Humorous stories; Mistaken identity -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Uncle Dan’l was sent with the telegram; for although a conspicuous
object in a corner of the drawing-room was a telephone hanging on a
transmitter, Washington found all attempts to raise the central office
vain. The Colonel grumbled something about its being “_always_ out of
order when you’ve got particular and especial use for it,” but he
didn’t explain that one of the reasons for this was that the thing was
only a dummy and hadn’t any wire attached to it. And yet the Colonel
often used it—when visitors were present—and seemed to get messages
through it. Mourning paper and a seal were ordered, then the friends
took a rest.
Next afternoon, while Hawkins, by request, draped Andrew Jackson’s
portrait with crape, the rightful earl, wrote off the family
bereavement to the usurper in England—a letter which we have already
read. He also, by letter to the village authorities at Duffy’s Corners,
Arkansas, gave order that the remains of the late twins be embalmed by
some St. Louis expert and shipped at once to the usurper—with bill.
Then he drafted out the Rossmore arms and motto on a great sheet of
brown paper, and he and Hawkins took it to Hawkins’s Yankee
furniture-mender and at the end of an hour came back with a couple of
stunning hatchments, which they nailed up on the front of the
house—attractions calculated to draw, and they did; for it was mainly
an idle and shiftless negro neighborhood, with plenty of ragged
children and indolent dogs to spare for a point of interest like that,
and keep on sparing them for it, days and days together.
The new earl found—without surprise—this society item in the evening
paper, and cut it out and scrapbooked it:
By a recent bereavement our esteemed fellow citizen, Colonel Mulberry
Sellers, Perpetual Member-at-large of the Diplomatic Body, succeeds, as
rightful lord, to the great earldom of Rossmore, third by order of
precedence in the earldoms of Great Britain, and will take early
measures, by suit in the House of Lords, to wrest the title and estates
from the present usurping holder of them. Until the season of mourning
is past, the usual Thursday evening receptions at Rossmore Towers will
be discontinued.
Lady Rossmore’s comment—to herself:
“Receptions! People who don’t rightly know him may think he is
commonplace, but to my mind he is one of the most unusual men I ever
saw. As for suddenness and capacity in imagining things, his beat don’t
exist, I reckon. As like as not it wouldn’t have occurred to anybody
else to name this poor old rat-trap Rossmore Towers, but it just comes
natural to him. Well, no doubt it’s a blessed thing to have an
imagination that can always make you satisfied, no matter how you are
fixed. Uncle Dave Hopkins used to always say, ‘Turn me into John
Calvin, and I want to know which place I’m going to; turn me into
Mulberry Sellers and I don’t care.’”
The rightful earl’s comment—to himself:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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