Clementina, having found what she sought, glided to the chair which her father had relinquished, and said, coquettishly, "Now I have come to entertain you, Mr. Chiffield. You were speaking of Niagara Falls, the other day. Here are some photographs of them, taken for me on the spot." She handed the pictures to Mr. Chiffield. That gentleman took them with a profound bow, glanced over them, and said, "How elegant!" "What rich scenery!" "How tasty they are got up, a'n't they?" "This is the showiest picture;" "Here's a neat one," &c., &c., &c. Mr. Chiffield had contracted the use of a certain class of highly descriptive adjectives in selling dry goods. Clementina watched him narrowly, and thought how nicely she could manage this heavy fellow.
"How many times have you been to the Falls?" she asked, when Chiffield had shuffled through the photographs twice.
"Three times," said Chiffield, telling a white lie; for he had seen them at morning, noon, and evening on the same day. "And how often have you visited them, Miss Whedell?"
"Oh! so often I can't remember. My last visit was early last autumn. Oh! pa, did we go to Niagara Falls before or after our trip to the White Mountains?"
"After it, my child," replied the father, who maintained a cocked ear toward his child. "Don't you recollect we went from the Falls to Lake George, and stayed there till the first week in November? That was the year we omitted Newport and Saratoga, for a wonder," he added, conveying the idea, in a look to Mr. Chiffield, that such an omission was a marvel in their annual experiences.
"You love the Falls, I suppose?" said Mr. Chiffield.
"Oh! not much. I think they're dreadfully overrated." Clementina was determined not to be won too cheaply.
"So I think," said Chiffield, delighted to speak his real sentiments this time; "though everybody is obliged to praise 'em, because that's the fashion."
"But, though the Falls a'n't much, I must say the balls and hops are delightful. The fresh air there seems to give one strength to dance all night without a bit of fatigue. I bought these pictures because they show the hotels and other places where I have had such delicious dances."
Chiffield execrated dancing, because he had large feet, and legs slightly bowed. He moved in the cotillon or waltz with a certain elephantine ponderousness and sagacity. Therefore she tantalized him with these reminiscences.
"You see the Clifton House, there, on the Canada side? One night I danced eight waltzes, six polkas, four quadrilles, three fancy dances, and wound up, at five o'clock, with the German."
"Wonderful!" observed Chiffield, not knowing what else to say.
"Perhaps you think I was tired? Oh! not a particle. Next night we had a little hop on Table Rock. It was got up on short notice, but perfectly charming, I assure you. There were only two fiddles, and sometimes the noise of the Falls would almost drown the music. The fiddlers had to scrape so hard, that they gave out about three o'clock, and we had to give up the dancing, and go home, very much disappointed."
"Unlucky, indeed!" interjected Chiffield.
"But the next night we had two extra fiddlers. They relieved the other two at midnight, and then we danced till daybreak. Oh! such a glorious time. Next year, when I heard that a part of Table Rock had tumbled into the horrid river, I could have cried."
"It was a great shame, indeed!" said Chiffield.
"Isn't this view of Suspension Bridge natural?" she asked
"Amazing!" said Chiffield; and he ventured to add that he considered that bridge to be a great triumph of human genius.
"I dare say it is. But I didn't think of that. I was only going to tell you how the gentlemen of our Table Rock party tried to hire the use of the bridge one night to dance on. The owners wouldn't let it. Mean, weren't they?"
"Contemptible!" replied Chiffield.
"We should have had it nicely swept and lighted. The breeze coming down the river would have been beautiful, and the awful noise of the Falls wouldn't have been too loud for the music. But we almost made up for our disappointment. Next night, the gentlemen hired the 'Maid of the Mist'--the little steamboat, you know, that you see in this picture--and we sailed round and round below the Falls all night, dancing all the time. We went so near the Falls twice, that I got quite wet with the nasty spray, and caught cold; but that didn't prevent me from dancing all the next night, at the International. You have a good view of the house in this picture."
"Tasty," said Chiffield.
Mr. Whedell and Maltboy had not lost a word of this conversation, though they had been mutually boring each other with complex sentences about national politics. Happily, the discussion required no mental effort, and left them both free to hear and make mental comments on the dialogue that buzzed across the way.
Mr. Whedell regretted that his daughter should expatiate with such vivacity upon a subject that must be extremely disagreeable to a gentleman of Mr. Chiffield's large figure and steady habits. To the cultivated judgment of Maltboy, it was evident that the young lady was trying to amuse Chiffield merely for the purpose of annoying him (Maltboy). Experience had taught Matthew the best kind of cure for this species of female perversity. He determined to leave the house, and thereby show that he was not to be trifled with.
Availing himself of a pause in the dissertations on national politics, Maltboy pulled out his watch and consulted it. "Why!" said he; "nine o'clock! And I was to be in Fourteenth street by half past eight. Only intended to drop in just to see how you were. You really must excuse me, Mr. Whedell." Matthew rose as he spoke, to show that his mind was made up, and remonstrances would be useless.
"Don't go. Put off your other call," ejaculated Mr. "Whedell, at the same time rising, and thereby indicating a perfect acquiescence in the departure of his guest.
"You are in a hurry," said Miss Whedell, calmly, but without objection in voice or eye.
Mr. Chiffield looked calmly at his rival; and none but a skilled student of physiognomy could have discovered a gleam of triumph in his dull, yellow face.
Maltboy was disappointed in the calm demeanor of Miss Whedell; but, strong in his purpose, he walked toward the door, followed by the father. As he passed into the entry, he bowed coldly to the lady of his heart, and drew from her a scarcely perceptible nod.
At this moment, a valuable thought occurred to the paternal Whedell.
"My dear Maltboy," said he, closing the parlor door, "excuse the abruptness of the question; but could you lend me a couple of hundred?"
The question was indeed abrupt, but not altogether unexpected. Mr. Quigg had apprised Maltboy of Mr. Whedell's financial weakness; but the infatuation of the ardent young bachelor had led him to disregard that warning. He was fully prepared to say, "Yes, with pleasure," and he did say so.
"Thank you," said the gratified parent. "Only want it a few days." Mr. Whedell was too great an adept in the art of borrowing, to waste words of tedious explanation and gratitude, which only produce an impression that the borrower does not mean to pay. He accepted Maltboy's reply as a matter of course.
"If not too much trouble, could you give me a check to-night?" asked Mr. Whedell. "Have a payment to make before bank hours to-morrow."
"Most readily, my dear sir," replied the amiable Matthew. "Have you pen and paper convenient?"
"In this room, Mr. Maltboy," said his host, ushering him into a little apartment at the end of the entry, which contained a few books, and was passed off upon a credulous world as Mr. Whedell's library. The gas was lighted, writing materials were produced, and, in less than three minutes, Matthew Maltboy had put his name at the bottom of a check on the ---- Bank, for two hundred dollars. He did so smiling, and with a full consciousness that he had sustained a dead loss to that extent. But he was always too good-natured to deny a friend; and, in this particular case, he felt that he was buying a perpetual free admission to the house, and a usufructuary interest in the fascinations of Clementina. The idea of marriage with that young lady had never occurred to him. He never troubled himself with problems of the future.
"All right," said Mr. Whedell, folding up the check carelessly, and putting it in his pocket. "Shall I give you my note?"
"Oh, no!" said the willing victim, blandly. "Hand it me any time, at your convenience."
"Can return it within a week," responded Mr. Whedell; "but, on some accounts, the 1st of May will suit me best, if perfectly agreeable to you."
"As you please."
"We will call it the 1st of May, then. I regret you are in a hurry, sir. But remember, we are always happy to see you here."
With this pleasant remark ringing in his ears, and fully compensating him for the loss of his two hundred dollars, Maltboy hastened home, but did not tell his friends of his adventure; but he smoked and mused over it agreeably, and was totally unmindful of the truth announced by Mr. Quigg on New Year's day, when speaking of this same Whedell, that "somehow debtors always give the cold shoulder to creditors, as if the creditors owed the money."
Mr. Whedell, left to his own society, flattered himself that he had turned a rejected lover to a good account, and entered his library and sat down in the cold, that he might not, by his presence, mar the harmonious progress of the courtship upon which so much depended, in the parlor.