THE DUTCHMAN WHO GAVE MRS. SCUDDER THE SMALL-POX.
Some years ago, a droll sort of a Dutchman was the driver of a stage in New Jersey, and he passed daily through the small hamlet of Jericho. One morning, just as the vehicle was starting from Squash Point, a person came up and requested the driver to take in a small box, and "leave it at Mrs. Scudder's, third house on the left after you get into Jericho."
"Yaas, oh yaas, Mr. Ellis, I knows der haus!" said the driver," I pleeve der voman dakes in vashin', vor I always sees her mit her clothes hung out."
"You're right, that's the place," said Ellis (for that was the man's name), "she washes for one of the steamboats."
The box was thereupon duly deposited in the front boot, the driver took his 'leven-penny bit for carrying it, and the stage started on its winding way. In an hour or two, the four or five houses comprising the village of Jericho hove in sight. In front of one of them, near the door, a tall, muscular woman was engaged at a wash-tub; while lines of white linen, fluttering in the wind, ornamented the adjoining lawn. The stage stopped at the gate, when the following ludicrous dialogue, and attendant circumstances, took place:—
Driver—Is dis Miss Scutter's haus?
Woman [looking up, without stopping her work,]—Yes, I'm Mrs. Scudder.
Driver—I'fe got der small pox in der stage; vill you come out and dake it?
Woman [suddenly throwing down the garment she was washing]—Got the small-pox! Mercy on me! why do you stop here, you wicked man? You'd better be off, quick as you can. [Runs into the house.]
Driver mutters to himself—I vonder vat's der matter mit der fool; I'fe goot mind to drow it over der fence.
Upon second thought, he takes the box, gets off the stage, and carries it into the house. But in an instant he reappears, followed by a broom with an enraged woman at the end of it, who is shouting in a loud voice—
"You git out of this! clear yourself quicker! You've no business to come here exposing decent people to the small-pox; what do you mean by it?"
"I dells you it's der shmall pox!" exclaimed the Dutchman, emphasising the word box as plainly as he could—"Ton't you versteh?—der shmall pox dat Misther Ellis sends to you."
But Mrs. Scudder was too much excited to comprehend this explanation, even if she had listened to it. Having it fixed in her mind that there was a case of small-pox on the stage, and that the driver was asking her to take into the house a passenger thus afflicted, her indignation knew no bounds. "Clear out!" exclaimed she, excitedly, "I'll call the men folks if you don't clear!" and then shouting at the top of her voice, "Ike! you Ike! where are you?" Ike soon made his appearance, and inquired—
"W-what's the matter, mother?"
The driver answered—"I dells you now onct more, for der last time, I'fe got der shmall pox; and Misther Ellis he dells me to gif it to Miss Scutter, and if dat vrow ish Miss Scutter, vy she no dake der pox?"
By this time several of the passengers had got off the stage to see the fun, and one of them explained to Mrs. Scudder that it was a box, and not small-pox, that the driver wished to leave with her.
The woman had become so thoroughly frightened that she was still incredulous, until a bright idea struck Ike.
"Oh, mother!" exclaimed he," I know what 'tis—it's Madame Ellis's box of laces, sent to be done up."
With this explanation the affair was soon settled, and Mistress Scudder received the Dutchman's "shmall pox" amidst the laughter and shouts of the occupants of the old stage-coach. The driver joined in, although he had not the least idea of what they were laughing at, and as the vehicle rolled away, he added not a little to the mirth by saying, in a triumphant tone of voice, "I vas pound ter gif der old vomans der shmall pox, vether she vould dake it or not!"