Part 1 (2/2)
In C----, bold, day-time robberies were familiar occurrences, and, in my absence, our unguarded domicile would become an easy prey for the spoiler. The outer doors, three in number, were securely fastened, and I especially congratulated myself upon the complete security of the gla.s.s door opening from our parlour upon the piazza, as, in addition to its regular fastening, it rejoiced in an admirable catch-lock, that snapped beautifully, of itself, as one closed it.
As the morning wore on, weary of reading, I wrote some letters, and thereafter overhauled my writing-desk. Among my acc.u.mulated correspondence, I found half a score of stiffly-worded epistles. They had been indited by inmates of the Ma.s.sachusetts State Prison. To elucidate the controlling event of my story, let me say, that helpful effort among the convicts had long been an integral part of my life-work.
Among themselves, they were pleased to term me ”The Prisoner's Friend,” and, when discharged, and homeless, they often came to me for counsel, or aid, in procuring that employment which, naturally, is but grudgingly given to these attainted beings, whom, even as _visitors_, my friends considered objectionable. On Mondays, my weekly visit to the prison hospital was made. I carried to its patients fruit and flowers, and read to them, sandwiching in, as best I could, a modic.u.m of reproof and advice.
The re-reading, sorting, and bestowal of this odd correspondence brought me to dinner-time. An unsubstantial breakfast having whetted my appet.i.te for this important meal, I resolved to start a fire in the kitchen stove. Having achieved this exploit--with that absurd outlay of time, strength, and patience, peculiar to the amateur--I laboriously elaborated an omelet, a dish of Lyonnaise potatoes, and a steaming pot of tea.
Heated and weary, I hurried through the parlours, threw open the piazza door for a whiff of fresh air, before dis.h.i.+ng my dinner, and, attracted by the grateful odor of heliotrope, stepped debonairly into the outside suns.h.i.+ne. As I pa.s.sed, the ”sweet west wind” whipped to the piazza door. It closed behind me, with a malicious bang. The much admired patent fastening had, but too well, done its fatal work! I stood diabolically fastened out of my own house! Recovering breath, and taking in the desperate situation, I glanced ruefully at my neighbour's back bow window. Miss Pettingrew, my next neighbour, was an elderly maiden, and of curiosity ”all compact.” Nominally (as set forth on her sign of blue and gold) a dressmaker, but adding to her regular vocation the supervision of our neighbourhood, the outgoings and incomings of the Simpletons were especially focussed by her awful eye.
Our neighbourhood was not socially congenial. We had come to C---- for the sole purpose of putting a son through Harvard, and, having no other local interest in that city, we were simply the n.o.bodies from nowhere, and consequently ineligible as acquaintances.
Irving Cottage--so called from its supposed resemblance to that of Was.h.i.+ngton Irving--attracted us by an exceptional allowance of door-yard, combined with a moderate rent. Irving Cottage was a double tenement-house; and its north side was now vacant. Its western front commanded ---- street; its south side an uninterrupted series of back door-yards. On the north it was overtopped by a tall storage building, and in its rear stood a weather-worn old colonial mansion, once an aristocratic abode, but now fallen upon evil times, and become a rackety students' boarding-house. A low picket fence divided our rear premises from those of Mrs. MacNebbins, its proprietor. And now, let me return from this parenthetic information to my forlorn self, drearily surveying my ”hermetically sealed” dwelling.
Yes, Miss Pettingrew was, as usual, at her post. It behooved me to take heed to my ways--to step nonchalantly from the piazza, as if being in the yard were entirely optional. Taking a turn or two up and down the drive, I rested a moment beneath the lordly old willows that adorned our grounds. I pulled a nosegay from the flower-garden; hunted the gra.s.s-plot for four-leaved clover--meantime furtively scanning my window fastenings and praying inwardly that some unguarded point of ingress to Irving Cottage might be revealed to me.
In vain! I had too well done my fatal work! Not the merest crack had been left exposed. The cottage rejoiced in a terraced front. Thus the lower back windows were, at least, five feet above the door-yard level. A possible elevation of piazza chairs would command them. I might, with a stone, demolish a convenient pane, and so reach and manipulate a patent fastening; but there still was Miss Pettingrew!
How could I break and enter my own house, in broad daylight, and on a Sunday, directly beneath her astonished gaze? Heavy at heart (and mentally craving that lady's kind permission), I sought shelter beneath the kindly woodbine that shut in our piazza. Hungry, discouraged, and forlorn, I moped the slow hours away, until the westward sloping sun and the chill of approaching evening warned me that night was drawing near.
Luckily, I had, on my way out, thrown about me a light shawl.
s.h.i.+vering, I wrapped it close, and then--providentially inspired--I bethought me of a place of refuge,--to wit: the woodshed, adjoining our kitchen! It was but a flimsy structure, but would, at least, be warmer than an open piazza.
Its inner door, now carefully bolted, opened upon the kitchen. Its outer entrance was, however, but slightly secured by a hook, easily manipulated from without, by the insertion of a thin stick. I felt that an entrance might be unostentatiously effected. Eagerly awaiting that auspicious moment when Miss Pettingrew should, at tea-time, vacate her post of observation, I sallied forth upon the lawn, and--still hunting for four-leaved clover--managed to gain the rear of my house. My ogress opportunely disappeared! Already provided with the needful stick, it was but the work of a moment to insert it in the crevice of the loosely-fitting door, to raise the hook, and step gingerly in. Thank heaven, I was, at least, beneath a roof! Humble, indeed, but yet an improvement upon an open sky, or even a vine-draped piazza! And Miss Pettingrew need never know that I had come to grief.
Fortunately I wore my watch. It was a slight comfort to note the pa.s.sage of these unkindly hours. It was now quarter past four. I had become desperately hungry. My mind ran tantalizingly upon the untasted dinner within. Long ere this, my tea must have resolved itself to pure tannin! My omelette and my Lyonnaise must have become the merest chips; and the cat had, no doubt, privately disposed of my precious corned beef. Well, all was not lost! A full hour yet loomed between me and sunset. Given that time, might I not find some escape from my dilemma?
The colonial mansion of the MacNebbins's backed squarely upon our premises. And our woodshed backed, in turn, upon a roomy lawn--now degraded to an open lot which faced upon B---- Street. In the absence of windows upon that wall of the building, a knot-hole, generously enlarged by our boys, served admirably as a lookout. At this inconveniently high aperture, I watched (on tip-toe) the careless throng, strolling, in Sunday attire, up and down B---- Street. This wholesome, but tame, diversion palled upon me. My jaded appet.i.te craved more exciting nourishment.
Mrs. MacNebbins--poor, overworked body, with a temper of her own--and maintaining, single-handed, half a dozen children and a s.h.i.+ftless sot of a husband, sometimes became desperate. On such occasions, it suited her, broomstick in hand, to drive her worse half from the house, the maids, meantime, looking applause from her kitchen windows. My own boys (in spite of my prohibition) had, I regret to say, often audibly applauded this conjugal exhibition. Such a spicy scene would, I felt, be in fine keeping with the situation, and I blush to own that I now turned my attention to the MacNebbins's back door, in the vulgar hope of an immediate connubial skirmish. In vain! Mr. MacNebbins sat composedly smoking on his back doorsteps; while his more forceful half flitted about the kitchen, intent on the dis.h.i.+ng of the students'
dinner. Now and then a tantalizing whiff of the roast issued from the open windows. By this time, I had become disgracefully ravenous; and when, after the MacNebbins's dinner, the cook came out to deposit the leavings in that objectionable swill-barrel, close to our back fence, I blush to record that I looked with longing upon the remnants of this (to _me_, Barmecide) feast. Halved potatoes, slices of pudding, and savoury bits of meat, lay temptingly on the over-heaped barrel. I sighed. It was like ”starving in the midst of abundance.”
For one wild moment, I thought of rus.h.i.+ng into the open street, in my morning wrapper, with a shawl over my head, and imploring somebody to break into my house, and feed me.
But, no! Self-respect forbade a proceeding so insane; and, moreover, should I not thus advertise the fact of my being alone in the house, and at the mercy of the spoiler? Night would soon prevent that attempt which I had half resolved to make upon the back window, and which might, possibly, end in defeat, gla.s.s-splinters, and lockjaw. It was now raining. The east wind wailed dolefully around the shed. I must, nevertheless, make s.h.i.+ft to lodge there. To that end, I carefully considered the capabilities of the place. On a rude shelf, near the woodpile, I found a gummy kerosene lamp, replete with ill-smelling oil. Beside it was a tin box, containing three matches. In a corner stood a barrel of clean shavings, and, beneath the wash-bench, a basket of soiled clothes.
I had soon disposed the shavings in the form of a couch. Two sheets, used but a single night in the guest-room, and comparatively unsoiled, served for a light covering. On a high peg hung a rusty overcoat, which, on fis.h.i.+ng excursions, had repeatedly served my good Alcibiades. It had come to exhale a perpetual ”ancient and fish-like smell,” and, in consideration of my outraged nostrils, had been relegated to the shed. Alas! I had not now the ”proud stomach” which distinguished ”Mr. F's Aunt;” and, clothing myself in this unsavoury garment, I thanked heaven for even so ign.o.ble a protection from the searching east wind, now entering, by every crevice and knot-hole, my indifferently constructed sleeping-room.
Drearily casting myself upon this rude couch, I endeavoured to compose my limbs for sleep. Unnumbered poets have rapturously celebrated ”the rain on the roof.” I had myself once offered to a stony-hearted magazine editor some ”lines” on this very subject; yet to-day, s.h.i.+vering, starved, and but half housed--heaven knows that the even pelting of this pitiless storm above my forlorn head was nothing, if not prosaic! I remembered, too, that my only door-fastening was a slight hook, easily set at naught.
What facilities were here offered to a prowling tramp, intent upon a night's shelter! When, for a moment, I could withdraw my poor mind from the terrible pangs of hunger, it was but to fix it upon this fearful possibility. Yes, I was undoubtedly at the mercy of all the tramps in the immediate vicinity of C----! What would Alcibiades--what would my boys (camping out at Great Brewster, with a _circus_ tent, comforters in abundance, and every appliance known to youthful Bohemia) say, if they could, this night, look in upon their miserable relative? But, no; Alcibiades should never hear how--by rejecting his safe counsel--I had dedicated myself to desolation. The misery of this night must be forever locked in my own breast! Of course, I could not be expected to close my eyes during the entire night; and, when morning came--should my life be spared till then--I should be too much exhausted from starvation to crawl out of the shed, and should, should, shou--here, I fell fast asleep!
A single hour could scarce have pa.s.sed, when I was aroused by a slight jar, as of some one leaning heavily against the frame of the shed, directly where I had made my bed. In a moment I was broad awake, and, with my heart in my mouth, intently listening. I now sorely regretted having left my lamp burning; and wished I had, at least, plugged the wide knot-hole looking street-ward. The one small window, opening on our own premises, I had carefully darkened, but had forgotten to screen this irregular look-out. Luckily, it did not command, from the outside, my impromptu bed.
Directly beneath it, I could now hear footsteps. Evidently, an investigation was being made by some person outside. I managed to get upon my feet, and thus await the dreaded issue.
There was a clumsy scramble, a thud on the wet ground inside the fence, and then came heavy footsteps, evidently approaching my place of refuge. The door was tried, vigorously shaken, and opened by a crack; and then I knew that some one was manipulating the hook with a stick; was making an entrance, as I myself had done, but a few hours ago! I tottered weakly over to the woodpile. I had need to stay myself well against it, so paralyzed with fear had I become. I felt my limbs giving way; an age of horror seemed to pa.s.s in the brief moments that ensued before the hook yielded.
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