At this moment, a valuable thought occurred to the paternal Whedell.

"My dear Maltboy," said he, closing the parlor door, "excuse the abruptness of the question; but could you lend me a couple of hundred?"

The question was indeed abrupt, but not altogether unexpected. Mr. Quigg had apprised Maltboy of Mr. Whedell's financial weakness; but the infatuation of the ardent young bachelor had led him to disregard that warning. He was fully prepared to say, "Yes, with pleasure," and he did say so.

"Thank you," said the gratified parent. "Only want it a few days." Mr.

Whedell was too great an adept in the art of borrowing, to waste words of tedious explanation and grat.i.tude, which only produce an impression that the borrower does not mean to pay. He accepted Maltboy's reply as a matter of course.

"If not too much trouble, could you give me a check to-night?" asked Mr. Whedell. "Have a payment to make before bank hours to-morrow."

"Most readily, my dear sir," replied the amiable Matthew. "Have you pen and paper convenient?"

"In this room, Mr. Maltboy," said his host, ushering him into a little apartment at the end of the entry, which contained a few books, and was pa.s.sed off upon a credulous world as Mr. Whedell's library. The gas was lighted, writing materials were produced, and, in less than three minutes, Matthew Maltboy had put his name at the bottom of a check on the ---- Bank, for two hundred dollars. He did so smiling, and with a full consciousness that he had sustained a dead loss to that extent. But he was always too good-natured to deny a friend; and, in this particular case, he felt that he was buying a perpetual free admission to the house, and a usufructuary interest in the fascinations of Clementina.

The idea of marriage with that young lady had never occurred to him. He never troubled himself with problems of the future.

"All right," said Mr. Whedell, folding up the check carelessly, and putting it in his pocket. "Shall I give you my note?"

"Oh, no!" said the willing victim, blandly. "Hand it me any time, at your convenience."

"Can return it within a week," responded Mr. Whedell; "but, on some accounts, the 1st of May will suit me best, if perfectly agreeable to you."

"As you please."

"We will call it the 1st of May, then. I regret you are in a hurry, sir.

But remember, we are always happy to see you here."

With this pleasant remark ringing in his ears, and fully compensating him for the loss of his two hundred dollars, Maltboy hastened home, but did not tell his friends of his adventure; but he smoked and mused over it agreeably, and was totally unmindful of the truth announced by Mr.

Quigg on New Year's day, when speaking of this same Whedell, that "somehow debtors always give the cold shoulder to creditors, as if the creditors owed the money."

Mr. Whedell, left to his own society, flattered himself that he had turned a rejected lover to a good account, and entered his library and sat down in the cold, that he might not, by his presence, mar the harmonious progress of the courtship upon which so much depended, in the parlor.

CHAPTER IV.

THE FIRST OF MAY.

Mr. Chiffield proposed, was accepted, and was married in a Broadway church about the middle of April. The affair was simplicity itself--bridesmaids, groomsmen, costly wedding costume, and the subsequent conventional reception at the bride's residence being dispensed with. The ceremony was witnessed only by the officiating minister, the s.e.xton, the happy father, and about two hundred of the floating population of Broadway, including a number of pickpockets, one of whom sounded the recesses of the coat tails appertaining unto Mr.

Whedell and his son-in-law, as they were coming out of church, and found nothing in them.

The Siamese twins of the soul pa.s.sed from the church amid the sneers, criticisms, and suppressed laughter of the spectators--who united in p.r.o.nouncing the ceremony a shabby affair, not worth looking at--and, entering a carriage with Mr. Whedell, were driven to the New Jersey Railroad Depot furiously, as if they had been guilty of some crime against society. At the depot, Mr. Whedell kissed his daughter in public, and not without a touch of the melodrama, for which he had cherished a fondness in his earlier days, and wrung the hand of his son-in-law. The train bore the couple away toward the city of Washington, where a portion of that indefinite season known as the honeymoon was to be pa.s.sed, amid every discomfort that money could purchase. Why they should have gone to Washington in pursuit of bad hotels, and other miseries, when they could have procured them in so many other parts of the country for a quarter of the money, was something which Mr. Chiffield was never able to explain to his own satisfaction.

He afterward bitterly regretted that he had not made the nuptial trip to Newburg, or some place near the city, where the expenses would have been more moderate. But we antic.i.p.ate.

Mr. and Mrs. Chiffield had been absent ten days. They were expected home on the 28th day of April; but a letter from Clementina informed her father that she had taken a bad cold, was confined to her room, and could not return before the 1st of May. The brief note was written in a crabbed hand, and exhibited spots, which, if not lemon juice, were tears. She made no allusion to her husband, but wound up by saying, "Oh, pa! I am an unhappy girl!"

This intelligence was a thorn in the bed of Mr. Whedell's comfort. Had he not arranged to settle with his creditors on the 1st of May? Was not the owner of the house occupied and used by him to resume possession on that eventful day? And was not everything--even his daily food--dependent on the return of his children, as he fondly called them, with their pockets full of money? What if this infernal cold should keep them in Washington until after the 1st of May? As Mr. Whedell thought of himself, turned adrift, and a wanderer, he invariably tore out a few of the gray hairs which could be poorly spared from his venerable skull.

Mr. Whedell had a deep and unchanging faith in his ill luck; but, this time, he was pleasantly disappointed. The morning train on the 1st of May brought back his children to him. They arrived just as those Bedouins of civilization--the New Yorkers--were beginning to indulge their nomadic propensities. The streets were full of wagons and drays laden with jingling stoves, rickety bedsteads, conspicuous crockery, and other damaged Penates, on the way to new domiciles. Fortunately, the owner of Mr. Whedell's residence had not yet come to claim possession.

Creditors are early birds; but the hour--sis and a half A.M.--was even too early for them; and only one--Mr. Rickarts, the shoemaker--had called. He had been disposed of in the library, by the servant, under the pretence that Mr. Whedell was not yet up. But Mr. Whedell was up and dressed before six o'clock, and was watching for the expected carriage, through the window blinds of his apartment. He ran down to the door with juvenile briskness to receive the returning ones.

Mrs. Chiffield looked pale and jaded. Her hair was carelessly arranged, and her bonnet awry--unerring indications of fathomless female misery.

To the anxious inquiry by her parent after her health, she only replied, "Horrid!" Mr. Chiffield wore the aspect of a man who is disappointed in his just expectations. He gave a hearty grip to the proffered hand of his father-in-law, but he quarrelled with the driver over the fare, and abused him in an under tone, by way of relieving himself.

"And how did you like Washington, my child?" said the fond father, in his tenderest voice.

"I hate it!" said Mrs. Chiffield, hurrying into the house, as if she were running away from her husband.

"Hum. Well, I'm not surprised that she dislikes the capital. I believe most visitors do. Clemmy seems to be a little nervous from travelling, eh?" Mr. Whedell addressed these remarks to his son-in-law.

"Nervous? Perhaps she is just a trifle nervous, sir. All women are."

"True--true! One of the peculiarities of the s.e.x. Well, you have had a pleasant time, I trust?"

"Pleasant time? Oh! yes--delightful! Your daughter is a charming girl, sir, and will make a most excellent wife." Mr. Chiffield spoke as if he were very much in earnest, but the expression of his face was not of rapture.

"She is a treasure, sir--a perfect treasure!" replied the doting parent.

"It cost me many pangs to part with her. I trust that we shall not be separated now. Why should we be? There are but three of us--just enough for a happy family." Mr. Whedell was hinting at a home under the future roof of his son-in-law.

"I agree with you perfectly," said Mr. Chiffield, with unaffected eagerness. "Let us live together always. It will suit me exactly." He was thinking of free board and lodging at the house of his father-in-law.

The couple shook hands, mutually pleased at the prospect, and beamed on each other.

A part of this conversation took place in the hall, into which the hackman had borne the travellers' luggage. A pull was heard at the door bell--a loud, confident pull--which Mr. Whedell knew could be inflicted only by a creditor. It would not do to admit his son-in-law into his budget of family secrets just yet. So he said:

"Now, Chiffield, you must need some rest. Let me not detain you, my dear fellow. Your room is on the first floor. I'll show it to you."

Mr. Whedell s.n.a.t.c.hed a carpet bag out of the hand of his son-in-law, and hurried up stairs with him. Having turned that gentleman into the apartment reserved for him, and shut the door, Mr. Whedell paused at the head of the stairs, and listened for the developments below. The servant, after waiting for two or three more jerks at the bell, so as to be quite sure that it was the bell, went to the door, and there found Mr. Numble, the butcher, who supplied the Whedells with meat on the strength of the brownstone front.

Pursuant to instructions, the servant explained that Mr. Whedell was not up, and asked him to walk into the library and wait a few minutes. Mr.

Numble growled--as if he scented deception not far off--but allowed himself to be conducted into the library. There he discovered Mr.

Rickarts, the shoemaker, taking down the few books which graced the shelves of the library, and evidently pricing them with an unpractised eye. The two gentlemen knew each other, and straightway engaged in a brisk dialogue about the weather.

CHAPTER V.

DEMOLITION OF CERTAIN AIR CASTLES.

The coast being clear, Mr. Whedell hastened down stairs to the front parlor, where his daughter had secluded herself immediately after her entrance into the house. She was lying back on the sofa, with her bonnet on, biting the ends of her gloves, and staring into s.p.a.ce. She did not appear to observe her father.

Mr. Whedell seated himself on the other end of the sofa, and reached out his hand, as if he would have taken his daughter's caressingly within it. If that was his intention, it was frustrated by her drawing the hand away. Then the father heaved a sigh, and said:

"Ah, my child, I am so thankful that you have returned to-day. You will save us from ruin."

"_I_ save you from ruin!" said Mrs. Chiffield, in a hollow voice.

"That's a good joke!"