“That gentleman, then, is in fact a clergyman!” he answered. “You have forgotten to name the other, Guert.”
“This is Mr. Corny Littlepage, Mr. Mayor—the only son of Major Littlepage, of Satanstoe, Westchester.”
The Mayor looked a little puzzled, and I believe felt somewhat embarrassed as to the manner in which he ought to proceed. The incursion of Guert upon his premises much exceeded in boldness, anything of the kind that had ever before occurred in Albany. It was common enough for young men of his stamp to carry off poultry, pigs, &c., and feast on the spoils; and cases had occurred, as I afterwards learned, in which rival parties of these depredators preyed on each other—the same materials for a supper having been known to change hands two or three times before they were consumed—but no one had ever presumed, previously to this evening, to make an inroad even on Mr. Mayor's hencoop, much less to molest the domains of his cook. In the first impulse of his anger, Mr. Cuyler had sent for the constable; and Guert's club, with its place of meeting being well known, that functionary having had many occasions to visit it, the latter proceeded thither forthwith. It is probable, however, a little reflection satisfied the mayor that a frolic could not well be treated as a larceny; and that Guert had some of his own wife's blood in his veins. When he came to find that two respectable strangers were implicated in the affair, one of whom was actually a clergyman, this charitable feeling was strengthened, and he changed his course of proceeding.
“You can return home, Hans,” said Mr. Mayor, very sensibly mollified in his manner. “Should there be occasion for your further services, I will send for you. Now gentlemen,” as soon as the door closed on the constable, “I will satisfy you that old Peter Cuyler can cover a table, and feed his friends, even though Guert Ten Eyck be so near a neighbour. Miss Wallace, will you allow me the honour to lead you to the table? Mr. Worden will see Mrs. Cuyler, in safety, to the same place.”
On this hint, the missionary stepped forward with alacrity, and led Mrs. Mayoress after Mary Wallace, with the utmost courtesy. Guert did the same to one of the young ladies of the house; Anneke was led in by one of the young men; and I took the remaining young lady, who, I presumed, was also one of the family. It was very apparent we were respited; and all of us thought it wisest to appear as much at our ease as possible, in order not to balk the humour of the principal magistrate of the ancient town of Albany.
To do Mr. Mayor justice, the lost time had been so well improved by Doortje, that, on looking around the table, I thought the supper to which we were thus strangely invited, was, of the two, the best I had seen that evening. Luckily, game was plenty; and, by means of quails, partridges, oysters, venison patties, and other dishes of that sort, the cook had managed to send up quite as good a supper, at ten o'clock, as she had previously prepared for nine.
I will not pretend that I felt quite at my ease, as I took my seat at the table, for the second time that night. All the younger members of the party looked exceedingly grave, as if they could very well dispense with our company; the old people alone appearing to enter into the scene with any spirit. Anneke did not even look at me, after the first astounded look given on my entrance; nor did Mary Wallace once cast her eyes towards Guert, when we reached the supper-room. Mr. Mayor, notwithstanding, had determined to laugh off the affair; and he and Mr. Worden soon became excellent friends, and began to converse freely and naturally.
“Come, cousin Guert,” cried Mr. Mayor, after two or three glasses of Madeira had still further warmed his heart, “fill, and pledge me—unless you prefer to give a lady. If the last, everybody will drink to her, with hearty good-will. You eat nothing, and must drink the more.”
“Ah! Mr. Mayor, I have toasted one lady, to-night, and cannot toast another.”
“Not present company excepted, my boy?”