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Updated: June 19, 2025
That wretch, Van Quintem, jr., without a doubt. Did you never warn Miss Minford against him?" "Once," said Mrs. Crull, with a faint choke in her voice. "I had noticed his glances toward her at the inquest, and I told her he was a bad young man, and she must not allow him to speak to her in the street, and that, if he should come to my house to see her, I should shut the door in his face."
It was a touching sight to see the confiding trust with which the weakness of sixty-eight clung to the strong arm of nineteen. Bog hung down his head modestly, and blushed. He was not seen even to look at the little veiled figure which sat in the middle of the room. But young Myndert Van Quintem looked at it, and bowed with the deepest respect.
Frump ran in, red in the face, and quite out of breath. "Excuse me, sir. I am Mrs. Frump, Mr. Van Quintem's niece." "I am Mr. Wilkeson, a friend of Mr. Van Quintem," said Marcus, hastily introducing himself; "and I am glad you are come." "Yes, I see. Fainted away. Revive in a moment. Fresh air. Cordial, Quite right. Now a little water on his forehead." Mrs.
In a few minutes Marcus Wilkeson stood at the antique mansion, and pulled the bell. It vibrated feebly as if it shared with the house and its owner the infirmities of age. The bell was answered by an old, neatly dressed female servant. She had been told to admit the caller instantly, and said, "Mr. Van Quintem will see you, sir."
Frump, had taken tyrannical possession of the dwelling, and made such extraordinary transpositions of the carpets and pictures, and other movable property, that old Van Quintem, on surveying the work of renovation, hardly recognized the house as his own. The only apartment that was not inwardly transformed by these female magicians was the library.
Frump, "but it is well enough to have it understood that I made my pile." Mr. Frump nodded his head quietly, as one who does not lie. Old Van Quintem had hitherto hesitated to congratulate Mrs. Frump upon the reacquisition of her husband. He now advanced, and shook her warmly by the hand. "I wish you joy," said he. "And you too, Mr. Frump.
I was at Brown's from nine P.M. to four o'clock the following morning. And, if I mistake not, there is a gentleman in this room who can swear to having seen me there, say from ten to eleven." Saying this, young Van Quintem winked hard at the coroner. "You needn't mince matters," said the coroner. "I was at Brown's that night, and between the hours you name.
Van Quintem had fallen from his chair, and would have dropped upon the floor, but for the strong arm of the boy Bog. He was in the act of rising from his seat for the purpose of offering his hand to Marcus, when the vertigo, from which he was an occasional sufferer, seized him. "Poor old gentleman!" said Marcus, forgetful of all else, and rushing to the side of his venerable friend.
They came to New York always on important business, which could not be transacted by any one else, four times a year; and, on those occasions, paid state visits to old Van Quintem, who reciprocated the civility by calling on them, in a ceremonial way, twice every summer.
"To one of the oldest on record," replied Mr. Van Quintem. "My great ancestor, the genuine original Myndert, came over as cook with Hendrik Hudson. We have an iron spoon of doubtful authenticity, said to have descended from him.
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