AMOS JUDDI
AMOS JUDD
AT the station of Bingham Cross Roads four passengers got off the train. One, a woman with bundles, who was evidently familiar with her surroundings, walked rapidly away through the hot September sunshine toward the little village in the distance.
The other three stood on the platform and looked about, as if taking their bearings. They were foreigners of an unfamiliar species. Their fellow-passengers in the car had discussed them with an interest not entirely free from suspicion, and their finally getting out at such an unimportant station as Bingham Cross Roads caused a surprise which, although reasonably under control, was still too strong for concealment. From the windows of the car atleast a dozen pairs of eyes were watching them. The two men and the little boy who composed this group were of dark complexion, with clean-cut, regular features. The oldest, a man of sixty years or more, had a military bearing, and was, if one could judge from appearances, a person of authority in his own country, wherever that might be. Although the younger man seemed to resemble him, it was in such a general way that he might be either his son or no relation whatever.
But the little boy had excited a yet greater interest than his companions. Although but six or seven years old, he comported himself with as much dignity and reserve as the gentleman with the silver hair. This gave the impression, and without apparent intention on his part, that he also was an important personage. His dark eyes were strikingly beautiful and, like those of his seniors, were distinctly foreign in design.
When the train moved away the three travellers approached the man with one suspender, who filled the position of station agent, baggage-master, switchman, telegraph operator and freight clerk, and inquired if there was a conveyance to the village of Daleford. He pointed to a wagon at the farther end of the platform; that was the Daleford stage. In answer to further questions they learned that the next train back again, toward New York, left at six-thirty; that Daleford was seven miles away; that they could spend an hour in that village and catch the train without hurrying.
The only baggage on the platform consisted of two peculiar-looking trunks, or rather boxes, which the multifarious official knew to be theirs, as no similar articles had ever been manufactured in America. They were covered with designs laid on in metal, all elaborately engraved, and it was not suspected along the route that these profuse and tarnished ornamentswere of solid silver. This luggage was strapped behind the stage, two venerable horses were awakened and the travellers started off. Joe, the driver, a youth with large ears and a long neck, soon gave his passengers some excellent opportunities to explain themselves, which they neglected. Aside from a few simple questions about Daleford and Mr. Josiah Judd, to whose house they were going, the conversation was in a language of which he had no knowledge. The first two miles of their route lay along the Connecticut valley, after which they climbed to higher ground. The boy seemed interested in the size of the elms, the smell of the tobacco fields, the wild grapes, and the various things that any boy might notice who had never seen their like before.
The day was warm, and the road dusty, and when they entered Daleford the boy, with the old gentleman’s arm about him, had been asleep for several miles. Coming into the villageat one end, they drove down the main street, beneath double rows of elms that met above their heads in lofty arches, the wide common on their right. The strangers expressed their admiration at the size and beauty of these trees. Moreover the cool shade was restful and refreshing. No signs of human life were visible either in the street or about the white houses that faced the common, and this with the unbroken silence gave an impression that the inhabitants, if they existed, were either absent or asleep.
The driver stopped for a moment at the post-office which occupied a corner in the only store, and gave the mail-bag to the post-mistress, a pale young woman with eye-glasses and a wealth of artificial hair; then, after rumbling through the village for half a mile, they found themselves again in the country.
The last house on the right, with its massive portico of Doric columns, seemingly ofwhite marble, had the appearance of a Grecian temple. But these appearances were deceptive, the building being a private residence and the material of native pine.
As they approached this mendacious exterior the little boy said something in the foreign language to his companions, whereupon they told the driver to stop at the door, as Mr. Judd was inside.
“That ain’t Mr. Judd’s house,” he answered. “His is nearly a mile farther on, around that hill,” and he gave the horses a gentle blow to emphasize the information. But the boy repeated his statement, whatever it was, and the younger man said, with some decision:
“Mr. Judd is inside. Stop here.”
As the driver drew up before the house he remarked, with a sarcastic smile:
“If Mr. Judd lives here, he’s moved in since mornin’.”
But the remark made no visible impression.They all got out, and while the two men approached the front door by an old-fashioned brick walk, the boy strolled leisurely through the grassy yard beside the house. The driver was speculating within himself as to what kind of a pig-headed notion made them persist in stopping at Deacon Barlow’s, when, to his surprise, Mr. Judd emerged from a doorway at the side and advanced with long strides toward the diminutive figure in his path.
Mr. Judd was a man about sixty years of age, tall, thin and high-shouldered. His long, bony face bore no suggestions of beauty, but there was honesty in every line. The black clothes which hung loosely upon his figure made him seem even taller and thinner than he really was. The boy looked him pleasantly in the face and, when he had approached sufficiently near, said, in a clear, childish voice, slowly and with laborious precision:
“Josiah Judd, the General Subahdàr DivodasGadi and the Prince Rájanya Kásim Mir Dewân Musnud desire to speak with you.”
Mr. Judd stopped short, the bushy eyebrows rising high in astonishment. His mouth opened, but no sound came forth. The foreign appearance of the speaker, his familiar manner of addressing one so much older than himself, together with a demeanor that showed no signs of disrespect, and above all, his allusion to the presence of titled strangers caused the American to suspect, for a few seconds, that he was the victim of some mental irregularity. He pushed the straw hat from his forehead, and looked more carefully. The youthful stranger observed this bewilderment, and he was evidently surprised that such a simple statement should be received in so peculiar a manner. But Mr. Judd recovered his composure, lowered the bushy eyebrows, and drawing his hand across his mouth as if to get it into shape again, asked:
“Who did you say wanted to see me, sonny?”
A small hand was ceremoniously waved toward the two strangers who were now approaching along the Doric portico. Coming up to Mr. Judd they saluted him with a stately deference that was seldom witnessed in Daleford, and the General handed him a letter, asking if he were not Mr. Josiah Judd.
“Yes, sir, that’s my name,” and as he took the letter, returned their salutations politely, but in a lesser degree. He was not yet sure that the scene was a real one. The letter, however, was not only real, but he recognized at once the handwriting of his brother Morton, who had been in India the last dozen years. Morton Judd was a successful merchant and had enjoyed for some years considerable financial and political importance in a certain portion of that country.
DEARJosiah: This letter will be handed you by two trustworthy gentlemen whose names it is safer not to write. They will explain all you wish to know regarding the boy they leave in your charge. Please take care of this boy at least for a time and treat him as your own son. I am writing this at short notice and in great haste. You have probably read of the revolution here that has upset everything. This boy’s life, together with the lives of many others, depends upon the secrecy with which we keep the knowledge of his whereabouts from those now in power.Will write you more fully of all this in a few days. Give my love to Sarah, and I hope you are all well. Hannah and I are in excellent health. Your affectionate brother,Morton Judd.P. S. You might give out that the boy is an adopted child of mine and call him Amos Judd, after father.
DEARJosiah: This letter will be handed you by two trustworthy gentlemen whose names it is safer not to write. They will explain all you wish to know regarding the boy they leave in your charge. Please take care of this boy at least for a time and treat him as your own son. I am writing this at short notice and in great haste. You have probably read of the revolution here that has upset everything. This boy’s life, together with the lives of many others, depends upon the secrecy with which we keep the knowledge of his whereabouts from those now in power.
Will write you more fully of all this in a few days. Give my love to Sarah, and I hope you are all well. Hannah and I are in excellent health. Your affectionate brother,
Morton Judd.
P. S. You might give out that the boy is an adopted child of mine and call him Amos Judd, after father.
These words threw a needed light on the situation. He shook hands with the two visitors and greeted them cordially, then, approaching the boy who was absorbed in the movements of some turkeys that were strolling about the yard, he bent over and held out his hand, saying, with a pleasant smile:
“And you, sir, are very welcome. I think we can take good care of you.”
But the child looked inquiringly from the hand up to its owner’s face.
“Mr. Judd wishes to take your hand,” said the General, then adding, by way of explanation, “He never shook hands before. But these customs he will soon acquire.” The small hand was laid in the large one and moved up and down after the manner of the country.
“Don’t they shake hands in India?” asked Mr. Judd, as if it were something of a joke. “How do you let another man know you’re glad to see him?”
“Oh, yes, we shake hands sometimes. The English taught us that. But it is not usual with persons of his rank. It will be easily learned, however.”
After a word or two more they took their seats in the wagon, the boy at his own request getting in front with the driver. They soon came in sight of the Judd residence, a large, white, square, New England farmhouse of the best type, standing on rising ground several hundred feet from the road, at the end of a long avenue of maples. Clustered about it were some magnificent elms. As they entered the avenue the driver, whose curiosity could be restrained no longer, turned and said to the boy:
“Did you ever see Mr. Judd before?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know ’twas him?”
“By his face.”
He looked down with a sharp glance, but theboy’s expression was serious, even melancholy.
“Ever been in this town before?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Judd know you was comin’?”
“No.”
“Then what in thunder made you s’pose he was in Deacon Barlow’s?”
“In thunder?”
“What made you think he was in that house?”
The boy looked off over the landscape and hesitated before answering.
“I knew he was to be there.”
“Oh, then he expected you?”
“No.”
Joe laughed. “That’s sort of mixed, ain’t it? Mr. Judd was there to meet you when he didn’t know you were comin’. Kinder met you by appointment when there wasn’t any.” This was said in a sarcastic manner, and he added:
“You was pretty sot on stoppin’ and I’d liketo know how you come to be so pop sure he was inside.”
The dark eyes looked up at him in gentle astonishment. This gave way to a gleam of anger, as they detected a mocking expression, and the lips parted as if to speak. But there seemed to be a change of mind, for he said nothing, looking away toward the distant hills in contemptuous silence. The driver, as a free and independent American, was irritated by this attempted superiority in a foreigner, and especially in such a young one, but there was no time to retaliate.
Mrs. Judd, a large, sandy-haired, strong-featured woman, gave the guests a cordial welcome. The outlandish trunks found their way upstairs, instructions were given the driver to call in an hour, and Mrs. Judd, with the servant, hastened preparations for a dinner, as the travellers, she learned, had eaten nothing since early morning.
When these were going on Mr. Judd and the three guests went into the parlor, which, like many others in New England, was a triumph of severity. Although fanatically clean, it possessed the usual stuffy smell that is inevitable where fresh air and sunlight are habitually excluded. There were four windows, none of which were open. All the blinds were closed. In this dim light, some hair ornaments, wax flowers, a marriage certificate and a few family photographs of assiduous and unrelenting aspect seemed waiting, in hostile patience, until the next funeral or other congenial ceremony should disturb their sepulchral peace. While the men seated themselves about the table, the boy climbed upon a long horse-hair sofa, whence he regarded them with a bored but dignified patience. The General, before seating himself, had taken from his waist an old-fashioned money-belt, which he laid upon the table. From this he extracted a surprisingnumber of gold and silver coins and arranged them in little stacks. Mr. Judd’s curiosity was further increased when he took from other portions of the belt a number of English bank-notes, which he smoothed out and also laid before his host.
“There are twelve thousand pounds in these notes,” he said, “and about two thousand in sovereigns, with a few hundred in American money.”
“Fourteen thousand pounds,” said Mr. Judd, making a rough calculation, “that’s about seventy thousand dollars.”
The General nodded toward the boy. “It belongs to him. Your brother, Mr. Morton Judd, perhaps told you we left in great haste, and this is all of the available property we had time to convert into money. The rest will be sent you later. That is, whatever we can secure of it.”
Now Mr. Judd had never been fond of responsibility.It was in fact his chief reason for remaining on the farm while his younger brother went out into the world for larger game. Moreover, seventy thousand dollars, to one brought up as he had been, seemed an absurdly large amount of money to feed and clothe a single boy.
“But what am I to do with it? Save it up and give him the interest?”
“Yes, or whatever you and Mr. Morton Judd may decide upon.”
While Mr. Judd was drawing his hand across his forehead to smooth out the wrinkles he felt were coming, the General brought forth from an inner pocket a small silk bag. Untying the cord he carefully emptied upon the table a handful of precious stones. Mr. Judd was no expert in such things, but they were certainly very pretty to look at and, moreover, they seemed very large.
“These,” continued the General, “are ofconsiderable value, the rubies particularly, which, as you will see, are of unusual size.”
He spoke with enthusiasm, and held up one or two of them to the light. Mr. Judd sadly acknowledged that they were very handsome, and threw a hostile glance at the gleaming, many-colored, fiery-eyed mass before him. “How much do they represent, the whole lot?”
The General looked inquiringly at his companion. The Prince shook his head. “It is impossible to say, but we can give a rough estimate.”
Then taking them one by one, rubies, diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and sapphires, they made a list, putting the value of each in the currency of their own country, and figured up the total amount in English pounds.
“As near as it is possible to estimate,” said the Prince, “their value is about one hundred and sixty thousand pounds.”
“How much do they represent, the whole lot”“How much do they represent, the whole lot”
“How much do they represent, the whole lot”
“How much do they represent, the whole lot”
“One hundred and sixty thousand pounds!” exclaimed Mr. Judd. “Eight hundred thousand dollars!” and with a frown he pushed his chair from the table. The General misunderstood the movement, and said: “But, sir, there are few finer jewels in India, or even in the world!”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mr. Judd. “I’m not doubting their worth. It’s only kind of sudden,” and he drew his hands across his eyes, as if to shut out the dazzling mass that flashed balefully up at him from the table. For a New England farmer, Josiah Judd was a prosperous man. In fact he was the richest man in Daleford. But if all his earthly possessions were converted into cash they would never realize a tenth part of the unwelcome treasure that now lay before him. He was, therefore, somewhat startled at being deluged, as it were, out of a clear sky, with the responsibility of nearly a million dollars. The guestsalso mentioned some pearls of extraordinary value in one of the trunks.
“Well,” he said, with an air of resignation, “I s’pose there’s no dodgin’ it, and I’ll have to do the best I can till I hear from Morton. After the boy goes back to India of course I sha’n’t have the care of it.”
The General glanced toward the sofa to be sure he was not overheard, then answered, in a low voice: “It will be better for him and will save the shedding of blood if he never returns.”
But the boy heard nothing in that room. He was slumbering peacefully, with his head against the high back of the sofa, and his spirit, if one could judge from the smile upon his lips, was once more in his own land, among his own people. Perhaps playing with another little boy in an Oriental garden, a garden of fountains and gorgeous flowers, of queer-shaped plants with heavy foliage, aquiet, dreamy garden, where the white walls of the palace beside it were supported by innumerable columns, with elephants’ heads for capitals: where, below a marble terrace, the broad Ganges shimmered beneath a golden sun.
Maybe the drowsy air of this ancestral garden with its perfume of familiar flowers made his sleep more heavy, or was it the thrum of gentle fingers upon a mandolin in a distant corner of the garden, mingling with a woman’s voice?
Whatever the cause, it produced a shock, this being summoned back to America, to exile, and to the hair-cloth sofa by the voice of Mrs. Judd announcing dinner; for the step was long and the change was sudden from the princely pleasure garden to the Puritan parlor, and every nerve and fibre of his Oriental heart revolted at the outrage. There was a war-like gleam in the melancholy eyes as he joinedthe little procession that moved toward the dining-room. As they sat at table, the three guests with Mrs. Judd, who poured the tea, he frowned with hostile eyes upon the steak, the boiled potatoes, the large wedge-shaped piece of yellow cheese, the pickles, and the apple-pie. He was empty and very hungry, but he did not eat. He ignored the example of the General and the Prince, who drank the strong, green tea, and swallowed the saleratus biscuits as if their hearts’ desires at last were gratified. He scowled upon Mrs. Judd when she tried to learn what he disliked the least. But her husband, swaying to and fro in a rocking-chair near the window, had no perception of the gathering cloud, and persisted in questioning his visitors in regard to India, the customs of the people, and finally of their own home life. Mrs. Judd had noticed the black eyebrows and restless lips were becoming more threatening as the many questions were answered;that the two-pronged fork of horn and steel was used solely as an offensive weapon to stab his potatoes and his pie.
At last the tempest came. The glass of water he had raised with a trembling hand to his lips was hurled upon the platter of steak, and smashed into a dozen pieces. With a swift movement of his arms, as if to clear the deck, he pushed the pickles among the potatoes and swept his pie upon the floor. Then, after a futile effort to push his chair from the table, he swung his legs about and let himself down from the side. With a face flushed with passion, he spoke rapidly in a language of which no word was familiar to his host or hostess, and ended by pointing dramatically at Mr. Judd, the little brown finger quivering with uncontrollable fury. It appeared to the astonished occupant of the rocking-chair that the curse of Allah was being hurled upon the house of Judd. Standing for a moment in silenceand glowering upon them all in turn, the boy swung about with a defiant gesture, stalked through the open door and out of the house.
Josiah Judd, whose heart was already sinking under the responsibility of the crown jewels of a kingdom, experienced a sickening collapse in the presence of the Oriental thunderbolt that had just exploded on his peaceful New England hearthstone. His jaw fell, he ceased rocking, and turned his eyes in painful inquiry upon his guests.
There was an awkward silence. The General and the Prince had risen to their feet as if in apology to the hostess, but she had accepted the outburst with unruffled calmness. Her kind, restful, homely face showed no annoyance. Rising quietly from the table she followed the stormy guest and found him around in front of the house, sitting upon the granite doorstep, his chin in his hands, frowningfiercely upon the quaint old flower-garden before him. He got up as she approached and stood a few feet away, regarding her with a hostile scowl. Seating herself upon the step she said, with a pleasant smile:
“Of course you are tired, sonny, we all understand that, and you are unhappy to-day, but it won’t be for long.”
These assuring words failed of their purpose, and he eyed her sidewise, and with suspicion. He was too old a bird to be fooled so easily. A few sprigs were torn from the box border within his reach as if the conversation bored him.
“I had a boy once,” continued Mrs. Judd. “I understand boys, and know just how you feel. We shall be good friends, I’m sure.”
After a pause devoted to serious reflection, he inquired:
“Did your boy like you?”
“Oh, yes.”
He came nearer and stood in front of her. Then, slowly and with the precision with which he always delivered himself when speaking English, he said:
“My mother was different from you, and her clothes were more beautiful, but if one boy liked you another might. I might. Would you like to see my mother’s portrait?”
Mrs. Judd said she would like very much to see it, and he began fumbling about and seemed to be tickling himself near the buckle of his belt. But, as it proved, he was ascertaining the whereabouts of a locket, which he finally fished up by means of a gold chain about his neck. The chain was of such a length that the locket, instead of reposing near the heart of the wearer, hung a little below the centre of the stomach. When it finally emerged above his collar, he placed the warm miniature in her hand, saying:
“That is my mother.”
It was a dark face, surmounted by a jewelled head-dress of a style that Mrs. Judd had never seen, even in pictures. After looking more carefully at the miniature and then up into the eyes that were watching hers, she found the same square forehead and sensitive mouth, and the same dark melancholy, heavily fringed eyes, by far the most beautiful she had ever seen. The picture in her hand was a truthful portrait of himself. As she looked from the portrait into the face before her she felt it was perhaps fortunate this mother was ignorant of the changes that already had turned the current of his life. With a brown hand on each of her knees he was looking into her eyes with the anxious gaze of a hungry soul, seeking for sympathy, and too proud to ask it. But Mrs. Judd understood. She laid a hand upon his shoulder with an expression upon her honest face that rendered words unnecessary. He blinked and swallowed in amighty effort to suppress what he evidently considered an undignified and compromising sentiment. But in vain. Sinking upon his knees he buried his face in her lap and gave way to the most vehement, uncontrollable grief. The small frame shook with sobs, while her apron grew wet with tears. He took his sorrow with the same passionate recklessness that characterized his anger at the dinner-table. Mrs. Judd rested her hand upon the short black hair and tried to summon words of solace for a grief that seemed to threaten the integrity of his earthly body. She could only stroke his head and tell him not to be unhappy; that all would end well; that he should soon return home.
In the midst of these efforts the voice of Mr. Judd came around the corner calling out that the wagon was here. The boy jumped to his feet as if he had received a shock. Drawing the sleeve of his jacket across his tear-stainedface, he summoned an expression of severity and indifference that under other circumstances would have forced a smile from his newly acquired friend. The soldier was himself again; the warrior was on parade. As they walked together around the house to the dining-room, he beside her with a resolute step and chin in the air, she wondered what manner of training could have taught him at the age of seven to suppress all boyish emotions, and put on at will the dignity of a Roman Senator.
The General and the Prince were awaiting them. With many compliments they thanked the host and hostess for their hospitality, and regretted the necessity that took them away in such unfortunate haste; it was a flying trip and their absence must not be lengthened by an hour, as these were troublous times in their part of India. As they moved toward the wagon Mrs. Judd held her husband back,believing there might be a parting at which strangers would not be welcome. But the parting, like all else, was dignified and ceremonious. She could not see the boy’s face, for he stood with his back toward her, but as far as she could judge he also was calm and self-possessed. She noticed, however, that the General had to swallow, with a sudden gulp, a large portion of what appeared to be a carefully constructed sentence.
They drove in silence down the long avenue beneath the maples, and the driver, perhaps to put them at their ease, said something about getting along faster in this light wagon than with the stage, but both his passengers seemed in a silent mood and made no answer. As they turned into the main road the General, who was on the side nearest the house, looked back. At the farther end of the avenue stood the boy in the same position, still watching them. The old soldier brought his hand tohis hat and down again in a military salute that was evidently familiar to the little person at the farther end of the driveway, for it was promptly acknowledged, and although a farewell to the last ties between himself and his country, was returned with head erect, as from one veteran to another.