The boats were very uncertain in low water in these
primitive times. This time the Thursday boat
had not arrived at ten at night—so the people
had waited at the landing all day for nothing; they
were driven to their homes by a heavy storm without
having had a view of the illustrious foreigners.
Eleven o’clock came; and the Cooper house was
the only one in the town that still had lights burning.
The rain and thunder were booming yet, and the anxious
family were still waiting, still hoping. At last
there was a knock at the door, and the family jumped
to open it. Two Negro men entered, each carrying
a trunk, and proceeded upstairs toward the guest room.
Then entered the twins—the handsomest, the
best dressed, the most distinguished-looking pair
of young fellows the West had ever seen. One
was a little fairer than the other, but otherwise they
were exact duplicates.
Let us endeavor so
to live that when we come to die even
the undertaker will
be sorry. —Pudd’nhead Wilson’s
Calendar
Habit is habit, and
not to be flung out of the window by
any man, but coaxed
downstairs a step at a time. —
Pudd’nhead Wilson’s
Calendar
At breakfast in the morning, the twins’ charm
of manner and easy and polished bearing made speedy
conquest of the family’s good graces. All
constraint and formality quickly disappeared, and the
friendliest feeling succeeded. Aunt Patsy called
them by their Christian names almost from the beginning.
She was full of the keenest curiosity about them, and
showed it; they responded by talking about themselves,
which pleased her greatly. It presently appeared
that in their early youth they had known poverty and
hardship. As the talk wandered along, the old
lady watched for the right place to drop in a question
or two concerning that matter, and when she found
it, she said to the blond twin, who was now doing the
biographies in his turn while the brunette one rested:
“If it ain’t asking what I ought not to
ask, Mr. Angelo, how did you come to be so friendless
and in such trouble when you were little? Do you
mind telling? But don’t, if you do.”
“Oh, we don’t mind it at all, madam; in
our case it was merely misfortune, and nobody’s
fault. Our parents were well to do, there in
Italy, and we were their only child. We were of
the old Florentine nobility”—Rowena’s
heart gave a great bound, her nostrils expanded, and
a fine light played in her eyes—“and
when the war broke out, my father was on the losing
side and had to fly for his life. His estates
were confiscated, his personal property seized, and
there we were, in Germany, strangers, friendless,
and in fact paupers. My brother and I were ten
years old, and well educated for that age, very studious,
very fond of our books, and well grounded in the German,
French, Spanish, and English languages. Also,
we were marvelous musical prodigies—if you
will allow me to say it, it being only the truth.
