Part 44 (1/2)

”Yes!” cried Mr. Tibbets, seizing the hand and pressing it to the heart he had thus defended from the suspicion of being pumice, ”yes,--that I should have trusted that dunderheaded, rascally curmudgeon Peck; that I should have let him call it 'The Capitalist,' despite all my convictions, when the Anti--'”

”Pshaw!” interrupted my father, drawing away his hand.

”John,” said my mother, gravely, and with tears in her voice, ”you forget who delivered you from prison; you forget whom you have nearly consigned to prison yourself; you forg--”

”Hush, hus.h.!.+” said my father, ”this will never do; and it is you who forget, my dear, the obligations I owe to Jack. He has reduced my fortune one half, it is true; but I verily think he has made the three hearts, in which he my real treasures, twice as large as they were before. Pisistratus, my boy, ring the bell.”

”My dear Kitty,” cried Jack, whimperingly, and stealing up to my mother, ”don't be so hard on me; I thought to make all your fortunes,--I did indeed.”

Here the servant entered.

”See that Mr. Tibbets's things are taken up to his room, and that there is a good fire,” said my father.

”And,” continued Jack, loftily, ”I will, make all your fortunes yet. I have it here!” and he struck his head.

”Stay a moment!” said my father to the servant, who had got back to the door. ”Stay a moment,” said my father, looking extremely frightened,--”perhaps Mr. Tibbets may prefer the inn!”

”Austin,” said Uncle Jack, with emotion, ”if I were a dog, with no home but a dog-kennel, and you came to me for shelter, I would turn out--to give you the best of the straw!”

My father was thoroughly melted this time.

”Primmins will be sure to see everything is made comfortable for Mr.

Tibbets,” said he, waving his hand to the servant. ”Something nice for supper, Kitty, my dear,--and the largest punch-bowl. You like punch, Jack?”

”Punch, Austin!” said Uncle Jack, putting his handkerchief to his eyes.

The Captain pushed aside the dumb-waiter, strode across the room, and shook hands with Uncle Jack; my mother buried her face in her ap.r.o.n, and fairly ran off; and Squills said in my ear, ”It all comes of the biliary secretions. n.o.body could account for this who did not know the peculiarly fine organization of your father's--liver!”

PART XII.

CHAPTER I.

The Hegira is completed,--we have all taken roost in the old Tower. My father's books have arrived by the wagon, and have settled themselves quietly in their new abode,--filling up the apartment dedicated to their owner, including the bed chamber and two lobbies. The duck also has arrived, under wing of Mrs. Primmins, and has reconciled herself to the old stewpond, by the side of which my father has found a walk that compensates for the peach-wall, especially as he has made acquaintance with sundry respectable carps, who permit him to feed them after he has fed the duck,--a privilege of which (since, if any one else approaches, the carps are off in an instant) my father is naturally vain. All privileges are valuable in proportion to the exclusiveness of their enjoyment.

Now, from the moment the first carp had eaten the bread my father threw to it, Mr. Caxton had mentally resolved that a race so confiding should never be sacrificed to Ceres and Primmins. But all the fishes on my uncle's property were under the special care of that Proteus Bolt; and Bolt was not a man likely to suffer the carps to earn their bread without contributing their full share to the wants of the community.

But, like master, like man! Bolt was an aristocrat fit to be hung a la lanterne. He out-Rolanded Roland in the respect he entertained for sounding names and old families; and by that bait my father caught him with such skill that you might see that if Austin Caxton had been an angler of fishes, he could have filled his basket full any day, s.h.i.+ne or rain.

”You observe, Bolt,” said my father, beginning artfully, ”that those fishes, dull as you may think them; are creatures capable of a syllogism; and if they saw that, in proportion to their civility to me, they were depopulated by you, they would put two and two together, and renounce my acquaintance.”

”Is that what you call being silly Jems, sir?” said Bolt. ”Faith! there is many a good Christian not half so wise.”

”Man,” answered my father, thoughtfully, ”is an animal less syllogistical or more silly-Jemical, than many creatures popularly esteemed his inferiors. Yes, let but one of those Cyprinidae, with his fine sense of logic, see that if his fellow-fishes eat bread, they, are suddenly jerked out of their element and vanish forever, and though you broke a quartern loaf into crumbs, he would snap his tail at you with enlightened contempt. If,” said my father, soliloquizing, ”I had been as syllogistic as those scaly logicians, I should never have swallowed that hook which--Hum! there--least said soonest mended. But, Mr. Bolt, to return to the Cyprinidae.”

”What's the hard name you call them 'ere carp, yer honor?” asked Bolt.

”Cyprinidae,--a family of the section Malacoptergii Abdominales,”