Part 21 (1/2)

”No, _sir!_” says the grinning servant--”the _gong_--supper's on the table!”

”_Ah_, very well; go ahead; where's the room?”

Conducted to the dining-room, Capt. Fussy's eyes stretch at the wholesale display of table-cloths, arm-chairs, ”crockery” and cutlery, mirrors and white-ap.r.o.ned waiters. A seat is offered him, he dumps himself down, amazed but determined to look and act like one used to these affairs, from the hour of his birth!

”I ordered hot steak, poached eggs--hain't you got 'em?”

”Certainly, sir!” says the waiter, and the steak and eggs are at hand.

”Coffee or tea, sir?” another servant inquires.

”Coffee and tea! Humph, I ordered chocolate--hain't you got chocolate?”

”Oh, yes, sir; there it is.”

”_Ah_, umph!” and Fussy gazes around and turns his nose slightly up, at the whole concern, waiters, guests, table, steak, eggs, chocolate, and--even the tempting hot rolls--before him.

Fussy calls for a gla.s.s of water, wants to know if there's fried oysters on the table; he finds there is not, and Fussy frowns and asks for a lobster salad, which the waiter informs him is never used at supper, in that hotel.

Eventually, Capt. Fussy being _crammed_, after an hour's diligent feeding, fuss and feathers, retires, asks all sorts of questions about people and places, at the _office_; what time trains start and steamers come, omnibuses here and stages there, all of which he is politely answered, of course, and he finally goes to his room, rings his bell every ten minutes, for an hour, and then--goes to bed; next day puts the servants and clerks over another course, and on the third day--calls for his bill, finds but few extras charged, hands over a _five_, puts on his gloves, seizes his valise, looks savagely dignified and stalks out, big as two military officers in regimentals!

”_Ah_,” says Fussy, as he reaches the street, ”_I_ put 'em through--_I guess I got the worth of my money!_”

We calculate he did!

”According to Gunter.”

Old Gunter was going home t'other night with a very heavy ”turkey on”--about a forty-four pounder. Gunter accused the pavements of being icy, and down he came--_kerchug!_ A ”young lady” coming along, fidgetting and finiking, she made a very sudden and opposite _ricochet_, on seeing Gunter feeling the ground, and making abortive attempts to ”riz.” Gunter's gallantry was ”up;” he knew his own weakness, and saw the difficulty with the ”young lady;” so making a very determinate effort to get on his pins, Gunter elevated his head and then his voice, and says he: ”My de-dea-dear ma'm, do-do-don't pu-pu-put yourself out of th-th-the way, on my account!” Tableaux--”young lady” quick-step, and Gunter playing all-fours in the _mud!_

Quartering upon Friends.

City-bred people have a pious horror of the country in winter, and no great regard for country visitors at any time, however much they may ”let on” to the contrary.

In rus.h.i.+ng hot weather, when the bricks and mortar, the stagnated, oven-like air of the crowded city threatens to bake, parboil, or give the ”citizens” the yellow fever, then we are very apt to think of plain Aunt Polly, rough-hewed Uncle John, and the bullet-headed, uncombed, smock-frocked cousins, nephews, and nieces, at their rural homes, amid the fragrant meadows and umbrageous woods; the cool, silver streams and murmuring brooks of the glorious country. Then, the poetic sunbeams and moons.h.i.+ne of fancy bring to the eye and heart all or a part of the glories and beauties, uses and purposes in which G.o.d has invested the ruraldom.

Now, our country friends are mostly desirous, candidly so, to have their city friends come and see them--not merely pop visits, but bring your whole family, and stay a month! This they may do, and will do, and can afford it, as it is more convenient to one's pocket-book, on a farm, to _quarter_ a platoon of your friends than to perform the same operation in the city, where it is apt to give your purse the tick-dollar-owe in no time.

It was not long since, during the prevalence of a hot summer, that Mrs.

Triangle one morning said to her stewing husband, who was in no wise troubled with a surplus of the circulating medium--

”Triangle, it's on-possible for us to keep the children well and quiet through this dreadful hot weather. We must go into the country. The Joneses and Pigwigginses and Macwackinses, and--and--everybody has gone out into the country, and we must go, too; why can't we?”

”Why can't we?” mechanically echoed Triangle, who just then was deeply absorbed in a problem as to whether or not, considering the prices of coal, potatoes, house-rents, leather, and ”dry goods,” he would fetch up in prison or the poor-house first! It was a momentous question, and to his wife's proposal of a fresh detail of domestic expense, Triangle responded--

”Why can't we?”

”Yes, that's what I'd like to know--why can't _we_?”