CHAPTER XIV
JOHN ROBERT CHARLES
The new President was inaugurated on the fourth of March. The littlegirl sighed to think how many Democratic people there were on her block.They put out flags and bunting, and illuminated in the evening. They hadtremendous bonfires, and all the boys waived personal feeling and dancedand whooped like wild Indians. No healthy, well-conditioned boy couldresist the fragrance of a tar barrel.
Miss Lily Ludlow wore a red, white, and blue rosette with a tinyportrait of Mr. Polk in the centre. The public-school girls often walkedup First Avenue and met Mrs. Craven's little girls going home. Lily usedto stare at Hanny in an insolent manner. She and her sister could notforgive the fact that Miss Margaret had not called.
And now the talk was that Miss Margaret Underhill had a beau, a handsomeyoung doctor.
"They do think they're awful grand," said Lily to some of her mates."But they take up with that Dele Whitney, who sometimes does thewashing on Saturdays. It's a fact, girls; and the sister works in anartificial-flower place down in Division Street. And the Underhillsthink they're good enough to company with."
But the fact remained that the Underhills kept a carriage, and that Mr.Stephen had married in the Beekman family, and Chris had heard that Dr.Hoffman was considered a great catch. She was almost twenty and hadnever kept company yet. Young men called at the house, to be sure, andattended her home from parties, but the most desirable ones seemedunattainable.
Her mother fretted a little that she didn't get to doing something. Herewere girls earning five or six dollars a week, and her father's wageswere so small it was a pinch all the time.
"I'm sure I make all our dresses and sew for father, and do lots ofhousework," replied Chris, half-crying.
There were people even then who considered it more genteel not to workout of the house. And since servants were not generally kept, adaughter's assistance was needed in the household.
And to crown the little girl's troubles her dear mayor was retired toprivate life and a Democrat ruled in his stead.
But there were the new discoveries to talk about, and the reduction ofpostage due to the old administration. Now you could send a letterthree hundred miles for five cents. Hanny wrote several times a year toher grandmother Underhill, so this interested her. At the end of thecentury we are clamoring for penny postage, and our delivery is free.Then they had to pay the carrier.
The electro-magnetic telegraph was coming in for its share of attention.Scientific people were dropping into the old University of New York,where Mr. Morse was working it. The city had been connected withWashington. There were people who believed "there was a humbuggingfellow at both ends," and that the scheme couldn't be made to work. Itwas cumbersome compared to modern methods. And Professor John W. Drapertook the first daguerreotype from the roof of that famous building. Thatwas the greatest wonder of the day. What was more remarkable, a pictureor portrait could be copied in a few moments. Then there was a hint ofwar with Mexico, and the Oregon question was looming up with itscabalistic figures of "54, 40, or fight." Indeed, it seemed as if warwas in the air.
Children too had trials, especially John Robert Charles. He had beenallowed to go to Allen Street Sunday-school with the Dean children, andhe went over on Saturday afternoon to study the lesson. Hanny used tocome in, and occasionally they had a little tea. They played in theyard and the wide back area. The boys did tease him; the target was toogood to miss. Hanny sympathized with him, for he was so nice andpleasant. They couldn't decide just what name to call him. Bob did wellenough for the boys, but it was a little too rough for girls.
His mother still made him put on a long, checked pinafore to come tomeals. His father used a white napkin. And he did wipe dishes for her,and help with the vegetables on Saturday. He could spread up a bed asneatly as a girl, but he kept these accomplishments to himself.
There was another excitement among the small people. Mr. Bradbury, whofor years was destined to be the children's delight, was teachingsinging classes and giving concerts with his best pupils. Mrs. Deandecided to let the girls go to the four o'clock class. Hanny would jointhem. They could study the Sunday lesson before or afterward.
"If I only could go," sighed the boy. The tears came into his eyes.
"And you can sing just lovely!" declared Tudie.
Josie stood up with a warmly flushing face.
"I do believe I'd raise an insurrection. It isn't as if you wanted to doanything wicked, like swearing or stealing. And my father said God gavebeautiful voices to people to sing with."
"But if I asked mother she wouldn't let me go. And--I couldn't run away.You see that would be just for once. Perhaps then I wouldn't be let tocome over here, afterward," the boy replied sadly.
"Couldn't you coax?" asked Hanny.
"I could just ask, and she'd say no."
Hanny felt so sorry for him. He was very fair and had pretty, but rathertimid eyes.
"You can't raise an insurrection when you know for certain it'll be putdown the next moment," the boy added.
"Well," Josie drew a long breath and studied.
"I'd ask my father," said Hanny.
"And he'd say, 'Ask your mother; it's as she says.' Most everything _is_as mother says."
"Then I'd put my arms around his neck and coax. I'd tell him I wanted tobe like other boys. They think it's queer----"
Hanny stopped, very red in the face.
"Oh, you needn't mind. I know they laugh at me and make fun of me. Butmother's so nice and clean, only I wish she'd dress up as your mothersdo, and take a walk sometimes and go to church. And she cooks suchsplendid things and makes puddings and pies, and she lets me sit andread when I'm done my lessons. I have all the Rollo books, and fatherhas Sir Walter Scott, that he's letting me read now. It's only thatmother thinks I'll get into bad things and meet bad boys and get myclothes soiled. Oh, sometimes I'm so tired of being nice! Only youwouldn't want me to come over here if I wasn't."
That was very true.
"But there are a great many nice boys. Ben's just lovely, only he isgrowing up so fast," said the little girl, with a sigh. "And though Jimteases, he is real good and jolly. He doesn't keep his hands clean, andmother scolds him a little for that."
They could not decide about the insurrection. Presently it was time forCharles to go home. He was always on the mark lest he should not beallowed the indulgence next time. The poor boy had been moulded into thestraight line of duty.
The girls went out to swing. They could all three sit in at once. Andthey often talked all at once.
"It's just awful mean!"
"If we only could do something!"
"Girls!" Josie put her foot so firmly on the ground it almost tippedthem out. "Girls, let _us_ see Mr. Reed and ask him."
They all looked at each other with large eyes.
"It couldn't be wrong," began Josie; "because I've asked _your_ father,Hanny, to let you come up to our stoop."
"No, it couldn't be," said the chorus in firm approval.
"Then let's do it. He always comes up First Avenue about half-past fiveon Saturdays. Now if we were to walk down----"
"Splendid!" ejaculated Tudie.
"And I'll ask mother if we can't go out for a little walk."
"We mustn't wait too late."
Tudie ran in to look at the kitchen clock. It was twenty minutes pastfive.
"I'll go and ask."
"Why, isn't your own sidewalk good enough?" was Mrs. Dean's inquiry."Well--yes, you may do an errand for me down at the store. I want apound of butter crackers. Don't go off the block."
They put on their bonnets. Hanny's was a pretty shirred and ruffled bluelawn. They twined their arms around each other's waists, with Hanny inthe middle and walked slowly down to the store. Tudie kept watch whileher sister was making the purchase. Then they walked up, then down,looking on the other side lest they should not see him. Up and downagain--up with very slow steps. What if they _should_ miss him!
They turn
ed. "Hillo!" cried a familiar voice.
"Oh, Mr. Reed!" They blocked his way in a manner that amused him. Helooked from one to the other, and smiled at the eager faces.
"Oh, Mr. Reed--we wanted to--to----"
"To ask you----" prompted Tudie.
Josie's face was very red. It was different asking about a boy. She hadnot thought of that.
"We want Charles to go to singing-school with us next Saturday. Mr.Bradbury said we might ask all the _nice_ children we knew."
Hanny had crossed the Rubicon in a very lady-like manner.
Mr. Reed laughed pleasantly, but they knew he was not making fun ofthem.
"Why, yes; I haven't any objection. It will be as his mother says."
They all looked blank, disappointed.
"If _you_ would say it," pleaded Josie. "Then we should be sure."
"Well, I will say it. He shall go next Saturday. He has a nice voice,and there is no reason why he should not be singing with the rest ofyou."
"Oh, thank you a thousand times."
"It's hardly worth that." Mr. Reed was a little nettled. Had Charles putthem up to this?
They were at the corner and turned down their side of the street,nodding gayly.
"You see it was just as easy as nothing," remarked Josie complacently.
Mr. Reed entered his own area, wiped his feet, and hung up his hat. Hewent out in the back area and washed his hands. Every other day a cleantowel was put on the roller. The house was immaculate. The supper-tablewas set. Mrs. Reed was finishing a block of patchwork, catch-up work,when she had to wait two minutes. She went out in the hall taking thelast stitch, and called up the stairway:
"John Robert Charles!"
Meals were generally very quiet. Charles had been trained not to speakunless he was spoken to. Once or twice his father looked at him. Apinafore was rather ridiculous on such a big boy. How very large hiswhite collar was! His hair looked too sleek. He was a regular MissNancy.
He helped his mother take out the dishes and wiped them for her.
"Come out on the stoop, Charles," said his father afterward, as hepicked up his paper.
Mrs. Reed wondered if Charles had committed some overt act that she knewnothing about. _Could_ anything elude her sharp eyes?
Mr. Reed pretended to be busy with his paper, but he was thinking of hisson. In his early years the child had been a bone of contention. Hismother always knew just what to do with him, just what was proper, andwould brook no interference. What with her cleanliness, her inordinatelove of regularity and order, she had become a domestic tyrant. He hadyielded because he loved peace. There was a good deal of comfort in hishouse. He went out two or three evenings in the week, to the lodge, tohis whist club, and occasionally to call on a friend. Mrs. Reed neverhad any time to waste on such trifling matters. He had not thought muchabout his boy except to place him in a good school.
"Charles, couldn't you have asked me about the singing-school?" he saidrather sharply.
"About--the singing-school?" Charles was dazed.
"Yes. It wasn't very manly to set a lot of little girls asking a favorfor you. I'm ashamed of you!"
"Oh, father--who asked? We were talking of it over to Josie Dean's. Iknew mother wouldn't let me go. I--I said so." Charles' fair face wasvery red.
"You put them up to ask!"
"No, I didn't. They never said a word about it. Why, I wouldn't haveasked them to do it."
Mr. Reed looked suspiciously at his son.
"You don't care to go?"
"Yes, I do, very much." The boy's voice was tremulous.
"Why couldn't _you_ ask me?"
"Because you would leave it to mother, and she would say it was notworth while."
"Was that what you told them?" Mr. Reed was truly mortified. No manlikes to be considered without power in his own household.
"I--I think it was," hesitated the boy. The girls had started aninsurrection, sure enough. Well, the poor lad had no chance before. Itwas not a hope swept away, there had been no hope. But now he gave up.
"Don't be a fool nor a coward," exclaimed his father gruffly. "Here, getyour hat and go straight over to the Deans'. Tell them your _father_says you can go to singing-school next Saturday afternoon, that he willbe very glad to have you go. And next time you want anything ask me."
If the boy had only dared clasp his father's hand and thank him, but hehad been repressed and snipped off and kept in leading-strings too longto dare a spontaneous impulse. So he walked over as if he had beenfollowing some imaginary chalk line. The Deans were all up in the backparlor. He did his errand and came back at once, before Josie and Tudiehad recovered from their surprise.
Nothing else happened. Mrs. Reed went out presently to do theSaturday-night marketing. She preferred to go alone. She could makebetter bargains. When she returned Mr. Reed lighted his cigar and took astroll around the block. There was no smoking in the house, hardly inthe back yard.
Saturday noon Mrs. Reed said to her son:
"You are to go to singing-school this afternoon. If I hear of yourloitering with any bad boys, or misbehaving in any way, that will endit."
The poor lad had not felt sure for a moment. Oh, how delightful it was!though a boy nudged him and said, "Sissy, does your mother know you'reout," and two or three others called him "Anna Maria Jemima Reed."
However, as Mr. Bradbury was trying voices by each row, the sweetness ofCharles' struck him, and he asked him to remain when the others weredismissed. One other boy and several girls were in this favored class,and next week they had the seats of honor.
The next great thing for all the children was the May walk. All theSunday-schools joined in a grand procession and marched down Broadway toCastle Garden. There was a standard-bearer with a large banner, andseveral smaller ones in every school. The teachers were with theclasses, the parents and friends were to be at the Garden. Most of thelittle girls had their new white dresses, the boys their summer suitsand caps. For May was May then, all but Quaker week, when it was sureto rain.
A pretty sight it was indeed. The bright, happy faces, the white-robedthrong, and almost every girl had her hair curled for the occasion.There was a feeling among some of the older people that curls were vainand sinful, but they forgave them this day.
The audience was ranged around the outside. The little people marchedin, and up the broad aisle, singing:
"We come, we come, with loud acclaim, To sing the praise of Jesus' name; And make the vaulted temple ring With loud hosannas to our King."
The platform--they called it that on such occasions--was full ofclergymen and speakers for the festival. Some of the older eminentdivines, some who were to be eminent later on, some of the highdignitaries of the city; and they could hardly fail to be inspired atthe sight of the sweet, happy, youthful faces.
And how they sang! The most popular thing of that day was:
"There is a happy land-- Far, far away."
It was fresh then and had not been parodied to everything. No doubt itwould have shocked some of the sticklers if they had known that thewords and tune were, in a measure, adapted from a pretty opera song:
"I have come from a happy land, Where care is unknown; And first in a joyous band I'll make thee mine own."
There were many other hymns that appealed to the hearts of the childrenof those days. "I Think When I Read that Sweet Story of Old," and "JesusLoves Me, this I Know."
There were speeches, short and to the point, some with a glint of humorin them, and then hymns again. Perhaps we have done better since, butthe grand enthusiasm of that time has not been reached in laterreunions.
It seemed to the little girl that this really was the crowning glory ofher life. She could not have guessed under what circumstances she was torecall it, indeed this day had no future to her. At first her mother hadinsisted the walk was too long, but Steve said he and Dolly would bringher home in the carriage. Margaret promised to get her new white dressdone, and it w
as to be tucked almost up to the waist. Her mother gave inat last, and went down to see the children, being delighted herself.
Aunt Eunice was there, too. She had come to the city for thelong-talked-of visit, and next week was to be Quaker Meeting. She hadnot been to one in years. Indeed, she could hardly call herself aFriend. She had married out of the faith and said _you_ oftener than_thee_, but she kept to the pretty, soft gray attire and plain bonnet.
Hanny and the Deans and Nora thought her "just lovely." Hanny went tothe Friends' Meeting-House with her on Sunday afternoon, down in HesterStreet. It was severely plain, and the men sat on one side, the women onthe other, while a few seats were reserved for any of the world's peoplethat might stray in. The men looked odd, Hanny thought, with their longhair just "banged" across the forehead and falling over their collars.The coats were queer, too, and they kept on their hats, which shockedher a little at first.
Oh, how still it was! Hanny waited and waited for the minister, but shecould not see any pulpit. There was no singing, only that solemnsilence. If she had been a little Quaker girl she would have beenthinking of her sins, and making new resolves. Instead she watched thefaces. Some were very sweet; many old and wrinkled.
Suddenly an old gentleman arose and talked a few moments. When he satdown a tall woman laid off her hat and, standing up, began to speak in amore vigorous manner than the brother. She seemed almost scolding,Hanny thought. After her, another silence, then a lovely old lady with asoft voice told of the blessings she had found and the peace they oughtall to seek.
Everybody rose and went out quietly.
"It doesn't seem a real church, Aunt Eunice," said Hanny. "And there wasno minister."
"Oh, child, it isn't! It's just a meeting. It did not seem veryspiritual to-day."
"If they only had some singing."
Aunt Eunice smiled, but made no reply. Hanny decided she did not want tobe a Friend.
They went down to visit Aunt Nancy and Aunt Patience, and Margaret tookAunt Eunice up to see Miss Lois Underhill, who had gone on living alone.She said she could never take root in any other place, and perhaps itwas true. Her kindly German neighbor looked after her, but she was verygrateful for a visit.
Steve was building his new house and they thought to get in it by thefall. It was on the plot Dolly's father had given her at TwentiethStreet near Fifth Avenue. The Coventry Waddells, who were really theleaders of fashionable society, were erecting a very handsome andpicturesque mansion on Murray Hill, between Fifth and Sixth avenues onThirty-eighth Street. The grounds took the whole block. There weretowers and gables and oriels, and a large conservatory that was tocontain all manner of rare plants, native as well as foreign. Buteverybody thought it quite out in the country.
Steve laughingly said they would have fine neighbors. The Waddells werenoted for their delightful entertaining.
They took Aunt Eunice a walk down Broadway to show her the sights. The"dollar side" had become the accepted promenade. Already there were somequite notable people who were pointed out to visitors. You could see Mr.N. P. Willis, who was then at the zenith of his fame. When aSunday-school entertainment wanted to give something particularly fine,the best speaker recited his poem, "The Leper," which was consideredvery striking. There was Lewis Gaylord Clark, of _The Knickerbocker_,who wrote charming letters, and these two were admitted to be veryhandsome men. There was George P. Morris, whose songs were sungeverywhere, and not a few literary ladies. There was the Broadway swellin patent-leather boots and trousers strapped tightly down, in the stylethe boys irreverently called pegtops. He had a high-standing collar, afancy tie, a light silk waistcoat with a heavy watch-chain and seal, acoat with large, loose sleeves, a high hat, and carried his cane underhis arm, while, as one of the writers of the day said, "he ambled alongdaintily."
Then you might meet the Hammersley carriage with its footman and liverythat had made quite a talk. Young and handsome Mrs. Little, whosemarriage to an old man had been the gossip of the season, sat in elegantstate with her coachman in dark blue. Now one hardly notes the handsomeequipages, or the livery either.
But the "Bowery boy" was as great a feature of the time as the Broadwayswell. He, too, wore a silk hat, and it generally had a three-inchmourning band. His hair was worn in long, well-oiled locks in front,combed up with a peculiar twist. He wore a broad collar turned over, anda sailor tie, a flashy vest with a large amount of seal and chain, andwide trousers turned up. His coat he carried on his arm when the weatherpermitted, and he always had a cigar in the lower corner of his mouth.He walked with a swagger and a swing that took half the sidewalk. He ran"wid de machine," and a fire was his delight; to get into a fight hissupreme happiness. He really did not frequent the Bowery so much as theside streets. There were little stores where cigars and beer were sold,something stronger perhaps, and they were generally kept by some oldlady who could also get up a meal on a short notice after a fire. Onsummer nights they had chairs out in front of the door, and tilting backon two legs would smoke and take their comfort. For diversion they wentto Vauxhall Garden or the pit of the Bowery Theatre. Yet they were quitea picturesque feature of old New York.
Bowery and Grand Street were the East Side's shopping marts. Stewart wasbuilding a marble palace at the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street.You went to Division and Canal streets for your bonnets. There were afew private milliners who made to order and imported.
There were sails and short journeys to take even then. Elysian Fieldshad not lost all its glory. And yet the little girl was quitedisappointed in her visit to it. She had lived in the country, you know,she had looked off the Sound at Rye Beach and seen the Hudson fromTarrytown and Sleepy Hollow, and really there were lovely spots up theold Bloomingdale road. And she had pictured this as beyond all.
Aunt Eunice was very much struck with the changes. Her surprise reallydelighted the little girl. They took her over in Hammersley Street. OldMr. Bounett seemed quite feeble, and though he was not in his courtattire, he had a ruffled shirt-front and small-clothes. Aunt Eunicethought him delightful. It seemed queer to think of a French quarter inNew York in the old part of the last century where people met and readfrom the French poets and dramatists, and almost believed whencivilization set in earnestly, French must be the polite language of theday.
The little girl felt quite as if she was one of the hostesses of thecity. She knew so many strange things and could find her way about sowell. And yet she was only ten years old.
Aunt Eunice thought her a quaint, delightful little body, and wise forher years. But she _was_ small. Nora Whitney had outgrown her and theDean children were getting so large. As for the boys, they grew likeweeds, and the trouble now was what to do with Ben. There was no freeacademy in those days, but the public school gave you a good andthorough education in the useful branches.