the bindery in which hattie butler, with over one hundred other persons, male and female, worked, was famous for doing very fine private work, outside of that done for many publishers who had their work contracted for there. gentlemen of wealth and taste, who had rare old works in worn-out covers, and wished them preserved in more stately dress, frequently brought them there for the purpose of outer renovation.
so it happened that on the very morning which succeeded the night when hattie received the california letter, a fine equipage, from far up town, stopped in the narrow street which fronted the bindery, and an elderly, old-fashioned gentleman got out and toiled up the stairs to the bindery floor with a bundle of some size under one arm.
he was met, quite obsequiously, by mr. w——, one of the proprietors, who knew, by past experience, that some nice, well-paying work was in view, and asked into the office.
“no, no, i am in a hurry,” said the old gentleman. “i want to see your foreman—i have some french and german reviews here—old and rare—which are all to pieces and somewhat mixed up. i bought them at an auction—a regular old bookworm once owned them, but he died, and his graceless heirs sold off the collection of years for a mere song, compared to their real value. i wish these properly collated, and bound nicely for my library.”
[17]
“the foreman will wait upon you, mr. legare, in a few moments,” said the proprietor. “take a seat by this table.”
the man of wealth sat down, and mr. w—— sent a boy after the foreman.
the latter came and looked over the mixed up and scattered pages with a perplexed look.
“i’m afraid you can do nothing with them,” said mr. legare, noticing the expression in the foreman’s face. “i am sorry, for i doubt if a second copy of either work can be found in this city, or indeed in america.”
“try, mr. jones—try your very best,” said mr. w——, anxiously.
“i think we can do it, sir,” said the foreman, brightening up. “i accidentally discovered that one of our girls, hattie butler, is a good linguist—reads german and french as well as she does english—one of our best and most quiet girls, too.”
“send for her, please,” said mr. legare. “i do so want to preserve these works in good shape.”
and presently hattie butler stood before the trio—one of her employers, mr. legare, and the foreman—calm and lady-like, neat in her white apron and brown calico dress, her black hair wound in a queenly crown about her shapely head.
“hattie, see what can be done with these old reviews,” said the foreman, with the familiar, bossy style peculiar to too many of his class.
the young girl took up the french work, and instantly said:
“this is very old. a french review of dante’s ‘inferno.’ some pages, i see, are misplaced; but if all are here, sir, i can soon arrange them.”
mr. w—— looked at mr. legare triumphantly.
[18]
“the german work—can you arrange that also, young lady?” asked mr. legare, looking in wonder at this beautiful girl, so young, working here, yet evidently a scholar.
hattie took up the other review, glanced over the pages, and replied:
“yes, sir. i see that this is a bitter attack on martin luther, and must date with the first ages of the protestant reformation.”
“great heaven! why, young lady, what are you doing here with such an education?”
“working, sir, as thousands do in this great city and elsewhere, for my daily bread.”
“sewing folios at the bench, and we have no better in the shop,” added the foreman.
“do you understand any other languages?” asked the wondering man of wealth.
“italian and spanish, sir. i was taught by my mother, who was not only a fine linguist, but had traveled a great deal in the countries where these various languages are spoken. i was born in italy.”
“yet of american parentage?”
“yes, sir.”
“this is no place for you, young lady. your education should place you in a far higher sphere.”
“excuse me, sir. shall i at once go to work to arrange these pages? i will sew them myself when i have them all right, so there will be no mistake.”
“yes—yes—thank you. i will reward you well,” said mr. legare, with unusual warmth, for he was a very steady, precise old gentleman, generally, in all things.
“thank you, sir; all pay and emoluments must go to my employers. i receive my wages—no more.”
[19]
and hattie, with a graceful bow, took up the scattered pages, and went to her work-bench.
“w——, who on earth is this prodigy? the mistress of five languages—for she speaks english perfectly, and as pretty and lady-like as any woman that i ever met.”
the proprietor almost blushed when he said:
“my dear mr. legare, she has worked here, i believe, for nearly two years, at the same bench, and until to-day i never knew her acquirements. i have often noticed her beauty and extreme modesty, for she has avoided all intimacies in the shop, but nothing beyond this has attracted my notice. i never make myself familiar with my hands—seldom speak to them, except through the foreman. i am as much surprised as you at this discovery, and shall promote the girl at once, and increase her wages. our work has increased so much—private work, like yours, that as a collator, translator, and arranger, she will have enough to do nearly all the time. mr. jones, you can so inform her, and prepare a table in some quiet part of the shop, where there is little noise, and she will not be disturbed.”
the foreman turned away with a bow of acquiescence, but was recalled to receive directions as to the style of binding required by mr. legare for the new works.
“this young lady—miss butler, i believe, is her name—will tell you what titles to put on the backs, and be sure to have the original dates of the issue of works there also. i am very particular about that.”
“i know it, sir, and we will be very careful,” said the foreman.
and when the man of wealth and influence turned to leave, mr. w—— went down the stairs with him,[20] and saw him into his carriage, and stood bare-headed on the sidewalk until he had driven away.
and this is republican, democratic america!
no kings, nor dukes, nor lords here—but to the sovereignty of wealth the reddest or blackest republican, or the noisiest democrat, bends his servile knee and cowering head more abjectly than any serf in russia bows before the imperial form.
independence! bah! ’tis but a name!
