Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 August 1883 — BUDELL'S PROPOSAL. [ARTICLE]

BUDELL'S PROPOSAL.

This time two years ago our Square Glub wasflourishing; now I am sole member.Trudell, Marby, Smithers and, myself had formed oui selves into -a private bachelors’ club, for the purpose of whist and other intellectual occupations, and a very good time we contrived to have together. We hadn’t many rules* and by-laws for our club. We were sworn bachelors and each-of us had to allege a reason why he did not intend to wed ; hut we had so far recognized the possibility of a change in our sentiments as to solemnly bind ourselves to inform the club at once if we should ever meditate “halving our pleasures and doubling our expenses.” Smithers said he hadn’t time to marry; I was too poor, and Marby, who was regarded as our roman tie mender, gave us indefinitely to understand that "blighted affections’’ stood between him and the hymeneal altar. Budell at first laughed at the idea of assigning a reason, and he wished to allege that he hadn’t met Mrs. Budell yet. That was unanimously rejected by the rest of the club; whereupon he insisted upon our accepting as an alternative that he was afraid of ladies. We were willing to stretch a point in favor of Budell, who was one of the jolliest possible fellows at a bachelor supper, and so ive received this second reason. For the rest we nobly resolved not to fly, but to withstand temptation; our maxim was that every lady is charming so long as one is not married to her, and we were all ready to go into society, and even sustain the reputation of being “dancing men.” We used to relate to each other over our celibate pipes wonderful stories of narrow escapes from guileful women every season; but if these were all as dependent upon the narrator’s fancy for thfeir important details as my contributions to the conversation, the escapes were somewhat more than hair’s-breadth. Budell was especially a favorite in society; he was one of those rare young barristers with some practice, and he had beside a very comfortable allowance from his father. Like 4he rest of the club, I had taken as a Joke his assertion that he was afraid of ladies; but I gradually came to see that -.there was some truth in it. So long asBudell was in a large company—in a iball-room or any place like that—he tv as quite at his ease and as bold as a lion; but if by any chdncp he happened to fall a temporary captive to a solitary damsel’s bow and spean he was almost overwhelmed with nervousness, and his usual powers of conversation completely deserted him. I once met him at the Royal Academy, escorting a very pretty young lady, and looking as uneasy as if he had a worse, conscience than King Herod; and I have seen him tremble at a mere passing mention of the conservatory by his partner at a dance./ However, in the Square Cl'iib he was our most enthusiastic member, andii horror and indidwatlon Allied! ofir rfbfils whefl' we realised the direful fact that 4 Budell was in love and doing, Jiis.xbeaUto get married. Had we bteen women we might probably have seen the' symptoms of'the advancing malady; but we were only obtuse and |hOrWghted men. Now as I look biek over these months, I recall incidents that might have been warnings? The gradual decrease of Budell’s hilarity at the club and the gradual increase of his excursions into society could hardly, indeed, have been portents, for Budell always did go into society more than the rest of us. The first allusion that he made to me about the lady who was afterward to play Beatrice to his Benedict was at a concert —or rather in a cloak-room after a concert. “That’s what I call a pretty girl,” he whispered to me, “that darkeyed girl over there in the warm, fleecy brown shawl—none of your flimsy white opera cloaks. ” The girl was pretty in a fresh piquant sort of way; and even a eworn bachelor might have been exoused for being pleased at receiving such a frank smile as she greeted Budell with. Again, not many days after he remarked to me apropos des bottes: “Met rather an interesting girl last night; quite agrees with me on the <subject of names.” I may be excused for neglecting this hint; Budell I think would have found a mollusc “interesting” if it had only agreed with him that there was nothing more objectionable than to have one’s name murdered. He wan nervously anxious that his name should be pronounced with the accent <£>n the second syllable; and I afterward

found that he had been introduced (for the second time), to this “interesting girl” as “Boodle.” “Just as though I rhymed to noodle”—ai he indignantly expressed it. But the most important hint was given the night after Mrs. Burton’s ball, at which -we had all been present. We were lounging in Budell’s rooms, and Smithers was giving us a highly-colored and graphic illustration of the frivolity that passes for conversation between young men and maidens. “That’s all nonsense,” broke in Budell; “it’s your- own fault at any rate. Why, last night I had quite a serious and interesting conversation’ about woman’s education, with a ‘maiden.’ I even quoted Scripture to her. ” “Bet you a hat you misquoted,” said the irreverent Smithers, who thought every one was as ignorant as himself. * “No, I’m not joking; it's a fact, and I got an idea or two, let me tell you.” Had he only told us .that he had ventured into. the conversation in order to carry on his conversation without interruption, I am convinced that I, at least, would have surmised that the acquisition of an idea or two was not the only result. However, I was not long in my state of ignorance. One day, a month or so after, Budell hunted me up to confide to me that the bachelor’s club was all bosh; he was over head and ears in love, and did I think hb ought to tell the other men? Then there followed a shower of apolbgetics in which “soft brown eyes” and goodness - knows what other personal attractions were prominent. Wheq I recovered breath I assured him |hatj thought it’WAs quite incumbent up<m him to inform the* club. ’ I was rigid and cold with»him, I felt indignhnfff it was almost an insult to select me as’ 1 his confidant, as though my celibate principles, were less fixed than Marby?s or Smithers’. • v-• . His announcement that evening was received insitence by the Square Club; even SraJbhers had at first nothing to say. At last Marby asked: « *-«Is it to inquire the lady’s name, and when the marriage is to take place ?” Budell looked uncomfortable. “Well, the fact is,” he said, £1 thought I ought to tell the club at once; but I haven’t—that is; I don’t ; quite know how to set about asking the lady.”--. t • . ' ' Budell looked so comically distressed as he made this confession that the club hailed it-with a shout of laughter. The notion of the bold and confident Budell finding himself muzzled by the tender passiop was too suggestive for our risibility. Budell was seriously annoyed. “I don’t think,” he said, “that my courtesy to the club has been met with courtesy.” He glared at me as if I especially had been guilty of revealing his confidence. We apologized humbly, and at last pacified him. He really was puzzled as to how to accomplish his proposal. Marby suggested the old-fashioned plan of plumping down on his knees, like a swain in a valentine; but Budell paled visibly. It was such a cold-blooded way, he objected; yet it appeared he had almost adopted it on tjvo occasions. The first time a little brute of a brother had inopportunely appeared. “I never knew a nice girl that hadn’t a brute of a brother,” exclaimed Budell, hastily generalizing, and on the second occasion he had even got to the length of informing the object of his affections (to adopt a phrase that used to madden Budell) that he had something to tell her, when her mother entered, and he had hastily to devise some idiotic fact about a flower-show. It was quite evident that his nerve was not quite equal to a third attempt. I suggested that he should write, but it seemed that the young lady, in talking about a certain novel, had laughed the hero to scorn for resorting to so cowardly a plan as writing his proposal. “Can’t you save her life in some thrilling manner, and then cast yourself at her feet ? asked the romantic Marby. “Or can’t you get overtaken in a shower, and then you could neatly ask her to share your lot as well as your umbrella?”suggested Smithers. Budell smiled faintly. “It’s all very, well for you fellows to make fun of it when you haven’t to do it yourselves; but all the same it’s a ticklish thing to do well. I wish to do it in a neat, and direct manner without any humbug.”

“It’s my opinion,” said Smithers, “that you’ll end by ‘popping the question’ ,in some altogether extjaordinary and absurd manner.” “Very well, sir,” said Budell with dignity, “we shall see. ” But when we. left him, the. idea of the irrepressible Budell being tongue-tied before a dainty little damsel who couldn’t even sit on a jury, came upon us again with, redoubled force, and we awoke the echoes of the sflent street with renewed;shouts of laughter. Poor BudelJ' could find no opportunity of settling his fate. He revolved .drearily round my rooms, where he materially interfered with my work by constantly putting skillfully-elaborated qgpstiops to me. devised to extract my opinion as to Ids ladv-love, without revealing her name. I i6se and" fell in his es imatiou us my answers he desired or not, and L committed myself to an immense number qf definite opinions as to the preference between blondes and brunettes, large mouths and small ears, etc. “ Whether do ypu prefer Greek or Saxon names for ladies ?” he once ashed me. I answered at random that I liked them, both equally. “Np, but really,” he persisted. “I mean modern names derived from these languages.” “Well,” I replied at a venture, “I like Saxon names.” “Do you,” he ex claimed; “why, so do I. For example, I don’t think you could find a prettier name than Edith anywhere.” “Oho!” I cried, “her name is Edith, is it?” Budell blushed, but couldn’t deny it, and I dare say he would have revealed her surname also had I pressed him. August brought mean invitation from Will Carlyon to spend a fortnight at his father’s place in Scotland, and have a shot at the grouse. “I’ve asked Marby, Smithers and Budell,” he wrote, “and I expect them all. I know you four have frightful chains-and-slavery notions about matrimony; but there are lots of nice girls staying here with Fanny, and if you don’t all go home with the full intention of forthwith be-

coming Benedicts I shall be surprised. Anyhow, we have plenty of birds.” When I arrived I found the house full of pleasant men. Mid agreeable girls; while the grouse gave very fair sport. The club was there in full force. Budell was in tolerable spirits, and came out in grand style as master ol the ceremonies, and as the originator of all sorts of amusements. He was toe busy to inflict any more confidences, but I had no reason to suppose that he had yet accomplished his purpose. One afternoon a heavy rain-storm had driven the sportsmen in sooner than usual; I was examining my breechloader in the gun-room when Smithers mysteriously requested me to come tq the smoking-room at once. There J found Budell and Marby. Smithers had convened the club, and we hadfthe room to ourselves. He briefly explained his object. “I have an announcement to make,” he said, “similar to one made by Budell not long since. I’m going to follow his example, and I hereby in-< vite you all to the wedding. Likq Budell, I haven’t yet put the final question, but I am not afraid of the answer. I have no objection to tell you that the young lady is at present in this house, and that her name is Miss Maxwell.” “Good heavens I” ejaculated Budell. “Well,” said Marby, “I may as well take this opportunity of informing the club that I, too, am going to follow suit. Only I’ve taken the precaution to speak to the lady Jirst, and Finny Car]yon is shortly going to become Mrs. ,* I was thunderstruck. “In that case,” I said, with dignity, as I strode from the room, “I am the only member of the Square Club.” < Just as I was tying my necktie a few, Tninutes before dinner, and reflecting that, through nervousness, want of leisure and even blighted affections might be got over, I, at least, had a reason that would preserve me from matrimony, Budell hurried into my room. “Lodk here,” he said, ‘TnfinA deiice’ 1 of a box! Smithers is going.ifo propcww ; to Miss Maxwell, and, hang it; that’s Edith ir ” : ’ : “Wliat! You both in love with Miss Max'w&l ?” “Yes, and that forward beast, Smithers, will be sure to propose right off; and I’ve never had a good opportunity.” “My dear Budell, you must make your opportunity. Do it to-night.” “To-night! Why, it’s dinn&r time already J and after dinner we’re to have those blessed tableaux vivants; and goodness knows what Smithers will do while I’m looking after the wretched affairs. And then, to-morrow, I’ve promised Carlyon to start for the east moor at 9 o’clock. ’F I endeavored to comfort him by suggesting that possibly Miss Maxwell might refuse Smithers; but Budell shuddered at the possibility of being forestalled. He was palpably upset, and he looked nervous and anxious all dinner-time. The company generally attributed it to the theatrical responsibility, but they were wrong, Budell was too old a hand to be anxious about anything so simple as tableaux vivants. Smithers, on the other hand, had secured a seat beside Miss Maxwell, and seemed to be making himself vastly agreeable. The tableaux began immediately after dinner, and they were a great success. Budell had skillfully arranged them, without attempting to make them into series, and music, supposed to be appropriate or to have reference to each tableau, was played while the curtain was up. Curiously enough in the second last tableau, Miss Maxwell, Smithers and Budell were to appear by themselves, and still more curiously the subject of it was “The Rivals.” Where Budell had got it I don’t know; probably in his inner consciousness. It was supposed to be a woodland scene in the paint-and-powder days. A young lady was discovered seated on a bank with a

lover kneeling at her seat, and holding one of her hands. At a little distance, and unseen by either of the lovers, was a rival glaring from among the trees at the unsuspecting pair. The tableau was very effective. Miss Maxwell looked very charming in her costume, and Smithers glared splendidly. Budell’s face it was impossible to see, for his back was turned to the audience. Up till now the performers had all managed to remain as rigid as statues, but in this tableau Miss Maxwell, who had already appeared several times, seemed to lose her nerve. The curtain had not been up a minute when she started, looked down at Budell, and at last, flushing crimson, fairly ran off the stage. However, the last tableau went off without a hitch, and the slight mistake did not affect the. general verdicts An adjournment was made to have a dance in the hall, and I was: standing idly lookingbn- ■when JradelKbnjpe more* in his usual garb, rushetl up to’ me in a fever of excitement..' “By George, qw,” he whispered, “congratulate me! "I’ve done it; it’s all right.” And he! dragged me along with him from the hkll into the “What on earth do you mean, man?” I exclaimed. “What have you done?” “I’ve proposed, sir, and I’ve .been accepted.” ? I cordially congratulated him, and then I inquired : “How did you manage it—when did you find the time—and where the courage?” “I’ll tell you. I did it in that tableau. Under cover of music I told Edith that in all sober earnestness I was at her feet, not in jest alone; and I asked her to be my wife. That’s why she ran away.” “No wonder!” I interjected. “Wasn’t it splendid doing it under Smithers’ very eyes? And then, of course, I saw Edith afterward in the little drawing-room; and shell be here directly, whenever she has changed her costume. ” “Well, Fm glad you’ve settled it; and I think Smithers was right when he said you would end by proposing in some extraordinary way. And it seems to me that it was decidedly embarrassing for Miss Maxwell.” Smithers married Edith Maxwell’s sister eighteen months after the tableau. A Dresden artist has made a watch entirely of paper, which keeps good time.