MCGUSHER _versus_ LUNDER.
Ben Lunder’s speech was heartily applauded, and so, indeed, was that of every one who spoke or attempted to speak. It was the “era of good feelings.” The complimentary part of the proceedings having been disposed of, the arrangements for the up-river excursion were considered and adopted. A time was fixed to start, and the meeting dissolved.
When Ben got up to make his speech, Mr. McGusher approached Kate and placed himself by her side, intent upon regaining the ground he had lost. All the boys laughed at Ben’s “nauticals,” and most of the girls knew enough about vessels to appreciate the absurdity of his remarks. Everybody was amused except the long-lost; and Ben could say nothing to provoke a smile from him. He was determined not to be amused.
“Those wemawks aw vewy silly, Miss Bildaw,” said he, in a low tone.
“Now I think they are very funny,” replied Kate. “I think Mr. Lunder is a splendid fellow.”
“Do you, indeed?” groaned Mr. McGusher. “I think he is lacking in bwains.”
“Excuse me; but I should like to hear him,” added Kate.
The long-lost was obliged to be silent after this hint. In his eloquence Ben had stepped forward a few steps from the rock where he had been seated at Kate’s side, and Mr. McGusher, who was prominently developed on each side of his face, took the place which had been vacated. As Ben was working up his peroration, he unconsciously backed up to the rock again, not aware that his late seat had been occupied by another. As he finished, he bowed, and, without looking behind him, dropped into his former position. He was considerably excited by his oratorical effort, and bounced rather heavily into Mr. McGusher’s lap. Either out of respect to the lady at his side, or because his brow was fevered by the misfortunes of the hour, this gentleman had taken off his white stove-pipe hat, and placed it upon his knees. Ben struck upon the crown of the tile, crushing it down as flat as a pancake.
Ben instantly sprang to his feet again, when he realized the mischief he had done. Possibly he feared, in the confusion of the moment, that he had sat down in Miss Bilder’s lap. The mishap was greeted with roars of laughter from the boys and the girls; and doubtless some sides ached, and some of the party were in danger of choking to death with their mirth, when Mr. McGusher held up his damaged tile, which looked very much like one of those telescopic hats which shut into a box only two inches deep.
“Do you see what you have done?” demanded Mr. McGusher, as he sprang to his feet, with the crushed hat in his hand.
“I see; and, in its present condition, I admit that yours is a shocking bad hat,” replied Ben, good-naturedly, as the tile was not his own.
“You have cwushed my hat,” wailed the long-lost.
“What did you get into my seat for? I didn’t know you were there; and it was not my fault,” laughed Ben.
“You did it on pawpose! You intended to insult me! You have insulted me thwee times befaw to-day,” howled Mr. McGusher.
“All right my hearty,” said Ben, moving towards the seat on the rock which the swell had vacated.
But Mr. McGusher was not to be flanked a second time, and he dropped into the place by Kate’s side.
“You have wuined my hat,” he continued, trying to restore it to its former shape.
“See here, my jovial biscuit-nibbler, if I am to blame, I’ll buy you a more decent hat than that one ever was; and I will leave it to any three gentlemen here to say if it was my fault or yours. I suggest Captain Bilder and Captain Patterdale as two of the referees, and they may select the third.”
“That’s fair!” shouted the yachtmen.
“I will apologize into the bargain,” added Ben; “and that will be the most humiliating part of the business.”
“Referees!” shouted the boys, who expected some fun to come out of the hearing.
Mr. McGusher was compelled to submit to the popular will; and after the meeting the trial of the case was to take place. But it was past seven o’clock when the plan for the excursion was adopted; and it was time to return to the city, especially as there was a shower coming up in the west. But the long-lost was not permitted to enjoy the place he had stolen by the side of Kate. She seemed to be rather partial to Ben; at any rate she enjoyed his funny speeches; and when Mr. McGusher resumed his seat, she abandoned her own, and walked away with the “old salt” to a bench which was not occupied, where they remained till the close of the meeting. The long-lost felt that his “sister” was abusing him, and he was determined, as soon as his position was established, that Kate should treat the marine monster as he deserved.
“Miss President of the Dorcas Club,” said Neil, when the meeting was dissolved, “I am afraid there will be a shower before you can pull back to the city.”
“It looks like one,” replied Minnie, anxiously. “And it will be half past nine before we can reach home.”
“I think you had better go up in the steamer.” added Neil.
“What shall we do with our boats?”
“We can put them on our hurricane deck.”
“I should be very glad to go up in the Ocean-Born.”
“I am afraid we shall not get back to-night with the yachts,” said Ned Patterdale. “There is not a breath of wind.”
“I will tow you up; and if it rains we can all stay under cover,” replied Neil.
“We don’t care for the rain,” laughed Ned; “but we rather like the arrangement, for there will be some fun in that trial.”
“I can tow two of those yachts on each side, and the other two astern,” added Neil.
All the party were informed of the plan, and the invited guests and members of the clubs were embarked in the steamer. Two of the yachts were then lashed on each side of her, and hawsers from the other two were passed to her stern. But it was found that the club boats could be better carried upon the decks of the yachts, as no sails were to be set, and they were carefully taken out of the water, so as not to strain them, and cradled in convenient places. The anchor of the Ocean-Born was weighed, and the bell to go ahead was sounded. Martin Roach had stirred up the fires in the furnaces, so that she had plenty of steam for the heavy tow she had undertaken. The ladies’ cabin was open, and one of the ladies was playing a waltz on the piano. Groups in various parts of the deck were singing, and no livelier party was ever gathered than that on board of the Ocean-Born.
The trial was to take place in the forward cabin, where the referees opened the session soon after the steamer started. Dr. Darling had been chosen as the third referee. Ben and Mr. McGusher were summoned to the tribunal, whereof the doctor was the presiding officer, by the choice of his fellows. The cabin was crowded to its utmost capacity, and those who could not get in stationed themselves at the doors and windows. Perhaps no one but Mr. McGusher regarded it as a serious proceeding, and he had some fears that it might afford his tormentor an opportunity to torture him.
“Gentlemen, this is a Court of Reference to try the case of--What’s his name?” asked Dr. Darling, opening the proceedings.
“Mr. Arthur McGusher,” replied Captain Bilder.
“Mr. Arthur McGusher _versus_ Mr. Ben Lunder, alias Bounding Billow Ben,” continued the doctor. “Both of the parties were strangers to most of us till to-day, and therefore we shall be able to deal impartially with both of them. Mr. McGusher appears to be the plaintiff, and brings this suit to recover the value of one white hat, encircled with a black weed, according to the fashion of the day--or perhaps I should say, the fashion of the extremists. I don’t know the value of it, but perhaps that will appear in the evidence.--Mr. McGusher, will you take the stand?”
Mr. McGusher took the stand, which was the end of the table opposite the chairman of the referees.
“Your name in full, sir?” Dr. Darling proceeded.
“Arthur McGushaw,” replied the plaintiff, doubtfully, for the case opened rather formidably.
“Your residence?”
“New Yawk city.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Do you consider that you have attained the age of discretion?”
“The age of discwetion? Goodness gwacious! I should hope so.”
“How much do you weigh when you are fat?”
“I don’t know,” replied the long-lost, almost discouraged by the choking laughter of the spectators.
“This is important.”
“What odds can it make how much I weigh?” demanded Mr. McGusher.
“It is not usual for courts of justice to be questioned. How much do you weigh?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you never been weighed in the balance, and found wanting?”
“No, saw.”
“How old did you say you were?”
“I said I was eighteen.”
“Just eighteen?”
“Yes, saw.”
“Eighteen now?”
“Of cawse I’m eighteen now. I nevaw was eighteen befaw. How could a fellaw be eighteen befaw he is eighteen?”
The company laughed at this answer. Mr. McGusher believed he had made a point, and he enjoyed it. He was encouraged.
“Eighteen now?”
“Of cawse.”
“How old shall you be when you are twenty-one?”
“I don’t know,” replied the long-lost, who was, perhaps, thinking of the point he had made; but his answer produced a roar of smiles.
“You don’t know?”
“How old shall I be when I am twenty-one?” repeated Mr. McGusher, putting his whole mind to the question. “Of cawse I shall be twenty-one when I am twenty-one.”
“That may be true in your case,” added Dr. Darling, looking very wise. “Now, will you please to state your view of the unhappy difficulty between Mr. Lunder and yourself.”
“It is soon told, saw. Seeing my fwiend, Miss Bildaw, seated on a wock--”
“On a what?”
“On a wock,” replied the long-lost, with emphasis.
“On a wock?” repeated the examiner. “What’s that?”
“On a wock! Don’t you know what a wock is?”
“I do not,” replied the doctor, shaking his head, and looking very much puzzled. “On a wock?”
“On a wock! On a big stone!” said the plaintiff, desperately.
“O! on a rock! I beg your pardon. I understand now. Proceed, if you please. Miss Bilder was seated on a rock.”
“Miss Bildaw is my fwiend, and I seated myself at her side, as I think I had a pawfect wight to do, if the lady did not object.”
“Then Miss Bilder did not object?”
“She did not. Then Mr. Lundaw sat down in my lap, and cwushed my hat. That’s the whole of it.”
“Where was Mr. Lunder when you seated yourself at Miss Bilder’s side?”
“He was standing up.”
“What was he doing?”
“Making what he called a speech.”
“What he called a speech. What did you call it?”
“It was hardly an owation or a hawang. I call it nonsense,” replied Mr. McGusher, candidly.
“But--
‘A little nonsense now and then Is relished by the wisest men.’
You did not relish the nonsense, Mr. McGusher?”
“No, saw, I did not.”
“Are we to conclude, therefore, that you are not to be classed among the wisest men?”
“I am not a fool, an idiot, to welish such stuff as that was.”
“Then those of us who did enjoy it are to be considered fools and idiots--are they? That will do, Mr. McGusher. You may step down.”
“I don’t mean to say that,” protested the long-lost.
“Mr. Lunder will take the stand,” added the doctor.
Ben took the stand.
“Your name sir?”
“B. Lunder, O. S.”
“O. S. Old style?”
“No, sir; old salt.”
“Your occupation?”
“Seaman.”
“How long have you been to sea?”
“Four days--perhaps five now, counting to-day as one.”
“Had the measles?”
“Yes, sir--had ’em good.”
“Fighting weight?”
“One hundred and twenty-one pounds, eleven and one half ounces, Avoirdupois.”
“Now state if you please, your view of the difficulty between Mr. McGusher and yourself.”
“The principal difficulty lies in Mr. McGusher’s inability to appreciate my speeches,” laughed Ben.
“The facts in the case, if you please.”
“I was sitting with Miss Bilder on the rock, when I was called upon by the high and mighty commander of the Ocean-Born to make a little speech. He had eaten so much chowder himself that he was too full for utterance, and I had to utter for him. I beg to remind you, Mr. Chairman, that I am an old salt by profession. Lot’s wife was a first cousin of mine. The first duty of a sailor, sir, is to obey.
‘Theirs not to make reply; Theirs not to reason why; Theirs but to do and die,’
or make a speech; and, with becoming modesty, it was a capital speech, in my opinion, whatever Mr. McGusher may say or think.”
“That’s so!” shouted the spectators.
“Order in the court!” said Dr. Darling, pounding on the table most vigorously. “Go on, Mr. Lunder.”
“I was seated by Miss Bilder, on the rock. Etiquette required that I should stand when I made that speech. I did what the immortal General Warren told the Bunker Hillers to do when he said, ‘Stand! the ground’s your own, my braves.’
“I am not so sure I should have had the courage to stand, if I had thought I should lose my ground on the rock by doing so. But I did stand. Milton says,--
‘They also serve who only stand.’
“It was my duty to stand, Mr. Chairman. My commander had ordered me to stand. I rose, Mr. Chairman; I rose modestly and gracefully to obey the order of my great commander. As ‘the rose is fairest when ’tis budding,’ I budded upon that audience. I rose, and though there were onions in the chowder, ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ I rose and made my speech. Under the fiery inspiration of the moment, I waxed eloquent. I depicted the wild scene upon the stormy ocean, when the mad waves dashed savagely over the helpless Sea Foam, when the bob-scuttle had gone by the board; when the angry tide twisted the cleats, cat-harpings, bowlines, bobstays, dead-eyes, dead-lights, and dead reckoning into half-hitches, when--”
“Do you intend to repeat your speech, Mr. Lunder?” asked the doctor.
“If the court particularly desire it,--yes, sir.”
“Nothing but the want of time prevents the court from particularly desiring its repetition.”
“I should be happy to oblige the court at another time then. I only intended to show how it was that I waxed eloquent. As I waxed, I took a step forward, as great orators do unconsciously when stirred by the fires of eloquence. Of course, Mr. Chairman, as I orated, I was unconscious of the movements of the plaintiff. I could see nothing but the sea of upturned faces before me; and I did not see Mr. McGusher take the seat which I had vacated but a moment before. When I finished I sat down, and as the plaintiff was in my seat, I sat down in his lap, and squashed his hat. How could I know, sir, that the plaintiff had surreptitiously and flagitiously taken my seat?”
“Did you consider that the seat belonged to you?”
“As much as though I had foreclosed a mortgage upon it. Consider the circumstances, Mr. Chairman. I was freely lavishing my eloquence upon the company. I was laboring for the information and entertainment of the party. If I used my shining talents for this purpose, should I suffer for it? Should I lose my seat for it?”
“No! No! No!” shouted the young men.
“Certainly not; and of course, Mr. Chairman, you will decide in favor of the defendant.”
“You may step down, Mr. Lunder,” added Dr. Darling. “Have you anything further to say, Mr. McGusher?”
“I have, sir. I don’t wish to quawwel with Mr. Lundaw, and I’m willing to accept his apology,” replied the long-lost.
“When he makes one, you may,” added Ben.
“The court will settle that question,” interposed the doctor. “The law applicable to this case, may be found in Shakespeare’s play of Much Ado about Nothing--‘Sits the wind in that corner?’ Metaphorically, Mr. McGusher is the wind, and ‘that corner’ is the rock. It is admitted that Mr. McGusher sat down on the rock; and ‘sits the wind in that corner.’ Lunder had not abandoned that seat. If he had deliberately got up, and gone off, like a gun, he might thus have relinquished possession of it. But he did not go off like a gun or otherwise, and not having relinquished possession of it, the seat was his, both in law and equity; and according to Shakespeare, standing up in front of his seat to make a speech, in obedience to the order of his superior officer, and in answer to the call of the company, does not amount to a relinquishment of the seat. He had vacated it only for the moment, at the call of the crowd. Now, if he had got up to make that speech with the evil and vicious intent and purpose of inflicting his remarks upon the company, as some ill-bred persons do, the case would have been different, and he would have voluntarily relinquished his seat, both in law and fact. Lunder was, therefore, still in legal possession of the seat, though not in actual bodily possession of it, at the precise instant when McGusher took possession of it. A tenant cannot be said to have abandoned the house he hires, to have relinquished possession thereof, because he temporarily leaves it to go to the corner grocery for a cent’s worth of milk. My associates agree with me that this is sound law. The law being thus indisputably clear, it only remains to consider the facts, upon which there is no material disagreement. The seat belonged to Lunder; McGusher took it; in other words, he took what did not belong to him, and what did belong to Lunder. McGusher is at fault. This court finds for the defendant, and sentences McGusher to apologize to Lunder for taking his seat.”
“Who pays for my hat?” demanded Mr. McGusher, amid roars of laughter.
“The court decides that the hat was _particeps criminis_ in the act of the owner. It was in the place of Lunder, where it had no right to be. The hat was crushed because it was an intruder, like a mosquito in the boudoir of a lady! ‘Truth crushed to earth shall rise again;’ but hats never,” said Dr. Darling.
Mr. McGusher was not satisfied with the decision of the referees, but there was no appeal. He refused to apologize, however, and gazed ruefully at his twisted and misshapen hat.
The rain was falling in torrents when the Ocean-Born with her heavy tow arrived at the city; but all the party were under cover, and continued to have a jolly time till the weather permitted the ladies to go to their homes. Ben Lunder walked home with Kate Bilder, and spent the evening at the house. Mr. McGusher was disgusted, and at an early hour retired to his room. He did so only to get out of the way of his tormentor, who would not insult him, or even take any notice of him.
Mr. McGusher was troubled; his hat was spoiled, and he had hardly ten dollars in his pocket--not more than enough to pay his expenses to New York. He must buy a new hat; he could hardly go into the street with the crushed tile on his head. He was worried about his financial prospects. He walked the room. As he passed the bureau on which stood his lamp, he saw a letter, the corner of which was thrust into the side of the looking-glass frame. It had evidently been placed there where it could be seen, perhaps as a reminder that something was to be done with it at a future period. Raising the lamp, he read the address: “MRS. MARY J. BANFORD.” From the character of the stamp upon it, he judged that the letter had been sent some years before.
Mr. McGusher took the letter from its place. He looked at it for some time, and then he opened it, being very careful not to tear the envelope. He wet it, and worked upon it for ten minutes before he got it open. He took the contents from it, and found in the sheet of note paper it contained two five hundred dollar bills. Whether or not he knew Mrs. Banford, to whom the letter was addressed, and whether or not he expected to find so much money in the letter, does not yet appear.