The Gilded Age by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner

well, I suppose? That’s good–glad to hear that. We’re always going to

run down and see them, but I’m into so many operations, and they’re not

things a man feels like trusting to other people, and so somehow we keep

putting it off. Fortunes in them! Good gracious, it’s the country to

pile up wealth in! Here we are–here’s where the Sellers dynasty hangs

out. Hump it on the door-step, Jerry–the blackest niggro in the State,

Washington, but got a good heart–mighty likely boy, is Jerry. And now I

suppose you’ve got to have ten cents, Jerry. That’s all right–when a

man works for me–when a man–in the other pocket, I reckon–when a man–

why, where the mischief as that portmonnaie!–when a–well now that’s

odd–Oh, now I remember, must have left it at the bank; and b’George I’ve

left my check-book, too–Polly says I ought to have a nurse–well, no

matter. Let me have a dime, Washington, if you’ve got–ah, thanks. Now

clear out, Jerry, your complexion has brought on the twilight half an

hour ahead of time. Pretty fair joke–pretty fair. Here he is, Polly!

Washington’s come, children! come now, don’t eat him up–finish him in

the house. Welcome, my boy, to a mansion that is proud to shelter the

son of the best man that walks on the ground. Si Hawkins has been a good

friend to me, and I believe I can say that whenever I’ve had a chance to

put him into a good thing I’ve done it, and done it pretty cheerfully,

too. I put him into that sugar speculation–what a grand thing that was,

if we hadn’t held on too long!”

True enough; but holding on too long had utterly ruined both of them;

and the saddest part of it was, that they never had had so much money to

lose before, for Sellers’s sale of their mule crop that year in New

Orleans had been a great financial success. If he had kept out of sugar

and gone back home content to stick to mules it would have been a happy

wisdom. As it was, he managed to kill two birds with one stone–that is

to say, he killed the sugar speculation by holding for high rates till he

had to sell at the bottom figure, and that calamity killed the mule that

laid the golden egg–which is but a figurative expression and will be so

understood. Sellers had returned home cheerful but empty-handed, and the

mule business lapsed into other hands. The sale of the Hawkins property

by the Sheriff had followed, and the Hawkins hearts been torn to see

Uncle Dan’l and his wife pass from the auction-block into the hands of a

negro trader and depart for the remote South to be seen no more by the

family. It had seemed like seeing their own flesh and blood sold into

banishment.

Washington was greatly pleased with the Sellers mansion. It was a two-

story-and-a-half brick, and much more stylish than any of its neighbors.

He was borne to the family sitting room in triumph by the swarm of little

Sellerses, the parents following with their arms about each other’s

waists.

The whole family were poorly and cheaply dressed; and the clothing,

although neat and clean, showed many evidences of having seen long

service. The Colonel’s “stovepipe” hat was napless and shiny with much

polishing, but nevertheless it had an almost convincing expression about

it of having been just purchased new. The rest of his clothing was

napless and shiny, too, but it had the air of being entirely satisfied

with itself and blandly sorry for other people’s clothes. It was growing

rather dark in the house, and the evening air was chilly, too. Sellers

said:

“Lay off your overcoat, Washington, and draw up to the stove and make

yourself at home–just consider yourself under your own shingles my boy–

I’ll have a fire going, in a jiffy. Light the lamp, Polly, dear, and

let’s have things cheerful just as glad to see you, Washington, as if

you’d been lost a century and we’d found you again!”

By this time the Colonel was conveying a lighted match into a poor little

stove. Then he propped the stove door to its place by leaning the poker

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