CHAPTER XXIII.
UNCLE CHIPPERTON'S DINNER.
The next day was a busy one for father and mother and myself. All themorning we were out, laying in a small stock of baggage, to take theplace of what I had lost on the "Tigris." But I was very sorry,especially on my sister Helen's account, that I had lost so many thingsin my trunk which I could not replace, without going back myself toNassau. I could buy curiosities from those regions that were ever somuch better than any that I had collected; but I could not buy shellsthat I myself had gathered, nor great seed-pods, like bean-pods two feetlong, which I had picked from the trees, nor pieces of rock that Imyself had brought up from a coral-reef.
But these were all gone, and I pacified Helen by assuring her that Iwould tell her such long stories about these things that she couldalmost see them in her mind's eye. But I think, by the way she smiled,that she had only a second-rate degree of belief in my power ofdescription. She was a smart little thing, and she believed that Cornywas the queen of girls.
While I am speaking of the "Tigris" and our losses, I will just say thatthe second boat which left the burning steamer was never heard from.
We reached our hotel about noon, pretty tired, for we had been rushingthings, as it was necessary for father to go home early the next day. Onthe front steps we found Uncle Chipperton, who had been waiting for us.He particularly wanted to see me. He lunched with us, and then he tookme off to the place where he was to have his dinner, at six o'clock thatevening. He wanted to consult with me about the arrangements of thetable; where each person should sit, and all that sort of thing. Icouldn't see the use in this, because it was only a kind of familyparty, and we should all be sure to get seated, if there were chairs andplaces enough. But Uncle Chipperton wanted to plan and arrangeeverything until he was sure it was just right. That was his way.
After he had settled these important matters, and the head-waiter andthe proprietor had become convinced that I was a person of muchconsequence, who had to be carefully consulted before anything could bedone, we went down stairs, and at the street-door Uncle Chippertonsuddenly stopped me.
"See here," said he, "I want to tell you something. I'm not coming tothis dinner."
"Not--coming!" I exclaimed, in amazement.
"No," said he, "I've been thinking it over, and have fully made up mymind about it. You see, this is intended as a friendly reunion,--anoccasion of good feeling and fellowship among people who are boundtogether in a very peculiar manner."
"Yes," I interrupted, "and that seems to me, sir, the very reason whyyou should be there."
"The very reason why I should not be there," he said. "You see, Icouldn't sit down with that most perverse and obstinate man, Colbert,and feel sure that something or other would not occur which would makean outbreak between us, or, at any rate, bad feeling. In fact, I know Icould not take pleasure in seeing him enjoy food. This may be wrong, butI can't help it. It's in me. And I wont be the means of casting a shadowover the happy company which will meet here to-night. No one but yourfolks need know I'm not coming. The rest will not know why I amdetained, and I shall drop in toward the close of the meal, just beforeyou break up. I want you to ask your father to take the head of thetable. He is just the man for such a place, and he ought to have it,too, for another reason. You ought to know that this dinner is reallygiven to you in your honor. To be sure, Rectus is a goodfellow--splendid--and does everything that he knows how; but my wife andI know that we owe all our present happiness to your exertions and goodsense."
He went on in this way for some time, and although I tried to stop him,I couldn't do it.
"Therefore," he continued, "I want your father to preside, and all ofyou to be happy, without a suspicion of a cloud about you. At any rate,I shall be no cloud. Come around here early, and see that everything isall right. Now I must be off."
And away he went.
I did not like this state of affairs at all. I would have much preferredto have no dinner. It was not necessary, any way. If I had had theauthority, I would have stopped the whole thing. But it was UncleChipperton's affair, he paid for it, and I had no right to interferewith it.
My father liked the matter even less than I did. He said it was astrange and unwarrantable performance on the part of Chipperton, and hedid not understand it. And he certainly did not want to sit at the headof the table in another man's place. I could not say anything to him tomake him feel better about it. I made him feel worse, indeed, when Itold him that Uncle Chipperton did not want his absence explained, oralluded to, any more than could be helped. My father hated to have tokeep a secret of this kind.
In the afternoon, I went around to the hotel where the Chippertonsalways staid, when they were in New York, to see Corny and her mother. Ifound them rather blue. Uncle Chipperton had not been able to keep hisplan from them, and they thought it was dreadful. I could not helpletting them see that I did not like it, and so we didn't have as livelya time as we ought to have had.
I supposed that if I went to see Rectus, and told him about the matter,I should make him blue, too. But, as I had no right to tell him, andalso felt a pretty strong desire that some of the folks should comewith good spirits and appetites, I kept away from him. He would havebeen sure to see that something was the matter.
I was the first person to appear in the dining-room of the restaurantwhere the dinner-table was spread for us. It was a prettily furnishedparlor in the second story of the house, and the table was verytastefully arranged and decorated with flowers. I went early, by myself,so as to be sure that everything was exactly right before the guestsarrived. All seemed perfectly correct; the name of each member of theparty was on a card by a plate. Even little Helen had her plate and hercard. It would be her first appearance at a regular dinner-party.
The guests were not punctual. At ten minutes past six, even my father,who was the most particular of men in such things, had not made hisappearance. I waited five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes more, and becameexceedingly nervous.
The head-waiter came in and asked if my friends understood the time thathad been set. The dinner would be spoiled if it were kept much longer. Isaid that I was sure they knew all about the time set, and that therewas nothing to be done but to wait. It was most unaccountable that theyshould all be late.
I stood before the fireplace and waited, and thought. I ran down to thedoor, and looked up and down the street. I called a waiter and told himto look into all the rooms in the house. They might have gone into thewrong place. But they were not to be seen anywhere.
Then I went back to the fireplace, and did some more thinking. There wasno sense in supposing that they had made a mistake. They all knew thisrestaurant, and they all knew the time. In a moment, I said to myself:
"I know how it is. Father has made up his mind that he will not be mixedup in any affair of this kind, where a quarrel keeps the host of theparty from occupying his proper place, especially as he--my father--isexpected to occupy that place himself. So he and mother and Helen havejust quietly staid in their rooms at the hotel. Mrs. Chipperton andCorny wont come without Uncle Chipperton. They might ride right to thedoor, of course, but they are ashamed, and don't want to have to makeexplanations; and it is ridiculous to suppose that they wont have to bemade. As for Rectus and his people, they could not have heard anything,but,--I have it. Old Colbert got his back up, too, and wouldn't come,either for fear a quarrel would be picked, or because he could take nopleasure in seeing Uncle Chipperton enjoying food. And Rectus and hismother wouldn't come without him."
It turned out, when I heard from all the parties, that I had got thematter exactly right.
"We shall have to make fresh preparations, sir, if we wait any longer,"said the head-waiter, coming in with an air of great mental disturbance.
"Don't wait," said I. "Bring in the dinner. At least, enough for me. Idon't believe any one else will be here."
The waiter looked bewildered, but he obeyed. I took my seat at the placewhere my card lay, at the midd
le of one side of the table, and spread mynapkin in my lap. The head-waiter waited on me himself, and one or twoother waiters came in to stand around, and take away dishes, and try tofind something to do.
It was a capital dinner, and I went carefully through all the courses. Iwas hungry. I had been saving up some extra appetite for this dinner,and my regular appetite was a very good one.
I had raw oysters,
And soup,
And fish, with delicious sauce,
And roast duck,
And croquettes, made of something extraordinarily nice,
And beef _a la mode_,
And all sorts of vegetables, in their proper places,
And ready-made salad,
And orange pie,
And wine-jelly,
And ice-cream,
And bananas, oranges and white grapes,
And raisins, and almonds and nuts,
And a cup of coffee.
I let some of these things off pretty easy, toward the last; but I didnot swerve from my line of duty. I went through all the courses, quietlyand deliberately. It was a dinner in my honor, and I did all the honor Icould to it.
I was leaning back in my chair, with a satisfied soul, and nibbling atsome raisins, while I slowly drank my coffee, when the outer dooropened, and Uncle Chipperton entered.
He looked at me in astonishment. Then he looked at the table, with theclean plates and glasses at every place, but one. Then he took it allin, or at least I supposed he did, for he sat down on a chair near thedoor, and burst out into the wildest fit of laughing. The waiters camerunning into the room to see what was the matter; but for severalminutes Uncle Chipperton could not speak. He laughed until I thoughthe'd crack something. I laughed, too, but not so much.
"I see it all," he gasped, at last. "I see it all. I see just how ithappened."
And when we compared our ideas of the matter, we found that they werejust the same.
I wanted him to sit down and eat something, but he would not do it. Hesaid he wouldn't spoil such a unique performance for anything. It wasone of the most comical meals he had ever heard of.
I was glad he enjoyed it so much, for he paid for the whole dinner forten, which had been prepared at his order.
When we reached the street, Uncle Chipperton put on a graver look.
"This is all truly very funny," he said, "but, after all, there issomething about it which makes me feel ashamed of myself. Would youobject to take a ride? It is only about eight o'clock. I want to go upto see old Colbert."
I agreed to go, and we got into a street-car. The Colberts lived in oneof the up-town streets, and Uncle Chipperton had been at their house, onbusiness.
"I never went to see them in a friendly way before," he said.
It was comforting to hear that this was to be a friendly visit.
When we reached the house, we found the family of three in the parlor.They had probably had all the dinner they wanted, but they did not lookexactly satisfied with the world or themselves.
"Look here, Colbert," said Uncle Chipperton, after shaking hands withMrs. Colbert, "why didn't you go to my dinner?"
"Well," said Mr. Colbert, looking him straight in the face, "I thoughtI'd better stay where I was. I didn't want to make any trouble, or pickany quarrels. I didn't intend to keep my wife and son away; but theywouldn't go without me."
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Colbert.
"Oh, well!" said Uncle Chipperton, "you needn't feel bad about it. Ididn't go, myself."
At this, they all opened their eyes as wide as the law allowed.
"No," he continued, "I didn't want to make any disturbance, orill-feeling, and so I didn't go, and my wife and daughter didn't want togo without me, and so they didn't go, and I expect Will's father andmother didn't care to be on hand at a time when bad feeling might beshown, and so they didn't go. There was no one there but Will. He ateall of the dinner that was eaten. He went straight through it, from oneend to the other. And there was no ill-feeling, no discord, no cloud ofany kind. All perfectly harmonious, wasn't it, Will?"
"Perfectly," said I.
"I just wish I had known about it," said Rectus, a little sadly.
"And now, Mr. Colbert," said Uncle Chipperton, "I don't want this tohappen again. There may be other reunions of this kind, and we may wantto go. And there ought to be such reunions between families whose sonsand daughter have been cast away together, on a life-raft, in the middleof the ocean."
"That's so," said Mrs. Colbert, warmly.
"I thought they were _saved_ on a life-raft," said old Colbert, dryly."And I didn't know it was in the middle of the ocean."
"Well, fix that as you please," said Uncle Chipperton. "What I want topropose is this: Let us settle our quarrel. Let's split our difference.Will you agree to divide that four inches of ground, and call it square?I'll pay for two inches."
"Do you mean you'll pay half the damages I've laid?" asked old Colbert.
"That's what I mean," said Uncle Chipperton.
"All right," said Mr. Colbert; "I'll agree." And they shook hands on it.
"Now, then," said Uncle Chipperton, who seemed unusually lively, "I mustgo see the Gordons, and explain matters to them. Wont you come along,Rectus?" And Rectus came.
On the way to our hotel, we stopped for Corny and her mother. We mightas well have a party, Uncle Chipperton said.
We had a gay time at our rooms. My father and mother were greatly amusedat the way the thing had turned out, and very much pleased that Mr.Colbert and Uncle Chipperton had become reconciled to each other.
"I thought he had a good heart," said my mother, softly, to me, lookingover to Uncle Chipperton, who was telling my father, for the secondtime, just how I looked, as I sat alone at the long table.
Little Helen had not gone to bed yet, and she was sorry about the dinnerin the same way that Rectus was. So was Corny, but she was too glad thatthe quarrel between her father and Mr. Colbert was over, to care muchfor the loss of the dinner. She was always very much disturbed byquarrels between friends or friends' fathers.