Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 November 1881 — PETTIBONE’S COURTSHIP. [ARTICLE]

PETTIBONE’S COURTSHIP.

I was first smitten with Jane at a concert. She was a tidy, black-eyed young woman in pink ribbons. 1 thought I had never beheld such a vision of purely mundane loveliness. Perhaps I never had—l was young then. Attending her was a tall, lank youth with a freckled skin and red hair, against whom I conceived at once an invincible prejudice. I did not know the young man. Worse still, I did not know Jane, and worst of all, he did. I naturally hated him profoundly for this advantage. It will be unnecessary to relate the violent means I took to scrape an acquaintance, how I surreptitiously followed the pink ribbons home and stealthily read the name “ Porter ” on the door-plate; how I haunted the street in my Sunday-clothes till I made myself an object of suspicion to the police; how I discovered that her father was a dentist, and that she had a formidable step-mother; how I found out the church she attended, and hired a seat behind her ; how I sent her valentines, left anonymous bouquets on the door-step, and all, alas! to ao purpose. It is needless to describe my bitter but futile chagrin all this, time at seeing the red-headed youth frequent the house oir the most familiar terms; nothing, certainly, but my native firmness of principle sr/. ed him from assassination. Driven at length to desperate straits, I resorted to a desperate expedient. I went to consult her father professionally. I entered his office with guilty misgivings. I trembled lest he should divine my real purpose. He was a thin little man with a weak voice and a hacking cough. None the less I regarded him with profound reverence. Nay, I invested him with an air ot distinction; was not he the father of Jane ? Indeed, I esteemed it an undeserved honor to be allowed to remain in his presence, so long had I yearned to know somebody who belonged to her, my heart’s idol. I may say, briefly, in passing, that I presently recovered from that yearning. But to return to the point, let me premise that I had tine teeth. I had never felt a twinge of toothache in my life, but nevertheless, that cold, hard, remorseless little—but no; I will not stigmatize him now. Poor wretch, his path was not of roses, and he has long since gone the way of all the living. Suffice it to say he examined my teeth; he punched and prodded with various tools ; he filed to find a nerve; he failed to make me wince. I think he was very much disappointed; nevertheless he preserved an ominous silence. I consulted his face; he wore an inscrutable but determined expression. I asked him feebly if he found anything requiring attention. He uttered a vague and inarticulate exclamation and proceeded to set forth a tray of diabolical-looking instruments; wrenches, gouges, vises, hooks, files, pinchers and scrapers, together with much cotton wool and cold water, gs though he • expected a hemorrhage. My heart began to beat like a trip-hammer and my stomach felt as though it were sinking into a bottomless pit. I affected to laugh, while a clammy perspiration bedewed my forehead. “Ha!ha !” I cried hoarsely. “Why, doctor, you look as though you—you were preparing for a campaign.” The doctor with a grim taciturnity went on with his preparations, during which every shred of courage oozed from my craven heart. “ Do—do yon find that there is much to be done?” I asked at length, huskily. “We shall see better, presently,” he returned coldly, as he examined the point of a fiendish-looking instrument nnd waited for me to resume a recumbent position. I lay back submissively, and he began to file away on a magnificent molar. J maintained my self-control by constantly repeating : “It is Jane’s father, and, after all, what signifies one tooth ?” During a pause in his proceedings, while he stopped to rest his arms, I took advantage of the opportunity to make a slight advance. “Dr. Porter,” I began, “you are—ahem—haven’t I seen you at the Bev. Dr. Longtext’s church ? ” “ Quite likely.” “ Very fine preacher, Mr. Longtext? ”

“I don’t agree with you.” “Ah, indeed, that is—l meant to say it is pleasant to go there on account of the music.” “ The choir is abominable,” This was not encouraging, I subsequently learned that, having for many J ears been dragged to this church by is strong-minded wife, Dr. Porter held everything connected with it in detestation. After this rebuff I lay back again in the operating-chair, seeing no other alternative. This time he began on the upper jaw. “What, another? Excuse me,” I cried, struggling into a sitting posture. “Pray excuse me, but—er—do you think—is there anything—what can be the matter with that tooth ? ” The implacable little doctor looked coldly out of the window and made no reply. ‘•I think,” 1 continued, weakly, “I think that perhaps I won’t have anything more done at this time.” “As you please,” returned the doctor, with an air of displeasure. “ Why, of course,” I ad led nervously, “I shall do whatever you say, but I—er —do you think there is any pressing hurry?” “Ahem; you must take the responsibility of waiting, sir 1 ” replied the doctor with an air that need not be described. “Goon!” I said with a groan, as I lay back on the rack. Lying thus supinely, while he with main strength honeycombed another splendid grinder, I bethought me of a new tack, and so, taking advantage of the next breathing spell, I began: “ Doctor—er—have you—er—a daugh —that is—l have noticed a young lady in your pew, and I—l thought perhaps she might be a relative of yours ? ” . “ Yes! ” replied my tormentor, with a rising inflection, as he got out more cotton wool. ‘ ‘ I was thinking— #r —of getting up a —er —a little picnic; it is so desirable to promote sociability among the young people of the church—l should like to invite her if—that is ” I hesitated and blushed. The doctor sharpened his instrument and coughed dryly. “ My daughter knows too many young people, already. I—that is—her mother goes not approve of bq much gadding.”

“Of course We should need a matron, and I should be glad—er—highly honored if Mrs. Porter would join us,’ 1 1 faltered with shameless hypocrisy. “Thankyou; I will inform them of the invitation,” said the doctor, coldly, as he prepared to go to work. I submitted myself to two or three hours more of rasping and gouging, cheered at the thought of my masterly stratagem. I went home that night with a sense of nervous exhaustion, and my head feeling like a barrel; but, firm in my purpose, the next day I repaired early to the doctor’s office, supported against prospective torture by the inspiring vision of success. The doctor went silently and grimly on with his work, and finished with a second and a third tooth. But yet not a word of the invitation. Just as I was upon the point of sounding him upon this subject he suddenly startled me to my heart’s core by saying, coolly: “Oh, here’s a tooth that must come out!” “ Eh, what!” I cried, springing from the chair. “No, no. Stop ! stop !” “ Oh, don’t be scared; it won’t kill you !” said the merciless little man, regarding me with a contemptuous, smile. “ I—l won’t have it out. You want to hack me to pieces I You want to make a ruin of me!” I cried, indignantly. -The doctor sneered, and said, quietly, but with an air of exasperating significance, as he turned away: “ You needn't get so excited, young man ! You needn’t have it done unless you choose. ” “ What do you mean ?” I asked, nervously. “What’s the matter? Is the tooth decayed ?” “ No; but it soon will be I” “ And then?” “It will ulcerate, and you will probably lose a piece of your jawbone. ” Scared beyond expression at this alternative, I hesitated. The doctor saw his advantage and pursued it. “It will only be for a moment,” he said, picking up his forceps, and concealing them behind him as he advanced. “No, no,” I cried, with my knees knocking together; “that is—yes—or rather if it must be done; but—give me chloroform I might fainting fits —do you think ’twill have much of a root ?”

Then, in the midst of my terror, recollecting what all this sacrifice was for, I cried feebly as the wretch fastened his horrid forceps on my beautiful tooth: “About the invitation—what —what I” “Ah,” said the "doctor, gathering all his little strength for the coming wrench, “ Mrs. Porter is much obliged to yon; she accepts the invitation with pleasure.” I seized the arms of my chair. Nerved by the sweet thought of success, I sustained the ordeal like a hero. “But,” continued the doctor, coolly, as I rose from the chair with a bound, and regarded him with an air of triumph and relief, “my daughter regrets that she will be unable to do so on account of another engagement 1 ” Defeated, humiliated, incensed, I rushed from the office of the perfidious little dentist. I cursed the stepmother; I vowed I wouldn’t have her. I found means to give up the picnic. I even tried to give up Jane, but all in vain. And so for three long, dreary months I racked my brain to devise some new scheme to further my purpose. Atlength Fate came to my aid. One Sunday afternoon I came out upon the church steps to find Jane there, looking heavenly in a new spring bonnet, and rain falling heavily. She gazed about in dismay as the people, one by one, departed, and the sexton began shutting the doors. It was then that, summoning up all my resolution, I advanced, with my heart in my mouth, and said :

“ Miss Porter, I believe? ” “ Yes,” she replied, regarding me suspiciously. “If you will allow me—offer you—share of—umbrella,” I gasped out. “ You are very kind—l don’t know— I expected my brother, but—” Meanwhile I had been opening my umbrella, and now stepped alongside and offered my arm. With a coy and guarded air she took it. As she placed her small, mitted hand in the crook of my elbow, I felt a titillation that tingled all through me to the very ends of my toes. When we arrived at her house it rained so very hard that Jane had no alternative but to ask me in. I needed no second bidding. On entermg the parlor, we found Mrs. Porter, a large and imposing woman with manly air, enthroned in an easy chair. “This,” said Jane, presenting me, “is Mr. Pettibone; he has been kind enough to bring me home.” “Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Porter, giving me a searching look, and adding in a condescending tone, “he is very good; pray, sir-r, be seated !” She pronounced the short ceremonial title with such a ponderous roll of the r that it seemed a rather awful appellation, and 1 sat down with a quailed and guilty feeling. “I wasn’t aware,” she went on, “that you were acquainted with my daughter. ” “ I—l wasn’t, but I—it rained so very hard—”

“I couldn’t stay there all night, and nobody came for me. lam sure it was extremely kind of Mr. Pettibone, and I am very much obliged to him whether he was acquainted with me or not,” interposed Jane, sharply, drawing her mother’s fire. “I remarked,” returned the latter lady, in a powerful baritone voice, “I remarked, Miss Porter, that the gentleman was Very good; but,” she added, with great emphasis and significance, “ the question as to the propriety of receiving such marked kindness from strangers. ” “If I am to be left to the mercy of strangers, I shall accept their kindness, and gratefully, too, ” retorted Jane, shutting her lips very tight. “ I was about to remark, Miss Porter, if you had given me the opportunity, that your father and brother are both absent, and you can hardly expect that I—” “Oh, no; no, indeed; I never fora moment indulged in any such fond delusion,” interrupted Jane in an ironical tone. This little episode between Jane lyid her step-mamma, seemingly so trivial, proved of the utmost importance to me. Driven to undertake my defense by the criticism of her imposing relative, Jane was led perversely to take an interest in me which I might otherwise have vainly striven to awaken, and I was rewarded on leaving with a cordial invitation to call.

I was not slow in availing myself of the privilege, but the first time I went, and while I was sitting in the parlor, with my heart all in a flutter, waiting Jane to come down, the door opened, and who should walk in but the redheaded youth. Here was a situation. He coolly stared at me. I fiercely glared at him. He took no notice of this, but threw himself familiarly into a chair and crossed his legs, as though he had come for the evening. This was more than I could stand. “Sir,” I said, inflamed with wrath and jealousy, “ there is one too many of us here. I came on invitation; if you are going to stay, I will leave. ” “Eh! Who the devil are you?” he exclaimed, with impudent sang froid. “I—I! No matter who I am, sir. We two cannot stay in this house together, that’s all! ’ I cried, starting from my seat in a transport. At this minute'Jane came in. She shook hands cordially, smiled, and then, tuniing toward the red .headed youth, said, “ This is mv brother, Mr. Pettibone !” Mrs. Porter looked upon me from the first with a disapproval which rapidly ripened to aversion. As for me, I may

as well be candid and say at once that I was afraid of her. And with a good cause; she was a woman born to rule. She held the little doctor and his auburn son completely under her thumb. Jane was the only member of the family who dared withstand her. It was, perhaps, the consciousness of my shrinking dread of her step-mother that made Jane mere than usually gracious, and rendered my progress swift to a degree that proved to my conservative temperament somewhat bewildering. As my ardor cooled before the prospect of a daily encounter with this family Gorgon, Jane became, in turn, more tender and encouraging. Indeed, in after years, when Mrs. Pettibone and I—at rare, very rare, intervals —have indulged in little mutual, mutual —let us say explanations—l have sometimes timidly hinted in self-defense that she did the lion’s share of the wooing ; for which I have been instantly and perhaps deservedly silenced by the Unpalatable avowal that she “had only married me to spite her step-mother.” What good ground there was for these mutual accusations maybe best gathered from a little conversation that took place between Jane and me one evening on the door-step, a conversation which, I may say, sealed my fate. It was a bright moonlight evening. We were sitting in the shadow of the porch. I was absently holding Jane’s hand. “Mr. Pettibone,” she said, suddenly, “how long have we known each other?” “About three months, I believe.” “ It seems ever so long, doesn’t it?” “Well, ye-es; it does.” “It’s because we’ve seen so much of each other.” “ I dare say.” “You’ve been here a great deal, haven’t you ?” “Have I?”

I dropped Jane’s hand with a discomfited feeling. She let it rest on my arm, and edged a little nearer. “ Why, yes; I never had a gentleman call so often—that is, not lately.” “I—l’m sorry,” I faltered, “Is’pose it must look rather particular.” “Eh! Why so?” I inquired, with a vague feeling of alarm. “Why, it might—that is, folks might say that you—you almost must mean something ! ” Jane’s hand was again lying in mine, though I didn’t put it there. “ Mean—mean something? ” I echoed. “Yes.” Jane’s head was now leaning on my shoulder. I don’t know how it happened. I only know I had not stirred. “But I— l assure you I don’t,” I stammered, very much embarrassed. “ What’s that ? ” cried Jane, sharply, sitting bolt upright and withdrawing her hand violently. “That is, I should say—of course, I do.” There was now a long silence, during which Jane’s head gradually sank to its former position. “You say, you—you do, Mr. Pettibone ? ” “ Do —I beg pardon—do what—that is, Miss Porter ? 3 ’ ‘ ‘ Do —mean —something, ” whispered Jane, encouragingly, from my shoulder. Suddenly, as by an electric thrill, I found my tongue. The vision of the step-mother vanished. It all came out. I talked away wildly and incoherently. I have often and often since wondered at my own rashness, but the end of it all was I found myself holding Jane very tightly about the waist, while her head reposed confidingly upon my bosom.