The Last of the Foresters Part 35

And he spread the letter out before him and read it carefully, with many varying expressions on his face. The last expression of all, however, was grief and pain. As he finished, his head again drooped, and his sorrowful eyes were fixed on vacancy.

"I'll tell you what it is, Verty, my friend," said Roundjacket, chuckling, "I don't think we make much by keeping you from paying a daily visit to some of your friends. My own opinion is, that you would do more work if you went and had some amus.e.m.e.nt."

"And I think so, too," said a rough voice behind the speaker, whose back was turned to the front door of the office; "it is refreshing to hear you talking sense, instead of nonsense, once in your life, Roundjacket."

And Mr. Rushton strode in, and looked around him with a scowl.

"Good morning, sir," said Verty, sadly.

"Good morning, sir?" growled Mr. Rushton, "no, sir! it's a a bad morning, a wretched, diabolical morning, if the sun _is_ pretending to shine."

"I think the sunshine is very pretty, sir."

"Yes--I suppose you do--I have no doubt of it--everything is pretty, of course,--Roundjacket!"

"Well?"

"Did you get exhibit 10?"

"I did, sir," replied Roundjacket, sighting his ruler to see if it was straight. "Have you had your breakfast, sir?"

"Yes, sir; why did you ask?"

"Oh, nothing--you know I thought you uncommonly amiable this morning."

Mr. Rushton scowled, and the ghost of a smile pa.s.sed over his rigid lips.

"I am nothing of the sort! I'm a perfect bear!" he growled.

"Not inconsistent with my former observation that you were better than usual," observed Roundjacket, with an agreeable smile. "I can prove to you quite readily that--"

"You are a ninny--I have no doubt of it--if I would listen to your wretched jabber! Enough! if you talk any more I'll go home again. A fine state of things, truly--that I am to have my mind dissipated when I'm in working trim by the nonsense of a crack-brained poet!"

Roundjacket's indignation at this unfeeling allusion to his great poem was so intense, that for the moment he was completely deprived of utterance.

"And as for you, young man," said Mr. Rushton, smiling grimly at Verty, "I suppose you are following the ordinary course of foolish young men, and falling in love! Mark me, sir! the man that falls in love makes a confounded fool of himself--you had better at once go and hang yourself. Pretty people you are, with your 'eyes' and 'sighs'--your 'loves' and 'doves'--your moonlight, and flowers and ecstacies! Avoid it, sir! it's like honey-water--it catches the legs of flies like you, and holds you tight. Don't think you can take a slight sip of the wine, sir, and there leave off--no, sir, you don't leave off, you youngsters never do; you guzzle a gallon! The consequence is intellectual drunkenness, and thus you make, as I said before, confounded fools of yourselves! Bah! why am I wasting my time!--a vast deal of influence we people who give good advice possess! Young men will be fools to the end--go and see your sweetheart!"

And with a grim smile, the s.h.a.ggy lawyer entered his sanctum, and banged the door, just as Roundjacket, still irate about the slur cast upon his poetry, had commenced reading in a loud voice the fine introductory stanzas--his hair sticking up, his eyes rolling, his ruler breaking the skulls of invisible foes. Alas for Roundjacket!--n.o.body appreciated him, which is perhaps one of the most disagreeable things in nature. Even Verty rose in a minute, and took up his hat and rifle, as was his habit.

Roundjacket rolled up his ma.n.u.script with a deep sigh, and restored it to the desk.

"Where are you going, young man?" he said. "But I know--and that is your excuse for such shocking taste as you display. As for the within bear," and Roundjacket pointed toward Mr. Rushton's apartment, "he is unpardonable!"

"Well, good-bye."

These latter words were uttered as Verty went out, followed by Longears, and closed the door of the office after him.

He had scarcely heard or understood Mr. Rushton's extraordinary speech: but had comprehended that he was free to go away, and in the troubled state of his mind, this was a great boon. Yes! he would go and suffer again in Redbud's presence--this time he would know whether she really hated him. And then that pa.s.sage in the letter! The thought tore his heart.

What could the reason for this dislike possibly be? Certainly not his familiar ascent to her room, on the previous day. Could it have been because she did not like him in his fine clothes? Was this latter possible? It might be.

"I'll go to Mr. O'Brallaghan's and get my old suit--he has not sent them yet," said Verty, aloud; "then I'll go and see Redbud just as she used to see me in old times, at Apple Orchard, when we were--ah!--so happy!"

The "ah" above, represents a very deep sigh, which issued from Verty's breast, as he went along with the dignified Longears at his heels.

Longears never left his master, unless he was particularly attracted by a small fight among some of his brethren, or was seized with a desire to thrust his nostrils against some baby playing on the sidewalk, (a ceremony which, we are sorry to say, he accompanied with a sniff,) throwing the juvenile responsibility, thereby, into convulsions, evidenced by yells. With these exceptions, Longears was a well-behaved dog, and followed his master in a most "respectable"

manner.

Verty arrived at the fluttering doorway of O'Brallaghan's shop, and encountered the proprietor upon the threshold, who made him a low bow.

His errand was soon told, and O'Brallaghan entered into extensive explanations and profuse apologies for the delay in sending home Mr.

Verty's suit left with him. It would have received "attinshun" that very morning--it was in the back room. Would Mr. Verty "inter?"

Verty entered accordingly, followed by the stately Longears, who rubbed his nose against O'Brallaghan's stockings as he pa.s.sed, afterwards shaking his head, as if they were not to his taste.

Verty found himself opposite to Mr. Jinks, who was driving his needle as savagely as ever, and, with a tremendous frown, chaunting the then popular ditty of the "Done-over Tailor." Whether this was in gloomy satire upon his own occupation we cannot say, but certainly the lover of the divine Miss Sallianna presented an appearance very different from his former one, at the Bower of Nature. His expression was as dignified and lofty as before; but as to costume, the least said about Mr. Jinks the better. We may say, however, that it consisted mainly of a pair of slippers and a nightcap, from the summit of which latter article of clothing drooped a lengthy ta.s.sel.

On Verty's entrance, Mr. Jinks started up with a terrific frown; or rather, to more accurately describe the movement which he made, uncoiled his legs, and raised his stooping shoulders.

"How, sir!" he cried, "is my privacy again invaded!"

"I came to get my clothes," said Verty, preoccupied with his own thoughts, and very indifferent to the hero's ire.

"That's no excuse, sir!"

"Excuse?" said Verty.

"Yes, sir--I said excuse; this is my private apartment, and I have told O'Brallaghan that it should not be invaded, sir!"

These indignant words brought Mr. O'Brallaghan to the door, whereupon Mr. Jinks repeated his former observation, and declared that it was an outrage upon his dignity and his rights.

O'Brallaghan displayed some choler at the tone which Mr. Jinks used, and his Irish blood began to rise. He stated that Mr. Verty had come for his clothes, and should have them. Mr. Jinks replied, that he had'nt said anything about Mr. Verty; but was contending for a principle. Mr. O'Brallaghan replied to this with an observation which was lost in his neck-handkerchief, but judging from as much as was audible, in defiance and contempt of Jinks. Jinks observed, with dignity and severity, that there were customers in the store, who were gazing at Mr. Verty, just as he was about to disrobe. O'Brallaghan muttered thereupon to himself some hostile epithets, and hastily returned to wait upon the customers, leaving Mr. Jinks dodging to avoid the eyes of the new-comers, but still preserving an expression of haughty scorn.

Meanwhile Verty had descried his old forest suit lying upon a shelf, and, laying down his rifle, had nearly indued his limbs therewith. In fifteen minutes he had completed the change in his costume, and stood before Mr. Jinks the same forest-hunter which he had been, before the purchase of the elegant clothes he had just taken off. Instead of rosetted shoes, moccasins; instead of silk and velvet, leather and fur. On his head, his old white hat had taken the place of the fashionable chapeau. Verty finished, by taking off the bow of ribbon which secured his hair behind, and scattering the profuse curls over his shoulders.

"Now," he sighed, looking in a mirror which hung upon the wall, "I feel more like myself."

Jinks gazed at him with dignified emotion.

"You return to the woods, sir," he said; "would that I could make up my mind to follow your example. This man, O'Brallaghan, however--"

And Mr. Jinks completed his sentence by savagely clipping a piece of cloth with the huge shears he held, as though the enemy's neck were between them.

Verty scarcely observed this irate movement.

"I'll leave the clothes here," he said; "I'm going now--good-bye."

And taking up his rifle, the young man went out, followed by Longears, who, to the last, bent his head over his shoulder, and gazed upon Mr.

Jinks with curiosity and interest.