WHAT CAME OF A LAUGH ON A CHRISTMAS EVE.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said I, as soon as I could compose myself sufficiently to speak; "I couldn't help it."
"Glad to hear it. Just what I want. I was debating with myself whether it was sure for a laugh. I am looking for things that will make one laugh; in short, buying up causes for laughter on a Christmas day. There can be no doubt, you think, about this being funny?"
"Not a bit of it," said I.
"Well, I'll have one for every basket, then," said the old gentleman, his eyes twinkling with delight, as he danced the toy up and down. It was one of those jointed wooden monkeys that by means of a slide performs the most comical evolutions around the top of a pole.
"You see," continued he, "I cannot always trust my own judgment. There's no credit in my laughing, bless your heart. I'd be a monster, yes, a monster, my dear sir, if I didn't. I'm just like this monkey as you see him now in this position, ready to go over the other side with the slightest provocation. I have everything that heart can wish, sir, to laugh at and be happy; but they, poor dears, they are so far on the minus side of merriment, as well they may be, that it takes a little something extra, you see, to get a good hearty squeal out of them."
I became at once intensely interested in the "poor dears" alluded to. The sight of the old gentleman was enough to make one do unheard-of feats of heroism in favor of any person or thing of which he might take the least notice. I ventured to suppose that they had lost something or somebody lately, with the intention of offering my hand or purse as the case might be.
"Can't say that they have," he replied, rubbing his shiny bald head. "Being generally on the minus side of everything, including laughter, they haven't anything to lose which you or I might think worth keeping, except their lives, and somehow I think they've got used to losing even them pretty comfortably."
I was perplexed, and muttered, "Curious sort of people, those."
"But interesting, you'll allow?" said he.
I replied that I had no doubt of it; and I meant it, for so charming and open-hearted was this old gentlemen, that I was ready to subscribe unhesitatingly to any asseveration he might be pleased to make; "but—" I added, about to express my ignorance of the individuals in question, when he interrupted me.
"Why—but? My Minnie, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life" (expressing the titles of that person in the largest capitals), "and I held an ante-Christmas council this morning, and it was proposed by the president, that is myself, and seconded by the said Darling of the World and Sunshine of my life, and carried by an overwhelming majority, including Bob, who said he went in for anything good, that buts were unparliamentary when Christmas was concerned; and so we called the roll, twenty in all, and there being no buts, they all stood unchallenged, making twenty baskets, and now as many monkeys to go in them. What do you think of it! Capital, wasn't it?"
I was certain it was, and was prepared to go any odds in its favor.
"What's more," he added, "they are going privately."
Being committed beyond all explanation, I said I was glad to hear that too, "if Miss Minnie approves." This last supposition I made with a deprecating cough, not being quite sure of the relation which the old gentleman bore to the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of his life.
"It was her own proposal," was his rejoinder, "and you can't imagine what an immense relief it was to me too. It is more than I can stand to get through with the "thank ye sir's," and the "much obliged's" and the "long life to your honor's." I'm a baby, sir, in their presence, and by the time the distribution is made I'm a spectacle of unmitigated woe, as if I'd been to as many funerals as there are baskets. I remember that as I was coming out from a widow and five children, last Christmas, that rascal Bob saw me wiping my eyes, and says he, 'Most of 'em dead, sir?' 'No, Bob,' says I, 'it's the smoke, I suppose; they've a precious smoky chimney.' But when we got to the next place—let me see—oh! yes, a man with a broken leg, the scoundrel says to me, as he handed out the basket, 'Now, let us bury another one, sir.' Not bad for, was it? I had such a good laugh on each pair of stairs beforehand that I got through that one pretty comfortably But it was a glorious proposal of my Minnie's, was it not, that these should go privately? for we'll sit at home, and check them off as they go in, for I've arranged that the messenger shall deliver them by the watch, sir, and we'll imagine their surprise and their happy faces, and the bringing out of the monkeys, and then we'll have a roar and be jolly, and get rid of the thank ye's and all the rest of it that chokes up a man's throat and turns him into a born baby." And here the good-hearted old gentleman, in the fulness of his delight, caused the monkey in his hand to perform a series of rapid gymnastics over the top of his pole, beyond the powers of any monkey that ever lived. He presented such a comical appearance in doing this that I burst into another hearty laugh in which he as heartily joined.
"It is irresistibly amusing," said I, meaning the monkey.
"I knew it would be," he returned, his mind running upon the happy scheme by which he might prevent his left hand knowing the deeds of the right; "we will have twenty merry Christmas laughs all rolled into one. There I'll be, as it were, on this side," here he took a position on the floor opposite me, "and my Darling over there, as it were you," a distinction I acknowledged by a profound bow, "and Bob standing behind her chair, as that rocking-horse stands behind you; and then, watch in hand, we'll check them off: Number One, Widow Bums, two small children; Number Two, Susy Bell, orphan girl, works in a carpet factory and supports her two orphan sisters; Number Three, old Granny Mullen, with consumptive son and three grand-children, and so on; and there we'll have them all right before us, and they knowing nothing about it (there's the beauty of it, all due to that blessed Darling of the World and Sunshine of my life), and out will come the joint of meat, ready cooked, and the mince-pie, and the plum-pudding with a dozen of silver quarter dollars in each one, and the shoes and the stockings, and I don't know what else besides, packed away by my Darling's own sweet little hands, and last of all the monkey with a label around his neck, with an inscription, say, for instance, 'From Nobody in particular, with best wishes for a Merry Christmas.' There you have it," added he, waving the monkey triumphantly in the air, "and won't it be grand?"
"I'd give the world to see it," I exclaimed, quite carried away by the old gentleman's enthusiastic manner. Just then the keeper of the toy-shop handed me a package of marbles, tops, jewsharps, a pocket spy-glass, and a few other things of a like nature calculated to make glad the heart of [{544}] boys, which I had purchased for my little nephew, Willie, in the country.
"This for you, Mr. Holiday; but if you wish, I'll send it around to the doctor's," said the toy-vender.
"Lord bless my heart and soul!" exclaimed the old gentleman, seizing me suddenly by both hands. "Not Alfred Holiday is it?"
"That is my name," said I.
"Nephew of Dr. Ben?"
"Nephew of Dr. Ben," I repeated.
"And how long have you been in the city?"
"About a week," said I. "I came up to spend Christmas with Uncle Ben and Aunt Mary."
"And to take a look in at the Owl's Retreat, No. 9 Harmony place, of course?"
I intimated my ignorance of the Retreat in question, and of my not having the pleasure, etc.
"My house, man, my house," said he, shaking my hands up and down. "Dr. Ben and I are old acquaintances; in fact, ever since my Minnie was—I beg your pardon," added he, suddenly recollecting himself, and producing a card from his vest pocket. "Name of Acres, Thomas Acres, who, with the compliments of his daughter Minnie to the same effect, will be—most happy—to see—Mr. Alfred—Holiday—on to-morrow morning—to join in—the grand—checking off—of the—twenty baskets—and their—contents—including—monkeys—and of course stay to dinner."
If the old gentleman's cordial manner had any weight in deciding my acceptance of the invitation, it must be confessed that the curiosity to see the "Darling of the World and the Sunshine of his life" added not a little to it. Promising to be on hand at No. 9 before eleven o'clock, at which hour the checking off was to begin, I bade my new-found friend good-morning and went home.
But it was very provoking not to know more of the "Darling and Sunshine" This is him him him him question. Standing in such a light to such a father, she was, of course, a peerless being. Age—say, twenty. Height—medium, I am five feet ten. 10 Blonde or brunette—difficult to determine. Sunshine would seem to indicate blonde, yet darling might be either. Good, amiable, witty, accomplished—not a doubt of it. Beautiful name too, said I, as I scribbled it in every style of the caligraphic art, thereby destroying no small amount of my uncle's property in fine gilt-edged note paper. Has she suitor already. Hoity-toity, Mr. Alfred Holiday, you are castle-building on a small amount of material, it seems to me; and if she have, what affair is that of yours? a question which that imaginative young gentlemen finding himself unable to solve fell into a fit of despondency, and went to bed in a despairing state of mind.
Punctual to the appointed hour I walked into Harmony place, a quiet unpretentious street, and open the gate of No. 9. There had been both a rain and heavy frost in the night, and the trees and shrubs, clothed in a complete armor of ice, sparkled and glittered in the bright sunshine. Unfortunately, the ground shared in this universal covering, and being under the impression that someone was looking from behind the curtains, who might possibly be the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of the life of Mr. Thomas Acres, I insanely endeavored to walk upon the glassy pavement with careless ease, as if it were the most ordinary ground in the world. I now advise my bitterest enemy to try it. In an unguarded moment my feet slipped, and I came down in the most unpleasant manner into a sitting posture upon the ground. I thought I heard the sound of a clear ringing laugh following immediately upon my ignominious fall. I hoped it was from No. 10 or No. 8; yet my heart misgave me as Mr. Acres, with a half dozen superfluous bows, divided between his daughter and myself, introduced me, and a pair of dark, deep eyes, in which I thought I detected a merry twinkle, quietly but warmly acknowledged my presence.
"Mr. Alfred Holiday, my child, our old friend, Doctor Holiday's nephew; Mr. Holiday, my daughter Minnie, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life, as I have already told you, and the Dove of this Owl's Retreat."
I was "most happy," of course, and wished them both, with a bow to Miss Minnie, a Merry Christmas.
"We were getting afraid, Mr. Holiday, lest we should be obliged to begin without you," said that bright-eyed and altogether beautiful young lady, in a tone of voice which I afterward characterized in a violently worded poem, written just before midnight, as 'rippling diamonds' and 'dropping pearls.'
"Afraid!—without me?" I exclaimed, placing a most unjustifiable emphasis upon the personal pronoun. "I am highly flattered."
"Not at all; my father tells me he feels deeply indebted to you in assisting him in the choice of some toys designed for the children."
"For—for—laughing," stammered I. "Do you think, Miss Acres, that one might be indebted to another for a laugh?" I was thinking of my stupid fall on the ice, and began to regret my having accredited to No. 8 or 10 those sounds of merriment which reached my ears.
"If one gives good cause," she replied, with the quietest and most provoking of smiles. The deep, dark eyes twinkled again, and Nos. 8 and 10 stood acquitted.
"Come, Mr. Holiday," said Mr. Acres, "let us take an inspection of the forces. Wagon is loaded, strange man hired, with a watch in his pocket, off he goes; whence he comes or whither he goes, nobody knows. Ha! ha! Minnie, my dear, put me down one, your ancient Owl has struck a poetic vein; no time to register it, however. Come along; while I am immortalizing myself, twenty hungry families are waiting for a Christmas dinner they don't expect to get, and their mouths watering for plum-puddings and mince pies that they have not the most distant expectation of"—and the good old soul led the way into the hall, and thence into the court yard, at the entrance of which stood a large covered furniture-cart, filled to over-flowing with the wonderful twenty baskets destined to distribute happiness among as many poor and suffering families, and make their hearts merry on Christmas day. Each basket was labelled with its direction, number, and time of delivery.
"Now, John," said Mr. Acres to the driver as he mounted to his place on the cart, "remember, you are born deaf and dumb, can't hear a word nor even say 'Merry Christmas,' until you come back here and report."
"Lave me alone, sir," replied John with a broad grin, "the fun shan't be spiled for me."
"He enters into it, he enters into it, you see," said Mr. Acres, addressing Minnie and myself. "What's the time, John, by yours?"
"Near eleven, sir."
"Time's up, then.
"One, two, three, and off you go.
Twenty baskets piled in a row:
Ask me no questions, for I don't know.
Positively, my darling, there's something inspiring in the air this morning."
John cracked his whip, and the cart moved out of the yard, turned down the street, and was soon out of sight. Mr. Acres was a perfect picture of happiness as he stood gazing at the departing vehicle, rubbing his hands with delight, and his full, round face beaming with intense satisfaction. As I glanced at Minnie I saw her eyes filled with tears of love and pride as she watched the movements of her father. Turning about suddenly he noticed her emotion, upon which he went up to her, and placing a hand on her either cheek said with mock gravity:
"Miss Minnie Acres, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life, is hereby invited to attend the funeral of twenty baskets without further notice. Ha! ha! you recollect Bob, you know; and no time to lose either," he added, taking Minnie's hand in his right and mine in his left, and turning toward the parlor; "so let us get at it, my dears; excuse the liberty, Mr. Holiday, I'm in a glorious humor, and it's Christmas day, and here we are, and here's the list, so sit ye down; and Bob, Bob! you rascal, where are you?"
The rascal thus vociferously called for responded immediately by presenting at the door a form about four feet in height, of the rarest obesity, clothed in a dark-gray suit, evidently denned for the first time, and holding with both hands the stiffest and hardest of hats. There was no motion of his lips visible, but a sound was heard as if it proceeded from the inside of a cotton-bale, which was understood to mean—
"Here I am, sir; respects, gentlemen and ladies, and a Merry Christmas."
"Pretty time of day for that" said Mr. Acres, "as if a body were just out of bed, and hadn't heard Mass yet. Oh! I see," he continued, glancing at Bob's new clothes, which I have no doubt were the delivery of an order from T. Acres, Esq., made that very morning by Tibbits & Son, fashionable tailors. "Well, Merry Christmas, Bob; but don't stand bowing there all day"—which feat that individual seemed to be vainly attempting to execute, but could not get through with to his entire satisfaction—"come in, and stand there by Miss Minnie, and listen to the checking off, and we'll see if it's all right as a trivet, as it should be. Lord! I'd eat no dinner if there was one left out."
The "checking off" commenced immediately, the time being up for the delivery of the first basket. Nothing could exceed the delight of the old gentleman as Minnie read from the list the names of the parties who at that moment received the basket, their places of residence, and a detailed account of the articles sent. Each basket contained a sufficient supply for a hearty Christmas dinner for the family, jellies, wines, and other delicacies for the sick, some articles of clothing, and last of all the toy monkey.
"They've all got one," said Mr. Acres, chuckling with glee as monkey Number One was mentioned; "but we must do it regular and put them all down, or I should be afraid we overlooked one, which isn't likely, however, for they are all down at the bottom of each basket, and I with them there myself."
One by one the baskets were checked off, Mr. Acres with watch in hand calling "time," and Minnie reading thereupon the names of the parties and contents of the basket allotted to them. We very soon realized the old gentleman's promise that we would have a roar, for as the distribution went on the merriment increased, as all considered it their bounden duty to laugh louder and longer at the mention of the monkey of the basket then checked off than they did at the last one. Even Bob, whose risible powers seemed to be rather limited, and which were evidently under still greater restraint by reason of the additional dignity which became the new outfit, succeeded in increasing the hilarity of the occasion by the comical manner he performed his appointed duty in the checking off, which consisted in answering "right" when the number and names were announced, and submitting any information obtained of the parties in question through the intervention of a certain Mrs. McQuirey, whose "absence at the present delightful reunion," explained Mr. Acres, "was owing to the numerous duties with which that excellent lady had burdened herself." These duties, I afterward learned, consistent in making a daily morning visit to a number of sick poor people who Mr. Acres had taken under his fostering care. Bob's information was remarkable for its brevity of expression as well as for its peculiarly ventriloquistic character, due to the extraordinary amount of adipose matter which enveloped his organs of speech. [{547}] Of basket Number Five, for instance, he said, "Bad—husband goes it every Saturday night—children thin as broom handles." Or Number eight he reported: "Measles—shanty—rags scare—allers hungry." Of Number Ten, "Wus—man broken leg—wife no work—ain't fit neither if there was millions." Of Number Twenty, the last, having by this time exhausted his stock of adjectives, he summed up his report thus: "Extremely wust o' the hall lot—widder—nine mortal bags o' hungry bones—and what will you do with 'em?"
"Do with them!" exclaimed Mr. Acres, "we'll have Mrs. McQuirey look them up, Bob, eh? Minnie, dear, take a note of Number Twenty, that basket is only a bite."
The baskets being all checked off, Bob was ordered to produce forthwith a bottle of wine and glasses. "Now that we've got through with it comfortably," said Mr. Acres, "we'll drink all their healths, and wish 'em a Merry Christmas," which was done, all standing. "Hoping," continued that Prince of Charity, glass in hand, and following toward the four points of the compass, as if the whole twenty families were arranged about him in a circle, "that you may all have many happy returns of the season, and never know a Christmas that is not a merry one."
Never was a toast drunk with purer enthusiasm or a heartier good-will. Believing it to be the part of some one to cheer the sentiment, and not seeing any of the parties present who might with great propriety perform that duty, Bob took it upon himself to act their proxy, which he accordingly did by waving his new hat in a circle and giving three muffled "Hoo-rays" from the cotton bale.
In a few minutes John the messenger returned. He was at once introduced to the parlor, where he gave a glowing account of his errand.
"The shammin' deaf an' dumb was thryin' to me sowl above all. It wint aginst me not to be able to say the top o' the mornin' to ye, or aven God save all here on a Christmas dhay to the crathers, an' the Lord forgive me for peepin' an' a listenin' whin they thought I was deaf as a post, but it was in a good cause. It tuk the tears out o' me two eyes, so it did, to hear thim wondherin and prayin 'and a blessin' yez, and a cryin' for joy, and to see the childer dancin' the monkeys like mad. Och! but it's a glory to be a rich man like yer honor. Me mouth wathers whin I think o' the threasures ye're a hapin' up above."
"Bob," interrupted Mr. Acres, shifting uneasily in his seat, "you had better get out the crape hat-bands, for I see a funeral coming round the corner."
"A funeral is it?" said John. "May it be a thousand years afore it shtops forninst yer honor's doors."
"Thank ye, John; thank ye," said Mr. Acres, suddenly rising and going to the window, where he stood apparently deeply interested in the view of a blank wall and some smoky chimney-pots before him.
"Whin his day comes," continued John, loud enough to be overheard by Mr. Acres, "what a croonin' and a philaluin' thim poor crathers will be makin'. Sure, their tears will be droopin' like diamonds into his grave."
This was too much for Mr. Acres, who turned around, presenting a picture of inconsolable grief. It was only after two or three violent efforts to clear his throat of some unusually large obstacle which appeared to have stuck there that he succeeded in saying:
"Merry Christmas, John! Merry Christmas! You will find a plum-pudding, John, waiting down-stairs," and immediately began another survey of the blank wall and chimney-pots, making at the same time several abortive attempts to whistle.
John took the hint, and bowed himself out of the room. A dead silence ensued upon his departure, which no one appeared to find sufficient reason to break. In vain did I rack my brains to find an appropriate remark, but the words would not arrange themselves into a grammatical sentence. As I chanced to lift my eyes to the full-orbed face of Bob, standing bolt upright behind Minnie's chair, I became convinced at once of the fact that I had been intently and impudently staring at that Darling of the World for some time, whose beautiful downcast face, half shaded by a profuse cluster of raven curls I thought might engage the attention of any individual, say for an unlimited term of years. Embarrassed by this discovery, I took up the basket list and became at once deeply absorbed in its perusal. Unfortunately, the paper appeared to be possessed of some diabolical fascination which prevented my looking away from it or opening my mouth. How long this state of things might have continued is difficult to say, had not Bob broken the silence by a question, addressed, as it seemed, rather to mankind in general then to any particular individual within hearing:
"This ain't Christmas is it?"
"Yes, it is, you rascal," replied Mr. Acres; who, being either satisfied with his inspection of the blank wall and the chimney-pots, or had concluded to defer their more minute examination to another time, at that moment came forward to the table. "Go and order up lunch directly, Minnie, my darling; Mr. Holiday will give us the pleasure of his company, and also to dinner. Meanwhile, Mr. Holiday will be glad to hear you sing, my dear, and I will go and have Number Twenty looked after; that basket was only a bite, only a bite."
Mr. Alfred Holiday immediately led Miss Minnie Acres to the piano, where he listened with rapt attention to that young lady's singing of Miss Hemans's "O lovely voices of the sky;" upon which Mr. Alfred Holiday made the stupid remark that he had never heard any one of those "voices of the sky" before that day. Afterward Miss Minnie Acres and Mr. Alfred Holiday looked over a portfolio of prints together, when that young gentleman discovered that all his fingers were thumbs, and besought Miss Minnie Acres to hold one of the prints for him, when, looking at her and at the same time pretending to examine the picture with a critical eye, he declared he never saw anything so beautiful in his life, which irrelevant observation caused Miss Minnie Acres to say to Mr. Alfred Holiday, "Why! you're not looking at it!" whereupon that gentlemen became speechless and blushed from the roots of his hair to the depths of his best necktie. Of the events of the rest of the day Mr. Alfred Holiday distinctly remembers the following facts. Lunch being announced, Mr. Alfred Holiday took Miss Minnie Acres to the table, acted in the most insane manner while there, and lead Miss Minnie Acres back to the parlor; that he played backgammon with Miss Minnie Acres, and doubtless left an impression on the mind of that young lady that he was utterly ignorant of the game; that he accompanied Miss Minnie Acres to Vespers, and returned with her; that he took Miss Minnie Acres to dinner, during which a gentleman, who to the best of his belief was Mr. Thomas Acres, told him several times that he, Mr. Alfred Holiday, ate nothing, a fact of which that gentleman was not aware; that after the cloth was removed Mr. Alfred Holiday sat staring at an empty chair opposite him, for the possession of which he could cheerfully have impoverished himself and gone upon the wide, wide world; that certain musical sounds proceeded from the direction of the parlor, Mr. Alfred Holiday asseverated in the strongest terms to be "divine;" that upon his return to the parlor he was only restrained by the presence of a third person from throwing himself upon his knees and explaining: "Thou art the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my life," but which he nevertheless repeated [{549}] in his mind an innumerable number of times; in a word, that Mr. Alfred Holiday fell head over ears in love with Miss Minnie Acres, and made of all, which up to the present writing he has religiously, that if she would accept his hand and heart, which she did a few weeks after, he would send her twenty baskets of provisions to as many poor families every Christmas Eve, as a thank-offering, and a grateful remembrance of the hour when he laughed, and thereby one the most beautiful and most faithful wife that a man ever have.