Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 June 1877 — THE SKELETON IN BULBO’S CLOSET. [ARTICLE]

THE SKELETON IN BULBO’S CLOSET.

Mr. Bulbo was decidedly nervous on this evening. He was more than fidgety; for Reside constant change of position, he cast quick looks behind him, as if he heard some one,; and made many attempts to whistle. His room" was pleasant, his chair comfortable, his tobacco excellent, and his pipe coloring in a most enviable manner; but he frowned as he shifted about, and finally sprang up with a groan. Behind him was a small closet where his bachelor odds and ends were hastily thrust, and now he jerked the door open and eagerly examined the interior. “Such.a fool!” he ejaculated, as he slimmed the door, taking up a book resolutely, determined to read. What was the matter with Mr. Bulbo? He appeared to be well, being rosy and active. He was a pleasant looking man, not yet troubled with age, as he had not yet reached the “youth of forty summers.” He was rather prosperous in'businessj had a pleasant circle of friends and no incumbrances. To look in his frank, sunny face—Wash Bulbo (his name was not an unfamiliar one to patriotic Americans, and had been thus abbreviated) was a good fellow —to interrogate his bright blue eyes no one would suspect that Mr. Bulbo was anything but the happiest of men. But he had a secret trouble which so preyed upon him that he was losing his spirits, and felt as if he was haunted by an actual presence. It pursued him in £he street, sought him in bis office, but was the most vital in its attack in his own room during the hitherto cheerful hours he had spent with his book and pipe. If its dreadful bony form could be shut in his closet—fastened in 1 But 'no sooner was he seated than it would steal ouf, whisper its wretched suggestions in his ear, and would drive him on to the fell deed against his will unless he could find some way to stifle it. It was this that stole Mr. Bulbo’s sleep, destroyed his appetite, and drove him from a state of blissful unconsciousness to a condition of rueful wretchedness. For more than a week he had nailed up the closet-door—gone without his overshoes for that length of time, as they were there bestowed and had caught a bad cold in consequence as perversely enough the weather seemed in league with his tormentors, and storms were rife. He had left town and spent several nights with a friend, but there had been no escape for him, and now he had returned to review the conflict or die. Here he was as badly ofi as before, for there was no use trying to read or divert himself in any way. Borne actual plan fauist be devised and put into immediate execution; and as he walked his room, and threw open all the windows to give himself as much relief as possible, he reviewed the circumstances which had placed him in this unpleasant position. A. little more than a year ago the first stroke had fallen upon him ashe was enjoying his pipe in the twilight. The postman** ring had not hitherto annoyed him, and be gave it no thought as he went to the closet for his tobacco pouch, and E*' ',ly said, “ Come in,” in response to a k which a moment later had jarred oor. But his mood changed as he read the letter which was put into his hands. On breaking the envelope a dainty note. With dark lines of grief on the edges and delicate tracery in feminine hand within, fluttered into his lap, while a heavy, dark-ly-written sheet flopped bold on the floor. He read first a bit from one, then from the other, in some confusion and dismay. The gist of both was that Horace Francis, Up, old friend of his father, had lately deceived and left Mr. Bulbo in charge of his daughter Marv’s property until she should attain her majority. Hearing the fine reports of your business, capacity, and' having been so well beloved of your father, I select you of all other men in the world, Bulbo,” the dying man had written. The fortune was large and had many cumbersome details; fcjlt Mr. Bulbo, for the sake of the trust, and with a certain pride in the appreciation of his ability, gladly undertook to ' discharge the obligation. The isdy had forwarded her father’s letter, and begged that all communications be held with ner lawyer, as she hardly felt like meeting strangers at present. Mr. Bulbo had acquiesced, and for a year now had, with much trouble to himself, taken conscientious charge of the property, often being obliged to neglect his own business, but had never seen the lady, their communication having been entirely through the

lawyer. Wow. In Ids own room, as he thought of the reaaona, he dashed his hands Into his dressing-gown ‘pockets, and fairly howled; in the midst of which ebullition he rqahed into the closet, threw the letters on the floor, and piled boxes, boots, books, everything he could get hold -of, over them. Ah! he, Bulbo! George Washington Bulbo! —a man most scrupulous on such points, could not strangle that shadowless monster? What if he was poor? If he had boen rich he would have done the same—be, who had come and gone in this famous city of Brookley for ten years, treading his quiet path of life uncritfcised. He had never used his modest wit against anyone more than to give a harmless thrust at a fellow-sufferer for the benefit of his pretty, mhch-abused companion at some amiable “ tea-fight," where one’s friends are served up hot with the fragrant urn, and their favorite foibles form an appetizing sauce for the tempting rasher. Why did this come upon him ? He was pursued night and day; the veiy air was full of whispers; even haunted in his own chambers; no secret place where he could escape. "Yes,” every one said, “he will marry her.” “ See how he looks after the property." ** That’s a nice nest egg for him, and no mother-in-law.” “ Observe how the sly rogue keeps the res i away—lucky dog.’’ Then to him: ••When will the happy event come off, eh, Bulbo?” Clapping him on the shoulder, 41 1 say you were born with a gold spoon in "your mouth.” Protestations were of no avail; his most sincere acts were against nim. It was fairly unendurable. Something must be done. He had thought of suicide, but that would never do, for then the voiceful torment would bring up his inanimate body and proclaim in far-reaching tones, 44 He proposed, and she jilted him.” No, no! Mr. Bulbo feverishly paced his room, looking here and there for an escape. At last he stood with his hair bristling wildly, and burst into a loud echoing laugh. The closet door creaked, and he shouted in reply: 44 Ay, come out! come out! I dread you no more! You’re outwitted!” and dragfing a valise from a recess, he began to url'in articles, making the most extravagant demonstrations of delight the while.

Was he crazy? No, but a solution of his difficulty was presented. He would marry some good girl immediately, and then what could they say? He paused for nothing, except once or twice to glare at the closet, until the valise was packed and locked, when he sat down upon it to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, and consider where he should go. Then, in the quiet which ensued, he realized the sacrifice he was about to make. His easy chair so inviting, his dressing gown so comfortable, his fireside so cozy, his belongings so conveniently scattered about, his club meetings, bis pleasant little dinners with a friend or two—all would vanish like a happy dream, to be followed by what unknown, dreadful reality of ahereatter! Well, well, it must be done. He laughed no more as he rose to complete his preparations. His honor was at least at stake. He might sleep then at least. Tedious curtain lectures! These might even be endured if he had his business hours in peace; and Mr. Bulbo’s spirits rose again sufficiently to give the closet door a good kick, and shake his fist At it as he left the room with the traveling gear. The next afternoon he was walking hastily along the quiet street of Miletord. Nothing but the urgency of the case could have kept him up during the journey. It was a dreadful step he had taken, but the disease in this case was worse than pny could be, and called for a violent remedy. Mr. Bulbo was not a stranger in Mileford, having spent some of his early years there, and was soon warmly greeted in Mr. Kopp’s kitchen. The farmer and his wife hailed him as Mr. George, cs they had been in the habit of calling him in earlier days, and Mr. Bulbo, glad to escape from the name which Jiad so annoyed him, begged them not to mention his surname. His room looked out on a quiet meadow, and it was with a feeling of intense relief he missed the smoking chimneys of his usual abode. At tea he was met and was waited upon by Mr. Kopp’s niece, Polly. She had Buch a flow of good spirits that he forgot duty, and entered into a merry conversation, which he unwillingly ended at her pointed suggestion of nis need of a smokd. He joined Mr. Kopp on the veranda, and soon told him of his errand—not the cause, but the plain fact that he was in search of a wife. “ I thought I couldn’t do better than come here,” he said, trying to speak carelessly. “ The fact is, I’m tirecl of living a bachelor life.” Oh, the miserable subterfuge! Mr. Bulbo hated himself for being obliged to resort to it. Mr. Kopp mentioned several names, particularly recommending one young lady whom Mr. Bulbo remembered as a child, and offering to introduce him that evening. “ Won’t you go, Polly?” he called into the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” and Mr. Bulbo felt disappointed and half inclined to give up the venture. Balbo made up a short call, as he felt weary, and as he opened the kitchen door, on his return, Polly sat by the window, singing and paring apples. A nice tittle cot protected her finger from the stain, and she nodded a smiting welcome as she put a bit of apple between her rosy tips. Mr. Bulbo leAned on the chair to chat, and soon asked for a knife, to help. “Butyou’ll have to wear a cot.” “ Put it on,” he responded, stretching out his hand. “They are too small,” she cried, after several mirth-provoking attempts to pjace them. “Can’t something else do?” he helplessly inquired: “ I can’t bear to be idle.” “ Yes; I’ll wind them up in rags,” and her deft fingers soon bound bis hands. It was late when they finished, for Polly insisted that the paring should be perfect, and their aid was required in solving matrimonial questions. Hers only formed a B, at which she was much provoked; but Mr. Bulbo’s was veiy definite. “Is It a P.or an FflLshe asked, puzzling over the letter. “ I declare it’s as much tike an M as anything.” When at last bed-time came, without doubt Polly lighted his candle, and between them they dropped the snuffers three times before he got fairly started. In the morning he must Bee the farm, and as Mr. Kopp’s work was urgent, Polly was impressed to do the honors. On their return the :un was too hot to go out, and it was pleasanter to chat in the sitting room. After dinner came the fascinating sight of Polly with her sleeves rolled up, showing such white arms—all stray locks of her hair tucked behind her tittle ears and away from checks where the color came ana went in a moment—that the dishes might be washed. Then when she disappeared a moment Mr. Bulbo thought he would make a call, but when she appeared in a fresh muslin, was moved to ask if there was not somewhere tor them

to go—“ Not but that I ace enough that’s charming bare.” , Polly turned away with a little frown, and Mr. Bulbo was, u usual, upbraiding himself, when a deepening rod on her neck persuaded him that he had made an irrevocable mistake. They went to Lynbrook, and only got home in time for Polly to get tea. After that Mr. Kopp proposed to call on another young lady, but Mr. Bulbo had discovered that Polly sang; and aa music was his great delight, and he made some attempts, though no pretensions in that quarter, he insisted on a song: One followed another, their voices harmonized finely, and another evening was gone. This was the example of many days. Polly had read some new book that had particularly pleased Mr. Bulbo and. she was so lively and piquant it was delightful to talk to her. She was remarkably well educated, which surprised Mr. Bulbo, as Mileford was but a country place. 44 Ah, now. you’d like to ask questions,” she cried, as he let drop something of that kind. “ I was not brought up here, and that’s all I’ll say. Ladies only are privileged to ask questions.” 44 There is one that gentlemen mayask,” softly said Mr. Bui bo, leaning toward her; but she sprang from her seat and ran up stain. 44 Bulbo, you’re a fool I” was the gentleman’s mental comment. “I’m afraid you’re In love—you are, by Jove!” he ejaculated, as he seized the handkerchief Polly had dropped. And pressing it to his lips, placed it in his inner pocket. It was to be feared that was the truth. Mr. Bulbo had been five weeks at Mr. Kopp’s and had entirely forgotten the cause of his coming. He had made hut one call in search of the wife who was to vindicate his character in the virtuous city of Brookley, but had lingered all this time by tho side of a bright-eyed, plump little damsel, who had become a necessity to him, and without whom he felt his bachelor room would be dreary indeed. Why wouldn’t she do as well, better than any one else, for his purpose? She was a darling, would make him happy, refute the scandal, destroy the tenant of that closet—ugh! Yes. yes. But—a blank, great and unspeakable, fell on Mr. Bulbo as he contemplated the idea that she might reject him. Iu all his plans he had never once thought of that. Not that he was overbold; he had no opinion of his abilities, but the extremity had been such that he had never allowed a refusal to enter into his calculations. In the despair that came over him, he went and wandered by the brook until long past tea hour. It was with a fearful heart-throb and a perceptible jump that he saw Polly approaching. 44 Mr. George, won’t you come to tea?” 44 1 won’t come, Miss Polly, mv heart’s Polly”—it sounded horrible, but Mr. Bulbo did not mean it should— 44 unless you will let me go with you,” he replied, seizing her hand in both of Ms. 44 That’s just what I mean to do,” replied Polly, breathlessly, trying to withdraw her hand. 44 I’ve not had mine yet.” 44 No, no; that’s not what I mean. I won’t go unless you go with me —unless we go together—that is, Polly, dearest Polly, I love you, and must hav —e.” And she was folded in his arms. It was bunglingly done, and Mr. Bulbo must have had some encouragement, or else he had forgotten his fears; but Polly understood him and—tea lingered longer still. To Mr. Bulbo’s delight, Polly was willing to appoint an early day; and the nuts were just falling, and the pumpkins had drank their fill of yellow sunlight, and the northern frost winds were making a fire pleasant, when they stood in the ves-try-room of the little church, waiting for the clergyman. 44 Dearest, there is one thing I want to say; my name ” 44 Oh, don’t tease me about that! I never can call you any thing but Mr. George; but I ought to have told you—” 144 Come, Polly!” cried her uncle interrupting her; and in they went, each with something important to tell the other. Polly smiled a little, with a timid flutter; when Mr. Bulbo uttered, in a clear voice: 44 1, George Washington.” And he gave a little start of not entire pleasure, when she said, softly, 44 1, Mary.” 44 1 like Polly best,” he whispered as he threw back her veil and claimed her for his wife.

As Mr. Kopp handed Polly into the carriage. he laughingly said: “ I ought to say Mrs. Bulbo now, I suppose.” “ Mrs. Bulbo!” cried Polly, aghast. “ Yes, darling, that is what 1 wanted to tel) you in the vestry, and now that we are so happy I can endure to speak .of the matter;” and Mr Bulbo told her the whole story. To his surprise Polly laughed until she cried, blushed as if on fire, and as the drive to the honse was short, refused to explain, but ran in and seemed to avoid him. It was not until the hour of return was over that Polly stood alone with him on the porch. Then between bursts of laughter and showers of tears, which were cleared away in the most natural manner possible, she told him. She was Mary Francis ; had feared some one would ask her for her money, and had changed her name and secluded herself here. She had always avoided him, for his name had prejudiced her to think he was very disagreeable. She had meant to tell him of her wealth lust before they were married, that it might have no influence on him, and now he had done just what he didn't want to do. “No, no,” he swore. “Just what he wanted. He had been so happy that he had never thought to tell her his name, and now what difference did it make? They loved each other.” But alas for Mr. Bulbo! He returned to Brookley with his loved and loving wife, and his little world was in flames in a moment. “ I told you so! Wasn’t he a sly rogue to go and marry her secretly ?” Fate was against him, facts were against him. What could he say, how refute ? “ Ah, Bulbo, we saw it all. Bless jou, you couldn’t surprise us; we knew it was inevitable.” He took other rooms; would have eschewed closets, but Polly said they were necessary. Still the phanton pursued him. He lived a long happy life, but to bis good old age could not bear a door behind him; ana as friends never forget, I think we may safely say Mr. Bulbo never got rid of the Skeleton in his Closet