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Page 68
[Here Fausta adds, in this manuscript, a parenthesis, to say that she
folded her undersleeves neatly, and her collar, before she slept, and
put them between the cushions, upon which she slept. In the morning they
had been pressed--without a sad-iron.]
She finished her repast. I opened the church door for five minutes. She
passed out when she had enough examined the monuments, and at a
respectable distance I followed her. We joined each other, and took our
accustomed morning walk; but then she resolutely said, "Good by," for
the day. She would find work before night,--work and a home. And I must
do the same. Only when I pressed her to let me know of her success, she
said she would meet me at the Astor Library just before it closed. No,
she would not take my money. Enough, that for twenty-four hours she had
been my guest. When she had found her aunt and told her the story, they
should insist on repaying this hospitality. Hospitality, dear reader,
which I had dispensed at the charge of six cents. Have you ever treated
Miranda for a day and found the charge so low? When I urged other
assistance she said resolutely, "No." In fact, she had already made an
appointment at two, she said, and she must not waste the day.
I also had an appointment at two; for it was at that hour that Burrham
was to distribute the cyclop�dias at Castle Garden. The Emigrant
Commission had not yet seized it for their own. I spent the morning in
asking vainly for Masons fresh from Europe, and for work in
cabinet-shops. I found neither, and so wrought my way to the appointed
place, where, instead of such wretched birds in the bush, I was to get
one so contemptible in my hand.
Those who remember Jenny Lind's first triumph night at Castle Garden
have some idea of the crowd as it filled gallery and floor of that
immense hall when I entered. I had given no thought to the machinery of
this folly, I only know that my ticket bade me be there at two P.M. this
day. But as I drew near, the throng, the bands of policemen, the long
queues of persons entering, reminded me that here was an affair of ten
thousand persons, and also that Mr. Burrham was not unwilling to make it
as showy, perhaps as noisy, an affair as was respectable, by way of
advertising future excursions and distributions. I was led to seat No.
3,671 with a good deal of parade, and when I came there I found I was
very much of a prisoner. I was late, or rather on the stroke of two.
Immediately, almost, Mr. Burrham arose in the front and made a long
speech about his liberality, and the public's liberality, and
everybody's liberality in general, and the method of the distribution in
particular. The mayor and four or five other well-known and respectable
gentlemen were kind enough to be present to guarantee the fairness of
the arrangements. At the suggestion of the mayor and the police, the
doors would now be closed, that no persons might interrupt the ceremony
till it was ended. And the distribution of the cyclop�dias would at once
go forward, in the order in which the lots were drawn,--earliest numbers
securing the earliest impressions; which, as Mr. Burrham almost
regretted to say, were a little better than the latest. After these had
been distributed two figures would be drawn,--one green and one red, to
indicate the fortunate lady and gentleman who would receive respectively
the profits which had arisen from this method of selling the
cyclop�dias, after the expenses of printing and distribution had been
covered, and after the magazines had been ordered.
Great cheering followed this announcement from all but me. Here I had
shut myself up in this humbug hall, for Heaven knew how long, on the
most important day of my life. I would have given up willingly my
cyclop�dia and my chance at the "profits," for the certainty of seeing
Fausta at five o'clock. If I did not see her then, what might befall
her, and when might I see her again. An hour before this certainty was
my own, now it was only mine by my liberating myself from this prison.
Still I was encouraged by seeing that everything was conducted like
clock-work. From literally a hundred stations they were distributing the
books. We formed ourselves into queues as we pleased, drew our numbers,
and then presented ourselves at the bureaux, ordered our magazines, and
took our cyclop�dias. It would be done, at that rate, by half past four.
An omnibus might bring me to the Park, and a Bowery car do the rest in
time. After a vain discussion for the right of exit with one or two of
the attendants, I abandoned myself to this hope, and began studying my
cyclop�dia.
It was sufficiently amusing to see ten thousand people resign themselves
to the same task, and affect to be unconcerned about the green and red
figures which were to divide the "profits." I tried to make out who were
as anxious to get out of that tawdry den as I was. Four o'clock struck,
and the distribution was not done. I began to be very impatient. What if
Fausta fell into trouble? I knew, or hoped I knew, that she would
struggle to the Astor Library, as to her only place of rescue and
refuge,--her asylum. What if I failed her there? I who had pretended to
be her protector! "Protector, indeed!" she would say, if she knew I was
at a theatre witnessing the greatest folly of the age. And if I did not
meet her to-day, when should I meet her? If she found her aunt, how
should I find her? If she did not find her,--good God? that was
worse,--where might she not be before twelve hours were over? Then the
fatal trunk! I had told the police agent he might send it to the St.
Nicholas, because I had to give him some address. But Fausta did not
know this, and the St. Nicholas people knew nothing of us. I grew more
and more excited, and when at last my next neighbor told me that it was
half past four, I rose and insisted on leaving my seat. Two ushers with
blue sashes almost held me down; they showed me the whole assembly
sinking into quiet. In fact, at that moment Mr. Burrham was begging
every one to be seated. I would not be seated. I would go to the door. I
would go out. "Go, if you please!" said the usher next it,
contemptuously. And I looked, and there was no handle! Yet this was not
a dream. It is the way they arrange the doors in halls where they choose
to keep people in their places. I could have collared that grinning blue
sash. I did tell him I would wring his precious neck for him, if he did
not let me out. I said I would sue him for false imprisonment; I would
have a writ of _habeas corpus_.
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