Round the Block Part 48

The conjecture was correct. But with Mr. Chiffield came Matthew Maltboy.

They had arrived on the door steps at the same moment, coming from different directions.

Mr. Whedell received Chiffield with his heartiest grip, and inflicted only a mild squeeze on the hand of Maltboy, whose appearance at that time he considered decidedly unfortunate. The father thought he had observed in Clementina signs of preference for that corpulent young lawyer. He was pained to see that Clementina barely extended the tips of her fingers to Chiffield, while to Maltboy she gave her whole palm with great cordiality. Not only this, but she encouraged Maltboy to take a seat by her, and commenced talking with him of the opera, of b.a.l.l.s, of new music, of fashions, of the last novel, rattling away on these subjects as if her whole soul were wrapped up in the discussion. It was almost a monologue. Maltboy's part consisted of "Yes;" "I think so too;"

"We agree perfectly," and adjectives of admiration occasionally thrown in. That musical voice! He could have listened with rapture to its recital of the multiplication table.

Mr. Chiffield and Mr. Whedell had settled themselves on a _tete-a-tete_, and, after some cursory observations on the weather, commenced talking of finance--a theme of which neither of those gentlemen ever tired.

"So money is getting tighter?" said Mr. Whedell, after a pause to digest the awful truth which Mr. Chiffield had imparted to him. "Now I shouldn't be surprised, sir, to hear of failures before long, and in quarters where the public least expect them."

If Mr. Whedell's double eyegla.s.s had been astride his nose instead of swinging in his fingers, he might have noticed a faint paleness blending with the deep yellow of Mr. Chiffield's complexion. That gentleman replied, a little more quickly than was his wont:

"A few small, weak houses may go down, perhaps, but the strong ones will weather the storm easy enough. If our establishment could live through 1847, it is in no danger now."

"And such was the good fortune of Upjack, Chiffield & Co., I well remember," said Mr. Whedell.

Mr. Chiffield bowed his gracious acknowledgment of the handsome historical allusion.

"How is Erie, Mr. Chiffield?"

"Looking up."

"Sure of it?"

"A leading Wall-street man told me, this afternoon, it would advance three per cent. this week. I have a slight interest in watching it,"

said Mr. Chiffield, smiling.

"So have I," said Mr. Whedell, smiling also.

Daring their conversation, and the remainder of their financial dialogue, Mr. Whedell kept one ear, and occasionally one eye, inclined toward his daughter and the favored Maltboy. If there was a hint conveyed in those side glances at his daughter, she either did not notice it, or did not choose to take it. Sometimes Mr. Chiffield looked in the same direction, but casually, as it were, and without one sign of impatience visible in the depths of his calm brown eyes. Mr. Chiffield was not a nervous man.

Matthew Maltboy was so perfectly free from selfishness at this moment, that he would cheerfully have spared a few words from Miss Whedell's delightful monologue for the gratification of his late rival ("late" was now decidedly the word, in Maltboy's opinion) over the way. In the exercise of his large charity and compa.s.sion, he pitied that unfortunate, sadly disappointed dealer in dry goods.

This pity, as Matthew used to say in after days, was thrown away. At the end of a brilliant description of a new set of quadrilles which Miss Whedell had danced at a sociable the night before, that young lady said, "Excuse me," and crossed the room to a what-not in the corner, and searched for something among a pile of magazines and pictures. The thought that she was making efforts to please him, tickled Matthew's vanity. While she was overhauling the pile, Mr. Whedell left his seat by Chiffield, and took the one just vacated by his daughter. Matthew received him with the diplomatic courtesy due to the parent of one's enchantress, and made a well-meant if not novel remark on the state of the weather. Mr. Whedell mildly disputed his proposition (whatever it was)--for Mr. W. was always disputatious on that subject--and then pa.s.sed to the consideration of national politics. "The one topic natually suggests the other," said Mr. Whedell, "for they are equally variable." This was one of the father's few standard jokes; and Maltboy always laughed at it with the heartiness of a future son-in-law. They then grappled with the great theme in earnest.

CHAPTER III.

PULLING IN.

Clementina, having found what she sought, glided to the chair which her father had relinquished, and said, coquettishly, "Now I have come to entertain _you_, Mr. Chiffield. You were speaking of Niagara Falls, the other day. Here are some photographs of them, taken for me on the spot."

She handed the pictures to Mr. Chiffield. That gentleman took them with a profound bow, glanced over them, and said, "How elegant!" "What rich scenery!" "How tasty they are got up, a'n't they?" "This is the showiest picture;" "Here's a neat one," &c., &c., &c. Mr. Chiffield had contracted the use of a certain cla.s.s of highly descriptive adjectives in selling dry goods. Clementina watched him narrowly, and thought how nicely she could manage this heavy fellow.

"How many times have you been to the Falls?" she asked, when Chiffield had shuffled through the photographs twice.

"Three times," said Chiffield, telling a white lie; for he had seen them at morning, noon, and evening on the same day. "And how often have you visited them, Miss Whedell?"

"Oh! so often I can't remember. My last visit was early last autumn. Oh!

pa, did we go to Niagara Falls before or after our trip to the White Mountains?"

"After it, my child," replied the father, who maintained a c.o.c.ked ear toward his child. "Don't you recollect we went from the Falls to Lake George, and stayed there till the first week in November? That was the year we omitted Newport and Saratoga, for a wonder," he added, conveying the idea, in a look to Mr. Chiffield, that such an omission was a marvel in their annual experiences.

"You love the Falls, I suppose?" said Mr. Chiffield.

"Oh! not much. I think they're dreadfully overrated." Clementina was determined not to be won too cheaply.

"So I think," said Chiffield, delighted to speak his real sentiments this time; "though everybody is obliged to praise 'em, because that's the fashion."

"But, though the Falls a'n't much, I must say the b.a.l.l.s and hops are delightful. The fresh air there seems to give one strength to dance all night without a bit of fatigue. I bought these pictures because they show the hotels and other places where I have had such delicious dances."

Chiffield execrated dancing, because he had large feet, and legs slightly bowed. He moved in the cotillon or waltz with a certain elephantine ponderousness and sagacity. Therefore she tantalized him with these reminiscences.

"You see the Clifton House, there, on the Canada side? One night I danced eight waltzes, six polkas, four quadrilles, three fancy dances, and wound up, at five o'clock, with the German."

"Wonderful!" observed Chiffield, not knowing what else to say.

"Perhaps you think I was tired? Oh! not a particle. Next night we had a little hop on Table Rock. It was got up on short notice, but perfectly charming, I a.s.sure you. There were only two fiddles, and sometimes the noise of the Falls would almost drown the music. The fiddlers had to sc.r.a.pe so hard, that they gave out about three o'clock, and we had to give up the dancing, and go home, very much disappointed."

"Unlucky, indeed!" interjected Chiffield.

"But the next night we had two extra fiddlers. They relieved the other two at midnight, and then we danced till daybreak. Oh! such a glorious time. Next year, when I heard that a part of Table Rock had tumbled into the horrid river, I could have cried."

"It was a great shame, indeed!" said Chiffield.

"Isn't this view of Suspension Bridge natural?" she asked

"Amazing!" said Chiffield; and he ventured to add that he considered that bridge to be a great triumph of human genius.

"I dare say it is. But I didn't think of that. I was only going to tell you how the gentlemen of our Table Rock party tried to hire the use of the bridge one night to dance on. The owners wouldn't let it. Mean, weren't they?"

"Contemptible!" replied Chiffield.

"We should have had it nicely swept and lighted. The breeze coming down the river would have been beautiful, and the awful noise of the Falls wouldn't have been too loud for the music. But we almost made up for our disappointment. Next night, the gentlemen hired the 'Maid of the Mist'--the little steamboat, you know, that you see in this picture--and we sailed round and round below the Falls all night, dancing all the time. We went so near the Falls twice, that I got quite wet with the nasty spray, and caught cold; but that didn't prevent me from dancing all the next night, at the International. You have a good view of the house in this picture."

"Tasty," said Chiffield.

Mr. Whedell and Maltboy had not lost a word of this conversation, though they had been mutually boring each other with complex sentences about national politics. Happily, the discussion required no mental effort, and left them both free to hear and make mental comments on the dialogue that buzzed across the way.

Mr. Whedell regretted that his daughter should expatiate with such vivacity upon a subject that must be extremely disagreeable to a gentleman of Mr. Chiffield's large figure and steady habits. To the cultivated judgment of Maltboy, it was evident that the young lady was trying to amuse Chiffield merely for the purpose of annoying him (Maltboy). Experience had taught Matthew the best kind of cure for this species of female perversity. He determined to leave the house, and thereby show that he was not to be trifled with.

Availing himself of a pause in the dissertations on national politics, Maltboy pulled out his watch and consulted it. "Why!" said he; "nine o'clock! And I was to be in Fourteenth street by half past eight. Only intended to drop in just to see how you were. You really must excuse me, Mr. Whedell." Matthew rose as he spoke, to show that his mind was made up, and remonstrances would be useless.

"Don't go. Put off your other call," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. "Whedell, at the same time rising, and thereby indicating a perfect acquiescence in the departure of his guest.

"You are in a hurry," said Miss Whedell, calmly, but without objection in voice or eye.

Mr. Chiffield looked calmly at his rival; and none but a skilled student of physiognomy could have discovered a gleam of triumph in his dull, yellow face.

Maltboy was disappointed in the calm demeanor of Miss Whedell; but, strong in his purpose, he walked toward the door, followed by the father. As he pa.s.sed into the entry, he bowed coldly to the lady of his heart, and drew from her a scarcely perceptible nod.