Samantha at Saratoga, Marietta Holley [most romantic novels TXT] 📗
- Author: Marietta Holley
Book online «Samantha at Saratoga, Marietta Holley [most romantic novels TXT] 📗». Author Marietta Holley
And I wuz glad that Alminy had made it jest as she had. She had made it a little fuller than even I had laid out to have it, for she mistrusted it would shrink in washin’. It wuz a very full dress. It wuz cambrick dark chocolate, with a set flower of a kind of a cinnamon brown and yellow, it wuz bran new and looked well.
Wall, I had got it on, and wuz contemplatin’ its fullness with complacency and a hand-glass, a seein’ how nobly it stood out behind, and how full it wuz, when Josiah Allen came in. I had talked it over with him, before he went out—and he wuz as tickled as I wuz, and tickleder, to think I had got jest the right dress for the occasion. But he sez to me the first thing—“You are all wrong, Samantha, full dress means low neck and short sleeves.”
Sez I, “I know better!”
Sez he, “It duz.”
Sez I, “Somebody has been a foolin’ you, Josiah Allen! There ain’t no sense in it. Do you s’pose folks would call a dress full, when there wuzn’t more’n half a waist and sleeves to it. I’d try to use a little judgment, Josiah Allen! “
But he contended that he wuz in the right on’t. And he took up his best vest that lay on the bed, and sot down, and took out his jack knife and went a rippin’ open one of the shoulders, and sez I, “What are you doin’, Josiah Allen?”
“Why, you can do as you are a mind to, Samantha Allen,” sez he. “But I shall go fashionable, I shall go in full dress.”
Sez I, “Josiah Allen do you look me in the face and say you are a goin’ in a low neck vest, and everything, to that party to-night?”
“Yes, mom, I be. I am bound to be fashionable.” And he went to rollin’ up his shirt sleeves and turnin’ in the neck of his shirt, in a manner that wuz perfectly immodest.
I turned my head away instinctively, for I felt that my cheek wuz a gettin’ as red as blood, partly through delicacy and partly through righteous anger. Sez I, “Josiah Allen, be you a calculatin’ to go there right out in public before men and wimmen, a showin’ your bare bosom to a crowd? Where is your modesty, Josiah Allen? Where is your decency?”
Sez he firmly, “I keep ’em where all the rest do, who go in full dress.”
I sot right down in a chair and sez I, “Wall there is one thing certain; if you go in that condition, you will go alone. Why,” sez I, “to home, if Tirzah Ann, your own daughter, had ketched you in that perdickerment, a rubbin’ on linement or anything, you would have jumped and covered yourself up, quicker’n a flash, and likeways me, before Thomas Jefferson. And now you lay out to go in that way before young girls, and old ones, and men and wimmen, and want me to foller on after your example. What in the world are you a thinkin’ on, Josiah Allen?”
“Why I’m a thinkin, on full dress,” sez be in a pert tone, a kinder turnin’ himself before the glass, where he could get a good view of his bones. His thin neck wuzn’t much more than bones, anyway, and so I told him. And I asked him if he could see any beauty in it, and sez I, “Who wants to look at our old bare necks, Josiah Allen? And if there wuzn’t any other powerful reeson of modesty and decency in it, you’d ketch your death cold, Josiah Allen, and be laid up with the newmoan. You know you would,” sez I, “you are actin’ like a luny, Josiah Allen.”
“It is you that are actin’ like a luny,” sez he bitterly. “I never propose anything of a high fashionable kind but what you want to break it up. Why, dumb it all, you know as well as I do, that men haint called as modest as wimmen anyway. And if they have the name, why shouldn’t they have the game? Why shouldn’t they go round half dressed as well as wimmen do? And they are as strong agin; if there is any danger to health in it they are better able to stand it. But,” sez he, in the same bitter axents, “you always try to break up all my efforts at high life and fashion. I presume you won’t waltz to-night, nor want me to.”
I groaned several times in spite of myself, and sithed, “Waltz!” sez I in awful axents. “A classleader! and a grandfather! and talkin’ about waltzin’!”
Sez Josiah, “Men older than me waltz, and foller it up. Put their arms right round the prettiest girls in the room, hug ’em, and swing ’em right round”—sez he kinder spoony like.
I said nothin’ at them fearful words, only my groans and sithes became deeper and more voyalent. And in a minute I see through the fingers with which I had nearly covered my face, that he wuz a pullin’ down his shirt sleeves and a puttin’ his jack knife in his pocket.
That man loves me. And love sways him round often times when reesun and sound argument are powerless. Now, the sound reesun of the case didn’t move him, such as the indelicacy of makin’ a exhibition of one’s self in a way that would, if displayed in a heathen, be a call for missionarys to convert ’em, and that makes men blush when they see it in a Christian woman.
The sound reason of its bein’ the fruitful cause of disease and death, through the senseless exposure.
The sound reason of the worse than folly of old and middle-aged folks thinkin’ that the exhibition is a pretty one when it haint.
The sound reason of its bein’ inconsistent for a woman to allow the familiarity of a man and a stranger, a walkin’ up and puttin’ his arm round her, and huggin’ her up to him as clost as he can; that act, that a woman would resent as a deadly insult and her incensed relatives avenge with the sword, if it occurred in any other place than the ball-room and at the sound of the fiddle. The utter inconsistency of her meetin’ it with smiles, and making frantic efforts to get more such affronts than any other woman present—her male relatives a lookin’ proudly on.
The inconsistency of a man’s bein’ not only held guiltless but applauded for doin’ what, if it took place in the street, or church, would make him outlawed, for where is there a lot of manly men who would look on calmly, and see a sweet young girl insulted by a man’s ketchin’ hold of her and embracin’ of her tightly for half an hour,—why, he would be turned out of his club and outlawed from Christian homes if it took place in silence, but yet the sound of a fiddle makes it all right.
And I sez to myself mildly, as I sot there, “Is it that men and wimmen lose their senses, or is there a sacredness in the strains of that fiddle, that makes immodesty modest, indecency decent, and immorality moral?” And agin I sithe heavy and gin 3 deep groans. And I see Josiah gin in. All the sound reasons weighed as nothin’ with him, but 2 or 3 groans, and a few sithes settled the matter. Truly Love is a mighty conqueror.
And anon Josiah spoke and sez, “Wall, I s’pose I can gin it all up, if you feel so about it, but we shall act like fools, Samantha, and look like ’em.”
Sez I sternly, “Better be fools than naves, Josiah Allen! if we have got to be one or the other, but we haint. We are a standin’ on firm ground, Josiah Allen,” sez I. “The platform made of the boards of consistency, and common sense, and decency, is one that will never break down and let you through it, into gulfs and abysses. And on that platform we will both stand to-night, dear Josiah.”
I think it is always best when a pardner has gin in and you have had a triumph of principle, to be bland; blander than common to him. I always love at such times to round my words to him with a sweet affectionateness of mean. I love to, and he loves it.
We sot out in good season for the Garden party. And it wuz indeed a sight to behold! But I did not at that first minute have a chance to sense it, for Miss Flamm sent her hired girl out to ask me to come to her room for a few minutes. Miss Flamm’s house is a undergoin’ repairs for a few weeks, sunthin’ had gin out in the water works, so she and her hired girl have been to this tarven for the time bein’. The hired girl got us some good seats and tellin’ Josiah to keep one on ’em for me, I follered the girl, or “maid,” as Miss Flamm calls her. But good land! if she is a old maid, I don’t see where the young ones be.
Miss Flamm had sent for me, so she said, to see if I wanted to ride out the next day, and what time would be the most convenient to me, and also, to see how I liked her dress. She didn’t know as she should see me down below, in the crowd, and she wanted me to see it. (Miss Flamm uses me dretful well, but I s’pose 2/3ds of it, is on Thomas J’s account. Some folks think she is goin’ to have another lawsuit, and I am glad enough to have him convey her lawsuits, for they are good, honerable ones, and she pays him splendid for carryin’ ’em.)
Wall, she had her skirts all on when I went in, all a foamin’ and a shinin’, down onto the carpet, in a glitterin’ pile of pink satin and white lace and posys. Gorgus enough for a princess.
And I didn’t mind it much, bein’ only females present, if she wuz exposin’ of herself a good deal. I kinder blushed a little as I looked at her, and kep’ my eyes down on her skirts all I could, and thinkses I to myself,—“What if G. Washington should come in? I shouldn’t know which way to look.” But then the very next minute, I says to myself, “Of course he won’t be in till she gets her waist on. I’m a borrowin’ trouble for nothin’.”
At last Miss Flamm spoke and says she, as she kinder craned herself before the glass, a lookin’ at her back (most the hull length on it bare, as I am a livin’ creeter); and says she, “How do you like my dress?”
“Oh,” says I, wantin’ to make myself agreeable (both on account of principle, and the lawsuit), “the skirts are beautiful but I can’t judge how the hull dress looks, you know, till you get your waist on.”
“My waist?” says she.
“Yes,” says I.
“I have got it on,” says she.
“Where is it?” says I, a lookin’ at her closer through my specks, “Where is the waist?”
“Here,” says she, a pintin’ to a pink belt ribbon, and a string of beads over each shoulder.
Says I, “Miss Flamm, do you call that a waist?”
“Yes,” says she, and she balanced herself on her little pink tottlin’ slippers. She couldn’t walk in ’em a good honerable walk to save her life. How could she, with the instep not over two inches acrost, and the heels right under the middle of her foot, more’n a finger high? Good land, they wuz enuff to lame a Injun savage, and curb him in. But she sort o’ balanced herself unto ’em, the best she could, and put her hands round her waist—it wuzn’t much bigger than a pipe-stem, and sort o’ bulgin’ out both ways, above and below, some like a string tied tight round a piller, - and says she complacently, “I don’t believe there will be a dress shown to-night more stylish and beautiful than mine.”
Says I, “Do you tell me, Miss Flamm, that you are a goin’ down into that crowd of promiscus men and women, with nothin’ but them strings on to cover you?” Says I, “Do you tell me that, and you a perfesser and a Christian?”
“Yes,” says
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