Ruth Hall, by "Fanny Fern" (NY: Mason Brothers, 1854)
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CHAPTER XLVII.
"Well, I never!" said Biddy, bursting into Ruth's room in her usual thunder-clap way, and seating herself on the edge of a chair, as she polished her face with the skirt of her dress. "As sure as my name is Biddy, I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. Well, I 've been expecting it. Folks that have ears can't help hearing when folks quarrel."
"What are you talking about?" said Ruth. "Who has quarrelled? It is nothing that concerns me."
"Don't it though?" replied Biddy. "I 'm thinking it will concern ye to pack up bag and baggage, and be off out of the house; for that 's what we are all coming to, and all for Mrs. Skiddy. You see it 's just here, ma'am. Masther has been threatnin' for a long time to go to Californy, where the gould is as plenty as blackberries. Well, misthress tould him, if ever he said the like o' that again, he 'd rue it; and you know, ma'am, it 's she that
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has a temper. Well, yesterday I heard high words again; and, sure enough, after dinner to-day, she went off, taking Sammy and Johnny, and laving the bit nursing baby on his hands, and the boarders and all. And it 's Biddy McFlanigan who 'll be off, ma'am, and not be made a pack-horse of, to tend that teething child, and be here, and there, and everywhere in a minute. And so I come to bid you good-bye."
"But, Biddy--"
"Don't be afther keeping me, ma'am; Pat has shouldhered me trunk, and ye see I can't be staying when things is as they is."
The incessant cries of Mrs. Skiddy's bereaved baby soon bore ample testimony to the truth of Biddy's narration, appealing to Ruth's motherly sympathies so vehemently, that she left her room and went downt o offer her assistance.
There sat Mr. John Skiddy, the forlorn widower, trotting a seven months' baby on the sharp apex of his knee, alternately singing, whistling, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead, while the little Skiddy threw up its arms in the most frantic way, and held its breath with rage, at the awkward attempts of its dry nurse to restore peace to the family.
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"Let me sweeten a little cream and water and feed that child for you, Mr. Skiddy," said Ruth. "I think he is hungry."
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hall," said Skiddy, with a man's determined aversion to owning 'checkmated.' "I am getting along famously with the little darling. Papa will feed him, so he will," said Skiddy; and, turning the maddened baby flat on his back, he poured down a whole tea-spoonful of the liquid at once; the natural consequence of which was a milky jet d'eau on his face, neckcloth, and vest, from the irritated baby, who resented the insult with all his mother's spirit.
Ruth adroitly looked out the window, while Mr. Skiddy wiped his face and sopped his neckcloth, after which she busied herself in picking up the ladles, spoons, forks, dredging-boxes, mortars, pestles, and other culinary implements, with which the floor was strewn, in the vain attempt to propitiate the distracted infant.
"I think I will spare the little dear to you a few minutes," said Skiddy, with a ghastly attempt at a smile, "while I run over to the bakery to get a loaf for tea. Mrs. Skiddy has probably been unexpectedly detained, and Biddy is so afraid of her labor in her absence, that she has taken French leave. I shall be back soon," said Skiddy, turning away in disgust from the looking-glass, as he caught sight of his limpsey dicky and collapsed shirt-bosom.
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Ruth took the poor worried baby tenderly, laid it on its stomach across hr lap, then loosening its frock strings, began rubbing its little fat shoulders with her velvet palm. There was a maternal magnetism in that touch; baby knew it! he stopped crying and winked his swollen eyelids with the most luxurious satisfaction, as much as to say, there, now, that 's something like!
Gently Ruth drew first one, then the other, of the magnetized baby's chubby arms from its frock sleeves, substituting a comfortable loose night-dress for the tight and heated frock; then she carefully drew off its shoe, admiring the while the beauty of the little blue veined, dimpled foot, while Katy, hush as any mouse[,] looked on delightedly from her little cricket on the hearth, and Nettie, less philosophical, was more than half inclined to cry at what she considered an infringement of her rights.
Mr. Skiddy's reflections as he walked to the bakery were of a motley character. Upon the whole, he inclined to the opinion that it was "not good for man to be alone," especially with a nursing baby. The premeditated and unmixed malice of Mrs. Skiddy in leaving the baby, instead of Sammy or Johnny, was beyond question. Still, he could not believe that her desire for revenge would outweigh all her maternal feelings. She would return by-and-by; but where could she have gone? People cannot travel with an empty purse; but, perhaps
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even now, at some tantalizing point of contiguity, she was laughing at the success of her nefarious scheme; and Mr. Skiddy's face reddened at the thought, and his arms instinctively took an a-kimbo attitude.
But then, perhaps, she never meant to come back. What was he to do with that baby? A wet-nurse would cost him six dollars a week; and, as to bringing up little Tommy by hand, city milk would soon finish him. And, to do Mr. Skiddy justice, though no Socrates, he was a good father to his children.
And now it was nearly dark. Was he doomed to sit up all night, tired as he was, with Tommy in one hand, and a spoon and pewter porringer in the other? Or, worse still, walk the floor in white array, till his joints, candle, and patience gave out? Then, there were the boarders to be seen to! He never realized before how many irons Mrs. Skiddy had daily in the fire. There was Mr. Thompson, and Mrs. Johnson, on the first floor, (and his face grew hot as he thought of it,) had seen him in the kitchen looking so Miss-Nancy-like, as he superintended pots, kettles, and stews. Stews? there was not a dry thread on him that minute, although a cold north wind was blowing. Never mind, he was not such a fool as to tell of his little troubles; so he entered the bakery and bought an extra pie, and a loaf of plum-cake, for tea, to hoodwink the boarders into the belief that Mrs.
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Skiddy's presence was not at all necessary to a well-provided table.
Tea went off quite swimmingly, with Mr. John Skiddy at the urn. The baby, thanks to Ruth's maternal management, lay sweetly sleeping in his little wicker cradle, dreaming of a distant land flowing with milk and honey, and looking as if he was destined to a protracted nap; although it was very perceptible that MR. Skiddy looked anxious when a door was shut hard, or a knife or fork dropped on the table; and he had several times been seen to close his teeth tightly over his lip, when a heavy cart rumbled mercilessly past.
Tea being over, the boarders dispersed their various ways; Ruth notifying Mr. Skiddy of her willingness to take the child whenever it became unmanageable. Then Mr. Skiddy, very gingerly, and with a cat-like tread, put away the tea-things, muttering an imprecation at the lid of the tea-pot, as he went, for falling off. Then, drawing the evening paper form his pocket, and unfurling it, (with one eye on the cradle,) he put up his weary legs and commenced reading the news.
Hark! a muffled noise from the cradle! Mr. Skiddy started, and applied his toe vigorously to the rocker--it was no use. He whistled--it did n't suit. He sang--it was a decided failure. Little Skiddy had caught sight of the pretty bright candle, and it was his present intention to scream till he was taken up to investigate it.
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Miserable Skiddy! He recollected, now, alas! too late, that Mrs. Skiddy always carefully screened the light from Tommy's eyes while sleeping. He began to be conscious of a growing respect for Mrs. Skiddy, and a growing aversion to her baby. Yes; in that moment of vexation, with that unread evening paper before him, he actually called it her baby.
How the victimized man worried through the long evening and night--how he tried to propitiate the little tempest with the castor, the salt-cellar, its mother's work-box, and last, but not least, a silver cup he had received for his valor from the Atlantic Fire Company--how the baby, all-of-a-twist, like Dickens' young hero kept asking for "more"--how he laid it on its back, and laid it on its side, and laid it on its stomach, and propped it up on one end in a house made of pillows, and placed the candle at the foot of the bed, in the vain hope that that luminary might be graciously deemed by the infant tyrant a substitute for his individual exertions--and how, regardless of alla these philanthropic efforts, little Skiddy stretched out his arms imploringly, and rooted suggestively at his father's breast, in a way to move a heart of stone--and how Mr. Skiddy said several words not to be found in the catechism--and how the daylight found him as pale as a potato sprout in a cellar, with all sorts of diagonal lines tattoed over his face by enraged little finger
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nails--and how the little horn, that for years had curled up so gracefully toward his nose, was missing from the corner of his moustache--are they not all written in the ambitious Californian's repentant memory?
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CHAPTER XLVIII.
"How sweetly they sleep," said Ruth, shading the small lamp with her hand, and gazing at Katy and Nettie; "God grant their names be not written, widow;" and smoothing back the damp tresses from the brow of each little sleeper, she sat down to the table, and drawing from it a piece of fine work, commenced sewing. "Only fifty-cents for all this ruffling and hemming," said Ruth, as she picked up the wick of her dim lamp; "only fifty cents! and I have labored diligently too, every spare moment, for a fortnight; this will never do," and she glanced at the little bed; "they must be clothed, and fed, and educated. Educated?" an idea struck Ruth; [w]hy could not she teach school? But who would be responsible for the rent of her room? There was fuel to be furnished, and benches; what capital had she to start with? There was Mrs. Millet, to be sure, and her father, who, though they were always saying, "get something to
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do," would never assist her when she tried to do anything; how easy for them to help her to obtain a few scholars, or be responsible for her rent, till she could make a little headway. Ruth resolved, at least, to mention her project to Mrs. Millet, who could then, if she felt inclined, have an opportunity to offer her assistance in this way.
The following Monday, when her washing was finished, Ruth wiped the suds from her parboiled fingers on the kitchen roller, and ascending the stairs, knocked at the door of her cousin's chamber. Mrs. Millet was just putting the finishing touches to the sleeves of a rich silk dress of Leila's, which the mantua-maker had just returned.
"Ho d' ye do, Ruth," said she, in a tone which implied--what on earth do you want now?
"Very well, I thank you," said Ruth, with that sudden sinking at the heart, which even the intonation of a voice may sometimes give; "I can only stay a few minutes; I stopped to ask you, if you thought there was any probability of success, should I attempt to get a private school?"
"There is nothing to prevent your trying," replied Mrs. Millet, carelessly; "other widows have supported themselves; there was Mrs. Snow." Ruth sighed, for she knew that Mrs. Snow's relatives had given her letters of introduction to influential families, and helped her in
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various ways till she could get her head above water. "Yes," continued Mrs. Millet, laying her daughter's silk dress on the bed, and stepping back a pace or two, with her head on one side, to mark the effect of the satin bow she had been arranging; "yes--other widows support themselves, though, I am sure, I don't know how they do it--I suppose there must be a way--Leila! is that bow right? seems to me the dress needs a yard or two more lace; ten dollars will not make much difference; it will be such an improvement."
"Of course not," said Leila, "it will be a very great improvement; and by the way, Ruth, don't you want to sell me that coral pin you used to wear? it would look very pretty with this green dress."
"It was Harry's gift," said Ruth.
"Yes," replied Leila; "but I thought you 'd be very glad to part with it for money."
"A flush passed over Ruth's face. "Not glad, Leila," she replied, "for everything that once belonged to Harry is precious, though I might feel necessitated to part with it, in my present circumstances."
"Well, then," said Mrs. Millet, touching her daughter's elbow, "you 'd better have it, Leila."
"Harry gave ten dollars for it," said Ruth.
"Yes, originally, I dare say," replied Mrs. Millet, "but nobody expects to get much for second-hand things. Leila will give you a dollar and a quarter for it, and she
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would like it soon, because when this north-east storm blows over, she wants to make a few calls on Snyder's relatives, in this very becoming silk dress;" and Mrs. Millet patted Leila on the shoulder.
"Good-by," said Ruth.
"Don't forget the brooch," said Leila.
"I wish Ruth would go off into the country, or somewhere," remarked Leila, as Ruth closed the door. "I have been expecting every day that Snyder would hear of her offering to make caps in that work-shop; he is so fastidious about such things, being connected with the Tidmarshes, and that set, you know."
"Yes," said Leila's elder brother John, a half-fledged young M. D., whose collegiate and medical education enabled him one morning to astound the family breakfast-party with the astute information, "that vinegar was an acid." "Yes, I wish she would take herself off into the country, too. I had as lief see a new doctor's sign put up next door, as to see her face of a Monday, over that wash-tub, in our kitchen. I wonder if she thinks salt an improvement in soap-suds, for the last time I saw her there she was dropping in the tears on her clothes, as she scrubbed, at a showering rate; another thing, mother, I wish you would give her a lesson or two, about those children of hers. The other day I met her Katy in the street with the shabbiest old bonnet on, and the toes of her shoes all rubbed white; and she had the
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impertinence to call me "cousin John," in the hearing of young Gerald, who has just returned from abroad, and who dined with Lord Malden, in Paris. I could have wrung the little wretch's neck."
"It was provoking, John. I 'll speak to her about it," said Mrs. Millet, "when she brings the coral pin."
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CHAPTER XLIX.
Ruth, after a sleepless night of reflection upon her new project, started in the morning in quest of pupils. She had no permission to refer either to her father, or to Mrs. Millet; and such being the case, the very fact of her requesting this favor of any one less nearly related, would be, of itself, sufficient to cast suspicion upon her. Some of the ladies upon whom she called were "out," some "engaged," some "indisposed," and all indifferent; besides, people are not apt to intrust their children with a person of whom they know nothing; Ruth keenly felt this disadvantage.
One lady on whom she called, "never sent her children where the teacher's own children were taught;" another preferred foreign teachers, "it was something to say that Alfred and Alfrida were 'finished' at Signor Vicchi's establishment;" another, after putting Ruth through the Catechism as to her private history and
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torturing her with the most minute inquiries as to her past, present, and future, coolly informed her that "she had no children to send."
After hours of fruitless searching, Ruth, foot-sore and heart-sore, returned to her lodgings. That day at dinner, some one of the boarders spoke of a young girl, who had been taken to the Hospital in a consumption, contracted by teaching a Primary School in ---- street.
The situation was vacant; perhaps she could get it; certainly her education ought to qualify her to satisfy any "School Committee." Ruth inquired who they were; one was her cousin, Mr. Millet, the wooden man; one was Mr. Develin, the literary bookseller; the two others were strangers. Mr. Millet and Mr. Develin! and both aware how earnestly she longed for employment! Ruth looked at her children; yes, for their sake she would even go to the wooden man, and Mr. Develin, and ask if it were not possible for her to obtain the vacant Primary School.
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CHAPTER L.
Mr. Millet sat in his counting room, with h is pen behind his ear, examining his ledger. "Do?" said he concisely, by way of salutation, as Ruth entered.
"I understand there is a vacancy in the 5th Ward Primary School," said Ruth; "can you tell me, as you are one of the Committee for that district, if there is any prospect of my obtaining it, and how I shall manage to do so."
"A-p-p-l-y," said Mr. Millet.
"When is the examination of applicants to take place?" asked Ruth.
"T-u-e-s-d-a-y," replied the statue.
"At what place?" asked Ruth.
"C-i-t-y H-a-l-l," responded the wooden man, making an entry in his ledger.
Ruth's heroic resolutions to ask him to use his influence in her behalf, vanished into thin air, at this icy re-
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serve; and , passing out into the street, she bent her slow steps in the direction of Mr. Develin's. On entering the door, she espied that gentleman through the glass door of his counting-room, sitting in his leathern arm-chair, with his hands folded, in an attitude of repose and meditation.
"Can I speak to you a moment?" said Ruth, lifting the latch of the door.
"Well--yes--certainly, Mrs. Hall," replied Mr. Develin, seizing a package of letters; "it is an uncommon busy time with me, but yes, certainly, if you have anything particular to say."
Ruth mentioned in as few words as possible, the Primary School, and her hopes of obtaining it, Mr. Develin, meanwhile, opening the letters and perusing their contents. When she had finished, he said, taking his hat to go out:
"I don't know but you 'll stand as good a chance, Mrs. Hall, as anybody else; you can apply. But you must excuse me, for I have an invoice of books to look over, immediately."
"Poor Ruth! And this was human nature, which, for so many sunny years of prosperity, had turned to her only its bright side! She was not to be discouraged, however, and sent in her application.
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CHAPTER LI.
Examination day came, and Ruth bent her determined steps to the City Hall. The apartment designated was already crowded with waiting applicants, who regarded, with jealous eye, each addition to their number as so much diminution of their own individual chance for success.
Ruth's cheeks grew hot, as their scrutinizing and unfriendly glances were bent on her, and that feeling of utter desolation came over her, which was always so overwhelming whenever she presented herself as a suppliant for public favor. In truth, it was but a poor preparation for the inquisitional torture before her.
The applicants were called out, one by one, in alphabetical order; Ruth inwardly blessing the early nativity of the letter H, for these anticipatory-shower-bath medications were worse to her than the shock of a volley of chilling interrogations.
"Letter H."
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Ruth rose with a flutter at her heart, and entered a huge, barren-looking room, at the further end of which sat, in august state, the dread committee. Very respectable were the gentlemen of whom that committee was composed; respectable was written all over them, from the crowns of their scholastic heads to the very tips of their polished boots; and correct and methodical as a revised dictionary they sat, with folded hands and spectacle-bestridden noses.
Ruth seated herself in the victim's chair, before this august body, facing a flood of light from a large bay-window, that nearly extinguished her eyes.
"What is your age?" asked the elder of the inquisitors.
Scratch went the extorted secret on the nib of the reporter's pen!
"Where was you educated?"
"Was Colburn, or Emerson, your teacher's standard for Arithmetic?"
"Did you cipher on a slate or black-board?"
"Did you learn the multiplication table, skipping, or in order?"
"Was you taught Astronomy, or Philosophy, first?"
"Are you accustomed to a quill, or a steel-pen? lines, or blank-paper, in writing?"
"Did you use Smith's, or Jones' Writing-Book?"
"Did you learn Geography by Maps, or Globes?"
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"Globes?" asked Mr. Squizzle, repeating Ruth's answer; "possible?"
"They use Globes at the celebrated Jerrold Institute," remarked Mr. Fizzle.
"Impossible!" retorted Mr. Squizzle, growing plethoric in the face; "Globes, sir, are exploded; no institution of any note uses Globes, sir. I know it."
"And I know you labor under a mistake," said Fizzle, elevating his chin, and folding his arms pugnaciously over his striped vest. "I am acquainted with one of the teachers in that highly-respectable school."
"And I, sir," said Squizzle, "am well acquainted with the Principal, who is a man of too much science, sir, to use globes, sir, to teach geography, sir."
At this, Mr. Fizzle settled down behind his dicky with a quenched air; and the very important question being laid on the shelf, Mr. Squizzle, handing Ruth a copy of "Pollok's Course of Time," requested her to read a marked passage, indicated by a perforation of his pen-knife. Poor Ruth stood about as fair a chance of proving her ability to read poetry, as would Fanny Kemble to take up a play, hap-hazard, at one of her dramatic readings, without a previous opportunity to gather up the author's connecting thread. Our heroine, however, went through the motions. This farce concluded, Ruth was dismissed into the apartment in waiting, to make room for he other applicants, each of whom returned with red
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faces, moist foreheads, and a "Carry-me-back-to-Old-Virginia" air.
An hour's added suspense, and the four owners of the four pair of inquisitorial spectacles marched, in procession, into the room in waiting, and wheeling "face about," with military precision, thumped on the table, and ejaculated:
"Attention!"
Instantaneously, five-and-twenty pair of eyes, black, blue, brown, and gray, were riveted; and each owner being supplied with pen, ink, and paper, was allowed ten minutes (with the four pair of spectacles leveled fulla t her) to express her thoughts on the following subject: "Was Christopher Columbus standing up, or sitting down, when he discovered America?"
The four watches of the committee men being drawn out, pencils began to scratch; and the terminus of the allotted minutes, in the middle of a sentence, was the place for each inspired improvisatrice to stop.
These hasty effusions being indorsed by appending each writer's signature, new paper was furnished, and "A-t-t-e-n-t-i-o-n!" was again ejaculated by a short, pursy individual, who seemed to be struggling to get out of his coat by climbing over his shirt collar. Little armies of figures were then rattled off from the end of this gentleman's tongue, with "Peter Piper Pipkin" velocity, which the anxious pen-women in waiting were expected to arrest
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in flying, and have the "sum total of the hull," as one of the erudite committee observed, already added up, when the illustrious arithmetician stopped to take wind.
This being the finale, the ladies were sapiently informed that, as only one school mistress was needed, only one out of the large number of applicants could be elected, and that "the Committee would now sit on them."
At this gratifying intelligence, the ladies, favored by a plentiful shower of rain, betook themselves to their respective homes; four-and-twenty, God help them! to dream of a reprieve from starvation, which, notwithstanding the six-hours' purgatory they ahd passed through, was destined to elude their eager grasp.
The votes were cast. Ruth was not elected. She had been educated, (whether fortunately or unfortunately, let the sequel of my story decide,) at a school where "Webster" was used instead of "Worcester." The greatest gun on the Committee was a Worcesterite. Mr. Millet and Mr. Develin always followed in the wake of great guns. Mr. Millet and Mr. Develin voted against Ruth.
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CHAPTER LII.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and very tranquil and quite at the Skiddy's. A tidy, rosy-cheeked young woman sat rocking the deserted little Tommy to sleep, to the tune of "I 've been roaming." The hearth was neatly swept, the tin and pewter vessels hung, brightly polished, from their respective vessels hung, brightly polished, from their respective shelves. The Maltese cat lay winking in the middle of the floor, watching the play of a stray sunbeam, which had found its way over the shed and into the small window. Ruth and her children were quiet, as usual, in their gloomy back chamber. Mr. Skiddy, a few blocks off, sat perched on a high stool, in the counting-room of Messrs. Fogg & Co.
Noiselessly the front-door opened, and the veritable Mrs. Skiddy, followed by Johnny and Sammy, crept through the front entry and entered, unannounced, into the kitchen. The rosy-cheeked young woman looked at
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Mrs. Skiddy, Mrs. Skiddy looked at her, and Tommy looked at both of them. Mrs. Skiddy then boxed the rosy-cheeked young woman's ears, and snatching the bewildered baby from her grasp, ejected her, with lightning velocity, through the street-door, and turned the key. It was all the work of an instant. Sammy and Johnny were used to domestic whirlwinds, so they were not surprised into any little remarks or exclamations, but the cat, less philosophical, laid back her ears, and made for the ash-hole; while Mrs. Skiddy, seating herself in the rocking-chair, unhooked her traveling dress and re-instated the delighted Tommy into all his little infantile privileges.
Mr. Skiddy had now been a whole week a widower; time enough for a man in that condition to grow philosophical. In fact, Skiddy was content. He had tasted the sweets of liberty, and he liked them. The baby, poor little soul, tired of remonstrance, had given out from sheer weariness, and took resignedly as a little Christian to his pewter porringer. Yes, Skiddy liked it; he could be an hour behind his time without dodging, on his return, a rattling storm of abuse and crockery; he could spend an evening out, without drawing a map of his travels before starting. On the afternoon in question he felt particularly felicitous; first, because he had dined off fried liver and potatoes, a dish which he particularly affected, and which, on that very account, he could seldom
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get in his own domicile; secondly, he was engaged to go that very evening with his old love, Nancy Spriggins, to see the "Panorama of Niagara;" and he had left orders with Betty to have tea half an hour earlier in consequence, and to be sure and iron and air his killing plaid vest by seven o'clock.
As the afternoon waned, Skiddy grew restless; he made wrong entries in the ledger; dipped his pen into the sand-box instead of the inkstand, and several times said "Yes, dear," to his employer, Mr. Fogg, of Fogg Square.
Six o'clock came at last, and the emancipated Skiddy, turning his back on business, walked towards home, in peace with himself, and in love with Nancy Spriggins. On the way he stopped to purchase a bouquet of roses and geraniums with which to regale that damsel's olfactories during the evening's entertainment.
Striding through the front entry, like a man who felt himself to be master of his own house, Skiddy hastened to the kitchen to expedite tea. If he was not prepared for Mrs. Skiddy's departure, still less was he prepared for her return, especially with that tell-tale bouquet in his hand. But, like all other hen-pecked husbands, on the back of the scape-goat Cunning, he fled away from the uplifted lash.
"My dear Matilda," exclaimed Skiddy, "my own wife, how could you be so cruel? Every day since your
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departure, hoping to find you here on my return from the store, I have purchased a bouquet like this to present you. My dear wife, let by-gones be by-gones; my love for you is imperishable."
"V-e-r-y good, Mr. Skiddy," said his wife, accepting Nancy Spriggins's bouquet, with a queenly nod; "and now let us have no more talk of California, if you please, Mr. Skiddy."
"Certainly not, my darling; I was a brute, a beast, a wretch, a Hottentot, a cannibal, a vampire--to distress you so. Dear little Tommy! how pleasant it seems to see him in your arms again."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Skiddy, "I was not five minutes in sending that red-faced German girl spinning through the front-door; I hope you have something decent for us to eat, Skiddy. Johnny and Sammy are pretty sharp-set; why don't you come and speak to your father, boys!"
The young gentlemen thus summoned, slowly came forward, looking altogether undecided whether it was best to notice their father or not. A ginger-cake, however, and a slice of buttered bread, plentifully powdered with sugar, wonderfully assisted them in coming to a decision. As to Nancy Spriggins, poor soul, she pulled off her gloves, and pulled them on, that evening, and looked at her watch, and looked up street and down street, and declared, as "the clock told the hour for retiring," that
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man was a ----, a ----, in short, that woman was born to trouble, as the sparks are--to fly away.
Mrs. Skiddy resumed her household duties with as much coolness as if there had been no interregnum, and received the boarders at tea that night, just as if she had parted with them that day at dinner. Skiddy was apparently as devoted as ever; the uninitiated boarders opened their eyes in bewildered wonder; and triumph sat inscribed on the arch of Mrs. Skiddy's imposing Roman nose.
The domestic horizon still continued cloudless at the next morning's breakfast. After the boarders had left the table, the market prices of beef, veal, pork, cutlets, chops, and steaks, were discussed as usual, the bill of fare for the day was drawn up by Mrs. Skiddy, and her obedient spouse departed to execute her market orders.
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CHAPTER LIII.
"Well, I hope you have been comfortable in my absence, Mrs. Hall," said Mrs. Skiddy, after dispatching her husband to market, as she seated herself in the chair nearest the door; "ha! ha! John and I may call it quits now. He is a very good fellow--John; except these little tantrums he gets into once in a while; the only way is, to put a stop to it at once, and let him see who is master. John never will set a river on fire; there 's no sort of use in his trying to take the reins--the man was n't born for it. I 'm too sharp for him, that 's a fact. Ha! ha! poor Johnny! I must tell you what a trick I played him about two years afer our marriage.
"You must know he had to go away on business for Fogg & Co., to collect bills, or something of that sort. Well, he made a great fuss about it, as husbands who like to go away from home always do; and said he should 'pine for the sight of me, and never know a
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happy hour till he saw me again,' and all that; and finally declared he would not go, without I would let him take my Daguerreotype. Of course, I knew that was all humbug; but I consented. The likeness was pronounced 'good,' and placed by me in his traveling trunk, when I packed his clothes. Well, he was gone a month, and when he came back, he told me (great fool) what a comfort my Daguerreotype was to him, and how he had looked at it twenty times a day, and kissed it as many more; whereupon I went to his trunk, and opening it, took out the case and showed it to him--without the plate, which I had taken care to slip out of the frame just before he started, and which he had never found out! That 's a specimen of John Skiddy!--and John Skiddy is a fair specimen of the rest of his sex, let me tell you, Mrs. Hall. Well, of course he looked sheepish enough; and now, whenever I want to take the nonsense out of him, all I have to do is to point to that Daguerreotype case, which I keep lying on the mantel on purpose. When a woman is married, Mrs. Hall, she must make up her mind either to manage, or to be managed; I prefer to manage," said the amiable Mrs. Skiddy; "and I flatter myself John understands it by this time. But, dear me, I can't stand here prating to you all day. I must look round and see what mischief has been done in my absence, by that lazy-looking red-faced German girl," sand Mrs. Skiddy laughed heartily, as she related how she
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had sent her spinning through the front door the night before.
Half the forenoon was occupied by Mrs. Skiddy in counting up spoons, forks, towels, and baby's pinafores, to see if they had sustained loss or damage during her absence.
"Very odd dinner don't come," said she, consulting the kitchen clock; "it is high time that beef was on, roasting."
It was odd--and odder still that Skiddy had not appeared to tell her why the dinner did n't come. Mrs. Skiddy wasted no time in words about it. No; she seized her bonnet, and went immediately to Fog & Co., to get some tidings of him; they were apparently quite as much at a loss as herself to account for Skiddy's non-appearance. She was just departing, when one of the sub-clerks, whom the unfortunate Skiddy had once snubbed, whispered a word in her ear, the effect of which was instantaneous. Did she let the grass grow under her feet till she tracked Skiddy to "the wharf," and boarded the "Sea-Gull," bound for California, and brought the crest-fallen man triumphantly back to his domicil, amid convulsions of laughter from the amused captain and his crew? No.
"There, now," said his amiable spouse, untying her bonnet, "there 's another flash in the pan, Skiddy. Anybody who thinks to circumvent Matilda Maria Skiddy,
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must get up early in the morning, and find themselves too late at that. Now hold this child," dumping the doomed baby into his lap, "while I comb my hair. Goodness knows you were n't worth bringing back; but when I set out to have my own way, Mr. Skiddy, Mount Vesuvius shan't stop me."
Skiddy tended the baby without a remonstrance; he perfectly understood, that for a probationary time he should be put "on the limits," the street-door being the boundary line. He heaved no sigh when his coat and hat, with the rest of his wearing apparel, were locked up, and the key buried in the depths of his wife's pocket. He played with Tommy, and made card-houses for Sammy and Johnny, wound several tangled skins of silk for "Maria Matilda," mended a broken button on the closet door, replaced a missing knob on one of the bureau drawers, and appeared to be in as resigned and proper a frame of mind as such a perfidious wretch could be expected to be in.
Two or weeks passed in this state of incarceration, during which the errand-boy of Fogg & Co. had been repeatedly informed by Mrs. Skiddy, that the doctor hoped Mr. Skiddy would soon be sufficiently convalescent to attend to business. As to Skiddy, he continued at intervals to shed crocodile tears over his past short-comings, or rather his short- goings! In consequence of this apparently submissive frame of mind, he, one fine
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morning, received total absolution from Mrs. Skiddy, and leave to go to the store; which Skiddy peremptorily declined, desiring, as he said, to test the sincerity of his repentance by a still longer period of probation.
"Don't be a fool, Skiddy," said Maria Matilda, pointing to the Daguerreotype case, and then crowding his beaver down over his eyes; "don't be a fool. Make a B line for the store, now, and tell Fogg you 've had an attack of room-a-tism;" and Maria Matilda laughed at her wretched pun.
Skiddy obeyed. No Uriah Heep could have out-done him in "'umbleness," as he crept up the long street, until a friendly corner hid him from the lynx eyes of Maria Matilda. Then "Richard was himself again"! Drawing a long breath, our flying Mercury whizzed past the mile-stones, and, before sun-down of the same day, was under full sail for California.
Just one half hour our Napoleon i petticoats spent in reflection, after being satisfied that Skiddy was really "on the deep blue sea." In one day she had cleared her house of boarders, and reserving one room for herself and children, filled all the other apartments with lodgers; who paid her good prices, and taking their meals down town, made her no trouble beyond the care of their respective rooms.
About a year after a letter came from Skiddy. He
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was "disgusted" with ill-luck at gold-digging, and ill-luck everywhere else; he had been "burnt out," and "robbed," and everything else but murdered; and "'umbly" requested his dear Maria Matilda to send him the "passage-money to return home."
Mrs. Skiddy's picture should have been taken at that moment! My pen fails! Drawing from her pocket a purse well filled with her own honest earnings, she chinked its contents at some phantom shape discernible to her eyes alone; while through her set teeth hissed out, like ten thousand serpents, the word
"N--e--v--e--r!"