American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
'O, when they first come over from Germany, they had a sort of a king;
he knew more than the rest, and he lived in that big brick house with
dormel-winders and a cuperler, that stands next the garden. The carriage
was hisn, and it had steps to let down, and curtains and all; they
don't use it much now he's dead. They're a queer set anyhow! The women
look like meal-sacks. After Sol seen me, he couldn't abide to look at
'em.'
Soon after six we heard the great gate creak.
'That's Sol,' said the woman,' and now of course Roarer'll come in and
track all over my floor.' The hall door opened and a shadow passed into
the opposite room, two shadows,--a man and a dog.
'He's going to wash himself now,' continued the wife; 'he's always
washing himself, just like a horse.'
'New fact in natural history, Dora love,' observed Ermine.
After some moments the miner appeared,--a tall, stooping figure with
high forehead, large blue eyes, and long thin yellow hair; there was a
singularly lifeless expression in his face, and a far-off look in his
eyes. He gazed about the room in an absent way, as though he scarcely
saw us. Behind him stalked the Roarer, wagging his tail slowly from side
to side.
'Now, then, dont yer see the ladies, Sol? Where's yer manners?' said his
wife, sharply.
'Ah,--yes,--good evening,' he said, vaguely. Then his wandering eyes
fell upon Ermine's beautiful face, and fixed themselves there with
strange intentness.
'You received my note, Mr. Bangs?' said my cousin in her soft voice.
'Yes, surely. You are Erminia,' replied the man, still standing in the
centre of the room with fixed eyes. The Roarer laid himself down behind
his master, and his tail still wagging, sounded upon the floor with a
regular tap.
'Now then, Sol, since you've come home, perhaps you'll entertain the
ladies while I get supper,' quoth Mrs. Bangs; and forthwith began a
clatter of pans.
The man passed his long hand abstractedly over his forehead. 'Eh,' he
said with long-drawn utterance,--'eh-h? Yes, my rose of Sharon,
certainly, certainly.'
'Then why don't you do it!' said the woman, lighting the fire in the
brick stove.
'And what will the ladies please to do?' he answered, his eyes going
back to Ermine.
'We will look over your pictures, sir,' said my cousin, rising; 'they
are in the upper room, I believe.'
A great flush rose in the painter's thin cheeks. 'Will you,' he said
eagerly,--'will you? Come!'
'It's a broken-down old hole, ladies; Sol will never let me sweep it
out. Reckon you'll be more comfortable here,' said Mrs. Bangs, with her
arms in the flour.
'No, no, my lily of the valley. The ladies will come with me; they will
not scorn the poor room.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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