The Blunders of a Bashful Man

by Metta Victoria Fuller Victor

  CHAPTER VIII.

  HE ENACTS THE PART OF GROOMSMAN.

  "Out of the frying-pan into the fire!" This should have been my chosenmotto from the beginning. The performance of the maddening featindicated in the proverb has been the principal business of my life. Iam always finding myself in the frying-pan, and always flopping outinto the fire. My father's interference saved me from the dreadful oldcreature into whose net I had stumbled when I fled from my nativevillage, only to return with the certainty that I was unfit to copewith the world outside of it.

  "I will never put my foot beyond the township line again," I vowed tomy secret soul. I had a harrowing sorrow preying upon me all theremainder of the winter. I was given to understand that Belle Marigoldwas actually engaged to Fred Hencoop. And she might have been mine!Alas, that mighty _might_!

  "Of all sad words of tongue or pen The saddest are these--'It might have been!'"

  I am positive that when I first came home from school she admired mevery much. She welcomed my early attentions. It was only theridiculous blunders into which my bashfulness continually drove methat alienated her regard. If I had not caught my foot in the reinsthat time I got out of the buggy in front of her house--if I had notfallen in the water and had my clothes shrink in drying--nor chokedalmost to death--nor got under the counter--nor failed to "speak mypiece"--nor sat down in that mud-puddle--nor committed suicide--norrun away from home--nor performed any other of the thousand-and-oneabsurd feats into which my constitutional embarrassment waseverlastingly urging me, I declare boldly, "Belle might have beenmine." She had encouraged me at first. Now it was too late. She had"declined," as Tennyson says, "on a lower love than mine"--on FredHencoop's.

  The thought was despair. Never did I realized of what the human heartis capable until Belle came into the store, one lovely spring morning,looking like a seraph in a new spring bonnet, and blushingly--with asaucy flash of her dark eyes that made her rising color all the moredivine--inquired for table-damask and 4-4 sheetings.

  With an ashen brow and quivering lip, I displayed before her our bestassortment of table-cloths and napkins, pillow-casing and sheeting.Her mother accompanied her to give her the benefit of her experience;and kept telling her daughter to choose the best, and what and howmany dozens she had before she was married.

  They ran up a big bill at the store that morning, and father camebehind the counter to help, and was mightily pleased; but I felt as ifI were measuring off cloth for my own shroud.

  "Come, John, you go do up the sugar for Widow Smith, her boy iswaiting," said my parent, seeing the muddle into which I was gettingthings. "I will attend to these ladies--twelve yards of thepillow-casing, did you say, Mrs. Marigold?"

  I moved down to the end of the store and weighed and tied up in brownpaper the "three pounds of white sugar to make cake for thesewin'-society," which the lad had asked for. A little girl came infor a pound of bar-soap, and I attended to her wants. Then anotherboy, with a basket, came in a hurry for a dozen of eggs. You see, ourswas one of those village-stores that combine all things.

  While I waited on these insignificant customers father measured offgreat quantities of white goods for the two ladies; and I strained myears to hear every word that was said. They asked father if he wasgoing to New York _soon_? He said, in about ten days. Then Mrs.Marigold confided to him that they wanted him to purchase twenty-fiveyards of white corded silk.

  If every cord in that whole piece of silk had been drawing about mythroat I couldn't have felt more suffocated. I sat right down, I feltso faint, in a tub of butter. I had just sense enough left to rememberthat I had on my new spring lavender pants. The butter wasdisgustingly soft and mushy.

  "Come here, John, and add up this bill," called father.

  "I can't; I'm sick."

  I had got up from the tub and was leaning on the counter--I was pale,I know.

  "Why, what's the matter?" he asked.

  Belle cast one guilty look in my direction. "It's the spring weather,I dare say," she said softly to my parent.

  I sneaked out of the back door and went across the yard to the houseto change my pants. I _was_ sick, and I did not emerge from my roomuntil the dinner-bell rang.

  I went down then, and found father, usually so good-natured, lookingcross, as he carved the roast beef.

  "You will never be good for anything, John," was his salutation--"atleast, not as a clerk. I've a good mind to write to Captain Hall totake you to the North Pole."

  "What's up, father?"

  "Oh, nothing!" _very_ sarcastically. "That white sugar you sent Mrs.Smith was table-salt, and she made a whole batch of cake out of itbefore she discovered her mistake. She was out of temper when she flewin the store, I tell you. I had not only to give her the sugar, butenough butter and eggs to make good her loss, and throw in a neck-tieto compensate her for waste of time. Before she got away, in came themother of the little girl to whom you had given a slab of molassescandy for bar-soap, and said that the child had brought nothing homebut some streaks of molasses on her face. Just as I was coming out todinner the other boy brought back the porcelain eggs you had given himwith word that 'Ma had biled 'em an hour, and she couldn't even budgethe shells.' So you see, my son, that in a miscellaneous store you arequite out of your element."

  "It was that flirt of a Belle Marigold that upset him," said mother,laughing so that she spilled the gravy on the table-cloth. "He'll beall right when she is once Mrs. Hencoop."

  That very evening Fred came in the store to ask me to be hisgroomsman.

  "We're going to be married the first of June," he told me, grinninglike an idiot.

  "Does Belle know that you invite me to be groomsman?" I responded,gloomily.

  "Yes; she suggested that you be asked. Rose Ellis is to bebridesmaid."

  "Very well; I accept."

  "All right, old fellow. Thank you," slapping me on the back.

  As I lay tossing restlessly on my bed that night--after an hour spentin a vain attempt to take the butter out of my lavenders with Frenchchalk--I made a new and firm resolution. I would make Belle sorry thatshe had given her preference to Fred. I would so bear myself--duringour previous meetings and consultations, and during the day of theceremony--that she should bitterly repent not having given me anopportunity to conquer my diffidence before taking up with FrederickHencoop. The opportunity was given me to redeem myself. I would provethat, although modest, I was a gentleman; that the blushing era ofinexperience could be succeeded by one of calm grandeur. Chesterfieldcould never have been more quietly self-possessed; Beau Brummell moreimperturbable. I would get by heart all the little formalities of theoccasion, and, when the time came, I would execute them withconsummate ease.

  These resolutions comforted me--supported me under the weight ofdespair I had to endure. Ha! yes. I would show some people that somethings could be done as well as others.

  It was four weeks to the first of June. As I had ruined my lavendertrousers I ordered another pair, with suitable neck-tie, vest, andgloves, from New York. I also ordered three different andlately-published books on etiquette. I studied in all three of thesethe etiquette of weddings. I thoroughly posted myself on the ancient,the present, and the future duties of "best men" on such occasions. Ilearned how they do it in China, in Turkey, in Russia, in New Zealand,more particularly how it is done, at present, in England and America.As the day drew nigh I felt equal to the emergency I had a powerfulmotive for acquitting myself handsomely. I wanted to show _her_ what amistake she had made.

  The wedding was to take place in church at eight o'clock in theevening. The previous evening we--that is, the bride-elect, groom,bridesmaid, and groomsman, parents, and two or three friends--had aprivate rehearsal, one of the friends assuming the part of clergyman.All went merry as a marriage bell. I was the soul of ease and grace:Fred was the awkward one, stepping on the bride's train, dropping thering, and so forth.

  "I declare, Mr. Flutter, I never saw any one improve as you have,"said Belle, aside to me
, when we had returned to her house. "I do hopepoor Fred will get along better to-morrow. I shall be really vexed athim if anything goes wrong."

  "You must forgive a little flustration on his part," I loftilyanswered. "Perhaps, were I in his place, I should be agitated too."

  Well, the next evening came, and at seven o'clock I repaired to thesquire's residence. Fred was already there, walking up and down theparlor, a good deal excited, but dressed faultlessly and lookingfrightfully well.

  "Why, John," was his first greeting, "aren't you going to wear anycravat?"

  I put my hand up to my neck and dashed madly back a quarter of a milefor the delicate white silk tie I had left on my dressing bureau.This, of course, made me uncomfortably warm. When I got back to thesquire's I was in a perspiration, felt that my calm brow was flushed,and had to wipe it with my handkerchief.

  "Come," said that impatient Fred, "you have just two minutes to getyour gloves on."

  My hands were damp, and being hurried had the effect to make menervous, in spite of four long weeks' constant resolution. What withthe haste and perspiration, I tore the thumb completely out of theleft glove.

  Never mind; no time to mend, in spite of the proverb.

  The bride came down-stairs, cool, white, and delicious as an orangeblossom. She was helped into one carriage; Fred and I entered another.

  "I hope you feel cool," I said to Fred.

  "I hope _you_ do," he retorted.

  I have always laid the catastrophe which followed to the first mistakein having to fly home for my neck-tie. I was disconcerted by that, andI couldn't exactly get concerted again.

  I don't know what happened after the carriage stopped at the churchdoor--I must take the report of my friends for it. They say that Ibolted at the last moment, and followed the bride up one aisle insteadof the groom up the other, as I should have done. But I was perfectlycalm and collected. Oh, yes, that was why, when we attempted to formin front of the altar, I insisted on standing next to Belle, and whenI was finally pushed into my place by the irate Fred, I kept divingforward every time the clergyman said anything, trying to take thebride's hand, and responding, "Belle, I take thee to be my lawful,wedded," answering, "I do," loudly, to every question, even to that"Who gives this woman?" etc., until every man, woman, and child inchurch was tittering and giggling, and the holy man had to come to afull pause, and request me to realize that it was not I who was beingmarried.

  "I do. With all my worldly goods I thee endow," was my reply to hisreminder.

  "For Heaven's sake subside, or I'll thrash you within an inch of yourlife when I get out of this," whispered Fred.

  Dimly mistrusting that I was on the wrong track, I turned and seizedMrs. Marigold by the hand, and began to feel in my pocket for a ring,because I saw the groom taking one out of his pocket.

  The giggling and tittering increased; somebody--father or theconstable--took me by the shoulder and marched me out of that; afterwhich, I suppose, the ceremony was duly concluded. I only know thatsomebody knocked me down about five minutes afterward--I have beentold that it was the bridegroom who did it--and that all the books ofetiquette on earth won't fortify a man against the attacks ofconstitutional bashfulness.