The Blunders of a Bashful Man | Page 6

gave a little squeal, and brought her chair alongside mine.
"I'm so frightened, Mr. Flutter," said she: "I feel, in moments like these, how sweet it would be to have someone to cling to."
And she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
"Dear Belle," said I, "would you--would you--could you--now--"
"What?" whispered she, very softly.
"If I thought," I stammered, "that you could--that you would--that it was handy to give me a drink of water." She sprang up as if shot, and rang a little hand-bell.
"Jane, a glass of water for this gentleman--ice-water," in a very chilly tone, and she sat down over by the piano.
Bashful fool and idiot that I was. I had lost another opportunity.
After I had swallowed the water Jane had left the room. I bethought me of the handsome present which I had in my pocket, and, hoping to regain her favor by that, I drew out the little package and tossed it carelessly in her lap.
"Belle," said I, "I have not forgotten that I spilled lemonade on your sash; I hope you will not refuse to allow me to make such amends as are in my power. If the color does not suit you, I will exchange it for any you may select."
She began to smile again, coquettishly untying the string and unwrapping the paper. Instead of the lovely rose-colored ribbon, out rolled a long pair of coarse blue cotton stockings.
Miss Marigold screamed louder than she had at the thunder.
"It's all a mistake!" I cried; "a ridiculous mistake! I beg your pardon ten thousand times! They are for the Widow Jones. Here is what I intended for you, dear, dear Belle," and I thrust another package into heir hands.
"Fine-cut!" said she, examining the wrapper by the light of the lamp on the piano. "Do you think I chew, Mr. Flutter?--or dip? Do you intend to willfully insult me? Leave the hou----"
"Oh, I beg of you, listen! Here it is at last!" I exclaimed in desperation, drawing out the right package at last, and myself displaying to her dazzled view the four yards of glittering ribbon. "There's not another in Babbletown so handsome. Wear it for my sake, Belle!"
"I will," she sighed, after she had secretly rubbed it, and held it to the light to make sure of its quality. "I will, John, for your sake."
We were friends again; she was very sweet, and played something on the piano, and an hour slipped away as if I were in Paradise. I rose to go, the rain being over.
"But about that paper of fine-cut!" she said, archly, as she went into the hall with me to get my hat; "do you chew, John?"
"No, Belle, that tobacco was for old man Perkins, as sure as I stand here. If you don't believe me, smell my breath," said I, and I tried to get my arm about her waist.
It was kind of dark in the hall; she did not resist so very much; my lips were only about two inches from hers--for I wanted her to be sure about my breath--when a voice that almost made me faint away, put a conundrum to me:
"If you'd a kissed my girl, young man, why would it have been like a Centennial fire-arm?"
"Because it hasn't gone off yet!" I gasped, reaching for my hat.
"Wrong," said he grimly. "Because it would have been a blunder-buss."
I reckon the squire was right.
CHAPTER III.
GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
The Widow Jones got her stockings the next day. As I left them at the door 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 the men-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 she urged and urged until I had to promise her I would attend her sociable.
Drat all tea-parties! say I. I was never comfortable at one in my life. If you'd give me my choice between going to a tea-party and picking potato-bugs off the vines all alone on a hot summer day, I shouldn'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 for cream-tartar. If she'd eaten another biscuit made with it she'd have died and I'd have been responsible--and father was really vexed and said I might be a light-house keeper as quick as I pleased; but by that time I felt as if I couldn't keep a light-house without Belle Marigold to help me, and so I promised to be more careful, and kept on clerking.
The thermometer stood at eighty degrees in the shade when I left the store at five