The Three Brides, Love in a Cottage, and Other Tales Part 17

The good news almost killed Simon. "Please your honor," said he, endeavoring to frame an appropriate reply,--"no--that ain't it--please your excellency--you've gone and done it--you've gone and done it! I was Baron Rothschild before, and now--no--I can't tell what I am--it isn't in no biographical dictionary, and I don't believe it's in the 'Wealth of Nations!'"

"Well, never mind," said Lat.i.tat, laughing, "go home and tell Mrs. Q.

the office won't be open till to-morrow, and that I shall depend on dining with you all to-day."

THE OBLIGING YOUNG MAN.

"Cars ready for Boston and way stations!" shouted the conductor of a railroad train, as the steamhorse, harnessed for his twenty mile trip, stood chafing, snorting, and coughing, throwing up angry puffs of mingled gray and dingy vapor from his st.u.r.dy lungs. "Cars ready for Boston and way stations!"

"O, yes!" replied a brisk young man, with a bright eye, peculiar smirk, spotted neckcloth, and gray gaiters with pearl b.u.t.tons. "Cars ready for Boston and way stations. All aboard. Now's your time--quick, or you'll lose 'em. Now then, ma'am."

"But, sir," remonstrated the old lady he addressed, and whom he was urging at the steps of a first cla.s.s car.

"O, never mind!" replied the brisk young man. "Know what you're going to say--too much trouble--none whatever, I a.s.sure you. Perfect stranger, true--but scriptural injunction, do as you'd be done by. In with you--ding! ding!--there's the bell--off we go."

And so in fact they did go off at forty miles an hour.

"But, sir," said the old lady, trembling violently.

"I see," interrupted the OBLIGING YOUNG MAN; "want a seat--here it is--a great bargain--cars full--quick, or you'll lose it."

"But, sir," said the old lady, with nervous trepidation, "I--I--wasn't going to Boston."

"The deuce you weren't. Well, well, well, why couldn't you say so?

Hullo! Conductor! Stop the cars!"

"Can't do it," replied the conductor. "This train don't stop short of Woburn watering station."

"Woburn watering station!" whimpered the old woman, wringing her hands. "O, what shall I do?"

"Sit still; take it easy--no use crying for spilt milk; what can't be cured must be endured. I'll look out sharp; you might have saved yourself all this trouble."

Away went the cars, racketting and oscillating, while the obliging young man was looking round for another recipient of his good services.

"Ha!" he muttered to himself. "There's a poor young fellow quite alone. Lovesick, perhaps; pale cheek--sunken eye--never told his love; but let--Shakspeare--I'm his man! Must look out for the old woman.

Here we are, ma'am, fifteen miles to Lowell--out with you--look out for the cars on the back track. Good by--pleasant trip!"

Ding dong, went the bell again.

"Hullo! here's her bundle! Catch, there--heads! All right--get on, driver!"

And having tossed a bundle after the old woman, he resumed his seat.

"Confound it!" roared a fat man in a blue spencer. "You're treading on my corns."

"Beg pardon," said the obliging young man. "Bad things, corns,--'trifling sum of misery new added to the foot of your account;' old author--name forgotten. Never mind--drive on!"

"But where's my bundle?" asked the fat man. "Conductor! Where's my bundle? Brown paper--red string. Saw it here a moment since."

The conductor knew nothing about it. The obliging young man did. It was the same he had thrown out after the old woman.

"You'll find it some where," he said, with a consolatory wink. "Can't lose a brown paper bundle. I've tried--often--always turned up; little boy sure to bring it. 'Here's your bundle, sir; ninepence, please.'

All right--go ahead!"

Here the obliging young man took his seat beside the pale-faced youth.

"Ill health, sir?"

"No, sir," replied the pale-faced youth, fidgeting.

"Mental malady--eh?"

The young man sighed.

"See it all. Don't say a word, man! Cupid, heart from heart, forced to part. Flinty-hearted father?"

"No, sir."

"Flinty-hearted mother?"

"No, sir."

"Flinty-hearted aunt?"

The lovesick young man sighed, and nodded a.s.sent.

"Tell me the story. I'm a stranger--but my heart is here, sir."

Whereupon the obliging young man referred to a watch pocket in his plaid vest, and nodded with a great deal of intelligence. "Tell me all--like to serve my fellows--no other occupation; out with it, as the doctor said to the little boy that swallowed his sister's necklace."

The lovesick youth informed the obliging young man that he loved and was beloved by a young lady of Boston, whose aunt, acting as her guardian, opposed his suit. He was going to Boston to put a plan of elopement into operation. He had prepared two letters, one to the aunt renouncing his hopes, to throw her off her guard; the other to the young lady, appointing a meeting at the Providence cars. The difficulty was to get the letters delivered. This the obliging young man readily undertook to do in person. Both the aunt and niece bore the same name--Emeline Brown; but the aunt's letter was sealed with black, the niece's with red wax. The letters were delivered with many injunctions to the obliging young man, and the two new-made friends parted on the arrival of the cars in Boston.

The Providence cars were just getting ready to start, when, amid all the bustle and confusion, a pale-faced young man "might have been seen," as Mr. James, the novelist, says, nervously pacing to and fro, and occasionally darting into Pleasant Street, and scrutinizing every approaching pa.s.senger and vehicle. At last, when there was but a single moment to spare, a hack drove up furiously, and a veiled lady hastily descended, and gave her hand to her expectant admirer.

"Quick, Emeline, or we shall lose the train!"

The enamoured couple were soon seated beside each other, and whirling away to Providence. The lady said little, but sat with downcast head and veiled face, apparently overwhelmed with confusion at the step she had taken. But it was enough for young Dovekin to know she was beside him, and he poured forth an unbroken stream of delicious nonsense, till the train arrived at its destination.

In the station house the lady lifted her veil. Horror and confusion!

It was the aunt! The obliging young man had delivered the wrong letter.

"Yes, sir," said Miss Brown, "I am the person whom you qualified, in your letter intended for my niece, as a 'hateful hag, in whose eyes you were throwing dust'. What do you say to that, sir?"

"Say!" replied the disconsolate Dovekin. "It's no use to say any thing; for it is my settled purpose to spring over the parapet of the railroad bridge and seek oblivion in a watery grave. But first, if I could find that obliging young man, I'd be the death of him."

"No you wouldn't," said the voice of that interesting individual, as he made his appearance with a lady on his arm. "Here she is--take her--be happy. After I'd given the notes, mind misgave me--went back to the house--found the aunt gone--niece in tears--followed after--same train--last car--here she is!"