A Moustache, and What Came of It

I, Alfred Troptop, was on the point of leaving home and the friends of my youth, to enter business with my uncle in Philadelphia. I was just twenty-two, and was generally thought good-looking, had received a liberal education, and, altogether, might put myself down as well known and liked in New York, and a credible member of my father’s establishment. Only two events had occurred to disturb the peaceful monotony of a harmless career—one, my entrance into a military company; the other the pledging of my affections to my cousin Arabella, who came for a month from Philadelphia, stayed with us, and sealed my fate forever. In a word, I loved, and was beloved again.

I don’t mind confessing that this was the main cause of my willing acceptance of a seat in her father’s office in Philadelphia; and thus it came to pass that I was just on the point of beginning life in the Quaker city—I and my moustache. Here my troubles may properly be said to have begun. Let me be honest, and trace them at the onset to their cause.

My uncle was a methodical, plodding lawyer, who lived principally in his office, and barely tolerated life out of it. Again and again had my father pressed upon me the necessity of assuming as quiet and respectable a manner as possible. And yet, when I stepped on board the steamer which was to take me to Philadelphia, it was in a new military-looking suit, which cost nearly fifty dollars; hair as short as scissors could make it, and parted with the greatest precision; and my moustache curling upward at the corners of my mouth, in regular military style—as the hair dresser assured me.

It was a lovely morning we steamed merrily down the bay. The water was perfectly smooth, the band was playing “Dixie’s Land,” and I sat in the stern in most… Read More