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"Or maybe you'd like to have us open all the windows." "Give me champagne," said Perry. "Going to the Townsends' circus ball to-night?" "Am not!" "'Vited?" "Uh-huh." "Why not go?" "Oh, I'm sick of parties," exclaimed Perry, "I'm sick of 'em. I've been to so many that I'm sick of 'em." "Maybe you're going to the Howard Tates' party?" "No, I tell you; I'm sick of 'em."
Then he gasped and returned the revolver to its hiding-place. "Well, Perry Parkhurst!" he exclaimed in amazement. "Got the wrong party, Mr. Tate," said Perry sheepishly. "Hope I didn't scare you." "Well you gave us a thrill, Perry." Realization dawned on him. "You're bound for the Townsends' circus ball." "That's the general idea." "Let me introduce Mr. Butterfield, Mr. Parkhurst."
This became our gaping generalisation it gaped even under the moral that the anecdote was always, and so familiarly, humanly and vividly, designed to convey: everyone in the little old Albany of the Dutch houses and the steep streets and the recurrent family names Townsends, Clintons, Van Rensselaers, Pruyns: I pick them up again at hazard, and all uninvidiously, out of reverberations long since still everyone without exception had at last taken a turn as far as possible from edifying.
They had lived just one month in their new house, and were happy, although at times somewhat lonely from missing the society of Townsend Centre, when the trouble began. The Townsends, although they lived in a fine house in a genteel, almost fashionable, part of the city, were true to their antecedents and kept, as they had been accustomed, only one maid.
The Townsends had determined to assure their party of success, so a great quantity of liquor had been surreptitiously brought over from their house and was now flowing freely. A green ribbon ran along the wall completely round the ballroom, with pointing arrows alongside and signs which instructed the uninitiated to "Follow the green line!"
There was many a tale of wild roistering, if no worse, in that old roadhouse, and high stakes, and quarreling in cups, and blows, and money gotten in evil fashion, and the matter hushed up with a high hand for inquirers by the imperious Townsends who terrorized everybody. David Townsend terrorized nobody.
His father was an eminent scholar, the author of Hermes, and other well known treatises on literary and philosophical subjects. But the scholar was also a man of active public life. Entering into parliament, he was appointed a lord of the treasury in 1763, and secretary and comptroller of the Queen's household some years after. A bon-mot of one of the Townsends is recorded, on his taking his seat.
"I smelt cabbage cooking all the morning up in my room," Adrianna said faintly, "and here's codfish and potatoes for dinner." The Townsends all looked at one another. David rose with an exclamation and rushed out of the room. The others waited tremblingly. When he came back his face was lowering. "What did you " Mrs. Townsend asked hesitatingly.
"Lookit!" he repeated. "Costume for the Townsends' circus ball. I'm li'l' boy carries water for the elephants." Perry was impressed in spite of himself. "I'm going to be Julius Caesar," he announced after a moment of concentration. "Thought you weren't going!" said Macy. "Me? Sure I'm goin', Never miss a party. Good for the nerves like celery." "Caesar!" scoffed Baily. "Can't be Caesar!
Townsend was as transfixed as the rest. They heard the outer door shut, then the door into the room swung open and slowly that awful black group of people which they had seen in the afternoon entered. The Townsends with one accord rose and huddled together in a far corner; they all held to each other and stared.
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