Punchinello, Vol. II., No. 35, November 26, 1870 - Various
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Vol. II. No. 35.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1870.
PUNCHINELLO
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MAN AND WIVES.
A TRAVESTY.
BY MOSE SKINNER.
CHAPTER FIRST.
CROQUET.
A croquet party has assembled in Mrs. TIMOTHY LADLE'S front yard,
located in one of the most romantic spots in that sylvan retreat, the
State of Indiana.
"Who's going to play," did you say?
Come with me, and I'll introduce you.
This austere female, with such inflexible rigidity of form, such
harrowing cork-screw curls, and chronic expression as of smelling
something disagreeable, is Mrs. LADLE, the hostess. A widow. Her
husband, the late TIMOTHY, was a New York detective. Amassing a
competency, he emigrated to Indiana, became a Bank Director and
Sunday-School Superintendent, and died beloved by all.
Produce your very best bow for Mrs. LADLE, and trot out your company
talk, for she's in the mother-in-law business, and thoroughly up to
snuff.
This old male party, with the remains of a luxuriant growth of very red
hair, clinging fondly, like underbrush round a rock, to the sides of his
head, with a seedy-looking patch far under the chin to match, whose limp
dickey droops pensively as if seeking to crawl bodily into the embrace
of the plaid gingham which encircles his neck, and in whose nose is
embodied that rare vermilion tint which artists so love to dwell
upon;--this is the Hon. MICHAEL LADLE, brother of the late TIMOTHY, a
Western Member of Congress, and a grass widower.
This girl of the period, whose saucy black eyes bear down on you like a
twenty-four gun frigate; looking as it were through you, and counting
the hairs on the back of your neck, is Miss BELINDA LADLE, daughter of
the deceased TIMOTHY, and step-daughter to the hostess who was TIM'S
second matrimonial venture, you understand.
This young woman mounts a lager-beer cask, and stops the buzz of
conversation by bringing her mallet down with a smart rap upon the head
of the nearest bald-headed gentleman.
"Attention, company," said she--"Stand up straight, and look as well as
you can.--_Take_--mallets."
While the guests are boisterously laughing, with that rare appreciation
of refined humor peculiar to the West, Mrs. LADLE, the proper, attempts
an indignant remonstrance, but is interrupted by the Hon. MICHAEL.
"Oh, let the little gal have her tantrums, sister-in-law," said he.
"Mebbe _you_ was young once, though nobody now living could swear to
it."
"Come," interrupted BELINDA, "we've had gassin' enough. Choose your
partners. Mildewed age, before infantile beauty. Mother-in-law, go in."
The extremely respectable and highly dignified female last alluded to
shook her fist at BELINDA on the sly, and said:
"I'll take ANN BRUMMET."
The lady who stepped forward at this summons was greeted with a wide
stare, and every eye-glass was focussed.
She was a remarkable-looking female. She wasn't exactly handsome, but
there was a sort of a something about her, you understand,
that--ah--riveted the gaze of folks generally, you see, and a
fellow--ah--caught himself looking the second time, as you may say--and
ah--it wasn't style either, for one shoulder was higher than the other,
and her hair was done up in a bob, and she took awful long steps, and
swung her arms as far as they would go each way; and her collar looked
as though she'd slept in it, and she wore rubbers like a school-ma'am.
And you couldn't say 'twas regularity of features exactly, either, for
her eyes were too limited in circumference, and her nose too numerous in
diameter; and her mouth monopolized too much latitude, and she had a
hair-mole on one cheek, and faint dawnings of a moustache on her upper
lip. But in spite of these trivial eccentricities, you felt when you
looked at her, as I said before--ah--a sort of--as it were--a--
By Jove, I can't describe it.
The general impression was that she was an heiress, and the comments
were numerous.
"How graceful!" "Look at that swan-like neck!" "What a perfect form!"
"What a dove-like expression!" "Do introduce me!" "Who is she?"
"She's a poor relation of Mrs. LADLE'S."
"There, I thought so!" "What an object!" "Forcing herself into genteel
society, too!" "The audacity of these creatures is perfectly horrid."
It was BELINDA'S turn to choose next, and she pointed straight at the
man she wanted, and said:
"JEFFRY MAULBOY."
It was natural she should choose him, for he was greatly respected by
all present, and the ladies especially regarded him as simply a hero;
for he was one of the Great Masters in the noble Art of Muscle.
Let me explain.
At the time of which I write, there had been a contest in the
Universities of America between Brains and Muscle, and the latter had
conquered. Brains were accounted a very good thing in their way, but
what we want, sir, is Muscle. If a man can master his Greek, and his
Latin, and his Theology, and his Law, and such frothy trifles between
times, well and good, but he musn't neglect his Muscle.