Originally published: 1879
Genres: Romance
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/201416334-brownie-s-triumph
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/71118
Chapters: 43
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
AN ENCOUNTER
“Brownie! Brownie Douglas, wait a moment.”
Time—three o’clock in the afternoon of the 5th of September, 1876.
Place—vestibule of the Memorial Hall, at the World’s Centennial Exposition, Philadelphia, when all the world did literally flock to behold the great sights in that city of brotherly love.
The speaker of the above sentence was a young lady of about twenty, tall, slender, and of aristocratic bearing.
The person addressed was a bright little fairy, who looked not over sixteen, yet who in reality was two years older.
She turned quickly toward the aristocratic-looking lady who had spoken.
“What is it, Aspasia? I have been waiting for you. Where have you been?” she asked, brightly.
“Oh, this is you, then? I thought that young lady just passing out was you—these linen dusters deceive one so.”
“You look heated and weary; will you not sit down and rest?” asked Brownie Douglas, regarding the flushed face of her friend with an amused look in her dark, bright eyes.
There was never a greater contrast than between those two young ladies.
One tall, fair, and languid, and dressed in the height of fashion; covered with jewels, laces, flowers, and furbelows, not to mention a three-quarter of a yard train, which, with the other fixings referred to, demanded so much of her attention that she could enjoy nothing of the wonders and beauties around her.
The other, petite and dainty; her glossy brown hair simply coiled at the back of her small head, which was crowned with a hat of dark straw, trimmed with a wreath of scarlet berries and shining dark green leaves. Her half-fitting linen ulster protected, while it did not wholly conceal her rich though simple dress of black silk, which just cleared the floor, and did not hide the “two mites of feet,” encased in their tiny French boots. A pair of gray silk gloves covered her little hands, and a simple linen collar was fastened at her delicate throat by a richly carved spray of coral, her only visible ornament.
“Are you ready to go on now?” she asked her friend, as she saw the frown upon her brow fade out, at being once more set in moving order.
“Yes, but— There! Oh, dear!”
Miss Douglas, who was about to move on, turned again at this cry of woe, and immediately a ripple of musical, irrepressible laughter broke from her scarlet lips.
There stood her friend in the act of gathering up her voluminous train, while directly behind her stood an unmistakable countryman, with one huge foot planted firmly upon the ruffles and plaitings of the beautiful skirt, securely pinning it to the floor, and making it optional with Miss Aspasia, either to go on and leave behind her that (to her) very important appendage, or wait until that herculean member should be removed.
The luckless, though innocent cause of this uncomfortable state of affairs, was gazing with wide eyes, and open mouth, at the figure of an Indian upon the trail opposite him, and wholly unconscious of the strong attachment that bound him to the fashionable belle.
“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Douglas, hastening to the rescue, “but will you please lift your foot?”
“Eh? What? Oh, ya-as,” ejaculated the clumsy, but good-natured fellow. “I declare, miss, I never saw so many wimmen a losin’ their clo’s off before. I hain’t ben nowhere today but somebody’s dress has ben tumblin’ off on ’em, and I’ve stepped on’t. I sh’d hev a fit if ’twar me, and I’m tarnal glad I wur born to a pair o’ breeches.”
Miss Huntington colored angrily, and murmured something about “such insufferable insolence,” whereupon the irrepressible countryman offered a piece of friendly advice.
“Grandm’th’r ’d tell ye to sew it on stronger to the bindin’—put on a button and make a buttonhole. That’s her way, and I don’t believe she ever lost her petticoat in her life.”
Having delivered himself of these pithy remarks, he moved away, and at this instant, a suppressed laugh greeted Miss Brownie’s ear. Looking up, she caught two pairs of mirth-gleaming eyes fixed upon herself and her unfortunate companion.
Two young men were standing near, and had been amused witnesses of the comical scene just described.
On being discovered, one of them lifted his hat and bowed low to Miss Douglas, who flushed a rosy red as she returned it, and who would instantly have burst into gleeful laughter had it not been for doing violence to her companion’s feelings.
As it was, however, she linked her arm in Miss Huntington’s and turned quickly away, but not before she had caught the look of unmistakable admiration with which the other gentleman regarded her.
“Who is she?” he asked eagerly of his companion after he had watched her out of sight.
“That full-rigged craft, with all her sail crowded on, is Miss Aspasia Huntington, a Baltimore belle and heiress—”
“And the other?” interrupted the first speaker, somewhat impatiently.
“Is—hold on to your ears, my boy—Miss Mehetabel Douglas, of Philadelphia,” was the startling announcement, accompanied by a smile of amusement.
“Thunder!”
“’Tis rather an imposing cognomen for such a dainty piece of flesh and blood, I admit.”
“Her parents ought to be choked for giving her such a name.”
“They are already defunct, and, I believe, in no way responsible for the obnoxious appellation.”
“How so?”
“Her father died before she was born, and her mother at her birth; so the poor little waif fell to the tender mercies of a maiden great-aunt on her father’s side, who immediately had her christened for herself, and proceeded forthwith to bring her up, after her own ideas, to inherit her million of money.”
“But the other one called her Brownie?”
“Yes; no one could ‘Mehetabel’ that sprite. Her nurse called her Brownie from the first, on account of her eyes, hair, and skin, for she was very dark as a child.”
“Showed her good taste—the name just suits her,” muttered the first speaker, absently.
“The little elf liked the pet name so well herself that she would never allow anyone to call her anything else. I believe since she has grown up her schoolmates and a few of her gentlemen acquaintances, who do not feel familiar enough to address her so freely, shorten the obnoxious old maid title into ‘Meta.’”
“You seem to know all about her.”
“Yes, my sisters are intimate with and very fond of her. As for myself, I always thought her a bewitching little fairy.”
“She has the sweetest and brightest face in the world,” was the enthusiastic reply.
“Ah, ha! Hard hit, aren’t you, Dredmond?”
“So hard that I should like another of the same kind. Will you introduce me?”
“Certainly, the first opportunity.”
“You say the old aunt is rich?”
“Immensely, and very aristocratic, too.”
“Aristocratic, is she? The little one herself seems to be simple enough; she puts on no airs. How civilly she spoke to that countryman.”
“Oh, yes; she treats the rich and the poor alike. She has been very kind to some poor working girls whom I know, and yet she has a thus-far-and-no-farther way with her, when the occasion requires, which even your high blood could not overcome.”
“There’s fun in her, though; how her bright face dimpled and gleamed when that clown stood ballast for Miss Huntington. Douglas, I believe, was the name of the little one, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“It is a good one with us.”
“A good one! I guess it is, my boy. Why, Miss Mehetabel, the elder, claims to be a direct descendant from the Scottish nobility.”
“Aha! is that so?”
“Yes, indeed; but I warn you if you go there not to bring up the subject of genealogy, for once started upon that topic, there is no whoa until she brings up with an ancient queen.”
“Pshaw! you are talking gammon now,” returned the young man, impatiently.
“Indeed, I am not. I have seen the genealogical tree, and I assure you she has as good blood flowing in her veins as you have, notwithstanding she has been an inhabitant of plebian America for nearly half a century.”
“Well, well, Gordon, we won’t quarrel about their ancestry; there is beauty enough there, let alone blue blood.”
“Yes. But I think we have discussed the subject sufficiently. Shall we go over to Machinery Hall now?”
“Anywhere you choose, but stop! What have we here?”
Adrian Dredmond stooped and picked up the shining something upon which he had almost stepped as they turned to leave the place.
It proved to be a costly cuff button of black enamel and gold. Upon the face of it was a large D, studded with brilliants, while a tiny row of the same precious stones was set around the edge.
Turning it over, the young man discovered the word “Brownie” engraved in the finest letters on the back.
“‘Ye gods and little fishes,’ Gordon! I’ve found a treasure!” and he held it up to view.
“Egad! that is so. That must have cost a cool hundred,” exclaimed Gordon, examining it critically, then added: “You are in luck, my boy. It is a good omen to find something belonging to one whom you admire.”
“Is it?”
“Yes; but I suppose torture would not compel you to give it up until you can put it into the owner’s own little hands,” and the young man laughed.
“You are right for once,” returned Dredmond, lightly, although with heightened color.
“It will give me a good excuse for seeking an introduction,” he added, as he carefully tucked the button into his vest pocket.
Again Gordon laughed.
“Mark my words, Dredmond, something unusual will come of your finding that trinket.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I don’t know—it is a sudden impression, perhaps, but I believe it will have an influence on your future.”
“You are superstitious,” replied Dredmond, with a little scornful curl of his handsome lips.
“If it should result in your carrying Miss Brownie Douglas off to the old country with you, there would be a buzzing about your ears, I can tell you; for not a few have their eye fixed already upon the dainty elf with her golden pile in prospect.”
“Are you among the number, Gordon?” asked his friend, with a keen glance at the young man.
“Not I, my boy; my star shines from another quarter,” Gordon replied, laughingly, though growing red in the face with the acknowledgment.
“I think then, my friend, you are getting up a little romance upon your own account, and without much of a foundation to begin with. If you were interested I should not wonder, but as there is no jealousy in the matter it seems a little singular that you should jump to conclusions thus. I fear, Gordon, I shall have to set you down as a masculine matchmaker.”
“Call me what you like, but I confess that I think you and that little fairy would suit each other wonderfully well. She is just the right kind of a little woman to make a—”
“Hush, my boy; do not reveal my secrets here,” interrupted Adrian Dredmond, looking anxiously around.
“Well, well, come on then to Machinery Hall; but, Dredmond, I think you are over modest about some matters.”
“It is a failing which will never harm anybody,” the young man replied, smiling; then linking arms in a friendly way with his companion, they wended their way to view that wonder of modern achievements, the Corliss engine, and those countless other inventions of the human brain.
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