Importing An Ancestor

ICopyright, 1893, by American Press Assocla-ÜPfl-J CHAPTER VI. W ALTER JEPSON. While we were still standing in the street in front of the undertaker's mopping our eyes preparatory toreturning to our hotel, a very seedy and dilapidated oíd man carne sidling up to us. Addressing my father, the 6eedy individual said: "My dear sir, one whose heart is softened by grief should be capable of feeling some slight degree of pity for a man wiw has great cause for grief, but whose v.-O' s and niisfortunes have long since (LtkhI up his fouutain of tears. One feels that one may make bold to appeal to a fel) ow sufferer in this cold and cruel world for a trifle in relief of pressing neces8ities when he sees that the jierson he addresses is still capable of shedding j tears. Sir, I pray God that your grief be not of a nature so profound that no 1 room is to be found in your heart for i the sorrows and afflictions of others. Sir, you see before you an unhappy felj low creature who is actuall}i starving for want of food!" All this was uttered so rapidly that my father could only stand open mouthed and listen to the end. Finding that my father did not at cace reply, the shabby individual went on another tack. "Sir," cried he, "I honor your grief, wbjch is doubtless deep, as you come f rom the receptacle of the dead, and I would not thus iutrude upon ' it were it not that my necessities compel what my reason deplores." i "Ah, you may well say, eir, that my i grief is deep, and that I have cause for the tears which you perceive me shed," said my father, gazing iugubriously upon ■ the seedy part}7. "You may well make i that remark, sir, for I have but now J come from the solemn contemplation of the cofflned remains of dearly beloved ancestors. My great-grandfather and great-grandmother, sir, lie prone in theij mortal dust in the rooms before which ] we stand," and the old gentleman plied his handkerchief to his eyes and ' shook convulsively. For some moments the shabby man j was so taken aback that he was unable ] to utter a single word, but at last he gasped, "Do I understand you to say, ! sir, that the deceased parties whose loss [ you mourn are your great-grandfather and great-grandinother?" "Even so, sir," said my father. "My respected progenitors." "Is it long since they ceased to exist?" ventured the shabby man, "That, my dear sir, depende upon the manner in wfcich we tiew such events,'1 said my father. "Viwed as an incident in the life cf the un .verse and the great scheme of tiie Creator, the breath haa but now left their bodies, but considered as we moríais estimate time they have been dead about 100 years." The old mendicant stood gazing at my father in speechless aitcuishment. Evidently he believed hintoelf in the presence of an insane person. The old fellow was regular ly beaten - dumfounded. But he very quickly regained his look of alertndss when my father thrust hishaud into his trousers pocket and said, "1 I lieve you remarked awhile ago, sir, tbat j you stood in neWiof some sort of i tnent?" "1 did, my doar and sadly afflicted friend," eageii cried the old man, 'and indeed I aru real1;' rauch in need of food." 1 laid my hand upon my father's arm as a hint to him to keep his money in his pocket. J had recognized the old man the moment he appeared, though be had no reason to reinember having ever before seen me. 1 had often seen the man both in California and Nevada. His name was V? alter Jepson. He had landed in California in the early days aB a regularly ordained Episcopalian minister, but in t'ne exciting times he went into the mines to dig gold, and in a little while became a "black sheep." For a long time he fiourished as a "high toneii sport," but lo%'e of drink at last dragged him down into the ranks of the ehronie bummers. When I had staid uiy father's hand, I turned to the old fellow and said sharply, "Jepson, bow long have you been on this drunk?" "This drank!" cried Jepson, opening his e3'es widely in surprise at being addressed by name. "Why, sir. I have not drunk enough in the last week to steady tny nerves. That's what's the mattei qow - iny only tronble." "I guess you're tellingthe truth,"said I. "You don't find it so easy to get your regular 'booze' here as you did in Nevada and California." "Ah! Then you are f rom the Pacific coast? You know me?" "Yes, very well by reputation." "That settles it then, for I'm sure yon don't know much of me that's good." "No, nor much that is very bad. The worst is your throwing yourself away through love of liquor." "Thank you, sir. Those are the kindest words I have heard in many a long day, froin which you may imagine the style of compliinents generally bestowed upon me." "Now, Jepson, teil me truly and as a Pacific coaster, do you want money for liquor or for food?" "Both. First I need a big stiff drink and then a good square meal. I am really more in need of food than are thousands who beg for it, yet I have need of stimulant, for I am nervous almost to the point of prostration, though of course much of this is due to want of proper food." "You have had a severe lesson here in New York, it would seeni?" "The worst I've ever had anywhere." "Do you think you could manage to brace up for a time if put in the way of being comf ortable and becoming respectable once more?" "Give me the chance!" "Well, you shall have it, Mr. Jepson." "God bless youl ril not deceive you, sir. On my honor as a Pacific coaster, if I find that I've got to go to the dogs again I'll teil you so, thank you for your kind effort on my behalf and bid you goodby." "Well, that is fair enough." All this time my father was eying me inquisitively, but ignoring the interrogationpoints in his eyes I turned to Jepson, gave him the name of our hotel and told him to follow us thither. 'But they will not admit me there," said Jepson. "I'll be in the office when you arrive and will make that all right.'1 "Thank j'ou, sir," said Jepson. As we walked to the hotel 1 unfoldecl to my father a project that had entered my head at the moment of Jepson's uneipected appearance. Giving my father a sketch of the fallen uiinister's career, 1 proposed that we get him straightened up, dress him properly and have him deliver a grand funeral oratiou upon the occasion of our depositing our titled ancestors in the Pasonagessit ceinetery. I informed my fatlier that such a discourse would be necessa,ry,asinit would be fully explaiued why the remains were brought to this country; also the nntoward circumstances which had occasioned the long delay in their removal. Besides, Mr. Jepson could say many things which modesty would forbid our saying for ourselveí;. "But, my dear boy," cried ïny father, looking alarmed, "you surely will not inform this man that the remains wö have were - I would say that in ing of our ancestors you will not di vuige those little family secrets which are only known to ourselves - to you and me!" "Of course not," said I. "He will enter upon his work with all the raore enthusiasm and carry it through all the more feelingly and effectively by not knowing those little immaterial details which belong exclusively to eertain well meaning and discreet nieinbers of our family, and in regard to which it is wholly superfluous to inform tJie great disinterested outside world." "Spoken like an oracle, Sam!" I then told my father that as soon as Jepson was over his nervousness I would permit him to read and make notes of the full genealogical records of our family; also would give him general directions in regard ti other parts of his discourse and then tot bici work it up at his leisure. CILiPTER VIL W ALTEE JEPSON REHAB1L1TATED. When Wal ter Jepson arrived at the hotel, we took him to our rooms and outlined to him thfa work we expected him to undertake. He was delighted with the proposal. That those who were to appear as centrv figures in his discourse had been persons of rank and title gave him great satisfactiou, as it seemed to liim that the circumstance would at auce lift him out of the "slougb of despond" and elévate him to a decent position among his kind. He looked upon the "noble remains," as he respectfully called the bones and ashes of our ancestors, as a great windfall - a perfect godsend to him. He said it seemed to be 'ïvhat he hul all his life been waiting for. " The opportvmity at last so imexpectedly presented to pull himself up to h3 foriner lerel of respectability appeared to give him far more pleasure taan did niy father's assurance that he would receivo $500 in case of his work being performed in á satisfaotory manner. Af ter the matter of the funeral oration had been sufSciently discussed I took Jepson in charge and sallied forth with him. My father was lef t behind to study the genealogical record of the Johnson family, an occupation in which he was capable of becoming so deeply absorbed as to become utterly oblivious of all other earthly things. He handled the huge parchment with more reverential care than he would have bestowed upon the most sacred relie in the Holy City. My first care was to take Jepson to a good restaurant and give him a meal such as he had probably not eaten in five years. Af ter he had eaten his fill he declared that he feit so well he was glad 1 had refused him the "one drink" for which he had at first asked. Next I took him to a secondhar.d clothing store and rigged him out in a full suit of ministerial cut and color that was almost as good as new; also procured for him a good supply of linen and underwear to be sent to an address he would presently leave at the store. This done, I marched my man to a barber shop and had a clean sweep made of the shaggy beard that covered his face, also caused his hair to be cut in the latest fashion. This done, he was given a bath - a regular scrubbing - arrayed in his clerical suit and again placed in the barber's chair for a final polishing. When all was done, Jepson became a fine, benevolent looking old gentleman. He was so completely transformed that he solemnly assured me that he utterly failed to recognize himself as he was refiected in a mirror. I could plainly see that the ver}' barbers were astonished at the transforination their handiwork had niaterially contributed to produce, though undoubtedly they witnessed many striking changes of the outward nian arnong their many queer customers. Presently the proprietor of the shop edged up to me. He could no longer restrain his consuming curiosity. Pointing toward Jepson with his chin as he wiped his hands on a towel, he asked, "Has your oíd friend been on a mission among the Indians?" "Yes, eir," said 1. "He has long been among the Pahranagats, at the headwaters of the Amargoso - the "bitter river." He has but recently escaped frorn sotne years of close captivity, in which he was held by old Twosocks. chief of the Chaweneraws." "Good God!" cried the barber, "and to this establishment belongs the credit of having restored him to the decencies of civilizationl" My next care was to secure board and lodging for Jepson in some quiet place. I was glad to see that he was every where at once taken to be a minister. Curiously enough, as soon as he had donned the ministerial garb he also put on what was probably his old time ministerial manner. When I had arranged for all else, 1 told him I would pro vid e for his obtaining at a convenient drug store any tonics he might for a time feel the want of. "No," said Jepson, "nothing of the kind. They would at once set me down as a minister who was so weak as to be the victiin of an unfortunate habit. They would well understand the use of the drutjjs. While I wear this garb no one shall ever have cause to suspect me of a fondness for drink." "Good for you, Jepson!" cried I. "1 do believe that you are determined not to disgrace the cloth you wear." "No, sir. If I feel that I must go back to my old miserable life, I shall take off these clothes and come and bid you goodby." Iu the evening 1 took Jepson to the ho tel and introduced him to my father as Rev. Mr. Rawson of New Jersey. The two old gentlemen were soou engaged in conversation, while 1 pretended to read the evening paper. My father soon launched forth upon what had bocome his hobby. He produced the genealogical record and explained the bringing over of the remains of our ancestors, Sir Archibald and Lady Eleanor. The psuedo Rev. Rawson seemed rnuch interested in every thing and had much to say in praise of my father's generous plans and dutiful actions and inteutions. Finally the reverend gentleman arose and took his leave. Almost as soon as he left the room my father cried: "Bam, I'm sorry we did not meet this Mr. Rawson bef ore making our arrangement with that vagabond Jepson. Mr. Rawson is the very man to have made the oration which we contémplate. He entered into the scope and spirit of the thing at once. Already he has a much better understanding of the matter than that fellow Jepson. Then he is a man who makes a noble and a godly appearance. Every word he utters seems to have in it the flavor of sanctity. I fear our Jepson is a sad dog, and that he will remain 80 despits all our efforte to get him out of the, il ure and make him presentable." Wliftii my father thns ended, I astounded him vvith a succession of roars of laughter. As soon as I could command niy tongue I said: "My dear father, congratúlate me upon my sagacity and the success of my efi'orts! Under the naine of Rawson yon have been talking with Jepson for the last two hours, not the old Jepson, but the nevv Jepson that I have constructed f rom the ragged remnants of the man we picked up on the etreet a few hours ago- the Jepson we shall hereafter know." My father declared that the rehabilitation of Jepson constituted the most remarkable transformation he had ever eeen or heard of. After I had given him my report of Jepson's conduct and resolutions my father was ready to swear by him. He said he would have Jepson hypnotized in order to keep him in his new and approved shape. This he actually did the very next day, Jepson freely assenting to tlie operation. My father afterward told me with a cunning chuckle that he had given the hypnotizer $5 extra and instrncted him to "give it to Jepson good and strong on the drinking business, and also to hit him heavy au his bnmp of religión and bring him sijuarely back into the fold of God." Jepson was not lazy. He set to work at once on the genealogy and in two days had made all the notes he required. Arranging credits for Jepson at certain places, we then left New York for Pasonagessit. The caskets containing the ashes of our ancestors and the tombstones were to remain at the undertaker's until sent for. When we came to take leave of Jepson, he announced to us that with the changed course he had taken in life he had decided to change his name. He said his mother's maiden name was Mowbray and that his f uil name was W alter Mowbray Jepson. He wished to drop the Jepson. which he had carried through so many years of' diagrace and misery. He begged us never again to address him by his old name f Jepson, unless we found hiin drunk. Henceforward he desired to be knovrn only as Walter Mowbray. To this we readily assented, and from that hour it was "down Jepson and up Mowbray." His landlady never heard the name of Jepson. To her and all the new acqtiaintances he made in New York he was "Rev. Mr. Mowbray," the "reverend" being an addition made by the public. ... ' To tB Ootitinued.