"A yellow-faced cripple, by dash! a sick woman, with mahogany eyes;one of your blanked spiritual creatures--with no flesh on her bones." On the other hand, however, she enjoyed later much complimentary disparagement from her own ***.Miss Celestina Howard, second leader in the ballet at the Varieties, had, with great alliterative directness, in after-years, denominated her as an "aquiline asp." Mlle.Brimborion remembered that she had always warned "Mr.Jack" that this woman would "empoison" him.But Mr.
Oakhurst, whose impressions are perhaps the most important, only saw a pale, thin, deep-eyed woman, raised above the level of her companion by the refinement of long suffering and isolation, and a certain shy virginity of manner.There was a suggestion of physical purity in the folds of her fresh-looking robe, and a certain picturesque tastefulness in the details, that, without knowing why, made him think that the robe was her invention and handiwork, even as the carriage she occupied was evidently the work of her companion.Her own hand, a trifle too thin, but well-shaped, subtle-fingered, and gentle-womanly, rested on the side of the carriage, the counterpart of the strong mechanical grasp of her companion's.
There was some obstruction to the progress of the vehicle; and Mr.
Oakhurst stepped forward to assist.While the wheel was being lifted over the curbstone, it was necessary that she should hold his arm; and for a moment her thin hand rested there, light and cold as a snowflake, and then, as it seemed to him, like a snow-flake melted away.Then there was a pause, and then conversation, the lady joining occasionally and shyly.
It appeared that they were man and wife; that for the past two years she had been a great invalid, and had lost the use of her lower limbs from rheumatism; that until lately she had been confined to her bed, until her husband--who was a master-carpenter--had bethought himself to make her this carriage.He took her out regularly for an airing before going to work, because it was his only time, and--they attracted less attention.They had tried many doctors, but without avail.They had been advised to go to the Sulphur Springs; but it was expensive.Mr.Decker, the husband, had once saved eighty dollars for that purpose, but while in San Francisco had his pocket picked--Mr Decker was so senseless! (The intelligent reader need not be told that it is the lady who is speaking.) They had never been able to make up the sum again, and they had given up the idea.It was a dreadful thing to have one's pocket picked.Did he not think so?
Her husband's face was crimson; but Mr.Oakhurst's countenance was quite calm and unmoved, as he gravely agreed with her, and walked by her side until they passed the little garden that he had admired.Here Mr.Oakhurst commanded a halt, and, going to the door, astounded the proprietor by a preposterously extravagant offer for a choice of the flowers.Presently he returned to the carriage with his arms full of roses, heliotrope, and verbena, and cast them in the lap of the invalid.While she was bending over them with childish delight, Mr.Oakhurst took the opportunity of drawing her husband aside.
"Perhaps," he said in a low voice, and a manner quite free from any personal annoyance,--"perhaps it's just as well that you lied to her as you did.You can say now that the pick-pocket was arrested the other day, and you got your money back." Mr.Oakhurst quietly slipped four twenty-dollar gold-pieces into the broad hand of the bewildered Mr.Decker."Say that--or any thing you like--but the truth.Promise me you won't say that."The man promised.Mr.Oakhurst quietly returned to the front of the little carriage.The sick woman was still eagerly occupied with the flowers, and, as she raised her eyes to his, her faded cheek seemed to have caught some color from the roses, and her eyes some of their dewy freshness.But at that instant Mr.Oakhurst lifted his hat, and before she could thank him was gone.
I grieve to say that Mr.Decker shamelessly broke his promise.
That night, in the very goodness of his heart and uxorious self-abnegation, he, like all devoted husbands, not only offered himself, but his friend and benefactor, as a sacrifice on the family-altar.It is only fair, however, to add that he spoke with great fervor of the generosity of Mr.Oakhurst, and dwelt with an enthusiasm quite common with his class on the mysterious fame and prodigal vices of the gambler.
"And now, Elsie dear, say that you'll forgive me," said Mr.Decker, dropping on one knee beside his wife's couch."I did it for the best.It was for you, dearey, that I put that money on them cards that night in 'Frisco.I thought to win a heap--enough to take you away, and enough left to get you a new dress."Mrs.Decker smiled, and pressed her husband's hand."I do forgive you, Joe dear," she said, still smiling, with eyes abstractedly fixed on the ceiling; "and you ought to be whipped for deceiving me so, you bad boy! and ****** me make such a speech.There, say no more about it.If you'll be very good hereafter, and will just now hand me that cluster of roses, I'll forgive you." She took the branch in her angers, lifted the roses to her face, and presently said, behind their leaves,--"Joe!"
"What is it, lovey?"
"Do you think that this Mr.--what do you call him?--Jack Oakhurst would have given that money back to you, if I hadn't made that speech?""Yes."
"If he hadn't seen me at all?"
Mr.Decker looked up.His wife had managed in some way to cover up her whole face with the roses, except her eyes, which were dangerously bright.
"No! It was you, Elsie--it was all along of seeing you that made him do it.""A poor sick woman like me?"
"A sweet, little, lovely, pooty Elsie--Joe's own little wifey! how could he help it?"Mrs.Decker fondly cast one arm around her husband's neck, still keeping the roses to her face with the other.From behind them she began to murmur gently and idiotically, "Dear, ole square Joey.