PS 
 1772 
 
 S95 
 1895
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 'TELL IT AGAIN." 
 
 SUSAN'S ESCORT. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 LEND A HAND SOCIETY.
 
 Copyright, 1895.
 
 SUSAN'S ESCORT. 
 
 ISIS' 
 
 I. 
 
 CUSAN ELLSWORTH is as nice a 
 girl as I know. I wish that you 
 and I, dear readers, knew more such. 
 She lived just out from Boston ; not at 
 Jamaica Plain, but at one of the most 
 convenient stations on that admirable 
 Providence Railroad my road, so far 
 as a person may be said to own it who 
 by many punch-tickets builds up the 
 fortunes of the stockholders. Susan 
 Ellsworth was and is a school- mistress 
 in one of the public schools in Boston. 
 Like most such ladies, she had a fancy 
 for living at a great distance from her 
 school, and went and came by rapid or 
 slow transit, as the gods and Mr. Whit- 
 ney might provide. This was in the 
 daytime, and was easy.
 
 But Susan had more difficulty in the 
 evenings. Her brothers lived, one in 
 Alaska, one in Yokohama, and a third 
 was studying medicine in Vienna. She 
 was engaged then to a man far away, 
 and is now, if, indeed, she be not mar- 
 ried before this story goes to press. 
 Still, she had what 1 may call a passion 
 for evening' concerts and lectures 
 nay, let me whisper it, for a rollicking, 
 laughing burlesque, if the Vokeses or 
 some other nice people came along, 
 and, most of all, for the opera, when it 
 was really good. Now all these 
 brothers were earning their own board 
 bills, so that Susan Ellsworth was not 
 fleeced by them, as most good school- 
 mistresses known to me are by their 
 brothers. And, as her salary was good, 
 she could indulge her passion for these 
 evening entertainments, for she was 
 still young.
 
 She tried at first bold independence. 
 Boston, she said, was a civilized city. 
 The streets were light, and when elec- 
 tricity came in they were very light, 
 even at night. So she pretended to be 
 bold when she was frightened. She 
 went into the station at Park Square 
 by rail. She took street car or side- 
 walk to the Institute, the Opera-house, 
 to Mr. Hale's reading, to the Old South 
 lectures, to the Museum, or wherever 
 she went. When the entertainment 
 was over she crowded into a car, or put 
 herself in the wake of some large walk- 
 ing party going her "way. And so she 
 pretended to herself and to fellow- 
 graduates from Yassar, to whom she 
 wrote descriptions of her independent 
 Boston life, that she was not afraid. 
 
 All the same she was afraid, and 
 knew she was; and she was always 
 well pleased when, just in time for the
 
 theatre train out to Readviljfi, she 
 found herself safe in that hospitable 
 station. 
 
 And one night her fears were justi- 
 fied. She had gone to a natural his- 
 tory lecture. It was really the best 
 thing in Boston that winter, the most 
 exciting, the newest, and the most en- 
 tertaining. So dear Boston had let it 
 wisely alone, and there were not a 
 hundred people in the hall. No one, 
 as fate ordered, went Susan's way, and 
 so it happened that a drunken dog on 
 two legs staggered up to her, and asked 
 if he should not see her home. Susan 
 was horribly frightened. She said 
 nothing but almost ran. Fortunately 
 that friendly policeman, the old man 
 who patrols that section, came round 
 the corner. She gasped rather than 
 spoke. He saw the trouble, gave the 
 drunken dog a bit of his mind, and
 
 walked with Susan to the station. But 
 she had learned her lesson very thor- 
 oughly. She dared not try mock cour- 
 age again, nor purchase her independ- 
 ence so dearly. For a fortnight, al- 
 most a month, she was horribly de- 
 pendent. 
 
 "Dear Sarah, if you are going to the 
 opera to-night, may I join your party ? 
 I have a ticket, but," etc. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Primrose, are you going 
 to hear the bishop ? May I," etc., etc. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Armitage, would it 
 trouble you and Mr. Armitage," etc., 
 etc., etc. 
 
 And generally it proved that Mr. 
 Primrose was not going, or that Sarah 
 was to stay in town, or that it would 
 trouble Mr. and Mrs. Armitage. Some- 
 times poor Susan bought two tickets to 
 the opera and treated some cub of a 
 pupil. But this was intolerable in the
 
 long-run. She really thought she 
 should have to abjure the world, have 
 her beautiful hair all cut off, give up 
 all the modest amusements and vani- 
 ties of her life, and enter a convent.
 
 II. 
 
 But necessity is the mother of in- 
 vention. One day when Susan was at 
 Hollander's to be measured for a new 
 walking dress, she saw whence her 
 safety might come. For she actually 
 stepped back a moment for a lady to 
 pass her, and then it proved that the 
 lady was no flesh and blood lady, but 
 only the frame of a lady, with her 
 frock stretched over her neatly, and a 
 bonnet where the head is usually. 
 Susan recovered herself from her little 
 blunder, passed her hand within the 
 sack, and lifted the pretty creature 
 from the ground. She found that she 
 was by no means heavy. 
 
 You see, of course, what she deter- 
 mined on. In two days she had made
 
 10 
 
 for herself an escort. She bought a 
 cheap and light gossamer overcoat, a 
 travelling cap, a dozen toy masks, and 
 at a second-hand clothing store a pair 
 of badly worn check pantaloons. She 
 also bought rattan enough, and the 
 wire of hoop-skirts, for her purpose. 
 She sewed to the bottom of the panta- 
 loons two right-foot arctics, which 
 Hugh had left when he went to Vien- 
 na, because they matched only too 
 well. From the rattan, with an old 
 umbrella slide, she made a backbone 
 and two available legs to support the 
 mackintosh, and on the top of the 
 backbone she could adjust either of the 
 masks which she preferred with the 
 travelling cap. The whole thing would 
 shut together like a travelling easel. 
 The mask would go into her leather 
 bag, which, like others of her sex, she 
 carried everywhere. The rest could
 
 then be slid into a long umbrella case, 
 rather large for a patent umbrella, but 
 not so large as to challenge attention. 
 Susan finished her little manikin early 
 in the afternoon. The hours crawled, 
 they stood still, till evening came, when 
 she was first to put him to his trial. 
 He was to go to Lohengrin with her, 
 and she had bought only one ticket for 
 both. 
 
 Fortunately it rained like fury. It 
 did not seem curious that one should 
 carry two umbrellas. She might be 
 returning one, for virtuous and true 
 people, like Susan, do return umbrel- 
 las sometimes. Arrived in Boston, 
 Susan went out-doors to that sheltered 
 lee where you wait for Cambridge 
 street cars. In an instant she had 
 opened up her new friend to his own 
 proportions, and in a moment more, by 
 an act not dissimilar, she opened her
 
 12 
 
 own umbrella. A moment more, and 
 she slid her arm under the cape she 
 had sewed on his mackintosh, and they 
 crossed Park Square together. 
 
 He was a little man, he stooped in 
 walking, and was ungraceful in move- 
 ment. But most men are this and do 
 thus, Susan said bravely and truly to 
 herself. He was not so tall as she ; 
 neither were any of the school-boy cubs 
 on whom she had been depending. He 
 had nothing to say ; neither had they. 
 Better than this, he said nothing ; alas, 
 most of them were not so wise. He 
 could be squeezed into a very small 
 corner if they were waiting for a 
 crowd, or at a crossing; but they 
 stepped out and tried to perform deeds 
 of gallantry. So that, as she walked 
 with him, delighted to see how people 
 turned out for them, Susan, as she bal- 
 anced his advantages and his disad-
 
 vantages, said that the good far sur- 
 passed the evil, as Robinson Crusoe did 
 in a similar emergency, and as the 
 reader will, if he will fairly compare 
 the plus and the minus of this well- 
 governed world. Both parties sped 
 down Boylston Street safely, and ar- 
 rived without any adventure before 
 the Boston Theatre. There Susan 
 walked into the alley by the side with 
 him, as if she had been a carefully at- 
 tended ballet girl a little late. In a 
 second more his face was in her bag, 
 and his bones in her light umbrella 
 case, and Susan alone as it seemed, 
 but really never less alone was on her 
 way up to the family circle, where her 
 two umbrellas took place beside her, 
 in time for all to see day break in the 
 opera.
 
 in. 
 
 Prosperous and happy girl, Susan 
 followed her new career with success 
 and cheerfulness such as she had never 
 looked forward to. There was in her 
 life none of the embarrassment which 
 the other girls felt, who did not know 
 whether they should or should not in- 
 sist on paying their own car fares when 
 their attendants offered to pay. Her 
 escort never proposed that they should 
 stop on their way to the train to eat an 
 ice, and never terrified her by waiting 
 so long in the ice-cream saloon that she 
 thought they had both missed the train. 
 Her escort never annoyed her by de- 
 preciating Wagner, or by overpraising 
 that sweet air in Trovatore. On the 
 other hand, she saw in a week that the
 
 15 
 
 other girls regarded her with a certain 
 sort of respect, not to say admiration - 
 and awe, which she had never been 
 conscious of before. To be met in the 
 street, now with a dark Italian, now 
 with a foolish-looking Irishman, now 
 with a German who scowled and knew 
 everything, now with a light-hearted 
 Yankee who seemed a Harvard Junior 
 or Sophomore this affected Susan's 
 reputation among her young friends of 
 her own sex. They were not surprised. 
 No; they knew she was well worthy 
 of any amount of admiration. Not 
 surprised, no, only, well, yes, it 
 was different from what it was the 
 year before, when Susan had been pok- 
 ing about as if she were nobody and 
 nobody cared for her. 
 
 It would be wrong to say that Susan 
 cared for respect or admiration so 
 cheaply bought. But if you had asked
 
 16 
 
 her she would have owned that she was 
 glad that she was no longer the subject 
 of commiseration among her young 
 friends. In truth, she took a higher 
 grade than a girl engaged to only one 
 person, and hers is a grade much 
 higher than the girl who has six 
 brothers. 
 
 Yet I really think it was a mistake 
 that one evening when Susan, having a 
 pocketful of complimentary tickets for 
 the recital, took Mr. Mackintosh into 
 Chickering Hall with her, and let him 
 sit by her side to listen, instead of leav- 
 ing him with her umbrella in the ante- 
 room. But the recital was really first- 
 rate, so the audience was very small. 
 Susan was very much interested in the 
 success of the young lady who was giv- 
 ing her first concert, and she thought 
 that every seat that was filled was an 
 advantage to her. But you see, of
 
 17 
 
 course, that it made other people talk. 
 Here was this handsome young man 
 sitting by Susan, and for a week her 
 fair friends were asking who he was, 
 and how she came to know him. But 
 she did not at first appreciate this, so 
 she made the mistake more than once, 
 and I think he heard more good music 
 than was good for him. 
 
 But as for her, in "these halcyon 
 days of his first success," she enjoyed 
 her winter as she had never enjoyed a 
 winter before. If you choose, in Bos- 
 ton, there is nothing you may not see 
 and hear and know and understand in 
 the heavens above, or the earth beneath, 
 or the waters that are supposed to be 
 under the earth. Susan found her 
 time full, her hands full, her heart full, 
 and her brain very much more than 
 full. When she was not in school she 
 was writing up her notes or reading,
 
 18 
 
 that she might be in a measure pre- 
 pared for Mr. Barton, or Mr. Goodale, 
 or Mr. Shaler, or Mr. Wright, or the 
 rest of the savants. She knew the dif- 
 ference between a kame and a drumlin ; 
 she knew the difference between a moth 
 and a behemoth, and how the trunk of 
 one was related to the trunk of the 
 other. She knew that she was herself 
 an ascidian, and she was as eager as 
 any one to work out the links which 
 connected her with her grandfather's 
 great-grandfather. She dipped into 
 Buchner and Helmholz, and even went 
 back to Helvetius and D'Holbach that 
 she might get the doctrine at the foun- 
 tain. So she understood that if a gi- 
 raffe without a long neck only wants 
 one enough, he will get it by stretching 
 up his neck to the top of the palm- 
 trees; and that if a seal on the beach 
 wants a pair of legs, and tries for them
 
 19 
 
 hard enough, he will develop them, and 
 that what there is left of his tail will 
 dwindle down into insignificance. This 
 is the doctrine of the nisus, or effort. 
 Susan, who was a good girl, satisfied 
 herself with the effort to be very wise, 
 and hoped that it would come out all 
 right; but little did she think all the 
 time how the same doctrine was soak- 
 ing into Mr. Mackintosh's empty head, 
 and what a nuisance it would be to her. 
 This is the reason why I feel sure it 
 would have been better to have left 
 him in his case with the umbrellas at 
 the door. But, as you will see, it was 
 an annoyance, if you were walking to a 
 lecture with a party, to have to make 
 some ridiculous excuse for staying out- 
 side; and, also, it seems rather cheap 
 to confess that you always go to the 
 play or the lecture with a man who 
 cares nothing about Shakespeare or
 
 geology, and prefers to stay elsewhere. 
 It was to the scientific lectures and the 
 really first-class concerts that she took 
 him most, for to those a school-mistress 
 of her grade was almost sure to have 
 free tickets sent her. As to places 
 where she paid for tickets, she never 
 dreamed of taking him therte. 
 
 But it was really as great a misfor- 
 tune to him as it was to her. Empty- 
 headed creature as he was, of course he 
 listened to nothing, heard nothing, and 
 understood nothing at first. And it 
 never occurred to Susan that things 
 would not stay on this easy and cheer- 
 ful basis. But nothing stays on the 
 thoroughly comfortable basis. People 
 always attempt improvements, which 
 often result in ruin. So it is that Vol- 
 taire says that "the better is the enemy 
 of the good." 
 
 One night there were some very
 
 21 
 
 bright and wonderful stereoscopes. 
 And poor addle-pated Mr. Mackintosh 
 could not help having the rays come 
 through his gray glass eyes into that 
 empty camera-obscura of his head. 
 And of course the picture could not 
 help showing itself all up-side down 
 and hind side before. But it amused 
 him and pleased him. And that night 
 his mask had very large ears, so that 
 he could not help listening a little. 
 And then he listened more. For the 
 man was gesticulating and quoting and 
 illustrating and making it very plain, 
 so that if Mr. Mackintosh would only 
 "make an effort," as Mrs. Chick said, 
 all would be well. I suppose he did 
 "make an effort," as far as rattan and 
 whalebone could, and so he formed that 
 habit, which proved bad for him, of 
 listening to the man more. As for 
 keeping his eyes and ears open, he
 
 22 
 
 could not help that, for none of the 
 masks were made with eyes or ears 
 that opened or shut, and he had to look 
 and listen whether he wanted to or not. 
 The rest of us are more fortunate. 
 
 Susan, quite unconsciously, hurried 
 on the mischief which had been begun, 
 by talking to him herself as they 
 walked home from the lectures and 
 concerts. I do not think she did this 
 for practice in talking. For she talked 
 a good deal in the school-room, and, 
 though she is a modest girl, I think she 
 must know that without special prac- 
 tice she is as good a talker as you shall 
 meet with in a long day. But she was 
 sensitive and conscious about the de- 
 ception which she was keeping up with 
 Mr. Mackintosh or with the public in 
 the affair of Mr. Mackintosh. Dr. 
 Primrose preached that terrible ser- 
 mon of his about "Truth" just then,
 
 23 
 
 and made it clear that any conscious 
 deception was a lie, whether you said 
 a word or not. This worried her a 
 little. For was she not consciously 
 deceiving every loafer on Washington 
 Street or Boylston Street? Had she 
 not made Mr. Mackintosh on purpose 
 that she might deceive them? But a 
 certain under-consciousness that she 
 meant no wrong sustained her against 
 Dr. Primrose, and at first the stings of 
 conscience only pricked her so deep as 
 to make her resolve that she would not 
 be found out no, not if she met Dr. 
 Primrose and Mrs. Primrose both. So 
 she thought it more prudent that was 
 the word she used in discussing it with 
 herself to keep up an animated con- 
 versation with Mr. Mackintosh in the 
 street when she observed that any one 
 was near them. And indeed this 
 proved so agreeable, as conversation is
 
 24 
 
 apt to when you do all the talking, that 
 she kept it up all the time from the 
 lecture or concert to the station. Af- 
 ter they came to the station, she always 
 folded him up in some recess of the 
 ladies' waiting-room. For the Provi- 
 dence railway conductors are pitiless, 
 and would have been sure to demand a 
 ticket for him. 
 
 "That is a magnificent harmony at 
 the end of the third act." No audible 
 reply, but one so seldom hears both 
 sides of a conversation. "I was not 
 sure but Gloria strained a little in 
 striking the non; but it was all so good 
 that it is absurd to pick out flaws." 
 Again Mr. Mackintosh's voice is lost as 
 those firemen rush by. Or, "Could 
 you quite follow him in what he said 
 about the permanence of type ? How 
 can it be, if the type is permanent, that 
 we should notice the transition, as Mr.
 
 25 
 
 Shaler pointed it out Tuesday ? But 
 then, I am not quite sure if Mr. Shaler 
 and Mr. Barton quite agree about that. 
 You must remind me to ask him. Or 
 we might send a note to Notes and 
 Queries" Now if the bishop himself 
 had heard that, or Mrs. Bishop, neither 
 would have minded, or remembered 
 afterward, that Mr. Mackintosh said 
 nothing.
 
 IV. 
 
 But, alas, simple Susan carried on 
 this rattling and interesting conversa- 
 tion quite too far and too long. Mr. 
 Mackintosh had been making all the 
 "nisus" or "effort" he could, in lis- 
 tening to the stereoscope man, and he 
 had all the encouragement of the suc- 
 cess of the giraffe and the seals. Now 
 here was this bright, wise, merry Susan 
 Ellsworth who bore him along, who 
 was the result of just such efforts as he 
 was making. And he found it much 
 more agreeable to listen to her sweet, 
 low-toned voice just in his ear, her 
 breath fragrant as clover, and her hand 
 under his arm beating a pulse in keep- 
 ing with all she said he found all this 
 much more agreeable than straining
 
 27 
 
 his poor little new wits to make out 
 what the man on the platform a hun- 
 dred feet away was howling about. 
 So he was always distressed when any 
 of her friends joined them to take ad- 
 vantage of his protection, and when 
 Susan turned away from him to speak 
 to Maud or Clara. To say the truth, 
 this did not happen often. For Maud 
 and Clara had the same proper pride 
 about hitching on upon other people's 
 escorts, as had governed Susan in her 
 independent days. 
 
 While poor Mr. Mackintosh made 
 this nisus or effort to hear, he was all 
 the time making wild and futile efforts 
 to speak. For these he had wretched 
 organs and more wretched opportuni- 
 ties. For one night in the family cir- 
 cle, where Susan had unfolded him 
 after they had passed the ticket-gate, 
 he had seen the policeman seize two
 
 28 
 
 boys who were catcalling, and hale 
 them off he knew not whither. So 
 poor Mr. Mackintosh was frightened, 
 and did not dare to try experiments in- 
 doors. Then, as soon as they came to 
 the railway station, Susan always ruth- 
 lessly shut him up, and he had no or- 
 ganization at all. Literally, he " went 
 to pieces," and it was not slang to say 
 so. One night, in a high gale, Susan 
 was dragging him beside her or rather 
 behind her and he tried to speak, but 
 nothing but a great howl came out, 
 which was half a sneeze. She did not 
 suspect that he had anything to do with 
 it. And the poor creature was dread- 
 fully mortified by his failure. 
 
 But another night, very imprudently, 
 she left him sitting in a chair, in the 
 anteroom of the hall of the "Sons of 
 Idleness." The hall had been hired for 
 a " reception " which was given by the
 
 29 
 
 graduates of Vassar to one of the pro- 
 fessors who was going to Germany on 
 his Sabbatical visit. Susan thought she 
 was safe in leaving Mr. Mackintosh in 
 a dark corner without folding him up. 
 And so she was. He sat, with his chin 
 on his hands, as she left him, and thus 
 he had, for once, the chance to try his 
 various gruntings and howlings, and to 
 pass through the experiments of the 
 ascidian to the more articulate lan- 
 guage of the man. 
 
 Fortunately for him, he had some les- 
 sons just when he needed them most 
 and expected them least. 
 
 For one of the other escorts, who 
 had been taken into the reception hall, 
 came running out, and helplessly 
 rushed up and down the waiting-room, 
 annoyed that he found no one there. 
 But in his despair he saw Mr. Mackin- 
 tosh.
 
 "Ugh ah glad to see somebody 
 ugh could you can you yes, 
 would you tell me, please, ugh, you 
 know, don't you see? where the 
 water is ? Miss Maelstrom ugh is 
 faint you know!" 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh's time had come. 
 Imitation was his cue, clearly, as in 
 Rosenthal and Pendergast. With one 
 sublime effort, he echoed the other, 
 wondering, as he did so, whether per- 
 haps he had as much brain. 
 
 "Ugh," tremendously prolonged, 
 " ah," shorter, but very long, " glad 
 to see somebody," this hopelessly in- 
 distinct from eagerness, like an Edison 
 turned three times too fast; "could 
 you can you can you could you," 
 this slower, " water Maelstrom 
 ugh ah yes, you know." But for- 
 tunately, in his agony gesticulating 
 like a school-boy who forgets his piece,
 
 he pointed his finger to the looking- 
 glass, where stood pitcher and tumbler 
 in full sight of both of them. 
 
 " Ugh oh thanks yes so much 
 so much obliged, you know, thanks 
 ugh, oh, Miss Maelstrom," and Mr. 
 Knowitz vanished with his tumbler. 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh had tried and had 
 succeeded, and on these sounds he prac- 
 tised all the evening.
 
 Y. 
 
 Would she give him another chance 
 for practice? Alas, no! or it seemed 
 no. That night as they went home 
 there was a great group of Vassarites, 
 all bubbling over with fun efferves- 
 cing and sputtering as so many bottles 
 of XX might do which had been 
 warmed at a sociable all the evening. 
 And he thought Susan had never been 
 so remorseless as she was in undoing 
 him that night. The next evening was 
 worse. A gentleman joined her on the 
 other side. And poor Mackintosh was 
 afraid for his very life as they swung 
 along. It was not till the third night 
 that he had a chance, or so it seemed 
 to the poor witless creature. 
 
 But on the third night the chance 
 came. Susan was in the
 
 spirits. The night was clear and cold, 
 and they devoured the pavement as she 
 rushed him along. "Well, my dear 
 Mac," said she, mercilessly, "that was 
 first-rate. I do not wonder women 
 want to speak, if they could speak like 
 that. Mac, if I could get Mr. Edison 
 to give me one of his plates, I would 
 attach it to you, and you should repeat 
 the end of Mr. Brice's lecture." 
 
 " Ugh ah you know well Miss 
 Susan ugh, ah, give me a chance 
 you know and I will do-'em-all." 
 The end was badly run together. 
 
 "What, you my dear Mac ! " This 
 was all Susan said, and she almost 
 dropped him in the gutter in her sur- 
 prise, and she lost her own speech for 
 laughing. She laughed so that she 
 shook him from his cap to his arctics, 
 and all the poor breath he had in his 
 limp ribs was knocked out of him.
 
 34 
 
 And when she came to herself, all she 
 could say was, "Poor, dear Mac! I beg 
 your pardon, but" then she broke 
 down again "but whoever dreamed of 
 your talking ? " 
 
 But then it was poor Mac's turn. 
 She had to listen, and he told her, with 
 many unnecessary "ughs" and "ahs," 
 and "you knows," and "don't you 
 sees," that he was sure he only needed 
 more practice to speak quite well. It 
 was true that he could not manage r, 
 and he always called //z, d; but so did 
 many gentlemen he met. He needed 
 extra breath, but "ugh" and "oh" 
 seemed to help in this. And when he 
 had not an idea, he could fill in with 
 "don't you see," and "you know." 
 
 "You poor dear thing," said Susan, 
 compassionately, as she unscrewed his 
 head and put it in her bag, " you are 
 really eloquent."
 
 VI. 
 
 But the reader will see that a good 
 girl like Susan could not shut up the 
 face just now eager in its entreaties, 
 and go to sleep, after she had silenced 
 it, without serious thought. Here was 
 a matter of conscience more formidable 
 than that question about veracity which 
 Dr. Primrose had started. Was it 
 quite honorable in her, was it fair, nay, 
 was it right, to start this poor feeble 
 creature in his career, to let him par- 
 take of a little taste of the wonders of 
 science, of art, and of music, and then 
 to snuff him out, like a candle, simply 
 because she chose to ? Susan tossed in 
 her bed a good deal before she went to 
 sleep, with these questions troubling 
 her. And early in the morning, when
 
 36 
 
 the singing birds first wakened her by 
 their carols to the rising sun, she rose, 
 screwed Mr. Mackintosh together, tied 
 him to an arm-chair in her entry, and 
 left him to enjoy the sunrise. As she 
 went to sleep again she could hear him 
 practising an imitation of this morning 
 hymn of the birds, who were Plymouth 
 Rock cockerels. The poor brainless 
 creature did not know any better ; he 
 had taken it for granted that these were 
 the morning songs of men. Susan was 
 pleased with herself for this act of 
 mercy, and she did not take him to 
 pieces till it was time for her to go to 
 school 
 
 As it happened, he was this time shut 
 up and, so to speak, ceased to be as 
 an individual longer than had ever 
 happened to him before. For, to her 
 delight, as the school recess came, 
 Susan received a card, and visit close
 
 37 
 
 following, from George Farmer, the 
 fine young engineer officer to whom, as 
 I said, she was engaged. By good 
 luck, and by good strategy of his own, 
 he had got himself ordered to Boston, 
 to make a contract for some ice for the 
 meat cars of the Cattaraugus and Opel- 
 ousas Railroad. With good luck, this 
 ice contract and certain subsidiary ne- 
 gotiations were made to last a fort- 
 night, and during that whole time 
 Susan needed no escort other than 
 George, and, in truth, thought very 
 little of any other. But at last the last 
 day of George's visit came, as last days 
 will, and then she began to think how 
 dreadful it would be to have nobody 
 but Mr. Mackintosh to go anywhere 
 with her. Still, she was less disposed 
 than ever to cut off her hair and to re- 
 tire into a convent. 
 
 Wisely, therefore, the girl submitted
 
 38 
 
 the question to her lover. But she did 
 it in a guarded way, which I would not 
 recommend to other good girls in a like 
 position; if, indeed, there ever may be 
 such girls. As they came home from 
 the Symphony on that wretched fare- 
 well night, she said : " George, I want 
 your advice. You are so good, and 
 you are never jealous. You see, when 
 you are away, I have no one to go with 
 me to the concerts, you know, and the 
 lectures." 
 
 "You used to boast of your indepen- 
 dence when I first knew you." 
 
 "I know yes, I did. But I was 
 very foolish." And then she told him 
 of that horrid fright she had. And he 
 was very angry, and swore just a little 
 and made her promise to run no such 
 risk again. This made it easier for her 
 to go on. 
 
 " No ; I knew you would not let me.
 
 That is why I did not write you about 
 it. But what I did you must not be 
 angry was to hire a poor stick there 
 was, with nothing to do, to come and 
 go with me. You do not mind that, do 
 you? " And here she looked up at him 
 with her most roguish and confiding 
 smile. But George's face clouded ; she 
 could see it did. 
 
 "I don't know," said he. "That 
 would depend. What sort of creature 
 is he an old man ? " 
 
 "Oh, I do not know. Don't be 
 jealous, now. I do not suppose he is 
 very old ; perhaps he is very young. 
 You see, he was deaf and dumb and 
 blind and could hardly walk. So I 
 did not suppose you would care." 
 
 At this George grinned a somewhat 
 ghastly smile, and said he didn't care 
 quite so much ; but asked how, if the 
 man was deaf, he could enjoy concerts.
 
 You will observe also that Susan 
 wandered from. Dr. Primrose's instruc- 
 tions. She said Mr. Mackintosh " was " 
 deaf and dumb she did not dare say 
 " he is " and there was conscious de- 
 ception again. In answer to her lover 
 she said : " Enjoy the concerts ? Who 
 ever said he enjoyed the concerts?" 
 She was a little reassured, as women 
 are, because he had made an unimpor- 
 tant mistake. " You do not suppose I 
 ever bought a concert ticket for him, 
 do you ? No ; I take him as I would take 
 a cab after the concert was over. Dear 
 George, you must not be jealous of him 
 more than you would be of a cabman." 
 
 " You do not take a cabman's arm," 
 said George, a little irresolutely ; and 
 Susan shuddered as she recollected with 
 how firm a grip she had to take all 
 the arm Mr. Mackintosh had. " What 
 is the wretch's name ? " continued he.
 
 41 
 
 " Name ? " said SusaD. " Do you ask 
 your cabman's name ? I never asked 
 him. We call him Mr. Mackintosh, 
 from the coat he wears, but I never 
 asked him his name. I do not be- 
 lieve he has any." 
 
 This encouraged George a little ; but 
 still he said he did not think it was nice 
 or wise, and that nobody but as inno- 
 cent and sweet a girl as Susy would 
 ever have fallen into so silly a plan. 
 He even asked if other girls in Boston 
 had to hire their escorts. At which 
 Susy said that other girls had escorts 
 who did not live in the Rocky Moun- 
 tains, or in Opelousas either ; and at that 
 Mr. George had to come down from his 
 high horse. It ended by a compromise. 
 She agreed, when she went anywhere 
 alone, to order a cab regularly at a 
 stable he named, and he declared that 
 the next time he came to Boston he
 
 should pay the bill. Whether she would 
 let him or not was left undecided in the 
 final ceremonies of the farewell. For 
 he left in that horrible train which goes 
 off at eleven at night, and there was no 
 question but that he must go. 
 
 So all Susan had got by asking advice 
 was that she was worse off than she was 
 when she asked for it. This is what is 
 apt to happen, dear Clara, when you 
 do not tell your whole story to your 
 adviser.
 
 VII. 
 
 And now she must deal with Mr. 
 Mackintosh alone, by her own unas- 
 sisted sense, such as it was. Really it 
 was stronger, as the reader has seen, in 
 the inventive and mechanical lines than 
 it was in the philosophical and ethical 
 lines. 
 
 Of course she could have left Mr. 
 Mackintosh where he was his legs and 
 arms in the glazed umbrella case, his 
 masks in her alligator-skin bag, and his 
 arctics on the floor of her closet. But, 
 as has been said, she did not think this 
 fair. She had thought of burning him 
 up. But she was too strong a Protes- 
 tant; her reminiscences of Smithfield 
 and John Rogers were too strong, and 
 that she would not do. She had called
 
 44 
 
 him into such being as he had, poor 
 creature, and she would not destroy 
 her own work. "That would be 
 simply mean," she said to herself; 
 " that would not be fair." 
 
 So she took another morning when 
 the cocks were crowing, and screwed 
 him together, and tied him to a chair as 
 before. Poor Mr. Mackintosh did not 
 know how long he had ceased to exist, 
 any more than Mr. Hyde knew how 
 long Dr. Jekyll had been running the 
 machine. Nor was the poor thing as 
 wretched as the girl chose to fancy him. 
 For, as he had none of that essence 
 which loves and fears, hopes, admires, 
 and worships, he had nothing worth 
 remembering, if he could remember, as 
 he could not ; and nothing to look for- 
 ward to, if he could look forward, as he 
 could not. But this, simple Susan did 
 not consider. She simply screwed him
 
 together. He listened to the cock-a- 
 doodles, as he did before ; and if he had 
 thought, as he could not and did not, 
 he would have thought that this was 
 thus and then was now. 
 
 Then Susan went to bed and slept 
 till the dressing-bell rang. As she 
 dressed, she began a little note to 
 George, for she had promised to write 
 to him twice a day. But after break- 
 fast, before school-time, she came up 
 and brought Mr. Mackintosh into her 
 room and locked the door. He had 
 never been in that room before. 
 
 " Mac," said she, " I shall not want 
 you any more. What do you want to 
 do ? What do you like to do most ? 7 ' 
 
 " Oh, ugh, ah you know don't you 
 see well, you know ' 
 
 And Susan was patient, for she often 
 had such remarks addressed to her by 
 her partners who were not skilful in
 
 46 
 
 extempore speech. So she waited. 
 And at last it came, as gas comes after 
 the puff of air in a poor gas-pipe. 
 
 *' If you know, Miss Susan I could 
 go to some of those parties receptions 
 like that of the Sons of Idleness. 
 Indeed, Miss Susan, I can talk as well 
 as the young men I see there." 
 
 " I think you can," said Susan. " I 
 should be ashamed of my work if you 
 could not. I had thought of that, Mac. 
 But I cannot do it, for you have no 
 pumps nor patent-leather shoes. And 
 your trousers are not good. I have no 
 money to throw away on parties. Think 
 of something else, Mac." 
 
 It is not worth the while to load the 
 page with poor Mac's " ohs " and 
 other " spaces." In substance he then 
 asked if he might not be a juryman. 
 " I thought I could ; you know they do 
 not have to know anything, and, indeed,
 
 47 
 
 are better when they do not." 
 
 "That is good, Mac. I had not 
 thought of that, but I will," said the 
 girl. And so she took his head off and 
 shut him up, and took this plan into 
 consideration. But of course she did 
 not assent to it. That same day she 
 read the Court Calendar, and was dis- 
 tressed to think that she had yielded 
 even for an hour. When she went 
 home she put Mac together, and told 
 him that this would not do. 
 
 " Then," said he, very piteously, 
 " might I not be an under-editor to an 
 independent journal. You know they 
 do not have any opinions, and are very 
 proud that they do not. I am sure I 
 never had any opinions. I do not 
 know what an opinion is." But this 
 time Susan was not deceived ; this was 
 only the jury plan under another form. 
 Then Mac pleaded, quite eloquently
 
 48 
 
 for him, that he might stay just what 
 he was. He had seen the red-capped 
 messenger men at the station. He en- 
 vied one of them his one arm, because 
 practically poor Mac had no arms at 
 all. " Now I could not go of errands, 
 Miss Susan. But you say yourself I do 
 my work well. You could fasten me at 
 the door, and any one who wanted me 
 would unfasten me." 
 
 " My dear Mac, you do not see. The 
 secret would be discovered, and then 
 the roughs would not mind you. Don't 
 you see, Mac, you cannot knock a man 
 down. You might as well be a woman, 
 for all the good you are in your own 
 business, unless people think you are a 
 man. And if they do think so, it is 
 because I ' consciously deceive ' them. 
 Oh dear ! Oh dear ! I wish you had 
 never been born ! " And the poor girl 
 broke out crying. But she did not say
 
 " I wish I had never been born," for the 
 memory of George's last kiss came to 
 her. 
 
 " I had thought," said Mac, " of vot- 
 ing. What you say of women reminds 
 me that they cannot vote ; but I can." 
 
 " No, you can't," said Susan, smartly, 
 for she knew. " You have not regis- 
 tered, and you have not been assessed." 
 
 " I could register," said Mac. 
 
 " You can't register ; it's a very 
 smart person who knows how to regis- 
 ter; and besides, you can't read the 
 Constitution. So it would be of no use 
 if you could register." 
 
 " No," said Mac, sadly, " I cannot 
 read the Constitution. You don't think 
 I could be a minister ? " 
 
 " No, you couldn't. There are some 
 kinds that know very little, bat they all 
 have to know something." 
 
 " Nor a doctor ? "
 
 50 
 
 "N-o, Mac; at least, I believe not. 
 I think they have to know something." 
 
 " Nor a lawyer." 
 
 "No, certainly not. You have no 
 eye-teeth. And they have to be cut be- 
 fore you are a lawyer. I heard Judge 
 Jeffries say so." 
 
 And then they waited. " I will talk 
 to you again by-and-by," she said. And 
 then she ran down stairs to meet the 
 postman, and found just a little postal- 
 card, on which George had written in 
 French that she was the dearest girl in 
 the world, and that he should always 
 love her. Immediately on this she took 
 Mr. Mackintosh to pieces, dressed her- 
 self for the Appalachian Club, went to 
 Boston, and tried her pretty cab for the 
 first time. It was really an elegant little 
 coupe", and the stable-keeper had put 
 the driver in livery. George had writ- 
 ten to him from Springfield that the
 
 51 
 
 coup6 must wait for Miss Ellsworth 
 every evening. 
 
 But the next morning Susan brought 
 her little drama to an end. 
 
 She screwed Mr. Mac together once 
 more, and said, " Tell me yourself what 
 you want to be." 
 
 "Could I not be Vice-President," 
 he said ; " till the President died, you 
 know ; or Lieutenant-Governor, or 
 something like that ? " 
 
 " Oh no, Mac; they might not know 
 when to unscrew you." 
 
 " Could I not be a trustee ? I believe 
 trustees have to be cautious, and not do 
 the rash things other people do." 
 
 " I had thought of that, Mac, and I 
 inquired. But you would have to give 
 bonds. Now no one would give bonds 
 for you. I am sure I would not." This 
 was cruel in Susan ; but sometimes she 
 is cruel.
 
 52 
 
 " Then, Miss Susan, why cannot I be 
 what I am ? " 
 
 " Because I do not want you." 
 
 " But somebody else might want me. 
 I could stand in front of tailors' shops 
 with new clothes on. I should like to 
 be that. I see a great many young men 
 who do that and nothing else, and they 
 seem to like it very much." 
 
 " You dear old Mac ! " cried the girl ; 
 " you have more sense than any of us 
 at least more than I have. It is the 
 best sense possible to be what you are, 
 and pretend to nothing more. I knew 
 that, though I have never tried it, for 
 Mr. Emerson says so." 
 
 So she went with him to Cutter and 
 Dresser's that very day. They are the 
 great ready-made clothing men. And 
 they took Mac at once off her hands 
 literally. And they put on him that 
 handsome Garrick you saw me wearing
 
 63 
 
 yesterday. That was the way I came 
 to know the story. 
 
 And will you believe it ? one day 
 when they had dressed him in a cos- 
 turner's suit as Dromio of Syracuse, old 
 Mac forgot, and began walking up and 
 down the balcony on which he was 
 standing. The people in the street saw 
 it, and fancied he was a wonderful au- 
 tomaton. They stopped in hundreds 
 to see him, and of the hundreds scores 
 went in to buy. 
 
 That was the beginning of the tri- 
 umphant success of Cutter and Dresser. 
 They owed it all to Susan, and 1 think 
 they will send her a pair of salt-spoons 
 for her wedding.
 
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