Why, only think of his value for livery purposes in case his happy proprietor was disposed to let other folks use him for a proper compensation. He could of course be trained to carry double, and no doubt Mr. Rarey, or some other person potent in horse education, could easily break him to go in harness.
It wasn’t likely, Johannes cogitated, that the judges would allow him to enter his ligneous racer at the Fashion Course, so that he’d not get a chance to win any money from Lancet and Flora Temple, still there was a hope, even on that point.
So, in search of the witch wife, whose dower should be the broomstick horse, that should set the fond couple up in business, started the sanguine lover.
Having had some experience of New York fortune-tellers and others in the magic line, and not thinking they were of the sort likely to have so great a treasure, he started for the suburbs, and crossed the ferry to Williamsburgh, in order to pay a visit of inquiry, and if possible to take the initiatory step in courting Mrs. Pugh, of No. 102 South First Street, in that city.
He designed, of course, to buy a “fortune” at a liberal price, for the purpose of setting the lady in good-humor as a necessary preliminary step. He really had hopes that she would prove to be of a slightly different style from some of the New York fortune-tellers, who seem to have mistaken their profession and to be hardly up to reading the stars with success, although they might be fully equal to all the financial exigencies of an apple and peanut stand, or might win an honorable distinction crying “radishes and lettuce” in the early morning hours; or upon trial, might, perhaps, evince a decided genius for the rag-picking business, or preside over the fortunes of a soap-fat cart with distinguished ability.
Threading the winding ways of Williamsburgh is by no means an easy task for one unaccustomed, and it was only by incessantly stopping the passers-by and making the most minute inquiries that this lady was ever achieved at all.
This constant questioning of the public revealed, however, the fact that Mrs. Pugh does not by any means depend upon her fortune-telling for her bread-and-butter; she is a nurse, as many a Williamsburgh baby could testify if it could command its emotions long enough to speak. What will be the influence of her supernaturalism and witchcraft upon the children intrusted to her fostering care—whether they will in after life prove to be devils, demi-gods, heroes, or mere ordinary “humans,” time alone can show. This illustrious lady does not advertise in the newspapers; in fact, her fortune-telling is done on the sly, as if she were yet an apprentice, and a little ashamed of her bungling jobs, for which, by the way, she only charges half price. She is in a very undecided state, and evidently undetermined whether her proper vocation is tending babies or revealing the decrees of the fates at twenty-five cents a head, and when her visitors made their appearance she was puzzled to know whether their business was baby or black art.
Her exertions in either profession have not as yet gained her a very large fortune, judging from the surroundings of her eligible residence.
The domicile of this chrysalis enchantress is a low frame house of two stories, standing back from the street, directly in the rear of another row of more pretentious mansions, as if it had been sent into the back yard in disgrace and never permitted to show itself in good society again. It seems conscious of its humiliation, and wears an air of architectural dejection that is quite touching. A troop of dirty-faced children was in the yard, and in the corner was a pile of other household incumbrances, consisting principally of mops and washtubs.
Johannes critically examined this interesting collection, but the wished-for broomstick was not there. A modest rap brought to the door a large ill-favored man with a red nose and a ponderous pair of boots, whose speciality seemed to be drinking whatever spirituous liquors were consumed about the establishment.