At last, through scudding snowflakes, the welcome lights of Hoag’s Tavern shone on our view, and soon after our steeds were munching their fodder in the stable two guest-chambers were being aired and warmed for our slumbers, and we, divested of our boots and outer wrappings, found ourselves seated at a hot supper before a blazing fire.
“So far, and all well,” thinks I, congratulating myself as we took our places. “I hope Mr. Gray and Miss Sylvia will not be driven to put in here. That would be a malignant fortune, indeed.”
CHAPTER IX. THE STRANGER
FAITH, MR. SUDGEBERRY, it was a wicked wind!” cried Fentriss, hitching his chair closer to the table. “I am sure you have suffered to-day. ’Tis the first time I can recall ever being in your company when you did not beguile each minute with instructive discourse; and it would have brought tears to Mr. Gray’s eyes to see you speechless so long. No doubt we shall make up for lost time this evening.”
He fell to at the viands with a vivacious appetite, and, I confess, I followed his example; nevertheless, though hungry, I did not confine myself to the satisfaction of purely physical wants, but seized upon the occasion to reprove my ‘vis-a-vis for speaking of what was useful and instructive as mere beguilement, and continued by pointing out at length the superior usages that conversation should be put to, far above any mere passing of the time.
We had almost finished our repast, and I was bringing my remarks to a summing-up, when we were interrupted by the arrival of a traveller, who, like ourselves, had been forced to seek shelter from the blast and abandon all hope of continuing his journey till the morrow.
This was a ruddy little man of sixty-five or so, covered with snow from head to foot. He flung his saddle-bags in a corner, shaking off the snow with a great fuss and stamping of his jack-boots; then, in a manner exhibiting considerable flourish, he introduced himself as Mr. O’Donnell, of New York, late of Belfast, travelling to Philadelphia to spend Christmas with a cousin.
He accepted with alacrity William’s invitation to join us at table, and, the landlord bringing in fresh supplies, he devoured his victuals with such rapidity and gusto as to overtake us at the last mouthful, by which time I had discovered that he was, as they say, a great talker, one of too voluminous speech; that is, aimlessly prolix, and, a lamentable thing in one of his years, without that sobriety of meaning — inspired by earnestness of purpose alone — which lends grace and dignity to any age. Nay, his talk, though incessant, contained never one rounded period of length and sonorous rendition; his utterances were as jerky as the movements of his active little body.
“And so,” he cried, as he wiped the crumbs from his mouth and pushed back his chair— “and so ye tell me ye’re a pair of scholars makin’ home from the hard study! Aha! Then I’ve heard of ye!”
“Indeed!” rejoined William. “Mr. Sudgeberry’s learning is already famous, then?”
“And so it is!” exclaimed the stranger, leaning back and rubbing his hands hard together, while he looked from one to the other of us and back again, with eyes that twinkled very brightly, like a bird’s, in the glow of our heaping fire. In fact, he had just the spry-ness of a canary, in spite of the bald head and gray fringe of hair that showed his age more plainly when the heat of the room caused him to lay aside the heavy periwig he wore.
“Aha!” he cried. “The gentleman’s learning is celebrated to the extent me ears fairly ring with what I’m hearin’ of it. But, sirs, I’ve heard of both of ye.”
“Of both of us?” I echoed, mystified.
“Yes, but I have, though — from old man Gray.”
“What!” said William, laying down his fork.
“Ha, ha! I thought that was the way of it!” returned the new-corner. “I left New York this very morning in company with him and his daughter. Aha! which of ye is blushing? Both, be all that’s scandalous! Both!”
William had risen to his feet. “Where are they? Where did you leave them? Are they on the road?” he cried. “Do you mean to tell me they risked the—”
Mr. O’Donnell cut him off with a roar of laughter.
“No, no!” he shouted. “Give me a chance till I present the news of it. No, sir. ’Twas yerselves that stopped him — the pair of ye, I mean.” He rocked himself in his chair in the throes of enjoyment so exquisite it was nearer agony, and for several moments was unable to continue.
“Which of ye,” he sputtered at last— “now, which of ye is the old man hidin’ that jew’l of a girl from?”
“What, sir!” cries William. “What, what, what!”
“’Tis just as I’m tellin’ ye,” answered Mr. O’Donnell. “Old Gray was for pushin’ home, spite of storm and wind and all the snow in the world, he was, till we reached the King George Inn, which we did some half - hour after ye’d left it. There the landlord told us two boys from the college, matin’ down this way, had gone on to Hoag’s for the night. When old Gray heard that, he asked in a hurry was one of them a handsome, gay-lookin’ rip with a wicked gray eye, and the other — and the other—”
Here Mr. O’Donnell turned to me with a polite wave of the hand, and again repeating “and the other,” was seized with a fit of choking. He scrambled to his feet and walked about the room in evident distress, gasping out, “Pound me on the back!” and, “Let me have it hard!” with various like objurgations between paroxysms, the which instructions William, who had gone to his assistance, carried out heartily. When Mr. O’Donnell grew easier and was somewhat master of himself, he dropped into a chair, whispering weakly, with a wag of his head at me:
“And the other — like yerself, sir!”
“What happened next, if you please?” asked William, anxiously.
“The landlord told him yes, ye were, and Gray swore never another step from the place would he budge the night. That left me to come on alone.”
“Then they are at the King George?”
“Where else? Yes, sir — five miles back. The old gentleman said he didn’t mind dyin’ by storm or freezation. ‘It’s a comparatively sudden death,’ says he, ‘and I understand it’s painless and easy over. But I’ll not risk worse,’ says he. ‘I’ve borne all I will of it,’ says he, makin’ use of some expressions I’ll not shock ye with, ‘so here we stay the night!’ Gentlemen, there was something about his manner — to be frank with ye — that almost led me to conclude that ye’re not exactly his favorite scholars; and I believe I should be performin’ a sacred duty to warn ye against continuin’ whatever it is ye’ve been doin’ to him, because he may work ye harm. He was the desperate-lookin’ old man when he said that same!”
William began to pace the floor with hurried steps, but I was plunged into solemn cogitations. Judge of the mixture of my feelings, my sentiments, when I learned that the charming object of my affections was so close at hand, and, indeed, that I should have seen her this very evening at Hoag’s except for William Fentriss’s presence there; and oh, alas! my mortification that she and her father should learn I was his travelling-companion! Gossip is not always utterly evil, since it was gossip took down William’s spirit; but ’tis a very petard, dangerous to the innocent, in the mouth of such a one as that prating old landlord of the King George, a needless babbler whom I loathed with an acute loathing, “What time does Mr. Gray intend to go on with his journey?” Fentriss inquired, overcarelessly, of Mr. O’Donnell.
“He’s up at five in the morning, the mad old ripster, hopin’ to get by while ye’re still asleep, and looks to be home for to-morrow’s breakfast. They start before dawn.”
“How does he travel?” asked William. “How does he travel?” echoed the other. “Faith, then, on the road!”
“No, no; I mean his travelling-carriage. Has he—”
“His own chaise and four.”
“Oh!” said William. “Thank you.” He paused in his walking the floor, and stood by the chimney-piece regarding the rosy flames attentively, prodding a log-end with his slipper. “Postilion?” he asked.
“Two b
oys; fine cattle under ’em, sir.”
“Ah! Man atop with a blunderbuss?”
“No. The times are not so bad as that, are they?”
“Well,” returned Fentriss, reflectively, “there’s no telling. The boys have pistols, have they?”
“Have they pistols? Is there an escort of dragoons? Do they carry artillery? And have I fallen in with a couple of highwaymen? Holy powers!” cried our new acquaintance, rising excitedly. “Holy powers! I understand ye! It’s an elopement ye’re planning!”
“Nay, nay!” exclaimed William, turning a furious crimson, and lifting both hands in protest. “My dear sir — my dear sir—”
“Dear sir, dear sir!” shouted the little man, mocking him. “Don’t ye ‘dear sir’ me! I thought ye were precious solicitous for the old gentleman’s safety. Aha! ‘A gay-lookin’ rip,’ says Gray—’ a gay-lookin’ rip, with a wicked gray eye!’ A wicked gray eye! Faith, he knew ye! Aha!”
“Nay, nay!” cried William.
“Ay, ay!” exclaimed the other, dancing across the floor with his hand outstretched to William. “Ay, ay! And upon me immortal soul, what’s more, I’m in with ye! I must be counted in! I wouldn’t have missed it for all the world and universe. Ye’ll find me a great hand at the business, sir. I’m along in years, they’ll tell ye, but into every wickedness came near me since the age of five; goin’ miles and miles out of me way to embroil meself in any and all dev—”
“This is wild talk!” interrupted William, waving him away.
“So it is!” shouted Mr. O’Donnell. “And what’s too wild for a boy like yerself to be plannin’?”
“My dear sir,” remonstrated William, “you forget my companion. I believe that you yourself made some allusion to the circumstance that I have the honor to be his rival. Now, I ask you, is it likely that we—”
“What o’ that? Can’t the two of ye fight it out? Can’t ye toss up for yer jew’l, once ye’ve got her away? Have ye no spurit? Have ye no—”
“Will you hear me?” William broke in, impatiently. “You wrong Mr. Sudgeberry as completely as you misunderstand me. I haven’t a ghost of the intention you impute, especially since an elopement would be far from the point, and, if I should — if I should, I repeat — if I should entertain any preposterous and impossible design whatsoever, then, sir, let me tell you that the mere presence of this sober-minded and well-behaved comrade of mine, Mr. Sudgeberry, here, would cause me to abandon it in its conception and be ashamed I could conceive it, such is his restraining — nay, his solemn — influence.”
Mr. O’Donnell gave a sounding slap to his thigh, went close to William and looked him earnestly in the eye for several seconds, ending with the flicker of one of his eyelids. William’s glance wandered to me, then fell, abashed; and at this the other began first to smile and next to laugh.
“Me boy,” he cried— “me boy, I like ye,” and clapped him on the back with a thump that nigh carried the recipient off his feet. “I like ye! I make no doubt we shall spend as pleasant an evening as the heart could desire, even if ye’re not for whippin’ away from old Gray with that lovely girl across yer saddle. Let be the elegant storm a-ragin’ out-doors, ’tis all the tidier night we’ll make within!”
They shook hands, laughing together increasingly, presenting a picture of unseemly merriment, of which I could make nothing, but sat staring at them in wonderment.
“I’m thinkin’ I understand ye, Mr. Fentriss,” said O’Donnell. “I should offer me very warmest apologies. Such a thing would never enter yer mind. Of course not. Of course it wouldn’t. Of course!”
CHAPTER X. THE CAROUSE
ALL CONJECTURES IN regard to the strange hilarity of William and our new acquaintance were cut short by the arrival of the landlord, Hoag, a man of monstrous fatness, who waddled in, bearing a bowl of like corpulence steaming with brown punch, followed by several servants bringing fresh logs for the fire and pipes and tobacco.
“By your leave, gentlemen!” cried the host. “By your leave! You are the only guests in the house to-night, and on such an occasion I hope you’ll not think I presume in begging you to be guests of the house as well. “Tis the custom of Hoag’s place, and I pray you’ll join me in this cheer of Christmas Eve.”
If the choice had been left to me, I should have declined the invitation; but my two companions greeted it with unmistakable favor. Mr. O’Donnell, without any words on the matter, sped toward the bowl as if he had been shot at it, filling a cup for himself before it reached the table, and launched a song upon the instant.
“Then sing!” He began, loudly:
“Good cheer to him who loves a maid!
Hooroo for him who’s not afraid, For her dear sake, The laws to break!
We’ll sing to him, and yet we say:
Lord save the King and the King’s highway!”
“And I give ye the health of me new comrade-in-arms, Mr. Fentriss!” he finished.
Soon, to my vast annoyance, the room was reeking with the noxious fumes of tobacco, while the rafters rang to the laughter of William, Mr. O’Donnell, and the fat landlord, as they pledged each other (and everything else under the son) in the hot punch. Mr. O’Donnell was the noisiest little man I ever saw; he trolled forth a dozen catches and ballads of Christmas Eve, one after another, without pause, and followed them up with wanton music — on a comb and paper — of his own composing, he claimed; and well I believed him, for more villanous sounds I never heard.
Finally he turned to me.
“Come, me young Erasmus!” bawls he, as though I had been a mile away. “Join the festivities! Oh, why should the harp on our green hills be silent, and why has me true love no welcome for me? Give us a toast, me joyful — or, can ye sing?”
“Heaven forbid,” quoth I, rising, “that I should become a practitioner of levities! Why a series of noises at varying pitches should be held pleasing to the ear has always passed my comprehension. We are now rapidly approaching an age when such barbarous proclivities of the more advanced Caucasian races shall be relegated to those savages from whom they have sprung — an age which every rational intellect must anticipate with symptoms of earnest pleasure.”
Thereupon, the landlord, Mr. O’Donnell, and William Fentriss having seated themselves, I branched into a description of the glories of the coming era. I dilated upon the achievements of scholarship, going at length into the researches of science and learning during the last five centuries, and after comparing our present theories with those of the ancients, deduced the results which must inevitably follow (in the future) the trend of modern thought, finally concluding with a carefully correct quotation from a work of infinite merit which exactly coincided with my own views.
Let it never be denied that true learning commands respect even among the most ribald minds: for I was listened to with the — most flattering attention. Fentriss, gazing into the fire, appeared to be revolving my observations with profound consideration; Hoag had ensconced himself in the shadow of the chimney-piece, so that he could be discerned only dimly, but his absolute silence betokened entire attentiveness; while little Mr. O’Donnell, favoring me with an extremely polite interest, sat on the edge of his chair and followed my every gesture with open mouth.
As I concluded, he sprang to his feet, and, seizing a candle from the shelf, exclaimed that he must see me to my room himself.
“For,” cries he, “I see that ye’re worn out and need rest, and our worthy landlord is so immersed in meditation, brought on be the masterly conversation with which we’ve been favored, that I’ll just save him the trouble. Aha! ’Tis the wonderful man ye are, Mr. Sudgeberry! I perform a bit in the same way, meself, but ye’re miles and miles ahead of me. Ye’ve talked for an hour and a half beyond any one I ever heard before! I gathered something of yer powers from what Mr. Gray said at the King George, but he didn’t do ye half justice. He’s too old to put it the way it should be, and, besides, his vocabulary is too small for it. It would take a young man — yes
, sir, and an athlete at that — in the full possession of his faculties, to describe ye properly, sir. Indeed, sir,” he went on to say, as he lighted me up the stairs, “ye’ve surpassed me wildest expectations of ye, and they were great!”
Then, when he turned to leave me, at the door of my room, he asked, “Me boy, how old are ye?”
“Nineteen,” I returned.
“Nineteen!” quoth he. “Nineteen! ’Tis just stupendous! Nineteen! Ah, I’m wish-in’ I could see ye in yer prime!”
Not without a higher opinion of Mr. O’Donnell, and a fear that I had done him scant justice in my first rating of him, I entered my chamber and prepared for the night.
As I composed my limbs for slumber, my thoughts were divided between regret that my friends had heard of my present association with Fentriss and musings on the delightful meeting of the morrow. Reflecting, however, that my mind might be better employed, I mentally repeated an oration of Cicero, in order to assure myself that, even after the fatigue of the day, my memory retained its customary vigor and accuracy. It is in great part to this diligent habit of my youth that I owe whatever reputation I enjoy to-day. (It would be idle for me to deny that some little talk of me is current beyond our neighborhood.) For of all my parts and faculties, my memory has achieved the most celebration.
Thus occupied, I presently found myself in a fair way to peaceful sleep, when a great disturbance — shouting and laughter, roaring songs, and the clinking of glasses — broke out in the room below, warning me that those pernicious revels, which I congratulated myself I had subdued by a rational conversation, were again in progress.
The tavern was of a shambling construction, walls and floors undeadened, whereby, the room in which the roisterers sat being directly beneath me, I could not fail to catch every sound. And it was not long before my elevated opinion of Mr. O’Donnell had sunk again to an extreme low ebb, and I fell into a great pity for his cousin in Philadelphia and the people at the house he said he was on his way to visit.
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 40