A Counterfeit Presentment; and, The Parlour Car. Howells William Dean

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СКАЧАТЬ Wyatt.– "Sir, will you convey to this friend of yours an old man's very humble apology, and sincere prayer for his forgiveness?"

      Cummings.– "He will not exact anything of that sort. The evidence of misunderstanding will be clear to him at a word from me."

      General Wyatt.– "But he has a right to this explanation from my own lips, and – Sir, I am culpably weak. But now that I have missed seeing him here, I confess that I would willingly avoid meeting him. The mere sound of his voice, as I heard it before I saw him, in first coming upon you, was enough to madden me. Can you excuse my senseless dereliction to him?"

      Cummings.– "I will answer for him."

      General Wyatt.– "Thanks. It seems monstrous that I should be asking and accepting these great favours. But you are doing a deed of charity to a helpless man utterly beggared in pride." He chokes with emotion, and does not speak for a moment. "Your friend is also – he is not also – a clergyman?"

      Cummings, smiling. – "No. He is a painter."

      General Wyatt.– "Is he a man of note? Successful in his profession?"

      Cummings.– "Not yet. But that is certain to come."

      General Wyatt.– "He is poor?"

      Cummings.– "He is a young painter."

      General Wyatt.– "Sir, excuse me. Had he planned to remain here some time yet?"

      Cummings, reluctantly. – "He has been sketching here. He had expected to stay through October."

      General Wyatt.– "You make the sacrifice hard to accept – I beg your pardon! But I must accept it. I am bound hand and foot."

      Cummings.– "I am sorry to have been obliged to tell you this."

      General Wyatt.– "I obliged you, sir; I obliged you. Give me your advice, sir; you know your friend. What shall I do? I am not rich. I don't belong to a branch of the government service in which people enrich themselves. But I have my pay; and if your friend could sell me the pictures he's been painting here" —

      Cummings.– "That's quite impossible. There is no form in which I could propose such a thing to a man of his generous pride."

      General Wyatt.– "Well, then, sir, I must satisfy myself as I can to remain his debtor. Will you kindly undertake to tell him?"

      An Elderly Serving-Woman, who appears timidly and anxiously at the right-hand door. – "General Wyatt."

      General Wyatt, with a start. – "Yes, Mary! Well?"

      Mary, in vanishing. – "Mrs. Wyatt wishes to speak with you."

      General Wyatt, going up to Cummings. – "I must go, sir. I leave unsaid what I cannot even try to say." He offers his hand.

      Cummings, grasping the proffered hand. – "Everything is understood." But as Mr. Cummings returns from following General Wyatt to the door, his face does not confirm the entire security of his words. He looks anxious and perturbed, and when he has taken up his hat and stick, he stands pondering absent-mindedly. At last he puts on his hat and starts briskly toward the door. Before he reaches it, he encounters Bartlett, who advances abruptly into the room. "Oh! I was going to look for you."

VICummings and Bartlett

      Bartlett, sulkily. – "Were you?" He walks, without looking at Cummings, to where his painter's paraphernalia are lying, and begins to pick them up.

      Cummings.– "Yes." In great embarrassment: "Bartlett, General Wyatt has been here."

      Bartlett, without looking round. – "Who is General Wyatt?"

      Cummings.– "I mean the gentleman who – whom you wouldn't wait to see."

      Bartlett.– "Um!" He has gathered the things into his arms, and is about to leave the room.

      Cummings, in great distress. – "Bartlett, Bartlett! Don't go! I implore you, if you have any regard for me whatever, to hear what I have to say. It's boyish, it's cruel, it's cowardly to behave as you're doing!"

      Bartlett.– "Anything more, Mr. Cummings? I give you benefit of clergy."

      Cummings.– "I take it – to denounce your proceeding as something that you'll always be sorry for and ashamed of."

      Bartlett.– "Oh! Then, if you have quite freed your mind, I think I may go."

      Cummings.– "No, no! You mustn't go. Don't go, my dear fellow. Forgive me! I know how insulted you feel, but upon my soul it's all a mistake, – it is, indeed. General Wyatt" – Bartlett falters a moment and stands as if irresolute whether to stay and listen or push on out of the room – "the young lady – I don't know how to begin!"

      Bartlett, relenting a little. – "Well? I'm sorry for you, Cummings. I left a very awkward business to you, and it wasn't yours either. As for General Wyatt, as he chooses to call himself" —

      Cummings, in amaze. – "Call himself? It's his name!"

      Bartlett.– "Oh, very likely! So is King David his name, when he happens to be in a Scriptural craze. What explanation have you been commissioned to make me? What apology?"

      Cummings.– "The most definite, the most satisfactory. You resemble in a most extraordinary manner a man who has inflicted an abominable wrong upon these people, a treacherous and cowardly villain" —

      Bartlett, in a burst of fury. – "Stop! Is that your idea of an apology, an explanation? Isn't it enough that I should be threatened, and vilified, and have people fainting at the sight of me, but I must be told by way of reparation that it all happens because I look like a rascal?"

      Cummings.– "My dear friend! Do listen to me!"

      Bartlett.– "No, sir, I won't listen to you! I've listened too much! What right, I should like to know, have they to find this resemblance in me? And do they suppose that I'm going to be placated by being told that they treat me like a rogue because I look like one? It is a little too much. A man calls 'Stop thief' after me and expects me to be delighted when he tells me I look like a thief! The reparation is an additional insult. I don't choose to know that they fancy this infamous resemblance in me. Their pretending it is an outrage; and your reporting it to me is an offence. Will you tell them what I say? Will you tell this General Wyatt and the rest of his Bedlam-broke-loose, that they may all go to the" —

      Cummings.– "For shame, for shame! You outrage a terrible sorrow! You insult a trouble sore to death! You trample upon, an anguish that should be sacred to your tears!"

      Bartlett, resting his elbow on the corner of the piano. – "What – what do you mean, Cummings?"

      Cummings.– "What do I mean? What you are not worthy to know! I mean that these people, against whom you vent your stupid rage, are worthy of angelic pity. I mean that by some disastrous mischance you resemble to the life, in tone, manner, and feature, the wretch who won that poor girl's heart, and then crushed it; who – Bartlett, look here! These are the people – this is the young lady – of whom my friend wrote me from СКАЧАТЬ