CHAPTER XVI.
MR. ROUNDJACKET MAKES HIMSELF AGREEABLE.
On the morning after the scenes which we have just related, Mr. Roundjacket was seated on his tall three-legged stool, holding in his left hand the MS. of his poem, and brandishing in his right the favorite instrument of his eloquence, when, chancing to raise his eyes, he saw through the window an approaching carriage, which carriage had evidently conceived the design of drawing up at the door of Mr. Rushton's office.
A single glance showed Mr. Roundjacket that this carriage contained a lady; a second look told him that the lady was Miss Lavinia.
We might very rationally suppose that the great poet, absorbed in the delights of poesy, and thus dead to the outer world, would have continued his recitation, and permitted such real, sublunary things as visitors to pass unheeded. But such a conclusion would not indicate a very profound acquaintance with the character of Mr. Roundjacket—the most chivalric and gallant of cavaliers.
Instead of going on with his poem, he hastily rolled up the manuscript, thrust it into his desk, and hastening to a small cracked mirror, which hung over the fire-place, there commenced arranging his somewhat disordered locks and apparel, with scrupulous care.
As he finished this hasty toilette, the Apple Orchard carriage drew up and stopped at the door, and Mr. Roundjacket rushed forth.
Then any body who would have taken the trouble to look, might have seen a gentleman opening the door of a chariot with profuse bows, and smiles, and graceful contortions; and then a lady accepting the proffered hand with solemn courtesy; and then Mr. Roundjacket might have been observed leading the lady elegantly into the office.
"A delightful morning—a very delightful morning, madam," said Mr.
Roundjacket.
"Yes, sir," said Miss Lavinia, solemnly.
"And you look in the best of health and spirits, madam."
"Thank you, sir; I feel very well, and I am glad to think that you are equally blest."
"Blest!" said Mr. Roundjacket; "since you came, madam, that may be very truly said."
A ghost of a smile lit, so to speak, upon Miss Lavinia's face, and then flew away. It was very plain that this inveterate man-hater had not closed her ears entirely to the voice of her enemy.
Roundjacket saw the impression he had made, and followed it up by gazing with admiring delight upon his visitor;—whose countenance, as soon as the solemnity was forgotten, did not by any means repel.
"It is a very great happiness," said the cavalier, seating himself on his stool, and, from habit, brandishing his ruler around Miss Lavinia's head,—"it is a great happiness, madam, when we poor professional slaves have the pleasure to see one of the divine sex—one of the ladies of creation, if I may use the phrase. Lawbooks and papers are—ahem!—very—yes, exceedingly—"
"Dull?" suggested the lady, fanning herself with a measured movement of the hand.
"Oh! worse, worse! These objects, madam, extinguish all poetry, and gallantry, and elevated feeling in our unhappy breasts."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, my dear madam, and after a while we become so dead to all that is beautiful and charming in existence"—that was from Mr. Roundjacket's poem—"that we are incapable even of appreciating the delightful society of the fairest and most exquisite of the opposite sex."
Miss Lavinia shook her head with a ghostly smile.
"I'm afraid you are very gallant, Mr. Roundjacket."
"I, madam? no, no; I am the coldest and most prosaic of men."
"But your poem?"
"You have heard of that?"
"Yes, indeed, sir."
"Well, madam, that is but another proof of the fact which I assert."
"How, indeed?"
"It is on the prosaic and repulsive subject of the Certiorari."
And Mr. Roundjacket smiled after such a fashion, that it was not difficult to perceive the small amount of sincerity in this declaration.
Miss Lavinia looked puzzled, and fanned herself more solemnly than ever.
"The Certiorari, did you say, sir?" she asked.
"Yes, madam—one of our legal proceedings; and if you are really curious, I will read a portion of my unworthy poem to you—ahem!—"
As Mr. Roundjacket spoke, an overturned chair in the adjoining room indicated that the occupant of the apartment had been disturbed by the noise, and was about to oppose the invasion of his rights.
Roundjacket no sooner heard this, than he restored the poem to his desk, with a sigh, and said:
"But you, no doubt, came on business, madam—I delay you—Mr.
Rushton—"
At the same moment the door of Mr. Rushton's room opened, and that gentleman made his appearance, shaggy and irate—a frown upon his brow, and a man-eating expression on his compressed lips.
The sight of Miss Lavinia slightly removed the wrathful expression, and Mr. Rushton contented himself with bestowing a dreadful scowl on Roundjacket, which that gentleman returned, and then counteracted by an amiable smile.
Miss Lavinia greeted the lawyer with grave dignity, and said she had come in, in passing, to consult him about some little matters which she wished him to arrange for her; and trusted that she found him disengaged.
This was said with so much dignity, that Mr. Rushton could not scowl, and so he invited Miss Lavinia to enter his sanctum, politely leading the way.
The lady sailed after him—and the door closed.
No sooner had she disappeared, than Mr. Roundjacket seized his ruler, for a moment abandoned, and proceeded to execute innumerable flourishes toward the adjoining room, for what precise purpose does not very accurately appear. In the middle of this ceremony, however, and just as his reflections were about to shape themselves into words, the front door opened, and Verty made his appearance, joyful and smiling.
In his hand Verty carried his old battered violin; at his heels stalked the grave and dignified Longears.
"Good morning, Mr. Roundjacket," said Verty, smiling; "how do you do to-day?"
"Moderate, moderate, young man," said the gentleman addressed; "you seem, however, to be at the summit of human felicity."
"Anan?"
"Don't you know what felicity means, you young savage?"
"No, sir."
"It means bliss."
Verty laughed.
"What is that?" he said.
Mr. Roundjacket flourished his ruler, indignantly.
"Astonishing how dull you are occasionally for such a bright fellow," he said; "but, after the fashion of all ignoramuses, and as you don't know what that is, I declare you to be one after the old fashion. You need illustration. Now, listen."
Verty sat down tuning his violin, and looking at Mr. Roundjacket, with a smile.
"Felicity and bliss are things which spring from poetry and women; convertible terms, you savage, but often dissevered. Suppose, now, you wrote a great poem, and read it to the lady of your affections, and she said it was better than the Iliad of Homer,—how would you feel, sir?"
"I don't know," Verty said.
"You would feel happiness, sir."
"I don't think I would understand her. Who was Iliad, and what was
Homer?"
Mr. Roundjacket flourished his ruler, despairingly.
"You'll never write a poem, and you'll never be in love!" he said, with solemn emphasis.
"Oh, you are wrong!" said Verty, laying his violin on the desk, and caressing Longears. "I think I'm in love now, Mr. Roundjacket!"
"What?"
"I'm in love."
"With whom?"
"Redbud," said Verty.
Roundjacket looked at the young man.
"Redbud Summers?" he said.
Verty nodded.
Roundjacket's face was suddenly illuminated with a smile; and he looked more intently still at Verty.
"Tell me all about it," he said, with the interest of a lover himself; "have you had any moonlight, any flowers, music, and that sort of things?"
"Oh, yes! we had the flowers!" said Verty.
"Where?"
"At old Scowley's."
"Who's he?" asked Mr. Roundjacket, staring.
"What!" cried Verty, "don't you know old Scowley?"
"No."
"She's Redbud's school-master—I mean school-mistress, of course; and
Mr. Jinks goes to see Miss Sallianna."
Roundjacket muttered: "Really, a very extraordinary young man."
Then he added, aloud—
"Why do you think you are in love with Redbud?"
"Because you told me all about it; and I think from what—"
Just as Verty was going on to explain, the door of Mr. Rushton's room opened again, and Miss Lavinia came forth.
She nodded to Verty, and asked him how he was.
"I'm very well," said the young man, "and I hope you are too, Miss
Lavinia. I saw your carriage at the door, and knew you were in here.
Oh! how tight your hair is curled!" he added, laughing.
Miss Lavinia drew herself up.
"I reckon you are going to see Redbud," said Verty.
Miss Lavinia looked intently at him.
"Yes," she said.
"Give my love to her," said the young man, "and tell her I'm coming to see her very soon—just as quick as I can get off from this dull old place."
Which words were accompanied by a smile, directed toward Roundjacket. As to Miss Lavinia, she stood aghast at Verty's extraordinary communication, and for some moments could not get words to express her feelings.
Finally she said, solemnly—
"How—have you been—"
"To see Redbud, ma'am?"
"Yes."
"I've been once," Verty said, "and I'm going again."
Miss Lavinia's face assumed a dignified expression of reproof, and she gazed at the young man in silence. This look, however, was far from daunting him, and he returned it with the most fascinating smile.
"The fact is, Miss Lavinia," he added, "Redbud wants somebody to talk to up there. Old Scowley, you know, is'nt agreeable, at least, I should'nt think she was; and Miss Sallianna is all the time, I reckon, with Mr. Jinks. I did'nt see any scholars with Redbud; but there ARE some there, because you know Redbud's pigeon had a paper round his neck, with some words on it, all about how 'Fanny' had given him to her; and so there's a 'Fanny' somewhere—don't you think so? But I forgot, you don't know about the pigeon—do you?"
Miss Lavinia was completely astounded. "Old Scowley," "Mr. Jinks," "pigeon," "paper round his neck," and "Fanny,"—all these objects were inextricably mingled in her unfortunate brain, and she could not disentangle them from each other, or discover the least clue to the labyrinth. She, therefore, gazed at Verty with more overwhelming dignity than ever, and not deigning to make any reply to his rhapsody, sailed by with a stiff inclination of the head, toward the door. But Verty was growing gallant under Mr. Roundjacket's teaching. He rose with great good humor, and accompanied Miss Lavinia to her carriage—he upon one side, the gallant head clerk on the other—and politely assisted the lady into her chariot, all the time smiling in a manner which was pleasant to behold.
His last words, as the door closed and the chariot drove off, were—
"Recollect, Miss Lavinia, please don't forget to give my love to
Redbud!"
Having impressed this important point upon Miss Lavinia, Verty returned to the office, with the sighing Roundjacket, humming one of his old Indian airs, and caressing Longears.