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Updated: May 19, 2025
I found your front door open, and walked through the entry to the back parlor, where you fust see me standin'. Afore I could ask you for any work, you wanted to know if I hadn't been sent to mend your piazza railing. It was easy to say 'Yes, and I said it." "And very well you carried out the joke, Amos," said old Van Quintem. "You wouldn't make a bad actor."
Matthew, whose ideal was a delicate woman with observable shoulder blades, had also, by repeated sights of Mrs. Frump, become reconciled to her ample proportions. Meantime, they had heard much, incidentally, of each other through Marcus Wilkeson. Matthew had come to esteem Mrs. Frump for her affectionate devotion to old Van Quintem; and Mrs.
The anticipated awkwardness of an introduction to old Van Quintem, was prevented by the approach of that gentleman before his name was announced. "Welcome! welcome!" said he, shaking him by the hand with Dutch fervor. "I know you from Bog's description, you see. Your statement in the morning papers has lifted a load from several hearts, I can tell you. Bog will be delighted to see you.
The third laugh had roused old Van Quintem from a nice nap, and he came out on the piazza. "Hallo, Mr. Carpenter! what are you doing there?" said he, good-naturedly. A few words from the supposed carpenter defined his position, and threw old Van Quintem into the appropriate state of amazement.
Turning the corner of Clinton Place, he ran up that side of the triangular block, and met the stage. He pulled his old cap farther over his eyes, to prevent the possibility of recognition by young Van Quintem, and, gliding swiftly behind the stage, when he was sure that the driver was not looking, hooked on to the step behind, just as he had done a thousand times when he was a smaller boy.
Old Van Quintem looked at the intruder a moment, and then said, as if remembering something, "Are you the man sent by Crumley to mend my piazza railing?" There was the least hesitation in the man's voice, as he answered, "Yes, sir. I'm here to do that job." His voice was a deep growl, as of a grizzly bear half tamed. "Where are your tools?" asked old Van Quintem.
Van is a common prefix of names in New York; but Bog needed no further assurance that this Van belonged to Quintem. Bog followed his guides at a short distance. After proceeding two squares, they stopped in front of a stylish old mansion, and, after a furtive look up and down and across the street, ascended the steps, and opened the door.
Much as his conduct deserves punishment, I could not reduce him to beggary, you know." This useless discussion was cut short by the precipitate entrance of the subject of it. Mr. Van Quintem was greatly surprised at the sudden apparition, and his face exhibited signs first of astonishment, then of indignation, then of pleasure, in quick succession.
Van Quintem stifled his emotion, and, turning suddenly upon his visitor, cried, in a voice of despair: "Tell me, sir, in Heaven's name, what shall I do with my son?" And it had most generally happened that he was requested to bestow the last valuable article in cases where inexperience absolutely disqualified him from giving it.
She was folding up articles on the counter, and packing them into little boxes, and did not look toward young Van Quintem. Bog thought this a good sign. The young man leaned over the counter, and addressed some words to her, to which her lips moved as if in reply, while her eyes were still downcast on her work.
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