Humorous stories; Mistaken identity -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Cringe—why, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Hatchments! To
commemorate that sniveling tramp and his, fraternal duplicate. And he
is going to send me the remains. The late Claimant was a fool, but
plainly this new one’s a maniac. What a name! _Mulberry_
Sellers—there’s music for you, Simon Lathers—Mulberry Sellers—Mulberry
Sellers—Simon Lathers. Sounds like machinery working and churning.
Simon Lathers, Mulberry Sel—Are you going?”
“If I have your leave, father.”
The old gentleman stood musing some time, after his son was gone. This
was his thought:
“He is a good boy, and lovable. Let him take his own course—as it would
profit nothing to oppose him—make things worse, in fact. My arguments
and his aunt’s persuasions have failed; let us see what America can do
for us. Let us see what equality and hard-times can effect for the
mental health of a brain-sick young British lord. Going to renounce his
lordship and be a man! Yas!”
CHAPTER II.
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Colonel Mulberry Sellers—this was some days before he wrote his letter
to Lord Rossmore—was seated in his “library,” which was also his
“drawing-room” and was also his “picture gallery” and likewise his
“work-shop.” Sometimes he called it by one of these names, sometimes by
another, according to occasion and circumstance. He was constructing
what seemed to be some kind of a frail mechanical toy; and was
apparently very much interested in his work. He was a white-headed man,
now, but otherwise he was as young, alert, buoyant, visionary and
enterprising as ever. His loving old wife sat near by, contentedly
knitting and thinking, with a cat asleep in her lap. The room was
large, light, and had a comfortable look, in fact a home-like look,
though the furniture was of a humble sort and not over abundant, and
the knickknacks and things that go to adorn a living-room not plenty
and not costly. But there were natural flowers, and there was an
abstract and unclassifiable something about the place which betrayed
the presence in the house of somebody with a happy taste and an
effective touch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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