Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 17, July 23, 1870 by Various
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Various >> Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 17, July 23, 1870
Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Sandra Brown
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: PUNCHINELLO Vol. I. No. 17.]
SATURDAY, JULY 23, 1870.
PUBLISHED BY THE
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THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD,
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* * * * *
THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD.
AN ADAPTATION.
BY ORPHEUS C. KERR
CHAPTER XI.--(Continued.)
BLADAMS ushered in two waiters--one Irish and one German--who wore that
look of blended long-suffering and extreme weariness of everything
eatable, which, in this country, seems inevitably characteristic of the
least personal agency in the serving of meals. (There may be lands in
which the not essentially revolting art of cookery can be practiced
without engendering irritable gloom in the bosoms of its practitioners,
and the spreading of tables does not necessarily entail upon the actors
therein a despondency almost sinister; but the American kitchen is the
home of beings who never laugh, save in that sardonic bitterness of
spirit which grimly mocks the climax of human endurance in the burning
of the soup; and the waiter of the American dining-room can scarcely
place a dish upon the board without making it eloquent of a blighted
existence.) Having dashed the stews upon the reading-table before the
fire, and rescued a drowning fly[1] from one of them with his least
appetizing thumb-nail, the melancholy Irish attendant polished the
spoons with his pocket-handkerchief and hurled them on either side of
the plates. Perceiving that his German associate, in listlessly throwing
the mugs of ale upon the table, had spilled some of the liquid, he
hurriedly wiped the stain away with EDWIN DROOD'S worsted muffler, and
dried the sides of the glasses upon the napkin intended for Mr. DIBBLE'S
use. There was something of the wild resources of despair, too, in this
man's frequent ghostly dispatch of the German after articles forgotten
in the first trip, such as another cracker, the cover of the
pepper-cruet, the salt, and one more pinch of butter; and so greatly did
his apparent dejection of soul increase as each supplementary luxury
arrived and was recklessly slammed into its place, that, upon finally
retiring from the room with his associate, his utter hopelessness of
aspect gave little suggestion of the future proud political preferment
to which, by virtue of his low estate and foreign birth, he was
assuredly destined.
[Footnote 1: In anticipation of any critical objection to the
introduction of a living _fly_ in _December_, the Adapter begs leave to
suspect than an anachronism is always legitimate in a work of fiction
when a point is to be made. Thus, in Chapter VIII of the inimitable
"NICHOLAS NICKLEBY," Mr. SQUEERS tells NICHOLAS that morning has come,
"and _ready iced_, too;" and that "the pump's _froze_," while, only a
few pages later, in the same chapter, one of Mr. SQUEERS' scholars is
spoken of as "weeding the garden."]
The whole scene had been a reproachful commentary upon the stiff
American system of discouraging waiters from making remarks upon the
weather, inquiring the cost of one's new coat, conferring with one upon
the general prospects of his business for the season, or from indulging
in any of the various light conversational diversions whereby barbers,
Fulton street tailors, and other depressed gymnasts, are occasionally
and wholesomely relieved from the misery of brooding over _their_
equally dispiriting avocations.
After the departure of the future aldermen, or sheriffs, of the city,
the good old lawyer accompanied his young guest in an expeditious
assimilation of the stews; saying little, but silently regretting, for
the sake of good manners, that Mr. BLADAMS could not eat oysters without
making a noise as though they were alive in his mouth. At last, mug of
ale in hand, he turned to his clerk:
"BLADAMS!"
"Sir to you!" responded Mr. BLADAMS, hastily putting down the plate from
which he had been drinking his last drop of stew, and grasping his own
mug.
"Your health, BLADAMS.--Mr. EDWIN joins me, I'm sure.--And may the--may
our--that is, may your--suppose we call it Bump of Happiness--may your
Bump of Happiness increase."
Staring thoughtfully, Mr. BLADAMS felt for the Bump upon his head and,
having scratched what he seemed to take for it, replied: "It's a go,
sir. The Bump has increased some since KENT'S Commentaries fell on it
from that top-shelf the other day."
"I am going to toast my lovely ward," whispered Mr, DIBBLE to EDWIN;
"but I put BLADAMS first, because he was once a person to be respected,
and I treat him with politeness in place of a good salary."
"Success to the Bump," said EDWIN DROOD, rather struck by this piece of
practical economy, and newly impressed with the standard fact that
politeness costs nothing.
"And now," continued Mr. DIBBLE, with a wink in which his very ear
joined, "I give you the peerless Miss FLORA POTTS. BLADAMS, please
remember that there are others here to eat crackers besides yourself,
and join us in a health to Miss POTTS."
"Let the toast pass, drink to the lass!" cried Mr. BLADAMS, husky with
crackers. "All ale to her!"
"Count me in, too," assented EDWIN.
"Dear me!" said the old lawyer, breaking a momentary spell of terror
occasioned by Mr. BLADAMS having turned blue and nearly choked to death
in a surreptitious attempt to swallow a cracker which he had previously
concealed in one of his cheeks. "Dear me! although I am a square,
practical man, I do believe that I could draw a picture of a true
lover's state of mind to-night."
"A regular chromo," wheezed Mr. BLADAMS, encouragingly; pretending not
to notice that his employer was reaching an ineffectual arm after the
crackers at his own elbow.
"Subject to the approving, or correcting, judgment of Mr. E. DROOD, I
make bold to guess that the modern true lover's mind, such as it is, is
rendered jerky by contemplation of the lady who has made him the object
of her virgin affectations," proceeded Mr. DIBBLE, looking intently at
EDWIN, but still making farther and farther reaches toward the distant
crackers, even to the increased tilting of his chair. "I venture the
conjecture, that if he has any darling pet name for her, such as
Pinky-winky,' 'Little Fooly,' 'Chignonentily,' or 'Waxy Wobbles,' he
feels horribly ashamed if any one overhears it, and coughs violently to
make believe that be never said it."
It was curious to see EDWIN listening with changing color to this
truthful exposure of his young mind; the while, influenced
unconsciously, probably, by the speaker's example, he, too, had begun
reaching and chair-tilting toward the crackers across the table. What
time Mr. BLADAMS, at the opposite side of the board, had apparently sunk
into a sudden and deep slumber; although from beneath one of his folded
arms a finger dreamily rested upon the rim of the cracker-plate, and
occasionally gave it a little pull farther away from the approaching
hands.
"My picture," continued Mr. DIBBLE, now quite hoarse, and almost
horizontal in his reaching, to EDWIN DROOD, also nearly horizontal in
the same way--"my picture goes on to represent the true lover as ever
eager to be with his dear one, for the purpose of addressing implacable
glares at the Other Young Man with More Property, whom She says she
always loved as a Brother when they were Children Together; and of
smiling bitterly and biting off the ends of his new gloves (which is
more than he can really afford, at his salary,) when She softly tells
him that he is making a perfect fool of himself. My picture further
represents him to be continually permeated by a consciousness of such
tight boots as he ought not to wear, even for the Beloved Object, and of
such readiness to have new cloth coats spoiled, by getting hair-oil on
the left shoulder, as shall yet bring him to a scene of violence with
his distracted tailor. It shows him, likewise, as filled with exciting
doubts of his own relative worth: that is, with self-questionings as to
whether he shall ever be worth enough to buy that cantering imported
saddle horse which he has already promised; to spend every summer in a
private cottage at Newport; to fight off Western divorces, and to pay an
eloquent lawyer a few thousands for getting him clear, on the plea of
insanity, after he shall have shot the Other Young Man with More
Property for wanting his wife to be a Sister to him, again, as she was,
you know, when they were Children Together."
EDWIN, despite the coldness of the season, had perspired freely during
the latter part of the Picture, and sought to disguise his uneasiness at
its beautiful, yet severe truth, by a last push of his extended arm
toward the crackers. Quickly observing this, Mr. DIBBLE also made a
final desperate reach after the same object; so that both old man and
young, while pretending to heed each other's words only, were two-thirds
across the table, with their feet in the air and their chairs poised on
one leg each. At that very moment, by some unhappy chance, while nearly
the whole weight of the two was pressing upon their edge of the board,
Mr. BLADAMS abruptly awoke, and raised his elbows from his edge, to
relieve his arms by stretching. Released from his pressure, the table
flew up upon two legs with remarkable swiftness, and then turned over
upon Mr. DIBBLE and Mr. E. DROOD; bringing the two latter and their
chairs to the floor under a shower of plates and crackers, and resting
invertedly upon their prostrate forms, like some species of
four-pillared monumental temple without a roof.
A person less amiable than the good Mr. DIBBLE would have borrowed the
name of an appurtenance of a mill, at least once, as a suitable
expression of his feelings upon such a trying occasion; but, instead of
this, when Mr. BLADAMS, excitedly crying "fire!" lifted the overturned
table from off himself and young guest, he merely arose to a sitting
position on the littered carpet, and said to EDWIN, with a smile and a
rub: "Pray, am I at all near the mark in my picture?"
"I should say, sir," responded EDWIN, with a very strange expression of
countenance, also rubbing the back of his head, "that you are rather
hard upon the feelings of the unluckly lover. He may not show _all_ that
he feels--"
There he paused so long to feel his nose and ascertain about its being
broken, that Mr. DIBBLE limped to his feet and ended that part of the
discussion by hobbling to an open iron safe across the office.
Taking from a private drawer in this repository a small paper parcel,
containing a pasteboard box, and opening the latter, the old lawyer
produced what looked like a long, flat white cord, with shining tips at
either end.
"This, Mr. EDWIN," said he, with marked emotion, "is a stay-lace, with
golden tags, which belonged to Miss FLORA'S mother. It was handed to me,
in the abstraction of his grief, by Miss FLORA'S father, on the day of
the funeral; be saying that he could never bear to look upon it again.
To you, as Miss FLORA'S future husband, I now give it."
"A stay-lace!" echoed EDWIN, coming forward as quickly as his lameness
would allow, and staunching his swollen upper lip with a handkerchief.
"Yes," was the grave response. "You have undoubtedly noticed, Mr. EDWIN,
that in every fashionable romance, the noble and grenadine heroine has a
habit of 'drawing herself up proudly' whenever any gentleman tries to
shake hands with her, or asks her how she can possibly be so majestic
with him. This lace was used by Miss FLORA'S mother to draw herself up
proudly with; and she drew herself up so much with it, that it finally
reached her heart and killed her. I here place it in your hands, that
you may ultimately give it to your young wife as a memento of a mother
who did nothing by halves but die. If you, by any chance, should not
marry the daughter, I solemnly charge you, by the memory of the living
and the dead, to bring it back to me."
Receiving the parcel with some awe, EDWIN placed it in one of his
pockets.
"BLADAMS." said Mr. DIBBLE, solemnly, "you are witness of the transfer."
"Deponent, being duly sworn, does swear and cuss that he saw it, to the
best of his knowledge and belief," returned the clerk, helping Mr. DROOD
to resume his overcoat.
When in his own room, at Gowanus, that night, Mr. DIBBLE, in his
nightcap, paused a moment before extinguishing his light, to murmur to
himself: "I wonder, now, whether poor POTTS confided his orphan child to
me because he knew that I might have been the successful suitor to the
mother if I had been worth a little more money just about then?"
What time, in the law-office in town, Mr. BLADAMS was upon his knees on
the floor, tossing crackers from all directions on the carpet into his
mouth, like a farinacious goblin, and nearly suffocating whenever he
glanced at the disordered table.
(To be Continued.)
* * * * *
THE FREE BATHS.
[Illustration: 'P']
PUNCHINELLO begs to congratulate the Hon. W.M. TWEED upon his
inestimable boon to the public--the Free Baths. With regard to a certain
class--and a very large class--of the public of New York City, it has
sometimes been cynically asked, "Will it wash?" Since the establishment
of Free Baths under the Department of Public Works, that question has
been satisfactorily replied to in the affirmative. Hardworked mechanics
at once recognized the chance for a wash, and went at it with a rush. It
was Coney Island come to town, with the roughs left behind, and the
extortionate bathing-dress men, and the other disagreeable features of
that lovely but desecrated isle. In recognition of the decided success
of the new baths, and of the vast benefit that must be derived from them
by a large portion of the community, PUNCHINELLO begs to invest the Hon.
W. M. TWEED with the Blue Ribbon of the O.F.B., or "Originator of the
Free Baths."
* * * * *
THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.
[Illustration: 'C']
CENTRAL PARK GARDEN is the subject of this article.
It is all very well for the editor of PUNCHINELLO to require me to write
about the Plays and Shows, but how would he like to do it himself, with
the thermometer at 103 degrees, and the Fourth of July only just over?
And then, inasmuch as I am not a white-hatted philosopher, writing of
"What I know about Farming," how can I be expected to write of things
which have no existence? For, with the exception of the CENTRAL PARK
GARDEN, and one or two minor places of amusement, there are no plays and
shows at present in this happy city.
We certainly owe the managers a debt of gratitude for closing their hot
and glaring theatres during this intolerable month. Of course nobody was
obliged to attend them while they were open; but then, when people were
told that the theatres were crowded to an uncomfortable extent, they
felt an irrepressible desire to go and be uncomfortable.
It is one of the peculiar characteristics of Man, as distinguished from
the higher animals, that he will go through fire and water to get into a
theatre which he is told is crammed to the point of suffocation, whereas
he won't deign to enter one where he is sure to find a comfortable seat.
Now the charm of the CENTRAL PARK GARDEN consists in this: that the
visitor can take his vapor bath in the Seventh Avenue cars on his way to
the Garden, and can enjoy the sweet consciousness of being jostled and
sat upon in the search for amusement, while he is still certain of
finding pure air and plenty of room at the GARDEN itself.
By the bye, it has just occurred to me that the Fourth of July is
properly a show. It might be called a burlesque, but for the fact that
it is unaccompanied by the luxury of legs. Indeed, after the celebration
is over, there are always fewer legs in the nation than there were at
its commencement. There is no canon of criticism which would expurgate
legs from the theatrical burlesque, but there are cannons of Fourth of
July which do their best to abolish the incautious legs of patriotic
youth. I reconsider my purpose of writing of the CENTRAL PARK GARDEN,
and will devote this column to the national show.