CHAPTER IV.
The next morning George called at the store of Laneville & Co. No one was in save a small lad, who, to his inquiry, replied that all were sick. The youth was a short, porpoise-shaped lad, who appeared quite independent for his age and station, and told George that he had better call the next day, as the folks would n't be down. In an instant George suspected the cause of their absence. Though he knew James would be mortified to be seen, yet he determined upon visiting him, thinking it a favorable opportunity to submit to him the expediency of taking that step which he had urged upon him on the morning previous.
Conscious of being engaged in an act of duty, he ascended the steps that led to the door of the house. He rang; a servant-girl answered his call.
"Holloa!" shouted a voice at the head of the stairs. "Who's there?-what cow's got into my pasture now? Another glass, friends,—once more! Now drink, 'Death to the temperance cause, and ill-luck to fanatics!' Holloa! down below,—come aloft!"
"Hush! be quiet," said a female voice, in a whisper. "James, do respect yourself."
"Hush! who says hush? My soul's in arms; come on, John Duff! bring liquor here, and cursed be he who says, I've had enough!"
The closing of a door put an end to this extemporaneous address. George stood like a statue; he knew not which course to take,—whether to go up to his friend's room, or go down to the street. He soon determined, and sent word that he wished to speak to James. In a moment the latter was again to be heard declaiming disconnected sentences on all manner of subjects, until, learning the wish of George, he shouted,
"Yes, tell him to come up and revel in the groves of Madeira, or dance with peasant-girls at the grape-gatherings in Sicily! Yes, George, up here, and see how a man can live a temperance life without signing the pledge, and be as independent as he pleases!"
As George entered, James grasped his hand,—swung him round rather familiarly, and pushed him towards a chair.
The furniture and all that was in the room was in the greatest confusion, not excepting James Clifton himself. There was a boot-jack and a vase of flowers side by side on the mantel; a pair of boots on the centre-table, with two or three annuals on them, as though to keep them from being blown away; a nice hat stood on the hearth filled with coal-ashes, while an inkstand upside down on a pile of linen bosoms had left an impression not easily effaced; the paintings that were in the room were turned face towards the wall,—some freak of James', as though ashamed to have them see the performances.
"Now, George," said Mr. Clifton, "you can be convinced of the truth of my doctrine. I did n't sign the pledge, and I'm as sober, sober as a brandy-smasher! You recollect what a great poet says,—Drink till the moon goes down. I can improve that; I say,—Drink till yourselves go down. What an age this is, when temperance fanatics dance through the world to smash decanters, and make one pledge himself to be a fool! Independence is my motto! I go for independence now, independence forever, and as much longer as possible. Who says I am not right? Deluded mortals, who wink at sin, and kick at brandies! Magnificent monstrosities, making manliness moonshine; metaphysical Moors murdering Munchausen-"
"But hold, James," said George, interrupting him in his remarks; "keep within bounds,—let us reason." It was not with much hope of success that George asked his friend to "reason," for his condition was one not in the least degree favorable to such a performance.
"Reason?" exclaimed James. "I'm not a reasonable,—reasoning, I mean,—I'm not a reasoning being! Go ask the pigs to reason!"
Notwithstanding all this, George seemed inclined to argument, for he immediately said,
"Don't you see the ill effects of last night's indulgence in the confusion around you, and feel them in your own mind and body?"
"Now you talk like a man. Let us send the 'James-town' to Ireland with bread and butter. 'T is a vote! passed unanimously by both houses of Congress. We'll fire a full broadside of gingerbread at the old Green Isle, and teach the people to eat for a living."
This rambling from the inquiry George had made induced him to relinquish all hope of influencing him at that time. He saw how he had fallen; and he needed no prophet's ken to behold his future course, unless he turned from the path he was now so enthusiastically following.
Seeing that no good could be effected by his remaining, George arose to depart, when James caught his arm, and told him not to be in such haste.
"I want you to take a glass of wine;" and, ringing the bell, a servant was at the door before Mr. Alverton had an opportunity to say or do anything.
"You know I don't drink wines," said George; "why do you ask me?"
"Don't drink?"
"You look surprised, but you know I do not."
"Everybody drinks."
"Not all, if I am one of that extensive number."
"Well, my employer sells liquors, my minister drinks his wine, and my friends all drink, except you; and you are a sort of nondescript, a sort of back-action member of human society, a perfect ginger-cake without any ginger in it. Say, got a pledge in your pocket? I have; here it is:" and he pulled forth a slip of paper, on which he had written some half-legible lines.
"See how you like it;—it is what is called the Independent Pledge.
I'll read it.
"'We the undersigned, believing the use of wines and other liquors beneficial to ourselves in general, and the dealers in particular, pledge ourselves to act as we please in all matters of politics and phrenology.'"
The servant, who yet stood at the door waiting orders, burst forth into a loud laugh, as the reading of this was finished, while George, though inwardly sorrowing over the situation of his friend, could not refrain from smiling at his ridiculous appearance and doings. There was a good humor running through the method of his madness, that made him far from being disagreeable.
Mr. Alverton passed to the door, and, motioning the servant aside, entreated her not to bring him wine.
"Well, sir, that be's just as he says," said she, in a loud voice, and in a manner that convinced Mr. Alverton that she cared not as to what might follow.
"Good!" shouted James. "Why, she's my confidential; she's as true to me as a book. Sal, bring up two decanters of that best."
The girl laughed, and bounded out of the room to do as he requested.
The wine came; a long talk ensued, as unmeaning and useless as that we have above related, and George left with a heavy heart, promising to call on the morrow.
As he entered the street, and the cool, fresh air of an autumn morning greeted him, he felt somewhat revived, and, quickening his step, he soon reached his home. He dare not mention his adventure to Josephine, though he wanted to. She was the betrothed of James. In one month they were to be married! Dark and frowning were the clouds that gathered in their blackness over the mind of George, as he mused on what had been and what was to be. Should he tell her all? It was his duty. Should he shrink from the performance of his duty? No.