CHAPTER II.
HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.
It's very provoking to a bashful man to have the family pew only oneremove from the pulpit. I didn't feel like going to church the dayafter the picnic, but father wouldn't let me off. I caught my foot ina hole in the carpet walking up the aisle, which drew particularattention to me; and dropped by hymn-book twice, to add to theinterest I had already excited in the congregation. My fingers arealways all thumbs when I have to find the hymn.
"I do believe you did take cold yesterday," said mother, when we cameout. "You must have a fever, for your face is as red as fire."
Very consoling when a young man wants to look real sweet. But that'smy luck. I'll be as pale as a poet when I leave my looking-glass, butbefore I enter a ball-room or a dining-room I'll be as red as analderman. I have often wished that I could be permanently whitewashed,like a kitchen wall or a politician's record. I think, perhaps, if Iwere whitewashed for a month or two I might cure myself of my habit ofblushing when I enter a room. I bought a box of "Meen Fun" once, andtried to powder; but I guess I didn't understand the art as well asthe women do; it was mean fun in good earnest, for the girl I wasgoing to take to singing-school wanted to know if I'd been helping myma make biscuits for supper; and then she took her handkerchief andbrushed my face, which wasn't so bad as it might have been, for herhandkerchief had patchouly on it and was as soft as silk. But thatwasn't Belle Marigold, and so it didn't matter.
To return to church. I went again in the evening, and felt more athome, for the kerosene was not very bright. I got along without anyaccident. After meeting was out, father stopped to speak to theminister. As I stood in the entry, waiting for him, Belle came out,and asked me how I felt after the picnic. I saw she was alone, and soI hemmed, and said: "Have you any one to see you home?"
She said, "No; but I'm not afraid--it's not far," and stopped andwaited for me to offer her my arm, looking up at me with thosebewitching eyes.
"Oh," said I, dying to wait upon her, but not daring to crook my elbowbefore the crowd, "I'm glad of that; but if you are the least bittimid, Miss Marigold, father and I will walk home with you."
Then I heard a suppressed laugh behind me, and, turning, saw thatdetestable Fred Hencoop, who never knew what it was to feel modestsince the day his nurse tied his first bib on him.
"Miss Marigold," said he, looking as innocent as a lamb, "if you do methe honor to accept my arm, I'll try and take you home without callingon my pa to assist me in the arduous duty." And she went with him.
I was very low-spirited on the way home.
"As sure as I live I'll go and call on her to-morrow evening, and showher I'm not the fool she thinks I am," I said, between my grittedteeth. "I'll take her a new sash to replace the one I spoiled at thepicnic, and we'll see who's the best fellow, Hencoop or I."
The next afternoon I measured off four yards of the sweetestsash-ribbon ever seen in Babbletown, and charged myself with sevendollars--half my month's salary, as agreed upon between father andme--and rolled up the ribbon in white tissue paper, preparatory to theevent of the evening.
"Where are you going?" father asked, as I edged out of the store justafter dark.
"Oh, up the street a piece."
"Well, here's a pair o' stockings to be left at the Widow Jones'. Justcall as you go by and leave 'em, will you?"
I stuck the little bundle he gave me in my coat-tail pocket; but bythe time I passed the Widow Jones' house I was so taken up with thebusiness on hand that I forgot all about the stockings.
I could see Miss Marigold sitting at the piano and hear her singing asI passed the window. It was awful nice, and, to prolong the pleasure,I stayed outside about half an hour, then a summer shower came up, andI made up my mind and rang the bell. Jane came to the door.
"Is the squire at home?" says I.
"No, sir, he's down to the hotel; but Miss Marigold, she's to hum,"said the black girl, grinning. "Won't you step in? Miss will bedreffle sorry her pa is out."
She took my hat and opened the parlor door; there was a generaldazzle, and I bowed to somebody and sat down somewhere, and in abouttwo minutes the mist cleared away, and I saw Belle Marigold, with arose in her hair, sitting not three feet away, and smiling at me as ifcoaxing me to say something.
"Quite a shower?" I remarked.
"Indeed--is it raining?" said she.
"Yes, indeed," said I; "it came up very sudden."
"I hope you didn't get wet?" said she, with a sly look.
"Not this time," said I, trying to laugh.
"Does it lighten?" said she.
"A few," said I.
Miss Marigold coughed and looked out of the window. There was a pausein our brilliant conversation.
"I think we shall have a rainy night," I resumed.
"I'm _so_ afraid of thunder," said she. "I shall not sleep a bit if itthunders. I shall sit up until the rain is over. I never like to bealone in a storm. I always want some one _close by me_," she said,with a little shiver.
"I'M SO FRIGHTENED, MR. FLUTTER," SAID SHE; "I FEEL, INMOMENTS LIKE THESE, HOW SWEET IT WOULD BE TO HAVE SOME ONE TO CLINGTO."]
I hitched my chair about a foot nearer hers. It thundered pretty loud,and she gave a little squeal, and brought her chair alongside mine.
"I'm so frightened, Mr. Flutter," said she: "I feel, in moments likethese, how sweet it would be to have someone to cling to."
And she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
"Dear Belle," said I, "would you--would you--could you--now--"
"What?" whispered she, very softly.
"If I thought," I stammered, "that you could--that you would--that itwas handy to give me a drink of water." She sprang up as if shot, andrang a little hand-bell.
"Jane, a glass of water for this gentleman--_ice_-water," in a verychilly tone, and she sat down over by the piano.
Bashful fool and idiot that I was. I had lost another opportunity.
After I had swallowed the water Jane had left the room. I bethought meof the handsome present which I had in my pocket, and, hoping toregain her favor by that, I drew out the little package and tossed itcarelessly in her lap.
"Belle," said I, "I have not forgotten that I spilled lemonade on yoursash; I hope you will not refuse to allow me to make such amends asare in my power. If the color does not suit you, I will exchange itfor any you may select."
She began to smile again, coquettishly untying the string andunwrapping the paper. Instead of the lovely rose-colored ribbon, outrolled a long pair of coarse blue cotton stockings.
Miss Marigold screamed louder than she had at the thunder.
"It's all a mistake!" I cried; "a ridiculous mistake! I beg yourpardon ten thousand times! They are for the Widow Jones. _Here_ iswhat I intended for _you_, dear, dear Belle," and I thrust anotherpackage into heir hands.
"Fine-cut!" said she, examining the wrapper by the light of the lampon the piano. "Do you think I chew, Mr. Flutter?--or _dip_? Do youintend to willfully insult me? Leave the hou----"
"Oh, I beg of you, listen! Here it is at last!" I exclaimed indesperation, drawing out the right package at last, and myselfdisplaying to her dazzled view the four yards of glittering ribbon."There's not another in Babbletown so handsome. Wear it for _my sake_,Belle!"
"I will," she sighed, after she had secretly rubbed it, and held it tothe light to make sure of its quality. "I will, John, for your sake."
We were friends again; she was very sweet, and played something on thepiano, and an hour slipped away as if I were in Paradise. I rose togo, the rain being over.
"But about that paper of fine-cut!" she said, archly, as she went intothe hall with me to get my hat; "do you chew, John?"
"No, Belle, that tobacco was for old man Perkins, as sure as I standhere. If you don't believe me, smell my breath," said I, and I triedto get my arm about her waist.
It was kind of dark in the hall; she did not resist so very much; mylips were only about two inches from hers
--for I wanted her to be sureabout my breath--when a voice that almost made me faint away, put aconundrum to me:
"If you'd a kissed my girl, young man, why would it have been like aCentennial fire-arm?"
"Because it hasn't gone off yet!" I gasped, reaching for my hat.
"Wrong," said he grimly. "Because it would have been a blunder-buss."
I reckon the squire was right.
The Blunders of a Bashful Man Page 2