Bressant | Page 8

has lived, he would
never knowingly have sent the boy where she was, on any consideration.
Well, well, I can easily find out how that is, from either Abbie or the
boy. By-the-way, I wonder whether this incognito of his may have any
thing to do with it? Hum! Margaret says it's only so that he may not be
interrupted in his studies by acquaintances. Well, that's likely
enough--that's likely enough!"

"By-the-way, where's the young man to stay? At Abbie's, of course,
if--Margaret says, at some good boarding-house. Well, Abbie's is the
only one in town. It's a singular coincidence, certainly, if it is a
coincidence! Perhaps I'd better go down at once and see Abbie, and
have the whole matter cleared up. I shall have time enough before
supper, if I harness Dolly now."
As Professor Valeyon arrived at this conclusion, he uplifted himself,
with some slight signs of the rustiness of age, from his chair, took his
brown-linen duster from the balcony railing across which it had been
thrown, and put it on, with laborious puffings, and a slight increase of
perspiration. Then, first turning round, to make sure that he had all his
belongings with him, he entered the hall-door, and passed through into
his study.
The rooms in which we live seem to imbibe something of our
characteristics, and the examination of a dwelling-place may not
infrequently throw some light upon the inner nature of its occupant.
The professor's study was of but moderate size, carpeted with a
red-and-white check straw matting, considerably frayed and defaced in
the region of the table, and faded where the light from the windows fell
upon it. The four walls were hidden, to a height of about seven feet
from the floor, with rows upon rows of books, of all sizes and varieties
of binding, no small proportion being novels, and even those not
invariably of a classical standard. The only picture was a stained
engraving of the Transfiguration, over the mantel-piece, in a faded and
fly-be-spotted gilt frame. In the centre of the room, occupying, indeed,
a pretty large share of all the available space, stood an ample
study-table, covered with green baize, darkened, for a considerable
space around the inkstand, by innumerable spatterings of ink. It
supported a confused medley of natural and unnatural accompaniments
to reading and writing. A ponderous ebony inkstand, with solid
cut-glass receptacles, one being intended for powder, though none was
ever put in it, a mighty dictionary, which, being too heavy to be
considered movable, occupied one corner of the table by itself: the
earthen tobacco-jar, with a small piece chipped from the cover;
pamphlets and books, standing or lying upon one another; heaps of

rusty steel and blunted quill pens; a quire or two of blue and white
letter-paper; a paper-knife, loose in the handle, but smooth of edge; a
box of lucifer matches, and several burnt ends; an extra pipe or two; the
professor's straw hat; a brass rack for holding letters and cards; and a
great deal of pink blotting-paper scattered about everywhere.
Opposite the table stood a chair, straight-backed and severe, in which
Professor Valeyon always sat when at work. He had a theory that it was
not well to be too much at bodily ease when intellectually occupied.
Directly behind the chair, upon the shelf of a bookcase, stood a plaster
cast of Shakespeare's face, the nose of which was most unaccountably
darkened and polished. It is doubtful whether even the professor
himself could have cleared up the mystery of this deepened color in the
immortal bard's nose. But whoever, during those hours set apart by the
old gentleman for solitary labor and meditation, had happened to peep
in at the window, would, ten to one, have beheld him tilted thoughtfully
back in his chair, abstractedly tweaking, with the forefinger and thumb
of his right hand, the sacred feature in question. He had done it every
day, for many years past, and never once found himself out, and,
doubtless, the great poet was far too broad-minded ever to think of
resenting the liberty, especially as it was only in his most thoughtful
moments that the professor meddled with him.
The room contained little else in the way of furniture, except a few
extra chairs, and a malacca-joint cane, with an ivory head, which stood
in a corner near the door. It produced an impression at once of
cleanliness and disorder, therein bearing a strong analogy to the
professor's own person and habits; and the disorder was of such a kind,
that, although no rule or system in the arrangement of any thing was
perceptible, Professor Valeyon would have been at once and almost
instinctively aware of any alteration that might have been made,
however slight.
On entering the study, the