Bressant: Chapter 11

Chapter 11

EVERY LITTLE COUNTS.

Mr. William Reynolds arrived late, perhaps because he delayed too long
over the niceties of his toilet. He was a country young man, fashioned
upon a well-worn last. His occupation for several years past had been to
attend to the furnishing and driving of a milk-cart, and, very likely,
it was this which had hindered the proper development of his figure. At
all events, he was stoutest where it is generally thought advisable to
be lean, and narrow where popular prejudice demands breadth. His knees
were more conspicuous than his legs, and his elbows than his arms. His
face was striking, chiefly because an accident in early life had
prostrated his nose; the expression, though lacking force, was in the
main good-natured, the eyes were modestly veiled behind a pair of
eye-glasses, which stayed on, as it were, by accident.

Mr. Reynolds was an admirer of Cornelia's; a fact which was the occasion
of much pleasant remark and easy witticism. More serious consequences
were not likely to ensue, for such men as he seldom attain to be other
than indirectly useful or mildly obnoxious to their fellow-creatures.
But the strongest instincts he had were social; and it was touching to
observe the earnestness with which they urged him to lumber the path of
fashion and gay life. He nearly broke his own heart, and unseated his
instructor's reason, in his efforts to learn dancing; and, to secure
elegant apparel for Sundays and parties, he would forswear the butcher's
wagon for months at a time. Once in a while he would smoke an Havana
cigar from the assortment to be found at the grocery-store on the
corner, and sometimes, when a national holiday or the gloom of
unrequited love rendered strong measures a necessity, he would become
recklessly convivial over muddy whisky-and-water amid the spittoons and
colored prints of the hotel bar-room.

On the present evening he arrived late, and came upon Cornelia and
Bressant just as the latter was proposing to obtain the professor's
consent to accompanying her home on foot.

Mr. Reynolds advanced, smiling; a polka was being played at the moment,
and he playfully contorted his figure and balanced his head from side to
side in time with the tune, while with his right forefinger he beckoned
winningly to Miss Valeyon to join him in the dance. Bressant gave an
involuntary shudder of disgust; it seemed to him a grisly caricature of
the inspiration he himself had felt at the beginning of the evening. But
Cornelia was equal to the emergency.

"If you'll go and ask papa now," said she, "I'll take care of this
person meantime. He's known me so long, I don't want to be impolite to
him."

A good deal of harm may be done in this world by what is called a
reluctance to be uncivil. There is generally more selfishness than
consideration about it. All sincere admiration, no matter from how low a
source, is grateful to us. Cornelia knew that Bill Reynolds worshipped
her with his whole small capacity, and she was unwilling to deny herself
the miserable little incense, and give him plainly to understand that,
though it was not distasteful to her, he was. And who could blame her
for not wanting to hurt his feelings?

Bressant had no such delicate scruples, and would gladly have assisted
poor Bill through the open bow-window. He departed on his errand,
however, with nothing more than a look of intense dissatisfaction, which
was entirely lost upon the infatuated Reynolds.

"How lovely you do look to-night, Miss Valeyon! I almost think sometimes
it ain't fair anybody should look as lovely as you do. Elegant music
they've got to-night, ain't it? Come, now--just one turn. What?"

Cornelia actually had danced with this young gentleman on one or two
memorable occasions in the past, but was scarcely in the mood to do so
this evening. As she looked at him, now, she wondered how she ever had.
What a difference there is in men I and even more in the way we regard
them at different times. Bressant, simply by being himself, had
annihilated all such small claims to social life as Bill Reynolds ever
possessed.

"I'm not dancing to-night, thank you," said Cornelia; but she smiled so
as wellnigh to heal the wound her words inflicted. "What makes you so
late?"

Now, the fact was that Mr. Reynolds had been weak enough to allow
himself to be drawn into conversation with some friends near the
entrance of the hotel possessing the bar-room with the spittoons and
colored prints already alluded to; and, being the Fourth of July, which,
like many other days, comes but once a year, and a "dry night," as his
friends assured him, he had further given evidence of lack of stamina by
accepting an invitation to "take a damp," When he had finally succeeded
in making his escape, he was conscious that it was in a tolerably damp
condition; and it had occurred to him, as a brilliant idea, to put his
head beneath the pump by way of freshening up his wits. The effect had
been, for the moment, undoubtedly clarifying, and he made his entrance
into Abbie's with a great deal of confidence; more, perhaps, than was
entirely warrantable; for the muddy whisky was still circulating in his
blood, and the light, the close, hot air, and the excitement
within-doors, were rapidly undoing the good work which the pump had
accomplished. It was probably a dim suspicion that such was the case,
which made him hesitate, and stick his hands in his pockets, and screw
his boot-heel into the floor, when Cornelia asked him why he was so
late. But the question had been asked in pure idleness, and not with any
interest or purpose to elicit a reply. The next minute she relieved him
from his embarrassment by speaking again.

"Would you mind doing me a favor, Bill?"

It seemed to Bill that, for the sake of hearing his Christian name from
her lips, he would be willing to forswear all else that made life most
dear--Havana cigars and muddy whisky included; and he was proceeding
with impressive gravity to make a statement to that effect, when
Cornelia once more interrupted him.

"Thank you; I was sure you would. You're always so kind! You see I'm
obliged to go home now, but papa will want to stay to supper, probably,
or to play backgammon, and, of course, I shall leave him the wagon.
Now, I want you to promise to see that Dolly is properly harnessed
before he starts--will you? You know that man they have here isn't
always quite sober, especially when it's Fourth of July, or any thing of
that sort; and papa is getting old."

"Yes, Miss Valeyon. I'll attend to it. I'll fix the old gentleman up,
like he was my own father. And you're just right about that fellow
that's around here; _I_ wouldn't trust him. Why--" Bill was on the point
of mentioning that he had made one of the convivial party that evening,
but checked himself in time, and looked particularly profound.

Cornelia had probably had more than one motive in making her request of
Bill Reynolds. She wanted to avoid being urged to dance, by keeping his
mind otherwise employed; she enjoyed the amusement of making him imagine
that he was of some consequence and importance to her; and, lastly, she
was very willing that all this should concur with some possible benefit
to her father. Of Bill's irresponsible condition she had of course no
suspicion; indeed, he might have been far worse, with impunity, as far
as she was concerned. It takes considerable practice to detect the
effects of liquor, except when very excessive; and Cornelia had no such
training.

"And," added she, as she saw Bressant making his way toward her, with
unmistakable signs on his face of having been successful in his errand,
"and suppose you go now, and find out when papa leaves, so as to be sure
to be on hand."

It was very neatly managed, on the whole; and Cornelia, as she put on
her shoes, and drew the hood around her face, congratulated herself on
her tact and readiness. Yet she felt a little uneasiness, assignable to
no particular cause, and upon no definite subject; it may have been
nothing more than some slight qualms of conscience at having so deluded
her unfortunate admirer. As she came down from the ladies'
dressing-room, she felt a strong impulse to go and kiss her papa
good-by; but reflecting that Bill would probably be with him, and that
she would see him at any rate before she went to bed, she thought better
of it; and, taking Bressant's arm--he was waiting her at the foot of the
stairs--she signified her readiness to start.

"When did papa say he was coming?" asked she, as they moved through the
passage-way to the door.

"He was playing backgammon; he said he should be through in ten minutes;
he would probably overtake us before we got to the Parsonage," replied
the young man.

"I hope he'll be all safe!" said Cornelia, half to herself, the vague
feeling of uneasiness still working within her.

At the door they were met by Abbie, who bade them good-night, with the
same expression upon her lips and in her eyes that she had worn when
presenting them to one another early in the evening.

"Take good care of each other, my children," said she, as they passed
out; but her tone was so low as to be audible to Cornelia alone.

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