"Offered yourself? To whom?"
"Widow—Waffles—shy name—never mind—soon changed—one hundred and fifty thousand—cool, eh?—age forty—good looks—married for money—sheriff would have it—no friends—pockets to let—pays my debts—sets me up—house in Beacon Street—carriage—can't help it."
"You're a candidate for Bedlam," said Frank; "I've a great mind to order you a strait jacket."
"Be my bridesman—see me off—eh?" asked Cleveland.
"Yes, yes, of course—it will be great fun."
And so it was. Jack Cleveland was united to the widow Waffles in Trinity Church, and a smashing wedding it was. The party that followed it was, to use Cleveland's own expressions, "a crusher—all Boston invited—all Africa waiting—wax lights—champagne—music—ices—pretty girls—a bang-up execution."
During the honeymoon Jack Cleveland was all attention to his bride, (il faut soigner les anciennes,) but he promised to indemnify himself by taking full and complete liberty so soon as that interesting period of time had been brought to a close. Besides, his chains sat lightly at first; for the widow was one of those splendid Lady Blessington kind of women, who at forty have just arrived at the imperial maturity of their charms, and she was deeply enamoured of the young gentleman whom she had chosen for her second partner in the matrimonial speculation. Moreover, she paid the debts of the fast young man with an exemplary cheerfulness. The only drawback to this gush of felicity was that her property was "tied up;" not a cent could Cleveland handle except by permission of his lady. Then she kept him as close to her apron strings as she did her Blenheim spaniel; she required him to obey her call as promptly as her coachman. Galling to his pride though it was, he was even forced to go a shopping with her; and the elegant Cleveland, who once thought it degrading to carry an umbrella, might be seen loaded with bandboxes, or nonchalantly lilting bundles of cashmere shawls. The only difference between Mrs. Cleveland's husband and her footman was that he received wages; but then the footman could leave when he chose, and there the parallel ended. Jack's habits had to submit to a rigid and inexorable censorship. "Those odious cigars" were prohibited, and then "his list of friends" was challenged. Frank Aikin, the bridesman, was tolerated the longest of all, and then he was "bluffed off" by Mrs. Cleveland, who determined to make her husband a domestic man. It was the old story of Hercules and Omphale modernized to suit the times.
Jack began to think the happiest day of his life had made him the most miserable dog alive, and, like Sir Peter Teazle, "had lost all comfort in the world before his friends had done wishing him joy." But his debts were paid—that was a great consolation. Several streets in Boston, which were blocked up by creditors, as those of London were to the respected Mr. Richard Swiveller, were now opened by the magic wand of matrimony. He could exhibit his "Hyperion curls" in Washington Street, without any fear of a gentle "reminder" in the shape of a tap upon the shoulder.
One morning, however, a lady was ushered up into the splendid drawing room in Beacon Street, being announced as Madame St. Germain. She was a showy French woman, about the same age as Mrs. Cleveland, and the latter waited with some curiosity to learn the object of her visit.
"You are Mrs. Cleveland, I believe," said the French woman.