The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [73]
He was bigger now, fleshier, boasting a decided double chin and a mustache, which looked absurd, almost as if it were pasted on. I could not now picture him in a kilt; the idea almost made me giggle. He was immaculately attired, however: a perfectly tailored navy blue suit with snowy white cuffs, gold cuff links. He looked prosperous, well fed, and surprisingly, as I continued to stare, somewhat rudely, at him, extremely nervous.
This was Charles Stratton. Or as he was known to the rest of the world, General Tom Thumb.
“I hope you don’t mind, but we thought we’d see if you’d like some company,” Mr. Barnum said, following Mr. Stratton into my room. I still hadn’t uttered a word; I could only continue gaping, for the two of them aped each other’s movements with odd perfection, as if they had spent a lifetime polishing this act. I wasn’t sure, at first, who was imitating whom. But as they sat down—Mr. Barnum upon one of the two regular-size chairs I kept for visitors; Mr. Stratton settling happily upon one of my small armchairs—they crossed their legs at the same time, loosened their vests, checked their pocket watches—exactly in unison, as if choreographed.
I very nearly laughed, but there was something in the earnestly dignified expression upon Mr. Stratton’s face that stopped me.
“Of course I do not mind. And it is a pleasure for me, as well, Mr. Stratton.”
“My friend came up from Connecticut today expressly to see your performance,” Mr. Barnum told me with an odd little laugh; I noticed he was twisting his hat about in his hands as if he didn’t know what he was doing. If I hadn’t known him better, I would have thought he was nervous! But no, the Great Barnum was never nervous.
“Oh? I hope I did not disappoint you, then.”
“Oh, no! It was grand! You dance right smart, and sing like an angel!” Mr. Stratton could not contain his enthusiasm; forgetting his practiced dignity, he bounced around in his seat like a jack-in-the-box. “I can’t believe you’ve never performed before! Can you, Phineas?”
Mr. Barnum and I exchanged a quick look; he had taken great pains to present me as his latest discovery, great pains indeed not to mention my previous performing history. I did not mind this omission in the least; in fact, I welcomed it. I suppose it was our very first humbug. But it was a mild one, and it had the added value of somehow convincing me that this might prevent Colonel Wood from making any claim toward my services.
“Thank you, that is very kind, Mr. Stratton. Especially coming from one as experienced in this business as yourself.”
Mr. Stratton puffed and preened but looked to Mr. Barnum as if seeking permission to do so. Mr. Barnum, however, did not respond; indeed, his mouth was clamped shut, his eyes bright: He was observing us, keenly, and I did not like it. I managed to hide my uneasiness and continued to listen politely to Mr. Stratton, who could hardly contain himself; conversation poured out of him as if from a bubbling coffeepot.
“I was just saying to Phineas here that I have some business that will keep me in New York for a few days. Gosh, I do want to tell you all about it! I have so many business dealings these days—real estate, insurance, horses, investments. Do you know what investments are, Miss Warren?”
“I do,” I replied but immediately regretted it, for his plump face fell; obviously, he had wanted to inform me himself.
“Oh. I’m just learning all about this, for Phineas says I need to di-di—what was the word, old chap?”
“Diversify,” Mr. Barnum supplied.
“Diversify! You see, it’s best not to limit myself to performing interests. You don’t want to put all your eggs in one basket, especially these days!”
I had to smile at Mr. Stratton’s enthusiasm, but I could not shake the feeling that he was