The Queen of Sheba / My Cousin the Colonel | Page 6

sort of palace with frescoes and upholstery. There was a library
for my boy Ned, a smoking-room in cherry-wood, a billiard-room in
black walnut, a dining-room in oak and crimson--in brief, the
beau-ideal of a den for a couple of bachelors. By Jove! it was like a
club-house--the only model for a home of which poor old Lynde had
any conception. Six months before Ned was graduated, the
establishment was in systematic running order under the supervision of
the pearl of housekeepers. Here David Lynde proposed to spend the
rest of his days with his nephew, who might, for form's sake, adopt
some genteel profession; if not, well and good, the boy would have
money.
Now just as Ned was carrying off the first prizes in Greek and
mathematics, and dreaming of the pleasant life he was to lead with his
amiable old benefactor, what does that amiable old benefactor go and
do but marry the housekeeper!
David Lynde knew very little of women: he had not spoken to above a
dozen in his whole life; did not like them, in fact; had a mild sort of
contempt for them, as persons devoid of business ability. It was in the
course of nature that the first woman who thought it worth her while

should twist him around her finger like a remnant of ribbon. When Ned
came out of college he found himself in the arms of an unlooked-for
aunt who naturally hated him at sight.
I have not the time or space, my dear uncle, to give you even a
catalogue of the miseries that followed on the heels of this deplorable
marriage; besides, you can imagine them. Old Lynde, loving both his
wife and his nephew, was by turns violent and feeble; the wife cool,
cunning, and insidious--a Vivien of forty leading Merlin by the beard. I
am not prepared to contend that the nephew was always in the right, but
I know he always got the worst of it, which amounts to about the same
thing. At the end of eight or ten months he saw that the position was
untenable, packed his trunk one night, and quitted the MENAGE--the
menagerie, as he calls it.
This was three weeks ago. Having a small property of his own, some
fifteen hundred dollars a year, I believe, Lynde at first thought to go
abroad. It was always his dream to go abroad. But I persuaded him out
of that, seeing how perilous it would be for a young fellow of his
inexperience and impressible disposition to go rambling alone over the
Continent. Paris was his idea. Paris would not make a mouthful of him.
I have talked him out of that, I repeat, and have succeeded in
convincing him that the wisest course for him to pursue is to go to
some pleasant town or village within hailing distance of one of our
larger cities, and spend the summer quietly. I even suggested he should
make the personal acquaintance of some light employment, to help him
forget the gorgeous castle of cards which has just tumbled down about
his ears. In six words, I have sent him to Rivermouth.
Now, my dear uncle, I have wasted eight pages of paper and probably a
hundred dollars' worth of your time, if you do not see that I am begging
you to find a position for Lynde in the Nautilus Bank. After a little
practice he would make a skilful accountant, and the question of salary
is, as you see, of secondary importance. Manage to retain him at
Rivermouth if you possibly can. David Lynde has the strongest
affection for the lad, and if Vivien, whose name is Elizabeth, is not
careful how she drags Merlin around by the beard, he will reassert

himself in some unexpected manner. If he were to serve her as he is
supposed to have served old Sturdevant, his conduct would be
charitably criticised. If he lives a year he will be in a frame of mind to
leave the bulk of his fortune to Ned. THEY have not quarrelled, you
understand; on the contrary, Mr. Lynde was anxious to settle an
allowance of five thousand a year on Ned, but Ned would not accept it.
"I want uncle David's love," says Ned, "and I have it; the devil take his
money."
Here you have all the points. I could not state them more succinctly and
do justice to each of the parties interested. The most unfortunate party,
I take it, is David Lynde. I am not sure, after all, that young Lynde is so
much to be pitied. Perhaps that club-house would not have worked well
for him if it had worked differently. At any rate he now has his own
way to make, and I commend