The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863Morford, Henry
History
The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863
Morford, Henry
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"Ah, how proud you must feel, madam, of having seen so many of the wonders
of nature!" the wretch went on. "I have never yet been able to cross the
ocean, myself, and the conversation of foreign travellers is naturally both
pleasant and instructive to me."
"Much obliged to you, I am sure," the lady returned. Some of the
passengers in the wagon, who had previously observed the hero of the
morning, and thought him any thing else rather than a fool, looked twice at
him, at this juncture, to discover what he could mean by addressing
complimentary conversation to that compound of ignorance and vulgarity. It
must be owned that Clara Vanderlyn, who sat on one of the back seats while
the interlocutors were in front, believing the man in earnest, felt for the
moment a sensation of disgust towards him and wished her card back in her
reticule. But if she and some of the others were temporarily deceived, the
deception was not of long continuance.
The statement by Rowan that he had never been across the Atlantic, was the
one thing necessary to reassure Mrs. Brooks Cunninghame; and that point
settled, she felt sure of her ground.
"How long since you were abroad, madam, may I ask?" he continued.
"Five years," answered the lady, who no doubt felt that both her duration
of standing in society and the accuracy of her memory would appear the
better for a little lapse of time.
"Five years, indeed? so long?" asked the scamp, with every appearance of
interest. "And did you have your dear little boy with you all the time?"
"No, my physician did not think it prudent for me to take him along of me,
and I left him to home with the nurse," was the reply. The fact was,
really, that at the early period named her "physician" had been a drunken
Indian-herb doctor, the only description of medical man likely to visit the
shanty which she yet occupied,--and that she had been (perhaps better and
more honorably occupied than at any time after!) doing her own work without
the hope or thought of ever employing a servant.
"Dear little fellow!" said the Illinoisan, caressing the scrubbing-brush
head of the repulsive youngster. "What a pity that he could not have gone
with you! By the way, madam, you went by steamer, of course. Did you take
steamer for Paris, or--or--St. Petersburgh?"
By this time most of the passengers began to perceive what was coming, and
there were symptoms of a titter in the back seats, but nothing that warned
or disturbed the victim.
"Oh, Paris, of course!" was the answer. "Dear, delightful Paris, where the
shops was so handsome and the women wore such elegant bunnits!" (See
guide-books.)
"You landed at Paris direct from the steamer, I suppose?" asked the
tormentor, at which question the titter really began, but still too quietly
to put the lady on her guard.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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