The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1893-01-04
SELECTED STORY.
MY Fellow ledger.

fully forward to a not far INSTANT struggle
with my greats" when KY ~anticipations
were suddenly cut short by a piece of folly
which resulted in nothing less than my
rustication. Not caring to appear under
the parental roof in my new character |
planned for myself a little amateur geol-
oRizipp on the south coast, and packing a
few books and a hammer in my port
manteau left the ancient seat of learning
and started for Highcliffe-a ishy, tar be-
smeared little seacoast town, which | had
discovered in my summer ramblings.
hired rooms of a Mrs. Fisher, who lived
In a pleasant, whitewashed house on the
summit of the cliffs from which the town
derived its name. Mrs. Fisher had q
daughter yclept Amelia, and one lodger
besides myself. OF Amelia, more anon; of
che lodger. | made his acquaintance in this
way:
was sauntering along the little espla-
made, having just left Mrs. Fishers house,
when my rather somber musings were sud
denly cut short by the sound of a harsh
voice behind me exclaiming:
'Draw, villain, else my eager sword
shall lunge. and in thine unguarded heart
shall plungeP'
/ turned in amazement and beheld a lit
tie pink faced gentleman with mild blue
eyes SIuIuIlR tlOSt btiillu iitf DClhpOi ltB
his outstretched palm with a roll of manu-
script.
81 beg your PARDON" | ventured to say,
with difficulty restraining a smile.
~ beg yours, sir" he returned, bowling.
sI fear | must have alarmed you; it was n
terrific passage. But | see you dom un-
derstand. must inform you, sir, that l
am Il dramatistV'
As he made this statement my strange
acquaintance drew himself up and flour
ished his roll Of manuscript before my eyes.
Il see. You were quoting from one of
your plays | said as politely as l could,
but still with a great inclination to laugh.
Just so. venture, however, to believe
that was dong something more than
quoting; | was acting, sir. | was a Ian
gerous man, sir, and my blood was up. It's
fortunate that | was only armed with this
roll of paper, or the consequences might
have been fatal"
| looked at the old gentleman's comfort
able proportions, noting the genial smile
that played around his mouth and twin
Killed. in his kindly eyes, and there seemed
something absurdly homogeneous between
his peaceable appearance and his fierce
language. Before | could speak he had
presented me with a card on which was
inscribed with many II flourish, Jacob
Dawlish, dramatist," and bowling again
with old fashioned politeness he said:
81 am your fellow ledger at Mrs. Fish
er's. hope we shall be friends, sir. Any
place is dreary without companionship."
We shock hands and then strolled on
side by side. This was the beginning of a
most pleasant acquaintance, which quickly
ripened into a warm friendship. | soon
learned to respect Jacob Dawlish very
highly, for he Droved to be a most henev-
olent, upright and ~uncommonly well read
man, and was remarkable for sterling com
mon sense upon all points but one. Every
body must have a soft place, a tender corn
or a mental twist of one sort or another,
and old Mr.. Dawlish's vulnerable point
was the drama. He had written countless
plays, but never had one been acted; yet,
nothing daunted, he still covered reams of
paper and believed himself to be, if not a
second Shakespeare, certainly on a level
with Ben Jonson, Ford or Marlowel
What did it matter? 1t was a harmless
within which afforded the old gentleman
intense pleasure, and l, for one, never
thought of ~disputing his claim. On the
contrary, / heard him read many of his
plays, and the defamation of his terrific
passages" always gave me much amuSe-
ment. If the plays could not very well be
mounted, they always contained, among
much extravaganza, a fund of information
and many high and noble sentiments.
Jacob Dawlish was not slow in returning
my friendly regard. Ie acknowledged
that he had taken an amazing fancy to me,
and the consequence was that we spent a
great deal of time in each others society,
u respective sitting rooms becoming mu-
tual property and our out of door ram
bllngs being taken mostly in company. My
stay at Highcliffe would have been alto
gether pleasant but for two things.
The first was a letter from my father,
which naturally expressed the greatest
displeasure at the folly that had sent me
from Oxford and disappointed his eXpecta-
lions. My father, although kline hearted
was a hasty tempered man and his letter
was couched in unmeasured terms of
anger and ended with an intimation that
l need not expect any further allowance
until the period of my rustication had
passed. This did not trouble me, as | had
never been eXtravagant and always had a
comfortable balance after all my expenses
had been paid.
The second unpleasantness was caused
by Mrs. Fishers daughter Amelia. This
daughter was "A great source of annoyance
to me, for ! bad not been long at Highclitfe
before | discovered to my dismay that she
was honoring me with a sentimental re-
gard, which, alasl ! did not return. Not
that ! was blind to her charms, for was
acutey conscious of her straw colored ring
lets, her pale blue eyes and the exceeding
ly delicate formation of her nose. Nor
were the carefully combined greens and
yellows Of her costume lost upon me, and
yet-and yet-strange as it may appear, ]
did not Wish our friendship to be of a ten
der nature.
The nourighment of Miss Amelia's mind,
her views Of life and knowledge of polite
society, wepe derived solely from certain
gayly covered novels, and | have reason tc
believe that her imagination, thus trained,
led her to see in me a duke or an earl OF
fabulous wealth, travelling ~incognito in
search Of a bride.
The simplicity and artlessness Of this
young woman ought to have charmed me.
and fear that my heart must have been
hard indeed TO rave resisted her sweet ad-
vances; but it was soft enough TO be
genuinely sorry for the pain | one day I'M
Willingly caused her. Jacob Dawlish and
L were walking along the sands ut the foot
OF the great white cliff. when the old man
nHaA go . s--.l -.aa.