The Blunders of a Bashful Man | Page 7

o'clock Thursday afternoon to go to that infallible tea-party. I was glad the day was warm, for I wanted to wear my white linen suit, with a blue cravat and Panama hat. I felt independent even of Fred Hencoop, as I walked along the street under the shade of the elms; but, the minute I was inside Widow Jones' gate and walking up to the door, the thermometer went up to somewhere near 200 degrees. There were something like a dozen heads at each of the parlor windows, and all women's heads at that. Six or eight more were peeping out of the sitting-room, where they were laying the table for tea. Babbletown always did seem to me to have more than its fair share of female population. I think I would like to live in one of those mining towns out in Colorado, where women are as scarce as hairs on the inside of a man's hand. Somebody coughed as I was going up the walk. Did you ever have a girl cough at you?--one of those mean, teasing, expressive little coughs?
I had practiced--at home in my own room--taking off my Panama with a graceful, sweeping bow, and saying in calm, well-bred tones: "Good-evening, Mrs. Jones. Good-evening, ladies. I trust you have had a pleasant as well as profitable afternoon."
I had practiced that in the privacy of my chamber. What I really did get 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 my handkerchief, and could just ask, as I sank into the first chair I saw, "Is your mother well, Mrs. Jones?" which was highly opportune, since said mother had been years dead before I was born. As I sat down, a pang sharper than some of those endured by the Spartans ran through my right leg. I was instantly aware that I had plumped down on a needle, as well as a piece of fancy-work, but I had not the courage to rise and extract the excruciating thing.
I turned pale with pain, but by keeping absolutely still I found that I could endure it, and so I sat motionless, like a wooden man, with a frozen smile on my features.
Belle was out in the other room helping set the table, for which mitigating circumstances I was sufficiently thankful.
Fred Hencoop was on the other side of the room holding a skein of silk for Sallie Brown. He looked across at me, smiling with a malice which made me hate him.
Out of that hate was born a stern resolve--I would conquer my diffidence; I would prove to Fred Hencoop, and any other fellow like him, that I was as good as he was, and could at least equal him in the attractions of my sex.
There was a pretty girl sitting quite near me. I had been introduced to her at the picnic. It seemed to me that she was eyeing me curiously, but I was mad enough at Fred to show him that I could be as cool as anybody, after I got used to it. I hemmed, wiped the perspiration from my face--caused now more by the needle than by the heat--and remarked, sitting stiff as a ramrod and smiling like an angel:
"June is my favorite month, Miss Smith--is it yours? When I think of June I always think of strawberries and cream and ro-oh-oh-ses!"
It was the needle. I had forgotten in the excitement of the subject and had moved.
"Is anything the matter?" Miss Smith tenderly inquired.
"Nothing in the world, Miss Smith. I had a stitch in my side, but it is over now."
"Stitches are very painful," she observed, sympathizingly. "I don't like to trouble you, Mr. Flutter, but I think, I believe, I guess you are sitting on my work. If you will rise, I will try and finish it before tea."
No help for it, and I arose, at the same moment dexterously slipping my hand behind me and withdrawing the thorn in the flesh.
"Oh, dear, where is my needle?" said the young lady, anxiously scrutinizing 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, and wearing the sash I had given her. She bowed to me very coquettishly and 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,"