"Well, we never!" cried all the ladies.
"Well, ladies, I don't suppose you ever did," Uncle Joe responds. "The fact is, Mrs. Padlock died suddenly the week Padlock spoke to me of going to Saratogy, and he married her sister, Miss Catchem, in course of a few weeks after, himself! I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, I thought it was all for the best; things might have turned out that I should have got tangled up with that girl, and a—"
"Been a married man, now, instead of a bachelor, Uncle Joe!" said the young ladies.
"It's odd; I don't know how it was, ladies; it might have been so, but it turned out just as I have stated."
"Well, well, Major," said an elderly person of the group; "go on; how about Saratoga?"
"I will," says Uncle Joe, again resorting to his rappee, "I will. You see Padlock didn't go, it was very odd; but somehow or other, I made up my mind to go, and I went. I calculated to be gone three or four weeks, and I concluded for once, at least, to loosen the strings of my purse, if I never did again; so I laid out to expend three dollars or so, each day, say eighty dollars for the trip; a good round sum, I assure you, to fritter away; but, by banks of Brandywine, I was determined to do it, and I did. It was very odd, but the first person I met at New York was an old friend, a schoolmate of mine. I was glad to see him, and sorry enough to learn that he had failed in business—had a large family—poor—in distress. It was very odd, but somehow or other, we dined at the hotel together—had a bottle of Madeira, and I a—well, I loaned—yes, by banks of Brandywine, I gave the poor fellow a twenty dollar bill, shook hands and parted; yes, poor Billy Merrifellow, we never met again; he—he died soon after, in distress, his family broke up—scattered; it was very odd; poor fellow, he's gone;" and Uncle Joe again had recourse to his rappee, while a large tear hung in the corner of his full blue eye. Closing his box, and wiping his face with his pongee, the Major continued:
"Next morning I called for my bill. I was astonished to find that a couple of bottles of good wine, two extra meals, and something over one day's board, figured up the round sum of ten dollars. I was three days out, so far, and my pocket-book was lessened of half the funds intended for a month's expenses! By banks of Brandywine, thinks Major, my boy, this won't do; you must economize, or you shall be short of your reckonings before you are a week out of port. That morning at the steam-boat wharf I meets a young man very genteelly dressed; he looked in deep distress about something. It was very odd, I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, he came up to me and asked if I was going up the river, and I very civilly told him I was; then, he up and tells me he was a stranger in the city, had lost all his money by gambling, was in great distress—had nothing but a valuable watch—a present from his deceased father, a Virginia planter, and a great deal more. He begged me to buy the watch, when I refused at first, but finally he so importuned me, and offered the watch at a rate so apparently below its real value that I up and gave him forty dollars for it, thinking I might in part, indemnify my previous extravagance by this little bit of a trade. It was very odd; I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, upon my arrival at Saratogy, I found that watch wasn't worth the powder that would blow it up! I was imposed upon, cheated by a scoundrel! Here I was, four days from home, and my whole month's outfit nigh about gone. In the stage that took us from the boat to the Springs, rode a very respectable youngish-looking woman, with a very cross child in her arms; we had not rode far before I found the other passengers, all gentlemen, apparently much annoyed by the child; for my part I sympathized with the poor woman, got into a conversation with her—learned she was on her way to Saratogy to see her husband, who was engaged there as a builder. Upon arriving at Saratogy, the young woman requested me to hold her child—it was fast asleep—until she stepped over to a new building to inquire about her husband. I did so; she went away, and I never saw her from that to this!"
A loud and prolonged laugh from his auditors followed this tableau in Uncle Joe's story. A little more rappee, and the Major proceeded:
"Well, it was very odd, I don't know how it was, but somehow or other I was left with the child, and a plaguy time had I of it; the town authorities refused to take charge of it, nobody else would; so by Brandywine, there I was; the people seemed to be suspicious of me—sniggered and went on as though I knew more about the woman and her child than I let on. In short, I had to father the child, and provide for it, and I did," said the Major, quite patriotically.
"Well, never mind, Uncle Joe," said Mrs. Bamberry; "that boy may pay you yet—pay you for all your trouble; he's growing nicely, and will make a fine man."