The Brother Clerks; A Tale of New-Orleans.

by Мэри Эшли Таунсенд Xariffa

  "'But,' sez the ole feller, 'if you get away, and go North, see how much happier you'll be. You'll have all you earn to yourself, and can buy your own clothes, and can have your own hum, and be out ob de chains of slavery-be a free man, tink ob dat! Cum, if you want to go, I'll help you to run away.'

  "'Tank you, massa,' sez I, 'but I'd rather stay, and hab ebery ting provided fur me, to trying to be free, and habbin' to dig like a dog to airn my living, an' den not half live. But if you want to set me free so bery bad, and feel so 'stremely bad 'bout my sitiation, if you'll jist walk into de house, an' offer to buy me ob my Master, you can get me, I 'spect, because I ain't one ob de best niggers in the world, an' I'll jist try dis freedom you talk ob, for awhile.'

  "'Buy you!' sez he, wavin' of his white hand at an orful rate, 'nebber! 'Spose I'll lay out my money to buy a nigger free? Be dem, no! Go free! you've a right to be free; jist cut, and run 'cross de line, an' be happy."

  "'Cross de line, and go to de debbil!' sez I. 'No, sah! I'se got too much respect for my Master to leeb him in dat style; 'side dat, I'd never 'spec to go to Hebben in de wurld, 'cause I might jist as well rob him ob so much money, fur he paid a good price for me, I tell you. No, sah! I say. I'll stay where I am as long as I can, fur, 'cording to my idee, dar's nuffin meaner in all creation dan a free nigger, 'cept it's a hypercritical abolitionist.'

  "Lord! I had to run den, as if de ole scratch was at my heels, fur he flung his cane at me so hard, dat when it struck, it stood straight up in de ground. I peeked roun' de ara winder when I got out ob reach, and he was shakin' all ober, he wus so mad, and swarin' fit to kill. Yah, yah, I fixed de ole feller dat time, Massa Pratt, I 'sure you."

  Arthur could not help smiling at Jeff's enthusiastic relation of the circumstance, and at the same time he saw it was useless to carry on a conversation upon this subject with one of his quick wit; so he only remarked to the negro, who seemed waiting for some encomiums, that he "served him right," and then turned away, and began arranging the goods in his department for the day's sale. Steps were now heard upon the stairs, and Wilkins, followed by Guly, came down into the store, the latter looking pale, and half-sick, from the previous night of lonely and anxious vigils. Wilkins passed Arthur with a cheerful "good morning," and Guly advanced to his side, trying to smile; but the attempt was futile, and he gained his side, and took his hand, silently.

  Arthur's heart had not become so hardened, in so short a space of time, as to lose all its generous impulses, and he was deeply touched by the expression of his brother's face, so full of grief, yet with such an apparent effort to conceal all sorrow from him. Wilkins was engaged with his books, and Jeff was busy in the back part of the store; and, assured that he would not be observed, he threw an arm about his brother, and drew him close to his side.

  Guly lifted his large blue eyes, sad and moistened, to Arthur's face.

  "Dear Arthur," he whispered, "could you but know how much I loved you, you would never-never-" he could get no farther, and stopped suddenly, struggling to keep down his rising emotion.

  "I would never go astray thus, you would say, Guly; but think not so. It is my fate; I cannot turn aside from it, nor avert it; when I would stop and struggle, on this slippery, downward path, I find it impossible, and I rush on, like one who must keep moving, or fall."

  "You do not call upon One to aid you, who would surely hear your cry."

  Arthur was silent.

  "If we knelt oftener, side by side, as we used to, dear brother, do you not think that your heart would grow more humble and more submissive? and that we both would be happier far?"

  "Guly! do not charge me with having totally neglected those duties. The past night must, indeed, have been a long one, if you can believe that we no longer do as we used to do. Night before last, remember, Guly, I was by your side, looking over with you the pages of the Holy Word, and kneeling to Him who bids us obey it."

  "True, Arthur; but the night has seemed to me almost interminable. It is very lonely without you, Arthur."

  "I am not sorry you miss me, Guly; it seems to whisper of so much love; and your love is very dear to me. Remember what I told you the other night upon the step, and always try to feel this affection for me."

  "Always, Arthur."

  "There is a terrible weight upon my spirits this morning," added the elder brother, speaking huskily; "I have never felt such a heaviness of heart before. All that was ever bright in my past life, comes up to my memory with a pall wrapped around it, and the future shows no fairer scene. In truth, I have witnessed more vice since I parted from you, Guly, than I have ever imagined the world contained."

  "Don't you feel ill, Arthur? If you will lie down, I will see that your place is taken care of."

  "No, Guly, I am getting used to it; I require no rest now; and I may as well bear up, after a night's dissipation, first as last."

  "I beg you, Arthur, not to talk in this way. Surely you do not mean to continue this course; you will not, you cannot, I am sure. What would I ever do, dear brother, left utterly alone and friendless here?"

  "My poor Guly! alas, I dare not promise myself to make another attempt to do better; my pride is my misfortune; and I feel as if the hopes and promises of all my young life were dead. I am wretched, wretched!"

  At this moment Quirk entered the store; and as Arthur looked up, he caught the leer of significant meaning, sent from a quick wink of the eye, and a momentary elongation of the visage, of his late companion.

  He smiled in return, but at the same moment blushed deeply, as if ashamed to be seen exchanging significant glances with such a being. He also gently withdrew the arm which was about his brother, and moved a little away from him. The clerks now began rapidly to fill their respective places, and the brothers started forth, accompanied by Wilkins, to the restaurant. Wilkins observed, that at breakfast Arthur helped himself freely to claret, and drank heartily, as if to satisfy a burning thirst. He made no remark upon it, however, and the meal was altogether a sad and silent one. All were reflecting upon the events of the past night, a subject which each felt a peculiar sensitiveness about broaching, and with the mere table ceremonies, which even in such a place the brothers did not fail to observe, the breakfast was finished.

  As was frequently the case, Wilkins was the first to be through, and as soon as he had taken the last mouthful, he took his hat and started for the store, as if there was something painful in the silence which had fallen over them. Though left to themselves, the brothers did not resume the subject they had been discussing before Quirk's appearance, and though Guly longed to ask about the bruise standing out blue and prominent on his brother's brow, he could not frame the words with which to ask the question. He felt, too, that the knowledge might bring him much more trouble and uneasiness, than the unexplained sight of the blow, and they passed forth into the street, with linked arms, but divided hearts, and turned their steps toward the store.

  They had gone but a short distance, when Guly's attention was attracted by a gathering crowd upon the opposite side of the way, and, with a natural feeling of curiosity, he hastened across the street, accompanied by Arthur, to discover the cause of the excitement.

  What was his astonishment, to see extended upon the pavement, face downwards, while with his long arms he swept his crutches around him, like a pair of oars, to keep his tormentors, the boys, away, his old acquaintance, the dwarf. He had evidently fallen down, and in his descent had dropped his greasy cap, from which had rolled a few of his precious picayunes. He either was unable to rise, or else would not do so, lest while he was engaged in righting himself, the boys should rob him of his scattered silver. They had gathered about him at his fall, but he had swung his long crutches so dexterously around him, keeping his one eye fixed gloatingly upon the bits of change meanwhile, that not one dared to approach him closer.

  The moment Guly's eye fell upon him, he hastened forward with an exclamation of pity upon his lips, and in spite of the crutches, he stepped behind the
unfortunate old man, and raised him to his feet. Without hesitation he commanded the boys to leave the picayunes untouched, placed the cane properly in the dwarf's hand, then restored to him the cap, and its scattered contents, at the same time adding a trifle from his own purse, to the little stock.

  "Hih, hih!" chuckled the little man, for the first time looking up, as he received his treasure; "hih, hih."

  His one eye, with its odious expression, lit suddenly upon Guly's face, and became illuminated instantly with a new light. It regarded him earnestly, and though he stepped back to avoid the gaze, the immense head, with that one eye burning in it, turned still toward him, on the slim, wrinkled neck.

  "You pick me up, Monsieur?"

  Guly smiled, and nodded.

  "Hih, hih; I am obliged to you; will you keep the boys away till I get started?"

  "They shall not touch you."

  Taking one more earnest look of Guly, he threw his weight upon his long crutches, and swung away between them, with the skirts of his coat, as usual, trailing behind him.

  "You have met this miserable object every morning, for more than a month, now, Guly, and he has always begged for alms, and you have never refused. How do you know whether he is worthy or not?" said Arthur.

  "His deformity is sufficient to testify to that, brother."

  "With your salary, I can't imagine how you can afford it."

  "A picayune a day is a mere trifle; I save for him what I might otherwise spend in selfish indulgence."

  "Well, charity begins at home. I can't afford to be so benevolent."

  "Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord," replied Guly, with a smile, as they entered the store.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  "I love that soul so nobly proud,

  That misery cannot blight;

  The soul that braves the jeering crowd,

  And sternly claims its right."

  Anon.

  Guly took his place with a more cheerful heart than the early morning had promised him; for the consciousness of having performed a kindly deed, imparted a buoyancy to his spirits, which on the previous night he had almost fancied he could never experience again. He had been in his place but a few moments, when a lady entered to purchase some embroidery. The article she desired was an expensive one, and the contents of the whole box were searched before she found it. As Guly was folding it for her, he perceived, as he held it between him and the light, that there were several threads broken here and there between the delicate fibres of the work, as if it had been eaten by an insect. He immediately pointed out the defect to his customer. She examined it, and finding that the piece had suffered in the same way throughout, she expressed her thanks to him warmly for having made her aware of the imperfection, and also manifested her regret at not being able to take the article under such circumstances, for she had intended it as a bridal gift to a young friend of hers, and would have felt deeply mortified if the discovery had been made after the presentation. After a few more trifling purchases, she turned away, and Guly restored the rejected piece of work to its place, and put the box upon the shelf. As he turned round, his eye fell upon the face of his employer, who stood bolt upright on the opposite side of the counter.

  Guly bowed politely, and wished him good morning; but the hard face before him relaxed not a muscle, and stared straight and rigidly into the boy's eyes. It needed no second glance to show that Mr. Delancey was very much enraged.

  "Did I see you, sir," he demanded, at last, in a tone far from being inaudible, "point out to a customer a defect in her purchase, and so lose a sale?"

  "I certainly did so, sir; you would not have me sell an imperfect piece of goods, knowing that it was so, for perfect, and take the full price for the same, would you?"

  "What was it to you, I'd like to know, after she had examined the piece, and declared that it suited her, whether there was a blemish in it or not, if she had not discovered it?"

  "She might have discovered it afterwards, and would no doubt have thought I meant to deceive her, and, in all probability, I should have lost her custom altogether."

  "Nonsense! young man; she would have sent it to her milliner to make up, and in an hour the imperfection would have never been discovered. The next time I see you do a thing of this kind, you lose your place."

  "Then I must, sir," returned Guly, firmly; "I can never sacrifice principle to profit, under any circumstances."

  "You're a fool," said Delancey; pale with anger at the firm but mild demeanor of his clerk. "How much would the sale have amounted to?"

  "Thirty-five dollars."

  "It shall be taken from your salary. Teach you better another time."

  "Very well, sir. Wilkins, be kind enough to mark my salary thirty-five dollars less, if you please."

  Mr. Delancey had carried on his part of the conversation in so loud a tone, that it was audible to a number, who were not too busy with their own affairs to pay heed to it; but Guly felt deeply chagrined to observe, as Mr. Delancey turned away, that his late customer had been standing just behind the merchant, examining some goods at another counter, and had probably heard all that had passed. As she left the store she looked up at Guly, with a smile, bowed to him, and passed out.

  As small as Guly's salary was, he looked upon the loss which he had suffered as a mere trifle, when compared with the pleasure he received from an approving conscience. Ho felt that he had acted right, not only in exposing the defects in the desired article, but in remaining firm to his sense of duty under the anger of his employer.

  The incident awakened in his breast a wish to know the name of the lady who had looked at the goods, and he turned to Mr. Hull, the clerk who stood next to him, to make inquiry. Hull informed him that he knew little of her except as a customer; that he had never learned her name, as he did those of most of his customers, by sending goods to their houses, for she always came in her carriage, and brought her own servant. He added, that her affability had won the esteem of all the clerks; more than this he could not tell.

  When the dinner hour arrived, Quirk sauntered down past Guly, looking at him with an impudent stare. He turned back, as he reached the door, and stopped at the counter.

  "Anything you will have, Mr. Quirk?"

  "No, I reckon not; when I do, though, I'll know where to come to find an honest chap to deal with," and he curled his disagreeable mouth into a sneer.

  Guly was silent; not wishing to prolong the conversation with one for whom he felt such an aversion. Quirk, however, was not to be put off in this manner; and drawing out his tooth-pick, he began using it among his huge masticators, and continued:-

  "I s'pose you thought the boss was of the Puritan stamp, and would perhaps promote you for that nice little affair of this morning, eh? You found yourself mistaken, I reckon, when you had the thirty-five charged over, ha, ha!"

  "I thought, sir, of acting honestly, only; and since you happened to overhear the conversation, let me tell you that I should have done the same thing the next moment, under like circumstances."

  "Well, you're a precious ninny, that's all I've got to say about it."

  "If so, perhaps you'll be willing to lounge on your own counter instead of mine, Mr. Quirk."

  "No," he replied, at the same time changing his position, "I'm comfortable enough here; so long as the boss don't see me, I believe I will stay where I am."

  Guly made no reply.

  "Well, say," said Quirk, again wheeling round so as to face Guly, "what's the reason you can't be a little sociable with a feller, when he comes and tries to talk with you. Pshaw, your brother is worth two of you."

  "I prefer devoting business hours to business," returned Guly.

  "And paying for lost sales out of your own salary. Let me advise you, if you are going to stay in this place, to let the customers find their own blemishes, and take the responsibility."

  "I shall always act according to my own judgment in such cases, Mr. Quirk," replied Guly, taking his hat, and leaving the
young gentleman to pour out his advice to an unoccupied counter. Arthur had gone to dinner before him; so Guly trudged on alone, and, on entering the restaurant, found Wilkins seated at the little table, which the three so frequently shared together, by himself.

  "Where's Arthur?" inquired Guly, anxiously.

  "He finished before me to-day, for a wonder," returned Wilkins, smiling, "and went out some time since; you probably passed each other on opposite sides of the way."

  This last suggestion quite comforted Guly, whose apprehensions for his brother had, of late, become most painfully awakened, and he fell off into conversation with his companion, upon the various topics which chanced to present themselves to their minds.

  Suddenly Wilkins looked up, and remarked:-

  "I have an engagement for you to-night, Guly."

  "For me! what is it, pray?"

  "Guess."

  "Oh, I never can. You must tell me, if you ever expect me to know."

  "What would you say, if I told you 'twas a visit to Blanche?"

  "Can it be possible?"

  Guly blushed very deeply, which Wilkins observed, and commented upon with mischievous delight.

  "Did the invitation come from her own lips, Wilkins?"

  "To be sure it did."

  "And you accepted in my name?"

  "Certainly."

  "Thank you! I shall be delighted."

  "At eight o'clock, then."

  "Very well."

  And so they parted, and Guly was left alone at the little table.

  It was an hour when the restaurant was pretty well filled, and the numerous inmates busily discussed the news, foreign and political, and affairs private and public, in their various languages and different manners. Guly looked round from his solitary table, an amused spectator of the scene. But suddenly his attention was attracted by a sound of shuffling steps upon the floor, and turning, he beheld his friend the dwarf, making his way in between the tables, with a dexterity which his long canes would scarcely warrant.