Chapter I

“The contemptible little jackanapes! he had the audacity to ask me to play whist with him!” exclaimed Sophia Danvers to her sister.

“And why should he not, sister?” answered Mary Danvers, calmly.

“Why should he not, indeed! Did he think I would demean myself by playing whist with a clerk—one of my father’s servants?” and Sophia tossed her head in proud disdain.

“I can see no impropriety in your associating with him, Sophia. He is certainly a handsome, intelligent and well-behaved young man.”

“Behaves well enough, for aught I know; but only think of it—a clerk in our drawing room! For my part, I wonder how father could ever think of such a thing as admitting him into the family.”

“I suppose it was because he liked the looks of him.”

“What will Mr. Augustus Fitzherbert say when he finds us associating with poor clerks—the trash of counting rooms?”

“It matters little to me what he thinks; he is a conceited puppy, and I wonder that you can endure his presence,” replied Mary, smartly.

“But he is the leader of the ton, Mary,” said Sophia, astonished at the plebeian notions of her sister.

“He is a perfect flat, for all that, and infinitely inferior, in all that constitutes a man, to Mr. Harlowe, whom you affect to despise.”

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Danvers.

“How could you bring that horrible clerk into the house, papa?” said Sophia, as the merchant prince seated himself by the blazing grate.

“Horrible clerk! Pray, what is the matter with him?” asked Mr. Danvers, evincing some surprise at the plain speech of his daughter.

“Why, he is a clerk.”

“But a respectable young man.”

“Respectable enough, but not fashionable, papa.”

“I was a clerk once, Sophia; I commenced by sweeping out a store, and carrying bundles about the city.”

“How absurdly you talk, papa!”

“But Mr. Harlowe is a very estimable young man; I am confident you will find him agreeable company.”

“I shall have nothing to say to him,” replied Sophia, with a shrug of the shoulders.

“Beware, Sophia; there is an old proverb, you know, about entertaining angels unawares.”

Sophia laughed heartily at the idea of a poor clerk being an angel.

“But what says Mary?” asked the merchant, turning to his gentle-hearted daughter.

“O, I like him very much; we are already fast friends,” replied Mary, and a slight blush seemed to emphasize the remark.

“Just like her, papa; I should not wonder if she got head over heels in love with your mercantile angel.”

“She must do as she pleases about that,” replied Mr. Danvers, smiling.

“Pooh, Sophy! who said a word about falling in love? Can’t a body be civil to a young gentleman without falling in love with him?”

The pretty Mary blushed as she spoke, in good earnest—blushed so palpably that her father began to think the affair was something more than a mere jest.

“But pray, papa, when does your new partner arrive?” asked Sophia. “If all the accounts I have heard of his wit, gallantry, and personal attractions are true, I shall certainly set my cap for him.”

“He will appear one of these days,” replied Mr. Danvers.

“I hope you will not keep this stupid clerk in the house after he comes.”

“I certainly shall.”

“But, papa, we shall ‘lose caste’ if you do; it is really abominable.”

“Small loss, my child. If we are dependent upon the apes and puppies of fashionable life for our position in society, the sooner we lose it the better for our own self-respect,” said Mr. Danvers, smiling good humoredly.

“You are absurd, papa.”

“Now, Sophy, you have given me a lesson, let me give you one. The idol you worship is more senseless than those of the Feegee Islands. Fashionable society is as hollow as a brass pan; place no reliance upon it. The fops and fools who follow in your train are as soulless as they are brainless.”

“I wish Mr. Augustus Fitzherbert could hear you say so,” added Sophia.

“Mr. Augustus Fitzherbert was a journeyman barber in New Orleans, less than a year ago. I had the honor of being shaved by him last winter when I was there.”

“O, horrid, papa! Why have you not exposed him?”

“Why should I, my child? He is as good a fellow, as sensible a person, and, according to your statement, as fashionable a man as Mr. Finstock, whose great grandfather was the governor of the state.”

“Is it possible that Mr. Fitzherbert was a barber?” exclaimed Sophia, horrified at the appalling statement.

“Nothing else, my child.”

“An impostor?” added Mary.

“Just so. Probably he is trying to obtain a rich wife.”

“It is abominable, I declare! One hardly knows, nowadays, who is respectable and who is not,” said Sophia.

“Therefore, my child, we ought not to speak so disparagingly of persons in humble life, as you have to-night.”

“Pooh! a clerk!”

At this moment, Mr. Harlowe, the new clerk, entered the room, and, as Sophia would have expressed it, had the impudence to seat himself by the side of Mary Danvers, who appeared not at all averse to this close proximity with him.

Frederic Harlowe was, as Mary had said, a handsome, intelligent, and agreeable young man; and Sophia, if she could have forgiven him for being a clerk, could have appreciated his society quite as highly as did her sister.

With her father’s permission, Mary accepted an invitation from Frederic to attend Alboni’s last concert.

They had scarcely left the house before Mr. Augustus Fitzherbert was ushered into the sitting room. This gentleman was an exquisite of the “first water.” In his personal appearance, he certainly was sufficiently well endowed to challenge the admiration of the fair sex; but, unfortunately, he was sadly lacking in that necessary element of a man of sense—brains.

Sophia could scarcely refrain from expressing the contempt she felt for the journeyman barber in disguise. The leader of the “ton,” in her estimation, was a ruined man.

The dandy, as a matter of courtesy, inquired for Mary, and was informed that she had gone to the concert with Mr. Harlowe.

“With Mr. Harlowe—a clerk—aw?” said the ex-journeyman barber, with a sneer, as he twirled up the long “rat tail” of his mustache.

“A very worthy young man,” replied Mr. Danvers.

“No doubt of it, saw; but a clerk—aw.”

“Pray, were you never a clerk, Mr. Fitzherbert? I was.”

“A clerk! No, saw—nevaw!”

“Did I not meet you in New Orleans last winter?”

The dandy started up like a parched pea from a hot pan.

“I have a faint recollection of having met you in a barber’s shop there,” continued the merchant, tormentingly.

“Aw, very likely, saw. I patronize the barbaws.”

“And now I think of it, you wore a little white apron, and, if I mistake not, I had the pleasure of being shaved by you in person.”

“Quite a mistake, saw, I assuaw you.”

Suddenly Mr. Augustus Fitzherbert, whose real name was John Smike, remembered an imperative engagement, and hastened to take his leave.

He was seen to enter the cars for New York on the following day, and nothing has been heard of him since.