I mended so rapidly that within a week I was able to walk about. Washington had every day drawn my chair into the parlor; but when I no longer was in need of this physical service, he continued his visits to give me the benefit of his spiritual strength. And once, when he came into my room, like a dark reproach, I chopped off his moral droning with the command to "get out!" He obeyed in silence, and I thought that I had given our relationship a mortal wound. But in the garden the next day he came up with unusual cheeriness and invited me to his church to hear him preach upon the strength of the Spirit and the weakness of the human family.
One day the Senator took me out in his buggy. He drove me through the town, and what a delight it was once more to look upon the affairs of man. The buildings were for the most part old, and many of them were dingy from neglect, but the air was restful and romantic. At every turn, after leaving the business center, we came upon magnolia trees, now in full bloom. Here was a garden whose low brick walls were green and gray with time, a patch of moss and a cluster of snails; and away over yonder was a blush on the landscape—a jungle of roses. There were flowers everywhere, and far from the mansions of the lordly was many a log hut, beautiful in a tangle of vines. We drove down the river, toward a densely timbered flat, but did not penetrate its malarious shade, the Senator choosing to turn to the left to drive me to a distant hill whereon stood the school for girls, the one of which he might have taken charge, had not his fight with Lige Patton proved him fitted for a more manly charge—the male academy. As we were driving along, a tall, gaunt man climbed over a fence, stepped out into the road and signaled us to stop. The Senator drew up, laughing. The man came forward, put his hands on the buggy tire, took them off, "dusted" them to brush off the dirt, and put them on the tire again. The Senator introduced Mr. Peters, and our detainer looked up, grinned and said:
"Yes, Sir, the notorious Bugg Peters."
His face was thin and sallow, his long hair looked like hay, and his eyes were simply two pale yellow spots.
"Out ridin' for your health, Senator?"
"No, just thought I'd show my friend, Mr. Belford, the town and the country."
"Ah, hah! Oh, yes, he's one of the men that was blowed up. And he's stayin' at your house. Ah, hah! He's about the last of 'em, ain't he? I heard that all that wan't dead had put off somewhere. Never was blowed up, that is, by a boat, but I've went through mighty nigh everything else. Almost hugged to death by a bear down in the canebrake just before the June rise eight year ago. Don't reckon your friend was ever hugged by a bear," he went on, speaking of me as if I were not there.
"No," I answered.
"Then you've got a good deal to look forward to," he replied, recognizing that, like Paul, I was permitted to speak for myself. "I've had a good many things to happen to me, first and last, but I don't know of anything worse than a bear's hug, unless it is son-in-laws."
The Senator began to laugh and I looked at Mr. Peters for an explanation. He did not keep me waiting.
"I've got seven son-in-laws down yonder in my house right now," he said, "dusting" his hands again and putting them back on on the tire. "Every time a gal of mine gits married she goes away for a few days with her husband, and then fetches him back with the ague; and he settles down in my house and there he shakes. Got seven of them down there now a-shakin' fit to kill themselves. If you'll step over there on that rise, you can look down in the bottoms and see my house, and I'll bet you it's a-tremblin' like a leaf right now. Them seven fellers keep it a-shakin' all the time. Yes, Sir. Now, when Mag took a man, I says, says I, 'Mag, I have always looked on you as the smartest one of the family, and I want you to do me a favor; I want you to see if you can't take that feller of your'n so far away that he can't git back.' And, Sir, I sold my oats and give her the money, and she cleared out, but in less than a month here she come, with her husband shakin' like a wet dog. I told him to go in and find shakin' room if he could, and he crowded his way up to the fireplace, and there he sets this minute, a-shakin' like a pound of calfsfoot jelly."
"Look here, Bugg," said the Senator, laughing, "why don't you move out of the bottoms?"
"What, and go up in the hills and ketch some new-fangled disease that I don't know nothin' about? I reckon not, Senator. I've learned to let well enough alone, and jest ordinary everyday chills is good enough for me. Mister, how long are you goin' to be with us?" he inquired of me.
"I don't know exactly. I wanted to go yesterday, but the Senator wouldn't hear to it."
"Well, I don't reckon you are able to do much knockin' about yet. Don't believe I'd be snatched, anyway. Like for you to come down to see us before you go. I can show you about the finest and shakinest set of son-in-laws you ever saw. Did think somethin' of showin' 'em at the State Fair this fall. But say, gentlemen, you must sorter excuse me for stoppin' you; but I wanted to see the Senator on business."
The Senator gathered up the lines as if he had a suspicion of the business referred to, and therefore desired to drive on, but Mr. Peters in a distressful tone of voice implored him to wait a moment. "I want to ask a favor," he said. "Wouldn't do it if it wan't for the fact that they are all down there shakin' for dear life. I want to give you my note for ten dollars for thirty days. You know I'll take it up."
"Yes, if you should happen to find it," the Senator replied.
"Come, now, Senator, don't talk that way. You might give this here man that was blowed up a bad opinion of me. I've got the good opinion of everybody else, and I don't want the bad respects of a man that has fell down in amongst us."
"Bugg, how many of your thirty-day notes do you suppose I've got?"
"Why, none," he declared in great surprise.
"I can show you twenty at least," said the Senator.
"Well, now," Mr. Peters began to drawl, "this here is news to me, and mighty sad news at that. Huh, I don't see how I could have made such a mistake."
"I was the one that made the mistake," the Senator replied.
"Now don't say that, Talcom. Dang it, haven't I always voted for you? Why, Sir, at the last election I went to the polls with a chill on me, and I shook so hard it took two men to hold me still long enough to shove my ticket in. Oh, I don't deny that I might owe you a note or so—may be the addition of another son-in-law kept me from payin' it—but all my gals are married now, and I don't look for any big increase in the family till my sister and her husband come from over in Arkansas to live with me; and as they ain't well and will have to pick their way along the best they can, I'll have time to take up a half a dozen notes by the time they git here."
"What do you want with the money, Bugg?"
"Why, I need about five bushels of wheat. That's what I want with it."
"Well, here," said the Senator, taking out a notebook, "I'll give you an order on my overseer for five bushels of wheat."
"Talcom, by gosh you move me, and I am fit right now to drap a tear in the palm of your hand. Yes, Sir, you can come nearer makin' me cry than any man I ever run across."
The Senator gave him the order, and we drove on, leaving him in the road to whine his gratitude and loudly to swear that at the next election he would vote all right, even if it should take a dozen men to hold him up.
"Why do you permit such fellows to rob you?" I asked.
"Belford, I can't help myself. That poor wretch comes near telling the truth about his sons-in-law. Of course, he's as shiftless as a stray dog, but he's kind-hearted and has a sense of humor that tickles me. And, after all, it doesn't seem right that I should have an abundance and that other men within sight of me should be in want." He took off his hat to wave it gracefully at a lady as she passed, and still holding it in his hand, he continued: "It's luck, Belford, nothing but luck. I've never had any management. I have a set of books, but half the time I don't know where I stand. My plantation pays, not because it's well managed, but because the land's rich. I bought it, together with the house I live in, with money that was left me, and the fact that I am not compelled to scuffle for a living is no particular credit to me. It's simply luck. I've got sense enough not to reach too high. Some time ago they wanted to run me for governor, but I knew what that meant. It meant two or perhaps four years in the State House, and then relegation to the shade of a 'has been.' I like politics, I like to fight for measures, and my position as State Senator suits me exactly; and I believe I can hold it for a number of years to come. It is true that I am largely preyed upon—"
"By white and black," I suggested.
"Yes, in a measure. How are you, Uncle Gabe?" he called, bowing to an old man.
"By the notorious Bugg—and by Washington," I ventured.
"Ah, Washington is different. I give money to his church, and he is free to come and go as he pleases. I was the means of his education, and, though ignoring politics, he controls a large negro vote. Look out over there, you boys, that mule might kick you. Aunt Sally, glad to see you (bowing to a countrywoman who came jogging along on a horse). Folks all well? All but Uncle John, eh? Hope he'll be out again soon."
We were far beyond the outskirts of the town, on a rise commanding a delightful view of groves, gardens, old houses, a fort in ruins, the easy-going city and the river. We passed the school for young ladies, and the Senator waved his hat at a vision of white and pink on the portico. "My daughter Florence was graduated here," said he. "And, by the way, you haven't met Estell. He was to have come home several days ago, but business kept him. Florence is looking for him to-day, I believe. Strong man, about your size—not quite so tall. You are a good deal of a man when you are yourself, I take it."
"I have done pretty fair work in a gymnasium," I replied.
We turned into a broad road that led to town, and which passed the Senator's house. It was a military road, my companion said, and had been marked by the passage of old Jackson's troops.
"Senator, my obligations to you are very deep indeed, and I have refrained from saying anything—"
"Well, then, don't say anything now. It's all right. Boat blew up at the door of our city, and why shouldn't we care for the unfortunates?"
"But before going away I want to give you some sort of an expression of—"
"That's all right, Sir. There's time enough."
"No, I shall go to-morrow."
"Better wait a day or two. Have you an engagement in view?"
"No, and I shall not look for one. I have decided to quit the stage."
"Well, Sir, I don't know but you are wise. It must be an uncertain sort of life. But what are you going to do?"
"I am going to write plays."
"That's well enough; easy work I should think. All you've got to do is to hatch out your plot and then stand your people around it. And look here, Belford, there are characters enough about here to make one of the best plays you ever saw. Why not stay here and do your writing? The fact is, we like you, and don't want you to go away."
"But Imustgo."
"You say so, but I don't look at it that way. Of course, if you are tired of our slow and dull city, Sir, you—"
"Tired?" I broke in. "It is the most soothing town on the face of the earth. The days melt one into another like the mellow words of an ancient rhetorician."
"Belford, I guess you are about ready to begin work on that play," he said, laughing. "There's always a strong enthusiasm behind that sort of talk. By the way, do you think you could take hold of an opera house and manage it?"
"Yes, I think so—I know I could. Why?"
"We appear to be getting at it, Belford. We have a very good opera house here, almost new. A man from New Orleans built it, went broke in a bigger speculation, leased it to a Dutchman who fiddled in the orchestra, and now the house is without a manager. Suppose you take it?"
"I'd take it in a minute, Senator, but the fact is, I'm broke."
"Dollars melted like the mellow words of an ancient rhetorician, eh?"
For a few moments we drove on in silence, the Senator making with his hat half-circle greetings to constituents who stood in a dooryard or who met us in the road. "Ha! Lester," he cried at a man who came along in a wagon behind a span of mules; and then to me he said: "A few years ago that fellow took it into his head that I was a little too conspicuous—I had called him a liar, or something of the sort, don't remember exactly what—and gave it out that he was going to horsewhip me. And I sent him word to buy his whip from Alf Murray, first-class harness dealer, and a friend of mine, and that I would meet him at his earliest convenience. I don't know whether he patronized my friend in the purchase of a whip, but I know that when I met him on the public square the next day he had one as long as a bull-snake. And, Sir, I believe that he had intended to hit me with it."
"What caused him to change his mind?" I inquired, with no interest in the matter.
"Why, I knocked him down, and when he was able to get up and look around again the whip was gone. Since that time we've been good friends. Now, about the opera house. You say you've got no money. Now, let me tell you what I'll do. I'll advance the money and go in as a partner. The money I am compelled to spend during each campaign is beginning to eat seriously into the income from my plantation, and I would like to ease up the pressure. My part might not be a great deal, but it would help. What do you say?"
"I could go off into all sorts of extravagances, Senator. I could say that you have made my blood leap, that you—"
"But that wouldn't be businesslike. What do you say?"
"That I snap at your proposition."
"All right, I'll go down to-morrow and rent the house."
"But you don't care to have your name known in it, do you?"
"Why not? It's all right. These people like a good show, and if we give them the best, it will make me still more useful and popular. Yes, Sir, its all right, and we'll draw up the papers to-morrow."
The town had been attractive, but now it sprung into endearment. Emotion was strong within me and my spirits rose, to find a new interest in everything and to pick up many a jest by the roadside. I caught the song of an old man who stood near the turnpike, trimming a young orchard; and the laughter of a child that was romping on the grass when we stopped at a toll gate threw sparkles of new life in the air. One sweet thrill of selfishness had made the whole world musical and glad.
"Senator, whose house is that over yonder, to the left?"
"Mine," he answered. "Oh, yes, this is the first time you've had an opportunity to view it from a distance. We are out too far to have the advantage of gas and city water, but we've got room to swing round in, and that's worth everything. Lumber dealer came one day and wanted to know what I'd take for those walnuts. I told him that I'd take human life if it was necessary. Hang me, if I didn't feel like setting the dogs on him. I do believe," he said, shading his eyes, "that yonder are Estell and Florence. Yes, Sir, he's got home."
At the gate, beneath the walnut trees, a man and a woman stood looking toward us. The woman was Mrs. Estell. I had recognized her before the Senator directed my attention; I should have known her a mile away. Her gracefulness was so original that she must have been unconscious of its effect. The soft climate of the South had touched her with its ease, but she seemed ever on the verge of breaking away from it; and sometimes she did, not with mere gayety, but with unconquerable strength. She enforced upon me the belief that she had taken fencing lessons.
"And suppose he should object to our compact?" was a surmise that passed through my mind; and I did not realize that I had given it actual utterance until the Senator surprised me by saying:
"None of his business. Our affair. Taking care of the funds of the State gives him about all he can look after. Helloa, there, Estell, why don't you come out to meet a fellow?"
"On the keen jump, now," Estell replied, coming slowly to meet us, his wife walking with him. It might have been the eye of prejudice that made him look so old, though why should there have been an eye of prejudice? His mustache was cropped off, stiff and gray, and his skin was thin on his cheeks and thick under his chin. The Senator introduced us, with heartiness and a flourish, and the moment I took Estell's hand I knew that from his lofty position among the money bags of the State he could not look down and find an interest in me. His nature was financial, his instincts commercial; and I can say with truth that commerce embodied in a strong and aggressive personality has always made me shudder. I am afraid of the man who delights to make figures; I feel that I am in his power. I might not hesitate to dispute with a most learned theologian, to hang with him upon the quirks of his creed, but with a pencil and a piece of paper a banker's clerk can cower me.
The Senator assisted me to alight, the Treasurer lending a pretense of his aid; and we went without delay to the dining-room where dinner was waiting. The Estells sat opposite the Senator and me; and the master of the house and his son-in-law began to talk over the affairs of State.
"Hope you had a pleasant drive," Mrs. Estell said to me.
"Charming; we had a fine view of the town, saw the old fort, and passed your college."
"Stupid old place, isn't it? But then, it's dear, just like stupid people. Did you ever notice how dear stupid people are? They are sometimes our dearest ones. I suppose they feel that about the only thing they can do is to make themselves dear."
Estell was saying something about $246,-724, or something that sounded like that amount, but he dropped it to ask: "Florence, what are you talking about?"
"Stupid people. But you are not interested."
"No, of course not, but I was trying to get at an exact amount, and you bothered me for a moment."
"It's all right, let it go," said the Senator. "By the way, Mr. Belford and I have entered into a business arrangement. We are going to run the opera house and share profits."
Mrs. Estell cried "good." Estell gave her a look of reproof, I thought. "You mean that you are going to share losses," he said. "The thing was an elephant on Sanderson's hands."
"But it won't be on ours," the Senator spoke up. "We know how to run it. Don't we, Belford?"
"I think we do," I answered. "My fellow-players called me the manager's elephant, and in this case I don't know but we might be pitting Greek against Greek, or elephant against elephant."
Mrs. Estell laughed and so did the Senator, but Estell drank his coffee in silence. The subject was permitted to fall, but it was taken up again shortly afterward, when we had lighted our cigars in the library.
"So you think of going into the show business?" said the State Treasurer, resting his head on the back of his chair and looking up at the ceiling.
"Well, not actively," the Senator replied. "That is, I'm not to be active in the work."
"Oh, I suppose it's all right," admitted Estell; "but it's a new line and new lines are dangerous."
"But if dangerous, not without interest," the Senator was quick to retort. "It's settled, at any rate. I'm going to try it."
Mrs. Estell had not accompanied us. I heard her talking to a dog in the hall, and I listened with pleasure, for her voice was strong, deep and singularly musical.
"The next session of the Legislature will be a very busy one, I am inclined to think," Estell remarked.
"Always is," the Senator replied, laughing. "The better part of a new session is generally taken up with the work of repealing the laws passed by an older Assembly."
I was wondering whether Estell would ever become deeply enough interested in my existence to warrant a straight look from his pale and abstracted eye, when he withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, directed it at me and said that he was glad to see me so far advanced toward recovery. It was a mere commonplace which may not have arisen from a real interest, and which politeness could no longer defer, but it gave me a better opinion of him.
"I suppose," said I, not knowing what else to say, "that you find your occupation one of almost painful exactness."
I think that he gave me a look of contempt. I am quite sure that, if he did not, his eye failed him of his intention.
"I wouldn't stay there ten minutes if it meant play," he replied, and turning to the Senator he said: "Saw old Dan Hilliard the other day."
"No!" the Senator exclaimed. "You don't meanoldDan Hilliard?"
"Yes, I do—old Dan Hilliard."
"Hanged if I didn't think he was dead. Well, I'll swear! Old Dan Hilliard! Humph! Why, I met his wife one day about three years ago and she told me that Dan was dying, that he couldn't live till night. Now what do you suppose he wanted to get well for?"
"To distress his friends, I reckon. Wanted to get five dollars from me, and said if I'd give him the money you would pay him back."
My eyes with wandering about the room alighted on two foils, crossed above a bookcase. I was right. The young woman had taken fencing lessons. And just at that moment she entered the room, a great dog following her. At the door she turned about to drive him back. He tried to spring by her; she caught him, lifted him from the floor and with a swing she tumbled him out into the hall.
"Whatareyou doing?" the Treasurer cried, with a nervous jump; and the Senator, who sat facing the door, fell back with a laugh so full of contagion that I caught it before I had time to strengthen my gravity with the reflection that I might give Estell a cause to think that I was intruding myself into a family affair.
"I am teaching old Tiger to behave himself," she replied, with a smile.
"I thought you had knocked down a steer," said Estell, settling himself in his rocking chair. He shut his eyes, and to me he looked like a man who longed for rest, but who had almost despaired of finding it. "Florence," he spoke up, opening his eyes and slightly turning his head toward her, "see if you can find my slippers, please. You needn't go yourself," he added. "Send for them."
"I don't know where they are, and nobody else can find them," she replied; and hastening out, she ran up the stairs, humming an undefinable tune.
"Tom," said the Senator, "you have about worn yourself out. Why don't you go off somewhere?"
"Can't—haven't time."
"That's the biggest fallacy that man ever introduced as an economy. Did you ever know a man too busy to die?"
"No, but I sometimes think I am."
"Why don't you give up the infernal office? Nothing in it, anyway."
"Why don't you give upyourinfernal office?"
"What!" cried the Senator, and he began to run his fingers through his beard. "Now that would be a devil of a come off, wouldn't it! How is a State to get along without laws? Hah! Look at the measures that owe their origin to me. Tom, it's all right to be tired, but it's dangerous to trample on common sense. Why don't I give up my office, indeed! Now what could have put that fool notion into your head? Have you heard anybody say that I ought to give it up? If you have, out with it, and I'll make him produce his cause or eat his words. Out with it."
"Oh, I don't know that I've heard anybody say that you ought to give it up," Estell replied, opening his eyes, but closing them again before he had completed the sentence.
"You don'tknowthat you have," the Senator retorted, twisting his beard to a sharp and fierce-looking point. "Estell, old fellow, there are times for joking, but this is not one of them. I make no objection to fair and honorable criticism, Sir; you know that. I grant every man the right to pass upon my acts in office—inoffice, understand; but when a man says I ought to resign, why he must show cause, or I'll stuff him like a sausage with his own garrulity. That's me, Estell, and you know it."
"Talcom, I reckon that's you. But now to be exact, I haven't heard anybody say you ought not to be in office."
"Good enough, Tom. It's all right. Yes, Sir, it's all right," said the Statesman, with no trace of his recent disquiet, but with pleasant, kindly eyes and a countenance made smooth by the justice of his cause and the pride with which he regarded his determination to defend his good name. "But, Tom, you really need rest. Oh, of course, I don't mean that you should give up public life. No, Sir," he went on, looking at me, "when a man has once been a servant of the people, he is never satisfied to fall back among the powerless 'masters.' And, Sir—of course it wouldn't do to say it everywhere, but I will say it here in confidence—I have often looked at some poor, obscure devil and have said to myself, 'Why the deuce do you want to live? You can't possibly enjoy yourself, for nobody pays any attention to you.'"
And then spoke a voice at the door. I looked around and there Mrs. Estell stood, holding a slipper in each hand, her arms hanging limp. I did not catch the words she uttered first, but these I heard and always shall remember: "And perhaps he has a wife who worships him, and children that think he's a god. And if I were a man I would rather be in his place than to have a world of flattery."
With a swift step and a graceful bend she laid the slippers at her husband's feet. The Senator clapped his hands and so did I, but Estell neither moved nor opened his eyes until he heard the slippers tap upon the floor, and then he turned his head to say, "I'm much obliged to you."
And at that moment she broke away from the soft and dignifying influences of a Southern atmosphere; she sprang upon a chair, snatched the foils from the wall, laid one of them across my knees, sprang back and with mock tragedy cried, "Defend yourself." But before I could get out of my astonishment to say a word, and as the dull eyes of her husband looked up sharp with surprise, she bowed with a condescending grace and with mimic magnanimity threw down the foil and said: "Ah, I forgot. You are wounded and a prisoner."
The Senator looked on with pride; his face glowed and his eyes snapped, but Estell grunted: "Mr. er-er-Belford," he began, again becoming vaguely conscious that I was on the face of the earth, "the Senator had no son; and that explains why he made a tomboy of his daughter." He laughed weakly as he said this, and as a piece of good humor it was a failure, but it proved to me that he was not wholly ill-natured.
"That's all right," the Senator replied, with his eyes on Mrs. Estell, who had again mounted a chair to replace the foils on the wall. "That's all right, but her tomboyishness has made her decidedly human, and, Sir," he added, as the young woman stepped down, "I guess she succeeded in winning the love of one of the best men in the State. Eh. How's that, old fellow?"
"Not quite so bad as I expected," Estell answered, rousing up. "You could have studied longer and framed it worse. By the way, Mr. Belmont—"
"Belford," his wife suggested, standing with her hands resting on the back of his chair.
"Yes, thank you. But, by the way, Mr. Belford, where are you from, Sir? I take it that you are not a Southern man."
"I was born near the old city of Chester, England," I answered. "But I came to this country when a boy. And among Americans I sometimes assert that I'm English, but among Englishmen I am often proud to say that I am an American."
"Good enough," said the Senator. "First rate. That's all you need to say around here, Sir. Our most famous orator, S. S. Prentiss, used to say, when reproached with the fact that he was not born in Mississippi, that any fool could have been born here, but that he had sense enough to come to the State of his own accord. Belford, we've had some great orators. We've had men, Sir, that could make you laugh at your own sorrow and then compel you to look with grief upon your own laughter. But they are gone, Sir." He got up and stood with one hand thrust into his bosom. "They are gone, and the world will never look upon their like again. Why, Sir, Prentiss, with his oration on starving Ireland, made the whole world weep. Ah, and who makes it weep now? It does not weep, for there is a measure of relief in tears. It groans, and in a groan there is no sentiment—the groan is the language of despair. The oppressive corporation, the heartless money grabber—but I won't talk about it," he broke off, sitting down and running his fingers through his beard.
"Yes, it's bad," Estell drawled, "but what are we going to do about it, heigho?" he yawned. "You people may discuss the ills of the world, but I'm going up-stairs and take a nap."
Early the next day the Senator and I went down to look at the opera house. It was about midway in a block that faced the public square. Of course there was nothing attractive in its outward appearance, and I expected to find a raw interior, but I was more than happily surprised. The auditorium was well appointed, the chairs were of the best and the decorations were modest and artistic. I felt that it was only the poorest of management that could have brought about the financial failure of the house. And now that I had seen the place there arose a fear that the agent might set the price too high. But when we called upon him the Senator explained with so many gestures intended to depress him, and with so many shrewd words thrown out to convince him that we came as benefactors, that he soon was willing to accept our terms. The papers were drawn up at once.
"And, now, by the way," said the Senator, "I don't want to be known in this transaction, for, come to think it over, there are many people in my senatorial district who hold a prejudice against the show business. So I'll be a silent partner, and a mighty silent one, I want you to understand."
The agent said that he understood, and the Senator continued: "The editor of that mongrel sheet, theTimes, would twist this thing out of all shape, Sir. He would fight the house to injure me, and he'd jump on me to hurt the house. Mr. Belford here will be the manager, and I guess he knows all about it."
I was forced to tell him that I was not a business man, that I could secure the attractions, but that he must see that the books were kept properly. "That's all right," he said. "I can't do it myself, but I'll take them home and turn them over to my daughter. She may not know how to keep them in the regular way, but you may gamble that they'll be kept right."
I agreed to this, but as we were going out the thought occurred to me that Estell might object.
"Oh, that will be all right," the Senator declared when I spoke of it. "He may not be taken with the idea, but it will give Florence a practical thing to think about, and he can see that it will be good for her."
"But if it's just the same to you, Senator, I'd rather you wouldn't speak to him about it when I'm present. Even the slightest objection on his part would be embarrassing to me."
"You are right, Belford, and I appreciate your sensitiveness. Yes, Sir, you are right. But he won't object."
As we drew near to the house we saw Estell standing under a walnut tree. "Go on in," said the Senator, "and I will have a talk with him. It's a matter of no importance, you understand. We can hire a man to keep the books. But I'll speak to him."
I passed on into the library. The dog, that had presumed to disobey the mistress of the house, lay stretched upon the floor, and as I entered he looked up contemptuously, and then to all appearances resumed his nap. Presently Mrs. Estell came in.
"You are back early," she said. "What are you doing here?" This was spoken to the dog. He raised his head and gave her an appealing look. "They want you out there to catch a chicken to send to a sick man."
The dog brightened, jumped up and trotted out, and soon a squawk and a command from a negro woman announced that he had done his work.
"It is all arranged," I said.
"I knew it would be," she replied. "My father gets nearly everything he goes after."
"And he is now after Mr. Estell, to get his consent—"
"Consent!" she broke in. "Consent about what?"
"Why, the Senator thought it would be a good idea to bring the books up here and let you keep them."
"I'd like that. It would give me something to think about."
"That's what your father said."
"Oh, and he's gone to ask Mr. Estell. He won't care. He may object at first—he objects to nearly everything at first."
"I don't believe he takes to me very kindly," I ventured to remark.
She laughed. "Oh, he doesn't take to anyone at first. I had known him ever since I was a child, and I was grown before he appeared to think anything of me. But he doesn't seem a bit like his old self. He used to be lively and liked to go out, but now he's worried all the time and doesn't care to go anywhere. I don't know what's the trouble with him, I'm sure. Isn't that a pretty little theatre? And what do you think of the prospects? Don't you think they're good? I do."
"So do I. The town is large enough, and I believe we can make the venture pay."
"I'm sure of it," she said. "It has never been managed properly. None but the poorest plays came here, and no wonder it failed. I do hope it will be a success. It will give father something new to talk about. I'm so tired of politics. Always the same thing, anxiety and treachery and everything unpleasant. Mr. Estell was offered an excellent place in a New Orleans bank, some time ago, and I begged him to take it, but he wouldn't. And I can't understand why. There's no money and no particular honor in the place he has now. But you would think his life depended on it. He had strong opposition at the last election, and I thought he'd go wild. Here they come."
The Senator slyly winked at me as he entered the room. But Estell did not appear to see me until he had sat down, and then he looked at me and said:
"You and Talcom are trying to involve the whole family in that show enterprise, eh?"
"We'd like to involve the whole community in it," I answered.
"Yes. And it would be a nice thing for a friend to meet me and say: 'Helloa, Estell, understand your wife, the former belle of Bolanyo, is keeping books for a show.'"
"If you object, Mr. Estell," I began, but he shut me off.
"Object? Why, I don't object to anything that Talcom does. What's the use? Oh, it's all right. And I suppose we'll have show bills pasted up all over the house. Might take a few of them to Jackson with me and stick 'em up in the Treasurer's office; might get the Governor to put up a few in the Executive Chambers. And I know the walls of the Senate will be lined with them."
I was about to say something in resentment of this dry ridicule when the Senator looked at me with a comedian's squint of the eye. "Oh, yes," said he, "and we'll have the Governor issue a proclamation commanding all the State officers to attend our performances. By the way, he is a bachelor. We'll marry him to a—"
"Soubrette," I suggested, to help him out. The Senator laughed and Estell chuckled wearily as his wife, in her good humor, shook his chair. Dating from this trifling incident the Treasurer appeared to like me better; at least, he paid me more attention, and at dinner he told a joke (which the Senator afterward informed me was his favorite bit of humor), and I laughed as if I really enjoyed it. I felt more kindly toward him, but the eye of prejudice made him old, for constantly I wondered how she could ever have given her consent to marry him. I had been told, by the Senator, I think, that his family was high, that his people were once of the great and lordly set of the South, and of course I knew that in the marriage arrangement the name of family meant more than mental or physical suitability; and yet I could not rid myself of the belief that a violence had been committed against sentiment the day she gave her hand to her father's friend.
After dinner the Senator and I went into the library to talk over our venture, and Estell trod heavily up the stairs to take his nap. I wondered whether his wife were coming with us. She did not; she went out into the magnolia garden; and through the window I watched her as she walked about beneath the trees. To me she was such a picture, so lithe a piece of Nature's art, that in my study of her I did not think of a danger that might lie in wait for me; but in matters that tend to lead the heart astray we rarely think until too late and then each thought is an added pain.
The Senator was saying something and I looked around at him. "Yes, Sir, I think we'll run all right. Bound to if we put our energies into it. Let's see; you'll have to go North and book the attractions, won't you?"
"Yes, I ought to, but it's now almost too far along in the season. It would involve considerable expense, and I think that the best plan is to do my best with correspondence and take it in time next year."
"Shouldn't wonder but you are right. Yes, and that will give you time to work on your play. It will be quite a feather in our cap to have a play written by our manager."
"Yes, a successful play," I replied.
"Oh, don't you worry about that. We'll make it a success all right enough, for we've got the characters here under our gaze."
"And the notorious Bugg Peters is one of them," I suggested.
He began to run his fingers through his beard. "Well, I don't know about that, Belford. It doesn't seem to me, though, that we ought to mar a play with as trifling a fellow as he is. Why, that fellow is no account on the face of the earth! Why, he's common! And, Sir, the people wouldn't go to see a play that had him in it. We can get better material, honorable and upright men, Sir. Why, he'd take all the dignity out of it; he'd bring ridicule on the South. By gracious, Sir, they'd think that he's—he's real!"
"Well, but isn't he?"
"Oh, in a way, yes. But he's not a representative man, you understand; and I want to tell you, Belford, that the stage is in need of representative men. Why, Sir, every newspaper is talking about the elevation of the stage, the need of it, mind you; and I don't see how you can elevate the stage if you put such men as Bugg Peters on it. Why, confound his hide, do you know there's not a bigger liar in this State? And do you know that he owes me?—well, I won't attempt to say how much. We'll give him wheat, Sir, to keep him and his shaking sons-in-law from starving, but we cannot—I repeat—we cannot put him on our stage. It's nothing to laugh at, Belford. It's a serious matter. I'll show you some characters—I'll find them for you. Why, here's Washington. Come in, come in."
The preacher came forward and stood gravely looking down upon us. "Sit down," said the Senator. "That is, unless Mr. Belford objects," he added, looking at me.
"Why should I object?" I asked, in surprise.
"Oh, some people object to—"
"A negro sitting down in the presence of white gentlemen, unless he drops his hat at the door and then sits on a trunk or a box," Washington spoke up, smiling. "But," he added, "the Senator is more liberal. However, I do not wish to sit down. I have come on an important errand."
"Ah, ha! How much do you need?" the Senator inquired.
The preacher roared with as genuine a laugh as ever was blown across a cotton field.
"We don't need so very much," he said, his gravity returning with a suddenness that made him appear almost ridiculously solemn. "We need something, however, and when our own resources had fallen short, I told my brethren that I knew where to come. The truth is, we need a new bell for the church, and lack twenty-five dollars of having enough to pay for it."
"A new bell! Why, what's the matter with the old one?"
"It is cracked, Sir."
"Cracked! Why I'll bet a thousand dollars you can hear it fifteen miles. Why don't you take the money that a bell would cost and give it to the poorer members of your congregation?"
"The poor we have with us always, Senator. We need a new bell."
"Yes, and you'll ring it at all times of night and keep me awake. Why do they have to be rung, too, so much? Hang me, if I don't believe you've got one old fellow over there that gets up and rings it in his sleep; and many a time I've felt like filling his black hide with shot. When do you want the devilish thing?"
"You mean the bell, Sir?"
"Yes. When do you have to get it?"
"It has been ordered and it must be paid for on its arrival."
"Oh, you've ordered it. Well, now, if you hadn't ordered it you'd never've got a cent out of me. Don't believe I've got that much money about me," he added, stretching out his leg and thrusting his hand into his pocket, to draw forth a roll of bank notes; and on beholding this great display of wealth the negro's thick eyelids snapped. "Here you are," said the Senator, giving him the sum required. "And you tell that old fellow that if he rings the new bell in his sleep, he'll wake up with his black hide full of shot."
"Thank you, Senator. You mean Brother Sampson, Sir?"
"Hah? Sampson? I don't know his name, but I guess Sampson's about right. Wait a minute. Mr. Belford is going to remain with us. He is going to take charge of the theatre here, and in going about the neighborhood you may tell the people that we are—I say we because I want to see the town well entertained—tell the people that they are to have a series of the finest entertainments ever known in this part of the country. And, by the way, Belford, I forgot to speak of it, but you'd better board here at the house."
I looked up to meet the negro's eyes; a stare of blunt rebuke, as if the proposal had come from me, in violation of a compact made with him. I caught a vision of Mrs. Estell as I had seen her through the window, walking beneath the magnolia trees; I heard the warning voice of reason, and I saw lurking in ambush the sweetest and perhaps the deadliest of all dangers. I had seen much of the immorality of life, of passion that knew no law, but not for a moment did there live in my mind a suspicion that this woman could forget the exacting demands of a matron's duty. I felt that the danger lay for me alone; that the warm and sympathetic relationship of friend of the family and partner of the father would establish me almost as a member of the house-hold; that a sisterly regard would at most define the depth of the interest that she could take in my affairs, and even this must come with slow and almost unconscious ripening. It was true that I had come a stranger, that an old community, and especially in the South, is skeptical of a new man's respectability, but I had fallen helpless upon their hospitality, and my misfortune was stronger than an introduction.
It did not seem that I had time to reason as I sat there encountering the gaze of that black agent of a moral code; my reflections might have come like flying splinters, but as I look back and again bring up the scene, I feel that they must have fallen as one impression, a cold and benumbing weight.
"It will be a long walk out here for Mr. Belford, and he has not regained his strength," the negro said, still gazing at me.
"Nonsense!" the Senator replied. "He will be as strong as a buck in a day or two, and, besides, he is used to his room out here and might as well keep it. Confound your impudence, Washington, you always oppose me."
"I beg your pardon, Senator."
"That's all right, but I'm going to have my own way about my own affairs. Do you understand?"
"Better than you think, Sir."
"What's that?"
"I mean that I understand perfectly."
"Well, say what you mean."
"Senator," said I, "he is right. I'd better get a room down town. Walking in and out—and I couldn't think of riding—would take up too much of my time, and I expect to be very busy after the season opens."
"Well, now, there may be something in that. Yes, Sir, there's a good deal to be attended to. Suit yourself. Perhaps it would be better. Washington, you go on and pay for your diabolical arrangement to keep me awake."
The negro bowed and gave me a look, but not of victory—of gratitude.
Early the next day I was formally installed as manager of the Bolanyo Opera House. The Senator directed the ceremony, marking long meter with his hat, and by his solemn mien appearing to demand of me a serious and majestic chant, the tune of Old Hundred, to express a deep sense of my responsibility—a mere fancy, of course; but as a matter of fact, he did seem to believe that we ought to make a sentiment of this commonplace and businesslike procedure. But I told him that we would waive the rights of a mysterious incantation and look upon the affair as a commercial transaction.
"Yes, of course," he said. "But you know there has always been a sort of mystery about the stage. It holds us to the past, makes us children, afraid of ghosts. It has a peculiar smell; and one thing about it is, that all the people on the stage seem to be foreigners, it makes no difference how well you may have been acquainted with them. I don't know that it's true in all cases. Come to think of it, you don't seem strange to me."
"There has always been a prejudice against the stage, in England and America," I replied. "Our race cannot associate art and religion, when, in fact, there's true religion in every phase of art."
"Well, now, I don't know about that, Belford. The Pagans worshiped idols and some of their idols were works of art, but there was no true religion in that. But be that as it may, we're going to make a success of this thing."
A number of boys, having scented an unusual activity, were hanging about the door, and one of them made bold to ask if there was going to be a show. The Senator answered him. "Yes, there is, my little man, and we'll want you to take around some bills when it comes, next fall. Whose son are you, anyway?"
"Mr. Vark's."
"Oh, yes, the shoemaker down stairs. Well, run along now."
The boys scampered off, and the Senator, looking about, declared that we were making great progress. "Yes, Sir, we'll coin money here; and do you know, Belford, I am beginning to believe that money is a pretty good thing after all? Yes, Sir, I have about arrived at that conclusion. It won't take a man to Heaven, but it arms him against a hell on earth. Let me see, there was something else I intended to say. Oh, yes. Now it's all right to be friendly with everybody, but intimacy is a dangerous thing. Encourage it and the first thing you know the loafers about town will begin to call you by your first name. That kills a man if he's in any sort of public life. Why, Sir, if I had let those fellows call me Giles, I couldn't have remained in the Senate more than one term; would have killed me, Sir, as dead as a door nail. In this human family a man thinks more of you in the long run if you compel him to bow to you than if you permit him to put his arm on your shoulder. Our natures respect exclusiveness. We may make fun of what we conceive to be a groundless dignity, but at its face we bow to it. Well, you can now begin your correspondence. I have put money to your credit at the bank, and there's nothing to keep you from going ahead. There are some other little details that can be arranged at our leisure. And now, as to a boarding place. Our hotels are not first class. And here's what I regard as a good idea. This room off here you can fit up as a sleeping apartment, and you can take your meals at a restaurant. Suit you?"
"Perfectly. And I want to thank you for your—"
"Wait till the end of next season, Sir; we haven't time now. And, by the way, I want you to come out to the house as often as you can conveniently. Just come and go as you please. Well, Mr. Manager, I'll bid you good-morning."
My room was airy, and, proportioned in that wastefulness of space which marks one of the interior differences between the town and the great city, it afforded the luxury of many an imaginary path over which I could walk in meditation upon my play; and that piece of work was uppermost in my mind. It was my hope to exist as a manager until I could pip the shell as a dramatist—selfish, I confess; and so is art a selfishness, and so is every high-born longing in the breast of man. Indeed, philanthropy itself cannot escape the accusation: To give to the needy awakens the applause of the conscience.
A slight tapping attracted my attention, and looking round I saw standing in the doorway a tall, gaunt man with a beard so red as to shoot out the suggestion that it had been put on hot and that sufficient time had not elapsed for it to cool. I invited him in; and, stepping forward, he handed me a card on which in black type and with heavy impression was printed the name Lucian C. Petticord, followed by the information (also heavy and black) that I was in the presence of the Editor of the BolanyoDaily Times, and the enemy of Senator Giles Talcom.
"Sit down, Mr. Petticord. Glad to meet you," I added, with lie number one.
"Thank you," he said, seating himself. "Match about you?"
I found a match for him, and lighting the stub of a cigar, he said "Thanks," crossed his legs and hooked his thumbs in the arm-holes of his "vest."
"How do you like our town?" he asked.
"Charming place," I answered.
"Used to be, but hard times hit it a crack and it's been staggering ever since. Had two banks—one of them failed. Tough, I tell you, but we'll come out all right. Just heard of your deal. Ought to make the thing pay, I should think. Got to spend some little money, of course. By the way, is old man Talcom interested in it?"
"Well, only as a friend," I answered, with lie number two.
"I heard he was. Always was a sort of a theatrical fellow."
"He is a gentleman, if that's what you mean."
"Yes, in a way," he drawled. "Oh, I know him."
"Then, Sir, you know one of the most generous of men."
"Yes, generous in a way. Pretty keen, though—he's not throwing anything over his shoulder this year, and he didn't last year either, for that matter."
"I didn't know," said I, "that throwing a thing over one's shoulder was esteemed as an example of generosity."
He rolled his cigar about between his fiery lips. "I take it that you know what I mean," he replied. "I mean that Brother Giles ain't giving anything away without cause."
"Who is?" I asked, and I looked at him hard, but, in the vernacular of the neighborhood, I did not "faze" him.
"In general, nobody; and in particular, not Brother Giles. Well, it's all right. Glad he ain't interested financially. Presume, however, he advanced you the necessary money."
"Pardon me, but if he did it doesn't concern you."
"Oh, it's all right; no business of mine except as a matter of news."
"But what doesn't concern the public is not news," I replied.
"No, that's a fact, but then, there comes up a difference of opinion as to what does concern the public." He paused for a few moments and then continued: "Thought I'd step over and see if I could get an ad from you. Do all my own work in that line; do all the editorials and write most of the local leaders. It keeps me busy, but I'm getting out the best paper the city ever had. And my ad rates are not high when the circulation is considered."
"I shall give you an advertisement later on," said I, "but just at present there could be no object in it. It's out of season and there's nothing to advertise."
"But you'll want a write-up announcing the change of management. The people will be interested in it, you know."
"Yes, but doesn't that very fact make it a piece of legitimate news?"
"Well, yes, in a way. But you know I can't afford to print news for nothing. I'm not printing news for my health, you know. Write you up in good shape for ten dollars."
It was the easiest way out of what appeared to be the beginning of an unpleasant entanglement, and I told him that he might proceed with his "write-up." It was a sort of bribery, the purchase of his good opinion in the hope of securing his silence, for I knew that there must be war, and perhaps a complete change of geographical lines, so far as I was concerned, if the newspaper should offensively associate the Senator and the playhouse. But as I sat there, the subject of a "pleasant interview"—meeting smile with smile—I actually ached to kick that red gargoyle down the stairs.
"Well," he said, blowing the cigar stub out of his mouth and letting it fall where it might, "I'll get back to work. Come over sometime."
"Thank you. I may see more of you when the season opens."
"Guess that's right. Haven't got a cut of yourself, have you?"
"No, and I don't care for one."
"You're wrong there; good cut's a first-rate thing—catches the women, and I want to tell you that unless you catch the women you don't catch anybody. Well, good day."
Almost as soothing as a melody was his passing footstep down the stairs. But he halted, and I heard him talking to someone who evidently was coming up. I was afraid that he had turned to come back, and I stood in a tremor of dread, when in stepped old Zack Mason, the steamboat pilot. "Hah, united we stood and divided we went up!" he cried, grasping my hand. "How are you?—first-rate, I know. Oh, this climate will bring a man out of the kinks if he isn't killed instantly. All this atmosphere needs is a few minutes' start. A man can grow a set of new lungs down here. How are you, anyway? Didn't hurt me much—made a trip since then on a snag-boat. Tickled to death to see you again. How are you, anyway?"
During all this time he held me with a grip so tight as to assure me that not even an explosion could blow us apart. And whenever I attempted to tell him how I was, or to impress him with my share of the pleasure derived from our meeting, he gripped me tighter, to hold me under the outpour of his congratulations. "Felt like a brother had left me that day when you were snatched out of my hand. Said to myself, as I flew through the air, 'he's got a little bit the start of me and I don't believe I'll ever see him again.' And last night, when I got home and heard you were around all right, I went straight over to old Jim Bradley's and swallowed a drink as long as a pelican's neck. I want to tell you that Jim's got the stuff right there in his house—been here ever since the Mississippi River was a creek; and he's got licker older than Adam's off ox. And I'll tell you what we'll do this minute—we'll go right over there and take a snort as loud as the sneeze of a hippopotamus."
By this time I had forced him back into his chair, but he showed such a keenness to get at me again that I had to remind him that I had been but a short time out of bed.
"Well, now, I'd about forgotten that," he declared. "But I don't want you to handle me after you get plum back at yourself. You are as strong as a panther right now. But that's neither here nor there. The question is, will you come over with me to see old Jim? I've got a lay-off for about a week, and I've got to have a little fun as I go along. Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow you may be blowed up. And we'll see old Joe Vark over there. Joe's got a shoeshop right down here—best shoemaker that ever pounded the hide of a steer—works till he gets ready to have fun, and then he whoops it up. He's smarter than a serpent, even if he ain't always as harmless as a dove. They started a little public library here once, and the first thing they knew old Joe had nearly all the books stacked up in his shop; and he read them, too. Come on and we'll go down to old Jim Bradley's; and he's all right, too. What do you say?"
"To tell you the truth, I'd rather go with you than to do almost anything; it would fit me like a glove; but I can't. I've had to quit. One drink would mean a spree, and that would ruin everything."
"Yes, but here," he insisted, "the liquor that Bradley keeps won't put a man off on a spree. It's a fact. It would take a man two weeks to get drunk on it, and by that time he'd have enough. Come on."
"No, I can't go."
"Well, if you can't drink without taking too much I'm the last man in the world to persuade you. Glad to see you, anyway. And I reckon you're going to give us a first-rate line of shows. Met the Senator just now and he told me. He's another man that can't drink. I can drink and I can let it alone—that is, I know I can drink, and I think I can let it alone. Well," he said, getting up and taking my hand, "I'm glad to have seen you again, anyway. Take care of yourself, and when your first show opens up I'll come round with the boys and we'll whoop things up."
The spiritual atmosphere of Bolanyo was like the charm of an old book that we prize only for the almost secret art of its expression, an art too ethereal to be caught and inspected. Sometimes it was drowsy, with all the dreamy laziness of a hamlet in the south of Spain, but there were days when it seemed to rebel against its own ease and unconcern, when a sense of Americanism asserted itself to demand a share in the bustling affairs of noisy commerce. Court day was a time of special activity. It was then that the local market felt a stimulating thrill. My window looked out upon the public square, a macadamized space, white and dazzling in the sun. Sometimes the scene was busy and interesting in variety; wagons loaded with hay still fragrant of the meadow; a brisk horse trotted up and down in front of an auctioneer; negroes with live chickens tied in bunches; a drunken man making a speech on the wretched condition of the country; a "fakir" on the corner selling a soap that would remove a stain from even a tarnished reputation.
Life along the levee was ever interesting to me, for it was there that I could study the slowly vanishing type of boatmen, once so distinctive as to threaten the coming of a new and haughty aristocracy. Singing the song of long ago, with their eyes fixed upon the river, the old negroes stumbled over the railway track that a new progress had thrown across their domain. Great red warehouses were falling into decay, and rank weeds were growing in the bow of a half-submerged steamer that years ago had won a great race on the river. Everywhere lay the rotting ends and broken ravelings of the past, but nowhere, not even in the oddest corner, could there be found the thread of a hope for the future. The business interests of the town had grown away from the river, leaving it to melancholy poetry and to death. And here I loitered, day after day, in a vague contentment extracted from a distress more vague. To a thoughtful mind there is more of interest in decay than in progress; the "Decline and Fall" is a greater book than could have been written on the "Origin and Rise."
I could find no one to tell me much of the history of Bolanyo; no one appeared to take an interest in that part of its existence which lay behind the halcyon and now almost holy day of the steamboat. I knew that, in a corrupted form, it retained the name given originally to the Spanish fortification. But that was enough to know, for the exact dates of the historian might have made it, in comparison with places of real antiquity, a toadstool of yesterday.
I saw the Senator nearly every day, in the office or on the street. Election was not far away, and he had begun to mingle more freely with the people; and though his manner was as cordial and as solicitous as on the day when driving with me he had saluted everyone whom he met in the road, he was far from being familiar, and no one, except his most intimate friends, presumed to call him Giles.
The sight of his house, pillared and stately, on the summit of the graceful rise, was always a pleasure, and while strolling about, with no intention of calling (having, doubtless, called the day before), I kept it in view, for my eyes were never weary with looking upon it, so white and peaceful. It was not a palace, not really a mansion, and in the rich communities of the North it would not have been noteworthy except as a sort of quaint renaissance in home building, but to me it had not been set there by the hand of man, but by the Genii of the Lamp.
Upon calling one afternoon, I was told by the negro woman that the Senator was asleep, and, not wishing to have him disturbed, I walked out into the garden, where Washington was at work among the flowers. With the instinct of his race, he was humming a tune, and he did not hear me until I spoke to him, and then, uplifting his hand with a sign of caution, he pointed at a tree not far away. My eyes leaped to follow him, for I felt that the young woman was near, and there on a bench she sat, her head against the tree, her hat on the ground—asleep.
"Don't make a noise," he said, in tones but little louder than a whisper. "Sarah, the colored woman there in the house, say—says the young lady didn't sleep hardly at all last night, and she went to sleep out there just now."
"She isn't ill, is she?" I asked.
"Sick? No, Sir, she is well, but she's got to sleep some time. How do you like my flowers?"
"They are very beautiful."
"Yes, Sir, but don't talk quite so loud. Seems to me like you are trying to wake her up. I didn't want to take money for this work," he went on, bending over and pulling up a weed, "for I like to do it, but they insist on paying me. Yes, Sir. And I reckon—I suppose we have here the finest clump of magnolias in all this part of the country. This one, right here, was set out the day Miss Florence was born, twenty-four years ago, now."
"And it is the most graceful tree of them all," I replied.
He cut his black eyes at me. "Yes, Sir, I believe it is, but, even if it wasn't, you might say it was. I beg your pardon, Sir, but you just as well board here. Oh, all the whole human family is not blind. If the rest of them are, I'm not."
"Look here, Washington."
"I'm looking, Sir," he said, his eyes full upon me.
"You were very kind to me, and I am grateful, but I don't want your guardianship, and I won't have your insinuations."
"Why, bless you, Sir, I don't want to be your guardian, and I don't intend to insinuate. I spoke to you once about a danger, and I was afraid you had forgotten it. Don't misunderstand me. I believe you are an honorable man, but honor is not always careful enough when it comes to talking to a lady, and none but an honorable man could make trouble on this occasion. The only trouble you can make—there (nodding toward the bench whereon the young woman sat, in fluffy white), the only trouble you can cause there," he repeated, "would be to make her still more dissatisfied with life. And a trouble might fall hard on you, Sir. Let me tell you something in confidence. People have said that my wedding to the church was what kept me from a marriage of the flesh. I let them believe so, but it is not true. Mr. Belford, a soul that is now cool and quiet in this black breast was once raging and on fire. It was a long time ago. I had just begun to preach. I lived at the house of a friend—over yonder."
He waved his hand toward a distant hill on which was clustered a negro settlement.
"And there was a woman with a face like cream when the cow has eaten the first buds of the clover; and her eyes were as bright as the star that hung above the manger, and her laugh was as sweet as the notes that dripped like honey from the harp of David."
He stood erect, a pose of black dignity, his arms folded on his breast, and in one hand he held the weed that he had uprooted from among the flowers. I did not question the sincerity of his religious zeal; from what I had heard and from what I had seen of him I was persuaded that with honesty he had dedicated his life to the service of his creed, but now I felt that he was making a conscious picture of his sentiment and his sacrifice. The bigotry of applauded self-righteousness was in the look that he bent upon me, and my blood rose in resentment, but I said nothing; I let him proceed.
"This woman was a wife, beyond my reach, and I felt that there was no danger for me, and therefore I was not careful, but the first thing I knew I was called upon to choose between the spirit of the Lord and the flesh of the devil."
"Washington, you are talking what is popularly known as rot. How can you compare a handsome woman with the flesh of the devil?"
"The devil's flesh may be beautiful, Sir; and beautiful flesh may not be conscious that it was laid on by the devil."
"But if the devil can tint the flesh and make it beautiful, he is an artist."
"Yes," he said, "and the devil might arm an agent with a paint brush."
"More rot, Washington. The beautiful things are of the Lord and not of the devil. The devil may have made the weed you hold in your hand, but the flowers belong to God."
With a shudder he dropped the weed, as if suddenly it had burnt him. "Well, the end of your love story; how did it come out?"
"It made the woman dissatisfied with the cold clod she was living with; and if I had not let my duty rule me there might have been a scandal, and then my day of usefulness would have been gone."
"Yes; I suppose that a preacher must necessarily look upon a woman as a sort of trap door. He may recover from the disgrace of wine, but woman—" I glanced toward the bench, to find Mrs. Estell engaged in the very human act of rubbing her eyes. I did not wait to finish the sentence, but stepped off briskly; and, looking round before she recognized my coming, I saw that Washington had dropped his dignity and was bending among the flowers. She was not startled when she saw me; she did not even show surprise, for my odd-hour presence had become commonplace.
"I'm glad you came," she said in quiet frankness, and with a smile of welcome. "Sit down. Isn't it a sleepy day?"
"Yes. And even the soft air is gently snoring among the leaves," I replied, rather pleased with the fancy.
"Don't talk that way," she said. "You'll put me to sleep again." She turned her face away to hide a yawn. "Have you begun work on your play?"
"Well, yes, I have taken some very important steps. Day before yesterday I got some paper, got a pint of ink yesterday, and I expect to get a box of pens to-day."
"Oh, you are making great progress. You are going to let me read it, I suppose?"
"Yes, after I've had it typewritten."
"Oh, I won't want to read it then—all the character of the work will be gone—I couldn't find any of your moods and troubles in it; couldn't tell where it was easy nor where you got stuck. I always think that handwriting holds something for me alone, but a typewritten thing is intended for everybody. The other day I got a typewritten letter from Mr. Estell, and I sent it back to him without reading it. Of course, he had to dictate it. And he sent an apology by the next mail."
"Also dictated?" I asked.
"It would have been just like him," she laughed, "but it was scratched with a pen. I hate anything that's dictated; I actually hate it. Some time ago I read that a favorite author of mine dictated his books or worked the typewriter himself, and since then I can't read him. It seems to me that the mellowest work was done by the poets when they wrote with a quill. Imagine Byron setting fire to a page with a typewriter!"
There was the humor of scorn in her "glad eyes" as she looked up at me. "So, if I am to read your play, it must not be when the typewriter has hammeredyouout of it," she said.
"I will read it to you. How will that do?"
"From the original sheets? That will do; that is, if you want to. I don't want you to feel that it's a duty."
"Oh, no; it will be a pleasure. The path of duty is too straight for me."
"It's the winding path that leads to the sweetest flowers," she said, with a motion of her hand toward a clump of roses not far away.