PAGE 5
Fame’s Little Day
by
“I don’t care; we shan’t live but once. I ain’t comin’ to New York an’ confine myself to evenin’ meetin’s,” answered Abel, throwing away discretion and morality together. “I tell you I’m goin’ to spend this sugar-money just as we’ve a mind to. You’ve worked hard, an’ counted a good while on comin’, and so’ve I; an’ I ain’t goin’ to mince my steps an’ pinch an’ screw for nobody. I’m goin’ to hire one o’ them hacks an’ ride up to the Park.”
“Joe Fitch said we could go right up in one o’ the elevated railroads for five cents, an’ return when we was ready,” protested Mary Ann, who had a thriftier inclination than her husband; but Mr. Pinkham was not to be let or hindered, and they presently found themselves going up Fifth Avenue in a somewhat battered open landau. The spring sun shone upon them, and the spring breeze fluttered the black ostrich tip on Mrs. Pinkham’ s durable winter bonnet, and brought the pretty color to her faded cheeks.
“There! this is something like. Such people as we are can’t go meechin’ round; it ain’t expected. Don’t it pay for a lot o’ hard work?” said Abel; and his wife gave him a pleased look for her only answer. They were both thinking of their gray farmhouse high on a long western slope, with the afternoon sun full in its face, the old red barn, the pasture, the shaggy woods that stretched far up the mountain-side.
“I wish Sarah an’ little Abel was here to see us ride by,” said Mary Ann Pinkham, presently. “I can’t seem to wait to have ’em get that newspaper. I’m so glad we sent it right off before we started this mornin’. If Abel goes to the post-office comin’ from school, as he always does, they’ll have it to read to-morrow before supper-time.”
III.
This happy day in two plain lives ended, as might have been expected, with the great Barnum show. Mr. and Mrs. Pinkham found themselves in possession of countless advertising cards and circulars next morning, and these added somewhat to their sense of responsibility. Mrs. Pinkham became afraid that the hotel-keeper would charge them double. “We’ve got to pay for it some way; there. I don’t know but I’m more ‘n willin’,” said the good soul. “I never did have such a splendid time in all my life. Findin’ you so respected ‘way off here is the best of anything; an’ then seein’ them dear little babies in their nice carriages, all along the streets and up to the Central Park! I never shall forget them beautiful little creatur’s. And then the houses, an’ the hosses, an’ the store windows, an’ all the rest of it! Well, I can’t make my country pitcher hold no more, an’ I want to get home an’ think it over, goin’ about my housework.”
They were just entering the door of the Ethan Allen Hotel for the last time, when a young man met them and bowed cordially. He was the original reporter of their arrival, but they did not know it, and the impulse was strong within him to formally invite Mr. Pinkham to make an address before the members of the Produce Exchange on the following morning; but he had been a country boy himself, and their look of seriousness and self-consciousness appealed to him unexpectedly. He wondered what effect this great experience would have upon their after-life. The best fun, after all, would be to send marked copies of his paper and Ederton’s to all the weekly newspapers in that part of Vermont. He saw before him the evidence of their happy increase of self-respect, and he would make all their neighborhood agree to do them honor. Such is the dominion of the press.
“Who was that young man?–he kind of bowed to you,” asked the lady from Wetherford, after the journalist had meekly passed; but Abel Pinkham, Esquire, could only tell her that he looked like a young fellow who was sitting in the office the evening that they came to the hotel. The reporter did not seem to these distinguished persons to be a young man of any consequence.