“Indeed and Patrick,” said the girl who stood at the door, “if I was you I’d be after making another penny to-night. Miss Jane is pounding away at one of her long music pieces, and it won’t be over before you have time to get to Rutgers and back again. And if you do make them wait awhile, where’s the harm? They’ve a dry roof over their heads, and I warrant it’s not the first waiting they’ve ever had in their lives; and it won’t be the last neither.”
“Exactly so,” said the gentleman; and regardless of the propriety of first sending to consult the persons who had engaged the carriage, he told his wife to step in, and following her instantly himself, they drove away to Rutgers Place.
Reader, if you were ever detained in a strange house by the non-arrival of your carriage, you will easily understand the excessive annoyance of finding that you are keeping a family out of their beds beyond their usual hour. And in this case, there was a double grievance; the guests being all impatience to get off to a better place. The children, all crying when wakened from their sleep, were finally taken to bed by two servant maids, and Jane Watkinson, who never came back again. None were left but Hester, the great French scholar, who, being one of those young imps that seem to have the faculty of living without sleep, sat bolt upright with her eyes wide open, watching the uncomfortable visitors.
The Morlands felt as if they could bear it no longer, and Edward proposed sending for another carriage to the nearest livery stable.
“We don’t keep a man now,” said Mrs. Watkinson, who sat nodding in the rocking-chair, attempting now and then a snatch of conversation, and saying “ma’am” still more frequently than usual. “Men servants are dreadful trials, ma’am, and we gave them up three years ago. And I don’t know how Mary or Katy are to go out this stormy night in search of a livery stable.”
“On no consideration could I allow the women to do so,” replied Edward. “If you will oblige me by the loan of an umbrella, I will go myself.”
Accordingly he set out on this business, but was unsuccessful at two livery stables, the carriages being all out. At last he found one, and was driven in it to Mr. Watkinson’s house, where his mother and sister were awaiting him, all quite ready, with their calashes and shawls on. They gladly took their leave; Mrs. Watkinson rousing herself to hope they had spent a pleasant evening, and that they would come and pass another with her on their return to New York. In such cases how difficult it is to reply even with what are called “words of course.”
A kitchen lamp was brought to light them to the door, the entry lamp having long since been extinguished. Fortunately the rain had ceased; the stars began to reappear, and the Morlands, when they found themselves in the carriage and on their way to Mrs. St. Leonard’s, felt as if they could breathe again. As may be supposed, they freely discussed the annoyances of the evening; but now those troubles were over they felt rather inclined to be merry about them.
“Dear mother,” said Edward, “how I pitied you for having to endure Mrs. Watkinson’s perpetual ‘ma’aming’ and ‘ma’aming’; for I know you dislike the word.”
“I wish,” said Caroline, “I was not so prone to be taken with ridiculous recollections. But really to-night I could not get that old foolish child’s play out of my head—
Here come three knights out of Spain
A-courting of your daughter Jane.”
“I shall certainly never be one of those Spanish knights,” said Edward. “Her daughter Jane is in no danger of being ruled by any ‘flattering tongue’ of mine. But what a shame for us to be talking of them in this manner.”
They drove to Mrs. St. Leonard’s, hoping to be yet in time to pass half an hour there; though it was now near twelve o’clock and summer parties never continue to a very late hour. But as they came into the street in which she lived they were met by a number of coaches on their way home, and on reaching the door of her brilliantly lighted mansion, they saw the last of the guests driving off in the last of the carriages, and several musicians coming down the steps with their instruments in their hands.
“So there has been a dance, then!” sighed Caroline. “Oh, what we have missed! It is really too provoking.”
“So it is,” said Edward; “but remember that to-morrow morning we set off for Niagara.”
“I will leave a note for Mrs. St. Leonard,” said his mother, “explaining that we were detained at Mrs. Watkinson’s by our coachman disappointing us. Let us console ourselves with the hope of seeing more of this lady on our return. And now, dear Caroline, you must draw a moral from the untoward events of to-day. When you are mistress of a house, and wish to show civility to strangers, let the invitation be always accompanied with a frank disclosure of what they are to expect. And if you cannot conveniently invite company to meet them, tell them at once that you will not insist on their keeping their engagement with you if anything offers afterwards that they think they would prefer; provided only that they apprize you in time of the change in their plan.”
“Oh, mamma,” replied Caroline, “you may be sure I shall always take care not to betray my visitors into an engagement which they may have cause to regret, particularly if they are strangers whose time is limited. I shall certainly, as you say, tell them not to consider themselves bound to me if they afterwards receive an invitation which promises them more enjoyment. It will be a long while before I forget, the Watkinson evening.”
THE MILLIONAIRES, by Max Adeler
It had always been one of the luxuries of the Grimeses to consider what they would do if they were rich. Many a time George and his wife, sitting together of a summer evening upon the porch of their own pretty house in Susanville, had looked at the long unoccupied country-seat of General Jenkins, just across the way, and wished they had money enough to buy the place and give it to the village for a park.
Mrs. Grimes often said that if she had a million dollars, the very first thing she would do would be to purchase the Jenkins place. George’s idea was to tear down the fences, throwing everything open, and to dedicate the grounds to the public. Mrs. Grimes wanted to put a great free library in the house and to have a club for poor working-women in the second-floor rooms. George estimated that one hundred thousand dollars would be enough to carry out their plans. Say fifty thousand dollars for purchase money, and then fifty more invested at six per cent. to maintain the place.
“But if we had a million,” said George, “I think I should give one hundred and fifty thousand to the enterprise and do the thing right. There would always be repairs and new books to buy and matters of that kind.”
But this was not the only benevolent dream of these kind-hearted people. They liked to think of the joy that would fill the heart of that poor struggling pastor, Mr. Borrow, if they could tell him that they would pay the whole debt of the Presbyterian Church, six thousand dollars.
“And I would have his salary increased, George,” said Mrs. Grimes. “It is shameful to compel that poor man to live on a thousand dollars.”
“Outrageous,” said George. “I would guarantee him another thousand, and maybe more; but we should have to do it quietly, for fear of wounding him.”
“That mortgage on the Methodist Church,” said Mrs. Grimes. “Imagine the happiness of those poor people in having it lifted! And so easy to do, too, if we had a million dollars.”
“Certainly, and I would give the Baptists a handsome pipe-organ instead of that wheezing melodeon. Dreadful, isn’t it?”
“You can get a fine organ for $2,000,” said Mrs. Grimes.
“Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t be mean about it; not mean on a million dollars. Let them have a really good organ, say