Ambition
A person never thinks so meanly of ambition as when walking through a grave-yard. – To see men who have filled the world with their glory for half a century or more, reduced to a six foot mudhole, gives pride a shock which requires a long stay in a city to counteract. – The gentlemen who are now "spoken of for the Presidency," will in less than a century, have their bones carted away to make room for a street sewer. Queer creature that man – well, he is.
Way the Women Fixed the Tale-Bearer
"I dunno where I heer'd it, but I know it's true. I expected it long ago. I told Jones it'd come out so."
"Why, Uncle Josh, you don't pretend to say that Miller's wife has run off with Bob Tape, Yardstick's clark, do you?"
"Yes, I do, too; hain't it been the talk of the neighborhood for a year past, that Miller's wife and that feller – Bob Tape, were a leetle too thick?"
"Well, Uncle Josh," says his neighbor Brown, "I don't recollect anybody saying anything about it, but you, and for my part, I don't believe a word of it."
"Why, hain't Miller's wife gone?" says Uncle Josh.
"I don't know – is she?" says Brown.
"Be sure she is; I went over to the store this morning, the fust thing, to see if Bob Tape was about – he wasn't there – they said he'd gone to Boston on business for old Yardstick. O, ho! says I, and then I started for Heeltap's shop; we had allers said how things would turn out. He was out, but seein' me go to his shop, he came a runnin', and says he:
"'Uncle Josh, theer gone, sure enough! – I've been over to old Mammy Gabbles, and she sent her Suke over to Miller's, on purtence of borrowin' some lard, but told Suke to look around and see ef Miller's wife wur about; by Nebbyknezer, Miller's wife wur gone! Marm Gabbles couldn't rest, so she sent back Suke, and told her to ax the children whare their marm wus; Miller hearing Suke, ordered her to scoot, so Suke left without hearing the facts in the case, as 'Squire Black says.'
"But Heeltap swears, and I know Miller's wife and Bob Tape have sloped, as they say in the papers."
"Well," says Brown, "I'm sorry if it's true – I don't believe a word of it tho', and as it's none of my business, I shall have nothing to say about it."
Uncle Josh was one of those inordinate pests which almost every village, town and hamlet in the country is more or less accursed with. He was a great, tall, bony, sharp-nosed, grinning genius, who, being in possession of a small farm, with plenty of boys and girls to work it, did not do anything but eat, sleep and lounge around; a gatherer of scan, mag., a news and scandal-monger, a great guesser, and a stronger suspicioner, of everybody's motives and intentions, and, of course, never imputed a good motive or movement to anybody.
You've seen those wretches, male and female, haven't you, reader? Such people are great nuisances – half the discomforts of life are bred by them; they contaminate and poison the air they breathe, with their noisome breath, like the odor of the Upas tree.
Uncle Josh had annoyed many – he was the dread and disgust of seven-eighths of the town he lived in. He had caused more quarrels, smutted more characters, and created more ill-feeling between friends, neighbors and acquaintances, than all else beside in the community of Frogtown. Uncle Josh was voted a great bore by the men, and a sneaking, meddling old granny by the women. So, at last, the young women of the town did agree, that the very next time Uncle Josh carried, concocted, or circulated any slanderous or otherwise mischievous stories, they would duck him in the mill-race.
Now, Brown – old Mister Brown – was the very antipode of Uncle Josh; he was for always taking matters and things by the smoothest handle. Mister Brown never told tales, backbited or slandered anybody; everybody had a good word to say about Mister Brown, and Mister Brown had a good word to say about everybody. The gals thought it prudent to give old Mister Brown an inkling of their plans in regard to the disposition they intended to make of Uncle Josh; the old man laughed, and told them to go ahead, and to duck old Josh, and perhaps they would reform him.
"Now, gals," says old Mister Brown, "Uncle Josh has just this very day been at his dirty work; by this time he has spread the news all over the town, that Miller's wife has gone off with Yardstick's clark. I don't believe a word of his tale, and if Miller's wife ain't really gone off, Uncle Josh ought to be soused in the mill-race."
Next morning Miller's wife came home; she had been down to her sister's, a few miles off, to see a sick child; her husband had been away at a law-suit, in a neighboring town, and so Miller nor his wife knew nothing of the report of her elopement with Bob Tape, until their return.
Miller was in a rage, but couldn't find out the author of the report. Miller's wife was deeply mortified that such a suspicion should arise of her; she had been making Bob Tape some new clothes to go to Boston in, and here was the gist of Bob and Miller's wife's intimacy! There was a great time about it – Miller swore like a trooper, and his wife nearly cried her eyes out.
A few evenings afterwards, it being cool, clear weather in October, Polly Higgins and Sally Smith called in to see Miller's wife, and asked her to join them in a little party that some of the neighboring women had got up that evening, for a particular purpose. Miller's wife not having much to do that evening, her husband said she might go out a spell if she chose, and she went, and soon learned the purport of the call – old Uncle Josh was to be ducked in the mill-race! and Miller's wife, disguised as the rest, was to help do it. When she heard that old Josh had circulated the report of her elopement, Miller's wife did not require much coaxing to join the watering committee.
It was so planned that all the women, some ten or twelve in number, were to put on men's clothes and lay in wait for Uncle Josh at his lane gate, about a quarter of a mile from the mill-race. Old Josh always hung around the tavern, Heeltap's shoe-shop, or the grocery, until 9 P. M., before he started for home, and the girls determined to rush out of a small thicket that stood close by old Josh's lane gate, and throwing a large, stout sheet over him, wind him up, and then seizing him head, neck and heels, hurry him off to the mill-race, and duck him well.
Mind you, your country gals and women are not paint and powder, corset-laced and fragile creatures, like your delicate, more ornamental than useful young ladies of the city; no, no, the gals of Frogtown were real flesh and blood; Venuses and Dianas of solidity and substance; and it would have taken several better men than Uncle Josh to have got away from them. It was a cool, moon-shiny night, but to better favor the women, just as old Josh got near his gate, a large, black cloud obscured the moon, and all was as dark as a stack of black cats in a coal cellar. Miller's wife acted as captain; dressed in Bob Tape's old clothes he had left at her house to be repaired, she gave the word, and out they rushed.
"Seize him, boys!" said she, in a very loud whisper. Over went the sheet, down came old Josh, co-blim! Before he could say "lor' a massy," he was dragged to the mill-race, tied hand and foot, blindfolded, his coat taken off, and he was ca-soused into the cold water! Fury! how the old fellow begged for his life!
"O, lor' a massy, don't drown me boys! I – a, I – " ca-souse he went again.
"Give him another duck," says one – and in he'd go again.
"Now, we'll learn you to carry tales," says another.
"And tell lies on me and Miller's wife," says Bob Tape – ca-souse he went.
"O, lor' a mas – mas – e, do – do – don't drown me, Bob; I'll – I'll promise never to – " in they put him again; the water was as cold as ice.
"Will you promise never to take or carry a story again?"
"I d – d – d —do promise, if – yo – yo – yo – you – don't – duc – " and in he went again.
"Do you promise to mind your own business and let others alone, Uncle Josh?"
"Ye – ye – yes, I d —do, I – I – I'll promise anything – bo – boys, only let me go," says Uncle Josh.
"Well, boys," says Polly Higgins, rousing, jolly critter she was, too, "I owe Uncle Josh one more dip: he lied about my gal, Polly Higgins, and – "
"O, ho, Seth Jones, that's you, ain't it? – Well – we – well, I said nothing about Polly; it was Heeltap said it, 'deed it was."
Then they let old Josh off, vowing they'd give Heeltap his gruel next night, and the moment Josh got clear of his sousers, he cut for home. Next day Heeltap cleared himself. – Uncle Josh soon found out that he had been ducked by the women, and, for his own peace, moved to Iowa, and Frogtown has been a happy place ever since.
Penalty of Kissing your own Wife
Cato, when Censor of Rome, expelled from the Senate Manilius, whom the general opinion had marked out for counsellor, because he had given his wife a kiss in the day time, in the sight of his daughter. And this reminds us of a local story told us by one of the "oldest inhabitants" of the city, that occurred once upon a time in this harbor. Before the Revolutionary war, one of the King's ships was stationed here, and occasionally cruised down to the south'ard. It so chanced that after a long absence the cruiser arrived in the harbor on Sunday, and as the naval captain had left his wife in Boston, the moment she heard of his arrival she hastened down to the water side in order to receive him. The worthy old sea captain, on landing, embraced his lady with tenderness and true affection. This, as there were many spectators by, gave great offence to the puritanical landsmen, and was considered as an act of indecency and a flagrant profanation of the Sabbath. The next day, therefore, the captain was summoned before the magistrates and selectmen, who, with many severe rebukes and pious exhortations, ordered him to be publicly whipped!
The old captain stifled his indignation and resentment as much as possible; and as the punishment, from the frequency of it, was not attended with any degree of disgrace, he mixed as usual with the best of company, and even with the selectmen he soon ceased to be else than familiar as ever.
At length the vessel was ordered home, to England, and the captain, therefore, with seeming concern to take leave of his worthy friends, and that they might spend a more happy and convivial day together before their final separation, invited the principal magistrates and selectmen to dine with him the day of his departure, on board his ship. They readily accepted the invitation, and nothing could be more glorious than the entertainment that was given.
At length the solemn moment arrived that was to part them – the anchor was apeak, the sails unfurled, and nothing was wanted but the signal to get under way. The captain, after taking an affectionate and formal leave of his worthy municipal friends, accompanied them upon deck where the boatswain and crew were ready to receive them. He here thanked them afresh for the civilities they had shown him, of which the captain assured them he should bear a kind remembrance.
"One point of civility, only," he continued, "gentlemen, remains to be adjusted between us, and as it is in my power to settle it, I shall be most happy to do so. You infernal old rogues you, you whipped me for evincing a due regard and love for my wife, and now, lest you perpetrate the outrage again 'gainst all law and reason, I'll give you a lesson that will last your lifetime. Boatswain, strip each of these rogues to the waist, lash them fast and put on your cat-o'-nine tails forty stripes each!"
The boatswain, mid the laugh and acclamation of the whole crew, went to the work with a hearty good will, and after giving the magistrates and selectmen a fine dressing all around, he cut them loose, put them in their boat, and the ship set sail down the harbor and soon disappeared in the dim dist cut ocean.
Mysteries and Miseries of Housekeeping
People of experience tell awful stories about the miseries of boarding, and boarding-houses, and it is very clearly palpable to us that keepers of boarding-houses could a tale unfold of their own miseries, equal, if not double that of the luckless creatures who board. That housekeeping has its joys it would be vain to deny, but we need no ghost come from the grave to inform us that the secrets of the kitchen are as numerous and as harrowing, as all can attest that ever had occasion to keep house or hire a "Betty."
When Mr. Peter Perriwinkle got married, he exclaimed against hotels, and abominated boarding-houses; quitting both species of human habitations, he "up" and rented a house, and to hear his glowing description of the house – such a cosy little three-storied brick house, on a street too broad for the neighbors opposite to see into his front parlors, and no houses in the rear from which the prying eye of the curious and idle could spy into back kitchen closets or dinner pots – in brief, Perriwinkle went on with that strain of domestic eloquence, peculiar to new beginners in the arts and mysteries of housekeeping, and after a general detail of the quiet comfort and unalloyed happiness he and Mrs. P. were bound to enjoy for the balance of their lives, we merely observed —
"Ah, my dear sir, you've but the ephemeral bright side of your vision yet. But no matter, dear Pete, as the man said of the sausages – hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst."
"But, brother Jack, I've no reason to look for any thing but a good time. Haven't I married one of the best women in the world? I'm too experienced in life, my boy, to call any female women angels, doves, or sugar plums, you know, but my wife is a real woman!"
"Yes, Pete, she is all that," said we.
"Well, ain't I square with the world? Enough laid up for a wet day – don't care twopence ha'penny for politics, or soldier fol-de-rols – who wins or who loses in such hums?"
"Granted, old fellow."
"I tell you I've a perfect little paradise of a house engaged, furnished and provisioned for a twelvemonth."
"No doubt of all that."
"As to friends and acquaintances, I have plenty, and of the right stripe, too; I'd swear to that without any reluctance."
"I hope, Peter, you have."
"Then what in faith do you imagine I have in embryo to upset or disturb the even tenor of my way, old boy? Come, answer that."
"Does your domestic apparatus work well?"
"I haven't tried it yet."
"Are your appurtenances – your household appointments – from kitchen to parlor, from coal cellar to top scuttle, all they are cracked up to be?"
"Well, you see, the fact is, I can't tell that, yet."
"Do your chimneys draw? Does your range or cooking stove do things up brown? Have you got your Bettys?"
"I vow you've sort of got me this time, brother Jack; but I'll find out, soon, and let you know."
"Do, if you please, Peter, and let us hear an account of how things are working after the first quarter's experience."
Perriwinkle opened with a neat supper party. We attended, and every thing looked cap-a-pie; new, tasteful and happy as any thing human under God's providence and the art and judgment of man could promise. At midnight the company dispersed, all wishing the Perriwinkles life, love, and lots of the small fry.
Months passed, full three; we met our old and familiar friend, Peter Perriwinkle, and as we had not seen him for some time, we met with greetings most cordial.
"How is every thing, old boy – paradise regained?"
"Ah," said Peter, with an ominous shake of the head, "dear Jack, – we've a great deal to learn in this world, and as our old friend Sam Veller says, whether its worth while to pay so much to learn so little, at cost – is a question."
"You begin to think so, eh?"
"Things don't work quite so smooth as I expected – I've moved!"
"What? Not so soon?"
"Yes, sir," said Perriwinkle; "that house was a nuisance!"
"A nuisance? Why, I thought you were in raptures with it?"
"Had water every wet spell, knee-deep in the cellar; full of rats, bugs, and foul air."
"You don't say so?"
"Yes, I do," said Perriwinkle, mournfully. "Chimneys smoked, paper peeled off the walls, Mrs. P. got the rheumatics, a turner worked all night, next door, the fellow that had previously lived or stayed in the house, ran off, leaving all his bills unpaid, and our door bell was incessantly kept ringing by ugly and impudent duns, and the creditors of the rascal, whom I did not know from a side of sole leather. I lived there in purgatory!"
"Too bad," said we. "Well, you've moved, eh?"
"Moved – and such an infernal job as it was. You know the two vases I received as a present from my brother, at Leghorn; I wouldn't have taken $100 each, for them – "
"They are worth it; more too."
"The carman dropped one out of his hands, broke it into a half bushel of flinders, and I hit the centre table upon which the other stood, with a chair, and broke it into forty pieces. But, that wasn't any thing, sir. My wife packed up the elegant set of china presented her by her sister, in a large clothes basket, and set it out in the hall, and while our Irish girl and the carman were carrying out a heavy trunk, the girl lost her balance and fell bump into the basket. She weighed over two hundred pounds – every article of the china was crushed into powder!"
"This was too bad," said we, condolingly.
"Our carpets were torn in getting them up, for I had them put down fast and tight, never supposing they'd come up until thread-bare and out of fashion; they were stained and daubed. The veneering of the piano and other furniture is scratched and torn; a hundred small matters are mutilated. Franklin thought a few moves was as bad as a fire; one move convinces me that the old man was right. But, my dear fellow, I won't bore you with my miseries. We are now moved, and look comfortable again. Call and see us, do. Good bye."
About a fortnight after meeting Perriwinkle, one evening we went up town to see him and his lady. Mrs. P., before marriage, was an uncommon even-tempered and most amiable woman. She had now been married about six months. Upon entering the parlor we found Mrs. P. laboring under much "excitement," and poor Peter – he was doing his best to pacify and soothe her —
"Halloo! what's the trouble?" – we were familiar enough to ask the question – as they were alone, without intruding.
"Take a seat, John," said Perriwinkle. "Mrs. P. and the cook have had a misunderstanding. A little muss, that's all."
"Mr. Humphries," responded the irritated wife, "you don't know how one's temper and good nature are put out, sir, by housekeeping; by the impudence, awkwardness, and wasteful habits of servants, sir."
"Oh! yes, we do, Mrs. P.; we've had our experience," we replied.
"Well, sir," she continued, "I have suffered so in ordering, directing, and watching these women and girls – had my feelings so outraged by them, time and again, since we began housekeeping, that I vow I am out of all manner of patience and charity for them. We have had occasion to change our help so often, that I finally concluded to submit to the awkwardness that cost us sets of china, dozens of glasses, stained carpets, soiled paints, smeared walls, rugs upon the top of the piano, and the piano cloths put down for rugs; Mr. P.'s best linen used for mops, and puddings boiled in night-caps. But, sir, when this evening I found the dough-tray filled with the chambermaid's old clothes, she wiping the lamps with our linen napkins, and the cook washing out her stockings in the dinner pot – I gave way to my angry passions, and cried with vexation!"
And she really did cry, for female blood of Mrs. P.'s pilgrim stock, couldn't stand that, nohow.
P. S. – Perriwinkle and lady sold off, and took rooms at the Tremont House, in order to preserve their morals and money.
Miseries of a Dandy
That poverty is at times very unhandy – yea, humiliating, we can bear witness; but that any persons should make their poverty an everlasting subject of shame and annoyance to themselves, is the most contemptible nonsense we know of. During our junior days, while officiating as "shop boy," behind a counter in a southern city, we used to derive some fun from the manœuvres of a dandy-jack of a fellow in the same establishment. He was of the bullet-headed, pimpled and stubby-haired genus, but dressed up to the nines; and had as much pride as two half-Spanish counts or a peacock in a barnyard.
Charley was mostly engaged in the ware rooms, laboratory, etc., up stairs. He would arrive about 7 A. M., arrayed in the costume of the latest style, as he flaunted down Chestnut Street – by the way, it was a long, idle tramp, out of his road to do so, – his hair all frizzled up, hat shining and bright as a May morn, his dickey so stiff he could hardly expectorate over his goatee, while his "stunnin'" scarf and dashing pin stuck out to the admiration of Charley's extensive eyes, and the astonishment of half the clerks and all the shop boys along the line of our Beau Brummell's promenade!
It was very natural to conceive that Charley was impressed with the idea, that he was the envy of half the men, and the beau ideal of all the women he met! But your real dandy is no particular lover of women; he very naturally so loves himself that he lavishes all his fond affection upon his own person. So it was with our beau– he wouldn't have risked dirtying his hands, soiling his "patent leathers," or disarranging his scarf the thirteenth of an inch, to save a lady from a mad bull, or being run down by a wheelbarrow! Charley, to be sure, would walk with them, talk with them, beau them to the theatre, concert or ball room, provided always – they were dressed all but to within half an inch of their lives! The man who introduced a new and stunnin' hat, scarf, or coat, Charley would swear friendship to, on sight! A shabby, genteel person was his abomination; a patch or darn, utterly horrifying! He lived, moved, breathed – ideally, his ideality based, of course, upon ridiculous superfluities of life – leather and prunella, entirely. Charley looked upon "a dirty day" as upon a villanously-dressed person, while a bright, shining morn – giving him amplitude to make a "grand dash," won from him the same encomiums to the producer that he would bestow on the getter-up of an elegant pair of cassimeres – commendable works of an artist! The genus dandy, whether of savage or civilized life, is a felicitous subject for peculiar, speculative, comparative analogy or analysis; we shall pursue the shadow no farther, but come to the substance.
After arriving at the establishment, Charley would strip off his "top hamper," placing his finery in a closet with the care and diligence of a maiden of thirty, and upwards. Then, donning a rude pair of over-alls and coat, he condescended to go to work. Now, in the said establishment, our beau had few friends; the men, girls, and boys were "down" upon him; the men, because of his dandyism; the females hated him, because Charley stuck his long nose up at "shop girls," and wouldn't no more notice them in the streets, than if they were chimney sweepers or decayed esculents! We boys didn't like him no how, generally, though it was policy for him to treat us tolerably decent, because his pride made it imperiously necessary that some of the "little breeches" should do small chores, errands, bringing water from the street, carrying down to the shop goods, etc., which might otherwise devolve upon himself. But men, girls and boys were always scheming and practising jokes and tricks upon the beau. The boys would all rush off to dinner – first having so dirtied the water, hid the towels and soap, that poor Charley would necessarily be obliged to go down into the public street and bring up a bucket of the clean element to wash his begrimed face and hands. And mark the difficulties and diplomacy of such an arrangement. Charley would slip down into the lower entry, peep out to see if any body was looking, – if a genteel person was visible, the beau held back with his bucket; after various reconnaissances, the coast would appear clear, and the beau would dash out to the pump, agitate "the iron-tailed cow" with the force and speed of an infantile earthquake – snatch up the bucket, and with one dart hit the doorway, and glide up stairs, thanking his stars that nobody "seen him do it!"
In one of these forays for water, the beau was decidedly cornered by two of the "shop girls." They, sly creatures, observed poor Charley from an upper "landing" of the stairway, in the entry below, watching his chance to get a clear coast to fill his dirty bucket. The moment the beau darted out, down rush the girls – slam to the door and bar it!
The beau, dreaming of no such diabolical inventions, gives the pump an awful surge, fills the bucket, looks down the street, and – O! murder, there come two ladies – the first cuts of the city, to whom Charley had once the honor of a personal introduction! With his face turned over his shoulder at the ladies– his nether limbs desperately nerved for tall walking, – he dashes at the supposed open entryway, and – nearly knocked the panel out of the door, smashing the bucket, spilling the water, and slightly killing himself!
It was almost "a cruel joke," in the girls, who, taking advantage of the stunning effect of the operation, unbarred the door and vanished, before poor Charley picked himself up and scrambled into the lower store to recuperate.
Weeks ran on; the beau had enjoyed a respite from the wiles of his persecutors, when one morning he was forced to come down into the store in his working gear, well be-spattered with oleaginous substances, dust and dirt; in this gear, Charley presented about as ugly and primitive a looking Christian, as might not often – before California life was dreamed of – be seen in a city. We did quite an extensive retail trade – the store was rarely free from ton-ish citizens, mostly "fine ladies," in quest of fine perfumes, soaps, oils, etc., to sweeten and decorate their own beautiful selves. But, before venturing in, our beau had an eye about the horizon, to see that no impediments offered; things looked safe, and in comes the beau.
We were upon very fair terms with Charley, and he was wont to regale us with many of his long stories about the company he faced into, the "conquests" he made, and the times he had with this and that, in high life. Fanny Kemble was about that time – belle of the season! Lioness of the day! setting corduroy in a high fever, and raising an awful furore– generally! Alas! how soon such things – cave in!
Charley got behind the counter to stow away some articles he had brought down, and began one of his usual harangues:
"Theatre, last night, Jack?"
"No; couldn't get off; wanted to," said we.
"O, you missed a grand opportunity to see the fashion beauty and wealthy people of this city! Such a house! Crowded from pit to dome, met a hundred and fifty of my friends – ladies of the first families in town, with all the 'high boys' of my acquaintance!"
"And how did Fanny do Juliet?" we asked.
"Do it? Elegant! I sat in the second stage box with the two Misses W. (Chestnut street belles!) and Colonel S. and Sam. G., and his sister (all nobs of course!), and they were truly entranced with Miss Kemble's Juliet! I threw for Miss G. her elegant bouquet, – Fanny kissed her fingers to me, and with a look at me, as I stood up so – (the beau gave a tall rear up and was about to spread himself, when glancing at the door, he sees – two ladies! right in the store!) thunder!" he exclaims.
If the beau had been hit by a streak of lightning, he would not have dropped sooner than he did, behind the counter.
The ladies proved to be nobody else than those of the very two Misses W. themselves; they lived close by, and frequently came to the store. Beneath our counter were endless packages, broken glass, refuse oils, rancid perfumes, dust, dirt, grease, charcoal, soap, and about everything else dingy and offensive to the eye and nose. The place afforded a wretched refuge for a hull so big and nice as our beau's, but there he was, much in our way too, with the mournful fact, for Charley, that if those "fine ladies" stayed less than half an hour, without overhauling about every article in the store, it would be a white stone indeed in the fortunes of the beau! The ladies sat; they dickered and examined – we exhibited and put away, the beau lying crouched and crucifying at our feet, and we sniggering fit to burst at the contretemps of the poor victim. Charley stood it with the most heroic resignation for full twenty minutes, when the two Misses W. got up to go. Casting their eyes towards the door, who should be about to pass but the divine Fanny!
Fanny Kemble! Seeing the two Misses W., whose recognition and acquaintance was worth cultivating – even by the haughty queen of the drama and belle of the hour; she rushed in, they all had a talk – and you know how women can talk, will talk for an hour or two, all about nothing in particular, except to talk. Imagine our beau, – "Phancy his phelinks," as Yellow Plush says, and to heighten the effect, in comes the boss! He comes behind the counter – he sees poor Charley sprawling – he roars out:
"By Jupiter! Mr. Whackstack, are you sick? dead?"
"Dead?" utters Fanny.
"A man dead behind your counter, sir?" scream the Misses W.!
With one desperate splurge, up jumps the beau; rushes out, up stairs – gets on his clothes, and we did not see him again for over two years!