A CHRISTMAS FROLIC.

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume VI, Issue 11, 28 January 1905, Page 2 (Supplement)

A CHRISTMAS FROLIC.

OR, LIEUTENANT JONES’S DOUBLE.

My parents and guardians were all very kind and excellent people, especially the former, and they treated me always as a young lady. Unfortunately I lost my father and mother at a very early age, and I was thus suddenly confided to an uncle who, having retired from business, had come to live in a very pleasant part of Brighton, which shall be nameless. Where my uncle lived was not a hundred miles from the sea, but was in one of the streets Which run from it upwards towards the north. He was an old bachelor.

Now to this state of things I could have ho possible objection. An old bachelor was the very person to be managed by a bright-eyed, black-haired, sprightly girl of eighteen, as joyful as a bird, and as lively as a kitten. I could sing, I could dance, 1 could laugh, I could play chess and cribbage, and I could do so with zes, for the mere fact of giving so much pleasure to my worthy relative was in itself a luxury. But there v’ as Mrs Jones, the lhisc-

kceper. Mrs Jones had lived some years with my undo when I came from school. Siu* was a remarkable woman. Her nose always put me in mind of Tom Hood's hymeneal retrospections. It was a genuine poll-parrotty bill. Her eyes, however, were piercers. She ruled my uncle with a rod of iron. She ruled his hours, his meals, his walks, and his acquaintances. He was a good, easy man, and had long been used to it.

But she wanted to rule me, hence an internecine war.

L was eighteen, and she treated me like a child. At first it was all very well. I laughed at her, and made my uncle laugh, too. But I was unwise; 1 knew not my danger. She vowed revenge. She appeared to yield gracefully, to be amused at my sallies, to lie delighted with my vivacity.

“What a girl to be sure—what spirits I” would she say to my uncle. "In my time, young people were more reserved and particular; but I suppose it’s all for the best.’’

My uncle would smile, caress my curls with his great fat hand, and challenge me to a game of chess or cribbage. My uncle had many acquaintances in Brighton. They were wholly of the middle class. Being somewhat gouty, he did not much avail himself of his connection ; but when once I had been introduced to his circle, no little party, no ball was complete without me. My own maid, Martha, accompanied me when my uncle did not go, and on fine nights we walked home together. This lasted some months, and then Martha, instead of walking by my side, .walked behind. My escort was a young gentleman. You never saw such lovely black eyes, so nice a moustache, and such elegant dress.

I met him at a large party, given by one of the town officials at the Pavilion, and the .crowd being great, and myself not very largely acquainted with those present on this occasion, he danced with me all the evening. I suppose it was very wrong; but I never was so happy in all my life.

Mr Edwin Harcourt was about two or three and twenty, and a new arrival in Brighton. He did not on that occasion mention his profession. He spoke only in general terms of the great pleasure he felt in having been present at this ball, his delight at making my acquaintance, his inexpressible happiness in being honored by my hand all the evening. I am afraid my chaperone, Mrs Brown, was a little shocked, good soul, for Incver went near her once all the evening, until the ceremony of wrapping in warm shawls was about to commence.

“Child, where have you been?” she said, glancing at my handsome cavalier. "Dancing, my dear Mrs Brown. I saw you at supper; but you were so busy that f could not get near you,’’ I replied. A shake of the hand, and he was gone.

I never knew exactly how he managed it; but' from that day I scarcely, if ever, went to an evening party, however insignificant, but there was Mr Edwin Harcourt. He was always, too, by my side, and people began to talk about his assiduities I

Really, he had never said a word to me but of the most gentlemanly kind. As to what is called love-making, he never thought of such a thing. But it was clear that other people did. Opposite our dwelling was the very great house of the celebrated Dr. G . It was really quite a mansion. But, not being curious about other people's affairs, I scarcely ever directed my eyes that way. except when Dr. G ’s carriage was at the door.

One day, about* four months after my first acquaintance with Edwin Harcourt, I was by chance at the window as his carriage drove away. Suddenly the check was pulled, the carriage turned round, and again stopped opposite. The house door opened, and, after a summons from the carriage, someone came. It was my Edwin Harcourt, in his shirtsleeves and an apron. I saw it at a glance, and he saw it, for he coloured up to the eyes. The carriage drove off, and apparently .taking courage, he bowed respectfully, and, when once inside the door, kissed his hand across the street to me.

I turned away with an indignant toss of the head.

He slowly, and with downcast eyes, closed the door.

The Edwin Harcourt of my dreams had vanished, and a doctor’s assistant—horror of horrors—had taken his place. I went down to dinner with a pale face, red eyes,’ and very little appetite. My uncle, who, despite his gout, was very

fond of his ’meals, received me as usual with a smiling countenance. Mrs Jones looked daggers. I saw there was to be an explosion.

I could not eat. “You have no appetite,” she said, aggressively. “I don’t - feel very well.” “People in love seldom do.” “Mrs Jones!” I cried.

“What’s all this nonsense?” said my uncle, rather gruffly, rising from the table and coming towards me. “Only Miss Clara Band”—she usually called me Bland—“been making signs to the doctor’s boy opposite.” “Mrs Jones!” I cried, the tears rushing to my eyes, “how can you say anything so very untrue?” “What?” said my uncle. “Untrue! Did I not see him, with my own eyes, kiss his hand to you?” cried the enraged Mrs Jones. “Mr Edwin Harcourt, a gentleman I have daced with sometimes, and who, it appears, lives opposite, did certainly bow,” I said in calmer tones. I felt it necessary to protect my dignity. "I daresay there is no harm in it, Mrs Jones,” exclaimed my uncle, who was of a very pacific disposition. “No harm!” passionately urged Mrs Jones. “No harm in young people making signs across the public street! A doctor’s boy in an apron, too!” "You will allow me to retire, uncle dear, until Mrs Jones has recovered her temper. I am quite ready to explain all to you; but I cannot bear ” “Sit down, girl; and you, Mrs Jones, be silent,” roared my uncle, in a passion; “and let me cat my dinner in peace.” My adversary bit her lip in silence, and looked down upon her plate. She appeared to him vanquished; but I knew better. My back was turned for a few minutes, during which some whispering took place between my uncle and Mrs Jones. They were evidently discussing some matter of importance. Mrs Jones was insisting upon something, and my uncle resisting. “If you will not keep your promise,’’ she said, “I must out with it myself.” “If I must, I must,” said my uncle, with a groan. I turned and got him his pipe and tobacco, and prepared to leave the room. “Clara, my child,” he said, "sit down; I want to speak with you.” I sat down. “My dear girl—pouf! pouf!—my dear girl, when I was left—pouf! pouf!—your legal guardian—pof!—l knew that I had accepted a very arduous task—pouf! There is one part of a young lady’s career which is—pouf ! —always troublesome, and that—pouf ! —is marriage.” “Uncle, I assure you ” “I konw, my dear—pouf ! —all girls say the same—pouf ! —but I know better. Knowing then—pouf!—the trouble and pain which the settlement iu life—pouf!— of. a young person is sure to create, 1 have, with the advice and counsel—pouf! —of our excellent friend, Mrs Jones, already provided you—pouf!—with a busband !” “My dear sir,” I began, all my rebellious blood rushing to my heart; “I think it is a young lady’s place to choose one for herself.” “Doctor’s boy, to wit,” put in Mrs Jones very spitefully. “Madam!” I said, rising. “Now, do be quiet,” exclaimed my uncle, pettishly; “and you, Mrs Jones, do kt me speak.” My uncle laid down his pipe. “My dear girl, I never intended to say that I mean to force your inclinati j is—far from it. But what I wish is, M at you should look at the person I Live to suggest to you with a friendly eye. 1 know him to lie worthy and excellent, if you have no personal objection.” “But to whom do you allude?” I asked, now half inclined to laugh. “To Mr Theodore Jones, lieutenant in the navy, who is expected home shortly. ’ “Any relation of Mrs Jones, here present?” I said, with a very effective sneer, for her cheeks became crimson. “Well, my dear, yes; but I hope he’s none the worse for that,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Mrs Jones. “I thought so,” I replied. “And pray, miss, continued Mrs .hues, holding her breath, “have you anything to say against him on that account?’ ’ “Nothing.” “Where is his portrait?” cried my uncle. With some little pretence at hesitation, Mrs Jones went to fetch it. My uncle now, with some little emotion, explained that ever since I was ten years of old, Jones then being a stout young midshipman of twenty, I had been considered his affianced bride. The young man, now eight-and-twenty, was expected home shortly, and had recently sent his portrait. If I had any hesitation about the matter, his disappointment would be fearful. » “We shall see,” I cried, with a laugh. Mrs Jones returned with the portrait in her hand. I snatched it, rather than took it, and burst out laughing. It was of a rather tall man, with black, bushy whiskers, moustache, and spectacles. It was tood ridiculous. He my husband —never! I verily believe that had it not been for the spectacles, I should have sulked longer than I did with Edwin Harcourt. I met him that same evening, and met him, too, with an icy coldness I had some pains to assume. I was angry. I thought him at least a private gentleman, if not an officer. Doctor’s assistant—it was too bad. “Miss Bland,” he said to me, very gravely, when, under pretence of looking over an album, he lured me into a corner, “I am aware that any concealment is always suspicious. - But I will explain.” “I require no explanation ” “But I wish to give one,” he said, gently. “I am educating, Miss Bland, for the

medical profession. I am not rich, and have a widowed mother to support. To enable me to complete my studies without being a burden upon her, I have been compelled to become an assistant. Better men than myself have done so. If, however, Miss Bland thinks fit to despise me because I am a doctor’s assistant ”

“No, certainly not,” I cried, with considerable animation. “Besides, in what can it possibly affect me?” “My dear Miss Bland,” he said, interrupting me, “allow me to say that I cannot believe you have all this time misunderstood me. My attentions have been sufficiently marked for you to have understood that the dearest hope of my life is, at no distant period, to call you mine.” “Really, Mr Harcourt, you surprise me. I did not think—l could not. You highly honor me, but ” “Dearest Clara, this hesitation is cruel. You know I love you. Say that I am not wholly indifferent unto you; and then “But this is so sudden ” “I will not press you. I only ask you that I may hope at some future period you may be mine.” “Impossible!” I said, suddenly, almost convulsed with laughter. “Madam,” cried he, turning deadly pale at the thought of being insulted, “what means this strange merriment?” “It is impossible I can ever be Mrs Harcourt, when I am already designed for a Lieutenant Jones.” And I continued laughing. “Jones!—what Jones?” he cried, somewhat mystified at my humour. “Behold his portrait!” I replied, handing the miniature to him. He took it, looked at it, and laughed also. “Surely you can never mean,” lie cried, “to sacrifice yourself to such a man?” “What am I to do?” J said. “But tell me all about it," he gently replied. And so we sat down in an empty room, and I made him my confidant. We laughed heartily over the whole affair, and finally it was settled that 1 should never be Mrs Jones, and somehow or other, I don’t know how it was, it was equally decided I was to be Mrs Harcourt at the earliest possible opportunity. It was nearly Christmas-time, and Jones was expected home immediately. Harcourt resolved to send for his mother and leave to her the matrimonial negotiations. Such was the result of Mrs Jones’ effort at forcing me into marriage. My uncle was not wildly hospitable, but every now and then he would give a very pleasant little party, and on Christmas Eve he never failed.

We had expected the lieutenant to join us; but, somehow or other, lie was delayed, and poor Mrs Jones was compelled to put up with the disappointment.

I must say that I bore the non-arrival most bravely, as did my uncle. We had some twenty people present; good, worthy souls, who listened to my music, played charades, laughed, danced, talked, and enjoyed themselves lySuddenly there came a very loud knocking at the door, and a heavy step might have been hoard 'in the passage. “My nephew!” cried Mrs Jones.

The door opened, and in marched a tall man, with whiskers, spectacles, huge moustache, a straw hat, and uniform much the worse for wear, his boots covered with snow, and a general roughness of exterior and manner which startled all present. “My dear boy!” cried Mrs Jones.

"There, aunt, that'll do. I hate fuss,” said the sailor. . “Which is Bland—eh? And this is my wife, is it?” “Nephew!’’

“Well, to be sure!” Such were the exclamations which answered his somewhat abrupt appeal. “Oh, I see I’m one too many. I’m off.'

And he,turned towards the door, while all the company stood amazed. “My good sir,” said my uncle, afraid of offending his housekeeper, “do not be so hasty. There is plenty of time to talk about domestic affairs. We are now here to enjoy ourselves. Clara, will you dance with the lieutenant?”

"With pleasure, uncle,” I said. The surly lieutenant growled out some more words of apology, and returned towards mo. The music struck up, and for a rough sailor he danced very well. Mrs Jones was in ccstacies, when he suddenly dropped into a chair. “I can’t stand this. I say, old fellow, what say you to a glass of stiff grog? That’s your sort. No fiddling for me." And he wrung my uncle’s hand as with a vyce.

“Better the doctor’s boy than this,” muttered my uncle. “My dear sir,” cried the sailor, leaping up, and casting away spectacles, wig, whiskers, rough clothes, everything, and standing before my uncle, the handsome youth he was, "I take you at your word.” “And pray, sir, who are you?” said my uncle. “Mr Edwin Harcourt, at your service; son of Mr Harcourt, of S , daughter of Jane Harrow, once your friend,” cried my bold lover. “God bless you,” said my uncle, deeply affected—she had been a flame of his I afterwards found—“but why this disguise?” “A Christmas frolic." And so it was. Despite Mrs Jones, it decided my fate, and I am now Mrs Edwin Harcourt, and my husband an extensive and renowned practitioner.