CHAPTER III.
GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
The Widow Jones got her stockings the next day. As I left them at thedoor she stuck her head out of an upper window and said to me that"the sewing society met at her house on Thursday afternoon, and themen-folks was coming to tea and to spend the evening, and I must be_sure_ an' come, or the girls would be _so_ disappointed," and sheurged and urged until I had to promise her I would attend hersociable.
Drat all tea-parties! say I. I was never comfortable at one in mylife. If you'd give me my choice between going to a tea-party andpicking potato-bugs off the vines all alone on a hot summer day, Ishouldn't hesitate a moment between the two. I should choose the bugs;and I can't say I fancy potato-bugs, either.
On Wednesday I nearly killed an old lady, putting up tartar-emetic forcream-tartar. If she'd eaten another biscuit made with it she'd havedied and I'd have been responsible--and father was really vexed andsaid I might be a light-house keeper as quick as I pleased; but bythat time I felt as if I couldn't keep a light-house without BelleMarigold to help me, and so I promised to be more careful, and kepton clerking.
The thermometer stood at eighty degrees in the shade when I left thestore at five o'clock Thursday afternoon to go to that infallibletea-party. I was glad the day was warm, for I wanted to wear my whitelinen suit, with a blue cravat and Panama hat. I felt independent evenof Fred Hencoop, as I walked along the street under the shade of theelms; but, the minute I was inside Widow Jones' gate and walking up tothe door, the thermometer went up to somewhere near 200 degrees. Therewere something like a dozen heads at each of the parlor windows, andall women's heads at that. Six or eight more were peeping out of thesitting-room, where they were laying the table for tea. Babbletownalways did seem to me to have more than its fair share of femalepopulation. I think I would like to live in one of those mining townsout in Colorado, where women are as scarce as hairs on the inside of aman's hand. Somebody coughed as I was going up the walk. Did you everhave a girl cough at you?--one of those mean, teasing, expressivelittle coughs?
I had practiced--at home in my own room--taking off my Panama with agraceful, sweeping bow, and saying in calm, well-bred tones:"Good-evening, Mrs. Jones. Good-evening, ladies. I trust you have hada pleasant as well as profitable afternoon."
I had _practiced_ that in the privacy of my chamber. What I really didget off was something like this:
"Good Jones, Mrs. Evening. I should say, good-evening, widows--ladies,I beg your pardon," by which time I was mopping my forehead with myhandkerchief, and could just ask, as I sank into the first chair Isaw, "Is your mother well, Mrs. Jones?" which was highly opportune,since said mother had been years dead before I was born. As I satdown, a pang sharper than some of those endured by the Spartans ranthrough my right leg. I was instantly aware that I had plumped down ona needle, as well as a piece of fancy-work, but I had not the courageto rise and extract the excruciating thing.
I turned pale with pain, but by keeping absolutely still I found thatI could endure it, and so I sat motionless, like a wooden man, with afrozen smile on my features.
Belle was out in the other room helping set the table, for whichmitigating circumstances I was sufficiently thankful.
Fred Hencoop was on the other side of the room holding a skein of silkfor Sallie Brown. He looked across at me, smiling with a malice whichmade me hate him.
Out of that hate was born a stern resolve--I would conquer mydiffidence; I would prove to Fred Hencoop, and any other fellow likehim, that I was as good as he was, and could at least equal him inthe attractions of my sex.
There was a pretty girl sitting quite near me. I had been introducedto her at the picnic. It seemed to me that she was eyeing mecuriously, but I was mad enough at Fred to show him that I could be ascool as anybody, after I got used to it. I hemmed, wiped theperspiration from my face--caused now more by the needle than by theheat--and remarked, sitting stiff as a ramrod and smiling like anangel:
"June is my favorite month, Miss Smith--is it yours? When I think ofJune I always think of strawberries and cream and ro-oh-oh-ses!"
It was the needle. I had forgotten in the excitement of the subjectand had moved.
"_Is_ anything the matter?" Miss Smith tenderly inquired.
"Nothing in the world, Miss Smith. I had a stitch in my side, but itis over now."
"Stitches are very painful," she observed, sympathizingly. "I don'tlike to trouble you, Mr. Flutter, but I think, I believe, I guess youare sitting on my work. If you will rise, I will try and finish itbefore tea."
No help for it, and I arose, at the same moment dexterously slippingmy hand behind me and withdrawing the thorn in the flesh.
"Oh, dear, where is my needle?" said the young lady, anxiouslyscrutinizing the crushed worsted-work.
I gave it to her with a blush. She burst out laughing.
"I don't wonder you had a stitch in your side," she remarked, shyly.
"Hem!" observed Fred very loud, "do you feel sew-sew, John?"
Just then Belle entered the parlor, looking as sweet as a pink, andwearing the sash I had given her. She bowed to me very coquettishlyand announced tea.
"Too bad!" continued Fred; "you have broken the thread of Mr.Flutter's discourse with Miss Smith. But I do not wish to inflict_needle_-less pain, so I will not betray him."
"I hope Mr. Flutter is not in trouble again," said Belle quickly.
"Oh, no. Fred is only trying to say something _sharp_," said I.
"Come with me; I will take care of you, Mr. Flutter," said Belle,taking my arm and marching me out into the sitting-room, where a longtable was heaped full of inviting eatables. She sat me down by herside, and I felt comparatively safe. But Fred and Miss Smith were justopposite and they disconcerted me.
"Mr. Flutter," said the hostess when it came my turn, "will you havetea or coffee?"
"Yes'm," said I.
"Tea or coffee?"
"If you please," said I.
"_Which_?" whispered Belle.
"Oh, excuse me; coffee, ma'am."
"Cream and sugar, Mr. Flutter?"
"I'm not particular which, Mrs. Jones."
"Do you take _both_?" she persisted, with everybody at the tablelooking my way.
"No, ma'am, only coffee," said I, my face the color of thebeet-pickles.
She finally passed me a cup, and, in my embarrassment, I immediatelytook a swallow and burnt my mouth.
"Have you lost any friends lately?" asked that wretched Fred, seeingthe tears in my eyes.
I enjoyed that tea-party as geese enjoy _pate de fois gras_. It was aprolonged torment under the guise of pleasure. I refused everything Iwanted, and took everything I didn't want. I got a back of the coldchicken; there was nothing of it but bone. I thought I must appear tobe eating it, and it slipped out from under my fork and flew into thedish of preserved cherries.
We had strawberries. I am very partial to strawberries and cream. Igot a saucer of the berries, and was looking about for the cream whenMiss Smith's mother, at my right hand, said:
"Mr. Flutter, will you have some _whip_ with your strawberries?"
Whip with my berries! I thought she was making fun of me, andstammered:
"No, I thank you," and so I lost the delicious frothed cream that Icoveted.
The agony of the thing was drawing to a close. I was longing for thetime when I could go home and get some cold potatoes out of mother'scupboard. I hadn't eaten worth a cent.
Pretty soon we all moved back our chairs and rose. I offered my arm toBelle, as I supposed. Between the sitting-room and parlor there was alittle dark hall, and when we got in there I summoned up courage,passed my arm around my fair partner, and gave her a hug.
"You ain't so bashful as you look," said she, and then we stepped intothe parlor, and I found I'd been squeezing Widow Jones' waist.
She gave me a look full of languishing sweetness that scared me nearlyto death. I thought of Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell. Visions of suitsfor breaches of p
romise arose before my horrified vision. I glancedwildly around in search of Belle; she was hanging on a young lawyer'sarm, and not looking at me.
"La, now, you needn't color up so," said the widow, coquettishly, "Iknow what young men are."
She said it aloud, on purpose for Belle to hear. I felt like killingher. I might have done it, but one thought restrained me--I should behung for murder, and I was too bashful to submit to so public anordeal.
I hurried across the room to get rid of her. There was a young fellowstanding there who looked about as out-of-place as I felt. I thoughtI would speak to him.
"Come," said I, "let us take a little promenade outside--the women aretoo much for me."
He made no answer. I heard giggling and tittering breaking out allaround the room, like rash on a baby with the measles.
"Come on," said I; "like as not they're laughing at us."
"Look-a-here, you shouldn't speak to a fellow till you've beenintroduced," said that wicked Fred behind me. "Mr. Flutter, allow meto make you acquainted with Mr. Flutter. He's anxious to take a littlewalk with you."
It was so; I had been talking to myself in a four-foot looking-glass.
I did not feel like staying for the ice-cream and kissing-plays, buthad a sly hunt for my hat, and took leave of the tea-party about theeighth of a second afterward.
The Blunders of a Bashful Man Page 3
