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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Here is one friend of the family," continued Amos, in his pleasantest manner, pointing to Matthew, "whom I don't know by name, though we've scraped an off-hand 'quaintance." "Mr. Frump Matthew Maltboy, Esq.," said old Van Quintem. Matthew, like Mrs.
Upon my word, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to help a little; but I fear that, when the old man came out of it, and saw me over him, he would go off again. So I guess I had better leave." And young Van Quintem sauntered cheerfully out of the room, in company with his four friends from Brown's.
Matthew was not a transcendental philosopher; and the true answers to these questions did not come to him. Old Van Quintem, pale and beautiful in his declining years, sat by the window that opened on the green leaves of the back yard, calmly smoking his pipe, and thinking, with a holy sadness, of his dead wife and his worse-than-dead son.
She was very pale, and tears dimmed her eyes. Mrs. Crull flew toward her, and the poor girl fell on her breast, and cried as if her heart would break. Good Mrs. Crull helped her to a sofa, and sat down, and strained her young friend closely to her bosom, "Be calm," said she, "dear child!" Old Van Quintem and Bog looked on with sad interest.
There were but few persons in the stage. Young Van Quintem hailed the conveyance, jumped in before it could stop, and the driver whipped up his horses to an increased speed. Bog was tired, and he knew not how far he might have to follow the stage at a full trot. He resolved upon his course instantly.
It was really pleasant for them to reflect that the snug property which their father left them had not been squandered upon designing husbands, but had been kept, improved, and added to, until it was one of the prettiest estates on Staten Island. These ladies were first cousins of old Van Quintem, and had an odd habit of staying at home.
The best description which he could get of this man, tallied precisely with that of Myndert Van Quintem, jr. But Overtop, with that discretion which was continually enlarging his circle of paying practice, said nothing of this to the old gentleman.
He took a hasty inventory of Bog's old clothes, and then said, "Clare out, now!" He commenced to close the window. "I was told to give you a half dollar," said Bog, bethinking himself of a powerful expedient, "if you would find out whether Mr. Van Quintem was here, and hand him a letter." The negro's eyes dilated, and his thick lips wreathed into a grin. "Mr.
Neither of these courses being practicable until that young man had entitled himself to the benefit of one or the other of them in the legitimate way, Marcus Wilkeson had nothing to offer, and so he told the old gentleman. Mr. Van Quintem was disappointed. He looked up wistfully, and said: "Can't you suggest something?"
"That's not very 'markable," returned the stranger, in profound guttural accents, "considerin' as how I come from California this week." "You have brought home tons of gold, I dare say," said old Van Quintem, playfully. "A little," growled the stranger. "The diggins was poor in Calaveras County when I fust went there, but latterly they improved."
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