Rensselaer Republican, Volume 17, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 November 1884 — A HOLIDAY MYSTERY. [ARTICLE]

A HOLIDAY MYSTERY.

Mr. Joseph Battledore and Mr. Samuel Newell were old friends and cronies, and what w’as really wonderful, their respective wives had rather cemented the intimacy by becoming violently attached to one another. The consequence was that the two families lived on the closest terms of friendship and good-will, and not unfrequently went to the same holiday resort for the summer vacation. This year they took adjoining houses at Eastbourne, and, according to custom* Mr. Battledore and Mr. Newell remained in town on the plea of business, running down to the seaside from Saturday to Monday, and occasionally staying for a few days at a time. The fact was that these old gen Semen were making business an excuse for a little mild dissipation in the absence of their excellent helpmates. The ladies naturally viewed the arrangement with some uneasiness, and each had an uncomfortable suspicion that the other’s husband might lead her spouse away. But nothing ever transpired of the old gentlemen’s proceedings which was calculated to disturb domestic harmony, though they were both subjected to a rigorous and searching cross-examination during their periodical visits to their families at the expiration of each week spent in town. Mr. Battledore and Sam Newell—for it would be affectation to speak of him as Mr. Samuel Newell, since everybody calls him Sam, though he was well past 60—were seated after dinner enjoying their wine one Monday evening, having returned from Eastbourne in the morning, when Mr. Battledore remarked: “I’m not sure they haven’t got the best of it down there,” nodding vaguely over his shoulder in the direction of Eastbourne. “It is rare holiday weather—much too hot for town.” “Precious slow’ at the seaside,” re - joined the other as he sniffed at his claret.” • “Well, yes; certainly,” acquiesced Mr. Battledore. “Jolly in Paris, though, I expect,” suggested Sam, insidiously. "Hot!” ejaculated Mr. Battledore, with an abstracted air. “Pooh! It was hotter than this when we went together three years agp, and yet we contrived to enjoy ourselves.” Mr. Battledore coughed uneasily, and helped himself to wine. The occasion referred to called forth mingled reflections. He and Sam Newell had crossed the channel for a short trip, with ttie full consent and approbation of their wives, and had what the Americans call “a high ol’d time.” But after their return Sam Newell, through undue appreciation of his own claret, had suffered himself to be beguiled into making unguarded admissions of rather an awkw ark nature, which he endeavored, with only partial success, to explain away the next morning. The wives accordingly laid their heads together, and, though no unpleasantness ensued, it was tacitly understood that an edict had gone forth which effectually banished from the breasts of the delinquents the smallest hope of ever being again allowed to visit the continent without ah escort. “I feel very much inclined to run across,” said Sam Newell, tentatively. “I could not get away,” returned Mr. Battledore. “Why?” ..“Oh, business, of course,” answered Mr. Battledore. “Won’t do, Joey. Don’t come the humbug over me,” said Sam, with a wink. . Mr. Battledore frowned slightly, and then suffered his features to relax into a smile. He was rather a pompous and dignified old gentleman, but he knew from experience that it was no use being pretentious with Sam. “My wife wouldn’t hear of, it; I’m sure yours won’t either,” he said after a pause- ’ “Why should she?” asked Sam, with another wink. “Eh,” exclaimed Mr. Battledore, starting. “Let us go and say nothing about it. Wo could start to-morrow morning and forns back Friday night in time to go , ■ -r»

. il to Eastbourne as usual. We should get three clear days over there,* t . Mt. Battledore' leaned back in his chair, fairly amazed by this audacious proposal. Had he been staying at homo the suggestion would have appeared impracticable on the face of it, but lie had been fortunate enough to let his house, and lor the time was Sam’s honored guest. Now, Sam’s household was devefted to their master, who did not disdain to bribe them to hold their tongues about his abnormally late hours when h.is wife was absent. Sam might, therefore, safely leave for a week without fear of being betrayed, and this circumstance removed a great danger. There would be no difficulty as regarded his office, for Mr. Battle lore had an easy and accommodating partner, who could be safely trusted to keep his secret. There remained only conscientious- scruples about deceiving his wife, and these, sad to relate, vanished like, snow beneath a noonday sun as Sam proceeded to expatiate upon the attractions and gayeties of the French capital. The upshot was that Mr.' Battledore and Sam Newell started for Paris the next morning, and enjoyed their brief trip amazingly—in an innocent fashion enough no doubt. They returned to London on the Saturday morning, as arranged, and were, relieved to find that no communication awaited either of them from their respective wives. In the afternoon they took their usual train to Eastbourne, as though nothing had happened, feeling tolerably easy in their minds. Sam Newell certainly did, but then he was the more hardened sinner, being a member of the stock exchange. Mr. Battledore’s misgivings were chiefly attributable to a blister on his nose, caused by exposure to the sun, and this troubled him a good deal, especially as they approached their destination. “What shall I say if my wife notices it,” he inquired, gazing reprehensively at himself in the polished case of his wateb. “Oh! she won’t notice it,” said Sam, in his off-hand way. 4 ‘But suppose she does,” insisted Mr. Battledore, irritably. “Tell her you’ve been smelling a flatiron to cure a cold,” suggested Sam. This was all the assistance Mr. Battledore received from his companion, and he worked himself up into quite a nervous state lest his blistered nose should give rise to awkward questions. Fortunately, however, Sam’s opinion turned out to be correct, for the truth was that the disfigurement was really very trifling. Mrs. Battledore made no comment upon her husband’s appearance, and so entirely unsuspicious of what had happened that she hardly referred to his supposed sojourn in town. Sam Newell’s wife made no suspicious inquiries either; and the conspirators took an early opportunity of secretly congratulating, one another upon their happy escape from detection. Somewhat toward the small hours of night, however, Mr. Battledore was aroused from his first doze by an ominous question from his wife, who inquired, rather meaningly as he imagined, whether he had received a letter from her.

“A letter! What letter?” he asked, taken aback. “The letter I -wrote to your office on Tuesday,” said Mrs. Battledore. It would have been perfectly simple, and also perfectly true, for Mr. -Battledore to have answered in the negative. The next moment he bitterly repented not having done so. But some how or other, -when the question was asked, he was siezed by an unreasoning panic arising from a guilty conscience, and the idea flashed across his mind that if he had said he had not received the letter, his wife would instantly suspect that he had been absent from the office. An instant's reflection would have convinced him’of his foolishness of such a notion, but he replied hastily • and thoughtlessly, inspired by secret uneasiness and his evil genius. “Oh! the letter. Oh, yes. Certainly," he said, burying his head in the pillow again. “Well?” said his wife interrogatively. “What?” murmured Mr. Battledore, pretending to be dozing off again. “You ordered it, I suppose ?” “Ordered it? Eh! what! Oh! of course, of course!” answered Mr. Battledor. What on earth made yoti write to the office ?” he added, by way of changing the conversation. “I thought it .would be more convenient. You W'ould only have to step around to the shop,” replied his wife. “ What the deuce does this all mean ?” thought Mr. Battledore, with a groan. “I hope it will be ready in time, Joseph! Joseph!” cried his wife emphatically, as he feigned to slumber. “Will it be ready in time?" “Of course,” said Mr. Battledore, shortly, trembling with apprehension. “What color did you choose, Joseph ?” demanded his persistent spouse little suspecting his mental perturbation. “Color?” murmured Mr. Battledore, faintly. “Yes; I left that entirely to you.” “I think it was a sort of bluishgreen,” said Mr. Battledore with desperation. To his unutterable relief his wife appeared satisfied with this answer, ori more probably she became drowsy her self at this juncture. At all events she asked no more, and Mr. Battledore was left to reflect upon the conversation. «*• By this time he had realized that he had made a fatal mistake in pretending to have-received the letter, and a greater mistake stilt in feigning to have executed some mysterious commission. He tossed about restlessly as he perceived how foolishly he walked into a dangerous trap. Should his wife now discover that he knew nothing of the. letter, and had answered her at random. her suspicions of something wrong would be immediately aroused, and Mr. Battledore was haunted by a dismal foreboding that the smallest clue would lead to the discovery of his recent escapade. He dared not anticipate the scene that Would'ensue when his wickedness and deceit stood revealed, for the truth was that he was afraid of his wife, and though pompous and self-im-portant in the world, he was pretty severely henpecked at home. However, it occurred to him that the case was not absolutely hopeless, for

Sam might find out through Mrs. Mewell what the letter was about, and by putting him on his guard enable bxm to avoid sinking deeper in the mire. Accordingly, next morning, having previously arranged with his friends to have an early dip into the sea, he started off before his wife was awake, and confided his trouble to his faithful companion; Sam scoffed at his fears and undertook to find out the necessary information from his wife without delay. Fortunately Mrs. Battledore made no allusion to the subject during breakfast, and on the ground of overwork at the office during the week, the friends seated themselves on the beach and threw pebbles in the glistening water which rippled musically at their feet.. But to Mr. Battledore’s dismay it transpired that Sam had failed in his mission. His wife pretended to know nothing about the letter, and had in her turn questioned him quite sharply about it. “She put me in a corner by asking what you had told me about it, and why 1 was putting questions to her,” said Sam, rubbing his nose in a perplexed way. “What did you say?” inquired Mr. Brattledore, breathlessly. “I said I only asked for fun.—That was a little weak, wasn’t it? But I don’t think she twigged that Fwas disconcerted. She seemed more curious to know what you had let drop about the letter,” said Sam. “Yes,’yes,” murmured Mr. Battledore. ——

“I said I had forgotten, but believed you had mentioned something about light green, turned up with blue'or some other - color. Evidently Maria did not know what to make of my answer.” “Then she will go and speak to my wife, who will be at me again, ’’moaned Mr. Brattledore. “I shouldn’t wonder. I say, Joe. what an ass you’ve made of yourself,” said Sam, revealing a little uneasiness on his own account. “Who knows what youristupidity may lead to. It may turn out to be the little cloud no bigger than a man’s hand. There is no trusting you. You would let out everything if you had a chance.” Sam Newell had much more reason to be afiraid Of his wife than his friend had of his, but he was animated by a bolder disposition. Nevertheless he shrank from the ordeal of having to confess to the Paris trip in the face of distinct prohibition, and, in a minor degree, he began to share his friend’s depression. Mr. Battledore’s nerveousness gave him just cause to fear that he would betray them both on the smallest provocation, and he rather jumped at the suggestion that they should return to town that evening, instead of waiting till the morrow. “I think we had better, and then you will be out of harm’s way all the sooner.” “That will put an end to the difficulty, for I shall no doubt find the letter somewhere about the office to-morrow, and can set everything right,” said Mr. Battledore eagerly. Accordingly these two dissemblers shirked their families as much as possibl all day, and then created considerable surprise and consternation by unexpectedly announcing their intended departure by an early evening train. Business was as usual, the excuse put forward, and after an uncomfortable afternoon they started back to town, consoled by the reflection that the danger was happily over. On the following evening, however, Mr. Battledore greeted his friend with a very rueful countenance. “The letter is not to be found anywhere. Those idiots at the office must have mislaid it.” “Or else it miscarried,” suggested Sam, with an exasperated grin. “But I said I repeivdd it! Now, what am Itodo ? What is it I’m supposed to have ordered. It might be anything from wall-paper or curtains to a pair of gloves or a drawing-room sofa,” exclaimed Mr. Battledore quite tragically. “It is certainly awkward, but if I were you I should pretend to forget all about the thing when next we go down. Ten to one your wife will then mention what it is,” said Sam in his confident way. ■ ' 0

Poor Mr. Battledore plucked up heart a little at his suggestion, but he continued to grow more and more uneasy, especially after receiving a postcard from his wife a day or two later, enjoining him to remember her commission and to bring it down with him on Saturday without fail, the last two words being liberally underscored. “How can I pretend I’ve forgotten it after that ?” said Mr. Battledore, peevishly, as he threw the post-card on the table. “You will have to. It’s the only chance," said Sam, looking quite serious. “Why couldn’t she have mentioned the article instead of saying it?” exclaimed Mr. Battledore, tearing the card viciously into small pieces. “I’ll tell you what, old fellow, I shall take Mrs. ‘N. a bracelet or something when we go down on Saturday,” said Sam thoughtfully. If there shall be a row it won’t do any harm, and it may enable me to assist you to ascertain what you wish to know.” Mr. Battledore’s apprehensions reached to a dangerous pitch when his friend announced his intention of adopting such a precaution. But a little calm reflection induced him to follow Sam’s shrewd example, and the result was that both gentlemen had propitiatory offerings to be sacrificed on the altar of conjugal affection. On reaching Eastbourne they were met by their wives in the carriage, and Mr. Battledore, at all events, felt by no means grateful for this little attention. However, he and Sam took their seats opposite the ladies, trying their best to look as if they had nothing on their minds, and, above all, no guilty secret. But before Mr. Battledore had time to recover his self-possession, his wife said: “ . “Joseph, you remember my speaking to you about a letter I wrote to you last week ?■* “Ye—yes,” said Mr. Battledore, wincing at a nudge from Sam. Well, I never sent it at all! Only this morning I discaverd it between the

leaves of my blotting book. I forgot to post it.?” 1 “It is of no consequence, of course,” chimed in Mrs. Newell; “only you will be the loser, Sam. Mrs. Battledore wrote to her husband to buy y|6u a Cigar case on piy behalf, and to have your initials engraved upon it. To-morrow, you know, is your birthday^^ t Mp. Battledore was by no means reassured by these speeches. On the contrary he realized that he was in a worse fix than ever since he would be now called upbn to explain what meant by saying he „he had received the letter. A sort 'of sickly feeling came over him as his wife said: , “By the way, Joseph, yon said you had received the letter, and talked as as though you knew all about it.” “And you, Sam, sajd Mr. Battledore had mentioned the subject to ydu; ami I was vexed at the time, as of course, it wasa se -ret,” interposed Mrs. Newell. “The fact is,” said Sam, coming gallantly to the rescue, for Mr. Battledore was at a loss to find words, “as Joe said to me afterward, we have been at cross purposes, We each had a secret, and we thought you had discovered ours. Joe let out that blue was the color he had chosen. I tried to find out bow the land lay from my wife; she nearly made me betray everything by asking questiou«.' However, I dare say neither of yjm guess what it is.” “No, indeed!” cried both the ladies, considerably mystified by this incoherent explanation, and on tiptoe of excitement—— —— “Well, here, Maria,” he said, producing a bracelet, like a conjuror. “Emeralds, you see. Don’t you remember my saying it was a sort of blushgreen or something. Well, Joe’s offering, I believe, has blue stones—turquoises." Mr. Battledore took the hint, and handed to his wife the bracelet he had bought as a peace offering, inwardly marveling at his old friend’s wonderful tact and impudence, and beginning to breathe quite steely again. In fact it was evident that Sam’s extempore discourse, followed by the bracelets, had satisfactorily explained what was mysterious in their recent behavior, and the secret of the unhallowed expedition to Paris seems unlikely ever to be revealed.