boarding house in Washington, with Col. Sellers. The two had been living
together lately, and this mutual cavern of theirs the Colonel sometimes
referred to as their “premises” and sometimes as their “apartments”–more
particularly when conversing with persons outside. A canvas-covered
modern trunk, marked “G. W. H.” stood on end by the door, strapped and
ready for a journey; on it lay a small morocco satchel, also marked “G.
W. H.” There was another trunk close by–a worn, and scarred, and
ancient hair relic, with ” B. S.” wrought in brass nails on its top;
on it lay a pair of saddle-bags that probably knew more abort the last
century than they could tell. Washington got up and walked the floor a
while in a restless sort of way, and finally was about to sit down on the
hair trunk.
“Stop, don’t sit down on that!” exclaimed the Colonel: “There, now that’s
all right–the chair’s better. I couldn’t get another trunk like that–
not another like it in America, I reckon.”
“I am afraid not,” said Washington, with a faint attempt at a smile.
“No indeed; the man is dead that made that trunk and that saddle-bags.”
“Are his great-grand-children still living?” said Washington, with levity
only in the words, not in the tone.
“Well, I don’t know–I hadn’t thought of that–but anyway they can’t make
trunks and saddle-bags like that, if they are–no man can,” said the
Colonel with honest simplicity. “Wife didn’t like to see me going off
with that trunk–she said it was nearly certain to be stolen.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why, aren’t trunks always being stolen?”
“Well, yes–some kinds of trunks are.”
“Very well, then; this is some kind of a trunk–and an almighty rare
kind, too.”
“Yes, I believe it is.”
“Well, then, why shouldn’t a man want to steal it if he got a chance?”
“Indeed I don’t know.–Why should he?”
“Washington, I never heard anybody talk like you. Suppose you were a
thief, and that trunk was lying around and nobody watching–wouldn’t you
steal it? Come, now, answer fair–wouldn’t you steal it?
“Well, now, since you corner me, I would take it,–but I wouldn’t
consider it stealing.
“You wouldn’t! Well, that beats me. Now what would you call stealing?”
“Why, taking property is stealing.”
“Property! Now what a way to talk that is: What do you suppose that
trunk is worth?”
“Is it in good repair?”
“Perfect. Hair rubbed off a little, but the main structure is perfectly
sound.”
“Does it leak anywhere?”
“Leak? Do you want to carry water in it? What do you mean by does it
leak?”
“Why–a–do the clothes fall out of it when it is–when it is
stationary?”
“Confound it, Washington, you are trying to make fun of me. I don’t know
what has got into you to-day; you act mighty curious. What is the matter
with you?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, old friend. I am almost happy. I am, indeed.
It wasn’t Clay’s telegram that hurried me up so and got me ready to start
with you. It was a letter from Louise.”
“Good! What is it ? What does she say?”
“She says come home–her father has consented, at last.”
“My boy, I want to congratulate you; I want to shake you by the hand!
It’s a long turn that has no lane at the end of it, as the proverb says,
or somehow that way. You’ll be happy yet, and Beriah Sellers will be
there to see, thank God!”
“I believe it. General Boswell is pretty nearly a poor man, now. The
railroad that was going to build up Hawkeye made short work of him, along
with the rest. He isn’t so opposed to a son-in-law without a fortune,
now.”
“Without a fortune, indeed! Why that Tennessee Land–”
“Never mind the Tennessee Land, Colonel. I am done with that, forever
and forever–”
“Why no! You can’t mean to say–”
“My father, away back yonder, years ago, bought it for a blessing for his
children, and–”
“Indeed he did! Si Hawkins said to me–”
“It proved a curse to him as long as he lived, and never a curse like it
was inflicted upon any man’s heirs–”
“I’m bound to say there’s more or less truth–“