MIXED DUTIES
Most women will forgive a liberty,
rather than a slight.
—Colton.
When I crossed the White House grounds and found my
way to the spot where I had left my horse, I discovered
my darky boy lying on his back, fast asleep under
a tree, the bridle reins hooked over his upturned
foot. I wakened him, took the reins and was about
to mount, when at the moment I heard my name called.
Turning, I saw emerge from the door of Gautier’s
little cafe, across the street, the tall figure of
an erstwhile friend of mine, Jack Dandridge, of Tennessee,
credited with being the youngest member in the House
of Representatives at Washington—and credited
with little else.
Dandridge had been taken up by friends of Jackson
and Polk and carried into Congress without much plan
or objection on either side. Since his arrival
at the capital he had been present at few roll-calls,
and had voted on fewer measures. His life was
given up in the main to one specialty, to-wit:
the compounding of a certain beverage, invented by
himself, the constituent parts of which were Bourbon
whiskey, absinthe, square faced gin and a dash of
eau de vie. This concoction, over which
few shared his own personal enthusiasm, he had christened
the Barn-Burner’s Dream; although Mr. Dandridge
himself was opposed to the tenets of the political
party thus entitled—which, by the way, was
to get its whimsical name, possibly from Dandridge
himself, at the forthcoming Democratic convention
of that year.
Jack Dandridge, it may be said, was originally possessed
of a splendid constitution. Nearly six feet tall,
his full and somewhat protruding eye was as yet only
a trifle watery, his wide lip only a trifle loose,
his strong figure only a trifle portly. Socially
he had been well received in our city, and during
his stay east of the mountains he had found occasion
to lay desperate suit to the hand of none other than
Miss Elisabeth Churchill. We had been rivals,
although not enemies; for Jack, finding which way
the wind sat for him, withdrew like a man, and cherished
no ill will. When I saw him now, a sudden idea
came to me, so that I crossed the street at his invitation.
“Come in,” said he. “Come in
with me, and have a Dream. I have just invented
a new touch for it; I have, ’pon my word.”
“Jack,” I exclaimed, grasping him by the
shoulder, “you are the man I want. You
are the friend that I need—the very one.”
“Certainly, certainly,” he said; “but
please do not disarrange my cravat. Sir, I move
you the previous question. Will you have a Dream
with me? I construct them now with three additional
squirts of the absinthe.” He locked his
arm in mine.
“You may have a Dream,” said I; “but
for me, I need all my head to-day. In short,
I need both our heads as well.”
Jack was already rapping with the head of his cane
upon the table, to call an attendant, but he turned
to me. “What is the matter? Lady, this
time?”
