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Putchett in some measure recovered his spirits. He introduced himself to a brakeman by means of a cigar, and questioned him until he satisfied himself that the place to which he had purchased a ticket was indeed unknown to the world, being far from the city, several miles from the railroad, and on a beach where boats could not safely land. Arrived at his destination, Mr.
Just then some one shouted "Alice!" and the child exclaiming, "Mamma's calling me; good-by," hurried away, while the broker walked slowly toward the hotel with an expression of countenance which would have hidden him from his oldest acquaintance. Mr. Putchett spent the evening on the piazza instead of in the barroom, and he neither smoked nor drank.
But as he never intruded, spoke only when spoken to, and devoted himself earnestly and entirely to the task of amusing the children, the boarders all admitted that he was very good-hearted. Among Alice's numerous confidences, during her second stroll with Mr. Putchett, was information as to the date of her seventh birthday, now very near at hand.
Then he studied her face with considerable curiosity, and asked: "Do you live here?" "Oh, no," she replied; "we're only spending the Summer here. We live in New York." Mr. Putchett opened his eyes, whistled, and remarked: "It's very funny." "Why, I don't think so," said the child, very innocently. "Lots of people that board here come from New York. Don't you want to see my well?
The bath ended, Alice rejoined Mr. Putchett and conducted him to the spot where the wonderful shells with pink and yellow spots were found. The new shell-seeker was disgusted when the child shouted "Come along!" to several other children, and was correspondingly delighted when they said, in substance, that shells were not so attractive as once they were. Mr.
Putchett mounted several steps of the Sub-Treasury in Wall Street, and gazed inquiringly up and down the street. To the sentimental observer Mr. Putchett's action, in taking the position we have indicated, may have seemed to signify that Mr.
Putchett, carried him up to the dry sand, laid him face downward, raised his head a little, and shouted: "Somebody stand between him and the sun so's to shade his head! Slap his hands, one man to each hand. Scrape up some of that hot, dry sand, and pile it on his feet and legs. Everybody else stand off and give him air."
Putchett the fate which, in its peculiarity of visiting people in their happiest hours, has been bemoaned by poets of genuine and doubtful inspiration, from the days of the sweet singer of Israel unto those of that sweet singer of Erin, whose recital of experience with young gazelles illustrates the remorselessness of the fate alluded to. Plainly speaking, Mr.
Putchett had not been shaved for some days, and had apparently neglected the duty of facial ablution for quite as long a time, he turned pale and looked quickly behind him and across the street; then muttering "Just my luck!" and a few other words more desponding than polite in nature, he hurried to the Post-Office, where he penciled and dispatched a few postal-cards, signed in initials only, announcing an unexpected and temporary absence.
Blough, quite tartly, "and none of us would have believed it of him, either." "I suppose not," said the officer, his face softening a little. "I've seen plenty of such cases before, though. Besides, it isn't my first call on Putchett not by several." Mrs. Blough walked indignantly away, but, true to her nature, she quickly repeated her news to her neighbors.
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