Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 September 1881 — BACHELOR JACK. [ARTICLE]

BACHELOR JACK.

“Cold, wretchedly cold 1 And what is a fellow to do with himseil?” Bachelor Jack. If be had only a wife and half a dozen responsibilities the want of occupation would be the least of his anxieties. If Jack bad been a man of business there would have been some help for his ennui. He thought he was. But what claim has he to the name cf a business man who isasileut partner in two or thres houses and lets others do the active wotk? What occupation is there in receiving in dividends more money than you can spend! Jack had not even the occupation of making “both ends meet.” And ho was in no small danger of lapsing into bad habits for the mere waut of employment. He had even made his will. He had not a hobby. Several had he tried and ridden them to death; and just now, at the beginning of a snow-storm, on a winter morning, he had the whole day before him. He was too much a bachelor to be willing to get his feet damp. His room affected the air and ap pearance of the den of a literary bachelor with some young American Deculiarities. It was furnished with a comfortable carpet, chairs, lounges and fire. There was a suspicion ot Lynchburg tobacco in the* atmosphere, and piles or books and papers alternated with meerschaum, brier-wood, Pocahontas, and pipes of curious form, both clay and porcelain. Walking sticks of various styles and other bachelor trifles occupied the corners. Jack whistled, hummed and yawned, picked up a book end tossed it away from him. There was nothing in the morning papefs. Tffere Vfras nothing in his noddle, eicept au indiflnite Idea that he ought to do something. If he had any kind of an "object”, if he had only liked to read with system, as a certain old lady once said, “about worms, beetles, and such, nasty things,” he might have found indoor occupation. He tried a puff ft it had already smoked enough. He droned a bar on his flute, laid the instrument down and yawned fearfully. Now it began to snow, uqdeniably. Jack lounged to the window and watched the flakes. . Drifting along with the storm was a ragged little urchin. The whole of his surroundings were forlorn enough; buthis miserable toes were the worst, oropping out into the snow. He stopped before the comfortable mansion, surveyed it eagerly from eaves to door-stone, and wondered why such places should be the lot of the few, while the many, like himself, were huddled in cellars and garret*. His thoughts soon changed to business. For he, unlike Jack, had something to do. In the great battle of life,, hard work falls to the rank and (lie. He rang the bell. “What is it?” asked Jack, opening the doori

a boy With marble dust,” said the servant, who had already closed tbe door in the applicant’s face. “Marble dust!” said Jack, “what’s marble dust? Let the lLtle dustman in.” The servant, somewhat provoked that such trash should find its way into a gentleman’s room, showed the lad in aud went about her business. She had something to do more than wait on little vagrants. The young dustman bad evidently never been in such a place before. He looked with wondering eyes around the room, much attracted by the show of tobacco-pipes, but more by bis host’s comfortably-dressed feet. The stump of a cigar was within possibilities. Such boots, never! “What’s marble dust,” Jack asked. “The women cleans the doorsteps with it,” the boy answered. “They do, eh?” And Jack stared at the comfortless stranger till the child blushed through the smudge on his face. He did not quite blush, however »for such a manifestation is rare among me poor wretches who have to encounter the world bare-footed. “Would you like someof it?” the lad asked. “Well, not much,” said Jack, “as cleaning steps Is not quite in my line. What would you like?” “If you have the end of a cigar, sir ” “A cigar; und Is it possible that you smoke?” “When the gentlemen gives me the cigars they have done with,*' said the boy. “Are my shoes too big for you?” he asked, with a look of piiy at the boy’s pleading toes. “Indeed, your boots would be small er than all-out-doors,” said the lad, with a twiukle of hope iu bis face; ‘and all-out-doois is the size I am wearing now.” Jack laughed. The little beggar was forthwith furnished with a pair, which to him were as good as new. Jack thought of adding an old pipe or two to the donation. But he felt just then too much rebuked for smoking himself; and while he half resolved to leave tobacco to the newsboys and beggar lads tbereafter.be would still not abet them in the nuisance. “Are my pantaloons too large for you?” Jack was five feet eight The boy was three feet two. “Mother could cut the legs off, or I could roll them up. Better to have too much trousers than none st all.” Again Jack laughed. The perishing lad was furnished *ith an ample outfit, ample in every sense. “liow,?’ said Jack, “I must go with you, snow or not, and see the mother of such a boy.” “She’s proud of me you better believe,” said youDg hopeful. And Bachelor Jack, who an hour or two before had felt like a prisoner, bound by a slight snow, fall, set out In search of a new sensation. He heard feoup-housfs mentioned in his walk, and that sent his thoughts in auotber direction.- He remembered that he had responded to an application for a donation annually for several years in support of those useful Institutions, and thought he would look a little after his investments. The marble dust boy was his guide, aocoutered In his roomy boots, his rolled up trousers and a coat, which for length would have satisfied a clerical tailor. But the buttons were rather too stunning. Bachelor’s buttons are apt to be. Jack had not felt so light-headed and merry in a month as while be followed the little caricature of himself in hat and all to the soup-honse. He had seen proverty and misery, to be sure, but he had done not a little toward the aleviation of distress. The boy was fllmliwd wife hit dwlypwaw. Jwl

remained to look about him and ask for information. Ho opened his inquiries with the question; “Would $lO be acceptable?” The attending iadies were heartily obliged in behalf of their clients. He was asked: “Would be taste the soup?” Of course he would. He was furnished with a bowl of the savory compound and * pewter spoon to eat with. . . „ •‘Upon my word, this is not so bad,” be said. “I should hope not,” archly said the young lady who had acted as hostess. “We make it ourselves, and our patrons are very particular.” Jack, having dallied over his soup as long as he could, and said all manner of pleasant things ($lO worth), took his leave at last with a grace and politeness which a reduced millionaire coule not have exceeded. Even such men do come where soup Is doled out in charity. It is a woeful, changeful world I Jack had no right to be idle in it,'as his conscience began to admonish. But who was there to set him to work I

At the dinner-table he bad amused the party (hfa home was a boardinghouse) with tfee naratlve of his morning’s walk. And the land-lady’s , daughter, internally resolving to turn soup-almoner herself, had rallied him ; upon the glowing accotiut which he ! gave of the soup-nouse iadies. As he smoked, bis thoughts took shape, and he said to himself: “Upon my faith, that lesser one was beautiful) aud they may laugh as they please.” Jack would have sailed out to the soup-house again that very afternoon, but be happened to remember that soup-houses which serve the poor, like banks which rccommodat© tb# rich, are closed in the afternoon. Bachelor Jack was aetir betimes the next dav, like a man with an object in life. Aftef his morning cigar, he shaved and went down to Third street like a man of business. He went to the library like a man of letters; he walked to the post-office like a man of correspondence; he stood on the steps of the Continental like a man of fashion; he did all sorts of things to make himself believe he was somebody. The truth was, he was only a moth, aud the light which attracted him was In the soup-bouse. 80, after flights and counter flights in devious circles, he struck straight for the gratis hotel, pretending it to lay in the shortest route to his home.

The house was there, but the light was out. The soup smelt as savory as ever, but the place did not look so tempting. There were two ladies there, as on the day before; but the number was the only point of resemblance. Jack looked around tht dpartmcnt, aud the iadies looked inquiringly at him. He was in for it; but he only presented $5 to-day. “Would he taste the boud?” Of course he would dot. He did' yesterday, but circumstances alter cases. You can take from Hebe wnat you decline from Hebe’s grandmother. Jack talked enough to introduce a casual inquiry, not too pointed, for “the lady who was here yesterday. “Did he mean Mrs. Jones or Miss Smith?” ‘ Miss Smith,” said Jack. He knew the name of neither, and answered Miss for his hopes’ sake. They will not be here, In their regular turns, for a week. But either may drop in to-day. Shall I give any message to Miss Smith?” Message, indeed 1 The absurdity of the situation made Jack almost laugh outright. “Oh, no,” he said; “I will calll at her house.” '

Ob, man’what a lie you were acting! Yes and speaking, tool For you did not kuow what Jindividual in jthe legion of of John Smiths she was the daughter. You did not know whether it was Miss Smith or Miss Jones who had entertained you. v Jack walked out half laughing and half vexed, aud home to dinner. He did not say soup house to-day at the table. And he pretended not to hear the Innuendoes in which the landlady’s daughter persisted. But he resolved within himself: “I will And her out if it takes me all winter.” Where there is a will there Is a way. He made the marble-dust boy his agent and detective. The bright little rogue, who found Bachelor Jack’s acquaintance the most profitable “connection” he had ever made in his life, now served his patron faithfully. We cannot describe step by step the approaches to the catastrophe. It came in the early summer, when Charitable Committees no longer In season, and the ladies had leisure to receive callers. A furniture vap appeared one morning before Jack’s l&te residence, and that same pshafp boy acted as his lieutenUantj while Jack superintended the transfer of his movables. They were destined to fill one room, bi« library, in tl house which he had taken in L —- Btreet, which ope room he intended to call a memorial apartment, “Bachelor’s Hall.” But it was not Miss Smith, and it was Mrs. Jones, a charming widow, who bad taken Jack’s heart. Bachelor no more, he is all the better for the change. Once the time hung heavy on his hands; now, the days are not long enough. He has destroyed his old -“last will and testament,” and has not found time, or loves life too well, to write another.

The landlady’s daughter heaved “a long, long sigh” as she looked into the dismantled room on the day of Jack’s departure. Whether it was a sigh of “youth,” depends ypon your idea of that state; whether it was a sigh of love, is an open question. Her reverie was broken by the marble-dust boy, who dashed in, and gathering a heap of tobbacco pipes which Jack had been ashamed to take away, stowed them in various places on his person. “Dirty little wretch 1” thought the landlady's daughter. But Jack has never yet ceased to bless the snow-storm which brought Cupid to his door in the shape of a little street boy almost as naked as his mythological prototype.