Jasper Republican, Volume 1, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 November 1874 — RIGOLOT'S ORDEALS. [ARTICLE]

RIGOLOT'S ORDEALS.

You were told some weeks ago how my French friend, Blaise Rigolot, became enamored of the dowry of Miss Ruth Cumleigh, and succeeded in intruding himself upon her attention. This week he and I have been staying at Cumleigh Lodge, in Surrey, to honor the pheasant preserves; but we have been doing something else besides shoot, thanks to the ingenious spirit of Miss Ruth. You recollect being informed that Mr. Cumleigh had fallen into bad odor among society, owing to Miss Ruth’s eccentric proceedings. Having a romantic mania for testing the personal courage of her adorers, this young lady had played pranks upon certain well-connected gentlemen —notably a guardsman or two — and these pranks had redounded more to Miss Ruth’s perspicacity than to the glorification of her victims. To revenge themselves, the well-connected gentlemen who had been made to show the white feather had spread the report that Mr. Cumleigh was disgracefully bad form, a person of whose antecedents nothing was known, and must have made his fortune by modes of which no rightthinking mind could approve. As for me, I only half-believed this; but having a great opinion of myself, like the rest of you, 1 hesitated to accept Mr. Cumleigh’s invitation, and it was only at the instant supplication of Rigolot that I at length condescended to accompany him. When we arrived Miss Ruth thanked me with a demure little bow for the honor 1 was doing her father’s roof, and hoped that I should not find the hospitality of it too humble. This was nonsense, for a less humble place could not be found by advertising. Cumleigh Lodge is rich, luxurious and yet tasteful; for those who, knowing little of the houses of city plutocrats, prate of the ostentatious vulgarity of these abodes, forget that men like >lr. Cumleigh seldom consult their own tastes in the matter of furniture, but appeal to artistic upholsterers. Before I had spent a cock-round at the lodge I could not help wishing that some of the aristocracy, among whom my acquaintances chiefly lie—as I think I was good enough to explain to you before—would take a leaf out of this city man’s book. The only thing to complain of was that among the other guests invited were a trifle too many fellow-city-men, strongly perfumed with gold. But, after all, gold is a good perfume. The other morning, then, after a satisfying breakfast of game pies, we observed that the sky was weeping, and, as sport was difficult under the circumstances, I strolled into the billiard-room and began knocking the balls about, waiting for Rigolot to join me. I had scarcely been so engaged a minute when Ruth Cirthleigh glided in with a gravity of purpose on her pretty face. She was adorably fresh —dressed in a butt costume or ecru linen, with a velvet band and large medallion round her neck, velvet bracelets round her wrist, and a scarlet rose stuck, as by the merest accident, in her girdle. Laying a finger on her lips she motioned to me to follow her into the conservatory adjoining the billiard-room, and there, when I had let fall the door curtain, she said: “Mr. Trefoil.” “ Miss Cumleigh.” “ Your French friend is making violent love to me.” “ I do not wonder at it.” “ It’s a matter of taste; but I should be careful before marrying a French man.” “ An authentic Yiscount, I believe.” “ Oh, foreign Viscounts! And then I have no faith in the courage of these Frenchmen. They boast too much, and I would not give a pin for a man who boasted and had no courage. He would be sure to tyrannize and make one wretched and ashamed of him. What is your opinion of Monsieur Rigolot?” •“ Try him.” “ That is what I mean to do if you will help me. There is a ghost who is said to haunt a churchyard near here. Do you think Monsieur Rigolot is afraid of ghosts?” “ I have little taste for them myself, but a Frenchman may be above such prejudice.” “ And do you think Monsieur Rigolot would like to be awoke at night by two armed burglars pointing revolvers in his face?” asked Miss Ruth, fixing her large eyes on me. “ I can only answer for myself and confess that a night so disturbed would be most disagreeably noted in my memory." “ Well, I think that will do then,” said the pleasant young lady, gravely; “ and to-morrow, if he gets through the two trials creditably, I will tell himth at papa has received a telegram saying that his fortune is in jeopardy. I shall see then whether your friend cares for me or my money.” I laughed,she laughed, and between us we agreed to submit Rigolot to as uncomfortable a series of ordeals as I have ever heard devised. So that evening at dinner-, just as the soup was being removed, and before any of the guests had

time to draw an artificial courage from wine, Ruth Cumleigh remarked quietly: “Papa, it’s to-night the ghost pays his yearly visit to Gravehill Churchyard.” « My dear child, how can you say such foolish things?” “ Mademoiselle believes in ghosts, sen?” inquired Rigolot, displaying his white teeth on the other side of the table. “In undoubted ghosts, Monsieur Rigolot, and this one has frightened several people to death. I’m sure it makes one’s flesh creep to think of it. Don’t you believe in ghosts?” Rigolot’s handsome face at once became serious. / “ Zere are more zings in heaven and earth zan we dream of, as your Shakespirie says, Mademoiselle; I cannot deny vat I know nozing about; but I care not for ghosts—l mock myself of zem—for vat can zey do to me?” “ The answer of a sensible and brave man, Mossheer Rigolot,” exclaimed Mr. Cumleigh with approval, and the other city men, their'wives and mobile incumbrances, concurred. But Ruth ejaculated, smilingly, as if skeptical: “ Well, would you dare to go and stand in Gravehill Churchyard alone at midnight, Monsieur Rigolot?” My friend made one of his inimitable French bows and asked whether Miss Ruth would favor him with her com pany; but she answered that the test of poco eurante ism in these cases consisted in being quite solitary. Accordingly it was understood that the Frenchman should set out for Gravehill unattended at half-past eleven; and I am bound to own that the prospect of this excursion did not interfere in the least with Rigolot’s good humor or appetite. He ate, chatted, and joked as usual, took rather less wine if anything than his wont, and at the appointed time, notwithstanding the dissuasions of Mr. Cumleigh, who begged him not to consider the whims of a spoiled child, he donned his hat and overcoat and sallied forth. It was especially noticed that he did not take a stick or umbrella. As soon as he was gone Ruth hastened to her room, and in ten minutes reappeared, having changed her dress and put on a thick shawl and bonnet. I was in waiting to give her my arm, and together we walked cut, going at a fast pace to reach the churchyard before midnight. It was about five minutes to twelve when we arrived, and, looking through a crevice in the low wall that surrounded the churchyard, we perceived the Frenchman sitting unconcernedly astride a tombstone. There was no rain, the moon was beaming, and, tall, very funereal, shadows were cast into the depths of the buttresses; and on one side of the spire, which rose straight and high in the clear air, Rigolot’s face stood full in the moonlight, and we could see that his indifference was perfect. Humming a tune, he drew a cigar-case from his pocket and struck a fusee on the tombstone. “ Manly, but profane,” whispered Ruth, clinging to my arm. It was at that very moment when midnight clanged from the steeple; and, precisely to the hour, a towering white apparition glided from the gloom of the church-porch and walked straight toward Rigolot. Not to alarm anybody, it may be stated that this apparition was nothing but a gardener’s boy, who was a great ally of Ruth’s in these adventures, and who played his part by the customary means of a sheet and a pole with a phosphorized mangel-wurzel at the top. This gardener’s boy then advanced; but the instant he began to be seen stalking among the tombs Rigolot raised a bright, joyous laugh—without a quaver in it—jumped from his grave and walked to meet him. The ghost was not prepared for this move, and receded; Rigolot followed. The ghost, thoroughly mystified, broke ground; then, seeing the Frenchman continue to approach, turned tail and ran. Hereupon Rigolot’s merry voice rang out in reiterated peals, and he called out, wjith wonderful intrepidity and archness: “ Come, don’t be afraid of me, my good ghost; lam only a man. Accept a ceegarre!” Ruth was abashed as we made our way home. There was no doubt Rigolot had got the best of the first bout, and I suggested the propriety of dispensing him from the burglar ordeal. But the arrangements had already been made. That gardener’s boy, a young city gentleman, named Tuttle, who had been sworn into the conspiracy, and myself had all rehearsed for climbing into Rigolot’s balcony with crape masks on our faces; and both Ruth and Tuttle anticipated too much good fun from this performance to be balked of it. Well* it was not such good fun after all, especially for Tuttle. I pass over the congratulations which Rigolot received on his return from the ghost expedition, and come at once to the small hour of three in the morning, when the gardener, Tuttle and I found ourselves climbing a ladder under Rigolot’s balcony, and each with a horse-pistol in his hands. Tuttle led the way, and, being provided with a glazier’s instrument for cutting glass, coolly removed a pane, passed his hand through the aperture, opened the window, and walked in. He had some difficulty in suppressing his grins, but he did not grin long. I have never heard for certain what actually ensued; but it seems that Rigolot was awakened by the noise, faint as it was, and seeing a burglar—there was a nightlight on the chimney-piece—leaped out of bed, flew to a drawer, and, extracting a revolver, thence let fly the whole six barrels at Tuttle without a word of warning. In saying six barrels, however, it is fair to mention that Tuttle did not wait for any barrels after the first, for in one bound he was on the balcony, and in a second he had dropped headlong on to the flower-bed, twenty feet below, without so much as touching the ladder. The gardener and I followed in a state of emotion which you may be left to imagine, for we heard the bullets crushing with fearful bangs through one pane after another; but possibly Rigolot did not really aim at any of us, for it was noticed afterward that the bullets went through the upper panes. Well, Rigolot had triumphed -in. two trials, but the worst was set him just before luncheon that day. All the morn

ing there had been panic-stricken talk among the city men about the presumed burglary of the night, and Rigolot had even given his version of that startling episode to a couple of policemen who •were sent for from the village. He was calm in his account, and strictly modest; in fact, hia attitude was such as would have given any ordinary young lady the highest opinion of him. And yet toward one o’clock Ruth Cumleigh, her face sparkling with mischief, suddenly passed through the room where I was, and, beckoning to me with her finger, said: “Just stand behind the door, Mr. Trefoil, and you’ll see.” Rigolot was seated, reading. He rose and abruptly exclaimed: “ Why, what is the matter, Mademoiselle? You are crying.” The artful puss was, indeed, passing her handkerchief over heT eyes. “ Oh, never mind me, Monsieur Rigolot ; it’s only for poor papa I case; he has just received a letter announcing his ruin.” “ Good heavens! ruin!” “ Yes, complete ruin. It seems he will not be able to save a shilling. Oh, dear! to think he should suffer like this!” “Ruin!” exclaimed Rigolot,with an extraordinary outburst of feeling. “Ah, Mademoiselle, forgive me for saying such a hard zing, but I am half glad of this. Yes ; I had long loved you; but you were rich, and I feared my attentions might be misjudged. But now z&t I am richer zan you say, my beautiful, darling Ruth, you vill be mine!” And hereon I, behind my door, heard something not unlike kisses; protests; then more kissing. An hour later Rigolot c»me to me in the garden and said: “Mon cher, I marry myself to Mees Ruth,” “ I congratulate you, Rigolot.” Then Rigolot winked—such a wink. “ I was in the billiard-room yesterday morning and overheard you both.”— Golden Age.