childhood, it was generally believed that she would prove to be the fortunate one.

Henrietta had been educated to be a lady. Her delicate fingers were never soiled by rude collision with pots and kettles, and she had been taught to believe that it was delicate sensibility to be afraid of a spider or a bullfrog. She played the piano with passable skill, and lingered away half her time at full length on the sofa, poring over the contents of a novel.

Such was the prospective heiress of uncle Joseph’s large fortune. Her father was far from approving the education she had received, and had used all the influence he possessed, short of quarreling, to have these defects remedied.

Uncle Joseph came, and was welcomed as became the dignity of one who had a fortune to bestow.

Henrietta thought he was a “dear love” of a man, and she wondered that the ladies ever let him remain a bachelor.

Grace, by the contrivance of Mrs. Mason, was not present when her uncle arrived; but Mr. Mason, understanding the trick, sought her in person, and introduced her to the man of money.

The poor girl was too modest and retiring to force herself upon the notice of uncle Joseph, who was too deeply absorbed by the unremitting attentions of Henrietta to perceive her situation, or discover the mental capacity in which she acted.

At tea, uncle Joseph complained of being ill, and said that he had not been well since he landed on the previous day.

Mrs. Mason and her daughter were all sympathy. The ailing bachelor was conducted to his apartment, and herb teas and jugs of hot water were put in requisition. Henrietta volunteered to sit all night by his bedside and minister to his wants; but the sick man did not deem it necessary.

During all this confusion, Grace was not to be seen. She was not permitted to assist in the preparations for the sick man’s comfort; everything must be done by Henrietta’s own hand.

Notwithstanding the kind attentions lavished upon uncle Joseph, there was no improvement in his condition; but on the contrary, he rapidly grew worse, and at midnight the physician was sent for. Henrietta had not left the bedside for a moment. She was the most devoted creature in the world, and the bachelor could not but contrast her devotion with the utter neglect of Grace, who had not once entered his room, even to inquire how he did. Henrietta’s prospects were decidedly brilliant.

The physician came, and after feeling the pulse of the sufferer, inquired where he resided when at home.

Uncle Joseph replied that he had no home--had just come from Calcutta.

“I see,” said the physician. “Was there any sickness on board the ship?”

“There was. I came by the overland route to Liverpool, thence by a New York liner. There was a steerage full of emigrants on board, among whom the fever raged fearfully.”

“Just so,” returned the physician, “and you have got the ship fever.”

“The ship fever!” exclaimed Henrietta, rushing out of the room.

The sick man turned, and witnessed her abrupt departure. With a sigh, such as can only be wrung from a bachelor conscious of his loneliness, he drew the bedclothes closely around him, and apparently abandoned himself to the fate which the dreadful disease seemed to foreshadow.

The physician made up his prescription and retired. No one was left with uncle Joseph but his brother.

“I am deserted, brother,” said the sick man.

“No, brother, I am here.”

“But there is no hand of woman here; well, it is a dreadful disease,” and the sufferer sighed again.

Mr. Mason went down to the sitting room, whither his wife and daughter had fled.

“How is this, wife? Is Joseph to be abandoned now that he most needs attention?” asked he of Mrs. Mason.

“You don’t think we are going to stay in the same room with the ship fever?” replied Mrs. Mason.

“You may as well be in the room as in the house.”

“We must leave the house immediately. Why did he not go to the hospital? It was not very considerate of him to bring the ship fever into the family. He might have known that he had it.”

“Heaven forgive your heartlessness! But is my brother to die with no one to care for him?” exclaimed Mr. Mason, indignantly.

“You must hire a nurse.”

“And you will desert him?”

“We can’t stay where the ship fever is.”

“No, papa, it would be suicidal,” added Henrietta. “His fortune would do us no good if we caught the fever.”

“Go, then! but there is still one in the house who has a heart,” replied Mr. Mason, as he left the room to seek the apartment of Grace.

Grace was ready in a moment to attend her uncle to the sick room, where, regardless of the danger of contagion, she laved the burning brow of the sufferer, and did all that an angel hand could do to render him comfortable.

Early in the morning, Mrs. Mason and her daughter departed for the residence of a friend in the country.

_CHAPTER III._

For several weeks Grace, with such assistance as Mr. Mason and Charles could give, nursed the invalid with the most untiring devotion. All her time was spent by his bedside. She was all gentleness and sympathy, bearing patiently with his petulance and ill humor, and never betraying the slightest appearance of anger when he scolded and even swore at her.

The fever turned, and he began to mend. He was now out of danger, and rapidly advancing to complete restoration.

The physician commended the skill and devotion of his nurse, assuring him that he owed his life to her.

But the devotion of the poor girl cost her dearly; for scarcely had uncle Joseph recovered before she was taken down with the fever, and for weeks languished on the very verge of the grave.

Yet there was no female hand to lave her brow save that of a hired nurse. Charles Mason loved her as he did his own existence, and day and night he watched over her with a constancy and a devotion worthy the loving heart of the gentler sex.

Uncle Joseph, too, was an anxious watcher round her bed. Though he was a bachelor, and had spent the greater part of his life in India, away from the gentle influences of female society, he showed an aptness in the sick room that would have done honor to a Benedict.

To the intense relief of her devoted friend, Grace recovered. The disease was now banished from the house, and Mrs. Mason and Henrietta ventured to return.

“I trust you have had a pleasant visit, madam,” said uncle Joseph, coldly.

“Pleasant! nay, far from it. You do us injustice; we were perfectly miserable on account of your dangerous illness.”

“Humph!” said uncle Joseph, with a sneer.

The love between Charles and Grace, strengthened by the scenes of suffering through which they had passed, was now an unalterable sentiment. Of course, uncle Joseph had not witnessed their mutual devotion to him in his illness, without suspecting the existence of some strong bond of union between them. And the young man’s untiring attention to her in her own sickness had confirmed the opinion.

Seeking a favorable opportunity, he conversed with Charles upon the subject, who readily admitted his affection. The bachelor recommended an immediate marriage.

The step was not, of course, ungrateful to the feelings of the lover. And the desire to redeem Grace from the life of drudgery to which she was reduced by the heartlessness of his mother, seemed to demand their immediate union.

The young man’s intentions were soon noised through the family. Mrs. Mason renewed the opposition she had before made, and even went so far as to threaten that, if she could not break up the match, she would imbitter the lives of the parties.

Uncle Joseph remonstrated.

“May I ask, madam, what objection you can possibly have to the marriage?” said he, with considerable sternness in his manner.

“What objection! why, the girl is a beggar; I have employed her in my family to keep her out of the almshouse, which, I think, is objection enough,” replied Mrs. Mason, disliking the interference of uncle Joseph.

“Your son, I think, is not wealthy, so that he need not _demand_ a rich wife.”

“He need not marry a beggar, though.”

“She is worthy a prince, beggar though she is.”

“O, very likely,” sneered the lady.

“I owe my life to her, and I can never cease to be grateful to her. When _others_ forsook me, _she_ was constant,” replied uncle Joseph, pointedly.

“She knew you were rich,” said Mrs. Mason, sarcastically.

“So did you and your amiable daughter. You were like angels round my pillow till the doctor said ‘ship fever,’ when you fled like two frightened sheep.”

The lady looked as black as a thunder cloud.

“I trust you will withdraw your objections to this marriage, Mrs. Mason. You perceive that Charles is resolute, and will have his own way about it,” continued uncle Joseph, in a more pliable tone.

“His _own_ way! All this for bad advising! I cannot prevent it, perhaps; but I will never consent to it. No! a son of mine shall never have my consent to marry a beggar girl.”

“Madam, she is no longer a beggar. She is the heiress of all my fortune,” said uncle Joseph, with sudden energy.

Mrs. Mason’s brow contracted.

“And Henrietta?” said she.

“Never touches a penny! She deserted me when I most needed a friend,” replied the bachelor, vehemently. “If I had ten thousand fortunes, they would be but a poor return for all that Grace has done for me. I make over fifty thousand dollars to the newly-married couple as soon as the knot is tied; the residue at my decease.”

The marriage took place soon after. The ceremony was performed at the house of Mr. Mason, in spite of the opposition of his wife; for when the merchant said it should be so, he had the firmness to carry his point.

The newly-married couple took up their residence in a beautiful house, purchased for them by uncle Joseph, who consented to make his home with them.

Henrietta is now five-and-thirty years of age, and an “old maid.” Mrs. Mason still continues to be a termagant, though her husband maintains his integrity with firmness and decision. She has never forgiven uncle Joseph for making Grace the heiress, and probably never will. But the worthy bachelor never ceases to rejoice over the disposition he has made of his property, and probably _he_ never will.

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Transcriber’s Notes

• Italics represented with _underscores_.

• Small Caps converted to ALL CAPS.

• Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.

• Archaic spelling kept as in the original.

• Illustrations relocated close to relevant material.