Percival Keene

“Indeed she is not, Captain Bridgeman,” replies my mother; “it is only to keep herself out of mischief. She spoils a bit like that every week. And that’s why it is so small, Captain Bridgeman; it would be a pity to spoil a larger piece.”

“I really was not aware that such a mere trifle would keep you out of mischief,” said the captain.

“You know,” replied Aunt Milly, “that idleness is the root of all evil, Captain Bridgeman.”

“Flat, do you hear that?” says Captain Bridgeman.

“What?” replies Flat.

“That idleness is the root of all evil; what an evil-disposed person you must be.”

“I was thinking,” replied Flat.

“I suspect it’s only lately you’ve taken to that. Who or what were you thinking about?”

“Well, I believe I was thinking how long it would be before dinner was ready.”

“That’s very rude, Mr Flat; you might have said that you were thinking about me,” replied my aunt.

“Well, so I was at first, and then I began to think of dinner-time.”

“Don’t be offended, Miss Amelia; Flat pays you a great compliment in dividing his attentions; but I really wish to know why ladies will spoil muslin in such a predetermined manner. Will you explain that, Mrs Keene?”

“Yes, Captain Bridgeman: a piece of work is very valuable to a woman, especially when she finds herself in company with gentlemen like you. It saves her from looking down, or looking at you, when you are talking nonsense; it prevents your reading in her eyes what is passing in her mind, or discovering what effect your words may have upon her; it saves much awkwardness, and very often a blush; sometimes a woman hardly knows which way to look; sometimes she may look any way but the right. Now a bit of muslin with a needle is a remedy for all that, for she can look down at her work, and not look up till she thinks it advisable.”

“I thank you for your explanation, madam; I shall always take it as a great compliment if I see a lady very busy at work when I’m conversing, with her.”

“But you may flatter yourself, Captain Bridgeman,” replied my mother; “the attention to her work may arise from perfect indifference, or from positive annoyance. It saves the trouble of making an effort to be polite.”

“And pray, may I inquire, Miss Amelia, what feeling may cause your particular attention to your work at this present moment?”

“Perhaps in either case to preserve my self-possession,” replied Amelia; “or perhaps, Captain Bridgeman, I may prefer looking at a piece of muslin to looking at a marine officer.”

“That’s not very flattering,” replied the captain; “if you spoil the muslin, you’re determined not to spoil me.”

“The muslin is of little value,” said Amelia, softly, walking to the other side of the shop, and turning over the books.

“Mr Flat,” said my mother, “your subscription to the library is out last month; I presume I can put your name down again?”

“Well, I don’t know; I never read a book,” replied Mr Flat, yawning.

“That’s not at all necessary, Mr Flat,” said my mother; “in most businesses there are sleeping partners; besides, if you don’t read, you come here to talk, which is a greater enjoyment still, and luxuries must be paid for.”

“Well, I’ll try another quarter,” replied Mr Flat, “and then—”

“And then what?” said my aunt Milly, smiling.

“Well, I don’t know,” says Flat. “Is that clock of yours right, Mrs Keene?”

“It is; but I am fearful that your thoughts run faster than the clock, Mr Flat; you are thinking of the dress-bugle for dinner.”

“No, I was not.”

“Then you were thinking of yourself?”

“No, I wasn’t, Mrs Keene,” said Flat, rising, and walking out of the shop.

“I’ll tell you,” said he, turning round as he went out, “what I was thinking of, Mrs Keene; not of myself,—I was thinking of my bull pup.”

My mother burst out a laughing as the lieutenant disappeared. “I was not far wrong when I said he was thinking of himself,” said she, “for a calf is a sort of bull pup.”

At this sally Captain Bridgeman laughed, and danced about the shop; at last he said, “Poor Flat! Miss Amelia, he’s desperately in love with you.”

“That’s more than I am with him,” said Amelia, calmly.

Here two ladies came in.

Captain Bridgeman made a most polite bow. “I trust Mrs Handbell is quite well and Miss Handbell—I hardly need ask the question with the charming colour you have?”

“Captain Bridgeman, you appear to live in this library; I wonder Mrs Keene don’t take you into partnership.”

“If I were not honoured with the custom of Mrs Handbell and other ladies; I fear that my shop would have little attraction for gentlemen,” replied my mother, with a courtesy.

“Mrs Keene is quite correct in her surmise, Miss Handbell,” said Captain Bridgeman, “now that I have seen you, I shall not think my morning thrown away.”

“If report says true, Captain Bridgeman,” replied Mrs Handbell, “you would be quite as often here, even if no ladies were to be customers of Mrs Keene. Mrs Keene, have you any of that narrow French ribbon left?”

“I think I have, madam; it was off this piece, was it not?”

“Yes; but I really don’t know exactly how much I require; perhaps you will measure it and allow me to return what is left?”

“Certainly, madam; will you take it with you, or shall I send it?”

“I wish for it directly; will you be very long in measuring it, for I ought to be home now?”

“Perhaps you’ll have the kindness to measure what you take off yourself, madam,” replied my mother, “and then you need not wait.”

“You put confidence in me, I observe, Mrs Keene,” replied Mrs Handbell; “well, I will do you justice.”

My mother smiled most graciously, put the piece of ribbon in paper, and handed it to Mrs Handbell, who, bowing to Captain Bridgeman, quitted the shop.

“I wonder whether you would trust me in that way?” said Captain Bridgeman to my mother.

“I don’t think I should; Amelia says you will help yourself to cigars and that she is sure you cheat when you count them.”

“Does she really say that? Well, I did think that if there was any one who would have upheld my character, it would have been Miss Amelia.”

“Perhaps, Captain Bridgeman, she is getting tired of so doing.”