The Blunders of a Bashful Man
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Metta Victoria Full Victor >> The Blunders of a Bashful Man
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10 Transcriber's Note:
The author of this book is Metta Victoria Full Victor writing under the
Pen name of Walter T. Gray. But the Author's name is not given in the
original text.
The Table of Contents is not part of the original text.
THE BLUNDERS
OF A
BASHFUL MAN.
_By the Author of_
"A BAD BOY'S DIARY"
COPYRIGHT, 1881, BY STREET & SMITH.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
57 ROSE STREET.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
II. HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.
III. GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
IV. HE DOES HIS DUTY AS A CITIZEN.
V. HE COMMITS SUICIDE.
VI. HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.
VII. I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.
VIII. HE ENACTS THE PART OF GROOMSMAN.
IX. MEETS A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
X. HE CATCHES A TROUT AND PRESENTS IT TO A LADY.
XI. HE GOES TO THE CIRCUS.
XII. A LEAP FOR LIFE.
XIII. ONE OF THE FAIR SEX COMES TO HIS RESCUE.
XIV. HIS DIFFIDENCE BRINGS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT.
XV. HE BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH A CHICAGO WIDOW.
XVI. AT LAST HE SECURES A TREASURE.
XVII. HE ENJOYS HIMSELF AT A BALL.
XVIII. HE OPENS THE WRONG DOOR.
XIX. DRIVEN FROM HIS LAST DEFENCE.
* * * * *
THE
BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.
CHAPTER I.
HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
I have been, am now, and shall always be, a bashful man. I have been
told that I am the only bashful man in the world. How that is I can
not say, but should not be sorry to believe that it is so, for I am of
too generous a nature to desire any other mortal to suffer the mishaps
which have come to me from this distressing complaint. A person can
have smallpox, scarlet fever, and measles but once each. He can even
become so inoculated with the poison of bees and mosquitoes as to make
their stings harmless; and he can gradually accustom, himself to the
use of arsenic until he can take 444 grains safely; but for
bashfulness--like mine--there is no first and only attack, no becoming
hardened to the thousand petty stings, no saturation of one's being
with the poison until it loses its power.
I am a quiet, nice-enough, inoffensive young gentleman, now rapidly
approaching my twenty-sixth year. It is unnecessary to state that I am
unmarried. I should have been wedded a great many times, had not some
fresh attack of my malady invariably, and in some new shape, attacked
me in season to prevent the "consummation devoutly to be wished." When
I look back over twenty years of suffering through which I have
literally stumbled my way--over the long series of embarrassments and
mortifications which lie behind me--I wonder, with a mild and patient
wonder, why the Old Nick I did not commit suicide ages ago, and thus
end the eventful history with a blank page in the middle of the book.
I dare say the very bashfulness which has been my bane has prevented
me; the idea of being cut down from a rafter, with a black-and-blue
face, and drawn out of the water with a swollen one, has put me so out
of countenance that I had not the courage to brave a coroner's jury
under the circumstances.
Life to me has been a scramble through briers. I do not recall one
single day wholly free from the scratches inflicted on a cruel
sensitiveness. I will not mention those far-away agonies of boyhood,
when the teacher punished me by making me sit with the girls, but will
hasten on to a point that stands out vividly against a dark background
of accidents. I was nineteen. My sentiments toward that part of
creation known as "young ladies" were, at that time, of a mingled and
contradictory nature. I adored them as angels; I dreaded them as if
they were mad dogs, and were going to bite me.
My parents were respected residents of a small village in the western
part of the State of New York. I had been away at a boys' academy for
three years, and returned about the first of June to my parents and to
Babbletown to find that I was considered a young man, and expected to
take my part in the business and pleasures of life as such. My father
dismissed his clerk and put me in his place behind the counter of our
store.
Within three days every girl in that village had been to that store
after something or another--pins, needles, a yard of tape, to look at
gloves, to _try on shoes_, or examine gingham and calico, until I was
happy, because out of sight, behind a pile high enough to hide my
flushed countenance. I shall never forget that week. I ran the
gauntlet from morning till night. I believe those heartless wretches
told each other the mistakes I made, for they kept coming and coming,
looking as sweet as honey and as sly as foxes. Father said I'd break
him if I didn't stop making blunders in giving change--he wasn't in
the prize-candy business, and couldn't afford to have me give
twenty-five sheets of note paper, a box of pens, six corset laces, a
bunch of whalebones, and two dollars and fifty cents change for a
two-dollar bill.
He explained to me that the safety-pins which I had offered Emma Jones
for crochet-needles were _not_ crochet-needles; nor the red wafers I
had shown Mary Smith for gum-drops, gum-drops--that gingham was not
three dollars per yard, nor pale-blue silk twelve-and-a-half cents,
even to Squire Marigold's daughter. He said I must be more careful.
"I don't think the mercantile business is my _forte_, father," said I.
"Your fort!" replied the old gentleman; "fiddlesticks! We have nothing
to do with military matters. But if you think you have a special call
to anything, John, speak out. Would you like to study for the
ministry, my son?"
"Oh, no, indeed! I don't know exactly what I would like, unless it
were to be a Juan Fernandez, or a--a light-house keeper."
Then father said I was a disgrace to him, and I knew I was.
On the fourth day some young fellows came to see me, and told me there
was to be a picnic on Saturday, and I must get father's horse and
buggy and take one of the girls. In vain I pleaded that I did not know
any of them well enough. They laughed at me, and said that Belle
Marigold had consented to go with me; that I knew her--she had been in
the store and bought some blue silk for twelve-and-a-half cents a
yard; and they rather thought she fancied me, she seemed so ready to
accept my escort; should they tell her I would call for her at ten
o'clock, sharp, on Saturday morning?
There was no refusing under the circumstances, and I said "yes" with
the same gaiety with which I would have signed my own death-warrant.
Yet I wanted to go to the picnic, dreadfully; and of all the young
ladies in Babbletown I preferred Belle Marigold. She was the
handsomest and most stylish girl in the county. Her eyes were large,
black, and mischievous; her mouth like a rose; she dressed prettily,
and had an elegant little way of tossing back her dark ringlets that
was fascinating even at first sight. I was told my doom on Thursday
afternoon, and do not think I slept any that or Friday night--am
positive I did not Saturday night. I wanted to go and I wanted to take
that particular girl, yet I was in a cold sweat at the idea. I would
have given five dollars to be let off, and I wouldn't have taken
fifteen for my chance to go. I asked father if I could have the horse
and buggy, and if he would tend store. I hoped he would say No; but
when he said Yes, I was delighted.
"I'll take the opportunity when you are at the picnic to get the
accounts out of the quirks you've got 'em into," said he.
Well, Saturday came. As I opened my eyes my heart jumped into my
throat. "I've got to go through with it now if it kills me," I
thought.
Mother asked me why I ate no breakfast.
"Saving my appetite for the picnic," I responded, cheerfully; which
was one of the white lies my miserable bashfulness made me tell every
day of my life--I knew that I should go dinner-less at the picnic
unless I could get behind a tree with my plate of goodies.
I never to this day can abide to eat before strangers; things _always_
go by my windpipe instead of my aesophagus, and I'm tired to death of
scalding my legs with hot tea, to say nothing of adding to one's
embarrassment to have people asking if one has burned oneself, and
feeling that one has broken a cup out of a lady's best china tea-set.
But about tea and tea-parties I shall have more to say hereafter. I
must hurry on to my first picnic, where I made my first public
appearance as the Bashful Man.
I made a neat toilet--a fresh, light summer suit that I flattered
myself beat any other set of clothes in Babbletown--ordered Joe, our
chore-boy, to bring the buggy around in good order, with everything
shining; and when he had done so, had the horse tied in front of the
store.
"Come, my boy," said father, after a while, "it's ten minutes to ten.
Never keep the ladies waiting."
"Yes, sir; as soon as I've put these raisins away."
"Five minutes to ten, John. Don't forget the lemons."
"No, sir." But I _did_ forget them in my trepidation, and a man had
to be sent back for them afterward.
It was just ten when I stepped into the buggy with an attempt to
appear in high spirits. As I drove slowly toward Squire Marigold's
large mansion on Main Street, I met dozens of gay young folks on the
way out of town, some of them calling out that I would be late, and to
try and catch up with them after I got my girl.
As I came in sight of the house my courage failed. I turned off on a
by-street, drove around nearly half a mile, and finally approached the
object of my dread from another direction. I do believe I should have
passed the house after I got to it had I not seen a vision of pink
ribbons, white dress, and black eyes at the window, and realized that
I was observed. So I touched the horse with the whip, drove up with a
flourish, and before I had fairly pulled up at the block, Belle was at
the door, with a servant behind her carrying a hamper.
"You are late, Mr. Flutter," she called out, half gayly, half crossly.
I arose from the seat, flung down the reins, and leaped out, like a
flying-fish out of the water, to hand the beautiful apparition in. In
my nervousness I did not observe how I placed the lines, my foot
became entangled in them, I was brought up in the most unexpected
manner, landing on the pavement on my new hat instead of the soles of
my boots.
This was not only embarrassing, but positively painful. There was a
bump on my forehead, the rim of my hat was crushed, my new suit was
soiled, my knee ached like Jericho, and there was a rent in my
pantaloons right opposite where my knee hurt.
Belle tittered, the colored girl stuffed her apron in her mouth, and
said "hi! hi!" behind it. I would have given all I had in life to give
if I could have started on an exploring expedition for China just
then, but I couldn't. The pavement was not constructed with reference
to swallowing up bashful young men who wanted to be swallowed.
"I hope you are not hurt, Mr. Flutter, te-he?"
"Oh, not at all, not in the least; it never hurts me to fall. It was
those constricted reins, they caught my foot. Does the basket go with
us? I mean the servant. No, I don't, I mean the basket--does she go
with us?"
"The hamper does, Mr. Flutter, or we should be minus sandwiches. Jane,
put the hamper in."
Miss Marigold was in the buggy before I had straightened my hat-rim.
"I hope your horse is a fast one; we shall be late," she remarked, as
I took my place by her side. "Here is a pin, Mr. Flutter; you can pin
up that tear."
I was glad she asked me to let the horse go at full speed; it was the
most soothing thing which could happen at that time. As he flew along
I could affect to be busy with the cares of driving, and so escape
the trials of conversation. I spoke to my lovely companion only three
times in the eight miles between her house and the grove. The first
time I remarked, "We are going to have a warm day"; the second, "I
think the day will be quite warm"; the third time I launched out
boldly: "Don't you think, Miss Marigold, we shall have it rather warm
about noon?"
"You seem to feel the heat more than I do," she answered, demurely,
which was true, for she looked as cool as a cucumber and as
comfortable as a mouse in a cheese, while I was mopping my face every
other minute with my handkerchief.
When we reached the picnic grounds she offered to hold the reins while
I got out. As I lifted her down, the whole company, who had been
watching for our arrival, burst out laughing. Miss Belle looked at me
and burst out laughing, too.
"What's the matter?" I stammered.
"Oh, nothing," said she; "only you dusted your clothes with your
handkerchief after you fell, and now you've wiped your face with it,
and it's all streaked up as if you'd been making mud pies, and your
hat's a little out of shape, and--"
"You look as if you'd been on a bender," added the fellow who had
induced me to come to the confounded affair.
"Well, I guess I can wash my face," I retorted, a little mad. "I've
met with an accident, that's all. Just wait until I've tied my horse."
There was a pond close by--part of the programme of the picnic was to
go out rowing on the pond--and as soon as I had fastened my horse, I
went down to the bank and stooped over to wash my face, and the bank
gave way and I pitched headlong into twelve feet of water.
I was not scared, for I could swim, but I was puzzled as to how to
enjoy a picnic in my wet clothes. I wanted to go home, but the boys
said:
"No--I must walk about briskly and let my things dry on me--the day
was so warm I wouldn't take cold."
So I walked about briskly, all by myself, for about two hours, while
the rest of them were having a good time. Then some one asked where
the lemons were that I was to bring, and I had to confess that they
were at home in the store, and dinner was kept waiting another two
hours while a man took my horse and went for those lemons. I walked
about all the time he was gone, and was dry enough by the time the
lemonade was made to wish I had some. But the water had shrunk my
clothes so that the legs of my pantaloons and the arms of my coat were
about six inches too short, while my boots, which had been rather
tight in the first place, made my feet feel as if they were in a
red-hot iron vise. I couldn't face all those giggling girls, and I
got down behind a tree and the tears came in my eyes, I felt so
miserable.
Belle was a tease, but she wasn't heartless; she got two plates,
heaped with nice things, and two tumblers of lemonade, and sat down by
my side coaxing me to eat, and telling me how sorry she was that I had
had my pleasure destroyed by an accident.
I had a piece of spring chicken, but being too bashful to masticate it
properly, I attempted to swallow it whole. It stuck!--she had to pat
me on the back--I became purple and kicked about wildly, ruining her
new sash by upsetting both plates. She became seriously alarmed, and
ran for aid; two of the fellows stood me on my head and pounded the
soles of my feet, by which wise course the morsel was dislodged, and
"Richard was himself again."
After the excitement had partially subsided, the punster of the
village--there is always one punster in every community--broke out
with:
"Oh, swallow, swallow, flying South, fly to her and tell her what I
tell to thee."
The girls laughed; I looked and saw Belle trying to wipe the ice-cream
from her sash.
"Never mind the sash, Miss Marigold," I said, in desperation, "I'll
send you another to-morrow. But if you'll excuse me, I'll go home now.
I'm not well, and mother'll be alarmed about me--I ought not to have
left father alone to tend store, and I feel that I've taken cold. I
presume some of these folks will have a spare seat, and my boots have
shrunk, and I don't care for picnics as a general thing, anyway. My
clothes are shrinking all the time, and I think we're going to have a
thunder-shower, and I guess I'll go."--and I went.
CHAPTER II.
HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.
It's very provoking to a bashful man to have the family pew only one
remove from the pulpit. I didn't feel like going to church the day
after the picnic, but father wouldn't let me off. I caught my foot in
a hole in the carpet walking up the aisle, which drew particular
attention to me; and dropped by hymn-book twice, to add to the
interest I had already excited in the congregation. My fingers are
always all thumbs when I have to find the hymn.
"I do believe you did take cold yesterday," said mother, when we came
out. "You must have a fever, for your face is as red as fire."
Very consoling when a young man wants to look real sweet. But that's
my luck. I'll be as pale as a poet when I leave my looking-glass, but
before I enter a ball-room or a dining-room I'll be as red as an
alderman. I have often wished that I could be permanently whitewashed,
like a kitchen wall or a politician's record. I think, perhaps, if I
were whitewashed for a month or two I might cure myself of my habit of
blushing when I enter a room. I bought a box of "Meen Fun" once, and
tried to powder; but I guess I didn't understand the art as well as
the women do; it was mean fun in good earnest, for the girl I was
going to take to singing-school wanted to know if I'd been helping my
ma make biscuits for supper; and then she took her handkerchief and
brushed my face, which wasn't so bad as it might have been, for her
handkerchief had patchouly on it and was as soft as silk. But that
wasn't Belle Marigold, and so it didn't matter.
To return to church. I went again in the evening, and felt more at
home, for the kerosene was not very bright. I got along without any
accident. After meeting was out, father stopped to speak to the
minister. As I stood in the entry, waiting for him, Belle came out,
and asked me how I felt after the picnic. I saw she was alone, and so
I hemmed, and said: "Have you any one to see you home?"
She said, "No; but I'm not afraid--it's not far," and stopped and
waited for me to offer her my arm, looking up at me with those
bewitching eyes.
"Oh," said I, dying to wait upon her, but not daring to crook my elbow
before the crowd, "I'm glad of that; but if you are the least bit
timid, Miss Marigold, father and I will walk home with you."
Then I heard a suppressed laugh behind me, and, turning, saw that
detestable Fred Hencoop, who never knew what it was to feel modest
since the day his nurse tied his first bib on him.
"Miss Marigold," said he, looking as innocent as a lamb, "if you do me
the honor to accept my arm, I'll try and take you home without calling
on my pa to assist me in the arduous duty." And she went with him.
I was very low-spirited on the way home.
"As sure as I live I'll go and call on her to-morrow evening, and show
her I'm not the fool she thinks I am," I said, between my gritted
teeth. "I'll take her a new sash to replace the one I spoiled at the
picnic, and we'll see who's the best fellow, Hencoop or I."
The next afternoon I measured off four yards of the sweetest
sash-ribbon ever seen in Babbletown, and charged myself with seven
dollars--half my month's salary, as agreed upon between father and
me--and rolled up the ribbon in white tissue paper, preparatory to the
event of the evening.
"Where are you going?" father asked, as I edged out of the store just
after dark.
"Oh, up the street a piece."
"Well, here's a pair o' stockings to be left at the Widow Jones'. Just
call as you go by and leave 'em, will you?"
I stuck the little bundle he gave me in my coat-tail pocket; but by
the time I passed the Widow Jones' house I was so taken up with the
business on hand that I forgot all about the stockings.
I could see Miss Marigold sitting at the piano and hear her singing as
I passed the window. It was awful nice, and, to prolong the pleasure,
I stayed outside about half an hour, then a summer shower came up, and
I made up my mind and rang the bell. Jane came to the door.
"Is the squire at home?" says I.
"No, sir, he's down to the hotel; but Miss Marigold, she's to hum,"
said the black girl, grinning. "Won't you step in? Miss will be
dreffle sorry her pa is out."
She took my hat and opened the parlor door; there was a general
dazzle, and I bowed to somebody and sat down somewhere, and in about
two minutes the mist cleared away, and I saw Belle Marigold, with a
rose in her hair, sitting not three feet away, and smiling at me as if
coaxing me to say something.
"Quite a shower?" I remarked.
"Indeed--is it raining?" said she.
"Yes, indeed," said I; "it came up very sudden."
"I hope you didn't get wet?" said she, with a sly look.
"Not this time," said I, trying to laugh.
"Does it lighten?" said she.
"A few," said I.
Miss Marigold coughed and looked out of the window. There was a pause
in our brilliant conversation.
"I think we shall have a rainy night," I resumed.
"I'm _so_ afraid of thunder," said she. "I shall not sleep a bit if it
thunders. I shall sit up until the rain is over. I never like to be
alone in a storm. I always want some one _close by me_," she said,
with a little shiver.
[Illustration: "I'M SO FRIGHTENED, MR. FLUTTER," SAID SHE; "I FEEL, IN
MOMENTS LIKE THESE, HOW SWEET IT WOULD BE TO HAVE SOME ONE TO CLING
TO."]
I hitched my chair about a foot nearer hers. It thundered pretty loud,
and she gave a little squeal, and brought her chair alongside mine.
"I'm so frightened, Mr. Flutter," said she: "I feel, in moments like
these, how sweet it would be to have someone to cling to."
And she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
"Dear Belle," said I, "would you--would you--could you--now--"
"What?" whispered she, very softly.
"If I thought," I stammered, "that you could--that you would--that it
was handy to give me a drink of water." She sprang up as if shot, and
rang a little hand-bell.
"Jane, a glass of water for this gentleman--_ice_-water," in a very
chilly tone, and she sat down over by the piano.
Bashful fool and idiot that I was. I had lost another opportunity.
After I had swallowed the water Jane had left the room. I bethought me
of the handsome present which I had in my pocket, and, hoping to
regain her favor by that, I drew out the little package and tossed it
carelessly in her lap.
"Belle," said I, "I have not forgotten that I spilled lemonade on your
sash; I hope you will not refuse to allow me to make such amends as
are in my power. If the color does not suit you, I will exchange it
for any you may select."
She began to smile again, coquettishly untying the string and
unwrapping the paper. Instead of the lovely rose-colored ribbon, out
rolled a long pair of coarse blue cotton stockings.
Miss Marigold screamed louder than she had at the thunder.
"It's all a mistake!" I cried; "a ridiculous mistake! I beg your
pardon ten thousand times! They are for the Widow Jones. _Here_ is
what I intended for _you_, dear, dear Belle," and I thrust another
package into heir hands.
"Fine-cut!" said she, examining the wrapper by the light of the lamp
on the piano. "Do you think I chew, Mr. Flutter?--or _dip_? Do you
intend to willfully insult me? Leave the hou----"
"Oh, I beg of you, listen! Here it is at last!" I exclaimed in
desperation, drawing out the right package at last, and myself
displaying to her dazzled view the four yards of glittering ribbon.
"There's not another in Babbletown so handsome. Wear it for _my sake_,
Belle!"
"I will," she sighed, after she had secretly rubbed it, and held it to
the light to make sure of its quality. "I will, John, for your sake."
We were friends again; she was very sweet, and played something on the
piano, and an hour slipped away as if I were in Paradise. I rose to
go, the rain being over.
"But about that paper of fine-cut!" she said, archly, as she went into
the hall with me to get my hat; "do you chew, John?"
"No, Belle, that tobacco was for old man Perkins, as sure as I stand
here. If you don't believe me, smell my breath," said I, and I tried
to get my arm about her waist.
It was kind of dark in the hall; she did not resist so very much; my
lips were only about two inches from hers--for I wanted her to be sure
about my breath--when a voice that almost made me faint away, put a
conundrum to me:
"If you'd a kissed my girl, young man, why would it have been like a
Centennial fire-arm?"
"Because it hasn't gone off yet!" I gasped, reaching for my hat.
"Wrong," said he grimly. "Because it would have been a blunder-buss."
I reckon the squire was right.
CHAPTER III.
GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
The Widow Jones got her stockings the next day. As I left them at the
door she stuck her head out of an upper window and said to me that
"the sewing society met at her house on Thursday afternoon, and the
men-folks was coming to tea and to spend the evening, and I must be
_sure_ an' come, or the girls would be _so_ disappointed," and she
urged and urged until I had to promise her I would attend her
sociable.
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