CHAPTER VII.
I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.
It is a serious thing to be as bashful as I am. There's nothing at allfunny about it, though some people seem to think there is. I wasassured, years ago, that it would wear off and betray the brassunderneath; but I must have been triple-plated. I have had rubs enoughto wear out a wash-board, yet there doesn't a bit of brass come to thesurface yet. Beauty may be only skin-deep; modesty, like mine,pervades the grain. If I really believed my bashfulness was onlycuticle-deep, I'd be flayed to-day, and try and grow a hardiercomplexion without any Bloom of Youth in it. No use! I could pave aten-thousand-acre prairie with the "good intentions" I have wasted,the firm resolutions I have broken. Born to be bashful is only anotherway of expressing the Bible truth, "Born to trouble as the sparks areto fly upward."
When I sat down by the elderly lady in the railway train, I feltcomparatively at ease. She was older than mother, and I didn't mindher rather aggressive looks and ways; in short, I seemed to feel thatin case of necessity she would protect me. Not that I was afraid ofanything, but she would probably at least keep me from proposing toany more young ladies. Alas! how _could_ I have any presentiment ofthe worse danger lurking in store for me? How could I, young,innocent, and inexperienced, foresee the unforeseeable? I could not.Reviewing all the circumstances by the light of wiser days, I stilldeny that I was in any way, shape, or manner to blame for whatoccurred. I sat in my half of the seat, occupying as little room aspossible, my eyes fixed on the crimson plush cushions of the seatbefore me, my thoughts busy with the mortifying past, and the greatunknown future into which I was blindly rushing at the rate of thirtymiles an hour--sat there, dreading the great city into which I was sosoon to plunge--when a voice, closely resembling vinegar sweetenedwith honey, said, close to my ear:
"Goin' to New York, sir?"
"Yes, ma'am," I answered, coming out of my reverie with a little jump.
"I'm real glad," said my companion, taking off her blue spectacles,and leaning toward me confidentially; "so I am. I'm quite unprotected,sir, quite, and I shall be thankful to place myself under your care.I'm goin' down to the city to buy my spring stock o' millinery, an'any little attention you can show me will be gratefullyreceived--gratefully. I don't mind admitting to _you_, young man, foryou look pure and uncorrupted, that I am terribly afraid of men. Theyare wicked, heartless creatures. I feel that I might more safely trustmyself with ravening wolves than with men in general, but _you_ aredifferent. _You_ have had a good mother."
"Yes, ma'am, I have," I responded, rather warmly.
I was pleased at her commendation of me and mother, but puzzled as tothe character of the danger to which she referred. I finally concludedthat she was afraid of being robbed, and I put my lips close to herear, so that no one should overhear us, and asked:
"Do you carry your money about you?--you ought not to run such a risk.I've been told there are always one or more thieves on every expresstrain."
"My dear young friend," she whispered back, very, very close in myear, "I was not thinking of money--_that_ is all in checks, safelydeposited in--in--in te-he! inside the lining of my waist. I was onlyreferring to the dangers which ever beset the unmarried lady,especially the unsophisticated maiden, far, far from her nativevillage. Why, would you believe it, already, sir, since I left home, aman, a _gentleman_, sitting in the very seat where you sit now, madelove to me, out-and-out!"
"Made love to you?" I stammered, shrinking into the farthest corner,and regarding her with undisguised astonishment.
"You may well appear surprised. Promise me that you will remain by myside until we reach our destination."
She appeared kind of nervous and agitated, and I promised. Instead ofbeing protected, I found myself figuring in the _role_ of protector.My timid companion did the most of the talking; she pumped me prettydry of facts about myself, and confided to me that she was doing agood business--making eight hundred a year clear profit--and all shewanted to complete her satisfaction was the right kind of a partner.
She proposed to me to become that partner. I said that I did notunderstand the millinery business; she said I had been a clerk in adry-goods store, and that was the first step; I said I didn't think Ishould fancy the bonnet line. She said I should be a _silent_ partner;all in the world I'd have to do would be to post the books, and she'dwarrant me a thousand dollars a year, for the business would double. Isaid I had but one hundred and thirty dollars; she said, write to mypa for more, but she'd take me without a cent--there was something inmy face that showed her I was to be trusted.
She was so persistent that I began to be alarmed--I felt that I shouldbe drawn into that woman's clutches against my will. I got pale andcold, and the perspiration broke out on my brow. Was it for this Ihad fled from home and friends? To become a partner in thehat-and-bonnet business, with a dreadful old maid, who wore bluespectacles and curled her false hair. I shivered.
"Poor darling!" said she, "the boy is cold," and she wrapped me up ina big plaid shawl of her own.
The very touch of that shawl made me feel as if I had a thousandcaterpillars crawling over me; yet I was too bashful to break loosefrom its folds. I grew feverish.
"There," said she, "you are getting your color back."
The more attention she paid to me the more homesick I grew. I lookedpiteously in the conductor's face as he passed by. He smiledrelentlessly. I glanced wildly yet furtively about to see if,perchance, a vacant seat were to be descried.
"Rest thy head on this shoulder; thou art weary," she said. "I willput my veil over your face and you can catch a nap."
But I was not to be caught napping.
"No, I thank you--I never sleep in the day time," I stammered.
Oh, what a ride I was having! How wretched I felt! Yet I was toobashful to shake off the shawl and stand up before a car-load ofpeople.
Suddenly, something happened. The blue spectacles flew over my head,and I flew over the seat in front of me. Thank goodness! I was savedfrom that female! I picked myself up from out of the _debris_ of thewreck. I saw a green veil, and a lady looking around for her lostteeth, and having ascertained that no one was killed, I limped awayand hid behind a stump. I stayed behind that stump three mortal hours.When the train went again on its winding way I was not one of thepassengers. I walked, bruised and sore as I was, to the nearestvillage, and took the first train in the opposite direction. Thatevening, as father and mother were sitting down to their solitary butexcellent tea, I walked in on 'em.
"No more foreign trips for me," said I; "I will stick to Babbletown,and try and stand the consequences."
About four days after this, father laid a letter on the counter beforeme--a large, long, yellow envelope, with a big red seal. "Read that,"was his brief comment.
I took it up, unfolded the foolscap, and read:
"JOHN FLUTTER, SENIOR:--I have the honor to inform you that my client, Miss Alvira Slimmens, has instructed me to proceed against your son for breach of promise of marriage, laying her damages at twelve hundred dollars. As your son is not legally of age, we shall hold you responsible. A compromise, to avoid publicity of suit, is possible. Send us your check for $1,000 and you will hear no more of this matter.
"Respectfully,
"WILLIAM BLACK, Attorney-at-Law,
"_Pennyville, N. Y._"
"Oh, father!" I cried, "I swear to you this is not my fault!" Lookingup in distress I saw that my parent was laughing.
"I have heard of Alvira before," said he; "no, it is _not_ your fault,my poor boy. Let me see, Alvira was thirty twenty-one years ago when Iwas married to your ma. I used to be in Pennyville sometimes, in thosedays, and she was sweet on me, John, then. I'll answer this letter,and answer it to her, and not her lawyer. Don't you be uneasy, my son.I'll tend to her. But you had a narrow escape; I don't wonder you,with your bashfulness, fled homeward to your ma."
"Then it wasn't my blunder this time, father?"
"I exonerate you,
my son!"
For once a glow of happiness diffused itself over my much-triedspirits. I was so exalted that when a young lady came in for a bottleof bandoline I gave her Spaulding's prepared glue instead; and thenext time I met that young lady she wore a bang--she had used thenew-fangled bandoline, and the only way to get the stuff out of herhair was to cut it off.
The Blunders of a Bashful Man Page 7