Round the Block | Page 8

the phrase "woman
haters."
"You are such dull fellows now," continued Maltboy, "that perhaps you
will say this fair stranger is not looking at us; that she does not desire to
be seen by us--that is, by me; and that her rubbing of the window with a
handkerchief is not a signal which she expects to be answered."
"We say nothing," replied the disputatious Overtop. "We only wait for

proof. It is easy to find out whether a signal is meant or not. Rub the
window now."
Maltboy did so, concluding the act with an unmistakable flourish of the
handkerchief. Whereupon the tall girl averted her face, pulled down the
curtain, and eclipsed herself.
Wilkeson and Overtop laughed, and, with a common impulse, punched
Maltboy triumphantly in the ribs--a friendly salute that was always
vastly amusing to that gentleman.
"Be it understood, at this stage of affairs," said Marcus, solemnly, "that
I reject the Overtop theory, and wash my hands of all responsibility for
Maltboy's misdeeds.--Hallo! There he is again."
"Who? Where?" exclaimed his two friends.
"In the house nearly opposite--the one with the grape arbor. Isn't he a
fine old fellow?"
Overtop and Maltboy looked, and there saw, sitting at a window, and
placidly gazing out of it, an old gentleman with long and thick white
hair, a ruddy face, a white neckcloth, and a large projecting shirt
frill--which were all the peculiarities of person and dress that could be
distinctly made out. He was smoking a long pipe, and placidly rocking
himself to and fro. His appearance, through the two windows, was that
of a finely preserved relic of a past generation,
"He always has a long pipe in his mouth, and looks benignantly into the
open air," said Wilkeson,
"So even you are not wholly devoid of curiosity, and do take some
interest in the people on our block," remarked Matthew Maltboy,
"I have noticed the old gentleman often, when I have been reading near
the window; and own that I should like to know him. I think, too, from
certain signs, that he would not object to knowing me. Unless I am
much mistaken, he has bowed to me several times. But fearing that the

supposed bow might have been nothing more than a sleepy nod, I have
never ventured to answer it. Step back a moment, and see if he observes
me."
Maltboy and Overtop retired a few paces. A moment afterward, the old
gentleman looked over to Wilkeson, and made a bow at him about
which there could be no mistake.
"Answer him." "Answer him," said his two friends. Acting upon this
advice, Marcus Wilkeson, blushing, returned a courtly salute, which
was immediately reciprocated by a still lower bow, and a pleasant smile
from the old gentleman. Wilkeson bowed again, and added a smile. The
old gentleman did the same; and this odd exchange of civilities was
beginning to get awkward for Wilkeson, when the old gentleman's
attention was suddenly called off.
A slender young man, whose broad black mustache contrasted
unpleasantly with the sallow whiteness of his face, dressed in the
jauntiest costume of the period, and bearing in one hand a black cane
with a large ivory handle, which looked, even in the distance, like a
human leg, stood by the old gentleman's side. The old gentleman put
down his pipe, seized the young man's disengaged hand, and gazed
affectionately at him (so the three observers thought). Some
conversation then took place between them, during which the old
gentleman repeatedly pressed the young man's hand, and sometimes
reached up and softly patted him on the shoulder. The young man
appeared to receive the words and caresses of the old gentleman with a
sullen indifference. Several times he pettishly drew his hand away, and
at last shook his head fiercely, folded his arms, and seemed (though the
spectators could only conjecture that) to stamp the floor with his foot.
At this, the old gentleman bowed his head in his hands. The young man
held his defiant attitude unmoved, until, glancing out of the window, he
saw for the first time that he was watched. "With a jerk, he pulled down
the curtain, and cut off a scene which the three observers had begun to
find profoundly interesting.
"Well," said Marcus Wilkeson, "though I have given up making calls as
a business, I shall certainly take the New-Year's privilege of dropping

in on the venerable unknown over the way."
"Two things are plain," said Fayette Overtop. "One is, that the pale,
rascally looking young man is the old man's son. Now, I don't suppose
either of you will dispute that?" (Overtop paused a moment to receive
and dispose of objections, but none were made.) "The other is, that the
old fellow is immensely rich--worth a million or