The Blunders of a Bashful Man

by Metta Victoria Fuller Victor

  Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, SankarViswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Teamat https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  The author of this book is Metta Victoria Fuller Victor writing under thePen name of Walter T. Gray. But the Author's name is not given in theoriginal text.

  The Table of Contents is not part of the original text.

  THE BLUNDERS

  OF A

  BASHFUL MAN.

  _By the Author of_

  "A BAD BOY'S DIARY"

  COPYRIGHT, 1881, BY STREET & SMITH.

  NEW YORK:

  J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.

  57 ROSE STREET.

  * * * * *

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.

  II. HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.

  III. GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.

  IV. HE DOES HIS DUTY AS A CITIZEN.

  V. HE COMMITS SUICIDE.

  VI. HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.

  VII. I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.

  VIII. HE ENACTS THE PART OF GROOMSMAN.

  IX. MEETS A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.

  X. HE CATCHES A TROUT AND PRESENTS IT TO A LADY.

  XI. HE GOES TO THE CIRCUS.

  XII. A LEAP FOR LIFE.

  XIII. ONE OF THE FAIR SEX COMES TO HIS RESCUE.

  XIV. HIS DIFFIDENCE BRINGS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT.

  XV. HE BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH A CHICAGO WIDOW.

  XVI. AT LAST HE SECURES A TREASURE.

  XVII. HE ENJOYS HIMSELF AT A BALL.

  XVIII. HE OPENS THE WRONG DOOR.

  XIX. DRIVEN FROM HIS LAST DEFENCE.

  * * * * *

  THE

  BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.

  CHAPTER I.

  HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.

  I have been, am now, and shall always be, a bashful man. I have beentold that I am the only bashful man in the world. How that is I cannot say, but should not be sorry to believe that it is so, for I am oftoo generous a nature to desire any other mortal to suffer the mishapswhich have come to me from this distressing complaint. A person canhave smallpox, scarlet fever, and measles but once each. He can evenbecome so inoculated with the poison of bees and mosquitoes as to maketheir stings harmless; and he can gradually accustom himself to theuse of arsenic until he can take 444 grains safely; but forbashfulness--like mine--there is no first and only attack, no becominghardened to the thousand petty stings, no saturation of one's beingwith the poison until it loses its power.

  I am a quiet, nice-enough, inoffensive young gentleman, now rapidlyapproaching my twenty-sixth year. It is unnecessary to state that I amunmarried. I should have been wedded a great many times, had not somefresh attack of my malady invariably, and in some new shape, attackedme in season to prevent the "consummation devoutly to be wished." WhenI look back over twenty years of suffering through which I haveliterally stumbled my way--over the long series of embarrassments andmortifications which lie behind me--I wonder, with a mild and patientwonder, why the Old Nick I did not commit suicide ages ago, and thusend the eventful history with a blank page in the middle of the book.I dare say the very bashfulness which has been my bane has preventedme; the idea of being cut down from a rafter, with a black-and-blueface, and drawn out of the water with a swollen one, has put me so outof countenance that I had not the courage to brave a coroner's juryunder the circumstances.

  Life to me has been a scramble through briers. I do not recall onesingle day wholly free from the scratches inflicted on a cruelsensitiveness. I will not mention those far-away agonies of boyhood,when the teacher punished me by making me sit with the girls, but willhasten on to a point that stands out vividly against a dark backgroundof accidents. I was nineteen. My sentiments toward that part ofcreation known as "young ladies" were, at that time, of a mingled andcontradictory nature. I adored them as angels; I dreaded them as ifthey were mad dogs, and were going to bite me.

  My parents were respected residents of a small village in the westernpart of the State of New York. I had been away at a boys' academy forthree years, and returned about the first of June to my parents and toBabbletown to find that I was considered a young man, and expected totake my part in the business and pleasures of life as such. My fatherdismissed his clerk and put me in his place behind the counter of ourstore.

  Within three days every girl in that village had been to that storeafter something or another--pins, needles, a yard of tape, to look atgloves, to _try on shoes_, or examine gingham and calico, until I washappy, because out of sight, behind a pile high enough to hide myflushed countenance. I shall never forget that week. I ran thegauntlet from morning till night. I believe those heartless wretchestold each other the mistakes I made, for they kept coming and coming,looking as sweet as honey and as sly as foxes. Father said I'd breakhim if I didn't stop making blunders in giving change--he wasn't inthe prize-candy business, and couldn't afford to have me givetwenty-five sheets of note paper, a box of pens, six corset laces, abunch of whalebones, and two dollars and fifty cents change for atwo-dollar bill.

  He explained to me that the safety-pins which I had offered Emma Jonesfor crochet-needles were _not_ crochet-needles; nor the red wafers Ihad shown Mary Smith for gum-drops, gum-drops--that gingham was notthree dollars per yard, nor pale-blue silk twelve-and-a-half cents,even to Squire Marigold's daughter. He said I must be more careful.

  "I don't think the mercantile business is my _forte_, father," said I.

  "Your fort!" replied the old gentleman; "fiddlesticks! We have nothingto do with military matters. But if you think you have a special callto anything, John, speak out. Would you like to study for theministry, my son?"

  "Oh, no, indeed! I don't know exactly what I would like, unless itwere to be a Juan Fernandez, or a--a light-house keeper."

  Then father said I was a disgrace to him, and I knew I was.

  On the fourth day some young fellows came to see me, and told me therewas to be a picnic on Saturday, and I must get father's horse andbuggy and take one of the girls. In vain I pleaded that I did not knowany of them well enough. They laughed at me, and said that BelleMarigold had consented to go with me; that I knew her--she had been inthe store and bought some blue silk for twelve-and-a-half cents ayard; and they rather thought she fancied me, she seemed so ready toaccept my escort; should they tell her I would call for her at teno'clock, sharp, on Saturday morning?

  There was no refusing under the circumstances, and I said "yes" withthe same gaiety with which I would have signed my own death-warrant.Yet I wanted to go to the picnic, dreadfully; and of all the youngladies in Babbletown I preferred Belle Marigold. She was thehandsomest and most stylish girl in the county. Her eyes were large,black, and mischievous; her mouth like a rose; she dressed prettily,and had an elegant little way of tossing back her dark ringlets thatwas fascinating even at first sight. I was told my doom on Thursdayafternoon, and do not think I slept any that or Friday night--ampositive I did not Saturday night. I wanted to go and I wanted to takethat particular girl, yet I was in a cold sweat at the idea. I wouldhave given five dollars to be let off, and I wouldn't have takenfifteen for my chance to go. I asked father if I could have the horseand buggy, and if he would tend store. I hoped he would say No; butwhen he said Yes, I was delighted.

  "I'll take the opportunity when you are at the picnic to ge
t theaccounts out of the quirks you've got 'em into," said he.

  Well, Saturday came. As I opened my eyes my heart jumped into mythroat. "I've got to go through with it now if it kills me," Ithought.

  Mother asked me why I ate no breakfast.

  "Saving my appetite for the picnic," I responded, cheerfully; whichwas one of the white lies my miserable bashfulness made me tell everyday of my life--I knew that I should go dinner-less at the picnicunless I could get behind a tree with my plate of goodies.

  I never to this day can abide to eat before strangers; things _always_go by my windpipe instead of my aesophagus, and I'm tired to death ofscalding my legs with hot tea, to say nothing of adding to one'sembarrassment to have people asking if one has burned oneself, andfeeling that one has broken a cup out of a lady's best china tea-set.But about tea and tea-parties I shall have more to say hereafter. Imust hurry on to my first picnic, where I made my first publicappearance as the Bashful Man.

  I made a neat toilet--a fresh, light summer suit that I flatteredmyself beat any other set of clothes in Babbletown--ordered Joe, ourchore-boy, to bring the buggy around in good order, with everythingshining; and when he had done so, had the horse tied in front of thestore.

  "Come, my boy," said father, after a while, "it's ten minutes to ten.Never keep the ladies waiting."

  "Yes, sir; as soon as I've put these raisins away."

  "Five minutes to ten, John. Don't forget the lemons."

  "No, sir." But I _did_ forget them in my trepidation, and a man hadto be sent back for them afterward.

  It was just ten when I stepped into the buggy with an attempt toappear in high spirits. As I drove slowly toward Squire Marigold'slarge mansion on Main Street, I met dozens of gay young folks on theway out of town, some of them calling out that I would be late, and totry and catch up with them after I got my girl.

  As I came in sight of the house my courage failed. I turned off on aby-street, drove around nearly half a mile, and finally approached theobject of my dread from another direction. I do believe I should havepassed the house after I got to it had I not seen a vision of pinkribbons, white dress, and black eyes at the window, and realized thatI was observed. So I touched the horse with the whip, drove up with aflourish, and before I had fairly pulled up at the block, Belle was atthe door, with a servant behind her carrying a hamper.

  "You are late, Mr. Flutter," she called out, half gayly, half crossly.

  I arose from the seat, flung down the reins, and leaped out, like aflying-fish out of the water, to hand the beautiful apparition in. Inmy nervousness I did not observe how I placed the lines, my footbecame entangled in them, I was brought up in the most unexpectedmanner, landing on the pavement on my new hat instead of the soles ofmy boots.

  This was not only embarrassing, but positively painful. There was abump on my forehead, the rim of my hat was crushed, my new suit wassoiled, my knee ached like Jericho, and there was a rent in mypantaloons right opposite where my knee hurt.

  Belle tittered, the colored girl stuffed her apron in her mouth, andsaid "hi! hi!" behind it. I would have given all I had in life to giveif I could have started on an exploring expedition for China justthen, but I couldn't. The pavement was not constructed with referenceto swallowing up bashful young men who wanted to be swallowed.

  "I hope you are not hurt, Mr. Flutter, te-he?"

  "Oh, not at all, not in the least; it never hurts me to fall. It wasthose constricted reins, they caught my foot. Does the basket go withus? I mean the servant. No, I don't, I mean the basket--does she gowith us?"

  "The hamper does, Mr. Flutter, or we should be minus sandwiches. Jane,put the hamper in."

  Miss Marigold was in the buggy before I had straightened my hat-rim.

  "I hope your horse is a fast one; we shall be late," she remarked, asI took my place by her side. "Here is a pin, Mr. Flutter; you can pinup that tear."

  I was glad she asked me to let the horse go at full speed; it was themost soothing thing which could happen at that time. As he flew alongI could affect to be busy with the cares of driving, and so escapethe trials of conversation. I spoke to my lovely companion only threetimes in the eight miles between her house and the grove. The firsttime I remarked, "We are going to have a warm day"; the second, "Ithink the day will be quite warm"; the third time I launched outboldly: "Don't you think, Miss Marigold, we shall have it rather warmabout noon?"

  "You seem to feel the heat more than I do," she answered, demurely,which was true, for she looked as cool as a cucumber and ascomfortable as a mouse in a cheese, while I was mopping my face everyother minute with my handkerchief.

  When we reached the picnic grounds she offered to hold the reins whileI got out. As I lifted her down, the whole company, who had beenwatching for our arrival, burst out laughing. Miss Belle looked at meand burst out laughing, too.

  "What's the matter?" I stammered.

  "Oh, nothing," said she; "only you dusted your clothes with yourhandkerchief after you fell, and now you've wiped your face with it,and it's all streaked up as if you'd been making mud pies, and yourhat's a little out of shape, and--"

  "You look as if you'd been on a bender," added the fellow who hadinduced me to come to the confounded affair.

  "Well, I guess I can wash my face," I retorted, a little mad. "I'vemet with an accident, that's all. Just wait until I've tied my horse."

  There was a pond close by--part of the programme of the picnic was togo out rowing on the pond--and as soon as I had fastened my horse, Iwent down to the bank and stooped over to wash my face, and the bankgave way and I pitched headlong into twelve feet of water.

  I was not scared, for I could swim, but I was puzzled as to how toenjoy a picnic in my wet clothes. I wanted to go home, but the boyssaid:

  "No--I must walk about briskly and let my things dry on me--the daywas so warm I wouldn't take cold."

  So I walked about briskly, all by myself, for about two hours, whilethe rest of them were having a good time. Then some one asked wherethe lemons were that I was to bring, and I had to confess that theywere at home in the store, and dinner was kept waiting another twohours while a man took my horse and went for those lemons. I walkedabout all the time he was gone, and was dry enough by the time thelemonade was made to wish I had some. But the water had shrunk myclothes so that the legs of my pantaloons and the arms of my coat wereabout six inches too short, while my boots, which had been rathertight in the first place, made my feet feel as if they were in ared-hot iron vise. I couldn't face all those giggling girls, and Igot down behind a tree and the tears came in my eyes, I felt somiserable.

  Belle was a tease, but she wasn't heartless; she got two plates,heaped with nice things, and two tumblers of lemonade, and sat down bymy side coaxing me to eat, and telling me how sorry she was that I hadhad my pleasure destroyed by an accident.

  I had a piece of spring chicken, but being too bashful to masticate itproperly, I attempted to swallow it whole. It stuck!--she had to patme on the back--I became purple and kicked about wildly, ruining hernew sash by upsetting both plates. She became seriously alarmed, andran for aid; two of the fellows stood me on my head and pounded thesoles of my feet, by which wise course the morsel was dislodged, and"Richard was himself again."

  After the excitement had partially subsided, the punster of thevillage--there is always one punster in every community--broke outwith:

  "Oh, swallow, swallow, flying South, fly to her and tell her what Itell to thee."

  The girls laughed; I looked and saw Belle trying to wipe the ice-creamfrom her sash.

  "Never mind the sash, Miss Marigold," I said, in desperation, "I'llsend you another to-morrow. But if you'll excuse me, I'll go home now.I'm not well, and mother'll be alarmed about me--I ought not to haveleft father alone to tend store, and I feel that I've taken cold. Ipresume some of these folks will have a spare seat, and my boots haveshrunk, and I don't care for picnics as a general thing, anyway. Myclothes are shrinking all the time, and I think we're going to h
ave athunder-shower, and I guess I'll go."--and I went.