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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/37148-8.txt b/37148-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ebd1ee --- /dev/null +++ b/37148-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5472 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other Fellow, by F. Hopkinson Smith + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Other Fellow + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37148] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER FELLOW *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +_FICTION AND TRAVEL_ + +By F. Hopkinson Smith. + + +CALEB WEST, MASTER DIVER. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. + +TOM GROGAN. Illustrated. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50. + +THE OTHER FELLOW. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. + +A GENTLEMAN VAGABOND, AND SOME OTHERS. 16mo, $1.25. + +COLONEL CARTER OF CARTERSVILLE. With 20 illustrations by +the author and E. W. Kemble. 16mo, $1.25. + +A DAY AT LAGUERRE'S AND OTHER DAYS. 16mo, $1.25. + +A WHITE UMBRELLA IN MEXICO. Illustrated by the author. +16mo, gilt top, $1.50. + +GONDOLA DAYS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. + +WELL-WORN ROADS OF SPAIN, HOLLAND, AND ITALY, traveled by +a Painter in search of the Picturesque. With 16 full-page +phototype reproductions of water-color drawings, and text +by F. HOPKINSON SMITH, profusely illustrated +with pen-and ink sketches. A Holiday volume. Folio, gilt +top, $15.00. + +THE SAME. _Popular Edition._ Including some of the +illustrations of the above. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. + + +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. +BOSTON AND NEW YORK. + + + +THE OTHER FELLOW + +[Illustration: "MISS NANNIE GIB MARSE TOM BOLING HER HAN'" +(_Page 63_)] + + + +_The Other Fellow_ + +_By F. HOPKINSON SMITH_ + + +BOSTON AND NEW YORK +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + +The Riverside Press, Cambridge +1900 + +COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +Dick Sands, Convict 1 + +A Kentucky Cinderella 35 + +A Waterlogged Town 65 + +The Boy in the Cloth Cap 71 + +Between Showers in Dort 82 + +One of Bob's Tramps 113 + +According to the Law 124 + +"Never had no Sleep" 162 + +The Man with the Empty Sleeve 169 + +"Tincter ov Iron" 200 + +"Five Meals for a Dollar" 206 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + PAGE + +"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling +her han'" (page 63) _Frontispiece_ + +Aunt Chloe 36 + +"Her head crammed full of hifalutin' notions" 66 + +Through streets embowered in trees 82 + +The gossips lean in the doorways 88 + +Drenched leaves quivering 94 + +An ancient Groote Kerk 108 + +"Forty-two cents" 216 + + + + +DICK SANDS, CONVICT. + + +I + +The stage stopped at a disheartened-looking tavern with a sagging +porch and sprawling wooden steps. A fat man with a good-natured face, +tagged with a gray chin whisker, bareheaded, and without a coat--there +was snow on the ground, too--and who said he was the landlord, lifted +my yellow bag from one of the long chintz-covered stage cushions, and +preceded me through a sanded hall into a low-ceiled room warmed by a +red-hot stove, and lighted by windows filled with geraniums in full +bloom. The effect of this color was so surprising, and the contrast to +the desolate surroundings outside so grateful, that, without stopping +to register my name, I drew up a chair and joined the circle of baking +loungers. My oversight was promptly noted by the clerk--a sallow-faced +young man with an uncomfortably high collar, red necktie, and stooping +shoulders--and as promptly corrected by his dipping a pen in a wooden +inkstand and holding the book on his knee until I could add my own +superscription to those on its bespattered page. He had been +considerate enough not to ask me to rise. + +The landlord studied the signature, his spectacles on his nose, and +remarked in a kindly tone:-- + +"Oh, you're the man what's going to lecture to the college." + +"Yes; how far is it from here?" + +"'Bout two miles out, Bingville way. You'll want a team, won't you? If +I'd knowed it was you when yer got out I'd told the driver to come +back for you. But it's all right--he's got to stop here again in half +an hour--soon 's he leaves the mail." + +I thanked him and asked him to see that the stage called for me at +half-past seven, as I was to speak at eight o'clock. He nodded in +assent, dropped into a rocking chair, and guided a spittoon into range +with his foot. Then he backed away a little and began to scrutinize my +face. Something about me evidently puzzled him. A leaning mirror that +hung over a washstand reflected his head and shoulders, and gave me +every expression that flitted across his good-natured countenance. + +His summing up was evidently favorable, for his scrutinizing look gave +place to a benign smile which widened into curves around his mouth and +lost itself in faint ripples under his eyes. Hitching his chair +closer, he spread his fat knees, and settled his broad shoulders, +lazily stroking his chin whisker all the while with his puffy fingers. + +"Guess you ain't been at the business long," he said kindly. "Last one +we had a year ago looked kinder peaked." The secret of his peculiar +interest was now out. "Must be awful tough on yer throat, havin' to +holler so. I wasn't up to the show, but the fellers said they heard +him 'fore they got to the crossin'. 'Twas spring weather and the +winders was up. He didn't have no baggage--only a paper box and a +strap. I got supper for him when he come back, and he did eat +hearty--did me good to watch him." Then, looking at the clock and +recalling his duties as a host, he leaned over, and shielding his +mouth with his hand, so as not to be overheard by the loungers, said +in a confidential tone, "Supper'll be on in half an hour, if you want +to clean up. I'll see you get what you want. Your room's first on the +right--you can't miss it." + +I expressed my appreciation of his timely suggestion, and picking up +the yellow bag myself--hall-boys are scarce in these localities--mounted +the steps to my bedroom. + +Within the hour--fully equipped in the regulation costume, swallow-tail, +white tie, and white waistcoat--I was again hugging the stove, for +my bedroom had been as cold as a barn. + +My appearance created something of a sensation. A tall man in a +butternut suit, with a sinister face, craned his head as I passed, and +the sallow-faced clerk leaned over the desk in an absorbed way, his +eyes glued to my shirt front. The others looked stolidly at the red +bulb of the stove. No remarks were made--none aloud, the splendor of +my appearance and the immaculate nature of my appointments seeming to +have paralyzed general conversation for the moment. This silence +continued. I confess I did not know how to break it. Tavern stoves are +often trying ordeals to the wayfarer; the silent listeners with the +impassive leather faces and foxlike eyes disconcert him; he knows just +what they will say about him when they go out. The awkward stillness +was finally broken by a girl in blue gingham opening a door and +announcing supper. + +It was one of those frying-pan feasts of eggs, bacon, and doughnuts, +with canned corn in birds' bathtubs, plenty of green pickles, and dabs +of home-made preserves in pressed glass saucers. It occupied a few +moments only. When it was over, I resumed my chair by the stove. + +The night had evidently grown colder. The landlord had felt it, for he +had put on his coat; so had a man with a dyed mustache and heavy red +face, whom I had left tipped back against the wall, and who was now +raking out the ashes with a poker. So had the butternut man, who had +moved two diameters nearer the centre of comfort. All doubts, however, +were dispelled by the arrival of a thickset man with ruddy cheeks, who +slammed the door behind him and moved quickly toward the stove, +shedding the snow from his high boots as he walked. He nodded to the +landlord and spread his stiff fingers to the red glow. A faint wreath +of white steam arose from his coonskin overcoat, filling the room with +the odor of wet horse blankets and burned leather. The landlord left +the desk, where he had been figuring with the clerk, approached my +chair, and pointing to the new arrival, said:-- + +"This is the driver I been expectin' over from Hell's Diggings. He'll +take you. This man"--he now pointed to me--"wants to go to the college +at 7.30." + +The new arrival shifted his whip to the other hand, looked me all +over, his keen and penetrating eye resting for an instant on my white +shirt and waistcoat, and answered slowly, still looking at me, but +addressing the landlord:-- + +"He'll have to get somebody else. I got to take Dick Sands over to +Millwood Station; his mother's took bad again." + +"What, Dick Sands?" came a voice from the other side of the stove. It +was the man in the butternut suit. + +"Why, Dick Sands," replied the driver in a positive tone. + +"Not _Dick Sands_?" The voice expressed not only surprise but +incredulity. + +"Yes, DICK SANDS," shouted the driver in a tone that carried with it +his instant intention of breaking anybody's head who doubted the +statement. + +"Gosh! that so? When did he git out?" cried the butternut man. + +"Oh, a month back. He's been up in Hell's Diggin's ever since." Then +finding that no one impugned his veracity, he added in a milder tone: +"His old mother's awful sick up to her sister's back of Millwood. He +got word a while ago." + +"Well, this gentleman's got to speak at the college, and our team +won't be back in time." The landlord pronounced the word "gentleman" +with emphasis. The white waistcoat had evidently gotten in its fine +work. + +"Let Dick walk," broke in the clerk. "He's used to it, and used to +runnin', too"--this last with a dry laugh in spite of an angry glance +from his employer. + +"Well, Dick won't walk," snapped the driver, his voice rising. "He'll +ride like a white man, he will, and that's all there is to it. His +leg's bad ag'in." + +These remarks were not aimed at me nor at the room. They were fired +pointblank at the clerk. I kept silent; so did the clerk. + +"What time was you goin' to take Dick?" inquired the landlord in a +conciliatory tone. + +"'Bout 7.20--time to catch the 8.10." + +"Well, now, why can't you take this man along? You can go to the +Diggings for Dick, and then"--pointing again at me--"you can drop him +at the college and keep on to the station. 'Tain't much out of the +way." + +The driver scanned me closely and answered coldly:-- + +"Guess his kind don't want to mix in with Dick"--and started for the +door. + +"I have no objection," I answered meekly, "provided I can reach the +lecture hall in time." + +The driver halted, hit the spittoon squarely in the middle, and said +with deep earnestness and with a slight trace of deference:-- + +"Guess you don't know it all, stranger. Dick's served time. Been up +twice." + +"Convict?"--my voice evidently betrayed my surprise. + +"You've struck it fust time--last trip was for five years." + +He stood whip in hand, his fur cap pulled over his ears, his eyes +fixed on mine, noting the effect of the shot. Every other eye in the +room was similarly occupied. + +I had no desire to walk to Bingville in the cold. I felt, too, the +necessity of proving myself up to the customary village standard in +courage and complacency. + +"That don't worry me a bit, my friend. There are a good many of us out +of jail that ought to be in, and a good many in that ought to be out." +I said this calmly, like a man of wide experience and knowledge of the +world, one who had traveled extensively, and whose knowledge of +convicts and other shady characters was consequently large and varied. +The prehistoric age of this epigram was apparently unnoticed by the +driver, for he started forward, grasped my hand, and blurted out in a +whole-souled, hearty way, strangely in contrast with his former +manner:-- + +"You ain't so gol-darned stuck up, be ye? Yes, I'll take ye, and glad +to." Then he stooped over and laid his hand on my shoulder and said in +a softened voice: "When ye git 'longside o' Dick you tell him that; +it'll please him," and he stalked out and shut the door behind him. + +Another dead silence fell upon the group. Then a citizen on the other +side of the stove, by the aid of his elbows, lifted himself +perpendicularly, unhooked a coat from a peg, and remarked to himself +in a tone that expressed supreme disgust:-- + +"Please him! In a pig's eye it will," and disappeared into the night. + +Only two loungers were now left--the butternut man with the sinister +expression, and the red-faced man with the dyed mustache. + +The landlord for the second time dropped into a chair beside me. + +"I knowed Dick was out, but I didn't say nothing, so many of these +fellers 'round here is down on him. The night his time was up Dick +come in here on his way home and asked after his mother. He hadn't +heard from her for a month, and was nigh worried to death about her. I +told him she was all right, and had him in to dinner. He'd fleshed up +a bit and nobody didn't catch on who he was,--bein' away nigh five +years,--and so I passed him off for a drummer." + +At this the red-faced man who had been tilted back, his feet on the +iron rod encircling the stove, brought them down with a bang, +stretched his arms above his head, and said with a yawn, addressing +the pots of geraniums on the window sill, "Them as likes jail-birds +can have jail-birds," and lounged out of the room, followed by the +citizen in butternut. It was apparent that the supper hour of the +group had arrived. It was equally evident that the hospitality of the +fireside did not extend to the table. + +"You heard that fellow, didn't you?" said the landlord, turning to me +after a moment's pause. "You'd think to hear him talk there warn't +nobody honest 'round here but him. That's Chris Rankin--he keeps a rum +mill up to the Forks and sells tanglefoot and groceries to the miners. +By Sunday mornin' he's got 'bout every cent they've earned. There +ain't a woman in the settlement wouldn't be glad if somebody would +break his head. I'd rather be Dick Sands than him. Dick never drank a +drop in his life, and won't let nobody else if he can help it. That's +what that slouch hates him for, and that's what he hates me for." + +The landlord spoke with some feeling--so much so that I squared my +chair and faced him to listen the better. His last remark, too, +explained a sign tacked over the desk reading, "No liquors sold here," +and which had struck me as unusual when I entered. + +"What was this man's crime?" I asked. "There seems to be some +difference of opinion about him." + +"His crime, neighbor, was because there was a lot of fellers that +didn't have no common sense--that's what his crime was. I've known +Dick since he was knee-high to a barrel o' taters, and there warn't no +better"---- + +"But he was sent up the second time," I interrupted, glancing at my +watch. "So the driver said." I had not the slightest interest in Mr. +Richard Sands, his crimes or misfortunes. + +"Yes, and they'd sent him up the third time if Judge Polk had lived. +The first time it was a pocket-book and three dollars, and the second +time it was a ham. Polk did that. Polk's dead now. God help him if +he'd been alive when Dick got out the last time. First question he +asked me after I told him his mother was all right was whether 'twas +true Polk was dead. When I told him he was he didn't say nothin' at +first--just looked down on the floor and then he said slow-like:-- + +"'If Polk had had any common sense, Uncle Jimmy,'--he always calls me +'Uncle Jimmy,'--'he'd saved himself a heap o' worry and me a good deal +o' sufferin'. I'm glad he's dead.'" + + +II + +The driver arrived on the minute, backed up to the sprawling wooden +steps, and kicked open the door of the waiting-room with his foot. + +"All right, boss, I got two passengers 'stead o' one, but you won't +kick, I know. You git in; I'll go for the mail." The promotion and the +confidential tone were intended as a compliment. + +I slipped into my fur overcoat; slid my manuscript into the outside +pocket, and followed the driver out into the cold night. The only +light visible came from a smoky kerosene lamp boxed in at the far end +of the stage and protected by a pane of glass labeled in red paint, +"Fare, ten cents." + +Close to its rays sat a man, and close to the man--so close that I +mistook her for an overcoat thrown over his arm--cuddled a little +girl, the light of the lamp falling directly on her face. She was +about ten years of age, and wore a cheap woolen hood tied close to her +face, and a red shawl crossed over her chest and knotted behind her +back. Her hair was yellow and weather-burned, as if she had played out +of doors all her life; her eyes were pale blue, and her face freckled. +Neither she nor the man made any answer to my salutation. + +The child looked up into the man's face and shrugged her shoulders +with a slight shiver. The man drew her closer to him, as if to warm +her the better, and felt her chapped red hands. In the movement his +face came into view. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age--wiry and +well built, with an oval face ending in a pointed Vandyke beard; +piercing brown eyes, finely chiseled nose, and a well-modeled mouth +over which drooped a blond mustache. He was dressed in a dark blue +flannel shirt, with loose sailor collar tied with a red 'kerchief, and +a black, stiff-brimmed army-shaped hat a little drawn down over his +eyes. Buttoned over his chest was a heavy waistcoat made of a white +and gray deerskin, with the hair on the outside. His trousers, which +fitted snugly his slender, shapely legs, were tucked into his boots. +He wore no coat, despite the cold. + +A typical young westerner, I said to myself--one of the bone and sinew +of the land--accustomed to live anywhere in these mountains--cold +proof, of course, or he'd wear a coat on a night like this. Taking his +little sister home, I suppose. The country will never go to the dogs +as long as we have these young fellows to fall back upon. Then my eyes +rested with pleasure on the pointed beard, the peculiar curve of the +hat-brim, the slender waist corrugating the soft fur of the deerskin +waistcoat, and the peculiar set of his trousers and boots--like those +of an Austrian on parade. And how picturesque, I thought. What an +admirable costume for the ideal cowboy or the romantic mountain ranger +who comes in at the nick of time to save the young maiden; and what a +hit the favorite of the footlights would make if he could train his +physique down to such wire-drawn, alert, panther-like outlines and-- + +A heavy object struck the boot of the stage and interrupted my +meditations. It was the mail-bag. The next instant the driver's head +was thrust in the door. + +"Dick, this is the man I told you was goin' 'long far as Bingville. +He's got a show up to the college." + +I started, hardly believing my ears. Shades of D'Artagnan, Davy +Crockett, and Daniel Boone! Could this lithe, well-knit, brown-eyed +young Robin Hood be a convict? + +"Are you Dick Sands?" I faltered out. + +"Yes, that's what they call me when I'm out of jail. When I'm in I'm +known as One Hundred and Two." + +He spoke calmly, quite as if I had asked him his age--the voice clear +and low, with a certain cadence that surprised me all the more. His +answer, too, convinced me that the driver had told him of my +time-honored views on solitary confinement, and that it had disposed +him to be more or less frank toward me. If he expected, however, any +further outburst of sympathy from me he was disappointed. The surprise +had been so great, and the impression he had made upon me so +favorable, that it would have been impossible for me to remind him +even in the remotest way of his former misfortunes. + +The child looked at me with her pale eyes, and crept still closer, +holding on to the man's arm, steadying herself as the stage bumped +over the crossings. + +For some minutes I kept still, my topics of conversation especially +adapted to convicts being limited. Despite my implied boasting to the +driver, I had never, to my knowledge, met one before. Then, again, I +had not yet adjusted my mind to the fact that the man before me had +ever worn stripes. So I said, aimlessly:-- + +"Is that your little sister?" + +"No, I haven't got any little sister," still in the same calm voice. +"This is Ben Mulford's girl; she lives next to me, and I am taking her +down for the ride. She's coming back." + +The child's hand stole along the man's knee, found his fingers and +held on. I kept silence for a while, wondering what I would say next. +I felt that to a certain extent I was this man's guest, and therefore +under obligation to preserve the amenities. I began again:-- + +"The driver tells me your mother's sick?" + +"Yes, she is. She went over to her sister's last week and got cold. +She isn't what she was--I being away from her so much lately. I got +two terms; last time for five years. Every little thing now knocks her +out." + +He raised his head and looked at me calmly--all over--examining each +detail,--my derby hat, white tie, fur overcoat, along my arms to my +gloves, and slowly down to my shoes. + +"I s'pose you never done no time?" He had no suspicion that I had; he +only meant to be amiable. + +"No," I said, with equal simplicity, meeting him on his own +ground--quite as if an attack of measles at some earlier age was under +discussion, to which he had fallen a victim while I had escaped. As he +spoke his fingers tightened over the child's hand. Then he turned and +straightened her hood, tucking the loose strands of hair under its +edge with his fingers. + +"You seem rather fond of that little girl; is she any relation?" I +asked, forgetting that I had asked almost that same question before. + +"No, she isn't any relation--just Ben Mulford's girl." He raised his +other hand and pressed the child's head down upon the deerskin +waistcoat, close into the fur, with infinite tenderness. The child +reached up her small, chapped hand and laid it on his cheek, cuddling +closer, a shy, satisfied smile overspreading her face. + +My topics were exhausted, and we rode on in silence, he sitting in +front of me, his eyes now so completely hidden in the shadow of his +broad-brimmed hat that I only knew they were fixed on me when some +sudden tilt of the stage threw the light full on his face. I tried +offering him a cigar, but he would not smoke--"had gotten out of the +habit of it," he said, "being shut up so long. It didn't taste good to +him, so he had given it up." + +When the stage reached the crossing near the college gate and stopped, +he asked quietly:-- + +"You get out here?" and lifted the child as he spoke so that her +soiled shoes would not scrape my coat. In the action I saw that his +leg pained him, for he bent it suddenly and put his hand on the +kneecap. + +"I hope your mother will be better," I said. "Good-night; good-night, +little girl." + +"Thank you; good-night," he answered quickly, with a strain of sadness +that I had not caught before. The child raised her eyes to mine, but +did not speak. + +I mounted the hill to the big college building, and stopped under a +light to look back; following with my eyes the stage on its way to the +station. The child was on her knees, looking at me out of the window +and waving her hand, but the man sat by the lamp, his head on his +chest. + + * * * * * + +All through my discourse the picture of that keen-eyed, handsome young +fellow, with his pointed beard and picturesque deerskin waistcoat, the +little child cuddled down upon his breast, kept coming before me. + +When I had finished, and was putting on my coat in the president's +room,--the landlord had sent his team to bring me back,--I asked one +of the professors, a dry, crackling, sandy-haired professor, with +bulging eyes and watch-crystal spectacles, if he knew of a man by the +name of Sands who had lived in Hell's Diggings with his mother, and +who had served two terms in state's prison, and I related my +experience in the stage, telling him of the impression his face and +bearing had made upon me, and of his tenderness to the child beside +him. + +"No, my dear sir, I never heard of him. Hell's Diggings is a most +unsafe and unsavory locality. I would advise you to be very careful in +returning. The rogue will probably be lying in wait to rob you of your +fee;" and he laughed a little harsh laugh that sounded as if some one +had suddenly torn a coarse rag. + +"But the child with him," I said; "he seemed to love her." + +"That's no argument, my dear sir. If he has been twice in state's +prison he probably belongs to that class of degenerates in whom all +moral sense is lacking. I have begun making some exhaustive +investigations of the data obtainable on this subject, which I have +embodied in a report, and which I propose sending to the State +Committee on the treatment of criminals, and which"---- + +"Do you know any criminals personally?" I asked blandly, cutting +short, as I could see, an extract from the report. His manner, too, +strange to say, rather nettled me. + +"Thank God, no, sir; not one! Do you?" + +"I am not quite sure," I answered. "I thought I had, but I may have +been mistaken." + + +III + +When I again mounted the sprawling steps of the disheartened-looking +tavern, the landlord was sitting by the stove half asleep and alone. +He had prepared a little supper, he said, as he led the way, with a +benign smile, into the dining-room, where a lonely bracket lamp, +backed by a tin reflector, revealed a table holding a pitcher of milk, + a saucer of preserves, and some pieces of leather beef about the size +used in repairing shoes. + +"Come, and sit down by me," I said. "I want to talk to you about this +young fellow Sands. Tell me everything you know." + +"Well, you saw him; clean and pert-lookin', ain't he? Don't look much +like a habitual criminal, as Polk called him, does he?" + +"No, he certainly does not; but give me the whole story." I was in a +mood either to reserve decision or listen to a recommendation of +mercy. + +"Want me to tell you about the pocketbook or that ham scrape?" + +"Everything from the beginning," and I reached for the scraps of beef +and poured out a glass of milk. + +"Well, you saw Chris Rankin, didn't you,--that fellow that talked +about jail-birds? Well, one night about six or seven years ago,"--the +landlord had now drawn out a chair from the other side of the table +and was sitting opposite me, leaning forward, his arms on the +cloth,--"maybe six years ago, a jay of a farmer stopped at Rankin's +and got himself plumb full o' tanglefoot. When he come to pay he +hauled out a wallet and chucked it over to Chris and told him to take +it out. The wallet struck the edge of the counter and fell on the +floor, and out come a wad o' bills. The only other man besides him and +Chris in the bar-room was Dick. It was Saturday night, and Dick had +come in to git his paper, which was always left to Rankin's. Dick seen +he was drunk, and he picked the wallet up and handed it back to the +farmer. About an hour after that the farmer come a-runnin' in to +Rankin's sober as a deacon, a-hollerin' that he'd been robbed, and +wanted to know where Dick was. He said that he had had two rolls o' +bills; one was in an envelope with three dollars in it that he'd got +from the bank, and the other was the roll he paid Chris with. Dick, he +claimed, was the last man who had handled the wallet, and he vowed +he'd stole the envelope with the three dollars when he handed it back +to him. + +"When the trial come off everything went dead ag'in Dick. The cashier +of the bank swore he had given the farmer the money and envelope, and +in three new one-dollar bills of the bank, mind you, for the farmer +had sold some ducks for his wife and wanted clean money for her. Chris +swore he seen Dick pick it up and fix the money all straight again for +the farmer; the farmer's wife swore she had took the money out of her +husband's pocket, and that when she opened the wallet the envelope was +gone, and the farmer, who was so dumb he couldn't write his name, +swore that he hadn't stopped no place between Chris Rankin's and home, +'cept just a minute to fix his traces t'other side of Big Pond Woods. + +"Dick's mother, of course, was nigh crazy, and she come to me and I +went and got Lawyer White. It come up 'fore Judge Polk. After we had +all swore to Dick's good character and, mind you, there warn't one of +'em could say a word ag'in him 'cept that he lived in Hell's Diggin's, +Lawyer White began his speech, clamin' that Dick had always been +square as a brick, and that the money must be found on Dick or +somewheres nigh him 'fore they could prove he took it. + +"Well, the jury was the kind we always git 'round here, and they done +what Polk told 'em to in his charge,--just as they always do,--and +Dick was found guilty before them fellers left their seats. The mother +give a shriek and fell in a heap on the floor, but Dick never changed +a muscle nor said a word. When Polk asked him if he had anything to +say, he stood up and turned his back on Polk, and faced the +court-room, which was jam full, for everybody knowed him and everybody +liked him--you couldn't help it. + +"'You people have knowed me here,' Dick says, 'since I was a boy, and +you've knowed my mother. I ain't never in times back done nothin' I +was ashamed of, and I ain't now, and you know it. I tell you, men, I +didn't take that money.' Then he faced the jury. 'I don't know,' he +said, 'as I blame you. Most of you don't know no better and those o' +you who do are afraid to say it; but you, Judge Polk,' and he squared +himself and pointed his finger straight at him, 'you claim to be a man +of eddication, and so there ain't no excuse for you. You've seen me +grow up here, and if you had any common sense you'd know that a man +like me couldn't steal that man's money, and you'd know, too, that he +was too drunk to know what had become of it.' Then he stopped and said +in a low voice, and with his teeth set, looking right into Polk's +eyes: 'Now I'm ready to take whatever you choose to give me, but +remember one thing, I'll settle with you if I ever come back for +puttin' this misery on to my mother, and don't you forget it.' + +"Polk got a little white about the gills, but he give Dick a year, and +they took him away to Stoneburg. + +"After that the mother ran down and got poorer and poorer, and folks +avoided her, and she got behind and had to sell her stuff, and a month +before his time was out she got sick and pretty near died. Dick went +straight home and never left her day nor night, and just stuck to her +and nursed her like any girl would a-done, and got her well again. Of +course folks was divided, and it got red-hot 'round here. Some +believed him innercent, and some believed him guilty. Lawyer White and +fellers like him stuck to him, but Rankin's gang was down on him; and +when he come into Chris's place for his paper same as before, all the +bums that hang 'round there got up and left, and Chris told Dick he +didn't want him there no more. That kinder broke the boy's heart, +though he didn't say nothing, and after that he would go off up in the +woods by himself, or he'd go huntin' ches'nuts or picking flowers, all +the children after him. Every child in the settlement loved him, and +couldn't stay away from him. Queer, ain't it, how folks would trust +their chil'ren. All the folks in Hell's Diggin's did, anyhow." + +"Yes," I interrupted, "there was one with him to-night in the stage." + +"That's right. He always has one or two boys and girls 'long with him; +says nothin' ain't honest, no more, 'cept chil'ren and dogs. + +"Well, when his mother got 'round ag'in all right, Dick started in to +get something to do. He couldn't get nothin' here, so he went acrost +the mountains to Castleton and got work in a wagon fact'ry. When it +come pay day and they asked him his name he said out loud, Dick Sands, +of Hell's Diggin's. This give him away, and the men wouldn't work with +him, and he had to go. I see him the mornin' he got back. He come in +and asked for me, and I went out, and he said, 'Uncle Jimmy, they mean +I sha'n't work 'round here. They won't give me no work, and when I git +it they won't let me stay. Now, by God!'--and he slammed his fist down +on the desk--'they'll support me and my mother without workin',' and +he went out. + +"Next thing I heard Dick had come into Rankin's and picked up a ham +and walked off with it. Chris, he allus 'lowed, hurt him worse than +any one else around here, and so maybe he determined to begin on him. +Chris was standin' at the bar when he picked up the ham, and he +grabbed a gun and started for him. Dick waited a-standin' in the road, +and just as Chris was a-pullin' the trigger, he jumped at him, +plantin' his fist in 'tween Chris's eyes. Then he took his gun and +went off with the ham. Chris didn't come to for an hour. Then Dick +barricaded himself in his house, put his mother in the cellar, strung +a row of cartridges 'round his waist, and told 'em to come on. Well, +his mother plead with him not to do murder, and after a day he give +himself up and come out. + +"At the trial the worst scared man was Polk. Dick had dropped in on +him once or twice after he got out, tellin' him how he couldn't git no +work and askin' him to speak up and set him straight with the folks. +They do say that Polk never went out o' night when Dick was home, +'fraid he'd waylay him--though I knew Polk was givin' himself a good +deal of worry for nothin', for Dick warn't the kind to hit a man on +the sly. When Polk see who it was a-comin' into court he called the +constable and asked if Dick had been searched, and when he found he +had he told Ike Martin, the constable, to stand near the bench in case +the prisoner got ugly. + +"But Dick never said a word, 'cept to say he took the ham and he never +intended to pay for it, and he'd take it again whenever his mother was +hungry. + +"So Polk give him five years, sayin' it was his second offense, and +that he was a 'habitual criminal.' It was all over in half an hour, +and Ike Martin and the sheriff had Dick in a buggy and on the way to +Stoneburg. They reached the jail about nine o'clock at night, and +drove up to the gate. Well, sir, Ike got out on one side and the +sheriff he got out on t'other, so they could get close to him when he +got down, and, by gosh! 'fore they knowed where they was at, Dick give +a spring clear over the dashboard and that's the last they see of him +for two months. One day, after they'd hunted him high and low and lay +'round his mother's cabin, and jumped in on her half a dozen times in +the middle of the night, hopin' to get him,--for Polk had offered a +reward of five hundred dollars, dead or alive,--Ike come in to my +place all het up and his eyes a-hangin' out, and he say, 'Gimme your +long gun, quick, we got Dick Sands.' I says, 'How do you know?' and he +says, 'Some boys seen smoke comin' out of a mineral hole half a mile +up the mountain above Hell's Diggin's, and Dick's in there with a bed +and blanket, and we're goin' to lay for him to-night and plug him when +he comes out if he don't surrender.' And I says, 'You can't have no +gun o' mine to shoot Dick, and if I knowed where he was I'd go tell +him.' The room was full when he asked for my gun, and some o' the boys +from Hell's Diggin's heard him and slid off through the woods, and +when the sheriff and his men got there they see the smoke still comin' +up, and lay in the bushes all night watchin'. 'Bout an hour after +daylight they crep' up. The fire was out and so was Dick, and all they +found was a chicken half cooked and a quilt off his mother's bed. + +"'Bout a week after that, one Saturday night, a feller come runnin' up +the street from the market, sayin' Dick had walked into his place just +as he was closin' up,--he had a stall in the public market under the +city hall, where the court is,--and asked him polite as you please for +a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, and before he could holler Dick +was off again with the bread under his arm. Well, of course, nobody +didn't believe him, for they knowed Dick warn't darn fool enough to be +loafin' 'round a place within twenty foot of the room where Polk +sentenced him. Some said the feller was crazy, and some said it was a +put-up job to throw Ike and the others off the scent. But the next +night Dick, with his gun handy in the hollow of his arm, and his hat +cocked over his eye, stepped up to the cook shop in the corner of the +market and helped himself to a pie and a chunk o' cheese right under +their very eyes, and 'fore they could say 'scat,' he was off ag'in and +didn't leave no more tracks than a cat. + +"By this time the place was wild. Fellers was gettin' their guns, and +Ike Martin was runnin' here and there organizing posses, and most +every other man you'd meet had a gun and was swore in as a deputy to +git Dick and some of the five hundred dollars' reward. They hung +'round the market, and they patrolled the streets, and they had signs +and countersigns, and more tomfoolery than would run a circus. Dick +lay low and never let on, and nobody didn't see him for another week, +when a farmer comin' in with milk 'bout daylight had the life pretty +nigh scared out o' him by Dick stopping him, sayin' he was thirsty, +and then liftin' the lid off the tin without so much as 'by your +leave,' and takin' his fill of the can. 'Bout a week after that the +rope got tangled up in the belfry over the court-house so they +couldn't ring for fires, and the janitor went up to fix it, and when +he came down his legs was shakin' so he couldn't stand. What do you +think he'd found?" And the landlord leaned over and broke out in a +laugh, striking the table with the flat of his hand until every plate +and tumbler rattled. + +I made no answer. + +"By gosh, there was Dick sound asleep! He had a bed and blankets and +lots o' provisions, and was just as comfortable as a bug in a rug. +He'd been there ever since he got out of the mineral hole! Tell you I +got to laugh whenever I think of it. Dick laughed 'bout it himself +t'other day when he told me what fun he had listenin' to Ike and the +deputies plannin' to catch him. There ain't another man around here +who'd been smart enough to pick out the belfry. He was right over the +room in the court-house where they was, ye see, and he could look down +'tween the cracks and hear every word they said. Rainy nights he'd +sneak out, and his mother would come down to the market, and he'd see +her outside. They never tracked her, of course, when she come there. +He told me she wanted him to go clean away somewheres, but he wouldn't +leave her. + +"When the janitor got his breath he busted in on Ike and the others +sittin' 'round swappin' lies how they'd catch Dick, and Ike reached +for his gun and crep' up the ladder with two deputies behind him, and +Ike was so scared and so 'fraid he'd lose the money that he fired +'fore Dick got on his feet. The ball broke his leg, and they all +jumped in and clubbed him over the head and carried him downstairs for +dead in his blankets, and laid him on a butcher's table in the market, +and all the folks in the market crowded 'round to look at him, lyin' +there with his head hangin' down over the table like a stuck calf's, +and his clothes all bloody. Then Ike handcuffed him and started for +Stoneburg in a wagon 'fore Dick come to." + +"That's why he couldn't walk to-night," I asked, "and why the driver +took him over in the stage?" + +"Yes, that was it. He'll never get over it. Sometimes he's all right, +and then ag'in it hurts him terrible, 'specially when the weather's +bad. + +"All the time he was up to Stoneburg them last four years--he got a +year off for good behavior--he kept makin' little things and sellin' +'em to the visitors. Everybody went to his cell--it was the first +place the warders took 'em, and they all bought things from Dick. He +had a nice word for everybody, kind and comforting-like. He was the +handiest feller you ever see. When he got out he had twenty-nine +dollars. He give every cent to his mother. Warden told him when he +left he hadn't had no better man in the prison since he had been +'p'inted. And there ain't no better feller now. It's a darned mean +shame how Chris Rankin and them fellers is down on him, knowin', too, +how it all turned out." + +I leaned back in my chair and looked at the landlord. I was conscious +of a slight choking in my throat which could hardly be traced to the +dryness of the beef. I was conscious, too, of a peculiar affection of +the eyes. Two or three lamps seemed to be swimming around the room, +and one or more blurred landlords were talking to me with elbows on +tables. + +"What do you think yourself about that money of the farmer's?" I asked +automatically, though I do not think even now that I had the slightest +suspicion of his guilt. "Do you believe he stole the three dollars +when he handed the wallet back?" + +"Stole 'em? Not by a d---- sight! Didn't I tell you? Thought I had. +That galoot of a farmer dropped it in the woods 'longside the road +when he got out to fix his traces, and he was too full of Chris +Rankin's rum to remember it, and after Dick had been sent up for the +second time, the second time now, mind ye, and had been in two years +for walking off with Rankin's ham, a lot of school children huntin' +for ches'nuts come upon that same envelope in the ditch with them +three new dollars in it, covered up under the leaves and the weeds +a-growin' over it. Ben Mulford's girl found it." + +"What, the child he had with him tonight?" + +"Yes, little freckle-faced girl with white eyes. Oh, I tell you Dick's +awful fond of that kid." + + + + +A KENTUCKY CINDERELLA + + +I was bending over my easel, hard at work upon a full-length portrait +of a young girl in a costume of fifty years ago, when the door of my +studio opened softly and Aunt Chloe came in. + +"Good-mawnin', suh! I did n' think you'd come to-day, bein' a Sunday," +she said, with a slight bend of her knees. "I'll jes' sweep up a lil +mite; doan' ye move, I won't 'sturb ye." + +Aunt Chloe had first opened my door a year before with a note from +Marny, a brother brush, which began with "Here is an old Southern +mammy who has seen better days; paint her if you can," and ended with, +"Any way, give her a job." + +The bearer of the note was indeed the ideal mammy, even to the +bandanna handkerchief bound about her head, and the capacious waist +and ample bosom--the lullaby resting-place for many a child, white and +black. I had never seen a real one in the flesh before. I had heard +about them in my earlier days. Daddy Billy, my father's body servant +and my father's slave, who lived to be ninety-four, had told me of his +own Aunt Mirey, who had died in the old days, but too far back for me +to remember. And I had listened, when a boy, to the traditions +connected with the plantations of my ancestors,--of the Keziahs and +Mammy Crouches and Mammy Janes,--but I had never looked into the eyes +of one of the old school until I saw Aunt Chloe, nor had I ever fully +realized how quaintly courteous and gentle one of them could be until, +with an old-time manner, born of a training seldom found outside of +the old Southern homes, she bent forward, spread her apron with both +hands, and with a little backward dip had said as she left me that +first day: "Thank ye, suh! I'll come eve'y Sunday mawnin'. I'll do my +best to please ye, an' I specs I kin." + +I do not often work on Sunday, but my picture had been too long +delayed waiting for a faded wedding dress worn once by the original +when she was a bride, and which had only been found when two of her +descendants had ransacked their respective garrets. + +"Mus' be mighty driv, suh," she said, "a-workin' on de Sabbath day. +Golly, but dat's a purty lady!" and she put down her pail. "I see it +las' Sunday when I come in, but she didn't had dem ruffles 'round her +neck den dat you done gib her. 'Clar' to goodness, dat chile look like +she was jes' a-gwine to speak." + +[Illustration: AUNT CHLOE] + +Aunt Chloe was leaning on her broom, her eyes scrutinizing the +portrait. + +"Well, if dat doan' beat de lan'. I ain't never seen none o' dem +frocks since de ole times. An' dem lil low shoes wid de ribbons +crossed on de ankles! She's de livin' pussonecation--she is so, for a +fac'. Uhm! Uhm!" (It is difficult to convey this peculiar sound of +complete approval in so many letters.) + +"Did you ever know anybody like her?" I asked. + +The old woman straightened her back, and for a moment her eyes looked +into mine. I had often tried to draw from her something of her earlier +life, but she had always evaded my questions. Marny had told me that +his attempts had at first been equally disappointing. + +"Body as ole's me, suh, seen a plenty o' people." Then her eyes sought +the canvas again. + +After a moment's pause she said, as if to herself: "You's de real +quality, chile, dat you is; eve'y spec an' spinch o' ye." + +I tried again. + +"Does it look like anybody you ever saw, Aunt Chloe?" + +"It do an' it don't," she answered critically. "De feet is like hern, +but de eyes ain't." + +"Who?" + +"Oh, Miss Nannie." And she leaned again on her broom and looked down +on the floor. + +I heaped up a little pile of pigments on one corner of my palette and +flattened them for a high light on a fold in the satin gown. + +"Who was Miss Nannie?" I asked carelessly. I was afraid the thread +would break if I pulled too hard. + +"One o' my chillen, honey." A peculiar softness came into her voice. + +"Tell me about her. It will help me get her eyes right, so you can +remember her better. They don't look human enough to me anyhow" (this +last to myself). "Where did she live?" + +"Where dey all live--down in de big house. She warn't Marse Henry's +real chile, but she come o' de blood. She didn't hab dem kind o' shoes +on her footses when I fust see her, but she wore 'em when she lef' me. +Dat she did." Her voice rose suddenly and her eyes brightened. "An' +dem ain't nothin' to de way dey shined. I ain't never seen no satin +slippers shine like dem slippers; dey was jes' ablaze!" + +I worked on in silence. Marny had cautioned me not to be too curious. +Some day she might open her heart and tell me wonderful stories of her +earlier life, but I must not appear too anxious. She had become rather +suspicious of strangers since she had moved North and lost track of +her own people, Marny had said. + +Aunt Chloe picked up her pail and began moving some easels into a far +corner of my studio and piling the chairs in a heap. This done, she +stopped again and stood behind me, looking intently at the canvas over +my shoulder. + +"My! My! ain't dat de ve'y image of dat frock? I kin see it now jes' +as Miss Nannie come down de stairs. But you got to put dat gold chain +on it 'fore it gits to be de ve'y 'spress image. I had it roun' my own +neck once; I know jes' how it looked." + +I laid down my palette, and picking up a piece of chalk asked her to +describe it so that I could make an outline. + +"It was long an' heavy, an' it woun' roun' de neck twice an' hung down +to de wais'. An' dat watch on de end of it! Well, I ain't seen none +like dat one sence. I 'clar' to ye it was jes' 's teeny as one o' dem +lil biscuits I used to make for 'er when she come in de kitchen--an' +she was dere most of de time. Dey didn't care nuffin for her much. Let +'er go roun' barefoot half de time, an' her hair a-fiyin'. Only one +good frock to her name, an' dat warn't nuffin but calico. I used to +wash dat many a time for her long 'fore she was outen her bed. Allus +makes my blood bile to dis day whenever I think of de way dey treated +dat chile. But it didn't make no diff'ence what she had on--shoes or +no shoes--her footses was dat lil. An' purty! Wid her big eyes an' her +cheeks jes' 's fresh as dem rosewater roses dat I used to snip off for +ole Sam to put on de table. Oh! I tell ye, if ye could picter her like +dat dey wouldn't be nobody clear from here to glory could come nigh +her." + +Aunt Chloe's eyes were kindling with every word. I remembered Marny's +warning and kept still. I had abandoned the sketch of the chain as an +unnecessary incentive, and had begun again with my palette knife, +pottering away, nodding appreciatingly, and now and then putting a +question to clear up some tangled situation as to dates and localities +which her rambling talk had left unsettled. + +"Yes, suh, down in the blue grass country, near Lexin'ton, Kentucky, +whar my ole master, Marse Henry Gordon, lived," she answered to my +inquiry as to where this all happened. "I used to go eve'y year to see +him after de war was over, an' kep' it up till he died. Dere warn't +nobody like him den, an' dere ain't none now. He warn't never spiteful +to chillen, white or black. Eve'ybody knowed dat. I was a pickaninny +myse'f, an' I b'longed to him. An' he ain't never laid a lick on me, +an' he wouldn't let nobody else do't nuther, 'cept my mammy. I +'members one time when Aunt Dinah made cake dat ole Sam--he war a heap +younger den--couldn't put it on de table 'ca'se dere was a piece broke +out'n it. Sam he riz, an' Dinah she riz, an' after dey'd called each +other all de names dey could lay dere tongues to, Miss Ann, my own +fust mist'ess, come in an' she say dem chillen tuk dat cake, an' +'tain't nary one o' ye dat's 'sponsible.' 'What's dis,' says Marse +Henry--'chillen stealin' cake? Send 'em here to me!' When we all come +in--dere was six or eight of us--he says, 'Eve'y one o' ye look me in +de eye; now which one tuk it?' I kep' lookin' away,--fust on de flo' +an' den out de windy. 'Look at me,' he says agin. 'You ain't lookin', +Clorindy.' Den I cotched him watchin' me. 'Now you all go out,' he +says, 'and de one dat's guilty kin come back agin.' Den we all went +out in de yard. 'You tell him,' says one. 'No, you tell him;' an' +dat's de way it went on. I knowed I was de wustest, for I opened de +door o' de sideboard an' gin it to de others. Den I thought, if I +don't tell him mebbe he'll lick de whole passel on us, an' dat ain't +right; but if I go tell him an' beg his 'umble pardon he might lemme +go. So I crep' 'round where he was a-settin' wid his book on his +knee,"--Aunt Chloe was now moving stealthily behind me, her eyes fixed +on her imaginary master, head down, one finger in her mouth,--"an' I +say, 'Marse Henry!' An' he look up an' say, 'Who's dat?' An' I say, +'Dat's Clorindy.' An' he say, 'What you want?' 'Marse Henry, I come to +tell ye I was hungry, an' I see de door open an' I shove it back an' +tuk de piece o' cake, an' maybe I thought if I done tole ye you'd +forgib me.' + +"'Den you is de ringleader,' he says, 'an' you tempted de other +chillen?' 'Yes,' I says, 'I spec so.' 'Well,' he says, lookin' down on +de carpet, 'now dat you has perfessed an' beg pardon, you is good an' +ready to pay 'tention to what I'm gwine to say.' De other chillen had +sneaked up an' was listenin'; dey 'spected to see me git it, though +dere ain't nary one of 'em ever knowed him to strike 'em a lick. Den +he says: 'Dis here is a lil thing,--dis stealin a cake; an' it's a big +thing at de same time. Miss Ann has been right smart put out 'bout it, +an' I'm gwine to see dat it don't happen agin. If you see a pin on de +fl'or you wouldn't steal it,--you'd pick it up if you wanted it, an' +it wouldn't be nuffin, 'cause somebody th'owed it away an' it was free +to eve'body; but if you see a piece o' money on de fl'or, you knowed +nobody didn't th'ow dat away, an' if you pick it up an' don't tell, +dat's somethin' else--dat's stealin', 'cause you tuk somethin' dat +somebody else has paid somethin' for an' dat belongs to him. Now dis +cake ain't o' much 'count, but it warn't yourn, an' you oughtn't to +ha' tuk it. If you'd asked yo'r mist'ess for it she'd gin you a piece. +There ain't nuffin here you chillen doan' git when ye ask for it.' I +didn't say nuffin more. I jes' waited for him to do anythin' he wanted +to me. Den he looks at de carpet for a long time an' he says:-- + +"'I reckon you won't take no mo' cake 'thout askin' for it, Clorindy, +an' you chillen kin go out an' play agin.'" + +The tears were now standing in her eyes. + +"Dat's what my ole master was, suh; I ain't never forgot it. If he had +beat me to death he couldn't 'a' done no mo' for me. He jes' splained +to me an' I ain't never forgot since." + +"Did your own mother find it out?" I asked. + +The tears were gone now; her face was radiant again at my question. + +"Dat she did, suh. One o' de chillen done tole on me. Mammy jes' made +one grab as I run pas' de kitchen door, an' reached for a barrel +stave, an' she fairly sot--me--afire!" + +Aunt Chloe was now holding her sides with laughter, fresh tears +streaming down her cheeks. + +"But Marse Henry never knowed it. Lawd, suh, dere ain't nobody round +here like him, nor never was. I kin 'member him now same as it was +yisterday, wid his white hair, an' he a-settin' in his big chair. It +was de las' time I ever see him. De big house was gone, an' de colored +people was gone, an' he was dat po' he didn't know where de nex' +mouf'ful was a-comin' from. I come out behind him so,"--Aunt Chloe +made me her old master and my stool his rocking-chair,--"an' I pat him +on the shoulder dis way, an' he say, 'Chloe, is dat you? How is it yo' +looks so comf'ble like?' An' I say, 'It's you, Marse Henry; you done +it all; yo' teachin' made me what I is, an' if you study about it +you'll know it's so. An' de others ain't no wus'. Of all de colored +people you owned, dere ain't nary one been hung, or been in de +penitentiary, nor ain't knowed as liars. Dat's de way you fotch us +up.' + +"An' I love him yet, an' if he was a-livin' to-day I'd work for him +an' take care of him if I went hungry myse'f. De only fool thing +Marster Henry ever done was a-marryin' dat widow woman for his second +wife. Miss Nannie, dat looks a lil bit like dat chile you got dere +before ye"--and she pointed to the canvas--"wouldn't a been sot on an' +'bused like she was but for her. Dat woman warn't nuffin but a +harf-strainer noway, if I do say it. Eve'body knowed dat. How Marse +Henry Gordon come to marry her nobody don't know till dis day. She +warn't none o' our people. Dey do say dat he met her up to Frankfort +when he was in de Legislater, but I don't know if dat's so. But she +warn't nuffin, nohow." + +"Was Miss Nannie her child?" I asked, stepping back from my easel to +get the better effect of my canvas. + +"No suh, dat she warn't!" with emphasis. "She was Marse Henry's own +sister's chile, she was. Her people--Miss Nannie's--lived up in +Indiany, an' dey was jes's po' as watermelon rinds, and when her +mother died Marse Henry sent for her to come live wid him, 'cause he +said Miss Rachel--dat was dat woman's own chile by her fust +husband--was lonesome. Dey was bofe about de one age,--fo'teen or +fifteen years old,--but Lawd-a-massy! Miss Rachel warn't lonesome +'cept for what she couldn't git, an' she most broke her heart 'bout +dat, much's she could break it 'bout anything. + +"I remember de ve'y day Miss Nannie come. I see her comin' down de +road totin' a big ban'box, an' a carpet bag mos's big's herse'f. Den +she turned in de gate. ''Fo' God,' I says to ole Sam, who was settin' +de table for dinner, 'who's dis yere comin' in?' Den I see her stop +an' set de bundles down an' catch her bref, and den she come on agin. + +"'Dat's Marse Henry's niece,' he says. 'I heared de mist'ess say she +was a-comin' one day dis week by de coach.' + +"I see right away dat dat woman was up to one of her tricks; she +didn't 'tend to let dat chile come no other way 'cept like a servant; +she was dat dirt mean. + +"Oh, you needn't look, suh! I ain't meanin' no onrespect, but I knowed +dat woman when Marse Henry fust married her, an' she ain't never +fooled me once. Fust time she come into de house she walked plumb in +de kitchen, where me an' old Sam an' ole Dinah was a-eaten our dinner, +we setten at de table like we useter did, and she flung her head up in +de air and she says: 'After dis when I come in I want you niggers to +git up on yo' feet.' Think o' dat, will ye? Marse Henry never called +nary one of us nigger since we was pickaninnies. I knowed den she +warn't 'customed to nuthin'. But I tell ye she never put on dem kind +o' airs when Marse Henry was about. No, suh. She was always mighty +sugar-like to him when he was home, but dere ain't no conniption she +warn't up to when he couldn't hear of it. She had purty nigh riz de +roof when he done tell her dat Miss Nannie was a-comin' to live wid +'em, but she couldn't stand agin him, for warn't her only daughter, +Miss Rachel, livin' on him, an' not only Miss Rachel, but lots mo' of +her people where she come from? + +"Well, suh, as soon as ole Sam said what chile it was dat was a-comin' +down de road I dropped my dishcloth an' I run out to meet 'er. + +"'Is you Miss Nannie?' I says. 'Gimme dat bag,' I says, 'an' dat box.' + +"'Yes,' she says, 'dat's me, an' ain't you Aunt Chloe what I heared so +much about?' + +"Honey, you ain't never gwine to git de kind o' look on dat picter +you's workin' on dere, suh, as sweet as dat chile's face when she said +dat to me. I loved her from dat fust minute I see her, an' I loved her +ever since, jes' as I loved her mother befo' her. + +"When she got to de house, me a-totin' de things on behind, de +mist'ess come out on de po'ch. + +"'Oh, dat's you, is it, Nannie?' she says. 'Well, Chloe'll tell ye +where to go,' an' she went straight in de house agin. Never kissed +her, nor touched her, nor nuffin! + +"Ole Sam was bilin'. He heard her say it, an' if he was alive he'd +tell ye same as me. + +"'Where's she gwine to sleep?' I says, callin' after her; 'upstairs +long wid Miss Rachel?' I was gittin' hot myse'f, though I didn't say +nuffin. + +"'No,' she says, flingin' up her head like a goat; 'my daughter needs +all de room she's got. You kin take her downstairs an' fix up a place +for her 'longside o' you an' Dinah.' She was de old cook. + +"'Come 'long,' I says, 'Miss Nannie,' an' I dropped a curtsey same's +if she was a princess. An' so she was, an' Marse Henry's own eyes in +her head, an' 'nough like him to be his own chile. 'I'll hab ev'ything +ready for ye,' I says. 'You wait here an' take de air,' an' I got a +chair an' sot her down on de po'ch, an' ole Sam brung her some cake, +an' I went to git de room ready--de room offn de kitchen pantry, where +dey puts de overseer's chillen when dey come to see him. + +"Purty soon Miss Rachel come down an' went up an' kissed her--dat is, +Sam said so, though I ain't never seen her kiss her dat time nor no +other time. Miss Rachel an' de mist'ess was bofe split out o' de same +piece o' kindlin', an' what one was agin t'other was agin--a blind man +could see dat. Miss Rachel never liked Miss Nannie from de fust, she +was dat cross-grained and pernicketty. No matter what Miss Nannie done +to please her it warn't good 'nough for her. Why, do you know, when de +other chillen come over from de nex' plantation Miss Rachel wouldn't +send for Miss Nannie to come in de parlor. No, suh, dat she wouldn't! +An' dey'd run off an' leave her, too, when dey was gwine picknickin', +an' treat dat chile owdacious, sayin' she was po' white trash, an' +charity chile, an' things like dat, till I would go an' tell Marse +Henry 'bout it. Den dere would be a 'ruction, an' Marse Henry'd blaze +out, an' jes 's soon 's he was off agin to Frankfort--an' he was dere +mos' of de time, for he was one o' dese yere ole-timers dat dey +couldn't git 'long widout at de Legislater--dey'd treat her wus'n +ever. Soon 's Dinah an' me see dat, we kep' Miss Nannie 'long wid us +much as we could. She'd eat wid 'em when dere warn't no company +'round, but dat was 'bout all." + +"Did they send her to school?" I asked, fearing she would again lose +the thread. My picture had a new meaning for me now that it looked +like her heroine. + +"No, suh, dat dey didn't, 'cept to de schoolhouse at de cross-roads +whar eve'ybody's chillen went. But dey sent Miss Rachel to a real +highty-tighty school, dat dey did, down to Louisville. Two winters she +was dere, an' eve'y time when she come home for holiday times she had +mo' airs dan when she went away. Marse Henry wanted bofe chillen to +go, but dat woman outdid him, an' she faced him up an' down dat dere +warn't money 'nough for two, an' dat her daughter was de fittenest, +an' all dat, an' he give in. I didn't hear it, but ole Sam did, an' +his han' shook so he mos' spilt de soup. But law, honey, dat didn't +make no diff'ence to Miss Nannie. She'd go off by herse'f wid her +books an' sit all day under de trees, an' sing to herse'f jes' like a +bird, an' dey'd sing to her, an' all dat time her face was a-beamin' +an' her hair shinin' like gold, an' she a-growin' taller, an' her eyes +gittin' bigger an' bigger, an' brighter, an' her little footses white +an' cunnin' as a rabbit's. + +"De only place whar she did go outside de big house was over to Mis' +Morgan's, who lived on de nex' plantation. Miss Morgan didn't hab no +chillen of her own, an' she'd send for Miss Nannie to come an' keep +her company, she was dat dead lonesome, an' dey was glad 'nough to let +dat chile go so dey could git her out o' de house. Ole Sam allers said +dat, for he heared 'em talk at table an' knowed what was gwine on. + +"Purty soon long come de time when Miss Rachel done finish her +eddication, an' she come back to de big house an' sot herse'f up to +'ceive company. She warn't bad lookin' in dem days, I mus' say, an' if +dat woman's sperit hadn't 'a' been in her she might 'a' pulled +through. But dere warn't no fotching up could stand agin dat blood. +Miss Rachel'd git dat ornery dat you couldn't do nuffin wid her, jes' +like her maw. De fust real out-an'-out beau she had was Dr. Tom +Boling. He lived 'bout fo'teen miles out o' Lexin'ton on de big +plantation, an' was de richest young man in our parts. His paw had +died 'bout two years befo' an' lef him mo' money dan he could th'ow +away, an' he'd jes' come back from Philadelphy, whar he'd been +a-learnin' to be a doctor. He met Miss Rachel at a party in +Louisville, an' de fust Sunday she come home he driv over to see her. +If ye could 'a' seen de mist'ess when she see him comin' in de gate! +All in his ridin' boots an' his yaller breeches an' bottle-green coat, +an' his servant a-ridin' behind to hold de horses. + +"Ole Sam an' me was a-watchin' de mist'ess peekin' th'ough de blind at +him, her eyes a-blazin', an' Sam laughed so he had to stuff a napkin +in his mouf to keep 'er from hearin' him. Well, suh, dat went on all +de summer. Eve'y time he come de mist'ess'd be dat sweet mos' make a +body sick to see her, an' when he'd stay away she was dat pesky dere +warn't no livin' wid her. Of co'se dere was plenty mo' gemmen co'rting +Miss Rachel, too, but none o' dem didn't count wid de mist'ess 'cept +de doctor, 'cause he was rich, dat's all dere was to 't, 'cause he was +rich. I tell ye ole Sam had to tell many a lie to the other gemmen, +sayin' Miss Rachel was sick or somethin' else when she was a-waitin' +for de doctor to come, and was feared he might meet some of 'em an' +git skeered away. + +"Miss Nannie, she'd watch him, too, from behind de kitchen door, or +scrunched down lookin' over de pantry winder sill, an' den she'd tell +Dinah an' me what he did, an' how he got off his horse an' han' de +reins to de boy, an' slap his boots wid his ridin' whip, like he was +a-dustin' off a fly. An' she'd act it all out for me an' Dinah, an' +slap her own frock, an' den she'd laugh fit to kill herse'f an' dance +all 'round de kitchen. Would yo' believe it? No! dere ain't nobody'd +believe it. Dey never asked her to come in once while he was in de +parlor, an' dey never once tole him dat Miss Nannie was a-livin' on de +top side o' de yearth! + +"'Co'se people 'gin to talk, an' ev'ybody said dat Dr. Boling was +gittin' nighest de coon, an' dat fust thing dey'd know dere would be a +weddin' in de Gordon fambly. An' den agin dere was plenty mo' people +said he was only passin' de time wid Miss Rachel, an' dat he come to +see Marse Henry to talk pol'tics. + +"Well, one day, suh, I was a-standin' in de door an' I see him come in +a-foot, widout his horse an' servant, an' step up on de po'ch quick +an' rap at de do', like he say to himse'f, 'Lemme in; I'm in a hurry; +I got somethin' on my mind.' Ole Sam was jes' a-gwine to open de do' +for him when Miss Nannie come a-runnin' in de kitchen from de yard, +her cheeks like de roses, her hair a-flyin', an' her big hat hangin' +to a string down her back. I gin Sam one look an' he stopped, an' I +says to Miss Nannie, 'Run, honey,' I says, 'an' open de do' for ole +Sam; I spec',' I says, 'it's one o' dem peddlers.' + +"If you could 'a' seen dat chile's face when she come back!" + +Aunt Chloe's hands were now waving above her head, her mouth wide open +in her merriment, every tooth shining. + +"She was white one minute an' red as a beet de nex'. 'Oh, Aunt Chloe, +what did you let me go for?' she says. 'Oh! I wouldn't 'a' let him see +me like dis for anythin' in de wo'ld. Oh, I'm dat put out.' + +"'What did he say to ye, honey?' I says. + +"'He didn't say nuffin; he jes' look at me an' say he beg my pardon, +an' was Miss Rachel in, an' den I said I'd run an' tell her, an' when +I come downstairs agin he was a-standin' in de hall wid his eyes up de +staircase, an' he never stopped lookin' at me till I come down.' + +"'Well, dat won't do you no harm, chile,' I says; 'a cat kin look at a +king.' + +"Ole Sam was a-watchin' her, too, an' when she'd gone in her leetle +room an' shet de do' Sam says, 'I'll lay if Marse Tom Boling had +anythin' on his mind when he come here to-day it's mighty unsettled by +dis time.' + +"Nex' time Dr. Tom Boling come he say to de mist'ess, 'Who's dat young +lady,' he says, 'dat opened de door for me las' time I was here? I +hoped to see her agin. Is she in?' + +"Den dey bofe cooked up some lie 'bout her bein' over to Mis' Morgan's +or somethin', an' as soon's he was gone dey come down an' riz Sam for +not 'tendin' de door an' lettin' dat ragged fly-away gal open it. Den +dey went for Miss Nannie till dey made her cry, an' she come to me, +an' I took her in my lap an' comfo'ted her like I allers did. + +"De nex' time he come he says, 'I hear dat yo'r niece, Miss Nannie +Barnes, is livin' wid you, an' dat she is ve'y 'sclusive. I hope dat +you'll 'suade her to come in de parlor,' he says. Dem was his ve'y +words. Sam was a-standin' close to him as I am to you an' he heared +him. + +"'She ain't yet in s'ciety,' de mist'ess says, 'an' she's dat wild dat +we can't p'esent her.' + +"'Oh! is dat so?' he says. 'Is she in now?' + +"'No,' she says, 'she's over to Mis' Morgan's.' + +"Dat was a fac' dis time; she'd gone dat very mawnin'. Den Miss Rachel +come down, an' co'se Sam didn't hear no mo' 'cause he had to go out. +Purty soon out de Doctor come. Dese visits, min' ye, was gittin' +shorter an' shorter, though he do come as often, an' over he goes to +Mis' Morgan's hisse'f. + +"Now I doan' know what he said to Miss Nannie, or what passed 'twixt +'em, 'cause she didn't tell me. Only dat she said he had come to see +Mis' Morgan 'bout some land matters, an' dat Mis' Morgan interjuced +'em, but nuffin mo'. Lord bless dat chile! An', suh, dat was de fust +time she ever kep' anythin' from her ole mammy. Dat made me mo' glad +'n ever. I knowed den dey was bofe hit. + +"But my lan', de fur begin to fly when de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel +heared 'bout dat visit! + +"'What you mean by makin' eyes at Dr. Boling? Don't you know he's good +as 'gaged to my daughter?' de mist'ess said. Dat was a lie, for he +never said a word to Miss Rachel; ole Sam could tole you dat. 'Git out +o' my house, you good-for-nothin' pauper, an' take yo' rags wid ye.' + +"I see right away de fat was in de fire. Marse Henry warn't spected +home till de nex' Sunday, an' so I tuk her over to Mis' Morgan, an' +den I ups an' tells her eve'ything dat woman had done to dat chile +since de day she come. An' when I'd done she tuk Miss Nannie by de +han' an' she says:-- + +"'You won't never want a home, chile, so long as I live. Go back, +Chloe, an' git her clo'es.' But I didn't git 'em. I knowed Marse +Henry'd raise de roof when he come, an' he did, bless yo' heart. Went +over hisse'f an' got her, an' brought her home, an' dat night when Dr. +Boling come he made her sit down in de parlor, an' 'fo' he went home +dat night de Doctor he say to Marse Henry, 'I want yo' permission, +Mister Gordon, to pay my addresses to Miss Nannie, yo' niece.' Sam was +a-standing close as he could git to de door, an' he heard ev'y word. +Now he ain't never said dat, mind ye, to Marse Henry 'bout Miss +Rachel! An' dat's why I know dat he warn't hit unto death wid her. + +"Well, do you know, suh, dat dat woman was dat owdacious she wouldn't +let 'em see each other after dat 'cept on de front po'ch. Wouldn't let +'em come in de house; make 'em do all dere co'rtin' on de steps an' +out at de paster gate. De doctor would rare an' pitch an' git white in +de face at de scand'lous way dat Miss Barnes was bein' treated, until +Miss Nannie put bofe her leetle han's on his'n, soothin' like, an' den +he'd grab 'em an' kiss 'em like he'd eat 'em up. Sam cotched him at +it, an' done tole me; an' den dey'd sa'nter off down de po'ch, sayin' +it was too hot or too cool, or dat dey was lookin' for birds' nests in +de po'ch vines, till dey'd git to de far end, where de mist'ess nor +Sam nor nobody else couldn't hear what dey was a-sayin' an' +a-whisperin', an' dere dey'd sit fer hours. + +"But I tell ye de doctor had a hard time a-gittin' her even when Marse +Henry gin his consent. An' he never would 'a' got her if Miss Rachel, +jes' for spite, I spec', hadn't 'a' took up wid Colonel Todhunter's +son dat was a-co'rtin' on her too, an' run off an' married him. Den +Miss Nannie knowed she was free to follow her own heart. + +"I tell you it'd 'a' made ye cry yo' eyes out, suh, to see dat chile +try an' fix herse'f up to meet him de days an' nights she knowed he +was comin', an' she wid jes' one white frock to her name. An' we all +felt jes' as bad as her. Dinah would wash it an' I'd smooth her hair, +an' ole Sam'd git her a fresh rose to put in her neck. + +"Purty soon de weddin' day was 'pinted, an' me an' Dinah an' ole Sam +gin to wonder how dat chile was a-gwine to git clo'es to be married +in. Sam heared ole marster ask dat same question at de table, an' he +see him gib de mist'ess de money to buy 'em for her, an' de mist'ess +said dat she reckoned 'Miss Nannie's people would want de priv'lege o' +dressin' her now dat she was a-gwine to marry dat wo'thless young +doctor, Tom Boling, dat nobody wouldn't hab in de house, but dat if +dey didn't she'd gin her some of Miss Rachel's clo'es, an' if dem +warn't 'nough den she'd spen' de money to de best advantage.' Dem was +her ve'y words. Sam heared her say 'em. I knowed dat meant dat de +chile would go naked, for she wouldn't a-worn none o' Miss Rachel's +rubbish, an' not a cent would she git o' de money. So I got dat ole +white frock out, an' Dinah found a white ribbon in a ole trunk in de +garret, an' washed an' ironed it to tie 'round her waist, an' Miss +Nannie come an' look at it, an' when she see it de tears riz up in her +eyes. + +"'Doan' you cry, chile,' I says. 'He ain't lovin' ye for yo' clo'es, +an' never did. Fust time he see ye yo' was purty nigh barefoot. It's +you he wants, not yo' frocks, honey;' an' den de sun come out in her +face an' her eyes dried up, an' she gin to smile an' sing like a robin +after de rain. + +"Purty soon 'long come Chris'mas time, an' me an' ole Sam an' Dinah +was a-watchin' out to see what Marse Tom Boling was gwine to gin his +bride, fur she was purty nigh dat, as dey was to be married de week +after Chris'mas. Well, suh, de mawnin' 'fore Chris'mas come, an' den +de arternoon come, an' den de night come, an' mos' ev'y hour somebody +sent somethin' for Miss Rachel, an' yet not one scrap of nuffin big as +a chink-a-pin come for Miss Nannie. Dinah an' me was dat onres'less +dat we couldn't sleep. Miss Nannie didn't say nuffin when she went to +bed, but I see a little shadder creep over her face an' I knowed right +away what hurted her. + +"Well, de nex' mawnin'--Chris'mas mawnin' dat was--ole Sam come +a-bustin' in de kitchen do', a-hollerin' loud as he could +holler"--Aunt Chloe was now rocking herself back and forth, clapping +her hands as she talked--"dat dere was a trunk on de front po'ch for +Miss Nannie dat was dat heavy it tuk fo' niggers to lif it. I run, an' +Dinah run, an' when we got to de trunk mos' all de niggers was thick +'round it as flies, an' Miss Nannie was standin' over it readin' a +card wid her name on it an' a 'scription sayin' dat it was 'a +Chris'mas gif', wid de compliments of a friend.' But who dat friend +was, whether it was Marse Henry, who sent it dat way so dat woman +wouldn't tear his hair out; or whether Mis' Morgan sent it, dat hadn't +mo'n 'nough money to live on; or whether some of her own kin in +Indiany, dat was dirt po', stole de money an' sent it; or whether de +young Dr. Tom Boling, who had mo' money dan all de banks in Lexin'ton, +done did it, don't nobody know till dis day, 'cept me an' ole Sam, an' +we ain't tellin'. + +"But, my soul alive, de insides of dat trunk took de bref clean out o' +de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel. Sam opened it, an' I tuk out de things. +Honey! dere was a weddin' dress all white satin dat would stand +alone,--jes' de ve'y mate of de one you got in dat picter 'fore +ye,--an' a change'ble silk, dat heavy! an' a plaid one, an' eve'ything +a young lady could git on her back from her skin out, an' a +thousand-dollar watch an' chain. I wore dat watch myse'f; Miss Nannie +was standin' by me, a-clappin' her han's an' laughin', an' when dat +watch an' chain came out she jes' th'owed de chain over my neck an' +stuck de leetle watch in my bosom, an' says, 'Dere, you dear ole +mammy, go look at you'se'f in de glass an' see how fine you is.' + +"De nex' week come de weddin'. I'll never forgit dat weddin' to my +dyin' day. Marse Tom Boling driv in wid a coach an' four an' two +outriders, an' de horses wore white ribbons on dere ears; an' de +coachman had flowers in his coat mos' big as his head, an' dey whirled +up in front of de po'ch, an' out he stepped in his blue coat an' brass +buttons an' a yaller wais'coat,--yaller as a gourd,--an' his +bell-crown hat in his han'. She was a-waitin' for him wid dat white +satin dress on, an' de chain 'round her neck, an' her lil footses tied +up wid silk ribbons de ve'y match o' dem you got pictered, an' her +face shinin' like a angel. An' all de niggers was a-standin' 'roun' de +po'ch, dere eyes out'n dere heads, an' Marse Henry was dere in his new +clo'es lookin' so grand, an' Sam in his white gloves, an' me in a new +head han'chief. + +"Eve'ybody was happy 'cept one. Dat one was de mist'ess, standin' in +de door. She wouldn't come out to de coach where de horses was +a-champin' de bits an' de froth a-droppin' on de groun', an' she +wouldn't speak to Marse Tom. She kep' back in de do'way. + +"Miss Rachel was dat mean she wouldn't come downstairs. + +"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling her han' an' look up in his face +like a queen, an' den she kissed Marse Henry, an' whispered somethin' +in his ear dat nobody didn't hear, only de tears gin to jump out an' +roll down his cheeks, an' den she looked de mist'ess full in de face, +an' 'thout a word dropped her a low curtsey. + +"I come de las'. She looked at me for a minute wid her eyes +a-swimmin', an' den she th'owed her arms roun' my neck an' hugged an' +kissed me, an' den I see an arm slip 'roun' her wais' an' lif' her in +de coach. Den de horses gin a plunge an' dey was off. + +"An 'arter dat dey had five years--de happiest years dem two ever +seen. I know, 'cause Marse Henry gin me to her, an' I lived wid 'em +day in an' day out till dat baby come, an' den"---- + +Aunt Chloe stopped and reached out her hand as if to steady herself. +The tears were streaming down her cheeks. + +Then she advanced a step, fixed her eyes on the portrait, and in a +voice broken with emotion, said:-- + +"Honey, chile,--honey, chile,--is you tired a-waitin' for yo' ole +mammy? Keep a-watchin', honey--keep a-watchin'--It won't be long now +'fore I come. Keep a-watchin'." + + + + +A WATERLOGGED TOWN + + +He was backed up against the Column of the Lion, holding at bay a +horde of gondoliers who were shrieking, "Gondola! Gondola!" as only +Venetian gondoliers can. He had a half-defiant look, like a cornered +stag, as he stood there protecting a small wizen-faced woman of an +uncertain age, dressed in a long gray silk duster and pigeon-winged +hat--one of those hats that looked as if the pigeon had alighted on it +and exploded. + +"No, durn ye, I don't want no gon-_do_-la; I got one somewhere round +here if I can find it." + +If his tall gaunt frame, black chin whisker, and clearly defined +features had not located him instantly in my mind, his dialect would +have done so. + +"You'll probably find your gondola at the next landing," I said, +pointing to the steps. + +He looked at me kindly, took the woman by the arm, as if she had been +under arrest, and marched her to the spot indicated. + +In another moment I felt a touch on my shoulder. "Neighbor, ain't you +from the U.S.A.?" + +I nodded my head. + +"Shake! It's God's own land!" and he disappeared in the throng. + +The next morning I was taking my coffee in the café at the Britannia, +when I caught a pair of black eyes peering over a cup, at a table +opposite. Then six feet and an inch or two of raw untilled American +rose in the air, picked up his plates, cup, and saucer, and, crossing +the room, hooked out a chair with his left foot from my table, and sat +down. + +"You're the painter feller that helped me out of a hole yesterday? +Yes, I knowed it; I see you come in to dinner last night. Eliza-beth +said it was you, but you was so almighty rigged up in that +swallow-tailed coat of yourn I didn't catch on for a minute, but +Eliza-beth said she was dead sure." + +"The lady with you--your wife?" + +[Illustration: "HER HEAD CRAMMED FULL OF HIFALUTIN' NOTIONS"] + +"Not to any alarming extent, young man. Never had one--she's my +sister--only one I got; and this summer she took it into her head--you +don't mind my setting here, do you? I'm so durned lonesome among these +jabbering Greeks I'm nearly froze stiff. Thank ye!--took it into her +head she'd come over here, and of course I had to bring her. You ain't +never traveled around, perhaps, with a young girl of fifty-five, with +her head crammed full of hifalutin' notions,--convents and early +masters and Mont Blancs and Bon Marchés,--with just enough French to +make a muddle of everything she wants to get. Well, that's Eliza-beth. +First it was a circulating library, at Unionville, back of Troy, where +I live; then come a course of lectures twice a week on old Edinburgh +and the Alps and German cities; and then, to cap all, there come a +cuss with magic-lantern slides of 'most every old ruin in Europe, and +half our women were crazy to get away from home, and Eliza-beth worse +than any of 'em; and so I got a couple of Cook's tickets out and back, +and here we are; and I don't mind saying," and a wicked, vindictive +look filled his eyes, "that of all the cussed holes I ever got into in +my life, this here Venice takes--the--cake. Here, John Henry, bring me +another cup of coffee; this's stone-cold. P.D.Q., now! Don't let me +have to build a fire under you." This to a waiter speaking every +language but English. + +"Do not the palaces interest you?" I asked inquiringly, in my effort +to broaden his views. + +"Palaces be durned! Excuse my French. Palaces! A lot of caved-in old +rookeries; with everybody living on the second floor because the first +one's so damp ye'd get your die-and-never-get-over-it if you lived in +the basement, and the top floors so leaky that you go to bed under an +umbrella; and they all braced up with iron clamps to keep 'em from +falling into the canal, and not a square inch on any one of 'em clean +enough to dry a shirt on! What kind of holes are they for decent---- +Now see here," laying his hand confidingly on my shoulder, "just +answer me one question--you seem like a level-headed young man, and +ought to give it to me straight. Been here all summer, ain't you?" + +"Yes." + +"Been coming years, ain't you?" + +I nodded my head. + +"Well, now, I want it straight,"--and he lowered his voice,--"what +does a sensible man find in an old waterlogged town like this?" + +I gave him the customary answer: the glories of her past; the +picturesque life of the lagoons; the beauty of her palaces, churches, +and gardens; the luxurious gondolas, etc., etc. + +"Don't see it," he broke out before I had half finished. "As for the +gon-do-las, you're dead right, and no mistake. First time I settled on +one of them cushions I felt just as if I'd settled in a basket of +kittens; but as for palaces! Why, the State House at Al-ba-ny knocks +'em cold; and as for gardens! Lord! when I think of mine at home all +chock-full of hollyhocks and sunflowers and morning-glories, and then +think what a first-class cast-iron idiot I am wandering around +here"---- He gazed abstractedly at the ceiling for a moment as if the +thought overpowered him, and then went on, "I've got a stock-farm six +miles from Unionville, where I've got some three-year-olds can trot in +2.23--Gardens!"--suddenly remembering his first train of thought,--"they +simply ain't in it. And as for ler-goons! We've got a river sailing +along in front of Troy that mayn't be so wide, but it's a durned sight +safer and longer, and there ain't a gallon of water in it that ain't +as sweet as a daisy; and that's what you can't say of these streaks of +mud around here, that smell like a dumping-ground." Here he rose from +his chair, his voice filling the room, the words dropping slowly: +"I--ain't--got--no--use--for--a--place--where--there--ain't--a--horse +--in--the--town,--and every--cellar--is--half--full--of--water." + +A few mornings after, I was stepping into my gondola when I caught +sight of the man from Troy sitting in a gondola surrounded by his +trunks. His face expressed supreme content, illumined by a sort of +grim humor, as if some master effort of his life had been rewarded +with more than usual success. Eliza-beth was tucked away on "the +basket of kittens," half hidden by the linen curtains. + +"Off?" I said inquiringly. + +"You bet!" + +"Which way?" + +"Paris, and then a bee-line for New York." + +"But you are an hour too early for your train." + +He held his finger to his lips and knitted his eyebrows. + +"What's that?" came a shrill plaintive voice from the curtains. "An +hour more? George, please ask the gentleman to tell the gondolier to +take us to Salviate's; we've got time for that glass mirror, and I +can't bear to leave Venice without"---- + +"Eliza-beth, you sit where you air, if it takes a week. No Salviate's +in mine, and no glass mirror. We are stuffed now so jammed full of +wooden goats, glass bottles, copper buckets, and old church rags that +I had to jump on my trunk to lock it." Then waving his hand to me, he +called out as I floated off, "This craft is pointed for home, and +don't you forget it." + + + + +THE BOY IN THE CLOTH CAP + + +I had seen the little fellow but a moment before, standing on the car +platform and peering wistfully into the night, as if seeking some face +in the hurrying crowd at the station. I remembered distinctly the +cloth cap pulled down over his ears, his chubby, rosy cheeks, and the +small baby hand clutching the iron rail of the car, as I pushed by and +sprang into a hack. + +"Lively, now, cabby; I haven't a minute," and I handed my driver a +trunk check. + +Outside the snow whirled and eddied, the drifts glistening white in +the glare of the electric light. + +I drew my fur coat closer around my throat, and beat an impatient +tattoo with my feet. The storm had delayed the train, and I had less +than an hour in which to dine, dress, and reach my audience. + +Two minutes later something struck the cab with a force that rattled +every spoke in the wheels. It was my trunk, and cabby's head, white +with snow, was thrust through the window. + +"Morgan House, did you say, boss?" + +"Yes, and on the double-quick." + +Another voice now sifted in--a small, thin, pleading voice, too low +and indistinct for me to catch the words from where I sat. + +"Want to go where?" cried cabby. The conversation was like one over +the telephone, in which only one side is heard. "To the orphan asylum? +Why, that's three miles from here.... Walk?... See, here, sonny, you +wouldn't get halfway.... No, I can't take yer--got a load." + +My own head had filled the window now. + +"Here, cabby, don't stand there all night! What's the matter, anyway?" + +"It's a boy, boss, about a foot high, wants to walk to the orphan +'sylum." + +"Pass him in." + +He did, literally, through the window, without opening the door, his +little wet shoes first, then his sturdy legs in wool stockings, round +body encased in a pea-jacket, and last, his head, covered by the same +cloth cap I had seen on the platform. I caught him, feet first, and +helped land him on the front seat, where he sat looking at me with +staring eyes that shone all the brighter in the glare of the arc +light. Next a collar-box and a small paper bundle were handed in. +These the little fellow clutched eagerly, one in each hand, his eyes +still looking into mine. + +"Are you an orphan?" I asked--a wholly thoughtless question, of +course. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Got no father nor mother?" + +Another, equally idiotic; but my interest in the boy had been inspired +by the idea of the saving of valuable minutes. As long as he stood +outside in the snow, he was an obstruction. Once aboard, I could take +my time in solving his difficulties. + +"Got a father, sir, but my mother's dead." + +We were now whirling up the street, the cab lighting up and growing +pitch dark by turns, depending on the location of the street lamps. + +"Where's your father?" + +"Went away, sir." He spoke the words without the slightest change in +his voice, neither abashed nor too bold, but with a simple +straightforwardness which convinced me of their truth. + +"Do you want to go to the asylum?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Why?" + +"Because I can learn everything there is to learn, and there isn't any +other place for me to go." + +This was said with equal simplicity. No whining; no "me mother's dead, +sir, an' I ain't had nothin' to eat all day," etc. Not that air about +him at all. It was merely the statement of a fact which he felt sure I +knew all about. + +"What's your name?" + +"Ned." + +"Ned what?" + +"Ned Rankin, sir." + +"How old are you?" + +"I'm eight"--then, thoughtfully--"no, I'm nine years old." + +"Where do you live?" + +I was firing these questions one after the other without the slightest +interest in either the boy or his welfare. My mind was on my lecture, +and the impatient look on the faces of the audience, and the consulted +watch of the chairman of the committee, followed by the inevitable: +"You are not very prompt, sir," etc. "Our people have been in their +seats," etc. If the boy had previously replied to my question as to +where he lived, I had forgotten the name of the town. + +"I live"---- Then he stopped. "I live in---- Do you mean now?" he +added simply. + +"Yes." + +There was another pause. "I don't know, sir; maybe they won't let me +stay." + +Another foolish question. Of course, if he had left home for good, and +was now on his way to the asylum for the first time, his present home +was this hack. + +But he had won my interest now. His words had come in tones of such +directness, and were so calm, and gave so full a statement of the +exact facts, that I leaned over quickly, and began studying him a +little closer. + +I saw that this scrap of a boy wore a gray woolen suit, and I noticed +that the cap was made of the same cloth as the jacket, and that both +were the work of some inexperienced hand, with uneven, unpressed +seams--the seams of a flat-iron, not a tailor's goose. Instinctively +my mind went back to what his earlier life had been. + +"Have you got any brothers and sisters, my boy?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Where are they?" + +"I don't know, sir; I was too little to remember." + +The pathos of this answer stirred me all the more. + +"Who's been taking care of you ever since your father left you?" I had +lowered my voice now to a more confidential tone. + +"A German man." + +"What did you leave him for?" + +"He had no work, and he took me to the priest." + +"When?" + +"Last week, sir." + +"What did the priest do?" + +"He gave me these clothes. Don't you think they're nice? The priest's +sister made them for me--all but the stockings; she bought those." + +As he said this he lifted his arms so I could look under them, and +thrust out toward me his two plump legs. I said the clothes were very +nice, and that I thought they fitted him very well, and I felt his +chubby knees and calves as I spoke, and ended by getting hold of his +soft wee hand, which I held on to. His fingers closed tightly over +mine, and a slight smile lighted up his face. It seemed good to him to +have something to hold on to. I began again:-- + +"Did the priest send you here?" + +"Yes, sir. Do you want to see the letter?" The little hand--the free +one--fumbled under the jacket, loosened the two lower buttons, and +disclosed a white envelope pinned to his shirt. + +"I'm to give it to 'em at the asylum. But I can't unpin it. He told me +not to." + +"That's right, my boy. Leave it where it is." + +"You poor little rat," I said to myself. "This is pretty rough on you. +You ought to be tucked up in some warm bed, not out here alone in this +storm." + +The boy felt for the pin in the letter, reassured himself that it was +safe, and carefully rebuttoned his jacket. I looked out of the window, +and caught glimpses of houses flying by, with lights in their windows, +and now and then the cheery blaze of a fire. Then I looked into his +eyes again. I still had hold of his hand. + +"Surely," I said to myself, "this boy must have some one soul who +cares for him." I determined to go a little deeper. + +"How did you get here, my boy?" I had leaned nearer to him. + +"The priest put me on the train, and a lady told me where to get off." + +"Oh, a lady!" Now I was getting at it! Then he was not so desolate; a +lady had looked after him. "What's her name?" This with increased +eagerness. + +"She didn't tell me, sir." + +I sank back on my seat. No! I was all wrong. It was a positive, +undeniable, piteous fact. Seventy millions of people about him, and +not one living soul to look to. Not a tie that connected him with +anything. A leaf blown across a field; a bottle adrift in the sea, +sailing from no port and bound for no haven. I got hold of his other +hand, and looked down into his eyes, and an almost irresistible desire +seized me to pick him up in my arms and hug him; he was too big to +kiss, and too little to shake hands with; hugging was all there was +left. But I didn't. There was something in his face that repelled any +such familiarity,--a quiet dignity, pluck, and patience that inspired +more respect than tenderness, that would make one want rather to touch +his hat to him. + +Here the cab stopped with so sudden a jerk that I had to catch him by +the arms to steady him. Cabby opened the door. + +"Morgan House, boss. Goin's awful, or I'd got ye here sooner." + +The boy looked up into my face; not with any show of uneasiness, only +a calm patience. If he was to walk now, he was ready. + +"Cabby, how far is it to the asylum?" I asked. + +"'Bout a mile and a half." + +"Throw that trunk off and drive on. This boy can't walk." + +"I'll take him, boss." + +"No; I'll take him myself. Lively, now." + +I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes of the hour had gone. I would +still have time to jump into a dress suit, but the dinner must be +brief. There came a seesaw rocking, then a rebound, and a heavy thud +told where the trunk had fallen. The cab sped on round a sharp corner, +through a narrow street, and across a wide square. + +Suddenly a thought rushed over me that culminated in a creeping chill. +Where was his trunk? In my anxiety over my own, I had forgotten the +boy's. + +I turned quickly to the window, and shouted:-- + +"Cabby! _Cabby_, you didn't leave the boy's trunk, too, did you?" + +The little fellow slid down from the seat, and began fumbling around +in the dark. + +"No, sir; I've got 'em here;" and he held up the collar box and brown +paper bundle! + +"Is that all?" I gasped. + +"Oh, no, sir! I got ten cents the lady give me. Do you want to see +it?" and he began cramming his chubby hand into his side pocket. + +"No, my son, I don't want to see it." + +I didn't want to see anything in particular. His word was good enough. +I couldn't, really. My eyelashes somehow had got tangled up in each +other, and my pupils wouldn't work. It's queer how a man's eyes act +sometimes. + +We were now reaching the open country. The houses were few and farther +apart. The street lamps gave out; so did the telegraph wires festooned +with snow loops. Soon a big building, square, gray, sombre-looking, +like a jail, loomed up on a hill. Then we entered a gate between +flickering lamps, and tugged up a steep road, and stopped. Cabby +sprang down and rang a bell, which sounded in the white stillness like +a fire-gong. A door opened, and a flood of light streamed out, showing +the kindly face and figure of an old priest in silhouette, the yellow +glow forming a golden background. + +"Come, sonny," said cabby, throwing open the cab door. + +The little fellow slid down again from the seat, caught up the box and +bundle, and, looking me full in the face, said:-- + +"It _was_ too far to walk." + +There were no thanks, no outburst. He was merely a chip in the +current. If he had just escaped some sunken rock, it was the way with +chips like himself. All boys went to asylums, and had no visible +fathers nor invisible mothers nor friends. This talk about boys going +swimming, and catching bull-frogs, and robbing birds' nests, and +playing ball, and "hooky," and marbles, was all moonshine. Boys never +did such things, except in story-books. He was a boy himself, and +knew. There couldn't anything better happen to a boy than being sent +to an orphan asylum. Everybody knew that. There was nothing strange +about it. That's what boys were made for. + +All this was in his eyes. + + * * * * * + +When I reached the platform and faced my audience, I was dinnerless, +half an hour late, and still in my traveling dress. + +I began as follows:-- + +"Ladies and gentlemen, I ask your forgiveness. I am very sorry to have +kept you waiting, but I could not help it. I was occupied in escorting +to his suburban home one of your most distinguished citizens." + +And I described the boy in the cloth cap, with his box and bundle, and +his patient, steady eyes, and plump little legs in the yarn stockings. + +I was forgiven. + + + + +BETWEEN SHOWERS IN DORT + + +There be inns in Holland--not hotels, not pensions, nor +stopping-places--just inns. The Bellevue at Dort is one, and the +Holland Arms is another, and the--no, there are no others. Dort only +boasts these two, and Dort to me is Holland. + +The rivalry between these two inns has been going on for years, and it +still continues. The Bellevue, fighting for place, elbowed its way +years ago to the water-line, and took its stand on the river-front, +where the windows and porticos could overlook the Maas dotted with +boats. The Arms, discouraged, shrank back into its corner, and made up +in low windows, smoking-rooms, and private bathroom--one for the whole +house--what was lacking in porticos and sea view. Then followed a +slight skirmish in paint,--red for the Arms and yellow-white for the +Bellevue; and a flank movement of shades and curtains,--linen for the +Arms and lace for the Bellevue. Scouting parties were next ordered out +of porters in caps, banded with silk ribbons, bearing the names of +their respective hostelries. Yacob of the Arms was to attack weary +travelers on alighting from the train, and acquaint them with the +delights of the downstairs bath, and the dark-room for the kodakers, +all free of charge. And Johan of the Bellevue was to give minute +descriptions of the boats landing in front of the dining-room windows +and of the superb view of the river. + + * * * * * + +It is always summer when I arrive in Dordrecht. I don't know what +happens in winter, and I don't care. The groundhog knows enough to go +into his hole when the snow begins to fly, and to stay there until the +sun thaws him out again. Some tourists could profit by following his +example. + +[Illustration: THROUGH STREETS EMBOWERED IN TREES] + +It is summer then, and the train has rolled into the station at +Dordrecht, or beside it, and the traps have been thrown out, and +Peter, my boatman--he of the "Red Tub," a craft with an outline like a +Dutch vrou, quite as much beam as length (we go a-sketching in this +boat)--Peter, I say, who has come to the train to meet me, has swung +my belongings over his shoulder, and Johan, the porter of the +Bellevue, with a triumphant glance at Yacob of the Arms, has stowed +the trunk on the rear platform of the street tram,--no cabs or trucks, +if you please, in this town,--and the one-horse car has jerked its way +around short curves and up through streets embowered in trees and +paved with cobblestones scrubbed as clean as china plates, and over +quaint bridges with glimpses of sluggish canals and queer houses, and +so on to my lodgings. + +And mine host, Heer Boudier, waiting on the steps, takes me by the +hand and says the same room is ready and has been for a week. + +Inside these two inns, the only inns in Dort, the same rivalry exists. +But my parallels must cease. Mine own inn is the Bellevue, and my old +friend of fifteen years, Heer Boudier, is host, and so loyalty compels +me to omit mention of any luxuries but those to which I am accustomed +in his hostelry. + +Its interior has peculiar charms for me. Scrupulously clean, simple in +its appointments and equipment, it is comfort itself. Tyne is +responsible for its cleanliness--or rather, that particular portion of +Tyne which she bares above her elbows. Nobody ever saw such a pair of +sledge-hammer arms as Tyne's on any girl outside of Holland. She is +eighteen; short, square-built, solid as a Dutch cheese, fresh and rosy +as an English milkmaid; moon-faced, mild-eyed as an Alderney heifer, +and as strong as a three-year-old. Her back and sides are as straight +as a plank; the front side is straight too. The main joint in her body +is at the hips. This is so flexible that, wash-cloth in hand, she can +lean over the floor without bending her knees and scrub every board in +it till it shines like a Sunday dresser. She wears a snow-white cap as +dainty as the finest lady's in the land; an apron that never seems to +lose the crease of the iron, and a blue print dress bunched up behind +to keep it from the slop. Her sturdy little legs are covered by gray +yarn stockings which she knits herself, the feet thrust into wooden +sabots. These clatter over the cobbles as she scurries about with a +crab-like movement, sousing, dousing, and scrubbing as she goes; for +Tyne attacks the sidewalk outside with as much gusto as she does the +hall and floors. + +Johan the porter moves the chairs out of Tyne's way when she begins +work, and, lately, I have caught him lifting her bucket up the front +steps--a wholly unnecessary proceeding when Tyne's muscular +developments are considered. Johan and I had a confidential talk one +night, when he brought the mail to my room,--the room on the second +floor overlooking the Maas,--in which certain personal statements were +made. When I spoke to Tyne about them the next day, she looked at me +with her big blue eyes, and then broke into a laugh, opening her mouth +so wide that every tooth in her head flashed white (they always +reminded me somehow of peeled almonds). With a little bridling twist +of her head she answered that--but, of course, this was a strictly +confidential communication, and of so entirely private a nature that +no gentleman under the circumstances would permit a single word of it +to-- + +Johan is taller than Tyne, but not so thick through. When he meets you +at the station, with his cap and band in his hand, his red hair +trimmed behind as square as the end of a whisk-broom, his thin, +parenthesis legs and Vienna guardsman waist,--each detail the very +opposite, you will note, from Tyne's,--you recall immediately one of +George Boughton's typical Dutchmen. The only thing lacking is his +pipe; he is too busy for that. + +When he dons his dress suit for dinner, and bending over your shoulder +asks, in his best English: "Mynheer, don't it now de feesh you haf?" +you lose sight of Boughton's Dutchman and see only the cosmopolitan. +The transformation is due entirely to continental influences--Dort +being one of the main highways between London and Paris--influences so +strong that even in this water-logged town on the Maas, bonnets are +beginning to replace caps, and French shoes sabots. + +The guests that Johan serves at this inn of my good friend Boudier are +as odd looking as its interior. They line both sides and the two ends +of the long table. Stout Germans in horrible clothes, with stouter +wives in worse; Dutchmen from up-country in brown coats and green +waistcoats; clerks off on a vacation with kodaks and Cook's tickets; +bicyclists in knickerbockers; painters, with large kits and small +handbags, who talk all the time and to everybody; gray-whiskered, +red-faced Englishmen, with absolutely no conversation at all, who +prove to be distinguished persons attended by their own valets, and on +their way to Aix or the Engadine, now that the salmon-fishing in +Norway is over; school teachers from America, just arrived from +Antwerp or Rotterdam, or from across the channel by way of Harwich, +their first stopping-place really since they left home--one +traveling-dress and a black silk in the bag; all the kinds and +conditions and sorts of people who seek out precious little places +like Dort, either because they are cheap or comfortable, or because +they are known to be picturesque. + +I sought out Dort years ago because it was untouched by the hurry that +makes life miserable, and the shams that make it vulgar, and I go back +to it now every year of my life, in spite of other foreign influences. + +[Illustration: THE GOSSIPS LEAN IN THE DOORWAYS] + +And there is no real change in fifteen years. Its old trees still nod +over the sleepy canals in the same sleepy way they have done, no +doubt, for a century. The rooks--the same rooks, they never die--still +swoop in and out of the weather-stained arches high up in the great +tower of the Groote Kerk, the old twelfth-century church, the tallest +in all Holland; the big-waisted Dutch luggers with rudders painted +arsenic green--what would painters do without this green?--doze under +the trees, their mooring lines tied to the trunks; the girls and boys, +with arms locked, a dozen together, clatter over the cobbles, singing +as they walk; the steamboats land and hurry on--"Fop Smit's boats" the +signs read--it is pretty close, but I am not part owner in the line; +the gossips lean in the doorways or under the windows banked with +geraniums and nasturtiums; the cumbersome state carriages with the big +ungainly horses with untrimmed manes and tails--there are only five of +these carriages in all Dordrecht--wait in front of the great houses +eighty feet wide and four stories high, some dating as far back as +1512, and still occupied by descendants of the same families; the old +women in ivory black, with dabs of Chinese white for sabots and caps, +push the same carts loaded with Hooker's green vegetables from door to +door; the town crier rings his bell; the watchman calls the hour. + +Over all bends the ever-changing sky, one hour close-drawn, gray-lined +with slanting slashes of blinding rain, the next piled high with great +domes of silver-white clouds inlaid with turquoise blue or hemmed in +by low-lying ranges of purple peaks capped with gold. + + * * * * * + +I confess that an acute sense of disappointment came over me when I +first saw these gray canals, rain-varnished streets, and rows of green +trees. I recognized at a glance that it was not my Holland; not the +Holland of my dreams; not the Holland of Mesdag nor Poggenbeck nor +Kever. It was a fresher, sweeter, more wholesome land, and with a more +breathable air. These Dutch painters had taught me to look for dull, +dirty skies, soggy wharves, and dismal perspectives of endless dikes. +They had shown me countless windmills, scattered along stretches of +wind-swept moors backed by lowering skies, cold gray streets, quaint, +leanover houses, and smudgy, grimy interiors. They had enveloped all +this in the stifling, murky atmosphere of a western city slowly +strangling in clouds of coal smoke. + +These Dutch artists were, perhaps, not alone in this falsification. It +is one of the peculiarities of modern art that many of its masters +cater to the taste of a public who want something that _is not_ in +preference to something that _is_. Ziem, for instance, had, up to the +time of my enlightenment, taught me to love an equally untrue and +impossible Venice--a Venice all red and yellow and deep ultra-marine +blue--a Venice of unbuildable palaces and blazing red walls. + +I do not care to say so aloud, where I can be heard over the way, but +if you will please come inside my quarters, and shut the door and +putty up the keyhole, and draw down the blinds, I will whisper in your +ear that my own private opinion is that even Turner himself would have +been an infinitely greater artist had he built his pictures on Venice +instead of building them on Turner. I will also be courageous enough +to assert that the beauty and dignity of Venetian architecture--an +architecture which has delighted many appreciative souls for +centuries--finds no place in his canvases, either in detail or in +mass. The details may be unimportant, for the soft vapor of the +lagoons ofttimes conceals them, but the correct outline of the +mass--that is, for instance, the true proportion of the dome of the +Salute, that incomparable, incandescent pearl, or the vertical line of +the Campanile compared to the roofs of the connecting palaces--should +never be ignored, for they are as much a part of Venice, the part that +makes for beauty, as the shimmering light of the morning or the glory +of its sunsets. So it is that when most of us for the first time reach +the water-gates of Venice, the most beautiful of all cities by the +sea, we feel a certain shock and must begin to fall in love with a new +sweetheart. + +So with many painters of the Holland school--not the old Dutch school +of landscape painters, but the more modern group of men who paint +their native skies with zinc-white toned with London fog, or mummy +dust and bitumen. It is all very artistic and full of "tone," but it +is not Holland. + +There is Clays, for instance. Of all modern painters Clays has charmed +and wooed us best with certain phases of Holland life, particularly +the burly brown boats lying at anchor, their red and white sails +reflected in the water. I love these boats of Clays. They are superbly +drawn, strong in color, and admirably painted; the water treatment, +too, is beyond criticism. But where are they in Holland? I know +Holland from the Zuyder Zee to Rotterdam, but I have never yet seen +one of Clays's boats in the original wood. + +Thus by reason of such smeary, up and down fairy tales in paint have +we gradually become convinced that vague trees, and black houses with +staring patches of whitewash, and Vandyke brown roofs are thoroughly +characteristic of Holland, and that the blessed sun never shines in +this land of sabots. + +[Illustration: DRENCHED LEAVES QUIVERING] + +But doesn't it rain? Yes, about half the time, perhaps three quarters +of the time. Well, now that I think of it, about all the time. But not +continuously; only in intermittent downpours, floods, gushes of +water--not once a day but every half hour. Then comes the quick +drawing of a gray curtain from a wide expanse of blue, framing ranges +of snow-capped cumuli; streets swimming in great pools; drenched +leaves quivering in dazzling sunlight, and millions of raindrops +flashing like diamonds. + + +II + +But Peter, my boatman, cap in hand, is waiting on the cobbles outside +the inn door. He has served me these many years. He is a wiry, thin, +pinch-faced Dutchman, of perhaps sixty, who spent his early life at +sea as man-o'-war's-man, common sailor, and then mate, and his later +years at home in Dort, picking up odd jobs of ferriage or stevedoring, +or making early gardens. While on duty he wears an old white +traveling-cap pulled over his eyes, and a flannel shirt without collar +or tie, and sail-maker's trousers. These trousers are caught at his +hips by a leather strap supporting a sheath which holds his knife. He +cuts everything with this knife, from apples and navy plug to ship's +cables and telegraph wire. His clothes are waterproof; they must be, +for no matter how hard it rains, Peter is always dry. The water may +pour in rivulets from off his cap, and run down his forehead and from +the end of his gargoyle of a nose, but no drop ever seems to wet his +skin. When it rains the fiercest, I, of course, retreat under the +poke-bonnet awning made of cotton duck stretched over barrel hoops +that protects the stern of my boat, but Peter never moves. This Dutch +rain does not in any way affect him. It is like the Jersey +mosquito--it always spares the natives. + +Peter speaks two languages, both Dutch. He says that one is English, +but he cannot prove it--nobody can. When he opens his mouth you know +all about his ridiculous pretensions. He says--"Mynheer, dot manus ist +er blowdy rock." He has learned this expression from the English +sailors unloading coal at the big docks opposite Pappendrecht, and he +has incorporated this much of their slang into his own nut-cracking +dialect. He means of course "that man is a bloody rogue." He has a +dozen other phrases equally obscure. + +Peter's mission this first morning after my arrival is to report that +the good ship Red Tub is now lying in the harbor fully equipped for +active service. That her aft awning has been hauled taut over its +hoops; that her lockers of empty cigar boxes (receptacles for brushes) +have been clewed up; the cocoa-matting rolled out the whole length of +her keel, and finally that the water bucket and wooden chair (I use a +chair instead of an easel) have been properly stowed. + +Before the next raincloud spills over its edges, we must loosen the +painter from the iron ring rusted tight in the square stone in the +wharf, man the oars, and creep under the little bridge that binds +Boudier's landing to the sidewalk over the way, and so set our course +for the open Maas. For I am in search of Dutch boats to-day, as near +like Clays's as I can find. I round the point above the old India +warehouses, I catch sight of the topmasts of two old luggers anchored +in midstream, their long red pennants flattened against the gray sky. +The wind is fresh from the east, filling the sails of the big +windmills blown tight against their whirling arms. The fishing-smacks +lean over like dipping gulls; the yellow water of the Maas is flecked +with wavy lines of beer foam. + +The good ship Red Tub is not adapted to outdoor sketching under these +conditions. The poke-bonnet awning acts as a wind-drag that no amount +of hard pulling can overcome. So I at once convene the Board of +Strategy, Lieutenant-Commander Peter Jansen, Red Tub Navy, in the +chair. That distinguished naval expert rises from his water-soaked +seat on the cocoa-matting outside the poke bonnet, sweeps his eye +around the horizon, and remarks sententiously:-- + +"It no tam goot day. Blow all dime; we go ba'd-hoose," and he turns +the boat toward a low-lying building anchored out from the main shore +by huge chains secured to floating buoys. + +In some harbors sea-faring men are warned not to "anchor over the +water-pipes." In others particular directions are given to avoid +"submarine cables planted here." In Dort, where none of these modern +conveniences exist, you are notified as follows: "No boats must land +at this Bath." + +If Peter knew of this rule he said not one word to me as I sat back +out of the wet, hived under the poke bonnet, squeezing color-tubes and +assorting my brushes. He rowed our craft toward the bath-house with +the skill of a man-o'-war's-man, twisted the painter around a short +post, and unloaded my paraphernalia on a narrow ledge or plank walk +some three feet wide, and which ran around the edge of the floating +bath-house. + +It never takes me long to get to work, once my subject is selected. I +sprang from the boat while Peter handed me the chair, stool, and +portfolio containing my stock of gray papers of different tones; +opened my sketch frame, caught a sheet of paper tight between its +cleats; spread palettes and brushes on the floor at my side; placed +the water bucket within reach of my hand, and in five minutes I was +absorbed in my sketch. + +Immediately the customary thing happened. The big bank of gray cloud +that hung over the river split into feathery masses of white framed in +blue, and out blazed the glorious sun. + +Meantime, Peter had squatted close beside me, sheltered under the lee +of the side wall of the bath-house, protected equally from the slant +of the driving rain and the glare of the blinding sun. Safe too from +the watchful eye of the High Pan-Jam who managed the bath, and who at +the moment was entirely oblivious of the fact that only two inches of +pine board separated him from an enthusiastic painter working like +mad, and an equally alert marine assistant who supplied him with fresh +water and charcoal points, both at the moment defying the law of the +land, one in ignorance and the other in a spirit of sheer bravado. For +Peter must have known the code and the penalty. + +The world is an easy place for a painter to live and breathe in when +he is sitting far from the madding crowd--of boys--protected from the +wind and sun, watching a sky piled up in mountains of snow, and +inhaling ozone that is a tonic to his lungs. When the outline of his +sketch is complete and the colors flow and blend, and the heart is on +fire; when the bare paper begins to lose itself in purple distances +and long stretches of tumbling water, and the pictured boats take +definite shape, and the lines of the rigging begin to tell; when +little by little, with a pat here and a dab there, there comes from +out this flat space a something that thrilled him when he first +determined to paint the thing that caught his eye,--not the thing +itself, but the spirit, the soul, the feeling, and meaning of the +color-poem unrolled before him,--when a painter feels a thrill like +this, all the fleets of Spain might bombard him, and his eye would +never waver nor his touch hesitate. + +I felt it to-day. + +Peter didn't. If he had he would have kept still and passed me fresh +water and rags and new tubes and whatever I wanted--and I wanted +something every minute--instead of disporting himself in an entirely +idiotic and disastrous way. Disastrous, because you might have seen +the sketch which I began reproduced in these pages had the +Lieutenant-Commander, R.T.N., only carried out the orders of the +Lord High Admiral commanding the fleet. + +A sunbeam began it. It peeped over the edge of the side wall--the wall +really was but little higher than Peter's head when he stood +erect--and started in to creep down my half-finished sketch. Peter +rose in his wrath, reached for my white umbrella, and at once opened +it and screwed together the jointed handle. Then he began searching +for some convenient supporting hook on which to hang his shield of +defence. Next a brilliant, intellectual dynamite-bomb of a thought +split his cranium. He would hoist the umbrella _above_ the top of +the thin wall of the bath-house, resting one half upon its upper edge, +drive the iron spike into the plank under our feet, and secure the +handle by placing his back against it. No sunbeam should pass him! + +The effect can be imagined on the High-Pan-Jam inside the +bath-house--an amphibious guardian, oblivious naturally to sun and +rain--when his eye fell upon this flag of defiance thrust up above his +ramparts. You can imagine, too, the consternation of the peaceful +inmates of the open pools, whose laughter had now and then risen above +the sough of the wind and splash of the water. Almost immediately I +heard the sound of hurrying footsteps from a point where no sound had +come before, and there followed the scraping of a pair of toes on the +planking behind me, as if some one was drawing himself up. + +I looked around and up and saw eight fingers clutching the top of the +planking, and a moment later the round face of an astonished Dutchman. +I haven't the faintest idea what he said. I didn't know then and I +don't know now. I only remember that his dialect sounded like the +traditional crackling of thorns under a pot, including the +spluttering, and suggesting the equally heated temperature. When his +fingers gave out he would drop out of sight, only to rise again and +continue the attack. + +Here Peter, I must say, did credit to his Dutch ancestors. He did not +temporize. He did not argue. He ignored diplomacy at the start, and +blazed out that we were out of everybody's way and on the lee side of +the structure; that there was no sign up on that side; that I was a +most distinguished personage of blameless life and character, and +that, rules or no rules, he was going to stay where he was and so was +I. + +"You tam blowdy rock. It's s'welve o'clook now--no rule aft' s'welve +o'clook,--nopody ba'd now;"--This in Dutch, but it meant that, then +turning to me, "You stay--you no go--I brek tam head him."-- + +None of this interested me. I had heard Peter explode before. I was +trying to match the tone of an opalescent cloud inlaid with +mother-of-pearl, the shadow side all purplish gray. Its warm +high-lights came all right, but I was half out of my head trying to +get its shadow-tones true with Payne's gray and cobalt. The cloud +itself had already cast its moorings and was fast drifting over the +English Channel. It would be out of sight in five minutes. + +"Peter--_Peter!_" I cried. "Don't talk so much. Here, give him half a +gulden and tell him to dry up. Hand me that sky brush--quick now!" + +The High Pan-Jam dropped with a thud to his feet. His swinging +footsteps could be heard growing fainter, but no stiver of my silver +had lined his pocket. + +I worked on. The tea-rose cloud had disappeared entirely; only its +poor counterfeit remained. The boats were nearly finished; another +wash over their sails would bring them all right. Then the tramp as of +armed men came from the in-shore side of the bath-house. Peter stood +up and craned his neck around the edge of the planking, and said in an +undertone:-- + +"Tam b'lice, he come now; nev' mind, you stay 'ere--no go. Tam blowdy +rock no mak' you go." + +Behind me stood the High Pan-Jam who had scraped his toes on the +fence. With him was an officer of police! + +Peter was now stamping his feet, swearing in Dutch, English, and +polyglot, and threatening to sponge the Dutch government from the face +of the universe. + +My experience has told me that it is never safe to monkey with a +gendarme. He is generally a perfectly cool, self-poised, +unimpressionable individual, with no animosity whatever toward you or +anybody else, but who intends to be obeyed, not because it pleases +him, but because the power behind him compels it. I instantly rose +from my stool, touched my hat in respectful military salute, and +opened my cigarette-case. The gendarme selected a cigarette with +perfect coolness and good humor, and began politely to unfold to me +his duties in connection with the municipal laws of Dordrecht. The +manager of the bath, he said, had invoked his services. I might not be +aware that it was against the law to land on this side of the +bath-house, etc. + +But the blood of the Jansens was up. Some old Koop or De Witt or Von +Somebody was stirring Peter. + +"No ba'd aft' s'welve o'clook"--this to me, both fists in the air, one +perilously near the officer's face. The original invective was in his +native tongue, hurled at Pan-Jam and the officer alike. + +"What difference does it make, your Excellency," I asked, "whether I +sit in my boat and paint or sit here where there is less motion?" + +"None, honored sir," and he took a fresh cigarette (Peter was now +interpreting),--"except for the fact that you have taken up your +position on the _women's_ side of the bath-house. They bathe from +twelve o'clock till four. When the ladies saw the umbrella they were +greatly disturbed. They are now waiting for you to go away!" + + +III + +My room at Heer Boudier's commands a full view of the Maas, with all +its varied shipping. Its interior fittings are so scrupulously clean +that one feels almost uncomfortable lest some of the dainty +appointments might be soiled in the using. The bed is the most +remarkable of all its comforts. It is more of a box than a bed, and so +high at head and foot, and so solid at its sides, that it only needs a +lid to make the comparison complete. There is always at its foot an +inflated eider-down quilt puffed up like a French soufflé potato; and +there are always at its head two little oval pillows solid as bags of +ballast, surmounting a bolster that slopes off to an edge. I have +never yet found out what this bolster is stuffed with. The bed itself +would be bottomless but for the slats. When you first fall overboard +into this slough you begin to sink through its layers of feathers, and +instinctively throw out your hands, catching at the side boards as a +drowning man would clutch at the gunwales of a suddenly capsized boat. + +The second night after my arrival, I, in accordance with my annual +custom, deposited the contents of this bed in a huge pile outside my +door, making a bottom layer of the feathers, then the bolster, and +last the soufflé with the hard-boiled eggs on top. + +Then I rang for Tyne. + +She had forgotten all about the way I liked my sleeping arrangements +until she saw the pile of bedding. Then she held her sides with +laughter, while the tears streamed down her red cheeks. Of course, the +Heer should have a mattress and big English pillows, and no +bouncy-bounce, speaking the words not with her lips, but with a +gesture of her hand. Then she called Johan to help. I never can see +why Tyne always calls Johan to help when there is anything to be done +about my room out of the usual order of things,--the sweeping, +dusting, etc.,--but she does. I know full well that if she so pleased +she could tuck the whole pile of bedding under her chin, pick up the +bureau in one hand and the bed in the other, and walk downstairs +without even mussing her cap-strings. + +When Johan returned with a hair mattress and English pillows,--you can +get anything you want at Boudier's,--he asked me if I had heard the +news about Peter. Johan, by the way, speaks very good English--for +Johan. The Burgomaster, he said, had that day served Peter with a +writ. If I had looked out of the window an hour ago, I could have seen +the Lieutenant-Commander of the Red Tub, under charge of an officer of +the law, on his way to the Town Hall. Peter, he added, had just +returned and was at the present moment engaged in scrubbing out the R. +T. for active service in the morning. + +I at once sent for Peter. + +He came up, hat in hand. But there was no sign of weakening. The blood +of the Jansens was still in his eye. + +"What did they arrest you for, Peter?" + +"For make jaw wid de tam bolice. He say I mos' pay two gulden or one +tay in jail. Oh, it is notting; I no pay. Dot bolice lie ven he say +vimmen ba'd. Nopoty ba'd in de hoose aft' s'welve 'clook." + +Later, Heer Boudier tells me that because of Peter's action in +resisting the officer in the discharge of his duty, he is under +arrest, and that he has but _five days in which to make up his mind_ +as to whether he will live on bread and water for a day and night in +the town jail, or whether he will deplete his slender savings in favor +of the state to the extent of two gulden. + +"But don't they lock him up, meanwhile?" I asked. + +Boudier laughed. "Where would he run to, and for what? To save two +gulden?" + +My heart was touched. I could not possibly allow Peter to spend five +minutes in jail on my account. I should not have slept one wink that +night even in my luxurious bed-box with English pillows, knowing that +the Lieutenant-Commander was stretched out on a cold floor with a +cobblestone under his cheek. I knew, too, how slender was his store, +and what a godsend my annual visit had been to his butcher and baker. +The Commander of the Red Tub might be impetuous, even aggressive, but +by no possible stretch of the imagination could he be considered +criminal. + +That night I added these two gulden (about eighty cents) to Peter's +wages. He thanked me with a pleased twinkle in his eye, and a +wrinkling of the leathery skin around his nose and mouth. Then he put +on his cap and disappeared up the street. + + * * * * * + +But the inns, quaint canals, and rain-washed streets are not Dort's +only distinctions. There is an ancient Groote Kerk, overlaid with +colors that are rarely found outside of Holland. It is built of brick, +with a huge square tower that rises above the great elms pressing +close about it, and which is visible for miles. The moist climate not +only encrusts its twelfth-century porch with brown-and-green patches +of lichen over the red tones, but dims the great stained-glass windows +with films of mould, and covers with streaks of Hooker's green the +shadow sides of the long sloping roofs. Even the brick pavements about +it are carpeted with strips of green, as fresh in color as if no +passing foot had touched them. And few feet ever do touch them, for it +is but a small group of worshipers that gather weekly within the old +kirk's whitewashed walls. + +[Illustration: AN ANCIENT GROOTE KERK] + +These faithful few do not find the rich interior of the olden time, +for many changes have come over it since its cathedral days, the days +of its pomp and circumstance. All its old-time color is gone when you +enter its portals, and only staring white walls and rigid, naked +columns remain; only dull gray stone floors and hard, stiff-backed +benches. I have often sat upon these same benches in the gloom of a +fast-fading twilight and looked about me, bemoaning the bareness, and +wondering what its _ensemble_ must have been in the days of its +magnificence. There is nothing left of its glories now but its +architectural lines. The walls have been stripped of their costly +velvets, tapestries, and banners of silk and gold, the uplifted cross +is gone; the haze of swinging censers no longer blurs the vistas, nor +the soft light of many tapers illumines their gloom. + +I have always believed that duty and beauty should ever go hand in +hand in our churches. To me there is nothing too rich in tone, too +luxurious in color, too exquisite in line for the House of God. +Nothing that the brush of the painter can make glorious, the chisel of +the sculptor beautify, or the T-square of the architect ennoble, can +ever be out of place in the one building of all others that we +dedicate to the Creator of all beauty. I have always thanked Him for +his goodness in giving as much thought to the flowers that cover the +hillsides as He did to the dull earth that lies beneath; as much care +to the matchings of purples and gold in the sunsets as to the +blue-black crags that are outlined against them. With these feelings +in my heart I have never understood that form of worship which +contents itself with a bare barn filled with seats of pine, a square +box of a pulpit, a lone pitcher of ice water, and a popular edition of +the hymns. But then, I am not a Dutchman. + +Besides this town of Dort, filled with queer warehouses, odd +buildings, and cobbled streets, and dominated by this majestic +cathedral, there is across the river--just a little way (Peter rows me +over in ten minutes)--the Noah's Ark town of Pappendrecht, surrounded +by great stretches of green meadow, dotted with black and white cows, +and acres and acres of cabbages and garden truck, and tiny farmhouses, +and absurdly big barns; and back of these, and in order to keep all +these dry, is a big dike that goes on forever and is lost in the +perspective. On both sides of this dike (its top is a road) are built +the toy houses facing each other, each one cleaner and better scrubbed +than its neighbor, their big windows gay with geraniums. + +Farther down is another 'recht--I cannot for the life of me remember +the first part of its name--where there is a shipyard and big +windlasses and a horse hitched to a sweep, which winds up water-soaked +luggers on to rude ways, and great pots of boiling tar, the yellow +smoke drifting away toward the sea. + +And between these towns of Dort, Pappendrecht, and the other 'recht +moves a constant procession of water craft; a never-ceasing string of +low, rakish barges that bear the commerce of Germany out to the sea, +each in charge of a powerful tug puffing eagerly in its hurry to reach +tide water, besides all the other boats and luggers that sail and +steam up and down the forked Maas in front of Boudier's Inn--for Dort +is really on an island, the water of the Rhine being divided here. You +would never think, were you to watch these ungainly boats, that they +could ever arrive anywhere. They look as if they were built to go +sideways, endways, or both ways; and yet they mind their helms and +dodge in and out and swoop past the long points of land ending in the +waving marsh grass, and all with the ease of a steam yacht. + + * * * * * + +These and a hundred other things make me love this quaint old town on +the Maas. There is everything within its borders for the painter who +loves form and color--boats, queer houses, streets, canals, odd, +picturesque interiors, figures, brass milk cans, white-capped girls, +and stretches of marsh. If there were not other places on the earth I +love equally as well--Venice, for instance--I would be content never +to leave its shower-drenched streets. But I know that my gondola, gay +in its new _tenta_ and polished brasses, is waiting for me in the +little canal next the bridge, and I must be off. + +Tyne has already packed my trunk, and Johan is ready to take it down +the stairs. Tyne sent for him. I did not. + +When Johan, like an overloaded burro stumbling down the narrow defile +of the staircase, my trunk on his back, disappears through the lower +door, Tyne reënters my room, closes the door softly, and tells me that +Johan's wages have been raised, and that before I return next summer +she and-- + +But I forgot. This is another strictly confidential communication. +Under no possible circumstances could a man of honor--certainly not. + +Peter, to my surprise, is not in his customary place when I reach the +outer street door. Johan, at my inquiring gesture, grins the width of +his face, but has no information to impart regarding Peter's unusual +absence. + +Heer Boudier is more explicit. + +"Where's Peter?" I cry with some impatience. + +My host shrugs his shoulders with a helpless movement, and opens wide +the fingers of both hands. + +"Mynheer, the five days are up. Peter has gone to jail." + +"What for?" I ask in astonishment. + +"To save two gulden." + + + + +ONE OF BOB'S TRAMPS + + +I had passed him coming up the dingy corridor that led to Bob's law +office, and knew at once that he was one of Bob's tramps. + +When he had squeezed himself through the partly open door and had +closed it gently,--closed it with a hand held behind his back, like +one who had some favor to ask or some confidence game to play,--he +proved to be a man about fifty years of age, fat and short, with a +round head partly bald, and hair quite gray. His face had not known a +razor for days. He was dressed in dark clothes, once good, showing a +white shirt, and he wore a collar without a cravat. Down his cheeks +were uneven furrows, beginning at his spilling, watery eyes, and +losing themselves in the stubble-covered cheeks,--like old +rain-courses dried up,--while on his flat nose were perched a pair of +silver-rimmed spectacles, over which he looked at us in a dazed, +half-bewildered, half-frightened way. In one hand he held his +shapeless slouch hat; the other grasped an old violin wrapped in a +grimy red silk handkerchief. + +For an instant he stood before the door, bent low with unspoken +apologies; then placing his hat on the floor, he fumbled nervously in +the breast pocket of his coat, from which he drew a letter, penned in +an unknown hand and signed with an unknown name. Bob read it, and +passed it to me. + +"Please buy this violin," the note ran. "It is a good instrument, and +the man needs the money. The price is sixty dollars." + +"Who gave you this note?" Bob asked. He never turns a beggar from his +door if he can help it. This reputation makes him the target for half +the tramps in town. + +"Te leader of te orchestra at te theatre. He say he not know you, but +dat you loafe good violin. I come von time before, but vas nobody +here." Then, after a pause, his wavering eye seeking Bob's, "Blease +you buy him?" + +"Is it yours?" I asked, anxious to get rid of him. The note trick had +been played that winter by half the tramps in town. + +"Yes. Mine vor veefteen year," he answered slowly, in an unemotional +way. + +"Why do you want to sell it?" said Bob, his interest increasing, as he +caught the pleading look in the man's eyes. + +"I don't vant to sell it--I vant to keep it; but I haf notting," his +hands opening wide. "Ve vas in Phildelphy, ant ten Scranton, ant ten +we get here to Peetsburgh, and all te scenery is by te shereef, and te +manager haf notting. Vor vourteen tays I valk te streets, virst it is +te ofercoat ant vatch, ant yestertay te ledder case vor veefty cents. +If you ton't buy him I must keep valking till I come by New York." + +"I've got a good violin," said Bob, softening. + +"Ten you don't buy him?" and a look as of a returning pain crossed his +hopeless, impassive face. "Vell, I go vay, ten," he said, with a sigh +that seemed to empty his heart. + +We both looked on in silence as he slowly wrapped the silk rag around +it, winding the ends automatically about the bridge and strings, as he +had no doubt done a dozen times before that day in his hunt for a +customer. Suddenly as he reached the neck he stopped, turned the +violin in his hand, and unwound the handkerchief again. + +"Tid you oxamine te neck? See how it lays in te hand! Tid you ever see +neck like dat? No, you don't see it, never," in a positive tone, +looking at us again over the silver rims of his spectacles. + +Bob took the violin in his hand. It was evidently an old one and of +peculiar shape. The swells and curves of the sides and back were +delicately rounded and highly finished. The neck, too, to which the +man pointed, was smooth and remarkably graceful, like the stem of an +old meerschaum pipe, and as richly colored. + +Bob handled it critically, scrutinizing every inch of its surface--he +adores a Cremona as some souls do a Madonna--then he walked with it to +the window. + +"Why, this has been mended!" he exclaimed in surprise and with a trace +of anger in his voice. "This is a new neck put on!" + +I knew by the tone that Bob was beginning now to see through the game. + +"Ah, you vind day oud, do you? Tat _is_ a new neck, sure, ant a goot +von, put on py Simon Corunden--not Auguste!--Simon! It is better as +efer." + +I looked for the guileless, innocent expression with the regulation +smile that distinguishes most vagabonds on an errand like this, but +his lifeless face was unlit by any visible emotion. + +Drawing the old red handkerchief from his pocket in a tired, hopeless +way, he began twisting it about the violin again. + +"Play something on it," said Bob. He evidently believed every word of +the impromptu explanation, and was weakening again. Harrowing +sighs--chronic for years--or trickling tears shed at the right moment +by some grief-stricken woman never failed to deceive him. + +"No, I don't blay. I got no heart inside of me to blay," with a weary +movement of his hand. He was now tucking the frayed ends of the +handkerchief under the strings. + +"_Can_ you play?" asked Bob, grown suddenly suspicious, now that the +man dare not prove his story. + +"Can I _blay_?" he answered, with a quick lifting of his eyes, and the +semblance of a smile lighting up his furrowed face. "I blay mit +Strakosch te Mendelssohn Concerto in te olt Academy in Vourteenth +Street; ant ven Alboni sing, no von in te virst violins haf te solo +but me, ant dere is not a pin drop in te house, ant Madame Alboni send +me all te flowers tey gif her. Can I BLAY!" + +The tone of voice was masterly. He was a new experience to me, +evidently an expert in this sort of thing. Bob looked down into his +stagnant, inert face, noting the slightly scornful, hurt expression +that lingered about the mouth. Then his tender heart got the better of +him. + +"I cannot afford to pay sixty dollars for another violin," he said, +his voice expressing the sincerity of his regret. + +"I cannot sell him vor less," replied the man, in a quick, decided +way. It would have been an unfledged amateur impostor who could not +have gained courage at this last change in Bob's tone. "Ven I get to +New York," he continued, with almost a sob, "I must haf some money +more as my railroad ticket to get anudder sheap violin. Te peoples +will say it is Grossman come home vidout hees violin--he is broke. No, +I no can sell him vor less. Tis cost one hundret ant sefenty-vive +dollar ven I buy him." + +I was about to offer him five dollars, buy the patched swindle, and +end the affair--I had pressing business with Bob that morning--when he +stopped me. + +"Would you take thirty dollars and my old violin?" + +The man looked at him eagerly. + +"Vere is your violin?" + +"At my house." + +"Is it a goot von? Stop a minute"---- For the third time he removed +the old red silk handkerchief. "Draw te bow across vonce. I know aboud +your violin ven I hears you blay." + +Bob tucked the instrument under his chin and drew a full, clear, +resonant tone. + +The watery eyes glistened. + +"Yes, I take your violin ant te money," in a decided tone. "You know +'em, ant I tink you loafe 'em too." + +The subtle flattery of this last touch was exquisitely done. The man +was an artist. + +Bob reached for a pad, and, with the remark that he was wanted in +court or he would go to his house with him, wrote an order, sealed it, +and laid three ten-dollar bills on the table. + +I felt that nothing now could check Bob. Whatever I might say or do +would fail to convince him. "I know how hard a road can be and how +sore one's feet can get," he would perhaps say to me, as he had often +done before when we blamed him for his generosities. + +The man balanced the letter on his hand, reading the inscription in a +listless sort of way, picked up the instrument, looked it all over +carefully, flecked off some specks of dust from the finger-board, laid +the violin on the office table, thrust the soiled rag into his pocket, +caught up the money, and without a word of thanks closed the door +behind him. + +"Bob," I said, the man's absolute ingratitude and my friend's colossal +simplicity irritating me beyond control, "why in the name of common +sense did you throw your money away on a sharp like that? Didn't you +see through the whole game? That note was written by himself. Corunden +never saw that fiddle in his life. You can buy a dozen of them for +five dollars apiece in any pawn-shop in town." + +Bob looked at me with that peculiar softening of the eyelids which we +know so well. Then he said thoughtfully: "Do you know what it is to be +stranded in a strange city with not a cent in your pocket, afraid to +look a policeman in the face lest he run you in? hungry, unwashed, not +a clean shirt for weeks? I don't care if he is a fraud. He sha'n't go +hungry if I can help it." + +There are some episodes in Bob's life to which he seldom refers. + +"Then why didn't he play for you?" I asked, still indignant, yet +somewhat touched by an intense earnestness unusual in Bob. + +"Yes, I wondered at that," he replied in a musing tone, but without a +shadow of suspicion in his voice. + +"You don't think," I continued, "he's such a fool as to go to your +house for your violin? I'll bet you he's made a bee line for a rum +mill; then he'll doctor up another old scraper and try the same game +somewhere else. Let me go after him and bring him back." + +Bob did not answer. He was tying up a bundle of papers. The violin lay +on the green-baize table where the man had put it, the law books +pushed aside to give it room. Then he put on his coat and went over to +court. + +In an hour he was back again--he and I, sitting in the small inner +office overlooking the dingy courtyard. + +We had talked but a few moments when a familiar shuffling step was +heard in the corridor. I looked through the crack in the door, touched +Bob's arm, and put my finger to my lips. Bob leaned forward and +watched with me through the crack. + +The outer office door was being slowly opened in the same noiseless +way, and the same man was creeping in. He gave an anxious glance about +the room. He had Bob's own violin in his hand; I knew it by the case. + +"Tey all oud," he muttered in an undertone. + +For an instant he wavered, looked hungrily towards his old violin, +laid Bob's on a chair near the door, stepped on tiptoe to the +green-baize table, picked up the Cremona, looked it all over, +smoothing the back with his hands, then, nestling it under his chin, +drew the bow gently across the strings, shut his eyes, and began the +Concerto,--the one he had played with Alboni,--not with its full +volume of sound or emphasis, but with echoes, pulsations, tremulous +murmurings, faint breathings of its marvelous beauty. The instrument +seemed part of himself, the neck welded to his fingers, the bow but a +piece of his arm, with a heart-throb down its whole length. + +When it was ended he rubbed his cheek softly against his old comrade, +smoothed it once or twice with his hand, laid it tenderly back in its +place on the table among the books, picked up Bob's violin from the +chair, and gently closed the door behind him. + +I looked at Bob. He was leaning against his desk, his eyes on the +floor, his whole soul filled with the pathos of the melody. Suddenly +he roused himself, sprang past me into the other room, and, calling to +the man, ran out into the corridor. + +"I couldn't catch him," he said in a dejected tone, coming back all +out of breath, and dropping into a chair. + +"What did you want to catch him for?" I asked; "he never robbed you?" + +"Robbed me!" cried Bob, the tears starting to his eyes. "Robbed _me_! +Good God, man! Couldn't you hear? I robbed _him_!" + +We searched for him all that day--Bob with the violin under his arm, I +with an apology. + +But he was gone. + + + + +ACCORDING TO THE LAW + + +I + +The luncheon was at one o'clock. Not one of your club luncheons, +served in a silent, sedate mausoleum on the principal street, where +your host in the hall below enters your name in a ledger, and a +brass-be-buttoned Yellowplush precedes you upstairs into a desolate +room furnished with chairs and a round table decorated with pink +_boutonnières_ set for six, and where you are plied with Manhattans +until the other guests arrive. + +Nor yet was it one of your smart petticoat luncheons in a Fifth Avenue +mansion, where a Delmonico veteran pressed into service for the +occasion waves you upstairs to another recruit, who deposits your coat +and hat on a bed, and who later on ushers you into a room ablaze with +gaslights--midday, remember--where you and the other unfortunates are +served with English pheasants cooked in their own feathers, or +Kennebec salmon embroidered with beets and appliqued with green +mayonnaise. Not that kind of a mid-day meal at all. + +On the contrary, it was served,--no, it was eaten,--reveled in, made +merry over, in an ancient house fronting on a sleepy old park filled +with live oaks and magnolias, their trunks streaked with green moss +and their branches draped with gray crape: an ancient house with a big +white door that stood wide open to welcome you,--it was December, +too,--and two verandas on either side, stretched out like welcoming +arms, their railings half hidden in clinging roses, the blossoms in +your face. + +There was an old grandmother, too,--quaint as a miniature,--with +fluffy white cap and a white worsted shawl and tea-rose cheeks, and a +smile like an opening window, so sunny did it make her face. And how +delightfully she welcomed us. + +I can hear even now the very tones of her voice, and feel the soft, +cool, restful touch of her hand. + +And there was an old darky, black as a gum shoe, with tufts of +grizzled gray wool glued to his temples--one of those loyal old house +servants of the South who belong to a régime that is past. I watched +him from the parlor scuffling with his feet as he limped along the +wide hall to announce each new arrival (his master's old Madeira had +foundered him, they said, years before), and always reaching the +drawing-room door long after the newcomer had been welcomed by shouts +of laughter and the open arms of every one in the room: the newcomer +another girl, of course. + +And this drawing-room, now I think of it, was not like any other +drawing-room that I knew. Very few things in it matched. The carpet +was a faded red, and of different shades of repair. The hangings were +of yellow silk. There were haircloth sofas, and a big fireplace, and +plenty of rocking chairs, and lounges covered with chintz of every +pattern, and softened with cushions of every hue. + +At one end hung a large mirror made of squares of glass laid like +tiles in a dull gilt frame that had held it together for nearly a +century, and on the same wall, too, and all so splotched and mouldy +with age that the girls had to stoop down to pick out a pane clear +enough to straighten their bonnets by. + +And on the side wall there were family portraits, and over the mantel +queer Chinese porcelains and a dingy coat-of-arms in a dingier frame, +and on every table, in all kinds of dishes, flat and square and round, +there were heaps and heaps of roses--De Vonienses, Hermosas, and +Agripinas--whose distinguished ancestors, hardy sons of the soil, came +direct from the Mayflower (This shall not happen again), and who +consequently never knew the enervating influences of a hothouse. And +there were marble busts on pedestals, and a wonderful clock on high +legs, and medallions with weeping willows of somebody's hair, besides +a miscellaneous collection of large and small bric-à-brac, the +heirlooms of five generations. + +And yet, with all this mismatching of color, form, and style,--this +chronological array of fittings and furnishings, beginning with the +mouldy mirror and ending with the modern straw chair,--there was a +harmony that satisfied one's every sense. + +And so restful, and helpful, and comforting, and companionable was it +all, and so accustomed was everything to be walked over, and sat on, +and kicked about; so glad to be punched out of shape if it were a +cushion which you needed for some special curve in your back or twist +of your head; so delighted to be scratched, or slopped over, or +scarred full of holes if it were a table that could hold your books or +paste-pot or lighted pipe; so hilariously joyful to be stretched out +of shape or sagged into irredeemable bulges if it were a straw chair +that could sooth your aching bones or rest a tired muscle! + +When all the girls and young fellows had arrived,--such pretty girls, +with such soft, liquid voices and captivating dialects, the one their +black mammies had taught them,--and such unconventional, happy young +fellows in all sorts of costumes from blue flannel to broadcloth,--one +in a Prince Albert coat and a straw hat in his hand, and it near +Christmas,--the old darky grew more and more restless, limping in and +out of the open door, dodging anxiously into the drawing-room and out +again, his head up like a terrapin's. + +Finally he veered across to a seat by the window, and, shielding his +mouth with his wrinkled, leathery paw, bent over the old grandmother +and poured into her ear a communication of such vital import that the +dear old lady arose at once and, taking my hand, said in her low, +sweet voice that we would wait no longer for the Judge, who was +detained in court. + +After this the aged Terrapin scuffled out again, reappearing almost +immediately before the door in white gloves inches too long at the +fingers. Then bowing himself backwards he preceded us into the +dining-room. + +And the table was so inviting when we took our seats around it, I +sitting on the right of the grandmother--being the only stranger--and +the prettiest of all the girls next to me. And the merriment was so +contagious, and the sallies of wit so sparkling, and the table itself! +Solid mahogany, this old heirloom! rich and dark as a meerschaum, the +kind of mahogany that looked as if all the fine old Madeira and choice +port that had been drunk above it had soaked into its pores. And every +fibre of it in evidence, too, except where the silver coasters, and +the huge silver centrepiece filled with roses, and the plates and the +necessary appointments hid its shining countenance. + +And the aged Terrapin evidently appreciated in full the sanctity of +this family altar, and duly realized the importance of his position as +its High Priest. Indeed, there was a gravity, a dignity, and repose +about him as he limped through his ministrations which I had noticed +in him before. If he showed any nervousness at all it was as he +glanced now and then toward the drawing-room door through which the +Judge must enter. + +And yet he appeared outwardly calm, even under this strain. For had he +not provided for every emergency? Were not His Honor's viands already +at that moment on the kitchen hearth, with special plates over them to +keep them hot against his arrival? + +And what a luncheon it was! The relays of fried chicken, baked sweet +potatoes, corn-bread, and mango pickles--a most extraordinary +production, I maintain, is a mango pickle!--and things baked on top +and brown, and other things baked on the bottom and creamy white. + +And the fun, too, as each course appeared and disappeared only to be +followed by something more extraordinary and seductive. The men +continued to talk, and the girls never ceased laughing, and the +grandmother's eyes constantly followed the Terrapin, giving him +mysterious orders with the slightest raising of an eyelash, and we had +already reached the salad--or was it the baked ham?--when the fairy in +the pink waist next me clapped her hands and cried out:-- + +"Oh, you dear Judge! We waited an hour for you"--it doubtless seemed +long to her. "What in the world kept you?" + +"Couldn't help it, little one," came a voice in reply; and a man with +silver-white hair, dignified bearing, and a sunny smile on his face +edged his way around the table to the grandmother, every hand held out +to him as he passed, and, bending low over the dear lady, expressed +his regrets at having been detained. + +Then with an extended hand to me and, "It gives me very great pleasure +to see you in this part of the South, sir," he sat down in the vacant +chair, nodding to everybody graciously as he spread his napkin. A +moment later he leaned forward and said in explanation to the +grandmother,-- + +"I waited for the jury to come in. You received my message, of +course?" + +"Oh, yes, dear Judge; and although we missed you we sat down at once." + +"Have you been in court all day?" I asked as an introductory remark. +Of course he had if he had waited for the jury. What an extraordinary +collection of idiocies one could make if he jotted down all the stupid +things said and heard when conversations were being opened. + +"Yes, I am sorry to say, trying one of those cases which are becoming +daily more common." + +I looked up inquiringly. + +"Oh, a negro, of course," and the Judge picked up his fork and moved +back the wine glass. + +"And such dreadful things happen, and such dreadful creatures are +going about," said the grandmother, raising her hand deprecatingly. + +"How do you account for it, madam?" I asked. "It was quite different +before the war. I have often heard my father tell of the old days, and +how much the masters did for their slaves, and how loyal their +servants were. I remember one old servant whom we boys called Daddy +Billy, who was really one of the family--quite like your"--and I +nodded toward the Terrapin, who at the moment was pouring a thin +stream of brown sherry into an equally attenuated glass for the +special comfort and sustenance of the last arrival. + +"Oh, you mean Mordecai," she interrupted, looking at the Terrapin. "He +has always been one of our family. How long do you think he has lived +with us?"--and she lowered her voice. "Forty-eight years--long before +the war--and we love him dearly. My father gave him to us. No, it is +not the old house servants,--it is these new negroes, born since the +war, that make all the trouble." + +"You are right, madam. They are not like Mordecai," and the Judge held +up the thin glass between his eye and the light. "God bless the day +when Mordecai was born! I think this is the Amazon sherry, is it not, +my dear madam?" + +"Yes, Mordecai's sherry, as we sometimes call it. It may interest you, +sir, to hear about it," and she turned to me again. "This wine that +the Judge praises so highly was once the pride of my husband's heart, +and when Sherman came through and burned our homes, among the few +things that were saved were sixty-two bottles of this old Amazon +sherry, named after the ship that brought it over. Mordecai buried +them in the woods and never told a single soul for two years +after--not even my husband. There are a few bottles left, and I always +bring one out when we have distinguished guests," and she bowed her +head to the Judge and to me. "Oh, yes, Mordecai has always been one of +our family, and so has his wife, who is almost as old as he is. She is +in the kitchen now, and cooked this luncheon. If these new negroes +would only behave like the old ones we would have no trouble," and a +faint sigh escaped her. + +The Terrapin, who during the conversation had disappeared in search of +another hot course for the Judge, had now reappeared, and so the +conversation was carried on in tones too low for his ears. + +"And has any effort been made to bring these modern negroes, as you +call them, into closer relation with you all, and"---- + +"It would be useless," interrupted the Judge. "The old negroes were +held in check by their cabin life and the influence of the 'great +house,' as the planter's home was called. All this has passed away. +This new product has no home and wants none. They live like animals, +and are ready for any crime. Sometimes I think they care neither for +wife, child, nor any family tie. The situation is deplorable, and is +getting worse every day. It is only the strong hand of the law that +now controls these people." His Honor spoke with some positiveness, I +thought, and with some warmth. + +"But," I broke in, "if when things became more settled you had begun +by treating them as your friends"--I was getting into shoal water, but +I blundered on, peering into the fog--"and if you had not looked upon +them as an alien race who"---- + +Just here the siren with the pink waist who sat next me--bless her +sweet face!--blew her conch-shell--she had seen the rocks ahead--and +cried out:-- + +"Now, grandma, please stop talking about the war!" (The dear lady had +been silent for five minutes.) "We're tired and sick of it, aren't we, +girls? And don't you say another word, Judge. You've got to tell us +some stories." + +A rattle of glasses from all the young people was the response, and +the Judge rose, with his hand on his heart and his eyes upraised like +those of a dying saint. He protested gallantly that he hadn't said a +word, and the grandmother insisted with a laugh that she had merely +told me about Mordecai hiding the sherry, while I vowed with much +solemnity that I had not once opened my lips since I sat down, and +called upon the siren in pink to confirm it. To my great surprise she +promptly did, with an arch look of mock reproof in her eye; whereupon, +with an atoning bow to her, I grasped the lever, rang "full speed," +and thus steamed out into deep water again. + +While all this was going on at our end of the table, a running fire of +fun had been kept at the other end, near the young man in the Prince +Albert coat, which soon developed into heavy practice, the Judge with +infinite zest joining in the merriment, exploding one story after +another, each followed by peals of laughter and each better than the +other, his Honor eating his luncheon all the while with great gusto as +he handled the battery. + +During all this the Terrapin neglected no detail of his duty, but +served the fifth course to the ladies and the kept-hot courses to the +Judge with equal dexterity, and both at the same time, and all without +spilling a drop or clinking a plate. + +When the ladies had withdrawn and we were seated on the veranda +fronting the sleepy old park, each man with a rose in his buttonhole, +the gift of the girl who had sat next him (the grandmother had pinned +the rose she wore at her throat on the lapel of the Judge's coat), and +when the Terrapin had produced a silver tray and was about to fill +some little egg-shell cups from a George-the-Third coffee-pot, the +Judge, who was lying back in a straw chair, a picture of perfect +repose and of peaceful digestion, turned his head slightly toward me +and said,-- + +"I am sorry, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave you in a few +minutes. I have to sentence a negro by the name of Sam Crouch. When +these ladies can spare you it will give me very great pleasure to have +you come into court and see how we administer justice to this +much-abused and much-misunderstood race," and he smiled significantly +at me. + +"What was his crime, Judge?" asked the young man in the Prince Albert +coat, as he held out his cup for Mordecai to fill. "Stealing +chickens?" The gayety of the table was evidently still with him and +upon him. + +"No," replied the Judge gravely, and he looked at me, the faintest +gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Murder." + + +II + +There are contrasts in life, sudden transitions from light to dark, +startling as those one experiences in dropping from out the light of a +spring morning redolent with perfume into the gloom of a coal mine +choked with noxious vapors--out of a morning, if you will, all joy and +gladness and the music of many birds; a morning when the wide, white +sky is filled with cloud ships drifting lazily; when the trees wave in +the freshening wind, and the lark hanging in mid-air pours out its +soul for very joy of living! + +And the horror of that other! The never-ending night and silence; the +foul air reeking with close, stifling odors; the narrow walls where +men move as ghosts with heads alight, their bodies lost in the +shadows; the ominous sounds of falling rock thundering through the +blackness; and again, when all is still, the slow drop, drop of the +ooze, like the tick of a deathwatch. It is a prison and a tomb, and to +those who breathe the sweet air of heaven, and who love the sunshine, +the very house of despair. + +I myself experienced one of these contrasts when I exchanged all the +love and gladness, all the wit and laughter and charm of the +breakfast, for the court-room. + +It was on the ground floor, level with the grass of the courtyard, +which a sudden storm had just drenched. The approach was through a +cold, crypt-like passage running under heavy brick arches. At its end +hung a door blocked up with slouching ragged figures, craning their +woolly heads for a glimpse inside whenever some official or visitor +passed in or out. + +I elbowed my way past the constables holding long staffs, and, +standing on my toes, looked over a sea of heads--a compact mass wedged +together as far down as the rail outside the bench. The air was +sickening, loathsome, almost unbreathable. The only light, except the +dull gray light of the day, came from a single gas jet flaring over +the Judge's head. Every other part of the court-room was lost in the +shadow of the passing storm. + +Inside the space where the lawyers sat, the floor was littered with +torn papers, and the tables were heaped with bundles of briefs and law +books in disorder, many of them opened face down. + +Behind me rose the gallery reserved for negroes, a loft having no +window nor light, hanging like a huge black shadow without form or +outline. All over this huge black shadow were spattered specks of +white. As I looked again, I could see that these were the strained +eyeballs and set teeth of motionless negroes. + +The Judge, his hands loosely clasped together, sat leaning forward in +his seat, his eyes fastened on the prisoner. The flare of the gas jet +fell on his stern, immobile face, and cast clear-lined shadows that +cut his profile sharp as a cameo. + +The negro stood below him, his head on his chest, his arms hanging +straight. On either side, close within reach of the doomed man, were +the sheriffs--rough-looking men, with silver shields on their breasts. +They looked straight at the Judge, nodding mechanically as each word +fell from his lips. They knew the litany. + +The condemned man was evidently under thirty years of age, of almost +pure African blood, well built, and strong. The forehead was low, the +lips heavy, the jaw firm. The brown-black face showed no cruelty; the +eyes were not cunning. It was only a dull, inert face, like those of a +dozen others about him. + +As he turned again, I saw that his hair was cut short, revealing +lighter-colored scars on the scalp--records of a not too peaceful +life, perhaps. His dress was ragged and dingy, patched trousers, and +shabby shoes, and a worn flannel shirt open at the throat, the skin +darker than the flannel. On a chair beside him lay a crumpled slouch +hat, grimed with dirt, the crown frayed and torn. + +As I pressed my way farther into the throng toward the bench, the +voice of the Judge rose, filling every part of the room, the words +falling slowly, as earth drops upon a coffin:-- + +--"until you be dead, and may God have mercy on your soul!" + +I looked searchingly into the speaker's face. There was not an +expression that I could recall, nor a tone in his voice that I +remembered. Surely this could not be the same man I had met at the +table but an hour before, with that musical laugh and winning smile. I +scrutinized him more closely--the rose was still in his buttonhole. + +As the voice ceased, the condemned man lifted his face, and turned his +head slowly. For a moment his eyes rested on the Judge; then they +moved to the clerks, sitting silent and motionless; then behind, at +the constables, and then up into the black vault packed with his own +people. + +A deathlike silence met him everywhere. + +One of the officers stepped closer. The condemned man riveted his gaze +upon him, and held out his hands helplessly; the officer leaned +forward, and adjusted the handcuffs. Then came the sharp click of +their teeth, like the snap of a hungry wolf. + +The two men,--the criminal judged according to the law, and the +sheriff, its executor,--chained by their wrists, wheeled about and +faced the crowd. The constables raised their staffs, formed a guard, +and forced a way through the crowd, the silent gallery following with +their eyes until the door closed upon them. + +Then through the gloom there ran the audible shiver of pent-up sighs, +low whispers, and the stretching of tired muscles. + +When I reached the Judge, he was just entering the door of the +anteroom opening into his private quarters. His sunny smile had +returned, although the voice had not altogether regained its former +ring. He said,-- + +"I trust you were not too late. I waited a few minutes, hoping you had +come, and then when it became so dark, I ordered a light lit, but I +couldn't find you in the crowd. Come in. Let me present you to the +district attorney and to the young lawyer whom I appointed to defend +the prisoner. While I was passing sentence, they were discussing the +verdict. Were you in time for the sentence?" he continued. + +"No," I answered, after shaking hands with both gentlemen and taking +the chair which one of them offered me, "only the last part. But I saw +the man before they led him away, and I must say he didn't look much +like a criminal. Tell me something about the murder," and I turned to +the young lawyer, a smooth-faced young man with long black hair tucked +behind his ears and a frank, open countenance. + +"You'd better ask the district attorney," he answered, with a slight +shrug of his shoulders. "He is the only one about here who seems to +know anything about the _murder_; my client, Crouch, didn't, anyhow. I +was counsel for the defense." + +He spoke with some feeling, and I thought with some irritation, but +whether because of his chagrin at losing the case or because of real +sympathy for the negro I could not tell. + +"You seem to forget the jury," answered the district attorney in a +self-satisfied way; "they evidently knew something about it." There +was a certain elation in his manner, as he spoke, that surprised +me--quite as if he had won a bet. That a life had been played for and +lost seemed only to heighten his interest in the game. + +"No, I don't forget the jury," retorted the young man, "and I don't +forget some of the witnesses; nor do I forget what you made them say +and how you got some of them tangled up. That negro is as innocent of +that crime as I am. Don't you think so, Judge?" and he turned to the +table and began gathering up his papers. + +His Honor had settled himself in his chair, the back tipped against +the wall. His old manner had returned, so had the charm of his voice. +He had picked up a reed pipe when he entered the room, and had filled +it with tobacco, which he had broken in finer grains in the palm of +his hand. He was now puffing away steadily to keep it alight. + +"I have no opinion to offer, gentlemen, one way or the other. The +matter, of course, is closed as far as I am concerned. I think you +will both agree, however, whatever may be your personal feelings, that +my rulings were fair. As far as I could see, the witnesses told a +straight story, and upon their evidence the jury brought in the +verdict. I think, too, my charge was just. There was"--here the Judge +puffed away vigorously--"there was, therefore, nothing left for me to +do but"--puff--puff--"to sentence him. Hang that pipe! It won't draw," +and the Judge, with one of his musical laughs, rose from his chair and +pulled a straw from the broom in the corner. + +The district attorney looked at the discomfited opposing counsel and +laughed. Then he added, as an expression of ill-concealed contempt for +his inexperience crept over his face:-- + +"Don't worry over it, my boy. This is one of your first cases, and I +know it comes hard, but you'll get over it before you've tried as many +of them as I have. The nigger hadn't a dollar, and somebody had to +defend him. The Judge appointed you, and you've done your duty well, +and lost--that's all there is to it. But I'll tell you one thing for +your information,"--and his voice assumed a serious tone,--"and one +which you did not notice in this trial, and which you would have done +had you known the ways of these niggers as I do, and it went a long +way with me in establishing his guilt. From the time Crouch was +arrested, down to this very afternoon when the Judge sentenced him, +not one of his people has ever turned up,--no father, mother, wife, +nor child,--not one." + +"That's not news to me," interrupted the young man. "I tried to get +something from Crouch myself, but he wouldn't talk." + +"Of course he wouldn't talk, and you know why; simply because he +didn't want to be spotted for some other crime. This nigger +Crouch"--and the district attorney looked my way--"is a product of the +war, and one of the worst it has given us--a shiftless tramp that +preys on society." His remarks were evidently intended for me, for the +Judge was not listening, nor was the young lawyer. "Most of this class +of criminals have no homes, and if they had they lie about them, so +afraid are they, if they're fortunate enough to be discharged, that +they'll be rearrested for a crime committed somewhere else." + +"Which discharge doesn't very often happen around here," remarked the +young man with a sneer. "Not if you can help it." + +"No, which doesn't very often happen around here _if I can help it_. +You're right. That's what I'm here for," the district attorney +retorted with some irritation. "And now I'll tell you another thing. I +had a second talk with Crouch only this afternoon after the +verdict"--and he turned to me--"while the Judge was lunching with you, +sir, and I begged him, now that it was all over, to send for his +people, but he was stubborn as a mule, and swore he had no one who +would want to see him. I don't suppose he had; he's been an outcast +since he was born." + +"And that's why you worked so hard to hang him, was it?" The young man +was thoroughly angry. I could see the color mount to his cheeks. I +could see, too, that Crouch had no friends, except this young sprig of +the law, who seemed as much chagrined over the loss of his case as +anything else. And yet, I confess, I did not let my sympathies for the +under dog get the better of me. I knew enough of the record of this +new race not to recognize that there could be two sides to questions +like this. + +The district attorney bit his lip at the young man's thrust. Then he +answered him slowly, but without any show of anger:-- + +"You have one thing left, you know. You can ask for a new trial. What +do you say, Judge?" + +The Judge made no answer. He evidently had lost all interest in the +case, for during the discussion he had been engaged in twisting the +end of the straw into the stem of the pipe and peering into the +clogged bowl with one eye shut. + +"And if the Judge granted it, what good would it do?" burst out the +young man as he rose to his feet. "If Sam Crouch had a soul as white +as snow, it wouldn't help him with these juries around here as long as +his skin is the color it is!" and he put on his hat and left the room. + +The Judge looked after him a moment and then said to me,-- + +"Our young men, sir, are impetuous and outspoken, but their hearts are +all right. I haven't a doubt but that Crouch was guilty. He's probably +been a vagrant all his life." + + +III + +Some weeks after these occurrences I was on my way South, and again +found myself within reach of the sleepy old park and the gruesome +court-room. + +I was the only passenger in the Pullman. I had traveled all night in +this royal fashion--a whole car to myself--with the porter, a quiet, +attentive young colored man of perhaps thirty years of age, duly +installed as First Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and I had settled +myself for a morning of seclusion when my privacy was broken in upon +at a way station by the entrance of a young man in a shooting jacket +and cap, and high boots splashed with mud. + +He carried a folding gun in a leather case, an overcoat, and a +game-bag, and was followed by two dogs. The porter relieved him of his +belongings, stowed his gun in the rack, hung his overcoat on the hook, +and distributed the rest of his equipment within reach of his hand. +Then he led the dogs back to the baggage car. + +The next moment the young sportsman glanced over the car, rose from +his seat, and held out his hand. + +"Haven't forgotten me, have you? Met you at the luncheon, you +know--time the Judge was late waiting for the jury to come in." + +To my delight and astonishment it was the young man in the Prince +Albert coat. + +He proved, as the morning wore on, to be a most entertaining young +fellow, telling me of his sport and the birds he had shot, and of how +good one dog was and how stupid the other, and how next week he was +going after ducks down the river, and he described a small club-house +which a dozen of his friends had built, and where, with true Southern +hospitality, he insisted I should join him. + +And then we fell to talking about the luncheon, and what a charming +morning we had spent, and of the pretty girls and the dear +grandmother; and we laughed again over the Judge's stories, and he +told me another, the Judge's last, which he had heard his Honor tell +at another luncheon; and then the porter put up a table, and spread a +cloth, and began opening things with a corkscrew, and filling empty +glasses with crushed ice and other things, and altogether we had a +most comfortable and fraternal and much-to-be-desired half hour. + +Just before he left the train--he had to get out at the junction--some +further reference to the Judge brought to my recollection that ghostly +afternoon in the courtroom. Suddenly the picture of the negro with +that look of stolid resignation on his face came before me. I asked +him if any appeal had been taken in the case as suggested by the +district attorney. + +"Appeal? In the Crouch case? Not much. Hung him high as Haman." + +"When?" + +"'Bout a week ago. And by the way, a very curious thing happened at +the hanging. The first time they strung Crouch up the rope broke and +let him down, and they had to send eight miles for another. While they +were waiting the mail arrived. The post-office was right opposite. In +the bag was a letter for Crouch, care of the warden, but not directed +to the jail. The postmaster brought it over and the warden opened it +and read it to the prisoner, asking him who it was from, and the +nigger said it was from his mother--that the man she worked for had +written it. Of course the warden knew it was from Crouch's girl, for +Crouch had always sworn he had no family, so the Judge told me. Then +Crouch asked the warden if he'd answer it for him before he died. The +warden said he would, and got a sheet of paper, a pen and ink, and +sitting down by Crouch under the gallows asked him what he wanted to +say. And now, here comes the funny part. All that negro wanted to say +was just this:-- + + "'I'm enjoying good health and I hope to see you before long.' + + 'SAM CROUCH.' + +"Then Crouch reached over and took the pen out of the warden's hands, +and marked a cross underneath what the warden had written, and when +the warden asked him what he did that for, he said he wanted his +mother to have something he had touched himself. By that time the new +rope came and they swung him up. Curious, wasn't it? The warden said +it was the funniest message he ever knew a dying nigger to send, and +he'd hung a good many of 'em. It struck me as being some secret kind +of a password. You never can tell about these coons." + +"Did the warden mail it?" + +"Oh, yes, of course he mailed it--warden's square as a brick. Sent it, +of course, care of the man the girl works for. He lives somewhere +around here, or Crouch said he did. Awfully glad to see you again--I +get out here." + +The porter brought in the dogs, I picked up the gun, and we conducted +the young sportsman out of the car and into a buggy waiting for him at +the end of the platform. + +As I entered the car again and waved my hand to him from the open +window, I saw a negro woman dart from out the crowd of loungers, as if +in eager search of some one. She was a tall, bony, ill-formed woman, +wearing the rude garb of a farm hand--blue cotton gown, brown +sunbonnet, and the rough muddy shoes of a man. + +The dress was faded almost white in parts, and patched with different +colors, but looked fresh and clean. It was held together over her flat +bust by big bone buttons. There was neither collar nor belt. The +sleeves were rolled up above the elbows, showing her strong, muscular +arms, tough as rawhide. The hands were large and bony, with big +knuckles, the mark of the hoe in the palms. + +In her eagerness to speak to the porter the sunbonnet had slipped off. +Black as the face was, it brought to my mind, strange to say, those +weather-tanned fishwives of the Normandy coast--those sturdy, patient, +earnest women, accustomed to toil and exposure and to the buffetings +of wind and tempest. + +When the porter appeared on his way back to the car, she sprang +forward, and caught him by the arm. + +"Oh, I'm dat sorry! An' he ain't come wid ye?" she cried. "But ye see +him, didn't ye?" The voice was singularly sweet and musical. "Ye did? +Oh, dat's good." + +As she spoke, a little black bare-legged pickaninny, with one garment, +ran out from behind the corner of the station, and clung to the +woman's skirts, hiding her face in their folds. The woman put her +hard, black hand on the child's cheek, and drew the little woolly head +closer to her side. + +"Well, when's he comin'? I come dis mawnin' jes 's ye tol' me. An' ye +see him, did ye?" she asked with a strange quivering pathos in her +voice. + +"Oh, yes, I see him yisterday." + +The porter's answer was barely audible. I noticed, too, that he looked +away from her as he spoke. + +"An' yer sho' now he ain't come wid ye," and she looked toward the +train as if expecting to find some one. + +"No, he can't come till nex' Saturday," answered the porter. + +"Well, I'm mighty dis'pinted. I been a-waitin' an' a-waitin' till I +_mos_' gin out. Ain't nobody helped me like him. You tol' me las' time +dat he'd be here to-day," and her voice shook. "You tell him I got his +letter an' dat I think 'bout him night an' day, an' dat I'd rudder see +him dan anybody in de worl'. And you tell him--an' doan' ye forgit +dis--dat you see his sister Maria's chile--dis is her--hol' up yer +haid, honey, an' let him see ye. I thought if he come to-day he'd like +to see 'er, 'cause he useter tote her roun' on his back when she +warn't big'r'n a shote. An' ye _see_ him, did ye? Well, I'm mighty +glad o' dat." + +She was bending forward, her great black hand on his wrist, her eyes +fixed on his. Then a startled, anxious look crossed her face. + +"But he ain't sick dat he didn't come? Yo' _sho'_ now, he ain't sick?" + +"Oh, no; never see him lookin' so good." + +The porter was evidently anxious about the train, for he kept backing +away toward his car. + +"Well, den, good-by; but doan' ye forgit. Tell him ye see me an' dat I +'m a-hungerin' for him. You hear, _a-hungerin_' for him, an' dat I +can't git 'long no mo' widout him. Don' ye forgit, now, 'cause I mos' +daid a-waitin' for him. Good-by." + +The train rolled on. She was still on the platform, her gaunt figure +outlined against the morning sky, her eager eyes strained toward us, +the child clutching her skirts. + + * * * * * + +I confess that I have never yet outgrown my affection for the colored +race: an affection at best, perhaps, born of the dim, undefined +memories of my childhood and of an old black mammy--my father's +slave--who crooned over me all day long, and sang me lullabies at +night. + +I am aware, too, that I do not always carry this affectionate sympathy +locked up in a safe, but generally pinned on the outside of my sleeve; +and so it is not surprising, as the hours wore on, and the porter +gradually developed his several capacities for making me comfortable, +that a certain confidence was established between us. + +Then, again, I have always looked upon a Pullman porter as a superior +kind of person--certainly among serving people. He does not often +think so himself, nor does he ever present to the average mind any +marked signs of genius. He is in appearance and deportment very much +like all other uniformed attendants belonging to most of the great +corporations; clean, neatly dressed, polite, watchful, and patient. He +is also indiscriminate in his ministrations; for he will gladly open +the window for No. 10, and as cheerfully close it one minute later for +No. 6. After traveling with him for half a day, you doubtless conclude +that nothing more serious weighs on his mind than the duty of +regulating the temperature of his car, or looking after its linen. But +you are wrong. + +All this time he is classifying you. He really located you when you +entered the car, summing you up as you sought out your berth number. +At his first glance he had divined your station in life by your +clothes, your personal refinement, by your carpet-bag, and your +familiarity with travel by the way you took your seat. The shoes he +will black for you in the still small hours of the morning, when he +has time to think, will give him any other points he requires. + +If they are patched or half-soled, no amount of diamond shirt studs or +watch chain worn with them will save your respectability. If you +should reverse your cuffs before him, or imbibe your stimulants from a +black bottle which you carry in your inside pocket instead of a silver +flask concealed in your bag, no amount of fees will gain for you his +unqualified respect. If none of these delinquencies can be laid to +your account, and he is still in doubt, he waits until you open your +bag. + +Should the first rapid glance betray your cigars packed next to your +shoes, or the handle of a toothbrush thrust into the sponge-bag, or +some other such violation of his standard, your status is fixed; he +knows you. And he does all this while he is bowing and smiling, +bringing you a pillow for your head, opening a transom, or putting up +wire screens to save you from draughts and dust, and all without any +apparent distinction between you and your fellow passengers. + +If you swear at him, he will not answer back, and if you smite him, he +will nine times out of ten turn to you the other cheek. He does all +this because his skin is black, and yours is white, and because he is +the servant and representative of a corporation who will see him +righted, and who are accustomed to hear complaints. Above all, he will +do so because of the wife and children or mother at home in need of +the money he earns, and destined to suffer if he lose his place. + +He has had, too, if you did but know it, a life as interesting, +perhaps, as any of your acquaintances. It is quite within the +possibilities that he has been once or twice to Spain, Italy, or +Egypt, depending on the movements of the master he served; that he can +speak a dozen words or more of Spanish or Italian or pigeon English, +and oftener than not the best English of our public schools; can make +an omelette, sew on a button, or clean a gun, and that in an emergency +or accident (I know of two who lost their lives to save their +passengers) he can be the most helpful, the most loyal, the most human +serving man and friend you can find the world over. + +If you are selfishly intent on your own affairs, and look upon his +civility and his desire to please you as included in the price of your +berth or seat, and decide that any extra service he may render you is +canceled by the miserable twenty-five cents which you give him, you +will know none of these accomplishments nor the spirit that rules +them. + +If, however, you are the kind of man who goes about the world with +your heart unbuttoned and your earflaps open, eager to catch and hold +any little touch of pathos or flash of humor or note of tragedy, you +cannot do better than gain his confidence. + + * * * * * + +I cannot say by what process I accomplished this result with this +particular porter and on this particular train. It may have been the +newness of my shoes, combined with the proper stowing of my toothbrush +and the faultless cut of my pajamas; or it might have been the fact +that he had already divined that I liked his race; but certain it is +that no sooner was the woman out of sight than he came direct to my +seat, and, with a quiver in his voice, said,-- + +"Did you see dat woman I spoke to, suh?" + +"Yes; you didn't seem to want to talk to her." + +"Oh, it warn't dat, suh, but dat woman 'bout breaks my heart. Hadn't +been for de gemman gettin' off here an' me havin' to get his dogs, I +wouldn't 'a' got out de car at all. I hoped she wouldn't come to-day. +I thought she heared 'bout it. Everybody knows it up an' down de road, +an' de papers been full, tho' co'se she can't read. She lives 'bout +ten miles from here, an' she walked in dis mawnin'. Comes every +Saturday. I only makes dis run on Saturday, and she knows de day I'm +comin'." + +"Some trouble?" I asked. + +"Oh, yes, suh, a heap o' trouble; mo' trouble dan she kin stan' when +she knows it. Beats all why nobody ain't done tol' her. I been talkin' +to her every Saturday now for a month, tellin' her I see him an' dat +he's a-comin' down, an' dat he sent her his love, an' once or twice +lately I'd bring her li'l' things he sent her. Co'se _he_ didn't send +'em, 'cause he was whar he couldn't get to 'em, but she didn't know no +better. He's de only son now she'd got, an' he's been mighty good to +her an' dat li'l' chile she had wid her. I knowed him ever since he +worked on de railroad. Mos' all de money he gits he gives to her. If +he done the thing they said he done I ain't got nothin' mo' to say, +but I don't believe he done it, an' never will. I thought maybe dey'd +let him go, an' den he'd come home, an' she wouldn't have to suffer no +mo'; dat made me keep on a-lyin' to her." + +"What's been the matter? Has he been arrested?" + +"'Rested! '_Rested!_ Fo' God, suh, dey done hung him las' week." + +A light began to break in upon me. + +"What was his name?" + +"Same name as his mother's, suh--Sam Crouch." + + + + +"NEVER HAD NO SLEEP" + + +It was on the upper deck of a Chesapeake Bay boat, _en route_ for Old +Point Comfort and Norfolk. I was bound for Norfolk. + +"Kinder ca'm, ain't it?" + +The voice proceeded from a pinched-up old fellow with a colorless +face, straggling white beard, and sharp eyes. He wore a flat-topped +slouch hat resting on his ears, and a red silk handkerchief tied in a +sporting knot around his neck. His teeth were missing, the lips +puckered up like the mouth of a sponge-bag. In his hand he carried a +cane with a round ivory handle. This served as a prop to his mouth, +the puckered lips fumbling about the knob. He was shadowed by an old +woman wearing a shiny brown silk, that glistened like a wet +waterproof, black mitts, poke-bonnet, flat lace collar, and a long +gold watch chain. I had noticed them at supper. She was cutting up his +food. + +"Kinder ca'm, ain't it?" he exclaimed again, looking my way. "Fust +real nat'ral vittles I've eat fur a year. Spect it's ther sea air. +This water's brackish, ain't it?" + +I confirmed his diagnosis of the saline qualities of the Chesapeake, +and asked if he had been an invalid. + +"Waal, I should say so! Bin livin' on hospital mush fur nigh on ter a +year; but, by gum! ter-night I jist said ter Mommie: 'Mommie, shuv +them soft-shells this way. Ain't seen none sence I kep' tavern.'" + +Mommie nodded her head in confirmation, but with an air of "if you're +dead in the morning, don't blame me." + +"What's been the trouble?" I inquired, drawing up a camp stool. + +"Waal, I dunno rightly. Got my stummic out o' gear, throat kinder +weak, and what with the seventies"---- + +"Seventies?" I asked. + +"Yes; had 'em four year. I'm seventy-five nex' buthday. But come ter +sum it all up, what's ther matter with me is I ain't never had no +sleep. Let me sit on t'other side. One ear's stopped workin' this ten +year." + +He moved across and pulled an old cloak around him. + +"Been long without sleep?" I asked sympathetically. + +"'Bout sixty year--mebbe sixty-five." + +I looked at him inquiringly, fearing to break the thread if I jarred +too heavily. + +"Yes, spect it must be more. Well, you keep tally. Five year bootblack +and porter in a tavern in Dover, 'leven year tendin' bar down in +Wilmington, fourteen year bootcherin', nineteen year an' six months +keepin' a roadhouse ten miles from Philadelphy fur ther hucksters +comin' to market--quit las' summer. How much yer got?" + +I nodded, assenting to his estimate of sixty-five years of service, if +he had started when fifteen. + +He ruminated for a time, caressing the ivory ball of his cane with his +uncertain mouth. + +I jogged him again. "Boots and tending bar I should think would be +wakeful, but I didn't suppose butchering and keeping hotel +necessitated late hours." + +"Well, that's 'cause yer don't know. Bootcherin's ther wakefulest +business as is. Now yer a country bootcher, mind--no city beef man, +nor porter-house steak and lamb chops fur clubs an' hotels, but jest +an all-round bootcher--lamb, veal, beef, mebbe once a week, ha'f er +whole, as yer trade goes. Now ye kill when ther sun goes down, so ther +flies can't mummuck 'em. Next yer head and leg 'em, gittin' in in +rough, as we call it--takin' out ther insides an' leavin' ther hide on +ther back. Ye let 'em hang fur four hours, and 'bout midnight ye go at +'em agin, trim an' quarter, an' 'bout four in winter and three in +summer ye open up ther stable with a lantern, git yer stuff in, an' +begin yer rounds." + +"Yes, I see; but keeping hotel isn't"---- + +"Now thar ye're dead out agin. Ye're a-keepin' a roadhouse, mind--one +of them huckster taverns where ha'f yer folks come in 'arly 'bout +sundown and sit up ha'f ther night, and t'other ha'f drive inter yer +yard 'bout midnight an' lie round till daybreak. It's eat er drink all +ther time, and by ther time ye've stood behind ther bar and jerked +down ev'ry bottle on ther shelf, gone out ha'f a dozen times with er +light ter keep some mule from kickin' out yer partitions, got er dozen +winks on er settee in a back room, and then begin bawlin' upstairs, +routin' out two or three hired gals to get 'arly breakfust, ye're nigh +tuckered out. By ther time this gang is fed, here comes another +drivin' in. Oh, thet's a nice quiet life, thet is! I quit las' year, +and me and Mommie is on our way to Old P'int Cumfut. I ain't never bin +thar, but ther name sounded peaceful like, and so I tho't ter try it. +I'm in sarch er sleep, I am. Wust thing 'bout me is, no matter whar +I'm lyin', when it comes three 'clock I'm out of bed. Bin at it all my +life; can't never break it." + +"But you've enjoyed life?" I interpolated. + +"Enj'yed life! Well, p'rhaps, and agin p'rhaps not," looking furtively +at his wife. Then, lowering his voice: "There ain't bin er horse race +within er hundred miles of Philadelphy I ain't tuk in. Enj'y! Well, +don't yer worry." And his sharp eyes snapped. + +I believed him. That accounted for the way the red handkerchief was +tied loosely round his throat--an old road-wagon trick to keep the +dust out. + +For some minutes he nursed his knees with his hands, rocking himself +to and fro, smiling gleefully, thinking, no doubt, of the days he had +speeded down the turnpike, and the seats, too, on the grand stand. + +I jogged him again, venturing the remark that I should think that now +he might try and corral a nap in the daytime. + +The gleeful expression faded instantly. "See here," he said seriously, +laying his hand with a warning gesture on my arm, the ivory knob +popping out of the sponge-bag. "Don't yer never take no sleep in ther +daytime; that's suicide. An' if yer sleep after eatin', that's murder. +Look at me. Kinder peaked, ain't I? Stummic gone, throat busted, mouth +caved in; but I'm seventy-five, ain't I? An' I ain't a wreck yet, am +I? An' a-goin' to Old P'int Cumfut, ain't we, me an' Mommie, who's +sixty---- Never mind, Mommie. I won't give it away"--with a sly wink +at me. The old woman looked relieved. "Now jist s'pose I'd sat all my +life on my back stoop, ha'f awake, an' ev'ry time I eat, lie down an' +go ter sleep. Waal, yer'd never bin talkin' to-night to old Jeb +Walters. They'd 'a' bin fertilizin' gardin truck with him. I've seen +more'n a dozen of my friends die thet way--busted on this back porch +snoozin' business. Fust they git loggy 'bout ther gills; then their +knees begin ter swell; purty soon they're hobblin' round on er cane; +an' fust thing they know they're tucked away in er number thirteen +coffin, an' ther daisies a-bloomin' over 'em. None er that fur me. +Come, Mommie, we'll turn in." + +When the boat, next morning, touched the pier at Old Point, I met the +old fellow and his wife waiting for the plank to be hauled aboard. + +"Did you sleep?" I asked. + +"Sleep? Waal, I could, p'rhaps, if I knowed ther ways aboard this +steamboat. Ther come er nigger to my room 'bout midnight, and wanted +ter know if I was ther gentleman that had lost his carpet-bag--he had +it with him. Waal, of course I warn't; and then 'bout three, jist as I +tho't I was dozin' off agin, ther come ther dangdest poundin' the nex' +room ter mine ye ever heard. Mommie, she said 'twas fire, but I didn't +smell no smoke. Wrong room agin. Feller nex' door was to go ashore in +a scow with some dogs and guns. They'd a-slowed down and was waitin', +an' they couldn't wake him up. Mebbe I'll git some sleep down ter Old +P'int Cumfut, but I ain't spectin' nuthin'. By, by." + +And he disappeared down the gang plank. + + + + +THE MAN WITH THE EMPTY SLEEVE + + +I + +The Doctor closed the book with an angry gesture and handed it to me +as I lay in my steamer chair, my eyes on the tumbling sea. He had read +every line in it. So had P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, whose +property it was, and who had announced himself only a moment before as +heartily in sympathy with the pessimistic views of the author, +especially in those chapters which described domestic life in America. + +The Doctor, who has a wrist of steel and a set of fingers steady +enough to adjust a chronometer, and who, though calm and silent as a +stone god when over an operating table, is often as restless and +outspoken as a boy when something away from it touches his +heartstrings, turned to me and said:-- + +"There ought to be a law passed to keep these men out of the United +States. Here's a Frenchman, now, who speaks no language but his own, +and after spending a week at Newport, another at New York, two days at +Niagara, and then rushing through the West on a 'Limited,' goes home +to give his Impressions of America. Read that chapter on Manners," and +he stretched a hand over my shoulder, turning the leaves quickly with +his fingers. "You would think, to listen to these fellows, that all +there is to a man is the cut of his coat or the way he takes his soup. +Not a line about his being clean and square and alive and all a +man,--just manners! Why, it is enough to make a cast-iron dog bite a +blind man." + +It would be a waste of time to criticise the Doctor for these +irrelevant verbal explosives. Indefensible as they are, they are as +much parts of his individuality as the deftness of his touch and the +fearlessness of his methods are parts of his surgical training. + +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, looked at the Doctor with a slight +lifting of his upper lip and a commiserating droop of the eyelid,--an +expression indicating, of course, a consciousness of that superior +birth and breeding which prevented the possibility of such outbreaks. +It was a manner he sometimes assumed toward the Doctor, although they +were good friends. P. Wooverman and the Doctor are fellow townsmen and +members of the same set, and members, too, of the same club,--a most +exclusive club of one hundred. The Doctor had gained admission, not +because of his ancestors, etc. (see Log of the Mayflower), but because +he had been the first and only American surgeon who had removed some +very desirable portions of a gentleman's interior, had washed and +ironed them and scalloped their edges, for all I know, and had then +replaced them, without being obliged to sign the patient's death +certificate the next day. + +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, on the other hand, had gained +admission because of--well, Todd's birth and his position (he came of +an old Salem family who did something in whale oil,--not fish or +groceries, be it understood); his faultless attire, correct speech, +and knowledge of manners and men; his ability to spend his summers in +England and his winters in Nice; his extensive acquaintance among +distinguished people,--the very most distinguished, I know, for Todd +has told me so himself,--and--well, all these must certainly be +considered sufficient qualifications to entitle any man to membership +in almost any club in the world. + +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, I say, elevated his upper lip and +drooped his eyelid, remarking with a slight Beacon Street accent:-- + +"I cawn't agree with you, my dear Doctor,"--there were often traces of +the manners and the bearing of a member of the Upper House in Todd, +especially when he talked to a man like the Doctor, who wore +turned-down collars and detached cuffs, and who, to quote the +distinguished Bostonian, "threw words about like a coal heaver,"--"I +cawn't agree with you, I say. It isn't the obzervar that we should +criticise; it is what he finds." P. Wooverman was speaking with his +best accent. Somehow, the Doctor's bluntness made him over-accentuate +it,--particularly when there were listeners about. "This French critic +is a man of distinction and a member of the most excloosive circles in +Europe. I have met him myself repeatedly, although I cawn't say I know +him. We Americans are too sensitive, my dear Doctor. His book, to me, +is the work of a keen obzervar who knows the world, and who sees how +woefully lacking we are in some of the common civilities of life," and +he smiled faintly at me, as if confident that I shared his opinion of +the Doctor's own short-comings. "This Frenchman does not lay it on a +bit too thick. Nothing is so mortifying to me as being obliged to +travel with a party of Americans who are making their first tour +abroad. And it is quite impossible to avoid them, for they all have +money and can go where they please. I remember once coming from Basle +to Paris, in a first-class carriage,--it was only larst summer,--with +a fellow from Indiana or Michigan, or somewhere out there. He had a +wife with him who looked like a cook, and a daughter about ten years +old, who was a most objectionable young person. You could hear them +talk all over the train. I shouldn't have minded it so much, but Lord +Norton's harf-brother was with me,"--and P. Wooverman Shaw Todd +glanced, as he spoke, at a thin lady with a smelling bottle and an air +of reserve, who always sat with a maid beside her, to see if she were +looking at him,--"and one of the best bred men in England, too, and a +man who"---- + +"Now hold on, Todd," broke in the Doctor, upon whom neither the thin +lady nor any other listener had made the slightest impression. "No +glittering generalities with me. Just tell me in so many plain words +what this man's vulgarity consisted of." + +"Why, his manners, his dress, Doctor,--everything about him," retorted +Todd. + +"Just as I thought! All you think about is manners, only manners!" +exploded the Doctor. "Your Westerner, no doubt, was a hard-fisted, +weather-tanned farmer, who had worked all his life to get money enough +to take his wife and child abroad. The wife had tended the dairy and +no doubt milked ten cows, and in their old age they both wanted to see +something of the world they had heard about. So off they go. If you +had any common sense or anything that brought you in touch with your +kind, Todd, and had met that man on his own level, instead of +overawing him with your high-daddy airs, he would have told you that +both the wife and he were determined that the little girl should have +a better start in life than their own, and that this trip was part of +her education. Do you know any other working people,"--and the Doctor +faced him squarely,--"any Dutch, or French, or English, Esquimaux or +Hottentots, who take their wives and children ten thousand miles to +educate them? If I had my way with the shaping of the higher education +of the country, the first thing I would teach a boy would be to learn +to work, and with his hands, too. We have raised our heroes from the +soil,--not from the easy-chairs of our clubs,"--and he looked at Todd +with his eyebrows knotted tight. "Let the boy get down and smell the +earth, and let him get down to the level of his kind, helping the +weaker man all the time and never forgetting the other fellow. When he +learns to do this he will begin to know what it is to be a man, and +not a manikin." + +When the Doctor is mounted on any one of his hobbies,--whether it is a +new microbe, Wagner, or the rights of the working-man,--he is apt to +take the bit in his teeth and clear fences. As he finished speaking, +two or three of the occupants of contiguous chairs laid down their +books to listen. The thin lady with the smelling bottle and the maid +remarked in an undertone to another exclusive passenger on the other +side of her, in diamonds and white ermine cape,--it was raining at the +time,--that "one need not travel in a first-class carriage to find +vulgar Americans," and she glanced from the Doctor to a group of young +girls and young men who were laughing as heartily and as merrily, and +perhaps as noisily, as if they were sitting on their own front porches +at their Southern homes. + +Another passenger--who turned out later to be a college +professor--said casually, this time to me, that he thought good and +bad manners were to be determined, not by externals, but by what lay +underneath; that neither dress, language, nor habits fixed or marred +the standard. "A high-class Turk, now," and he lowered his voice, +"would be considered ill bred by some people, because in the seclusion +of his own family he helps himself with his fingers from the common +dish; and yet so punctiliously polite and courteous is he that he +never sits down in his father's presence nor lights a cigarette +without craving his permission." + +After this the talk became general, the group taking sides; some +supporting the outspoken Doctor in his blunt defense of his +countrymen, others siding with the immaculately dressed Todd, so +correct in his every appointment that he was never known, during the +whole voyage, to wear a pair of socks that did not in color and design +match his cravat. + + * * * * * + +The chief steward had given us seats at the end of one of the small +tables. The Doctor sat under the porthole, and Todd and I had the +chairs on either side of him. The two end seats--those on the +aisle--were occupied by a girl of twenty-five, simply clad in a plain +black dress with plainer linen collar and cuffs, and a young German. +The girl would always arrive late, and would sink into her revolving +chair with a languid movement, as if the voyage had told upon her. +Often her face was pale and her eyes were heavy and red, as if from +want of sleep. The young German--a Baron von Hoffbein, the passenger +list said--was one of those self-possessed, good-natured, pink-cheeked +young Teutons, with blue eyes, blond hair, and a tiny waxed mustache, +a mere circumflex accent of a mustache, over his "o" of a mouth. His +sponsors in baptism had doubtless sent him across the sea to chase the +wild boar or the rude buffalo, with the ultimate design, perhaps, of +founding a brewery in some Western city. + +The manners of this young aristocrat toward the girl were an especial +source of delight to Todd, who watched his every movement with the +keenest interest. Whenever the baron approached the table he would +hesitate a moment, as if in doubt as to which particular chair he +should occupy, and, with an apologetic hand on his heart and a slight +bow, drop into a seat immediately opposite hers. Then he would raise a +long, thin arm aloft and snap his fingers to call a passing waiter. I +noticed that he always ordered the same breakfast, beginning with cold +sausage and ending with pancakes. During the repast the young girl +opposite him would talk to him in a simple, straightforward way, quite +as a sister would have done, and without the slightest trace of either +coquetry or undue reserve. + +When we were five days out, a third person occupied a seat at one side +of the young woman. He was a man of perhaps sixty years of age, with +big shoulders and big body, and a great round head covered with a mass +of dull white hair which fell about his neck and forehead. The +newcomer was dressed in a suit of gray cloth, much worn and badly cut, +the coat collar, by reason of the misfit, being hunched up under his +hair. This gave him the appearance of a man without a shirt collar, +until a turn of his head revealed his clean starched linen and narrow +black cravat. He looked like a plain, well-to-do manufacturer or +contractor, one whose earlier years had been spent in the out of +doors; for the weather had left its mark on his neck, where one can +always look for signs of a man's manner of life. His was that of a man +who had worn low-collared flannel shirts most of his days. He had, +too, a look of determination, as if he had been accustomed to be +obeyed. He was evidently an invalid, for his cheeks were sunken and +pale, with the pallor that comes of long confinement. + +Apart from these characteristics there was nothing specially +remarkable about him except the two cavernous eye sockets, sunk in his +head, the shaggy eyebrows arched above them, and the two eyes which +blazed and flashed with the inward fire of black opals. As these +rested first on one object and then on another, brightening or paling +as he moved his head, I could not but think of the action of some +alert searchlight gleaming out of a misty night. + +As soon as he took his seat, the young woman, whose face for the first +time since she had been on board had lost its look of anxiety and +fatigue, leaned over him smilingly and began adjusting a napkin about +his throat and pinning it to his coat. He smiled in response as she +finished--a smile of singular sweetness--and held her hand until she +regained her seat. They seemed as happy as children or as two lovers, +laughing with each other, he now and then stopping to stroke her hand +at some word which I could not hear. When, a moment after, the von +Hoffbein took his accustomed seat, in full dress, too,--a red silk +lining to his waistcoat, and a red silk handkerchief tucked in above +it and worn liver-pad fashion,--the girl said simply, looking toward +the man in gray, "My father, sir;" whereupon the young fellow shot up +out of his chair, clicked his heels together, crooked his back, placed +two fingers on his right eyebrow, and sat down again. The man in gray +looked at him curiously and held out his hand, remarking that he was +pleased to meet him. + +Todd was also watching the group, for I heard him say to the Doctor: +"These high-class Germans seldom forget themselves. The young baron +saluted the old duffer with the bib as though he were his superior +officer." + +"Shouldn't wonder if he were," replied the Doctor, who had been +looking intently over his soup spoon at the man in gray, and who was +now summing up the circumflex accent, the red edges of the waistcoat, +the liver-pad handkerchief, and the rest of von Hoffbein. + +"You don't like him, evidently, my dear Doctor." + +"You saw him first, Todd--you can have him. I prefer the old duffer, +as you call him," answered the Doctor dryly, and put an end to the +talk in that direction. + +Soon the hum of voices filled the saloon, rising above the clatter of +the dishes and the occasional popping of corks. The baron and the man +in gray had entered into conversation almost at once, and could be +distinctly heard from where we sat, particularly the older man, who +was doubtless unconscious of the carrying power of his voice. Such +words as "working classes," "the people," "democracy," "when I was in +Germany," etc., intermingling with the high-keyed tones of the baron's +broken English, were noticeable above the din; the young girl +listening smilingly, her eyes on those of her father. Then I saw the +gray man bend forward, and heard him say with great earnestness, and +in a voice that could be heard by the occupants of all the tables near +our own:-- + +"It is a great thing to be an American, sir. I never realized it until +I saw how things were managed on the other side. It must take all the +ambition out of a man not to be able to do what he wants to do and +what he knows he can do better than anybody else, simply because +somebody higher than he says he shan't. We have our periods of unrest, +and our workers sometimes lose their heads, but we always come out +right in the end. There is no place in the world where a man has such +opportunities as in my country. All he wants is brains and some little +horse sense,--the country will do the rest." + +Our end of the table had stopped to listen; so had the occupants of +the tables on either side; so had Todd, who was patting the Doctor's +arm, his face beaming. + +"Listen to him, Doctor! Hear that voice! How like a traveling +American! There's one of your ex_traw_d'nary clay-soiled sons of toil +out on an educating tour: aren't you proud of him? Oh, it's too +delicious!" + +For once I agreed with Todd. The peculiar strident tones of the man in +gray had jarred upon my nerves. I saw too, that one lady, with +slightly elevated shoulder, had turned her back and was addressing her +neighbor. + +The Doctor had not taken his eyes from the gray man, and had not lost +a word of his talk. As Todd finished speaking, the daughter, with all +tenderness and with a pleased glance into her father's eyes, arose, +and putting her hand in his helped him to his feet, the baron standing +at "attention." As the American started to leave the table, and his +big shaggy head and broad shoulders reached their full height, the +Doctor leaned forward, craning his head eagerly. Then he turned to +Todd, and in his crisp, incisive way said: "Todd, the matter with you +is that you never see any further than your nose. You ought to be +ashamed of yourself. Look at his empty sleeve; off at the shoulder, +too!" + + +II + +In the smoking-room that night a new and peculiar variety of passenger +made his appearance, and his first one--to me--although we were then +within two days of Sandy Hook. This individual wore a check suit of +the latest London cut, big broad-soled Piccadilly shoes, and smoked a +brierwood pipe which he constantly filled from a rubber pouch carried +in his waistcoat pocket. When I first noticed him, he was sitting at a +table with two Englishmen drinking brandy-and-sodas,--plural, not +singular. + +The Doctor, Todd, and I were at an adjoining table: the Doctor +immersed in a scientific pamphlet, Todd sipping his crème de menthe, +and I my coffee. Over in one corner were a group of drummers playing +poker. They had not left the spot since we started, except at +meal-time and at midnight, when Fritz, the smoking-room steward, had +turned them out to air the room. Scattered about were other +passengers--some reading, some playing checkers or backgammon, others +asleep, among them the pink-cheeked von Hoffbein, who lay sprawled out +on one of the leather-covered sofas, his thin legs spread apart like +the letter A, as he emitted long-drawn organ tones, with only the nose +stop pulled out. + +The party of Englishmen, by reason of the unlimited number of +brandy-and-sodas which their comrade in the check suit had ordered for +them, were more or less noisy, laughing a good deal. They had +attracted the attention of the whole room, many of the old-timers +wondering how long it would be before the third officer would tap the +check suit on the shoulder, and send it and him to bed under charge of +a steward. The constant admonitions of his companions seemed to have +had no effect upon the gentleman in question, for he suddenly launched +out upon such topics as Colonial Policies and Governments and Taxation +and Modern Fleets; addressing his remarks, not to his two friends, but +to the room at large. + +According to my own experience, the traveling Englishman is a quiet, +well-bred, reticent man, brandy-and-soda proof (I have seen him drink +a dozen of an evening without a droop of an eyelid); and if he has any +positive convictions of the superiority of that section of the +Anglo-Saxon race to which he belongs,--and he invariably has,--he +keeps them to himself, certainly in the public smoking-room of a +steamer filled with men of a dozen different nations. The outbreak, as +well as the effect of the incentive, was therefore as unexpected as it +was unusual. + +The check-suit man, however, was not constructed along these lines. +The spirit of old Hennessy was in his veins, the stored energy of many +sodas pressed against his tongue, and an explosion was inevitable. No +portion of these excitants, strange to say, had leaked into his legs, +for outwardly he was as steady as an undertaker. He began again, his +voice pitched in a high key:-- + +"Talk of coercing England! Why, we've got a hundred and forty-one +ships of the line, within ten days' sail of New York, that could blow +the bloody stuffin' out of every man Jack of 'em. And we don't care a +brass farthing what Uncle Sam says about it, either." + +His two friends tried to keep him quiet, but he broke out again on +Colonization and American Treachery and Conquest of Cuba; and so, +being desirous to read in peace, I nodded to the Doctor and Todd, +picked up my book, and drew up a steamer chair on the deck outside, +under one of the electric lights. + +I had hardly settled myself in my seat when a great shout went up from +the smoking-room that sent every one running down the deck, and jammed +the portholes and doors of the room with curious faces. Then I heard a +voice rise clear above the noise inside: "Not another word, sir; you +don't know what you are talking about. We Americans don't rob people +we give our lives to free." + +I forced my way past the door, and stepped inside. The Englishman was +being held down in his chair by his two friends. In his effort to +break loose he had wormed himself out of his coat. Beside their table, +close enough to put his hand on any one of them, stood the Doctor, a +curious set expression on his face. Todd was outside the circle, +standing on a sofa to get a better view. + +Towering above the Englishman, his eyes burning, his shaggy hair about +his face, his whole figure tense with indignation, was the man with +the empty sleeve! Close behind him, cool, polite, straight as a +gendarme, and with the look in his eye of a cat about to spring, stood +the young baron. As I reached the centre of the mêlée, wondering what +had been the provocation and who had struck the first blow, I saw the +baron lean forward, and heard him say in a low voice to one of the +Englishmen, "He is so old as to be his fadder; take me," and he tapped +his chest meaningly with his fingers. Evidently he had not fenced at +Heidelberg for nothing, if he did have pink cheeks and pipestem legs. + +The old man turned and laid his hand on the baron's shoulder. "I thank +you, sir, but I'll attend to this young man." His voice had lost all +its rasping quality now. It was low and concentrated, like that of one +accustomed to command. "Take your hands off him, gentlemen, if you +please. I don't think he has so far lost his senses as to strike a man +twice his age and with one arm. Now, sir, you will apologize to me, +and to the room, and to your own friends, who must be heartily ashamed +of your conduct." + +At the bottom of almost every Anglo-Saxon is a bed rock of common +sense that you reach through the shifting sands of prejudice with the +probe of fair play. The young man in the check suit, who was now on +his feet, looked the speaker straight in the eye, and, half drunk as +he was, held out his hand. "I'm sorry, sir, I offended you. I was +speaking to my friends here, and I did not know any Americans were +present." + +"Bravo!" yelled the Doctor. "What did I tell you Todd? That's the kind +of stuff! Now, gentlemen, all together--three cheers for the man with +the empty sleeve!" + +Everybody broke out with another shout--all but Todd, who had not made +the slightest response to the Doctor's invitation to loosen his legs +and his lungs. He did not show the slightest emotion over the fracas, +and, moreover, seemed to have become suddenly disgusted with the +baron. + +Then the Doctor grasped the young German by the hand, and said how +glad he was to know him, and how delighted he would be if he would +join them and "take something,"--all of which the young man accepted +with a frank, pleased look on his face. + +When the room had resumed its normal conditions, all three Englishmen +having disappeared, the Doctor, whose enthusiasm over the incident had +somehow paved the way for closer acquaintance, introduced me in the +same informal way both to the baron and to the hero of the occasion, +as "a brother American," and we all sat down beside the old man, his +face lighting up with a smile as he made room for us. Then laying his +hand on my knee, with the manner of an older man, he said: "I ought +not to have given way, perhaps; but the truth is, I'm not accustomed +to hear such things at home. I did not know until I got close to him +that he had been drinking, or I might have let it pass. I suppose this +kind of talk may always go on in the smoking-room of these steamers. I +don't know, for it's my first trip abroad, and on the way out I was +too ill to leave my berth. To-night is the first time I've been in +here. It was bad for me, I suppose. I've been ill all"---- + +He stopped suddenly, caught his breath quickly, and his hand fell from +my knee. For a moment he sat leaning forward, breathing heavily. + +I sprang up, thinking he was about to faint. The baron started for a +glass of water. The old man raised his hand. + +"No, don't be alarmed, gentlemen; it is nothing. I am subject to these +attacks; it will pass off in a moment," and he glanced around the room +as if to assure himself that no one but ourselves had noticed it. + +"The excitement was too much for you," the Doctor said gravely, in an +undertone. His trained eye had caught the peculiar pallor of the face. +"You must not excite yourself so." + +"Yes, I know,--the heart," he said after a pause, speaking with short, +indrawn breaths, and straightening himself slowly and painfully until +he had regained his old erect position. After a little while he put +his hand again on my knee, with an added graciousness in his manner, +as if in apology for the shock he had given me. "It's passing +off,--yes, I'm better now." Then, in a more cheerful tone, as if to +change the subject, he added: "My steward tells me that we made four +hundred and fifty-two miles yesterday. This makes my little girl +happy. She's had an anxious summer, and I'm glad this part of it is +over. Yes, she's _very_ happy to-day." + +"You mean on account of your health?" I asked sympathetically; +although I remembered afterward that I had not caught his meaning. + +"Well, not so much that, for that can never be any better, but on +account of our being so near home,--only two days more. I couldn't +bear to leave her alone on ship-board, but it's all right now. You +see, there are only two of us since her mother died." His voice fell, +and for the first time I saw a shade of sadness cross his face. The +Doctor saw it too, for there was a slight quaver in his voice when he +said, as he rose, that his stateroom was No. 13, and he would be happy +to be called upon at any time, day or night, whenever he could be of +service; then he resumed his former seat under the light, and +apparently his pamphlet, although I could see his eyes were constantly +fixed on the pallid face. + +The baron and I kept our seats, and I ordered three of something from +Fritz, as further excuse for tarrying beside the invalid. I wanted to +know something more of a man who was willing to fight the universe +with one arm in defense of his country's good name, though I was still +in the dark as to what had been the provocation. All I could gather +from the young baron, in his broken English, was that the Englishman +had maligned the motives of our government in helping the Cubans, and +that the old man had flamed out, astounding the room with the power of +his invective and thorough mastery of the subject, and compelling +their admiration by the genuineness of his outburst. + +"I see you have lost your arm," I began, hoping to get some further +facts regarding himself. + +"Yes, some years ago," he answered simply, but with a tone that +implied he did not care to discuss either the cause or the incidents +connected with its loss. + +"An accident?" I asked. The empty sleeve seemed suddenly to have a +peculiar fascination for me. + +"Yes, partly," and, smiling gravely, he rose from his seat, saying +that he must rejoin his daughter, who might be worrying. He bade the +occupants of the room good-night, many of whom, including the baron +and the Doctor, rose to their feet,--the baron saluting, and following +the old man out, as if he had been his superior officer. + +With the closing of the smoking-room door, P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, +Esquire, roused himself from his chair, walked toward the Doctor, and +sat down beside him. + +"Well! I must say that I'm glad that man's gone!" he burst out. "I +have never seen anything more outrageous than this whole performance. +This fire eater ought to travel about with a guardian. Suppose, now, +my dear Doctor, that everybody went about with these absurd +ideas,--what a place the world would be to live in! This is the worst +American I have met yet. And see what an example; even the young baron +lost his head, I am sorry to say. I heard the young Englishman's +remark. It was, I admit, indiscreet, but no part of it was addressed +to this very peculiar person; and it is just like that kind of an +American, full of bombast and bluster, to feel offended. Besides, +every word the young man said was true. There is a great deal of +politics in this Cuban business,--you know it, and I know it. We have +no men trained for colonial life, and we never shall have, so long as +our better class keep aloof from politics. The island will be made a +camping-ground for vulgar politicians--no question about it. Think, +now, of sending that firebrand among those people. You can see by his +very appearance that he has never done anything better than astonish +the loungers about a country stove. As for all this fuss about his +empty sleeve, no doubt some other fire eater put a bullet through it +in defense of what such kind of people call their honor. It is too +farcical for words, my dear Doctor,--too farcical for words," and P. +Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, pulled his steamer cap over his eyes, +jumped to his feet, and stalked out of the room. + +The Doctor looked after Todd until he had disappeared. Then he turned +to his pamphlet again. There was evidently no composite, explosive +epithet deadly enough within reach at the moment, or there is not the +slightest doubt in my mind that he would have demolished Todd with it. + +Todd's departure made another vacancy at our table, and a tall man, +who had applauded the loudest at the apology of the Englishman, +dropped into Todd's empty chair, addressing the Doctor as representing +our party. + +"I suppose you know who the old man is, don't you?" + +"No." + +"That's John Stedman, manager of the Union Iron Works of Parkinton, a +manufacturing town in my State. He's one of the best iron men in the +country. Fine old fellow, isn't he? He's been ill ever since his wife +died, and I don't think he'll ever get over it. She had been sick for +years, and he nursed her day and night. He wouldn't go to Congress, +preferring to stay by her, and it almost broke his heart when she +died. Poor old man,--don't look as if he was long for this world. I +expected him to mop up the floor with that Englishman, sick as he is; +and he would, if he hadn't apologized. I heard, too, what your friend +who has just gone out said about Stedman not being the kind of a man +to send to Cuba. I tell you, they might look the country over, and +they couldn't find a better. That's been his strong hold, +straightening out troubles of one kind or another. Everybody believes +in him, and anybody takes his word. He's done a power of good in our +State." + +"In what way?" asked the Doctor. + +"Oh, in settling strikes, for one thing. You see, he started from the +scrap pile, and he knows the laboring man down to a dot, for he +carried a dinner pail himself for ten years of his life. When the men +are imposed upon he stands by 'em, and compels the manufacturers to +deal square; and if they don't, he joins the men and fights it out +with the bosses. If the men are wrong, and want what the furnaces +can't give 'em,--and there's been a good deal of that lately,--he +sails into the gangs, and, if nothing else will do, he gets a gun and +joins the sheriffs. He was all through that last strike we had, three +years ago, and it would be going on now but for John Stedman." + +"But he seems to be a man of fine education," interrupted the Doctor, +who was listening attentively. + +"Yes, so he is,--learned it all at night schools. When he was a boy he +used to fire the kilns, and they say you could always find him with a +spelling-book in one hand and a chunk of wood in the other, reading +nights by the light of the kiln fires." + +"You say he went to Congress?" The Doctor's eyes were now fixed on the +speaker. + +"No, I said he _would_n't go. His wife was taken sick about that +time, and when he found she wasn't going to get well,--she had lung +trouble,--he told the committee that he wouldn't accept the +nomination; and of course nomination meant election for him. He told +'em his wife had stuck by him all her life, had washed his flannel +shirts for him and cooked his dinner, and that he was going to stick +by her now she was down. But I tell you what he did do: he stumped +the district for his opponent, because he said he was a better man +than his own party put up,--and elected him, too. That was just like +John Stedman. The heelers were pretty savage, but that made no +difference to him. + +"He's never recovered from his wife's death. That daughter with him is +the only child he's got. She's been so afraid he'd die on board and +have to be buried at sea that he's kept his berth just to please her. +The doctor at home told him Carlsbad was his only chance, and the +daughter begged so he made the trip. He was so sick when he went out +that he took a coffin with him,--it's in the hold now. I heard him +tell his daughter this morning that it was all right now, and he +thought he'd get up. You see, there are only two days more, and the +captain promised the daughter not to bury her father at sea when we +were that close to land. Stedman smiled when he told me, but that's +just like him; he's always been cool as a cucumber." + +"How did he lose his arm?" I inquired. I had been strangely absorbed +in what he had told me. "In the war?" + +"No. He served two years, but that's not how he lost his arm. He lost +it saving the lives of some of his men. I happened to be up at +Parkinton at the time, buying some coke, and I saw him carried out. It +was about ten years ago. He had invented a new furnace; 'most all the +new wrinkles they've got at the Union Company Stedman made for 'em. +When they got ready to draw the charge,--that's when the red-hot iron +is about to flow out of the furnace, you know, the outlet got clogged. +That's a bad thing to happen to a furnace; for if a chill should set +in, the whole plant would be ruined. Then, again, it might explode and +tear everything to pieces. Some of the men jumped into the pit with +their crowbars, and began to jab away at the opening in the wrong +place, and the metal started with a rush. Stedman hollered to 'em to +stop; but they either didn't hear him or wouldn't mind. Then he jumped +in among them, threw them out of the way, grabbed a crowbar, and +fought the flow until they all got out safe. But the hot metal had +about cooked his arm clear to the elbow before he let go." + +The Doctor, with hands deep in his pockets, began pacing the floor. +Then he stopped, and, looking down at me, said slowly, pointing off +his fingers one after the other to keep count as he talked:-- + +"Tender and loyal to his wife--thoughtful of his child--facing death +like a hero--a soldier and patriot. What is there in the make-up of a +gentleman that this man hasn't got? + +"Come! Let's go out and find that high-collared, silk-stockinged, +sweet-scented Anglomaniac from Salem! By the Eternal, Todd's got to +apologize!" + + + + +"TINCTER OV IRON" + + +It was in an old town in Connecticut. Marbles kept the shop. "Joseph +Marbles, Shipwright and Blacksmith," the sign read. + +I knew Joe. He had repaired one of the lighters used in carrying +materials for the foundation of the lighthouse I was building. The +town lay in the barren end of the State, where they raised rocks +enough to make four stone fences to the acre. Joe always looked to me +as if he had lived off the crop. The diet never affected his temper +nor hardened his heart, so far as I could see. It was his body, his +long, lean, lank body, that suggested the stone diet. + +In his early days Joe had married a helpmate. She had lasted until the +beginning of the third year, and then she had been carried to the +cemetery on the hill, and another stone, and a new one, added to the +general assortment. This matrimonial episode was his last. + +This wife was a constant topic with Marbles. He would never speak of +her as a part of his life, one who had shared his bed and board, and +therefore entitled to his love and reverent remembrance. It was rather +as an appendage to his household, a curiosity, a natural freak, as one +would discuss the habits of a chimpanzee, and with a certain pity, +too, for the poor creature whom he had housed, fed, poked at, humored, +and then buried. + +And yet with it all I could always see that nothing else in his life +had made so profound an impression upon him as the companionship of +this "poor creeter," and that underneath his sparsely covered ribs +there still glowed a spot for the woman who had given him her youth. + +He would say, "It wuz one ov them days when she wouldn't eat, or it +was kind o' cur'us to watch her go on when she had one ov them +tantrums." Sometimes he would recount some joke he had played upon +her, rubbing his ribs in glee--holding his sides would have been a +superfluous act and the statement here erroneous. + +"That wuz when she fust come, yer know," he said to me one day, +leaning against an old boat, his adze in his hand. "Her folks belonged +over to Westerly. I never had seen much ov wimmen, and didn't know +their ways. But I tell yer she wuz a queer 'un, allers imaginin' she +wuz ailin', er had heart disease when she got out er breath runnin' +upstairs, er as'mer, er lumbago, er somethin' else dreadful. She wuz +the cur'usest critter too to take medicin' ye ever see. She never +ailed none really 'cept when she broke her coller bone a-fallin' +downstairs, and in the last sickness, the one that killed her, but she +believed all the time she wuz, which was wuss. Every time the druggist +would git out a new red card and stick it in his winder, with a cure +fer cold, or chilblains, er croup, er e'sipelas, she'd go and buy it, +an' out 'd cum ther cork, and she a-tastin' ov it 'fore she got hum. +She used ter rub herself with St. Jiminy's intment, and soak her feet +in sea-salt, and cover herself with plasters till yer couldn't rest. +Why, ther cum a feller once who painted a yaller sign on ther whole +side ov Buckley's barn--cure fer spiral meningeetius,--and she wuz +nigh crazy till she had found out where ther pain ought ter be, and +had clapped er plaster on her back and front, persuadin' herself she +had it. That's how she bruk her coller bone, a-runnin' fer hot water +to soak 'em off, they burnt so, and stumblin' over a kit ov tools I +had brung hum to do a job around the house. After this she begun ter +run down so, and git so thin and peaked, I begun to think she really +wuz goin' ter be sick, after all, jest fer a change. + +"When ther doctor come he sed it warn't nothin' but druggist's truck +that ailed her, and he throwed what there wuz out er ther winder, and +give her a tonic--Tincter ov Iron he called it. Well, yer never see a +woman hug a thing as she did that bottle. It was a spoonful three +times a day, and then she'd reach out fer it in ther night, vowin' it +was doin' her a heap er good, and I a-gettin' ther bottle filled at +Sarcy's ther druggist's, and payin' fifty cents every time he put er +new cork in it. I tried ter reason with her, but it warn't no use; she +would have it, and if she could have got outer bed and looked round at +the spring crop of advertisements on ther fences, she would hev struck +somethin' worse. So I let her run on until she tuk about seven +dollars' wuth of Tincter, and then I dropped in ter Sarcy's. 'Sarcy,' +sez I, 'can't ye wholesale this, er sell it by the quart? If the ole +woman's coller bone don't get ter runnin' easy purty soon I'll be +broke.' + +"'Well,' he said, 'if I bought a dozen it might come cheaper, but it +wuz a mighty pertic'ler medicine, and had ter be fixed jest so.' + +"''Taint pizen, is it?' I sez, 'thet's got ter be fixed so all-fired +kerful?' He 'lowed it warn't, and thet ye might take er barrel of it +and it wouldn't kill yer, but all ther same it has ter be made mighty +pertic'ler. + +"'Well, iron's cheap enough,' I sez, 'and strengthenin' too. If it's +ther Tincter thet costs so, don't put so much in.' Well, he laffed, +and said ther warn't no real iron in it, only Tincter, kinder iron +soakage like, same es er drawin' ov tea. + +"Goin' home thet night I got ter thinkin'. I'd been round iron all my +life and knowed its ways, but I hadn't struck no Tincter as I knowed +ov. When she fell asleep I poured out a leetle in another bottle and +slid it in my trousers pocket, an' next day, down ter ther shop, I +tasted ov it and held it up ter ther light. It was kind er persimmony +and dark-lookin', ez if it had rusty nails in it; and so thet night +when I goes hum I sez ter her, 'Down ter ther other druggist's I kin +git twice as much Tincter fer fifty cents as I kin at Sarcy's, and if +yer don't mind I'll git it filled there.' Well, she never kicked a +stroke, 'cept to say I'd better hurry, fer she hadn't had a spoonful +sence daylight, and she wuz beginnin' ter feel faint. When the whistle +blew I cum hum ter dinner, and sot the new bottle, about twice as big +as the other one, beside her bed. + +"'How's that?' I sez. 'It's a leetle grain darker and more muddy like, +but the new druggist sez thet's the Tincter, and thet's what's doin' +ov yer good.' Well, she never suspicioned; jest kept on, night and +day, wrappin' herself round it every two er three hours, I gettin' it +filled regerlar and she a-empt'in' ov it. + +"'Bout four weeks arter that she begun to git around, and then she'd +walk out ez fur ez ther shipyard fence, and then, begosh, she begun to +flesh up so as you wouldn't know her. Now an' then she'd meet the +doctor, and she'd say how she'd never a-lived but fer ther Tincter, +and he'd laff and drive on. When she got real peart I brought her down +to the shop one day, and I shows her an old paint keg thet I kep' +rusty bolts in, and half full ov water. + +"'Smell that,' I sez, and she smells it and cocks her eye. + +"'Taste it,' I sez, and she tasted it, and give me a look. Then I dips +a spoonful out in a glass, and I sez: 'It's most time to take yer +medicine. I kin beat Gus Sarcy all holler makin' Tincter; every drop +yer drunk fer a month come out er thet keg.'" + + + + +"FIVE MEALS FOR A DOLLAR" + + +The Literary Society of West Norrington, Vt., had invited me to +lecture on a certain Tuesday night in February. + +The Tuesday night had arrived. So had the train. So had the +knock-kneed, bandy-legged hack--two front wheels bowed in, two hind +wheels bowed out--and so had the lecturer. + +West Norrington is built on a hill. At the foot are the station, a +saw-mill, and a glue factory. On the top is a flat plateau holding the +principal residences, printing-office, opera-house, confectionery +store, druggist's, and hotel. Up the incline is a scattering of +cigar-stores, butcher shops, real-estate agencies, and one lone +restaurant. You know it is a restaurant by the pile of extra-dry +oyster-shells in the window--oysterless for months--and the four +oranges bunched together in a wire basket like a nest of pool balls. +You know it also from the sign-- + +"Five meals for a dollar." + +I saw this sign on my way up the hill, but it made no impression on my +mind. I was bound for the hotel--the West Norrington Arms, the +conductor called it; and as I had eaten nothing since seven o'clock, +and it was then four, I was absorbed mentally in arranging a bill of +fare. Broiled chicken, of course, I said to myself--always get +delicious broiled chicken in the country--and a salad, and +perhaps--you can't always tell, of course, what the cellars of these +old New England taverns may contain--yes, perhaps a pint of any really +good Burgundy, Pommard, or Beaune. + +"West Norrington Arms" sounded well. There was a distinct flavor of +exclusiveness and comfort about it, suggesting old side-boards, +hand-polished tables, small bar with cut-glass decanters, Franklin +stoves in the bedrooms, and the like. I could already see the luncheon +served in my room, the bright wood fire lighting up the dimity +curtains draping the high-post bedstead. Yes, I would order Pommard. + +Here the front knees came together with a jerk. Then the driver pulled +his legs out of a buffalo-robe, opened the door with a twist, and +called out,-- + +"Nor'n't'n Arms." + +I got out. + +The first glance was not reassuring. It was perhaps more Greek than +Colonial or Early English or Late Dutch. Four high wooden boxes, +painted brown, were set up on end--Doric columns these--supporting a +pediment of like material and color. Half-way up these supports hung a +balcony, where the Fourth of July orator always stands when he +addresses his fellow citizens. Old, of course, I said to myself--early +part of this century. Not exactly moss-covered and inn-like, as I +expected to find, but inside it's all right. + +"Please take in that bag and fur overcoat." This to the driver, in a +cheery tone. + +The clerk was leaning over the counter, chewing a toothpick. Evidently +he took me for a drummer, for he stowed the bag behind the desk, and +hung the overcoat up on a nail in a side room opening out of the +office, and within reach of his eye. + +When I registered my name it made no perceptible change in his manner. +He said, "Want supper?" with a tone in his voice that convinced me he +had not heard a word of the Event which brought me to West +Norrington--I being the Event. + +"No, not now. I would like you to send to my room in half an hour a +broiled chicken, some celery, and any vegetable which you can get +ready--and be good enough to put a pint of Burgundy"---- + +I didn't get any further. Something in his manner attracted me. I had +not looked at him with any degree of interest before. He had been +merely a medium for trunk check, room key, and ice water--nothing +more. + +Now I did. I saw a young man--a mean-looking young man--with a narrow, +squeezed face, two flat glass eyes sewed in with red cotton, and a +disastrous complexion. His hair was brushed like a barber's, with a +scooping curl over the forehead; his neck was long and thin--so long +that his apple looked over his collar's edge. This collar ran down to +a white shirt decorated with a gold pin, the whole terminating in a +low-cut velvet vest. + +"Supper at seven," he said. + +This, too, came with a jerk. + +"Yes, I know, but I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and don't +want to wait until"---- + +"Ain't nuthin' cooked 'tween meals. Supper at seven." + +"Can't I get"---- + +"Yer can't get nuthin' until supper-time, and yer won't get no +Burgundy then. Yer couldn't get a bottle in Norrington with a club. +This town's prohibition. Want a room?" This last word was almost +shouted in my ear. + +"Yes--one with a wood fire." I kept my temper. + +"Front!"--this to a boy half asleep on a bench. "Take this bag to No. +37, and turn on the steam. Your turn next"--and he handed the pen to a +fresh arrival, who had walked up from the train. + +No. 37 contained a full set of Michigan furniture, including a patent +wash-stand that folded up to look like a bookcase, smelt slightly of +varnish, and was as hot as a Pullman sleeper. + +I threw up all the windows; came down and tackled the clerk again. + +"Is there a restaurant near by?" + +"Next block above. Nichols." + +He never looked up--just kept on chewing the toothpick. + +"Is there another hotel here?" + +Even a worm will turn. + +"No." + +That settled it. I didn't know any inhabitant--not even a +committeeman. It was the West Norrington Arms or the street. + +So I started for Nichols. By that time I could have eaten the shingles +off the church. + +Nichols proved to be a one-and-a-half-story house with a glass door, a +calico curtain, and a jingle bell. Inside was a cake shop, presided +over by a thin woman in a gingham dress and black lace cap and wig. In +the rear stood a marble-top table with iron legs. This made it a +restaurant. + +"Can you get me something to eat? Steak, ham and eggs--anything?" I +had fallen in my desires. + +She looked me all over. "Well, I'm 'mazin' sorry, but I guess you'll +have to excuse us; we're just bakin', and this is our busy day. +S'mother time we should like to, but to-day"---- + +I closed the door and was in the street again. I had no time for +lengthy discussions that didn't lead to something tangible and +eatable. + +"Alone in London," I said to myself. "Lost in New York. Adrift in West +Norrington. Plenty of money to buy, and nobody to sell. Everybody +going about their business with full stomachs, happy, contented,--all +with homes, and firesides, and ice chests, and things hanging to +cellar rafters, hams and such like, and I a wanderer and hungry, an +outcast, a tramp." + +Then I thought some citizen might take me in. She was a rather +amiable-looking old lady, with a kind, motherly face. + +"Madam!" This time I took off my hat. Ah, the common law of hunger +brings you down and humbles your pride. "Do you live here, madam?" + +"Why, yes, sir," edging to the sidewalk. + +"Madam, I am a stranger here, and very hungry. It's baking-day at +Nichols. Do you know where I can get anything to eat?" + +"Well, no, I can't rightly say," still eyeing me suspiciously. +"Hungry, be ye? Well, that's too bad, and Nichols baking." + +I corroborated all these statements, standing bare-headed, a wild idea +running through my head that her heart would soften and she would take +me home and set me down in a big chintz-covered rocking chair, near +the geraniums in the windows, and have her daughter--a nice, fresh, +rosy-cheeked girl in an apron--go out into the buttery and bring in +white cheese, and big slices of bread, and some milk, and preserves, +and a---- But the picture was never completed. + +"Well," she said slowly, "if Nichols is baking, I guess ye'll hev to +wait till suppertime." + +Then like a sail to a drowning man there rose before me the sign down +the hill near the station, "Five meals for a dollar." + +I had the money. I had the appetite. I would eat them all at once, and +_now_. + +In five minutes I was abreast of the extra-dry oyster-shells and the +pool balls. Then I pushed open the door. + +Inside there was a long room, bare of everything but a wooden counter, +upon which stood a glass case filled with cigars; behind this was a +row of shelves with jars of candy, and level with the lower shelf my +eye caught a slouch hat. The hat covered the head of the proprietor. +He was sitting on a stool, sorting out chewing-gum. + +"Can I get something to eat?" + +The hat rose until it stood six feet in the air, surmounting a round, +good-natured face, ending in a chin whisker. + +"Cert. What'll yer hev?" + +Here at last was peace and comfort and food and things! I could hardly +restrain myself. + +"Anything. Steak, fried potatoes--what have you got?" + +"Waal, I dunno. 'Tain't time yit for supper, but we kin fix ye +somehow. Lemme see." + +Then he pushed back a curtain that screened one half of the room, +disclosing three square tables with white cloths and casters, and +disappeared through a rear door. + +"We got a steak," he said, dividing the curtains again, "but the +potatoes is out." + +"Any celery?" + +"No. Guess can git ye some 'cross to ther grocery. Won't take a +minit." + +"All right. Could you"--and I lowered my voice--"could you get me a +bottle of beer?" + +"Yes--if you got a doctor's prescription." + +"Could _you_ write one?" I asked nervously. + +"I'll try." And he laughed. + +In two minutes he was back, carrying four bunches of celery and a +paper box marked "Paraffine candles." + +"What preserves have you?" + +"Waal, any kind." + +"Raspberry jam, or apricots?" I inquired, my spirits rising. + +"We ain't got no rusberry, but we got peaches." + +"Anything else?" + +"Waal, no; come ter look 'em over, just peaches." + +So he added a can to the celery and candles, and carried the whole to +the rear. + +While he was gone I leaned over the cigar-case and examined the stock. +One box labeled "Bouquet" attracted my eye; each cigar had a little +paper band around its middle. I remembered the name, and determined to +smoke one after dinner if it took my last cent. + +Then a third person took a hand in the feast. This was the hired girl, +who came in with a tray. She wore an alpaca dress and a disgusted +expression. It was evident that she resented my hunger as a personal +affront--stopping everything to get supper two hours ahead of time! +She didn't say this aloud, but I knew it all the same. + +Then more tray, with a covered dish the size of a soap-cup, a few +sprigs of celery out of the four bunches, and a preserve-dish, about +the size of a butter pat, containing four pieces of peach swimming in +their own juice. + +In the soap-dish lay the steak. It was four inches in diameter and a +quarter of an inch thick. I opened the paraffine candles, poured out +half a glass, and demolished the celery and peaches. I didn't want to +muss up the steak. I was afraid I might bend it, and spoil it for some +one else. + +Then an idea struck me: "Could she poach me some eggs?" + +She supposed she could, if she could find the eggs; most everything +was locked up this time of day. + +I waited, and spread the mustard on the dry bread, and had more +peaches and paraffine. When the eggs came they excited my sympathies. +They were such innocent-looking things--pinched and shriveled up, as +if they had fainted at sight of the hot water and died in great agony. +The toast, too, on which they were coffined, had a cremated look. Even +the hired girl saw this. She said it was a "leetle mite too much +browned; she'd forgot it watchin' the eggs." + +Here the street door opened, and a young woman entered and asked for +two papers of chewing-gum. + +She got them, but not until the proprietor had shot together the +curtains screening off the candy store from the restaurant. The +dignity and exclusiveness of the establishment required this. + +When she was gone I poured out the rest of the paraffine, and called +out through the closed curtains for a cigar. + +"One of them bo-kets?" came the proprietor's voice in response. + +"Yes, one of them." + +He brought it himself, in his hand, just as it was, holding the mouth +end between the thumb and forefinger. + +"And now how much?" + +He made a rapid accounting, overlooking the table, his eyes lighting +on the several fragments: "Beer, ten cents; steak, ten; peaches, five; +celery, three; eggs on toast, ten; one bo-ket, four." Then he paused a +moment, as if he wanted to be entirely fair and square, and said, +"Forty-two cents." + +[Illustration: "FORTY-TWO CENTS"] + +When I reached the hotel, a man who said he was the proprietor came to +my room. He was a sad man with tears in his voice. + +"You're comin' to supper, ain't ye? It'll be the last time. It's a +kind o' mournful occasion, but I like to have ye." + +It was now my turn. + +"No, I'm not coming to supper. You drove me out of here half starving +into the street two hours ago. I couldn't get anything to eat at +Nichols, and so I had to go down the hill to a place near the +saw-mill, where I got the most infernal"---- + +He stopped me with a look of real anxiety. + +"Not the five-meals-for-a-dollar place?" + +"Yes." + +"And you swallowed it?" + +"Certainly--poached eggs, peaches, and a lot of things." + +"No," he said reflectively, looking at me curiously. "_You_ don't +want no supper--prob'bility is you won't want no breakfast, either. +You'd better eaten the saw-mill--it would 'er set lighter. If I'd +known who you were I'd tried"---- + +"But I told the clerk," I broke in. + +"What clerk?" he interrupted in an astonished tone. + +"Why, the clerk at the desk, where I registered--that long-necked +crane with red eyes." + +"He ain't no clerk; we ain't had one for a week. Don't you know what's +goin' on? Ain't you read the bills? Step out into the hall--there's +one posted up right in front of you. 'Sheriff's sale; all the stock +and fixtures of the Norrington Arms to be sold on Wednesday +morning'--that's to-morrow--'by order of the Court.' You can read the +rest yourself; print's too fine for me. That fellow you call a crane +is a deputy sheriff. He's takin' charge, while we eat up what's in the +house." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other Fellow, by F. 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Hopkinson Smith + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Other Fellow + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37148] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER FELLOW *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Front cover" width="274" height="400"></div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/title.jpg" alt="Title page" width="285" height="450"></div> +<br> +<div class="box"> +<p class="ctr"> +<i>FICTION AND TRAVEL</i> +</p> + +<p class="ctr"> +<i>By F. Hopkinson Smith.</i> +</p> +<hr class="tiny"> +<p> +CALEB WEST, MASTER DIVER. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. +</p> + +<p> +TOM GROGAN. Illustrated. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50. +</p> + +<p> +THE OTHER FELLOW. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. +</p> + +<p> +A GENTLEMAN VAGABOND, AND SOME OTHERS. 16mo, $1.25. +</p> + +<p> +COLONEL CARTER OF CARTERSVILLE. With 20 illustrations by +the author and E. W. Kemble. 16mo, $1.25. +</p> + +<p> +A DAY AT LAGUERRE'S AND OTHER DAYS. 16mo, $1.25. +</p> + +<p> +A WHITE UMBRELLA IN MEXICO. Illustrated by the author. +16mo, gilt top, $1.50. +</p> + +<p> +GONDOLA DAYS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. +</p> + +<p> +WELL-WORN ROADS OF SPAIN, HOLLAND, AND ITALY, traveled by +a Painter in search of the Picturesque. With 16 full-page +phototype reproductions of water-color drawings, and text +by <span class="sc">F. Hopkinson Smith</span>, profusely illustrated +with pen-and ink sketches. A Holiday volume. Folio, gilt +top, $15.00. +</p> + +<p> +THE SAME. <i>Popular Edition.</i> Including some of the +illustrations of the above. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. +</p> + + +<p class="ctr"> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.<br> +<span class="sc">Boston and New York.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<br> +<p class="ctr"> +<b><big>THE OTHER FELLOW</big></b> +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="frontis"><img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="MISS NANNIE GIB MARSE TOM BOLING HER HAN" width="450" height="316"></a></div> +<p class="caption">"MISS NANNIE GIB MARSE TOM BOLING HER HAN'"<br> +(<i>Page 63</i>) +</p> + + +<br> +<h1> +<i>The Other Fellow</i> +</h1> +<br> +<h2> +<i>By F. HOPKINSON SMITH</i> +</h2> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="Publisher's logo" width="100" height="128"></div> + +<br> +<h4> +BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br> +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br> +</h4> + +<h4> +The Riverside Press, Cambridge<br> +1900 +</h4> + +<h4> +COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH<br> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED +</h4> + +<hr class="med"> + + +<p class="ctr"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> + +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr> +<td class="txt"> </td> +<td class="pg"><small>PAGE</small></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">Dick Sands, Convict</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#1">1</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">A Kentucky Cinderella</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#35">35</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">A Waterlogged Town</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#65">65</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">The Boy in the Cloth Cap</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#71">71</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">Between Showers in Dort</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#82">82</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">One of Bob's Tramps</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#113">113</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">According to the Law</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#124">124</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">"Never had no Sleep"</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#162">162</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">The Man with the Empty Sleeve</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#169">169</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">"Tincter ov Iron"</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#200">200</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">"Five Meals for a Dollar"</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#206">206</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br><br> + +<p class="ctr"> +<big><b>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</b></big> +</p> + +<table summary="List of Illustrations"> +<tr> +<td class="txt"> </td> +<td class="pg"><small>PAGE</small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="txt">"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling +her han'" (page 63)</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#frontis"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">Aunt Chloe</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#36">36</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">"Her head crammed full of hifalutin' notions"</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#66">66</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">Through streets embowered in trees</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#82i">82</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">The gossips lean in the doorways</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#88">88</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">Drenched leaves quivering</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#94">94</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">An ancient Groote Kerk</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#108">108</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="txt">"Forty-two cents"</td> +<td class="pg"><a href="#216">216</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="med"> + +<a name="1"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +DICK SANDS, CONVICT. +</p> + + +<p class="head"> +I +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropT.jpg" alt="T" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">he</span> stage stopped at a disheartened-looking tavern with a sagging +porch and sprawling wooden steps. A fat man with a good-natured face, +tagged with a gray chin whisker, bareheaded, and without a coat—there +was snow on the ground, too—and who said he was the landlord, lifted +my yellow bag from one of the long chintz-covered stage cushions, and +preceded me through a sanded hall into a low-ceiled room warmed by a +red-hot stove, and lighted by windows filled with geraniums in full +bloom. The effect of this color was so surprising, and the contrast to +the desolate surroundings outside so grateful, that, without stopping +to register my name, I drew up a chair and joined the circle of baking +loungers. My oversight was promptly noted by the clerk—a sallow-faced +young man with an uncomfortably high collar, red necktie, and stooping +shoulders—and as promptly corrected by his dipping a pen in a wooden +inkstand and holding the book on his knee until I could add my own +superscription to those on its bespattered page. He had been +considerate enough not to ask me to rise. +</p> + +<p> +The landlord studied the signature, his spectacles on his nose, and +remarked in a kindly tone:— +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you're the man what's going to lecture to the college." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; how far is it from here?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Bout two miles out, Bingville way. You'll want a team, won't you? If +I'd knowed it was you when yer got out I'd told the driver to come +back for you. But it's all right—he's got to stop here again in half +an hour—soon 's he leaves the mail." +</p> + +<p> +I thanked him and asked him to see that the stage called for me at +half-past seven, as I was to speak at eight o'clock. He nodded in +assent, dropped into a rocking chair, and guided a spittoon into range +with his foot. Then he backed away a little and began to scrutinize my +face. Something about me evidently puzzled him. A leaning mirror that +hung over a washstand reflected his head and shoulders, and gave me +every expression that flitted across his good-natured countenance. +</p> + +<p> +His summing up was evidently favorable, for his scrutinizing look gave +place to a benign smile which widened into curves around his mouth and +lost itself in faint ripples under his eyes. Hitching his chair +closer, he spread his fat knees, and settled his broad shoulders, +lazily stroking his chin whisker all the while with his puffy fingers. +</p> + +<p> +"Guess you ain't been at the business long," he said kindly. "Last one +we had a year ago looked kinder peaked." The secret of his peculiar +interest was now out. "Must be awful tough on yer throat, havin' to +holler so. I wasn't up to the show, but the fellers said they heard +him 'fore they got to the crossin'. 'Twas spring weather and the +winders was up. He didn't have no baggage—only a paper box and a +strap. I got supper for him when he come back, and he did eat +hearty—did me good to watch him." Then, looking at the clock and +recalling his duties as a host, he leaned over, and shielding his +mouth with his hand, so as not to be overheard by the loungers, said +in a confidential tone, "Supper'll be on in half an hour, if you want +to clean up. I'll see you get what you want. Your room's first on the +right—you can't miss it." +</p> + +<p> +I expressed my appreciation of his timely suggestion, and picking up +the yellow bag myself—hall-boys are scarce in these localities—mounted +the steps to my bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +Within the hour—fully equipped in the regulation costume, swallow-tail, +white tie, and white waistcoat—I was again hugging the stove, for +my bedroom had been as cold as a barn. +</p> + +<p> +My appearance created something of a sensation. A tall man in a +butternut suit, with a sinister face, craned his head as I passed, and +the sallow-faced clerk leaned over the desk in an absorbed way, his +eyes glued to my shirt front. The others looked stolidly at the red +bulb of the stove. No remarks were made—none aloud, the splendor of +my appearance and the immaculate nature of my appointments seeming to +have paralyzed general conversation for the moment. This silence +continued. I confess I did not know how to break it. Tavern stoves are +often trying ordeals to the wayfarer; the silent listeners with the +impassive leather faces and foxlike eyes disconcert him; he knows just +what they will say about him when they go out. The awkward stillness +was finally broken by a girl in blue gingham opening a door and +announcing supper. +</p> + +<p> +It was one of those frying-pan feasts of eggs, bacon, and doughnuts, +with canned corn in birds' bathtubs, plenty of green pickles, and dabs +of home-made preserves in pressed glass saucers. It occupied a few +moments only. When it was over, I resumed my chair by the stove. +</p> + +<p> +The night had evidently grown colder. The landlord had felt it, for he +had put on his coat; so had a man with a dyed mustache and heavy red +face, whom I had left tipped back against the wall, and who was now +raking out the ashes with a poker. So had the butternut man, who had +moved two diameters nearer the centre of comfort. All doubts, however, +were dispelled by the arrival of a thickset man with ruddy cheeks, who +slammed the door behind him and moved quickly toward the stove, +shedding the snow from his high boots as he walked. He nodded to the +landlord and spread his stiff fingers to the red glow. A faint wreath +of white steam arose from his coonskin overcoat, filling the room with +the odor of wet horse blankets and burned leather. The landlord left +the desk, where he had been figuring with the clerk, approached my +chair, and pointing to the new arrival, said:— +</p> + +<p> +"This is the driver I been expectin' over from Hell's Diggings. He'll +take you. This man"—he now pointed to me—"wants to go to the college +at 7.30." +</p> + +<p> +The new arrival shifted his whip to the other hand, looked me all +over, his keen and penetrating eye resting for an instant on my white +shirt and waistcoat, and answered slowly, still looking at me, but +addressing the landlord:— +</p> + +<p> +"He'll have to get somebody else. I got to take Dick Sands over to +Millwood Station; his mother's took bad again." +</p> + +<p> +"What, Dick Sands?" came a voice from the other side of the stove. It +was the man in the butternut suit. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Dick Sands," replied the driver in a positive tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Not <i>Dick Sands</i>?" The voice expressed not only surprise but +incredulity. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, DICK SANDS," shouted the driver in a tone that carried with it +his instant intention of breaking anybody's head who doubted the +statement. +</p> + +<p> +"Gosh! that so? When did he git out?" cried the butternut man. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, a month back. He's been up in Hell's Diggin's ever since." Then +finding that no one impugned his veracity, he added in a milder tone: +"His old mother's awful sick up to her sister's back of Millwood. He +got word a while ago." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, this gentleman's got to speak at the college, and our team +won't be back in time." The landlord pronounced the word "gentleman" +with emphasis. The white waistcoat had evidently gotten in its fine +work. +</p> + +<p> +"Let Dick walk," broke in the clerk. "He's used to it, and used to +runnin', too"—this last with a dry laugh in spite of an angry glance +from his employer. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, Dick won't walk," snapped the driver, his voice rising. "He'll +ride like a white man, he will, and that's all there is to it. His +leg's bad ag'in." +</p> + +<p> +These remarks were not aimed at me nor at the room. They were fired +pointblank at the clerk. I kept silent; so did the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +"What time was you goin' to take Dick?" inquired the landlord in a +conciliatory tone. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bout 7.20—time to catch the 8.10." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, now, why can't you take this man along? You can go to the +Diggings for Dick, and then"—pointing again at me—"you can drop him +at the college and keep on to the station. 'Tain't much out of the +way." +</p> + +<p> +The driver scanned me closely and answered coldly:— +</p> + +<p> +"Guess his kind don't want to mix in with Dick"—and started for the +door. +</p> + +<p> +"I have no objection," I answered meekly, "provided I can reach the +lecture hall in time." +</p> + +<p> +The driver halted, hit the spittoon squarely in the middle, and said +with deep earnestness and with a slight trace of deference:— +</p> + +<p> +"Guess you don't know it all, stranger. Dick's served time. Been up +twice." +</p> + +<p> +"Convict?"—my voice evidently betrayed my surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"You've struck it fust time—last trip was for five years." +</p> + +<p> +He stood whip in hand, his fur cap pulled over his ears, his eyes +fixed on mine, noting the effect of the shot. Every other eye in the +room was similarly occupied. +</p> + +<p> +I had no desire to walk to Bingville in the cold. I felt, too, the +necessity of proving myself up to the customary village standard in +courage and complacency. +</p> + +<p> +"That don't worry me a bit, my friend. There are a good many of us out +of jail that ought to be in, and a good many in that ought to be out." +I said this calmly, like a man of wide experience and knowledge of the +world, one who had traveled extensively, and whose knowledge of +convicts and other shady characters was consequently large and varied. +The prehistoric age of this epigram was apparently unnoticed by the +driver, for he started forward, grasped my hand, and blurted out in a +whole-souled, hearty way, strangely in contrast with his former +manner:— +</p> + +<p> +"You ain't so gol-darned stuck up, be ye? Yes, I'll take ye, and glad +to." Then he stooped over and laid his hand on my shoulder and said in +a softened voice: "When ye git 'longside o' Dick you tell him that; +it'll please him," and he stalked out and shut the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Another dead silence fell upon the group. Then a citizen on the other +side of the stove, by the aid of his elbows, lifted himself +perpendicularly, unhooked a coat from a peg, and remarked to himself +in a tone that expressed supreme disgust:— +</p> + +<p> +"Please him! In a pig's eye it will," and disappeared into the night. +</p> + +<p> +Only two loungers were now left—the butternut man with the sinister +expression, and the red-faced man with the dyed mustache. +</p> + +<p> +The landlord for the second time dropped into a chair beside me. +</p> + +<p> +"I knowed Dick was out, but I didn't say nothing, so many of these +fellers 'round here is down on him. The night his time was up Dick +come in here on his way home and asked after his mother. He hadn't +heard from her for a month, and was nigh worried to death about her. I +told him she was all right, and had him in to dinner. He'd fleshed up +a bit and nobody didn't catch on who he was,—bein' away nigh five +years,—and so I passed him off for a drummer." +</p> + +<p> +At this the red-faced man who had been tilted back, his feet on the +iron rod encircling the stove, brought them down with a bang, +stretched his arms above his head, and said with a yawn, addressing +the pots of geraniums on the window sill, "Them as likes jail-birds +can have jail-birds," and lounged out of the room, followed by the +citizen in butternut. It was apparent that the supper hour of the +group had arrived. It was equally evident that the hospitality of the +fireside did not extend to the table. +</p> + +<p> +"You heard that fellow, didn't you?" said the landlord, turning to me +after a moment's pause. "You'd think to hear him talk there warn't +nobody honest 'round here but him. That's Chris Rankin—he keeps a rum +mill up to the Forks and sells tanglefoot and groceries to the miners. +By Sunday mornin' he's got 'bout every cent they've earned. There +ain't a woman in the settlement wouldn't be glad if somebody would +break his head. I'd rather be Dick Sands than him. Dick never drank a +drop in his life, and won't let nobody else if he can help it. That's +what that slouch hates him for, and that's what he hates me for." +</p> + +<p> +The landlord spoke with some feeling—so much so that I squared my +chair and faced him to listen the better. His last remark, too, +explained a sign tacked over the desk reading, "No liquors sold here," +and which had struck me as unusual when I entered. +</p> + +<p> +"What was this man's crime?" I asked. "There seems to be some +difference of opinion about him." +</p> + +<p> +"His crime, neighbor, was because there was a lot of fellers that +didn't have no common sense—that's what his crime was. I've known +Dick since he was knee-high to a barrel o' taters, and there warn't no +better"—— +</p> + +<p> +"But he was sent up the second time," I interrupted, glancing at my +watch. "So the driver said." I had not the slightest interest in Mr. +Richard Sands, his crimes or misfortunes. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and they'd sent him up the third time if Judge Polk had lived. +The first time it was a pocket-book and three dollars, and the second +time it was a ham. Polk did that. Polk's dead now. God help him if +he'd been alive when Dick got out the last time. First question he +asked me after I told him his mother was all right was whether 'twas +true Polk was dead. When I told him he was he didn't say nothin' at +first—just looked down on the floor and then he said slow-like:— +</p> + +<p> +"'If Polk had had any common sense, Uncle Jimmy,'—he always calls me +'Uncle Jimmy,'—'he'd saved himself a heap o' worry and me a good deal +o' sufferin'. I'm glad he's dead.'" +</p> + +<br> +<p class="head"> +II +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropT.jpg" alt="T" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">he</span> driver arrived on the minute, backed up to the sprawling wooden +steps, and kicked open the door of the waiting-room with his foot. +</p> + +<p> +"All right, boss, I got two passengers 'stead o' one, but you won't +kick, I know. You git in; I'll go for the mail." The promotion and the +confidential tone were intended as a compliment. +</p> + +<p> +I slipped into my fur overcoat; slid my manuscript into the outside +pocket, and followed the driver out into the cold night. The only +light visible came from a smoky kerosene lamp boxed in at the far end +of the stage and protected by a pane of glass labeled in red paint, +"Fare, ten cents." +</p> + +<p> +Close to its rays sat a man, and close to the man—so close that I +mistook her for an overcoat thrown over his arm—cuddled a little +girl, the light of the lamp falling directly on her face. She was +about ten years of age, and wore a cheap woolen hood tied close to her +face, and a red shawl crossed over her chest and knotted behind her +back. Her hair was yellow and weather-burned, as if she had played out +of doors all her life; her eyes were pale blue, and her face freckled. +Neither she nor the man made any answer to my salutation. +</p> + +<p> +The child looked up into the man's face and shrugged her shoulders +with a slight shiver. The man drew her closer to him, as if to warm +her the better, and felt her chapped red hands. In the movement his +face came into view. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age—wiry and +well built, with an oval face ending in a pointed Vandyke beard; +piercing brown eyes, finely chiseled nose, and a well-modeled mouth +over which drooped a blond mustache. He was dressed in a dark blue +flannel shirt, with loose sailor collar tied with a red 'kerchief, and +a black, stiff-brimmed army-shaped hat a little drawn down over his +eyes. Buttoned over his chest was a heavy waistcoat made of a white +and gray deerskin, with the hair on the outside. His trousers, which +fitted snugly his slender, shapely legs, were tucked into his boots. +He wore no coat, despite the cold. +</p> + +<p> +A typical young westerner, I said to myself—one of the bone and sinew +of the land—accustomed to live anywhere in these mountains—cold +proof, of course, or he'd wear a coat on a night like this. Taking his +little sister home, I suppose. The country will never go to the dogs +as long as we have these young fellows to fall back upon. Then my eyes +rested with pleasure on the pointed beard, the peculiar curve of the +hat-brim, the slender waist corrugating the soft fur of the deerskin +waistcoat, and the peculiar set of his trousers and boots—like those +of an Austrian on parade. And how picturesque, I thought. What an +admirable costume for the ideal cowboy or the romantic mountain ranger +who comes in at the nick of time to save the young maiden; and what a +hit the favorite of the footlights would make if he could train his +physique down to such wire-drawn, alert, panther-like outlines and— +</p> + +<p> +A heavy object struck the boot of the stage and interrupted my +meditations. It was the mail-bag. The next instant the driver's head +was thrust in the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Dick, this is the man I told you was goin' 'long far as Bingville. +He's got a show up to the college." +</p> + +<p> +I started, hardly believing my ears. Shades of D'Artagnan, Davy +Crockett, and Daniel Boone! Could this lithe, well-knit, brown-eyed +young Robin Hood be a convict? +</p> + +<p> +"Are you Dick Sands?" I faltered out. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that's what they call me when I'm out of jail. When I'm in I'm +known as One Hundred and Two." +</p> + +<p> +He spoke calmly, quite as if I had asked him his age—the voice clear +and low, with a certain cadence that surprised me all the more. His +answer, too, convinced me that the driver had told him of my +time-honored views on solitary confinement, and that it had disposed +him to be more or less frank toward me. If he expected, however, any +further outburst of sympathy from me he was disappointed. The surprise +had been so great, and the impression he had made upon me so +favorable, that it would have been impossible for me to remind him +even in the remotest way of his former misfortunes. +</p> + +<p> +The child looked at me with her pale eyes, and crept still closer, +holding on to the man's arm, steadying herself as the stage bumped +over the crossings. +</p> + +<p> +For some minutes I kept still, my topics of conversation especially +adapted to convicts being limited. Despite my implied boasting to the +driver, I had never, to my knowledge, met one before. Then, again, I +had not yet adjusted my mind to the fact that the man before me had +ever worn stripes. So I said, aimlessly:— +</p> + +<p> +"Is that your little sister?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I haven't got any little sister," still in the same calm voice. +"This is Ben Mulford's girl; she lives next to me, and I am taking her +down for the ride. She's coming back." +</p> + +<p> +The child's hand stole along the man's knee, found his fingers and +held on. I kept silence for a while, wondering what I would say next. +I felt that to a certain extent I was this man's guest, and therefore +under obligation to preserve the amenities. I began again:— +</p> + +<p> +"The driver tells me your mother's sick?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she is. She went over to her sister's last week and got cold. +She isn't what she was—I being away from her so much lately. I got +two terms; last time for five years. Every little thing now knocks her +out." +</p> + +<p> +He raised his head and looked at me calmly—all over—examining each +detail,—my derby hat, white tie, fur overcoat, along my arms to my +gloves, and slowly down to my shoes. +</p> + +<p> +"I s'pose you never done no time?" He had no suspicion that I had; he +only meant to be amiable. +</p> + +<p> +"No," I said, with equal simplicity, meeting him on his own +ground—quite as if an attack of measles at some earlier age was under +discussion, to which he had fallen a victim while I had escaped. As he +spoke his fingers tightened over the child's hand. Then he turned and +straightened her hood, tucking the loose strands of hair under its +edge with his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +"You seem rather fond of that little girl; is she any relation?" I +asked, forgetting that I had asked almost that same question before. +</p> + +<p> +"No, she isn't any relation—just Ben Mulford's girl." He raised his +other hand and pressed the child's head down upon the deerskin +waistcoat, close into the fur, with infinite tenderness. The child +reached up her small, chapped hand and laid it on his cheek, cuddling +closer, a shy, satisfied smile overspreading her face. +</p> + +<p> +My topics were exhausted, and we rode on in silence, he sitting in +front of me, his eyes now so completely hidden in the shadow of his +broad-brimmed hat that I only knew they were fixed on me when some +sudden tilt of the stage threw the light full on his face. I tried +offering him a cigar, but he would not smoke—"had gotten out of the +habit of it," he said, "being shut up so long. It didn't taste good to +him, so he had given it up." +</p> + +<p> +When the stage reached the crossing near the college gate and stopped, +he asked quietly:— +</p> + +<p> +"You get out here?" and lifted the child as he spoke so that her +soiled shoes would not scrape my coat. In the action I saw that his +leg pained him, for he bent it suddenly and put his hand on the +kneecap. +</p> + +<p> +"I hope your mother will be better," I said. "Good-night; good-night, +little girl." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you; good-night," he answered quickly, with a strain of sadness +that I had not caught before. The child raised her eyes to mine, but +did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +I mounted the hill to the big college building, and stopped under a +light to look back; following with my eyes the stage on its way to the +station. The child was on her knees, looking at me out of the window +and waving her hand, but the man sat by the lamp, his head on his +chest. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +All through my discourse the picture of that keen-eyed, handsome young +fellow, with his pointed beard and picturesque deerskin waistcoat, the +little child cuddled down upon his breast, kept coming before me. +</p> + +<p> +When I had finished, and was putting on my coat in the president's +room,—the landlord had sent his team to bring me back,—I asked one +of the professors, a dry, crackling, sandy-haired professor, with +bulging eyes and watch-crystal spectacles, if he knew of a man by the +name of Sands who had lived in Hell's Diggings with his mother, and +who had served two terms in state's prison, and I related my +experience in the stage, telling him of the impression his face and +bearing had made upon me, and of his tenderness to the child beside +him. +</p> + +<p> +"No, my dear sir, I never heard of him. Hell's Diggings is a most +unsafe and unsavory locality. I would advise you to be very careful in +returning. The rogue will probably be lying in wait to rob you of your +fee;" and he laughed a little harsh laugh that sounded as if some one +had suddenly torn a coarse rag. +</p> + +<p> +"But the child with him," I said; "he seemed to love her." +</p> + +<p> +"That's no argument, my dear sir. If he has been twice in state's +prison he probably belongs to that class of degenerates in whom all +moral sense is lacking. I have begun making some exhaustive +investigations of the data obtainable on this subject, which I have +embodied in a report, and which I propose sending to the State +Committee on the treatment of criminals, and which"—— +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know any criminals personally?" I asked blandly, cutting +short, as I could see, an extract from the report. His manner, too, +strange to say, rather nettled me. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank God, no, sir; not one! Do you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am not quite sure," I answered. "I thought I had, but I may have +been mistaken." +</p> + +<br> +<p class="head"> +III +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropW.jpg" alt="W" width="101" height="98" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">hen</span> I again mounted the sprawling steps of the disheartened-looking +tavern, the landlord was sitting by the stove half asleep and alone. +He had prepared a little supper, he said, as he led the way, with a +benign smile, into the dining-room, where a lonely bracket lamp, +backed by a tin reflector, revealed a table holding a pitcher of milk, + a saucer of preserves, and some pieces of leather beef about the size +used in repairing shoes. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, and sit down by me," I said. "I want to talk to you about this +young fellow Sands. Tell me everything you know." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you saw him; clean and pert-lookin', ain't he? Don't look much +like a habitual criminal, as Polk called him, does he?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, he certainly does not; but give me the whole story." I was in a +mood either to reserve decision or listen to a recommendation of +mercy. +</p> + +<p> +"Want me to tell you about the pocketbook or that ham scrape?" +</p> + +<p> +"Everything from the beginning," and I reached for the scraps of beef +and poured out a glass of milk. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you saw Chris Rankin, didn't you,—that fellow that talked +about jail-birds? Well, one night about six or seven years ago,"—the +landlord had now drawn out a chair from the other side of the table +and was sitting opposite me, leaning forward, his arms on the +cloth,—"maybe six years ago, a jay of a farmer stopped at Rankin's +and got himself plumb full o' tanglefoot. When he come to pay he +hauled out a wallet and chucked it over to Chris and told him to take +it out. The wallet struck the edge of the counter and fell on the +floor, and out come a wad o' bills. The only other man besides him and +Chris in the bar-room was Dick. It was Saturday night, and Dick had +come in to git his paper, which was always left to Rankin's. Dick seen +he was drunk, and he picked the wallet up and handed it back to the +farmer. About an hour after that the farmer come a-runnin' in to +Rankin's sober as a deacon, a-hollerin' that he'd been robbed, and +wanted to know where Dick was. He said that he had had two rolls o' +bills; one was in an envelope with three dollars in it that he'd got +from the bank, and the other was the roll he paid Chris with. Dick, he +claimed, was the last man who had handled the wallet, and he vowed +he'd stole the envelope with the three dollars when he handed it back +to him. +</p> + +<p> +"When the trial come off everything went dead ag'in Dick. The cashier +of the bank swore he had given the farmer the money and envelope, and +in three new one-dollar bills of the bank, mind you, for the farmer +had sold some ducks for his wife and wanted clean money for her. Chris +swore he seen Dick pick it up and fix the money all straight again for +the farmer; the farmer's wife swore she had took the money out of her +husband's pocket, and that when she opened the wallet the envelope was +gone, and the farmer, who was so dumb he couldn't write his name, +swore that he hadn't stopped no place between Chris Rankin's and home, +'cept just a minute to fix his traces t'other side of Big Pond Woods. +</p> + +<p> +"Dick's mother, of course, was nigh crazy, and she come to me and I +went and got Lawyer White. It come up 'fore Judge Polk. After we had +all swore to Dick's good character and, mind you, there warn't one of +'em could say a word ag'in him 'cept that he lived in Hell's Diggin's, +Lawyer White began his speech, clamin' that Dick had always been +square as a brick, and that the money must be found on Dick or +somewheres nigh him 'fore they could prove he took it. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, the jury was the kind we always git 'round here, and they done +what Polk told 'em to in his charge,—just as they always do,—and +Dick was found guilty before them fellers left their seats. The mother +give a shriek and fell in a heap on the floor, but Dick never changed +a muscle nor said a word. When Polk asked him if he had anything to +say, he stood up and turned his back on Polk, and faced the +court-room, which was jam full, for everybody knowed him and everybody +liked him—you couldn't help it. +</p> + +<p> +"'You people have knowed me here,' Dick says, 'since I was a boy, and +you've knowed my mother. I ain't never in times back done nothin' I +was ashamed of, and I ain't now, and you know it. I tell you, men, I +didn't take that money.' Then he faced the jury. 'I don't know,' he +said, 'as I blame you. Most of you don't know no better and those o' +you who do are afraid to say it; but you, Judge Polk,' and he squared +himself and pointed his finger straight at him, 'you claim to be a man +of eddication, and so there ain't no excuse for you. You've seen me +grow up here, and if you had any common sense you'd know that a man +like me couldn't steal that man's money, and you'd know, too, that he +was too drunk to know what had become of it.' Then he stopped and said +in a low voice, and with his teeth set, looking right into Polk's +eyes: 'Now I'm ready to take whatever you choose to give me, but +remember one thing, I'll settle with you if I ever come back for +puttin' this misery on to my mother, and don't you forget it.' +</p> + +<p> +"Polk got a little white about the gills, but he give Dick a year, and +they took him away to Stoneburg. +</p> + +<p> +"After that the mother ran down and got poorer and poorer, and folks +avoided her, and she got behind and had to sell her stuff, and a month +before his time was out she got sick and pretty near died. Dick went +straight home and never left her day nor night, and just stuck to her +and nursed her like any girl would a-done, and got her well again. Of +course folks was divided, and it got red-hot 'round here. Some +believed him innercent, and some believed him guilty. Lawyer White and +fellers like him stuck to him, but Rankin's gang was down on him; and +when he come into Chris's place for his paper same as before, all the +bums that hang 'round there got up and left, and Chris told Dick he +didn't want him there no more. That kinder broke the boy's heart, +though he didn't say nothing, and after that he would go off up in the +woods by himself, or he'd go huntin' ches'nuts or picking flowers, all +the children after him. Every child in the settlement loved him, and +couldn't stay away from him. Queer, ain't it, how folks would trust +their chil'ren. All the folks in Hell's Diggin's did, anyhow." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," I interrupted, "there was one with him to-night in the stage." +</p> + +<p> +"That's right. He always has one or two boys and girls 'long with him; +says nothin' ain't honest, no more, 'cept chil'ren and dogs. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, when his mother got 'round ag'in all right, Dick started in to +get something to do. He couldn't get nothin' here, so he went acrost +the mountains to Castleton and got work in a wagon fact'ry. When it +come pay day and they asked him his name he said out loud, Dick Sands, +of Hell's Diggin's. This give him away, and the men wouldn't work with +him, and he had to go. I see him the mornin' he got back. He come in +and asked for me, and I went out, and he said, 'Uncle Jimmy, they mean +I sha'n't work 'round here. They won't give me no work, and when I git +it they won't let me stay. Now, by God!'—and he slammed his fist down +on the desk—'they'll support me and my mother without workin',' and +he went out. +</p> + +<p> +"Next thing I heard Dick had come into Rankin's and picked up a ham +and walked off with it. Chris, he allus 'lowed, hurt him worse than +any one else around here, and so maybe he determined to begin on him. +Chris was standin' at the bar when he picked up the ham, and he +grabbed a gun and started for him. Dick waited a-standin' in the road, +and just as Chris was a-pullin' the trigger, he jumped at him, +plantin' his fist in 'tween Chris's eyes. Then he took his gun and +went off with the ham. Chris didn't come to for an hour. Then Dick +barricaded himself in his house, put his mother in the cellar, strung +a row of cartridges 'round his waist, and told 'em to come on. Well, +his mother plead with him not to do murder, and after a day he give +himself up and come out. +</p> + +<p> +"At the trial the worst scared man was Polk. Dick had dropped in on +him once or twice after he got out, tellin' him how he couldn't git no +work and askin' him to speak up and set him straight with the folks. +They do say that Polk never went out o' night when Dick was home, +'fraid he'd waylay him—though I knew Polk was givin' himself a good +deal of worry for nothin', for Dick warn't the kind to hit a man on +the sly. When Polk see who it was a-comin' into court he called the +constable and asked if Dick had been searched, and when he found he +had he told Ike Martin, the constable, to stand near the bench in case +the prisoner got ugly. +</p> + +<p> +"But Dick never said a word, 'cept to say he took the ham and he never +intended to pay for it, and he'd take it again whenever his mother was +hungry. +</p> + +<p> +"So Polk give him five years, sayin' it was his second offense, and +that he was a 'habitual criminal.' It was all over in half an hour, +and Ike Martin and the sheriff had Dick in a buggy and on the way to +Stoneburg. They reached the jail about nine o'clock at night, and +drove up to the gate. Well, sir, Ike got out on one side and the +sheriff he got out on t'other, so they could get close to him when he +got down, and, by gosh! 'fore they knowed where they was at, Dick give +a spring clear over the dashboard and that's the last they see of him +for two months. One day, after they'd hunted him high and low and lay +'round his mother's cabin, and jumped in on her half a dozen times in +the middle of the night, hopin' to get him,—for Polk had offered a +reward of five hundred dollars, dead or alive,—Ike come in to my +place all het up and his eyes a-hangin' out, and he say, 'Gimme your +long gun, quick, we got Dick Sands.' I says, 'How do you know?' and he +says, 'Some boys seen smoke comin' out of a mineral hole half a mile +up the mountain above Hell's Diggin's, and Dick's in there with a bed +and blanket, and we're goin' to lay for him to-night and plug him when +he comes out if he don't surrender.' And I says, 'You can't have no +gun o' mine to shoot Dick, and if I knowed where he was I'd go tell +him.' The room was full when he asked for my gun, and some o' the boys +from Hell's Diggin's heard him and slid off through the woods, and +when the sheriff and his men got there they see the smoke still comin' +up, and lay in the bushes all night watchin'. 'Bout an hour after +daylight they crep' up. The fire was out and so was Dick, and all they +found was a chicken half cooked and a quilt off his mother's bed. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bout a week after that, one Saturday night, a feller come runnin' up +the street from the market, sayin' Dick had walked into his place just +as he was closin' up,—he had a stall in the public market under the +city hall, where the court is,—and asked him polite as you please for +a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, and before he could holler Dick +was off again with the bread under his arm. Well, of course, nobody +didn't believe him, for they knowed Dick warn't darn fool enough to be +loafin' 'round a place within twenty foot of the room where Polk +sentenced him. Some said the feller was crazy, and some said it was a +put-up job to throw Ike and the others off the scent. But the next +night Dick, with his gun handy in the hollow of his arm, and his hat +cocked over his eye, stepped up to the cook shop in the corner of the +market and helped himself to a pie and a chunk o' cheese right under +their very eyes, and 'fore they could say 'scat,' he was off ag'in and +didn't leave no more tracks than a cat. +</p> + +<p> +"By this time the place was wild. Fellers was gettin' their guns, and +Ike Martin was runnin' here and there organizing posses, and most +every other man you'd meet had a gun and was swore in as a deputy to +git Dick and some of the five hundred dollars' reward. They hung +'round the market, and they patrolled the streets, and they had signs +and countersigns, and more tomfoolery than would run a circus. Dick +lay low and never let on, and nobody didn't see him for another week, +when a farmer comin' in with milk 'bout daylight had the life pretty +nigh scared out o' him by Dick stopping him, sayin' he was thirsty, +and then liftin' the lid off the tin without so much as 'by your +leave,' and takin' his fill of the can. 'Bout a week after that the +rope got tangled up in the belfry over the court-house so they +couldn't ring for fires, and the janitor went up to fix it, and when +he came down his legs was shakin' so he couldn't stand. What do you +think he'd found?" And the landlord leaned over and broke out in a +laugh, striking the table with the flat of his hand until every plate +and tumbler rattled. +</p> + +<p> +I made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +"By gosh, there was Dick sound asleep! He had a bed and blankets and +lots o' provisions, and was just as comfortable as a bug in a rug. +He'd been there ever since he got out of the mineral hole! Tell you I +got to laugh whenever I think of it. Dick laughed 'bout it himself +t'other day when he told me what fun he had listenin' to Ike and the +deputies plannin' to catch him. There ain't another man around here +who'd been smart enough to pick out the belfry. He was right over the +room in the court-house where they was, ye see, and he could look down +'tween the cracks and hear every word they said. Rainy nights he'd +sneak out, and his mother would come down to the market, and he'd see +her outside. They never tracked her, of course, when she come there. +He told me she wanted him to go clean away somewheres, but he wouldn't +leave her. +</p> + +<p> +"When the janitor got his breath he busted in on Ike and the others +sittin' 'round swappin' lies how they'd catch Dick, and Ike reached +for his gun and crep' up the ladder with two deputies behind him, and +Ike was so scared and so 'fraid he'd lose the money that he fired +'fore Dick got on his feet. The ball broke his leg, and they all +jumped in and clubbed him over the head and carried him downstairs for +dead in his blankets, and laid him on a butcher's table in the market, +and all the folks in the market crowded 'round to look at him, lyin' +there with his head hangin' down over the table like a stuck calf's, +and his clothes all bloody. Then Ike handcuffed him and started for +Stoneburg in a wagon 'fore Dick come to." +</p> + +<p> +"That's why he couldn't walk to-night," I asked, "and why the driver +took him over in the stage?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, that was it. He'll never get over it. Sometimes he's all right, +and then ag'in it hurts him terrible, 'specially when the weather's +bad. +</p> + +<p> +"All the time he was up to Stoneburg them last four years—he got a +year off for good behavior—he kept makin' little things and sellin' +'em to the visitors. Everybody went to his cell—it was the first +place the warders took 'em, and they all bought things from Dick. He +had a nice word for everybody, kind and comforting-like. He was the +handiest feller you ever see. When he got out he had twenty-nine +dollars. He give every cent to his mother. Warden told him when he +left he hadn't had no better man in the prison since he had been +'p'inted. And there ain't no better feller now. It's a darned mean +shame how Chris Rankin and them fellers is down on him, knowin', too, +how it all turned out." +</p> + +<p> +I leaned back in my chair and looked at the landlord. I was conscious +of a slight choking in my throat which could hardly be traced to the +dryness of the beef. I was conscious, too, of a peculiar affection of +the eyes. Two or three lamps seemed to be swimming around the room, +and one or more blurred landlords were talking to me with elbows on +tables. +</p> + +<p> +"What do you think yourself about that money of the farmer's?" I asked +automatically, though I do not think even now that I had the slightest +suspicion of his guilt. "Do you believe he stole the three dollars +when he handed the wallet back?" +</p> + +<p> +"Stole 'em? Not by a d—— sight! Didn't I tell you? Thought I had. +That galoot of a farmer dropped it in the woods 'longside the road +when he got out to fix his traces, and he was too full of Chris +Rankin's rum to remember it, and after Dick had been sent up for the +second time, the second time now, mind ye, and had been in two years +for walking off with Rankin's ham, a lot of school children huntin' +for ches'nuts come upon that same envelope in the ditch with them +three new dollars in it, covered up under the leaves and the weeds +a-growin' over it. Ben Mulford's girl found it." +</p> + +<p> +"What, the child he had with him tonight?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, little freckle-faced girl with white eyes. Oh, I tell you Dick's +awful fond of that kid." +</p> + + + + +<a name="35"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +A KENTUCKY CINDERELLA +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropI.jpg" alt="I" width="105" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"> <span class="dcap">was</span> bending over my easel, hard at work upon a full-length portrait +of a young girl in a costume of fifty years ago, when the door of my +studio opened softly and Aunt Chloe came in. +</p> + +<p> +"Good-mawnin', suh! I did n' think you'd come to-day, bein' a Sunday," +she said, with a slight bend of her knees. "I'll jes' sweep up a lil +mite; doan' ye move, I won't 'sturb ye." +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Chloe had first opened my door a year before with a note from +Marny, a brother brush, which began with "Here is an old Southern +mammy who has seen better days; paint her if you can," and ended with, +"Any way, give her a job." +</p> + +<p> +The bearer of the note was indeed the ideal mammy, even to the +bandanna handkerchief bound about her head, and the capacious waist +and ample bosom—the lullaby resting-place for many a child, white and +black. I had never seen a real one in the flesh before. I had heard +about them in my earlier days. Daddy Billy, my father's body servant +and my father's slave, who lived to be ninety-four, had told me of his +own Aunt Mirey, who had died in the old days, but too far back for me +to remember. And I had listened, when a boy, to the traditions +connected with the plantations of my ancestors,—of the Keziahs and +Mammy Crouches and Mammy Janes,—but I had never looked into the eyes +of one of the old school until I saw Aunt Chloe, nor had I ever fully +realized how quaintly courteous and gentle one of them could be until, +with an old-time manner, born of a training seldom found outside of +the old Southern homes, she bent forward, spread her apron with both +hands, and with a little backward dip had said as she left me that +first day: "Thank ye, suh! I'll come eve'y Sunday mawnin'. I'll do my +best to please ye, an' I specs I kin." +</p> + +<p> +I do not often work on Sunday, but my picture had been too long +delayed waiting for a faded wedding dress worn once by the original +when she was a bride, and which had only been found when two of her +descendants had ransacked their respective garrets. +</p> + +<p> +"Mus' be mighty driv, suh," she said, "a-workin' on de Sabbath day. +Golly, but dat's a purty lady!" and she put down her pail. "I see it +las' Sunday when I come in, but she didn't had dem ruffles 'round her +neck den dat you done gib her. 'Clar' to goodness, dat chile look like +she was jes' a-gwine to speak." +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="36"><img src="images/001.jpg" alt="AUNT CHLOE" width="350" height="450"></a></div> +<p class="caption">AUNT CHLOE +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Chloe was leaning on her broom, her eyes scrutinizing the +portrait. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if dat doan' beat de lan'. I ain't never seen none o' dem +frocks since de ole times. An' dem lil low shoes wid de ribbons +crossed on de ankles! She's de livin' pussonecation—she is so, for a +fac'. Uhm! Uhm!" (It is difficult to convey this peculiar sound of +complete approval in so many letters.) +</p> + +<p> +"Did you ever know anybody like her?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +The old woman straightened her back, and for a moment her eyes looked +into mine. I had often tried to draw from her something of her earlier +life, but she had always evaded my questions. Marny had told me that +his attempts had at first been equally disappointing. +</p> + +<p> +"Body as ole's me, suh, seen a plenty o' people." Then her eyes sought +the canvas again. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment's pause she said, as if to herself: "You's de real +quality, chile, dat you is; eve'y spec an' spinch o' ye." +</p> + +<p> +I tried again. +</p> + +<p> +"Does it look like anybody you ever saw, Aunt Chloe?" +</p> + +<p> +"It do an' it don't," she answered critically. "De feet is like hern, +but de eyes ain't." +</p> + +<p> +"Who?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Miss Nannie." And she leaned again on her broom and looked down +on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +I heaped up a little pile of pigments on one corner of my palette and +flattened them for a high light on a fold in the satin gown. +</p> + +<p> +"Who was Miss Nannie?" I asked carelessly. I was afraid the thread +would break if I pulled too hard. +</p> + +<p> +"One o' my chillen, honey." A peculiar softness came into her voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me about her. It will help me get her eyes right, so you can +remember her better. They don't look human enough to me anyhow" (this +last to myself). "Where did she live?" +</p> + +<p> +"Where dey all live—down in de big house. She warn't Marse Henry's +real chile, but she come o' de blood. She didn't hab dem kind o' shoes +on her footses when I fust see her, but she wore 'em when she lef' me. +Dat she did." Her voice rose suddenly and her eyes brightened. "An' +dem ain't nothin' to de way dey shined. I ain't never seen no satin +slippers shine like dem slippers; dey was jes' ablaze!" +</p> + +<p> +I worked on in silence. Marny had cautioned me not to be too curious. +Some day she might open her heart and tell me wonderful stories of her +earlier life, but I must not appear too anxious. She had become rather +suspicious of strangers since she had moved North and lost track of +her own people, Marny had said. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Chloe picked up her pail and began moving some easels into a far +corner of my studio and piling the chairs in a heap. This done, she +stopped again and stood behind me, looking intently at the canvas over +my shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +"My! My! ain't dat de ve'y image of dat frock? I kin see it now jes' +as Miss Nannie come down de stairs. But you got to put dat gold chain +on it 'fore it gits to be de ve'y 'spress image. I had it roun' my own +neck once; I know jes' how it looked." +</p> + +<p> +I laid down my palette, and picking up a piece of chalk asked her to +describe it so that I could make an outline. +</p> + +<p> +"It was long an' heavy, an' it woun' roun' de neck twice an' hung down +to de wais'. An' dat watch on de end of it! Well, I ain't seen none +like dat one sence. I 'clar' to ye it was jes' 's teeny as one o' dem +lil biscuits I used to make for 'er when she come in de kitchen—an' +she was dere most of de time. Dey didn't care nuffin for her much. Let +'er go roun' barefoot half de time, an' her hair a-fiyin'. Only one +good frock to her name, an' dat warn't nuffin but calico. I used to +wash dat many a time for her long 'fore she was outen her bed. Allus +makes my blood bile to dis day whenever I think of de way dey treated +dat chile. But it didn't make no diff'ence what she had on—shoes or +no shoes—her footses was dat lil. An' purty! Wid her big eyes an' her +cheeks jes' 's fresh as dem rosewater roses dat I used to snip off for +ole Sam to put on de table. Oh! I tell ye, if ye could picter her like +dat dey wouldn't be nobody clear from here to glory could come nigh +her." +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Chloe's eyes were kindling with every word. I remembered Marny's +warning and kept still. I had abandoned the sketch of the chain as an +unnecessary incentive, and had begun again with my palette knife, +pottering away, nodding appreciatingly, and now and then putting a +question to clear up some tangled situation as to dates and localities +which her rambling talk had left unsettled. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, suh, down in the blue grass country, near Lexin'ton, Kentucky, +whar my ole master, Marse Henry Gordon, lived," she answered to my +inquiry as to where this all happened. "I used to go eve'y year to see +him after de war was over, an' kep' it up till he died. Dere warn't +nobody like him den, an' dere ain't none now. He warn't never spiteful +to chillen, white or black. Eve'ybody knowed dat. I was a pickaninny +myse'f, an' I b'longed to him. An' he ain't never laid a lick on me, +an' he wouldn't let nobody else do't nuther, 'cept my mammy. I +'members one time when Aunt Dinah made cake dat ole Sam—he war a heap +younger den—couldn't put it on de table 'ca'se dere was a piece broke +out'n it. Sam he riz, an' Dinah she riz, an' after dey'd called each +other all de names dey could lay dere tongues to, Miss Ann, my own +fust mist'ess, come in an' she say dem chillen tuk dat cake, an' +'tain't nary one o' ye dat's 'sponsible.' 'What's dis,' says Marse +Henry—'chillen stealin' cake? Send 'em here to me!' When we all come +in—dere was six or eight of us—he says, 'Eve'y one o' ye look me in +de eye; now which one tuk it?' I kep' lookin' away,—fust on de flo' +an' den out de windy. 'Look at me,' he says agin. 'You ain't lookin', +Clorindy.' Den I cotched him watchin' me. 'Now you all go out,' he +says, 'and de one dat's guilty kin come back agin.' Den we all went +out in de yard. 'You tell him,' says one. 'No, you tell him;' an' +dat's de way it went on. I knowed I was de wustest, for I opened de +door o' de sideboard an' gin it to de others. Den I thought, if I +don't tell him mebbe he'll lick de whole passel on us, an' dat ain't +right; but if I go tell him an' beg his 'umble pardon he might lemme +go. So I crep' 'round where he was a-settin' wid his book on his +knee,"—Aunt Chloe was now moving stealthily behind me, her eyes fixed +on her imaginary master, head down, one finger in her mouth,—"an' I +say, 'Marse Henry!' An' he look up an' say, 'Who's dat?' An' I say, +'Dat's Clorindy.' An' he say, 'What you want?' 'Marse Henry, I come to +tell ye I was hungry, an' I see de door open an' I shove it back an' +tuk de piece o' cake, an' maybe I thought if I done tole ye you'd +forgib me.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Den you is de ringleader,' he says, 'an' you tempted de other +chillen?' 'Yes,' I says, 'I spec so.' 'Well,' he says, lookin' down on +de carpet, 'now dat you has perfessed an' beg pardon, you is good an' +ready to pay 'tention to what I'm gwine to say.' De other chillen had +sneaked up an' was listenin'; dey 'spected to see me git it, though +dere ain't nary one of 'em ever knowed him to strike 'em a lick. Den +he says: 'Dis here is a lil thing,—dis stealin a cake; an' it's a big +thing at de same time. Miss Ann has been right smart put out 'bout it, +an' I'm gwine to see dat it don't happen agin. If you see a pin on de +fl'or you wouldn't steal it,—you'd pick it up if you wanted it, an' +it wouldn't be nuffin, 'cause somebody th'owed it away an' it was free +to eve'body; but if you see a piece o' money on de fl'or, you knowed +nobody didn't th'ow dat away, an' if you pick it up an' don't tell, +dat's somethin' else—dat's stealin', 'cause you tuk somethin' dat +somebody else has paid somethin' for an' dat belongs to him. Now dis +cake ain't o' much 'count, but it warn't yourn, an' you oughtn't to +ha' tuk it. If you'd asked yo'r mist'ess for it she'd gin you a piece. +There ain't nuffin here you chillen doan' git when ye ask for it.' I +didn't say nuffin more. I jes' waited for him to do anythin' he wanted +to me. Den he looks at de carpet for a long time an' he says:— +</p> + +<p> +"'I reckon you won't take no mo' cake 'thout askin' for it, Clorindy, +an' you chillen kin go out an' play agin.'" +</p> + +<p> +The tears were now standing in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"Dat's what my ole master was, suh; I ain't never forgot it. If he had +beat me to death he couldn't 'a' done no mo' for me. He jes' splained +to me an' I ain't never forgot since." +</p> + +<p> +"Did your own mother find it out?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +The tears were gone now; her face was radiant again at my question. +</p> + +<p> +"Dat she did, suh. One o' de chillen done tole on me. Mammy jes' made +one grab as I run pas' de kitchen door, an' reached for a barrel +stave, an' she fairly sot—me—afire!" +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Chloe was now holding her sides with laughter, fresh tears +streaming down her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +"But Marse Henry never knowed it. Lawd, suh, dere ain't nobody round +here like him, nor never was. I kin 'member him now same as it was +yisterday, wid his white hair, an' he a-settin' in his big chair. It +was de las' time I ever see him. De big house was gone, an' de colored +people was gone, an' he was dat po' he didn't know where de nex' +mouf'ful was a-comin' from. I come out behind him so,"—Aunt Chloe +made me her old master and my stool his rocking-chair,—"an' I pat him +on the shoulder dis way, an' he say, 'Chloe, is dat you? How is it yo' +looks so comf'ble like?' An' I say, 'It's you, Marse Henry; you done +it all; yo' teachin' made me what I is, an' if you study about it +you'll know it's so. An' de others ain't no wus'. Of all de colored +people you owned, dere ain't nary one been hung, or been in de +penitentiary, nor ain't knowed as liars. Dat's de way you fotch us +up.' +</p> + +<p> +"An' I love him yet, an' if he was a-livin' to-day I'd work for him +an' take care of him if I went hungry myse'f. De only fool thing +Marster Henry ever done was a-marryin' dat widow woman for his second +wife. Miss Nannie, dat looks a lil bit like dat chile you got dere +before ye"—and she pointed to the canvas—"wouldn't a been sot on an' +'bused like she was but for her. Dat woman warn't nuffin but a +harf-strainer noway, if I do say it. Eve'body knowed dat. How Marse +Henry Gordon come to marry her nobody don't know till dis day. She +warn't none o' our people. Dey do say dat he met her up to Frankfort +when he was in de Legislater, but I don't know if dat's so. But she +warn't nuffin, nohow." +</p> + +<p> +"Was Miss Nannie her child?" I asked, stepping back from my easel to +get the better effect of my canvas. +</p> + +<p> +"No suh, dat she warn't!" with emphasis. "She was Marse Henry's own +sister's chile, she was. Her people—Miss Nannie's—lived up in +Indiany, an' dey was jes's po' as watermelon rinds, and when her +mother died Marse Henry sent for her to come live wid him, 'cause he +said Miss Rachel—dat was dat woman's own chile by her fust +husband—was lonesome. Dey was bofe about de one age,—fo'teen or +fifteen years old,—but Lawd-a-massy! Miss Rachel warn't lonesome +'cept for what she couldn't git, an' she most broke her heart 'bout +dat, much's she could break it 'bout anything. +</p> + +<p> +"I remember de ve'y day Miss Nannie come. I see her comin' down de +road totin' a big ban'box, an' a carpet bag mos's big's herse'f. Den +she turned in de gate. ''Fo' God,' I says to ole Sam, who was settin' +de table for dinner, 'who's dis yere comin' in?' Den I see her stop +an' set de bundles down an' catch her bref, and den she come on agin. +</p> + +<p> +"'Dat's Marse Henry's niece,' he says. 'I heared de mist'ess say she +was a-comin' one day dis week by de coach.' +</p> + +<p> +"I see right away dat dat woman was up to one of her tricks; she +didn't 'tend to let dat chile come no other way 'cept like a servant; +she was dat dirt mean. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you needn't look, suh! I ain't meanin' no onrespect, but I knowed +dat woman when Marse Henry fust married her, an' she ain't never +fooled me once. Fust time she come into de house she walked plumb in +de kitchen, where me an' old Sam an' ole Dinah was a-eaten our dinner, +we setten at de table like we useter did, and she flung her head up in +de air and she says: 'After dis when I come in I want you niggers to +git up on yo' feet.' Think o' dat, will ye? Marse Henry never called +nary one of us nigger since we was pickaninnies. I knowed den she +warn't 'customed to nuthin'. But I tell ye she never put on dem kind +o' airs when Marse Henry was about. No, suh. She was always mighty +sugar-like to him when he was home, but dere ain't no conniption she +warn't up to when he couldn't hear of it. She had purty nigh riz de +roof when he done tell her dat Miss Nannie was a-comin' to live wid +'em, but she couldn't stand agin him, for warn't her only daughter, +Miss Rachel, livin' on him, an' not only Miss Rachel, but lots mo' of +her people where she come from? +</p> + +<p> +"Well, suh, as soon as ole Sam said what chile it was dat was a-comin' +down de road I dropped my dishcloth an' I run out to meet 'er. +</p> + +<p> +"'Is you Miss Nannie?' I says. 'Gimme dat bag,' I says, 'an' dat box.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Yes,' she says, 'dat's me, an' ain't you Aunt Chloe what I heared so +much about?' +</p> + +<p> +"Honey, you ain't never gwine to git de kind o' look on dat picter +you's workin' on dere, suh, as sweet as dat chile's face when she said +dat to me. I loved her from dat fust minute I see her, an' I loved her +ever since, jes' as I loved her mother befo' her. +</p> + +<p> +"When she got to de house, me a-totin' de things on behind, de +mist'ess come out on de po'ch. +</p> + +<p> +"'Oh, dat's you, is it, Nannie?' she says. 'Well, Chloe'll tell ye +where to go,' an' she went straight in de house agin. Never kissed +her, nor touched her, nor nuffin! +</p> + +<p> +"Ole Sam was bilin'. He heard her say it, an' if he was alive he'd +tell ye same as me. +</p> + +<p> +"'Where's she gwine to sleep?' I says, callin' after her; 'upstairs +long wid Miss Rachel?' I was gittin' hot myse'f, though I didn't say +nuffin. +</p> + +<p> +"'No,' she says, flingin' up her head like a goat; 'my daughter needs +all de room she's got. You kin take her downstairs an' fix up a place +for her 'longside o' you an' Dinah.' She was de old cook. +</p> + +<p> +"'Come 'long,' I says, 'Miss Nannie,' an' I dropped a curtsey same's +if she was a princess. An' so she was, an' Marse Henry's own eyes in +her head, an' 'nough like him to be his own chile. 'I'll hab ev'ything +ready for ye,' I says. 'You wait here an' take de air,' an' I got a +chair an' sot her down on de po'ch, an' ole Sam brung her some cake, +an' I went to git de room ready—de room offn de kitchen pantry, where +dey puts de overseer's chillen when dey come to see him. +</p> + +<p> +"Purty soon Miss Rachel come down an' went up an' kissed her—dat is, +Sam said so, though I ain't never seen her kiss her dat time nor no +other time. Miss Rachel an' de mist'ess was bofe split out o' de same +piece o' kindlin', an' what one was agin t'other was agin—a blind man +could see dat. Miss Rachel never liked Miss Nannie from de fust, she +was dat cross-grained and pernicketty. No matter what Miss Nannie done +to please her it warn't good 'nough for her. Why, do you know, when de +other chillen come over from de nex' plantation Miss Rachel wouldn't +send for Miss Nannie to come in de parlor. No, suh, dat she wouldn't! +An' dey'd run off an' leave her, too, when dey was gwine picknickin', +an' treat dat chile owdacious, sayin' she was po' white trash, an' +charity chile, an' things like dat, till I would go an' tell Marse +Henry 'bout it. Den dere would be a 'ruction, an' Marse Henry'd blaze +out, an' jes 's soon 's he was off agin to Frankfort—an' he was dere +mos' of de time, for he was one o' dese yere ole-timers dat dey +couldn't git 'long widout at de Legislater—dey'd treat her wus'n +ever. Soon 's Dinah an' me see dat, we kep' Miss Nannie 'long wid us +much as we could. She'd eat wid 'em when dere warn't no company +'round, but dat was 'bout all." +</p> + +<p> +"Did they send her to school?" I asked, fearing she would again lose +the thread. My picture had a new meaning for me now that it looked +like her heroine. +</p> + +<p> +"No, suh, dat dey didn't, 'cept to de schoolhouse at de cross-roads +whar eve'ybody's chillen went. But dey sent Miss Rachel to a real +highty-tighty school, dat dey did, down to Louisville. Two winters she +was dere, an' eve'y time when she come home for holiday times she had +mo' airs dan when she went away. Marse Henry wanted bofe chillen to +go, but dat woman outdid him, an' she faced him up an' down dat dere +warn't money 'nough for two, an' dat her daughter was de fittenest, +an' all dat, an' he give in. I didn't hear it, but ole Sam did, an' +his han' shook so he mos' spilt de soup. But law, honey, dat didn't +make no diff'ence to Miss Nannie. She'd go off by herse'f wid her +books an' sit all day under de trees, an' sing to herse'f jes' like a +bird, an' dey'd sing to her, an' all dat time her face was a-beamin' +an' her hair shinin' like gold, an' she a-growin' taller, an' her eyes +gittin' bigger an' bigger, an' brighter, an' her little footses white +an' cunnin' as a rabbit's. +</p> + +<p> +"De only place whar she did go outside de big house was over to Mis' +Morgan's, who lived on de nex' plantation. Miss Morgan didn't hab no +chillen of her own, an' she'd send for Miss Nannie to come an' keep +her company, she was dat dead lonesome, an' dey was glad 'nough to let +dat chile go so dey could git her out o' de house. Ole Sam allers said +dat, for he heared 'em talk at table an' knowed what was gwine on. +</p> + +<p> +"Purty soon long come de time when Miss Rachel done finish her +eddication, an' she come back to de big house an' sot herse'f up to +'ceive company. She warn't bad lookin' in dem days, I mus' say, an' if +dat woman's sperit hadn't 'a' been in her she might 'a' pulled +through. But dere warn't no fotching up could stand agin dat blood. +Miss Rachel'd git dat ornery dat you couldn't do nuffin wid her, jes' +like her maw. De fust real out-an'-out beau she had was Dr. Tom +Boling. He lived 'bout fo'teen miles out o' Lexin'ton on de big +plantation, an' was de richest young man in our parts. His paw had +died 'bout two years befo' an' lef him mo' money dan he could th'ow +away, an' he'd jes' come back from Philadelphy, whar he'd been +a-learnin' to be a doctor. He met Miss Rachel at a party in +Louisville, an' de fust Sunday she come home he driv over to see her. +If ye could 'a' seen de mist'ess when she see him comin' in de gate! +All in his ridin' boots an' his yaller breeches an' bottle-green coat, +an' his servant a-ridin' behind to hold de horses. +</p> + +<p> +"Ole Sam an' me was a-watchin' de mist'ess peekin' th'ough de blind at +him, her eyes a-blazin', an' Sam laughed so he had to stuff a napkin +in his mouf to keep 'er from hearin' him. Well, suh, dat went on all +de summer. Eve'y time he come de mist'ess'd be dat sweet mos' make a +body sick to see her, an' when he'd stay away she was dat pesky dere +warn't no livin' wid her. Of co'se dere was plenty mo' gemmen co'rting +Miss Rachel, too, but none o' dem didn't count wid de mist'ess 'cept +de doctor, 'cause he was rich, dat's all dere was to 't, 'cause he was +rich. I tell ye ole Sam had to tell many a lie to the other gemmen, +sayin' Miss Rachel was sick or somethin' else when she was a-waitin' +for de doctor to come, and was feared he might meet some of 'em an' +git skeered away. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Nannie, she'd watch him, too, from behind de kitchen door, or +scrunched down lookin' over de pantry winder sill, an' den she'd tell +Dinah an' me what he did, an' how he got off his horse an' han' de +reins to de boy, an' slap his boots wid his ridin' whip, like he was +a-dustin' off a fly. An' she'd act it all out for me an' Dinah, an' +slap her own frock, an' den she'd laugh fit to kill herse'f an' dance +all 'round de kitchen. Would yo' believe it? No! dere ain't nobody'd +believe it. Dey never asked her to come in once while he was in de +parlor, an' dey never once tole him dat Miss Nannie was a-livin' on de +top side o' de yearth! +</p> + +<p> +"'Co'se people 'gin to talk, an' ev'ybody said dat Dr. Boling was +gittin' nighest de coon, an' dat fust thing dey'd know dere would be a +weddin' in de Gordon fambly. An' den agin dere was plenty mo' people +said he was only passin' de time wid Miss Rachel, an' dat he come to +see Marse Henry to talk pol'tics. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, one day, suh, I was a-standin' in de door an' I see him come in +a-foot, widout his horse an' servant, an' step up on de po'ch quick +an' rap at de do', like he say to himse'f, 'Lemme in; I'm in a hurry; +I got somethin' on my mind.' Ole Sam was jes' a-gwine to open de do' +for him when Miss Nannie come a-runnin' in de kitchen from de yard, +her cheeks like de roses, her hair a-flyin', an' her big hat hangin' +to a string down her back. I gin Sam one look an' he stopped, an' I +says to Miss Nannie, 'Run, honey,' I says, 'an' open de do' for ole +Sam; I spec',' I says, 'it's one o' dem peddlers.' +</p> + +<p> +"If you could 'a' seen dat chile's face when she come back!" +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Chloe's hands were now waving above her head, her mouth wide open +in her merriment, every tooth shining. +</p> + +<p> +"She was white one minute an' red as a beet de nex'. 'Oh, Aunt Chloe, +what did you let me go for?' she says. 'Oh! I wouldn't 'a' let him see +me like dis for anythin' in de wo'ld. Oh, I'm dat put out.' +</p> + +<p> +"'What did he say to ye, honey?' I says. +</p> + +<p> +"'He didn't say nuffin; he jes' look at me an' say he beg my pardon, +an' was Miss Rachel in, an' den I said I'd run an' tell her, an' when +I come downstairs agin he was a-standin' in de hall wid his eyes up de +staircase, an' he never stopped lookin' at me till I come down.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, dat won't do you no harm, chile,' I says; 'a cat kin look at a +king.' +</p> + +<p> +"Ole Sam was a-watchin' her, too, an' when she'd gone in her leetle +room an' shet de do' Sam says, 'I'll lay if Marse Tom Boling had +anythin' on his mind when he come here to-day it's mighty unsettled by +dis time.' +</p> + +<p> +"Nex' time Dr. Tom Boling come he say to de mist'ess, 'Who's dat young +lady,' he says, 'dat opened de door for me las' time I was here? I +hoped to see her agin. Is she in?' +</p> + +<p> +"Den dey bofe cooked up some lie 'bout her bein' over to Mis' Morgan's +or somethin', an' as soon's he was gone dey come down an' riz Sam for +not 'tendin' de door an' lettin' dat ragged fly-away gal open it. Den +dey went for Miss Nannie till dey made her cry, an' she come to me, +an' I took her in my lap an' comfo'ted her like I allers did. +</p> + +<p> +"De nex' time he come he says, 'I hear dat yo'r niece, Miss Nannie +Barnes, is livin' wid you, an' dat she is ve'y 'sclusive. I hope dat +you'll 'suade her to come in de parlor,' he says. Dem was his ve'y +words. Sam was a-standin' close to him as I am to you an' he heared +him. +</p> + +<p> +"'She ain't yet in s'ciety,' de mist'ess says, 'an' she's dat wild dat +we can't p'esent her.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Oh! is dat so?' he says. 'Is she in now?' +</p> + +<p> +"'No,' she says, 'she's over to Mis' Morgan's.' +</p> + +<p> +"Dat was a fac' dis time; she'd gone dat very mawnin'. Den Miss Rachel +come down, an' co'se Sam didn't hear no mo' 'cause he had to go out. +Purty soon out de Doctor come. Dese visits, min' ye, was gittin' +shorter an' shorter, though he do come as often, an' over he goes to +Mis' Morgan's hisse'f. +</p> + +<p> +"Now I doan' know what he said to Miss Nannie, or what passed 'twixt +'em, 'cause she didn't tell me. Only dat she said he had come to see +Mis' Morgan 'bout some land matters, an' dat Mis' Morgan interjuced +'em, but nuffin mo'. Lord bless dat chile! An', suh, dat was de fust +time she ever kep' anythin' from her ole mammy. Dat made me mo' glad +'n ever. I knowed den dey was bofe hit. +</p> + +<p> +"But my lan', de fur begin to fly when de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel +heared 'bout dat visit! +</p> + +<p> +"'What you mean by makin' eyes at Dr. Boling? Don't you know he's good +as 'gaged to my daughter?' de mist'ess said. Dat was a lie, for he +never said a word to Miss Rachel; ole Sam could tole you dat. 'Git out +o' my house, you good-for-nothin' pauper, an' take yo' rags wid ye.' +</p> + +<p> +"I see right away de fat was in de fire. Marse Henry warn't spected +home till de nex' Sunday, an' so I tuk her over to Mis' Morgan, an' +den I ups an' tells her eve'ything dat woman had done to dat chile +since de day she come. An' when I'd done she tuk Miss Nannie by de +han' an' she says:— +</p> + +<p> +"'You won't never want a home, chile, so long as I live. Go back, +Chloe, an' git her clo'es.' But I didn't git 'em. I knowed Marse +Henry'd raise de roof when he come, an' he did, bless yo' heart. Went +over hisse'f an' got her, an' brought her home, an' dat night when Dr. +Boling come he made her sit down in de parlor, an' 'fo' he went home +dat night de Doctor he say to Marse Henry, 'I want yo' permission, +Mister Gordon, to pay my addresses to Miss Nannie, yo' niece.' Sam was +a-standing close as he could git to de door, an' he heard ev'y word. +Now he ain't never said dat, mind ye, to Marse Henry 'bout Miss +Rachel! An' dat's why I know dat he warn't hit unto death wid her. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, do you know, suh, dat dat woman was dat owdacious she wouldn't +let 'em see each other after dat 'cept on de front po'ch. Wouldn't let +'em come in de house; make 'em do all dere co'rtin' on de steps an' +out at de paster gate. De doctor would rare an' pitch an' git white in +de face at de scand'lous way dat Miss Barnes was bein' treated, until +Miss Nannie put bofe her leetle han's on his'n, soothin' like, an' den +he'd grab 'em an' kiss 'em like he'd eat 'em up. Sam cotched him at +it, an' done tole me; an' den dey'd sa'nter off down de po'ch, sayin' +it was too hot or too cool, or dat dey was lookin' for birds' nests in +de po'ch vines, till dey'd git to de far end, where de mist'ess nor +Sam nor nobody else couldn't hear what dey was a-sayin' an' +a-whisperin', an' dere dey'd sit fer hours. +</p> + +<p> +"But I tell ye de doctor had a hard time a-gittin' her even when Marse +Henry gin his consent. An' he never would 'a' got her if Miss Rachel, +jes' for spite, I spec', hadn't 'a' took up wid Colonel Todhunter's +son dat was a-co'rtin' on her too, an' run off an' married him. Den +Miss Nannie knowed she was free to follow her own heart. +</p> + +<p> +"I tell you it'd 'a' made ye cry yo' eyes out, suh, to see dat chile +try an' fix herse'f up to meet him de days an' nights she knowed he +was comin', an' she wid jes' one white frock to her name. An' we all +felt jes' as bad as her. Dinah would wash it an' I'd smooth her hair, +an' ole Sam'd git her a fresh rose to put in her neck. +</p> + +<p> +"Purty soon de weddin' day was 'pinted, an' me an' Dinah an' ole Sam +gin to wonder how dat chile was a-gwine to git clo'es to be married +in. Sam heared ole marster ask dat same question at de table, an' he +see him gib de mist'ess de money to buy 'em for her, an' de mist'ess +said dat she reckoned 'Miss Nannie's people would want de priv'lege o' +dressin' her now dat she was a-gwine to marry dat wo'thless young +doctor, Tom Boling, dat nobody wouldn't hab in de house, but dat if +dey didn't she'd gin her some of Miss Rachel's clo'es, an' if dem +warn't 'nough den she'd spen' de money to de best advantage.' Dem was +her ve'y words. Sam heared her say 'em. I knowed dat meant dat de +chile would go naked, for she wouldn't a-worn none o' Miss Rachel's +rubbish, an' not a cent would she git o' de money. So I got dat ole +white frock out, an' Dinah found a white ribbon in a ole trunk in de +garret, an' washed an' ironed it to tie 'round her waist, an' Miss +Nannie come an' look at it, an' when she see it de tears riz up in her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"'Doan' you cry, chile,' I says. 'He ain't lovin' ye for yo' clo'es, +an' never did. Fust time he see ye yo' was purty nigh barefoot. It's +you he wants, not yo' frocks, honey;' an' den de sun come out in her +face an' her eyes dried up, an' she gin to smile an' sing like a robin +after de rain. +</p> + +<p> +"Purty soon 'long come Chris'mas time, an' me an' ole Sam an' Dinah +was a-watchin' out to see what Marse Tom Boling was gwine to gin his +bride, fur she was purty nigh dat, as dey was to be married de week +after Chris'mas. Well, suh, de mawnin' 'fore Chris'mas come, an' den +de arternoon come, an' den de night come, an' mos' ev'y hour somebody +sent somethin' for Miss Rachel, an' yet not one scrap of nuffin big as +a chink-a-pin come for Miss Nannie. Dinah an' me was dat onres'less +dat we couldn't sleep. Miss Nannie didn't say nuffin when she went to +bed, but I see a little shadder creep over her face an' I knowed right +away what hurted her. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, de nex' mawnin'—Chris'mas mawnin' dat was—ole Sam come +a-bustin' in de kitchen do', a-hollerin' loud as he could +holler"—Aunt Chloe was now rocking herself back and forth, clapping +her hands as she talked—"dat dere was a trunk on de front po'ch for +Miss Nannie dat was dat heavy it tuk fo' niggers to lif it. I run, an' +Dinah run, an' when we got to de trunk mos' all de niggers was thick +'round it as flies, an' Miss Nannie was standin' over it readin' a +card wid her name on it an' a 'scription sayin' dat it was 'a +Chris'mas gif', wid de compliments of a friend.' But who dat friend +was, whether it was Marse Henry, who sent it dat way so dat woman +wouldn't tear his hair out; or whether Mis' Morgan sent it, dat hadn't +mo'n 'nough money to live on; or whether some of her own kin in +Indiany, dat was dirt po', stole de money an' sent it; or whether de +young Dr. Tom Boling, who had mo' money dan all de banks in Lexin'ton, +done did it, don't nobody know till dis day, 'cept me an' ole Sam, an' +we ain't tellin'. +</p> + +<p> +"But, my soul alive, de insides of dat trunk took de bref clean out o' +de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel. Sam opened it, an' I tuk out de things. +Honey! dere was a weddin' dress all white satin dat would stand +alone,—jes' de ve'y mate of de one you got in dat picter 'fore +ye,—an' a change'ble silk, dat heavy! an' a plaid one, an' eve'ything +a young lady could git on her back from her skin out, an' a +thousand-dollar watch an' chain. I wore dat watch myse'f; Miss Nannie +was standin' by me, a-clappin' her han's an' laughin', an' when dat +watch an' chain came out she jes' th'owed de chain over my neck an' +stuck de leetle watch in my bosom, an' says, 'Dere, you dear ole +mammy, go look at you'se'f in de glass an' see how fine you is.' +</p> + +<p> +"De nex' week come de weddin'. I'll never forgit dat weddin' to my +dyin' day. Marse Tom Boling driv in wid a coach an' four an' two +outriders, an' de horses wore white ribbons on dere ears; an' de +coachman had flowers in his coat mos' big as his head, an' dey whirled +up in front of de po'ch, an' out he stepped in his blue coat an' brass +buttons an' a yaller wais'coat,—yaller as a gourd,—an' his +bell-crown hat in his han'. She was a-waitin' for him wid dat white +satin dress on, an' de chain 'round her neck, an' her lil footses tied +up wid silk ribbons de ve'y match o' dem you got pictered, an' her +face shinin' like a angel. An' all de niggers was a-standin' 'roun' de +po'ch, dere eyes out'n dere heads, an' Marse Henry was dere in his new +clo'es lookin' so grand, an' Sam in his white gloves, an' me in a new +head han'chief. +</p> + +<p> +"Eve'ybody was happy 'cept one. Dat one was de mist'ess, standin' in +de door. She wouldn't come out to de coach where de horses was +a-champin' de bits an' de froth a-droppin' on de groun', an' she +wouldn't speak to Marse Tom. She kep' back in de do'way. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Rachel was dat mean she wouldn't come downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling her han' an' look up in his face +like a queen, an' den she kissed Marse Henry, an' whispered somethin' +in his ear dat nobody didn't hear, only de tears gin to jump out an' +roll down his cheeks, an' den she looked de mist'ess full in de face, +an' 'thout a word dropped her a low curtsey. +</p> + +<p> +"I come de las'. She looked at me for a minute wid her eyes +a-swimmin', an' den she th'owed her arms roun' my neck an' hugged an' +kissed me, an' den I see an arm slip 'roun' her wais' an' lif' her in +de coach. Den de horses gin a plunge an' dey was off. +</p> + +<p> +"An 'arter dat dey had five years—de happiest years dem two ever +seen. I know, 'cause Marse Henry gin me to her, an' I lived wid 'em +day in an' day out till dat baby come, an' den"—— +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Chloe stopped and reached out her hand as if to steady herself. +The tears were streaming down her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Then she advanced a step, fixed her eyes on the portrait, and in a +voice broken with emotion, said:— +</p> + +<p> +"Honey, chile,—honey, chile,—is you tired a-waitin' for yo' ole +mammy? Keep a-watchin', honey—keep a-watchin'—It won't be long now +'fore I come. Keep a-watchin'." +</p> + + + + +<a name="65"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +A WATERLOGGED TOWN +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropH.jpg" alt="H" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">e</span> was backed up against the Column of the Lion, holding at bay a +horde of gondoliers who were shrieking, "Gondola! Gondola!" as only +Venetian gondoliers can. He had a half-defiant look, like a cornered +stag, as he stood there protecting a small wizen-faced woman of an +uncertain age, dressed in a long gray silk duster and pigeon-winged +hat—one of those hats that looked as if the pigeon had alighted on it +and exploded. +</p> + +<p> +"No, durn ye, I don't want no gon-<i>do</i>-la; I got one somewhere +round here if I can find it." +</p> + +<p> +If his tall gaunt frame, black chin whisker, and clearly defined +features had not located him instantly in my mind, his dialect would +have done so. +</p> + +<p> +"You'll probably find your gondola at the next landing," I said, +pointing to the steps. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me kindly, took the woman by the arm, as if she had been +under arrest, and marched her to the spot indicated. +</p> + +<p> +In another moment I felt a touch on my shoulder. "Neighbor, ain't you +from the U.S.A.?" +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my head. +</p> + +<p> +"Shake! It's God's own land!" and he disappeared in the throng. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning I was taking my coffee in the café at the Britannia, +when I caught a pair of black eyes peering over a cup, at a table +opposite. Then six feet and an inch or two of raw untilled American +rose in the air, picked up his plates, cup, and saucer, and, crossing +the room, hooked out a chair with his left foot from my table, and sat +down. +</p> + +<p> +"You're the painter feller that helped me out of a hole yesterday? +Yes, I knowed it; I see you come in to dinner last night. Eliza-beth +said it was you, but you was so almighty rigged up in that +swallow-tailed coat of yourn I didn't catch on for a minute, but +Eliza-beth said she was dead sure." +</p> + +<p> +"The lady with you—your wife?" +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="66"><img src="images/002.jpg" alt="HER HEAD CRAMMED FULL OF HIFALUTIN' NOTIONS" width="362" height="450"></a></div> +<p class="caption">"HER HEAD CRAMMED FULL OF HIFALUTIN' NOTIONS" +</p> + +<p> +"Not to any alarming extent, young man. Never had one—she's my +sister—only one I got; and this summer she took it into her head—you +don't mind my setting here, do you? I'm so durned lonesome among these +jabbering Greeks I'm nearly froze stiff. Thank ye!—took it into her +head she'd come over here, and of course I had to bring her. You ain't +never traveled around, perhaps, with a young girl of fifty-five, with +her head crammed full of hifalutin' notions,—convents and early +masters and Mont Blancs and Bon Marchés,—with just enough French to +make a muddle of everything she wants to get. Well, that's Eliza-beth. +First it was a circulating library, at Unionville, back of Troy, where +I live; then come a course of lectures twice a week on old Edinburgh +and the Alps and German cities; and then, to cap all, there come a +cuss with magic-lantern slides of 'most every old ruin in Europe, and +half our women were crazy to get away from home, and Eliza-beth worse +than any of 'em; and so I got a couple of Cook's tickets out and back, +and here we are; and I don't mind saying," and a wicked, vindictive +look filled his eyes, "that of all the cussed holes I ever got into in +my life, this here Venice takes—the—cake. Here, John Henry, bring me +another cup of coffee; this's stone-cold. P.D.Q., now! Don't let me +have to build a fire under you." This to a waiter speaking every +language but English. +</p> + +<p> +"Do not the palaces interest you?" I asked inquiringly, in my effort +to broaden his views. +</p> + +<p> +"Palaces be durned! Excuse my French. Palaces! A lot of caved-in old +rookeries; with everybody living on the second floor because the first +one's so damp ye'd get your die-and-never-get-over-it if you lived in +the basement, and the top floors so leaky that you go to bed under an +umbrella; and they all braced up with iron clamps to keep 'em from +falling into the canal, and not a square inch on any one of 'em clean +enough to dry a shirt on! What kind of holes are they for decent—— +Now see here," laying his hand confidingly on my shoulder, "just +answer me one question—you seem like a level-headed young man, and +ought to give it to me straight. Been here all summer, ain't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Been coming years, ain't you?" +</p> + +<p> +I nodded my head. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, now, I want it straight,"—and he lowered his voice,—"what +does a sensible man find in an old waterlogged town like this?" +</p> + +<p> +I gave him the customary answer: the glories of her past; the +picturesque life of the lagoons; the beauty of her palaces, churches, +and gardens; the luxurious gondolas, etc., etc. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't see it," he broke out before I had half finished. "As for the +gon-do-las, you're dead right, and no mistake. First time I settled on +one of them cushions I felt just as if I'd settled in a basket of +kittens; but as for palaces! Why, the State House at Al-ba-ny knocks +'em cold; and as for gardens! Lord! when I think of mine at home all +chock-full of hollyhocks and sunflowers and morning-glories, and then +think what a first-class cast-iron idiot I am wandering around +here"—— He gazed abstractedly at the ceiling for a moment as if the +thought overpowered him, and then went on, "I've got a stock-farm six +miles from Unionville, where I've got some three-year-olds can trot in +2.23—Gardens!"—suddenly remembering his first train of thought,—"they +simply ain't in it. And as for ler-goons! We've got a river sailing +along in front of Troy that mayn't be so wide, but it's a durned sight +safer and longer, and there ain't a gallon of water in it that ain't +as sweet as a daisy; and that's what you can't say of these streaks of +mud around here, that smell like a dumping-ground." Here he rose from +his chair, his voice filling the room, the words dropping slowly: +"I—ain't—got—no—use—for—a—place—where—there—ain't—a—horse +—in—the—town,—and every—cellar—is—half—full—of—water." +</p> + +<p> +A few mornings after, I was stepping into my gondola when I caught +sight of the man from Troy sitting in a gondola surrounded by his +trunks. His face expressed supreme content, illumined by a sort of +grim humor, as if some master effort of his life had been rewarded +with more than usual success. Eliza-beth was tucked away on "the +basket of kittens," half hidden by the linen curtains. +</p> + +<p> +"Off?" I said inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +"You bet!" +</p> + +<p> +"Which way?" +</p> + +<p> +"Paris, and then a bee-line for New York." +</p> + +<p> +"But you are an hour too early for your train." +</p> + +<p> +He held his finger to his lips and knitted his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +"What's that?" came a shrill plaintive voice from the curtains. "An +hour more? George, please ask the gentleman to tell the gondolier to +take us to Salviate's; we've got time for that glass mirror, and I +can't bear to leave Venice without"—— +</p> + +<p> +"Eliza-beth, you sit where you air, if it takes a week. No Salviate's +in mine, and no glass mirror. We are stuffed now so jammed full of +wooden goats, glass bottles, copper buckets, and old church rags that +I had to jump on my trunk to lock it." Then waving his hand to me, he +called out as I floated off, "This craft is pointed for home, and +don't you forget it." +</p> + + + + +<a name="71"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +THE BOY IN THE CLOTH CAP +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropI.jpg" alt="I" width="105" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">had</span> seen the little fellow but a moment before, standing on the car +platform and peering wistfully into the night, as if seeking some face +in the hurrying crowd at the station. I remembered distinctly the +cloth cap pulled down over his ears, his chubby, rosy cheeks, and the +small baby hand clutching the iron rail of the car, as I pushed by and +sprang into a hack. +</p> + +<p> +"Lively, now, cabby; I haven't a minute," and I handed my driver a +trunk check. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the snow whirled and eddied, the drifts glistening white in +the glare of the electric light. +</p> + +<p> +I drew my fur coat closer around my throat, and beat an impatient +tattoo with my feet. The storm had delayed the train, and I had less +than an hour in which to dine, dress, and reach my audience. +</p> + +<p> +Two minutes later something struck the cab with a force that rattled +every spoke in the wheels. It was my trunk, and cabby's head, white +with snow, was thrust through the window. +</p> + +<p> +"Morgan House, did you say, boss?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and on the double-quick." +</p> + +<p> +Another voice now sifted in—a small, thin, pleading voice, too low +and indistinct for me to catch the words from where I sat. +</p> + +<p> +"Want to go where?" cried cabby. The conversation was like one over +the telephone, in which only one side is heard. "To the orphan asylum? +Why, that's three miles from here.... Walk?... See, here, sonny, you +wouldn't get halfway.... No, I can't take yer—got a load." +</p> + +<p> +My own head had filled the window now. +</p> + +<p> +"Here, cabby, don't stand there all night! What's the matter, anyway?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's a boy, boss, about a foot high, wants to walk to the orphan +'sylum." +</p> + +<p> +"Pass him in." +</p> + +<p> +He did, literally, through the window, without opening the door, his +little wet shoes first, then his sturdy legs in wool stockings, round +body encased in a pea-jacket, and last, his head, covered by the same +cloth cap I had seen on the platform. I caught him, feet first, and +helped land him on the front seat, where he sat looking at me with +staring eyes that shone all the brighter in the glare of the arc +light. Next a collar-box and a small paper bundle were handed in. +These the little fellow clutched eagerly, one in each hand, his eyes +still looking into mine. +</p> + +<p> +"Are you an orphan?" I asked—a wholly thoughtless question, of +course. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Got no father nor mother?" +</p> + +<p> +Another, equally idiotic; but my interest in the boy had been inspired +by the idea of the saving of valuable minutes. As long as he stood +outside in the snow, he was an obstruction. Once aboard, I could take +my time in solving his difficulties. +</p> + +<p> +"Got a father, sir, but my mother's dead." +</p> + +<p> +We were now whirling up the street, the cab lighting up and growing +pitch dark by turns, depending on the location of the street lamps. +</p> + +<p> +"Where's your father?" +</p> + +<p> +"Went away, sir." He spoke the words without the slightest change in +his voice, neither abashed nor too bold, but with a simple +straightforwardness which convinced me of their truth. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you want to go to the asylum?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because I can learn everything there is to learn, and there isn't any +other place for me to go." +</p> + +<p> +This was said with equal simplicity. No whining; no "me mother's dead, +sir, an' I ain't had nothin' to eat all day," etc. Not that air about +him at all. It was merely the statement of a fact which he felt sure I +knew all about. +</p> + +<p> +"What's your name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ned." +</p> + +<p> +"Ned what?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ned Rankin, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"How old are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'm eight"—then, thoughtfully—"no, I'm nine years old." +</p> + +<p> +"Where do you live?" +</p> + +<p> +I was firing these questions one after the other without the slightest +interest in either the boy or his welfare. My mind was on my lecture, +and the impatient look on the faces of the audience, and the consulted +watch of the chairman of the committee, followed by the inevitable: +"You are not very prompt, sir," etc. "Our people have been in their +seats," etc. If the boy had previously replied to my question as to +where he lived, I had forgotten the name of the town. +</p> + +<p> +"I live"—— Then he stopped. "I live in—— Do you mean now?" he +added simply. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +There was another pause. "I don't know, sir; maybe they won't let me +stay." +</p> + +<p> +Another foolish question. Of course, if he had left home for good, and +was now on his way to the asylum for the first time, his present home +was this hack. +</p> + +<p> +But he had won my interest now. His words had come in tones of such +directness, and were so calm, and gave so full a statement of the +exact facts, that I leaned over quickly, and began studying him a +little closer. +</p> + +<p> +I saw that this scrap of a boy wore a gray woolen suit, and I noticed +that the cap was made of the same cloth as the jacket, and that both +were the work of some inexperienced hand, with uneven, unpressed +seams—the seams of a flat-iron, not a tailor's goose. Instinctively +my mind went back to what his earlier life had been. +</p> + +<p> +"Have you got any brothers and sisters, my boy?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Where are they?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know, sir; I was too little to remember." +</p> + +<p> +The pathos of this answer stirred me all the more. +</p> + +<p> +"Who's been taking care of you ever since your father left you?" I had +lowered my voice now to a more confidential tone. +</p> + +<p> +"A German man." +</p> + +<p> +"What did you leave him for?" +</p> + +<p> +"He had no work, and he took me to the priest." +</p> + +<p> +"When?" +</p> + +<p> +"Last week, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"What did the priest do?" +</p> + +<p> +"He gave me these clothes. Don't you think they're nice? The priest's +sister made them for me—all but the stockings; she bought those." +</p> + +<p> +As he said this he lifted his arms so I could look under them, and +thrust out toward me his two plump legs. I said the clothes were very +nice, and that I thought they fitted him very well, and I felt his +chubby knees and calves as I spoke, and ended by getting hold of his +soft wee hand, which I held on to. His fingers closed tightly over +mine, and a slight smile lighted up his face. It seemed good to him to +have something to hold on to. I began again:— +</p> + +<p> +"Did the priest send you here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir. Do you want to see the letter?" The little hand—the free +one—fumbled under the jacket, loosened the two lower buttons, and +disclosed a white envelope pinned to his shirt. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm to give it to 'em at the asylum. But I can't unpin it. He told me +not to." +</p> + +<p> +"That's right, my boy. Leave it where it is." +</p> + +<p> +"You poor little rat," I said to myself. "This is pretty rough on you. +You ought to be tucked up in some warm bed, not out here alone in this +storm." +</p> + +<p> +The boy felt for the pin in the letter, reassured himself that it was +safe, and carefully rebuttoned his jacket. I looked out of the window, +and caught glimpses of houses flying by, with lights in their windows, +and now and then the cheery blaze of a fire. Then I looked into his +eyes again. I still had hold of his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Surely," I said to myself, "this boy must have some one soul who +cares for him." I determined to go a little deeper. +</p> + +<p> +"How did you get here, my boy?" I had leaned nearer to him. +</p> + +<p> +"The priest put me on the train, and a lady told me where to get off." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, a lady!" Now I was getting at it! Then he was not so desolate; a +lady had looked after him. "What's her name?" This with increased +eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +"She didn't tell me, sir." +</p> + +<p> +I sank back on my seat. No! I was all wrong. It was a positive, +undeniable, piteous fact. Seventy millions of people about him, and +not one living soul to look to. Not a tie that connected him with +anything. A leaf blown across a field; a bottle adrift in the sea, +sailing from no port and bound for no haven. I got hold of his other +hand, and looked down into his eyes, and an almost irresistible desire +seized me to pick him up in my arms and hug him; he was too big to +kiss, and too little to shake hands with; hugging was all there was +left. But I didn't. There was something in his face that repelled any +such familiarity,—a quiet dignity, pluck, and patience that inspired +more respect than tenderness, that would make one want rather to touch +his hat to him. +</p> + +<p> +Here the cab stopped with so sudden a jerk that I had to catch him by +the arms to steady him. Cabby opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Morgan House, boss. Goin's awful, or I'd got ye here sooner." +</p> + +<p> +The boy looked up into my face; not with any show of uneasiness, only +a calm patience. If he was to walk now, he was ready. +</p> + +<p> +"Cabby, how far is it to the asylum?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bout a mile and a half." +</p> + +<p> +"Throw that trunk off and drive on. This boy can't walk." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll take him, boss." +</p> + +<p> +"No; I'll take him myself. Lively, now." +</p> + +<p> +I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes of the hour had gone. I would +still have time to jump into a dress suit, but the dinner must be +brief. There came a seesaw rocking, then a rebound, and a heavy thud +told where the trunk had fallen. The cab sped on round a sharp corner, +through a narrow street, and across a wide square. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a thought rushed over me that culminated in a creeping chill. +Where was his trunk? In my anxiety over my own, I had forgotten the +boy's. +</p> + +<p> +I turned quickly to the window, and shouted:— +</p> + +<p> +"Cabby! <i>Cabby</i>, you didn't leave the boy's trunk, too, did you?" +</p> + +<p> +The little fellow slid down from the seat, and began fumbling around +in the dark. +</p> + +<p> +"No, sir; I've got 'em here;" and he held up the collar box and brown +paper bundle! +</p> + +<p> +"Is that all?" I gasped. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, sir! I got ten cents the lady give me. Do you want to see +it?" and he began cramming his chubby hand into his side pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"No, my son, I don't want to see it." +</p> + +<p> +I didn't want to see anything in particular. His word was good enough. +I couldn't, really. My eyelashes somehow had got tangled up in each +other, and my pupils wouldn't work. It's queer how a man's eyes act +sometimes. +</p> + +<p> +We were now reaching the open country. The houses were few and farther +apart. The street lamps gave out; so did the telegraph wires festooned +with snow loops. Soon a big building, square, gray, sombre-looking, +like a jail, loomed up on a hill. Then we entered a gate between +flickering lamps, and tugged up a steep road, and stopped. Cabby +sprang down and rang a bell, which sounded in the white stillness like +a fire-gong. A door opened, and a flood of light streamed out, showing +the kindly face and figure of an old priest in silhouette, the yellow +glow forming a golden background. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, sonny," said cabby, throwing open the cab door. +</p> + +<p> +The little fellow slid down again from the seat, caught up the box and +bundle, and, looking me full in the face, said:— +</p> + +<p> +"It <i>was</i> too far to walk." +</p> + +<p> +There were no thanks, no outburst. He was merely a chip in the +current. If he had just escaped some sunken rock, it was the way with +chips like himself. All boys went to asylums, and had no visible +fathers nor invisible mothers nor friends. This talk about boys going +swimming, and catching bull-frogs, and robbing birds' nests, and +playing ball, and "hooky," and marbles, was all moonshine. Boys never +did such things, except in story-books. He was a boy himself, and +knew. There couldn't anything better happen to a boy than being sent +to an orphan asylum. Everybody knew that. There was nothing strange +about it. That's what boys were made for. +</p> + +<p> +All this was in his eyes. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +When I reached the platform and faced my audience, I was dinnerless, +half an hour late, and still in my traveling dress. +</p> + +<p> +I began as follows:— +</p> + +<p> +"Ladies and gentlemen, I ask your forgiveness. I am very sorry to have +kept you waiting, but I could not help it. I was occupied in escorting +to his suburban home one of your most distinguished citizens." +</p> + +<p> +And I described the boy in the cloth cap, with his box and bundle, and +his patient, steady eyes, and plump little legs in the yarn stockings. +</p> + +<p> +I was forgiven. +</p> + + + + +<a name="82"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +BETWEEN SHOWERS IN DORT +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropT.jpg" alt="T" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">here</span> be inns in Holland—not hotels, not pensions, nor +stopping-places—just inns. The Bellevue at Dort is one, and the +Holland Arms is another, and the—no, there are no others. Dort only +boasts these two, and Dort to me is Holland. +</p> + +<p> +The rivalry between these two inns has been going on for years, and it +still continues. The Bellevue, fighting for place, elbowed its way +years ago to the water-line, and took its stand on the river-front, +where the windows and porticos could overlook the Maas dotted with +boats. The Arms, discouraged, shrank back into its corner, and made up +in low windows, smoking-rooms, and private bathroom—one for the whole +house—what was lacking in porticos and sea view. Then followed a +slight skirmish in paint,—red for the Arms and yellow-white for the +Bellevue; and a flank movement of shades and curtains,—linen for the +Arms and lace for the Bellevue. Scouting parties were next ordered out +of porters in caps, banded with silk ribbons, bearing the names of +their respective hostelries. Yacob of the Arms was to attack weary +travelers on alighting from the train, and acquaint them with the +delights of the downstairs bath, and the dark-room for the kodakers, +all free of charge. And Johan of the Bellevue was to give minute +descriptions of the boats landing in front of the dining-room windows +and of the superb view of the river. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +It is always summer when I arrive in Dordrecht. I don't know what +happens in winter, and I don't care. The groundhog knows enough to go +into his hole when the snow begins to fly, and to stay there until the +sun thaws him out again. Some tourists could profit by following his +example. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="82i"><img src="images/003.jpg" alt="THROUGH STREETS EMBOWERED IN TREES" width="465" height="257"></a></div> +<p class="caption">THROUGH STREETS EMBOWERED IN TREES +</p> + +<p> +It is summer then, and the train has rolled into the station at +Dordrecht, or beside it, and the traps have been thrown out, and +Peter, my boatman—he of the "Red Tub," a craft with an outline like a +Dutch vrou, quite as much beam as length (we go a-sketching in this +boat)—Peter, I say, who has come to the train to meet me, has swung +my belongings over his shoulder, and Johan, the porter of the +Bellevue, with a triumphant glance at Yacob of the Arms, has stowed +the trunk on the rear platform of the street tram,—no cabs or trucks, +if you please, in this town,—and the one-horse car has jerked its way +around short curves and up through streets embowered in trees and +paved with cobblestones scrubbed as clean as china plates, and over +quaint bridges with glimpses of sluggish canals and queer houses, and +so on to my lodgings. +</p> + +<p> +And mine host, Heer Boudier, waiting on the steps, takes me by the +hand and says the same room is ready and has been for a week. +</p> + +<p> +Inside these two inns, the only inns in Dort, the same rivalry exists. +But my parallels must cease. Mine own inn is the Bellevue, and my old +friend of fifteen years, Heer Boudier, is host, and so loyalty compels +me to omit mention of any luxuries but those to which I am accustomed +in his hostelry. +</p> + +<p> +Its interior has peculiar charms for me. Scrupulously clean, simple in +its appointments and equipment, it is comfort itself. Tyne is +responsible for its cleanliness—or rather, that particular portion of +Tyne which she bares above her elbows. Nobody ever saw such a pair of +sledge-hammer arms as Tyne's on any girl outside of Holland. She is +eighteen; short, square-built, solid as a Dutch cheese, fresh and rosy +as an English milkmaid; moon-faced, mild-eyed as an Alderney heifer, +and as strong as a three-year-old. Her back and sides are as straight +as a plank; the front side is straight too. The main joint in her body +is at the hips. This is so flexible that, wash-cloth in hand, she can +lean over the floor without bending her knees and scrub every board in +it till it shines like a Sunday dresser. She wears a snow-white cap as +dainty as the finest lady's in the land; an apron that never seems to +lose the crease of the iron, and a blue print dress bunched up behind +to keep it from the slop. Her sturdy little legs are covered by gray +yarn stockings which she knits herself, the feet thrust into wooden +sabots. These clatter over the cobbles as she scurries about with a +crab-like movement, sousing, dousing, and scrubbing as she goes; for +Tyne attacks the sidewalk outside with as much gusto as she does the +hall and floors. +</p> + +<p> +Johan the porter moves the chairs out of Tyne's way when she begins +work, and, lately, I have caught him lifting her bucket up the front +steps—a wholly unnecessary proceeding when Tyne's muscular +developments are considered. Johan and I had a confidential talk one +night, when he brought the mail to my room,—the room on the second +floor overlooking the Maas,—in which certain personal statements were +made. When I spoke to Tyne about them the next day, she looked at me +with her big blue eyes, and then broke into a laugh, opening her mouth +so wide that every tooth in her head flashed white (they always +reminded me somehow of peeled almonds). With a little bridling twist +of her head she answered that—but, of course, this was a strictly +confidential communication, and of so entirely private a nature that +no gentleman under the circumstances would permit a single word of it +to— +</p> + +<p> +Johan is taller than Tyne, but not so thick through. When he meets you +at the station, with his cap and band in his hand, his red hair +trimmed behind as square as the end of a whisk-broom, his thin, +parenthesis legs and Vienna guardsman waist,—each detail the very +opposite, you will note, from Tyne's,—you recall immediately one of +George Boughton's typical Dutchmen. The only thing lacking is his +pipe; he is too busy for that. +</p> + +<p> +When he dons his dress suit for dinner, and bending over your shoulder +asks, in his best English: "Mynheer, don't it now de feesh you haf?" +you lose sight of Boughton's Dutchman and see only the cosmopolitan. +The transformation is due entirely to continental influences—Dort +being one of the main highways between London and Paris—influences so +strong that even in this water-logged town on the Maas, bonnets are +beginning to replace caps, and French shoes sabots. +</p> + +<p> +The guests that Johan serves at this inn of my good friend Boudier are +as odd looking as its interior. They line both sides and the two ends +of the long table. Stout Germans in horrible clothes, with stouter +wives in worse; Dutchmen from up-country in brown coats and green +waistcoats; clerks off on a vacation with kodaks and Cook's tickets; +bicyclists in knickerbockers; painters, with large kits and small +handbags, who talk all the time and to everybody; gray-whiskered, +red-faced Englishmen, with absolutely no conversation at all, who +prove to be distinguished persons attended by their own valets, and on +their way to Aix or the Engadine, now that the salmon-fishing in +Norway is over; school teachers from America, just arrived from +Antwerp or Rotterdam, or from across the channel by way of Harwich, +their first stopping-place really since they left home—one +traveling-dress and a black silk in the bag; all the kinds and +conditions and sorts of people who seek out precious little places +like Dort, either because they are cheap or comfortable, or because +they are known to be picturesque. +</p> + +<p> +I sought out Dort years ago because it was untouched by the hurry that +makes life miserable, and the shams that make it vulgar, and I go back +to it now every year of my life, in spite of other foreign influences. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="88"><img src="images/004.jpg" alt="THE GOSSIPS LEAN IN THE DOORWAYS" width="331" height="450"></a></div> +<p class="caption">THE GOSSIPS LEAN IN THE DOORWAYS +</p> + +<p> +And there is no real change in fifteen years. Its old trees still nod +over the sleepy canals in the same sleepy way they have done, no +doubt, for a century. The rooks—the same rooks, they never die—still +swoop in and out of the weather-stained arches high up in the great +tower of the Groote Kerk, the old twelfth-century church, the tallest +in all Holland; the big-waisted Dutch luggers with rudders painted +arsenic green—what would painters do without this green?—doze under +the trees, their mooring lines tied to the trunks; the girls and boys, +with arms locked, a dozen together, clatter over the cobbles, singing +as they walk; the steamboats land and hurry on—"Fop Smit's boats" the +signs read—it is pretty close, but I am not part owner in the line; +the gossips lean in the doorways or under the windows banked with +geraniums and nasturtiums; the cumbersome state carriages with the big +ungainly horses with untrimmed manes and tails—there are only five of +these carriages in all Dordrecht—wait in front of the great houses +eighty feet wide and four stories high, some dating as far back as +1512, and still occupied by descendants of the same families; the old +women in ivory black, with dabs of Chinese white for sabots and caps, +push the same carts loaded with Hooker's green vegetables from door to +door; the town crier rings his bell; the watchman calls the hour. +</p> + +<p> +Over all bends the ever-changing sky, one hour close-drawn, gray-lined +with slanting slashes of blinding rain, the next piled high with great +domes of silver-white clouds inlaid with turquoise blue or hemmed in +by low-lying ranges of purple peaks capped with gold. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +I confess that an acute sense of disappointment came over me when I +first saw these gray canals, rain-varnished streets, and rows of green +trees. I recognized at a glance that it was not my Holland; not the +Holland of my dreams; not the Holland of Mesdag nor Poggenbeck nor +Kever. It was a fresher, sweeter, more wholesome land, and with a more +breathable air. These Dutch painters had taught me to look for dull, +dirty skies, soggy wharves, and dismal perspectives of endless dikes. +They had shown me countless windmills, scattered along stretches of +wind-swept moors backed by lowering skies, cold gray streets, quaint, +leanover houses, and smudgy, grimy interiors. They had enveloped all +this in the stifling, murky atmosphere of a western city slowly +strangling in clouds of coal smoke. +</p> + +<p> +These Dutch artists were, perhaps, not alone in this falsification. It +is one of the peculiarities of modern art that many of its masters +cater to the taste of a public who want something that <i>is not</i> +in preference to something that <i>is</i>. Ziem, for instance, had, up +to the time of my enlightenment, taught me to love an equally untrue +and impossible Venice—a Venice all red and yellow and deep +ultra-marine blue—a Venice of unbuildable palaces and blazing red +walls. +</p> + +<p> +I do not care to say so aloud, where I can be heard over the way, but +if you will please come inside my quarters, and shut the door and +putty up the keyhole, and draw down the blinds, I will whisper in your +ear that my own private opinion is that even Turner himself would have +been an infinitely greater artist had he built his pictures on Venice +instead of building them on Turner. I will also be courageous enough +to assert that the beauty and dignity of Venetian architecture—an +architecture which has delighted many appreciative souls for +centuries—finds no place in his canvases, either in detail or in +mass. The details may be unimportant, for the soft vapor of the +lagoons ofttimes conceals them, but the correct outline of the +mass—that is, for instance, the true proportion of the dome of the +Salute, that incomparable, incandescent pearl, or the vertical line of +the Campanile compared to the roofs of the connecting palaces—should +never be ignored, for they are as much a part of Venice, the part that +makes for beauty, as the shimmering light of the morning or the glory +of its sunsets. So it is that when most of us for the first time reach +the water-gates of Venice, the most beautiful of all cities by the +sea, we feel a certain shock and must begin to fall in love with a new +sweetheart. +</p> + +<p> +So with many painters of the Holland school—not the old Dutch school +of landscape painters, but the more modern group of men who paint +their native skies with zinc-white toned with London fog, or mummy +dust and bitumen. It is all very artistic and full of "tone," but it +is not Holland. +</p> + +<p> +There is Clays, for instance. Of all modern painters Clays has charmed +and wooed us best with certain phases of Holland life, particularly +the burly brown boats lying at anchor, their red and white sails +reflected in the water. I love these boats of Clays. They are superbly +drawn, strong in color, and admirably painted; the water treatment, +too, is beyond criticism. But where are they in Holland? I know +Holland from the Zuyder Zee to Rotterdam, but I have never yet seen +one of Clays's boats in the original wood. +</p> + +<p> +Thus by reason of such smeary, up and down fairy tales in paint have +we gradually become convinced that vague trees, and black houses with +staring patches of whitewash, and Vandyke brown roofs are thoroughly +characteristic of Holland, and that the blessed sun never shines in +this land of sabots. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="94"><img src="images/005.jpg" alt="DRENCHED LEAVES QUIVERING" width="449" height="250"></a></div> +<p class="caption">DRENCHED LEAVES QUIVERING +</p> + +<p> +But doesn't it rain? Yes, about half the time, perhaps three quarters +of the time. Well, now that I think of it, about all the time. But not +continuously; only in intermittent downpours, floods, gushes of +water—not once a day but every half hour. Then comes the quick +drawing of a gray curtain from a wide expanse of blue, framing ranges +of snow-capped cumuli; streets swimming in great pools; drenched +leaves quivering in dazzling sunlight, and millions of raindrops +flashing like diamonds. +</p> + +<br> +<p class="head"> +II +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropB.jpg" alt="B" width="104" height="103" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">ut</span> Peter, my boatman, cap in hand, is waiting on the cobbles outside +the inn door. He has served me these many years. He is a wiry, thin, +pinch-faced Dutchman, of perhaps sixty, who spent his early life at +sea as man-o'-war's-man, common sailor, and then mate, and his later +years at home in Dort, picking up odd jobs of ferriage or stevedoring, +or making early gardens. While on duty he wears an old white +traveling-cap pulled over his eyes, and a flannel shirt without collar +or tie, and sail-maker's trousers. These trousers are caught at his +hips by a leather strap supporting a sheath which holds his knife. He +cuts everything with this knife, from apples and navy plug to ship's +cables and telegraph wire. His clothes are waterproof; they must be, +for no matter how hard it rains, Peter is always dry. The water may +pour in rivulets from off his cap, and run down his forehead and from +the end of his gargoyle of a nose, but no drop ever seems to wet his +skin. When it rains the fiercest, I, of course, retreat under the +poke-bonnet awning made of cotton duck stretched over barrel hoops +that protects the stern of my boat, but Peter never moves. This Dutch +rain does not in any way affect him. It is like the Jersey +mosquito—it always spares the natives. +</p> + +<p> +Peter speaks two languages, both Dutch. He says that one is English, +but he cannot prove it—nobody can. When he opens his mouth you know +all about his ridiculous pretensions. He says—"Mynheer, dot manus ist +er blowdy rock." He has learned this expression from the English +sailors unloading coal at the big docks opposite Pappendrecht, and he +has incorporated this much of their slang into his own nut-cracking +dialect. He means of course "that man is a bloody rogue." He has a +dozen other phrases equally obscure. +</p> + +<p> +Peter's mission this first morning after my arrival is to report that +the good ship Red Tub is now lying in the harbor fully equipped for +active service. That her aft awning has been hauled taut over its +hoops; that her lockers of empty cigar boxes (receptacles for brushes) +have been clewed up; the cocoa-matting rolled out the whole length of +her keel, and finally that the water bucket and wooden chair (I use a +chair instead of an easel) have been properly stowed. +</p> + +<p> +Before the next raincloud spills over its edges, we must loosen the +painter from the iron ring rusted tight in the square stone in the +wharf, man the oars, and creep under the little bridge that binds +Boudier's landing to the sidewalk over the way, and so set our course +for the open Maas. For I am in search of Dutch boats to-day, as near +like Clays's as I can find. I round the point above the old India +warehouses, I catch sight of the topmasts of two old luggers anchored +in midstream, their long red pennants flattened against the gray sky. +The wind is fresh from the east, filling the sails of the big +windmills blown tight against their whirling arms. The fishing-smacks +lean over like dipping gulls; the yellow water of the Maas is flecked +with wavy lines of beer foam. +</p> + +<p> +The good ship Red Tub is not adapted to outdoor sketching under these +conditions. The poke-bonnet awning acts as a wind-drag that no amount +of hard pulling can overcome. So I at once convene the Board of +Strategy, Lieutenant-Commander Peter Jansen, Red Tub Navy, in the +chair. That distinguished naval expert rises from his water-soaked +seat on the cocoa-matting outside the poke bonnet, sweeps his eye +around the horizon, and remarks sententiously:— +</p> + +<p> +"It no tam goot day. Blow all dime; we go ba'd-hoose," and he turns +the boat toward a low-lying building anchored out from the main shore +by huge chains secured to floating buoys. +</p> + +<p> +In some harbors sea-faring men are warned not to "anchor over the +water-pipes." In others particular directions are given to avoid +"submarine cables planted here." In Dort, where none of these modern +conveniences exist, you are notified as follows: "No boats must land +at this Bath." +</p> + +<p> +If Peter knew of this rule he said not one word to me as I sat back +out of the wet, hived under the poke bonnet, squeezing color-tubes and +assorting my brushes. He rowed our craft toward the bath-house with +the skill of a man-o'-war's-man, twisted the painter around a short +post, and unloaded my paraphernalia on a narrow ledge or plank walk +some three feet wide, and which ran around the edge of the floating +bath-house. +</p> + +<p> +It never takes me long to get to work, once my subject is selected. I +sprang from the boat while Peter handed me the chair, stool, and +portfolio containing my stock of gray papers of different tones; +opened my sketch frame, caught a sheet of paper tight between its +cleats; spread palettes and brushes on the floor at my side; placed +the water bucket within reach of my hand, and in five minutes I was +absorbed in my sketch. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately the customary thing happened. The big bank of gray cloud +that hung over the river split into feathery masses of white framed in +blue, and out blazed the glorious sun. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Peter had squatted close beside me, sheltered under the lee +of the side wall of the bath-house, protected equally from the slant +of the driving rain and the glare of the blinding sun. Safe too from +the watchful eye of the High Pan-Jam who managed the bath, and who at +the moment was entirely oblivious of the fact that only two inches of +pine board separated him from an enthusiastic painter working like +mad, and an equally alert marine assistant who supplied him with fresh +water and charcoal points, both at the moment defying the law of the +land, one in ignorance and the other in a spirit of sheer bravado. For +Peter must have known the code and the penalty. +</p> + +<p> +The world is an easy place for a painter to live and breathe in when +he is sitting far from the madding crowd—of boys—protected from the +wind and sun, watching a sky piled up in mountains of snow, and +inhaling ozone that is a tonic to his lungs. When the outline of his +sketch is complete and the colors flow and blend, and the heart is on +fire; when the bare paper begins to lose itself in purple distances +and long stretches of tumbling water, and the pictured boats take +definite shape, and the lines of the rigging begin to tell; when +little by little, with a pat here and a dab there, there comes from +out this flat space a something that thrilled him when he first +determined to paint the thing that caught his eye,—not the thing +itself, but the spirit, the soul, the feeling, and meaning of the +color-poem unrolled before him,—when a painter feels a thrill like +this, all the fleets of Spain might bombard him, and his eye would +never waver nor his touch hesitate. +</p> + +<p> +I felt it to-day. +</p> + +<p> +Peter didn't. If he had he would have kept still and passed me fresh +water and rags and new tubes and whatever I wanted—and I wanted +something every minute—instead of disporting himself in an entirely +idiotic and disastrous way. Disastrous, because you might have seen +the sketch which I began reproduced in these pages had the +Lieutenant-Commander, R.T.N., only carried out the orders of the +Lord High Admiral commanding the fleet. +</p> + +<p> +A sunbeam began it. It peeped over the edge of the side wall—the wall +really was but little higher than Peter's head when he stood +erect—and started in to creep down my half-finished sketch. Peter +rose in his wrath, reached for my white umbrella, and at once opened +it and screwed together the jointed handle. Then he began searching +for some convenient supporting hook on which to hang his shield of +defence. Next a brilliant, intellectual dynamite-bomb of a thought +split his cranium. He would hoist the umbrella <i>above</i> the top of +the thin wall of the bath-house, resting one half upon its upper edge, +drive the iron spike into the plank under our feet, and secure the +handle by placing his back against it. No sunbeam should pass him! +</p> + +<p> +The effect can be imagined on the High-Pan-Jam inside the +bath-house—an amphibious guardian, oblivious naturally to sun and +rain—when his eye fell upon this flag of defiance thrust up above his +ramparts. You can imagine, too, the consternation of the peaceful +inmates of the open pools, whose laughter had now and then risen above +the sough of the wind and splash of the water. Almost immediately I +heard the sound of hurrying footsteps from a point where no sound had +come before, and there followed the scraping of a pair of toes on the +planking behind me, as if some one was drawing himself up. +</p> + +<p> +I looked around and up and saw eight fingers clutching the top of the +planking, and a moment later the round face of an astonished Dutchman. +I haven't the faintest idea what he said. I didn't know then and I +don't know now. I only remember that his dialect sounded like the +traditional crackling of thorns under a pot, including the +spluttering, and suggesting the equally heated temperature. When his +fingers gave out he would drop out of sight, only to rise again and +continue the attack. +</p> + +<p> +Here Peter, I must say, did credit to his Dutch ancestors. He did not +temporize. He did not argue. He ignored diplomacy at the start, and +blazed out that we were out of everybody's way and on the lee side of +the structure; that there was no sign up on that side; that I was a +most distinguished personage of blameless life and character, and +that, rules or no rules, he was going to stay where he was and so was +I. +</p> + +<p> +"You tam blowdy rock. It's s'welve o'clook now—no rule aft' s'welve +o'clook,—nopody ba'd now;"—This in Dutch, but it meant that, then +turning to me, "You stay—you no go—I brek tam head him."— +</p> + +<p> +None of this interested me. I had heard Peter explode before. I was +trying to match the tone of an opalescent cloud inlaid with +mother-of-pearl, the shadow side all purplish gray. Its warm +high-lights came all right, but I was half out of my head trying to +get its shadow-tones true with Payne's gray and cobalt. The cloud +itself had already cast its moorings and was fast drifting over the +English Channel. It would be out of sight in five minutes. +</p> + +<p> +"Peter—<i>Peter!</i>" I cried. "Don't talk so much. Here, give him +half a gulden and tell him to dry up. Hand me that sky brush—quick +now!" +</p> + +<p> +The High Pan-Jam dropped with a thud to his feet. His swinging +footsteps could be heard growing fainter, but no stiver of my silver +had lined his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +I worked on. The tea-rose cloud had disappeared entirely; only its +poor counterfeit remained. The boats were nearly finished; another +wash over their sails would bring them all right. Then the tramp as of +armed men came from the in-shore side of the bath-house. Peter stood +up and craned his neck around the edge of the planking, and said in an +undertone:— +</p> + +<p> +"Tam b'lice, he come now; nev' mind, you stay 'ere—no go. Tam blowdy +rock no mak' you go." +</p> + +<p> +Behind me stood the High Pan-Jam who had scraped his toes on the +fence. With him was an officer of police! +</p> + +<p> +Peter was now stamping his feet, swearing in Dutch, English, and +polyglot, and threatening to sponge the Dutch government from the face +of the universe. +</p> + +<p> +My experience has told me that it is never safe to monkey with a +gendarme. He is generally a perfectly cool, self-poised, +unimpressionable individual, with no animosity whatever toward you or +anybody else, but who intends to be obeyed, not because it pleases +him, but because the power behind him compels it. I instantly rose +from my stool, touched my hat in respectful military salute, and +opened my cigarette-case. The gendarme selected a cigarette with +perfect coolness and good humor, and began politely to unfold to me +his duties in connection with the municipal laws of Dordrecht. The +manager of the bath, he said, had invoked his services. I might not be +aware that it was against the law to land on this side of the +bath-house, etc. +</p> + +<p> +But the blood of the Jansens was up. Some old Koop or De Witt or Von +Somebody was stirring Peter. +</p> + +<p> +"No ba'd aft' s'welve o'clook"—this to me, both fists in the air, one +perilously near the officer's face. The original invective was in his +native tongue, hurled at Pan-Jam and the officer alike. +</p> + +<p> +"What difference does it make, your Excellency," I asked, "whether I +sit in my boat and paint or sit here where there is less motion?" +</p> + +<p> +"None, honored sir," and he took a fresh cigarette (Peter was now +interpreting),—"except for the fact that you have taken up your +position on the <i>women's</i> side of the bath-house. They bathe from +twelve o'clock till four. When the ladies saw the umbrella they were +greatly disturbed. They are now waiting for you to go away!" +</p> + +<br> +<p class="head"> +III +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropM.jpg" alt="M" width="107" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">y</span> room at Heer Boudier's commands a full view of the Maas, with all +its varied shipping. Its interior fittings are so scrupulously clean +that one feels almost uncomfortable lest some of the dainty +appointments might be soiled in the using. The bed is the most +remarkable of all its comforts. It is more of a box than a bed, and so +high at head and foot, and so solid at its sides, that it only needs a +lid to make the comparison complete. There is always at its foot an +inflated eider-down quilt puffed up like a French soufflé potato; and +there are always at its head two little oval pillows solid as bags of +ballast, surmounting a bolster that slopes off to an edge. I have +never yet found out what this bolster is stuffed with. The bed itself +would be bottomless but for the slats. When you first fall overboard +into this slough you begin to sink through its layers of feathers, and +instinctively throw out your hands, catching at the side boards as a +drowning man would clutch at the gunwales of a suddenly capsized boat. +</p> + +<p> +The second night after my arrival, I, in accordance with my annual +custom, deposited the contents of this bed in a huge pile outside my +door, making a bottom layer of the feathers, then the bolster, and +last the soufflé with the hard-boiled eggs on top. +</p> + +<p> +Then I rang for Tyne. +</p> + +<p> +She had forgotten all about the way I liked my sleeping arrangements +until she saw the pile of bedding. Then she held her sides with +laughter, while the tears streamed down her red cheeks. Of course, the +Heer should have a mattress and big English pillows, and no +bouncy-bounce, speaking the words not with her lips, but with a +gesture of her hand. Then she called Johan to help. I never can see +why Tyne always calls Johan to help when there is anything to be done +about my room out of the usual order of things,—the sweeping, +dusting, etc.,—but she does. I know full well that if she so pleased +she could tuck the whole pile of bedding under her chin, pick up the +bureau in one hand and the bed in the other, and walk downstairs +without even mussing her cap-strings. +</p> + +<p> +When Johan returned with a hair mattress and English pillows,—you can +get anything you want at Boudier's,—he asked me if I had heard the +news about Peter. Johan, by the way, speaks very good English—for +Johan. The Burgomaster, he said, had that day served Peter with a +writ. If I had looked out of the window an hour ago, I could have seen +the Lieutenant-Commander of the Red Tub, under charge of an officer of +the law, on his way to the Town Hall. Peter, he added, had just +returned and was at the present moment engaged in scrubbing out the R. +T. for active service in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +I at once sent for Peter. +</p> + +<p> +He came up, hat in hand. But there was no sign of weakening. The blood +of the Jansens was still in his eye. +</p> + +<p> +"What did they arrest you for, Peter?" +</p> + +<p> +"For make jaw wid de tam bolice. He say I mos' pay two gulden or one +tay in jail. Oh, it is notting; I no pay. Dot bolice lie ven he say +vimmen ba'd. Nopoty ba'd in de hoose aft' s'welve 'clook." +</p> + +<p> +Later, Heer Boudier tells me that because of Peter's action in +resisting the officer in the discharge of his duty, he is under +arrest, and that he has but <i>five days in which to make up his +mind</i> as to whether he will live on bread and water for a day and +night in the town jail, or whether he will deplete his slender savings +in favor of the state to the extent of two gulden. +</p> + +<p> +"But don't they lock him up, meanwhile?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +Boudier laughed. "Where would he run to, and for what? To save two +gulden?" +</p> + +<p> +My heart was touched. I could not possibly allow Peter to spend five +minutes in jail on my account. I should not have slept one wink that +night even in my luxurious bed-box with English pillows, knowing that +the Lieutenant-Commander was stretched out on a cold floor with a +cobblestone under his cheek. I knew, too, how slender was his store, +and what a godsend my annual visit had been to his butcher and baker. +The Commander of the Red Tub might be impetuous, even aggressive, but +by no possible stretch of the imagination could he be considered +criminal. +</p> + +<p> +That night I added these two gulden (about eighty cents) to Peter's +wages. He thanked me with a pleased twinkle in his eye, and a +wrinkling of the leathery skin around his nose and mouth. Then he put +on his cap and disappeared up the street. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +But the inns, quaint canals, and rain-washed streets are not Dort's +only distinctions. There is an ancient Groote Kerk, overlaid with +colors that are rarely found outside of Holland. It is built of brick, +with a huge square tower that rises above the great elms pressing +close about it, and which is visible for miles. The moist climate not +only encrusts its twelfth-century porch with brown-and-green patches +of lichen over the red tones, but dims the great stained-glass windows +with films of mould, and covers with streaks of Hooker's green the +shadow sides of the long sloping roofs. Even the brick pavements about +it are carpeted with strips of green, as fresh in color as if no +passing foot had touched them. And few feet ever do touch them, for it +is but a small group of worshipers that gather weekly within the old +kirk's whitewashed walls. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="108"><img src="images/006.jpg" alt="AN ANCIENT GROOTE KERK" width="452" height="261"></a></div> +<p class="caption">AN ANCIENT GROOTE KERK +</p> + +<p> +These faithful few do not find the rich interior of the olden time, +for many changes have come over it since its cathedral days, the days +of its pomp and circumstance. All its old-time color is gone when you +enter its portals, and only staring white walls and rigid, naked +columns remain; only dull gray stone floors and hard, stiff-backed +benches. I have often sat upon these same benches in the gloom of a +fast-fading twilight and looked about me, bemoaning the bareness, and +wondering what its <i>ensemble</i> must have been in the days of its +magnificence. There is nothing left of its glories now but its +architectural lines. The walls have been stripped of their costly +velvets, tapestries, and banners of silk and gold, the uplifted cross +is gone; the haze of swinging censers no longer blurs the vistas, nor +the soft light of many tapers illumines their gloom. +</p> + +<p> +I have always believed that duty and beauty should ever go hand in +hand in our churches. To me there is nothing too rich in tone, too +luxurious in color, too exquisite in line for the House of God. +Nothing that the brush of the painter can make glorious, the chisel of +the sculptor beautify, or the T-square of the architect ennoble, can +ever be out of place in the one building of all others that we +dedicate to the Creator of all beauty. I have always thanked Him for +his goodness in giving as much thought to the flowers that cover the +hillsides as He did to the dull earth that lies beneath; as much care +to the matchings of purples and gold in the sunsets as to the +blue-black crags that are outlined against them. With these feelings +in my heart I have never understood that form of worship which +contents itself with a bare barn filled with seats of pine, a square +box of a pulpit, a lone pitcher of ice water, and a popular edition of +the hymns. But then, I am not a Dutchman. +</p> + +<p> +Besides this town of Dort, filled with queer warehouses, odd +buildings, and cobbled streets, and dominated by this majestic +cathedral, there is across the river—just a little way (Peter rows me +over in ten minutes)—the Noah's Ark town of Pappendrecht, surrounded +by great stretches of green meadow, dotted with black and white cows, +and acres and acres of cabbages and garden truck, and tiny farmhouses, +and absurdly big barns; and back of these, and in order to keep all +these dry, is a big dike that goes on forever and is lost in the +perspective. On both sides of this dike (its top is a road) are built +the toy houses facing each other, each one cleaner and better scrubbed +than its neighbor, their big windows gay with geraniums. +</p> + +<p> +Farther down is another 'recht—I cannot for the life of me remember +the first part of its name—where there is a shipyard and big +windlasses and a horse hitched to a sweep, which winds up water-soaked +luggers on to rude ways, and great pots of boiling tar, the yellow +smoke drifting away toward the sea. +</p> + +<p> +And between these towns of Dort, Pappendrecht, and the other 'recht +moves a constant procession of water craft; a never-ceasing string of +low, rakish barges that bear the commerce of Germany out to the sea, +each in charge of a powerful tug puffing eagerly in its hurry to reach +tide water, besides all the other boats and luggers that sail and +steam up and down the forked Maas in front of Boudier's Inn—for Dort +is really on an island, the water of the Rhine being divided here. You +would never think, were you to watch these ungainly boats, that they +could ever arrive anywhere. They look as if they were built to go +sideways, endways, or both ways; and yet they mind their helms and +dodge in and out and swoop past the long points of land ending in the +waving marsh grass, and all with the ease of a steam yacht. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +These and a hundred other things make me love this quaint old town on +the Maas. There is everything within its borders for the painter who +loves form and color—boats, queer houses, streets, canals, odd, +picturesque interiors, figures, brass milk cans, white-capped girls, +and stretches of marsh. If there were not other places on the earth I +love equally as well—Venice, for instance—I would be content never +to leave its shower-drenched streets. But I know that my gondola, gay +in its new <i>tenta</i> and polished brasses, is waiting for me in the +little canal next the bridge, and I must be off. +</p> + +<p> +Tyne has already packed my trunk, and Johan is ready to take it down +the stairs. Tyne sent for him. I did not. +</p> + +<p> +When Johan, like an overloaded burro stumbling down the narrow defile +of the staircase, my trunk on his back, disappears through the lower +door, Tyne reënters my room, closes the door softly, and tells me that +Johan's wages have been raised, and that before I return next summer +she and— +</p> + +<p> +But I forgot. This is another strictly confidential communication. +Under no possible circumstances could a man of honor—certainly not. +</p> + +<p> +Peter, to my surprise, is not in his customary place when I reach the +outer street door. Johan, at my inquiring gesture, grins the width of +his face, but has no information to impart regarding Peter's unusual +absence. +</p> + +<p> +Heer Boudier is more explicit. +</p> + +<p> +"Where's Peter?" I cry with some impatience. +</p> + +<p> +My host shrugs his shoulders with a helpless movement, and opens wide +the fingers of both hands. +</p> + +<p> +"Mynheer, the five days are up. Peter has gone to jail." +</p> + +<p> +"What for?" I ask in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +"To save two gulden." +</p> + + + + +<a name="113"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +ONE OF BOB'S TRAMPS +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropI.jpg" alt="T" width="105" height="100" align="left" hspace="4"><span class="dcap">had</span> passed him coming up the dingy corridor that led to Bob's law +office, and knew at once that he was one of Bob's tramps. +</p> + +<p> +When he had squeezed himself through the partly open door and had +closed it gently,—closed it with a hand held behind his back, like +one who had some favor to ask or some confidence game to play,—he +proved to be a man about fifty years of age, fat and short, with a +round head partly bald, and hair quite gray. His face had not known a +razor for days. He was dressed in dark clothes, once good, showing a +white shirt, and he wore a collar without a cravat. Down his cheeks +were uneven furrows, beginning at his spilling, watery eyes, and +losing themselves in the stubble-covered cheeks,—like old +rain-courses dried up,—while on his flat nose were perched a pair of +silver-rimmed spectacles, over which he looked at us in a dazed, +half-bewildered, half-frightened way. In one hand he held his +shapeless slouch hat; the other grasped an old violin wrapped in a +grimy red silk handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant he stood before the door, bent low with unspoken +apologies; then placing his hat on the floor, he fumbled nervously in +the breast pocket of his coat, from which he drew a letter, penned in +an unknown hand and signed with an unknown name. Bob read it, and +passed it to me. +</p> + +<p> +"Please buy this violin," the note ran. "It is a good instrument, and +the man needs the money. The price is sixty dollars." +</p> + +<p> +"Who gave you this note?" Bob asked. He never turns a beggar from his +door if he can help it. This reputation makes him the target for half +the tramps in town. +</p> + +<p> +"Te leader of te orchestra at te theatre. He say he not know you, but +dat you loafe good violin. I come von time before, but vas nobody +here." Then, after a pause, his wavering eye seeking Bob's, "Blease +you buy him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Is it yours?" I asked, anxious to get rid of him. The note trick had +been played that winter by half the tramps in town. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes. Mine vor veefteen year," he answered slowly, in an unemotional +way. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you want to sell it?" said Bob, his interest increasing, as he +caught the pleading look in the man's eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't vant to sell it—I vant to keep it; but I haf notting," his +hands opening wide. "Ve vas in Phildelphy, ant ten Scranton, ant ten +we get here to Peetsburgh, and all te scenery is by te shereef, and te +manager haf notting. Vor vourteen tays I valk te streets, virst it is +te ofercoat ant vatch, ant yestertay te ledder case vor veefty cents. +If you ton't buy him I must keep valking till I come by New York." +</p> + +<p> +"I've got a good violin," said Bob, softening. +</p> + +<p> +"Ten you don't buy him?" and a look as of a returning pain crossed his +hopeless, impassive face. "Vell, I go vay, ten," he said, with a sigh +that seemed to empty his heart. +</p> + +<p> +We both looked on in silence as he slowly wrapped the silk rag around +it, winding the ends automatically about the bridge and strings, as he +had no doubt done a dozen times before that day in his hunt for a +customer. Suddenly as he reached the neck he stopped, turned the +violin in his hand, and unwound the handkerchief again. +</p> + +<p> +"Tid you oxamine te neck? See how it lays in te hand! Tid you ever see +neck like dat? No, you don't see it, never," in a positive tone, +looking at us again over the silver rims of his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +Bob took the violin in his hand. It was evidently an old one and of +peculiar shape. The swells and curves of the sides and back were +delicately rounded and highly finished. The neck, too, to which the +man pointed, was smooth and remarkably graceful, like the stem of an +old meerschaum pipe, and as richly colored. +</p> + +<p> +Bob handled it critically, scrutinizing every inch of its surface—he +adores a Cremona as some souls do a Madonna—then he walked with it to +the window. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, this has been mended!" he exclaimed in surprise and with a trace +of anger in his voice. "This is a new neck put on!" +</p> + +<p> +I knew by the tone that Bob was beginning now to see through the game. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah, you vind day oud, do you? Tat <i>is</i> a new neck, sure, ant a +goot von, put on py Simon Corunden—not Auguste!—Simon! It is better +as efer." +</p> + +<p> +I looked for the guileless, innocent expression with the regulation +smile that distinguishes most vagabonds on an errand like this, but +his lifeless face was unlit by any visible emotion. +</p> + +<p> +Drawing the old red handkerchief from his pocket in a tired, hopeless +way, he began twisting it about the violin again. +</p> + +<p> +"Play something on it," said Bob. He evidently believed every word of +the impromptu explanation, and was weakening again. Harrowing +sighs—chronic for years—or trickling tears shed at the right moment +by some grief-stricken woman never failed to deceive him. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I don't blay. I got no heart inside of me to blay," with a weary +movement of his hand. He was now tucking the frayed ends of the +handkerchief under the strings. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Can</i> you play?" asked Bob, grown suddenly suspicious, now that +the man dare not prove his story. +</p> + +<p> +"Can I <i>blay</i>?" he answered, with a quick lifting of his eyes, +and the semblance of a smile lighting up his furrowed face. "I blay +mit Strakosch te Mendelssohn Concerto in te olt Academy in Vourteenth +Street; ant ven Alboni sing, no von in te virst violins haf te solo +but me, ant dere is not a pin drop in te house, ant Madame Alboni send +me all te flowers tey gif her. Can I <span class="sc">blay</span>!" +</p> + +<p> +The tone of voice was masterly. He was a new experience to me, +evidently an expert in this sort of thing. Bob looked down into his +stagnant, inert face, noting the slightly scornful, hurt expression +that lingered about the mouth. Then his tender heart got the better of +him. +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot afford to pay sixty dollars for another violin," he said, +his voice expressing the sincerity of his regret. +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot sell him vor less," replied the man, in a quick, decided +way. It would have been an unfledged amateur impostor who could not +have gained courage at this last change in Bob's tone. "Ven I get to +New York," he continued, with almost a sob, "I must haf some money +more as my railroad ticket to get anudder sheap violin. Te peoples +will say it is Grossman come home vidout hees violin—he is broke. No, +I no can sell him vor less. Tis cost one hundret ant sefenty-vive +dollar ven I buy him." +</p> + +<p> +I was about to offer him five dollars, buy the patched swindle, and +end the affair—I had pressing business with Bob that morning—when he +stopped me. +</p> + +<p> +"Would you take thirty dollars and my old violin?" +</p> + +<p> +The man looked at him eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"Vere is your violin?" +</p> + +<p> +"At my house." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it a goot von? Stop a minute"—— For the third time he removed +the old red silk handkerchief. "Draw te bow across vonce. I know aboud +your violin ven I hears you blay." +</p> + +<p> +Bob tucked the instrument under his chin and drew a full, clear, +resonant tone. +</p> + +<p> +The watery eyes glistened. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I take your violin ant te money," in a decided tone. "You know +'em, ant I tink you loafe 'em too." +</p> + +<p> +The subtle flattery of this last touch was exquisitely done. The man +was an artist. +</p> + +<p> +Bob reached for a pad, and, with the remark that he was wanted in +court or he would go to his house with him, wrote an order, sealed it, +and laid three ten-dollar bills on the table. +</p> + +<p> +I felt that nothing now could check Bob. Whatever I might say or do +would fail to convince him. "I know how hard a road can be and how +sore one's feet can get," he would perhaps say to me, as he had often +done before when we blamed him for his generosities. +</p> + +<p> +The man balanced the letter on his hand, reading the inscription in a +listless sort of way, picked up the instrument, looked it all over +carefully, flecked off some specks of dust from the finger-board, laid +the violin on the office table, thrust the soiled rag into his pocket, +caught up the money, and without a word of thanks closed the door +behind him. +</p> + +<p> +"Bob," I said, the man's absolute ingratitude and my friend's colossal +simplicity irritating me beyond control, "why in the name of common +sense did you throw your money away on a sharp like that? Didn't you +see through the whole game? That note was written by himself. Corunden +never saw that fiddle in his life. You can buy a dozen of them for +five dollars apiece in any pawn-shop in town." +</p> + +<p> +Bob looked at me with that peculiar softening of the eyelids which we +know so well. Then he said thoughtfully: "Do you know what it is to be +stranded in a strange city with not a cent in your pocket, afraid to +look a policeman in the face lest he run you in? hungry, unwashed, not +a clean shirt for weeks? I don't care if he is a fraud. He sha'n't go +hungry if I can help it." +</p> + +<p> +There are some episodes in Bob's life to which he seldom refers. +</p> + +<p> +"Then why didn't he play for you?" I asked, still indignant, yet +somewhat touched by an intense earnestness unusual in Bob. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I wondered at that," he replied in a musing tone, but without a +shadow of suspicion in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't think," I continued, "he's such a fool as to go to your +house for your violin? I'll bet you he's made a bee line for a rum +mill; then he'll doctor up another old scraper and try the same game +somewhere else. Let me go after him and bring him back." +</p> + +<p> +Bob did not answer. He was tying up a bundle of papers. The violin lay +on the green-baize table where the man had put it, the law books +pushed aside to give it room. Then he put on his coat and went over to +court. +</p> + +<p> +In an hour he was back again—he and I, sitting in the small inner +office overlooking the dingy courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +We had talked but a few moments when a familiar shuffling step was +heard in the corridor. I looked through the crack in the door, touched +Bob's arm, and put my finger to my lips. Bob leaned forward and +watched with me through the crack. +</p> + +<p> +The outer office door was being slowly opened in the same noiseless +way, and the same man was creeping in. He gave an anxious glance about +the room. He had Bob's own violin in his hand; I knew it by the case. +</p> + +<p> +"Tey all oud," he muttered in an undertone. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant he wavered, looked hungrily towards his old violin, +laid Bob's on a chair near the door, stepped on tiptoe to the +green-baize table, picked up the Cremona, looked it all over, +smoothing the back with his hands, then, nestling it under his chin, +drew the bow gently across the strings, shut his eyes, and began the +Concerto,—the one he had played with Alboni,—not with its full +volume of sound or emphasis, but with echoes, pulsations, tremulous +murmurings, faint breathings of its marvelous beauty. The instrument +seemed part of himself, the neck welded to his fingers, the bow but a +piece of his arm, with a heart-throb down its whole length. +</p> + +<p> +When it was ended he rubbed his cheek softly against his old comrade, +smoothed it once or twice with his hand, laid it tenderly back in its +place on the table among the books, picked up Bob's violin from the +chair, and gently closed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at Bob. He was leaning against his desk, his eyes on the +floor, his whole soul filled with the pathos of the melody. Suddenly +he roused himself, sprang past me into the other room, and, calling to +the man, ran out into the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +"I couldn't catch him," he said in a dejected tone, coming back all +out of breath, and dropping into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +"What did you want to catch him for?" I asked; "he never robbed you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Robbed me!" cried Bob, the tears starting to his eyes. "Robbed +<i>me</i>! Good God, man! Couldn't you hear? I robbed <i>him</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +We searched for him all that day—Bob with the violin under his arm, I +with an apology. +</p> + +<p> +But he was gone. +</p> + + + + +<a name="124"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +ACCORDING TO THE LAW +</p> + + +<p class="head"> +I +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropT.jpg" alt="T" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">he</span> luncheon was at one o'clock. Not one of your club luncheons, +served in a silent, sedate mausoleum on the principal street, where +your host in the hall below enters your name in a ledger, and a +brass-be-buttoned Yellowplush precedes you upstairs into a desolate +room furnished with chairs and a round table decorated with pink +<i>boutonnières</i> set for six, and where you are plied with +Manhattans until the other guests arrive. +</p> + +<p> +Nor yet was it one of your smart petticoat luncheons in a Fifth Avenue +mansion, where a Delmonico veteran pressed into service for the +occasion waves you upstairs to another recruit, who deposits your coat +and hat on a bed, and who later on ushers you into a room ablaze with +gaslights—midday, remember—where you and the other unfortunates are +served with English pheasants cooked in their own feathers, or +Kennebec salmon embroidered with beets and appliqued with green +mayonnaise. Not that kind of a mid-day meal at all. +</p> + +<p> +On the contrary, it was served,—no, it was eaten,—reveled in, made +merry over, in an ancient house fronting on a sleepy old park filled +with live oaks and magnolias, their trunks streaked with green moss +and their branches draped with gray crape: an ancient house with a big +white door that stood wide open to welcome you,—it was December, +too,—and two verandas on either side, stretched out like welcoming +arms, their railings half hidden in clinging roses, the blossoms in +your face. +</p> + +<p> +There was an old grandmother, too,—quaint as a miniature,—with +fluffy white cap and a white worsted shawl and tea-rose cheeks, and a +smile like an opening window, so sunny did it make her face. And how +delightfully she welcomed us. +</p> + +<p> +I can hear even now the very tones of her voice, and feel the soft, +cool, restful touch of her hand. +</p> + +<p> +And there was an old darky, black as a gum shoe, with tufts of +grizzled gray wool glued to his temples—one of those loyal old house +servants of the South who belong to a régime that is past. I watched +him from the parlor scuffling with his feet as he limped along the +wide hall to announce each new arrival (his master's old Madeira had +foundered him, they said, years before), and always reaching the +drawing-room door long after the newcomer had been welcomed by shouts +of laughter and the open arms of every one in the room: the newcomer +another girl, of course. +</p> + +<p> +And this drawing-room, now I think of it, was not like any other +drawing-room that I knew. Very few things in it matched. The carpet +was a faded red, and of different shades of repair. The hangings were +of yellow silk. There were haircloth sofas, and a big fireplace, and +plenty of rocking chairs, and lounges covered with chintz of every +pattern, and softened with cushions of every hue. +</p> + +<p> +At one end hung a large mirror made of squares of glass laid like +tiles in a dull gilt frame that had held it together for nearly a +century, and on the same wall, too, and all so splotched and mouldy +with age that the girls had to stoop down to pick out a pane clear +enough to straighten their bonnets by. +</p> + +<p> +And on the side wall there were family portraits, and over the mantel +queer Chinese porcelains and a dingy coat-of-arms in a dingier frame, +and on every table, in all kinds of dishes, flat and square and round, +there were heaps and heaps of roses—De Vonienses, Hermosas, and +Agripinas—whose distinguished ancestors, hardy sons of the soil, came +direct from the Mayflower (This shall not happen again), and who +consequently never knew the enervating influences of a hothouse. And +there were marble busts on pedestals, and a wonderful clock on high +legs, and medallions with weeping willows of somebody's hair, besides +a miscellaneous collection of large and small bric-à-brac, the +heirlooms of five generations. +</p> + +<p> +And yet, with all this mismatching of color, form, and style,—this +chronological array of fittings and furnishings, beginning with the +mouldy mirror and ending with the modern straw chair,—there was a +harmony that satisfied one's every sense. +</p> + +<p> +And so restful, and helpful, and comforting, and companionable was it +all, and so accustomed was everything to be walked over, and sat on, +and kicked about; so glad to be punched out of shape if it were a +cushion which you needed for some special curve in your back or twist +of your head; so delighted to be scratched, or slopped over, or +scarred full of holes if it were a table that could hold your books or +paste-pot or lighted pipe; so hilariously joyful to be stretched out +of shape or sagged into irredeemable bulges if it were a straw chair +that could sooth your aching bones or rest a tired muscle! +</p> + +<p> +When all the girls and young fellows had arrived,—such pretty girls, +with such soft, liquid voices and captivating dialects, the one their +black mammies had taught them,—and such unconventional, happy young +fellows in all sorts of costumes from blue flannel to broadcloth,—one +in a Prince Albert coat and a straw hat in his hand, and it near +Christmas,—the old darky grew more and more restless, limping in and +out of the open door, dodging anxiously into the drawing-room and out +again, his head up like a terrapin's. +</p> + +<p> +Finally he veered across to a seat by the window, and, shielding his +mouth with his wrinkled, leathery paw, bent over the old grandmother +and poured into her ear a communication of such vital import that the +dear old lady arose at once and, taking my hand, said in her low, +sweet voice that we would wait no longer for the Judge, who was +detained in court. +</p> + +<p> +After this the aged Terrapin scuffled out again, reappearing almost +immediately before the door in white gloves inches too long at the +fingers. Then bowing himself backwards he preceded us into the +dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +And the table was so inviting when we took our seats around it, I +sitting on the right of the grandmother—being the only stranger—and +the prettiest of all the girls next to me. And the merriment was so +contagious, and the sallies of wit so sparkling, and the table itself! +Solid mahogany, this old heirloom! rich and dark as a meerschaum, the +kind of mahogany that looked as if all the fine old Madeira and choice +port that had been drunk above it had soaked into its pores. And every +fibre of it in evidence, too, except where the silver coasters, and +the huge silver centrepiece filled with roses, and the plates and the +necessary appointments hid its shining countenance. +</p> + +<p> +And the aged Terrapin evidently appreciated in full the sanctity of +this family altar, and duly realized the importance of his position as +its High Priest. Indeed, there was a gravity, a dignity, and repose +about him as he limped through his ministrations which I had noticed +in him before. If he showed any nervousness at all it was as he +glanced now and then toward the drawing-room door through which the +Judge must enter. +</p> + +<p> +And yet he appeared outwardly calm, even under this strain. For had he +not provided for every emergency? Were not His Honor's viands already +at that moment on the kitchen hearth, with special plates over them to +keep them hot against his arrival? +</p> + +<p> +And what a luncheon it was! The relays of fried chicken, baked sweet +potatoes, corn-bread, and mango pickles—a most extraordinary +production, I maintain, is a mango pickle!—and things baked on top +and brown, and other things baked on the bottom and creamy white. +</p> + +<p> +And the fun, too, as each course appeared and disappeared only to be +followed by something more extraordinary and seductive. The men +continued to talk, and the girls never ceased laughing, and the +grandmother's eyes constantly followed the Terrapin, giving him +mysterious orders with the slightest raising of an eyelash, and we had +already reached the salad—or was it the baked ham?—when the fairy in +the pink waist next me clapped her hands and cried out:— +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you dear Judge! We waited an hour for you"—it doubtless seemed +long to her. "What in the world kept you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Couldn't help it, little one," came a voice in reply; and a man with +silver-white hair, dignified bearing, and a sunny smile on his face +edged his way around the table to the grandmother, every hand held out +to him as he passed, and, bending low over the dear lady, expressed +his regrets at having been detained. +</p> + +<p> +Then with an extended hand to me and, "It gives me very great pleasure +to see you in this part of the South, sir," he sat down in the vacant +chair, nodding to everybody graciously as he spread his napkin. A +moment later he leaned forward and said in explanation to the +grandmother,— +</p> + +<p> +"I waited for the jury to come in. You received my message, of +course?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, dear Judge; and although we missed you we sat down at once." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you been in court all day?" I asked as an introductory remark. +Of course he had if he had waited for the jury. What an extraordinary +collection of idiocies one could make if he jotted down all the stupid +things said and heard when conversations were being opened. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I am sorry to say, trying one of those cases which are becoming +daily more common." +</p> + +<p> +I looked up inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, a negro, of course," and the Judge picked up his fork and moved +back the wine glass. +</p> + +<p> +"And such dreadful things happen, and such dreadful creatures are +going about," said the grandmother, raising her hand deprecatingly. +</p> + +<p> +"How do you account for it, madam?" I asked. "It was quite different +before the war. I have often heard my father tell of the old days, and +how much the masters did for their slaves, and how loyal their +servants were. I remember one old servant whom we boys called Daddy +Billy, who was really one of the family—quite like your"—and I +nodded toward the Terrapin, who at the moment was pouring a thin +stream of brown sherry into an equally attenuated glass for the +special comfort and sustenance of the last arrival. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you mean Mordecai," she interrupted, looking at the Terrapin. "He +has always been one of our family. How long do you think he has lived +with us?"—and she lowered her voice. "Forty-eight years—long before +the war—and we love him dearly. My father gave him to us. No, it is +not the old house servants,—it is these new negroes, born since the +war, that make all the trouble." +</p> + +<p> +"You are right, madam. They are not like Mordecai," and the Judge held +up the thin glass between his eye and the light. "God bless the day +when Mordecai was born! I think this is the Amazon sherry, is it not, +my dear madam?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Mordecai's sherry, as we sometimes call it. It may interest you, +sir, to hear about it," and she turned to me again. "This wine that +the Judge praises so highly was once the pride of my husband's heart, +and when Sherman came through and burned our homes, among the few +things that were saved were sixty-two bottles of this old Amazon +sherry, named after the ship that brought it over. Mordecai buried +them in the woods and never told a single soul for two years +after—not even my husband. There are a few bottles left, and I always +bring one out when we have distinguished guests," and she bowed her +head to the Judge and to me. "Oh, yes, Mordecai has always been one of +our family, and so has his wife, who is almost as old as he is. She is +in the kitchen now, and cooked this luncheon. If these new negroes +would only behave like the old ones we would have no trouble," and a +faint sigh escaped her. +</p> + +<p> +The Terrapin, who during the conversation had disappeared in search of +another hot course for the Judge, had now reappeared, and so the +conversation was carried on in tones too low for his ears. +</p> + +<p> +"And has any effort been made to bring these modern negroes, as you +call them, into closer relation with you all, and"—— +</p> + +<p> +"It would be useless," interrupted the Judge. "The old negroes were +held in check by their cabin life and the influence of the 'great +house,' as the planter's home was called. All this has passed away. +This new product has no home and wants none. They live like animals, +and are ready for any crime. Sometimes I think they care neither for +wife, child, nor any family tie. The situation is deplorable, and is +getting worse every day. It is only the strong hand of the law that +now controls these people." His Honor spoke with some positiveness, I +thought, and with some warmth. +</p> + +<p> +"But," I broke in, "if when things became more settled you had begun +by treating them as your friends"—I was getting into shoal water, but +I blundered on, peering into the fog—"and if you had not looked upon +them as an alien race who"—— +</p> + +<p> +Just here the siren with the pink waist who sat next me—bless her +sweet face!—blew her conch-shell—she had seen the rocks ahead—and +cried out:— +</p> + +<p> +"Now, grandma, please stop talking about the war!" (The dear lady had +been silent for five minutes.) "We're tired and sick of it, aren't we, +girls? And don't you say another word, Judge. You've got to tell us +some stories." +</p> + +<p> +A rattle of glasses from all the young people was the response, and +the Judge rose, with his hand on his heart and his eyes upraised like +those of a dying saint. He protested gallantly that he hadn't said a +word, and the grandmother insisted with a laugh that she had merely +told me about Mordecai hiding the sherry, while I vowed with much +solemnity that I had not once opened my lips since I sat down, and +called upon the siren in pink to confirm it. To my great surprise she +promptly did, with an arch look of mock reproof in her eye; whereupon, +with an atoning bow to her, I grasped the lever, rang "full speed," +and thus steamed out into deep water again. +</p> + +<p> +While all this was going on at our end of the table, a running fire of +fun had been kept at the other end, near the young man in the Prince +Albert coat, which soon developed into heavy practice, the Judge with +infinite zest joining in the merriment, exploding one story after +another, each followed by peals of laughter and each better than the +other, his Honor eating his luncheon all the while with great gusto as +he handled the battery. +</p> + +<p> +During all this the Terrapin neglected no detail of his duty, but +served the fifth course to the ladies and the kept-hot courses to the +Judge with equal dexterity, and both at the same time, and all without +spilling a drop or clinking a plate. +</p> + +<p> +When the ladies had withdrawn and we were seated on the veranda +fronting the sleepy old park, each man with a rose in his buttonhole, +the gift of the girl who had sat next him (the grandmother had pinned +the rose she wore at her throat on the lapel of the Judge's coat), and +when the Terrapin had produced a silver tray and was about to fill +some little egg-shell cups from a George-the-Third coffee-pot, the +Judge, who was lying back in a straw chair, a picture of perfect +repose and of peaceful digestion, turned his head slightly toward me +and said,— +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave you in a few +minutes. I have to sentence a negro by the name of Sam Crouch. When +these ladies can spare you it will give me very great pleasure to have +you come into court and see how we administer justice to this +much-abused and much-misunderstood race," and he smiled significantly +at me. +</p> + +<p> +"What was his crime, Judge?" asked the young man in the Prince Albert +coat, as he held out his cup for Mordecai to fill. "Stealing +chickens?" The gayety of the table was evidently still with him and +upon him. +</p> + +<p> +"No," replied the Judge gravely, and he looked at me, the faintest +gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Murder." +</p> + +<br> +<p class="head"> +II +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropT.jpg" alt="T" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">here</span> are contrasts in life, sudden transitions from light to dark, +startling as those one experiences in dropping from out the light of a +spring morning redolent with perfume into the gloom of a coal mine +choked with noxious vapors—out of a morning, if you will, all joy and +gladness and the music of many birds; a morning when the wide, white +sky is filled with cloud ships drifting lazily; when the trees wave in +the freshening wind, and the lark hanging in mid-air pours out its +soul for very joy of living! +</p> + +<p> +And the horror of that other! The never-ending night and silence; the +foul air reeking with close, stifling odors; the narrow walls where +men move as ghosts with heads alight, their bodies lost in the +shadows; the ominous sounds of falling rock thundering through the +blackness; and again, when all is still, the slow drop, drop of the +ooze, like the tick of a deathwatch. It is a prison and a tomb, and to +those who breathe the sweet air of heaven, and who love the sunshine, +the very house of despair. +</p> + +<p> +I myself experienced one of these contrasts when I exchanged all the +love and gladness, all the wit and laughter and charm of the +breakfast, for the court-room. +</p> + +<p> +It was on the ground floor, level with the grass of the courtyard, +which a sudden storm had just drenched. The approach was through a +cold, crypt-like passage running under heavy brick arches. At its end +hung a door blocked up with slouching ragged figures, craning their +woolly heads for a glimpse inside whenever some official or visitor +passed in or out. +</p> + +<p> +I elbowed my way past the constables holding long staffs, and, +standing on my toes, looked over a sea of heads—a compact mass wedged +together as far down as the rail outside the bench. The air was +sickening, loathsome, almost unbreathable. The only light, except the +dull gray light of the day, came from a single gas jet flaring over +the Judge's head. Every other part of the court-room was lost in the +shadow of the passing storm. +</p> + +<p> +Inside the space where the lawyers sat, the floor was littered with +torn papers, and the tables were heaped with bundles of briefs and law +books in disorder, many of them opened face down. +</p> + +<p> +Behind me rose the gallery reserved for negroes, a loft having no +window nor light, hanging like a huge black shadow without form or +outline. All over this huge black shadow were spattered specks of +white. As I looked again, I could see that these were the strained +eyeballs and set teeth of motionless negroes. +</p> + +<p> +The Judge, his hands loosely clasped together, sat leaning forward in +his seat, his eyes fastened on the prisoner. The flare of the gas jet +fell on his stern, immobile face, and cast clear-lined shadows that +cut his profile sharp as a cameo. +</p> + +<p> +The negro stood below him, his head on his chest, his arms hanging +straight. On either side, close within reach of the doomed man, were +the sheriffs—rough-looking men, with silver shields on their breasts. +They looked straight at the Judge, nodding mechanically as each word +fell from his lips. They knew the litany. +</p> + +<p> +The condemned man was evidently under thirty years of age, of almost +pure African blood, well built, and strong. The forehead was low, the +lips heavy, the jaw firm. The brown-black face showed no cruelty; the +eyes were not cunning. It was only a dull, inert face, like those of a +dozen others about him. +</p> + +<p> +As he turned again, I saw that his hair was cut short, revealing +lighter-colored scars on the scalp—records of a not too peaceful +life, perhaps. His dress was ragged and dingy, patched trousers, and +shabby shoes, and a worn flannel shirt open at the throat, the skin +darker than the flannel. On a chair beside him lay a crumpled slouch +hat, grimed with dirt, the crown frayed and torn. +</p> + +<p> +As I pressed my way farther into the throng toward the bench, the +voice of the Judge rose, filling every part of the room, the words +falling slowly, as earth drops upon a coffin:— +</p> + +<p> +—"until you be dead, and may God have mercy on your soul!" +</p> + +<p> +I looked searchingly into the speaker's face. There was not an +expression that I could recall, nor a tone in his voice that I +remembered. Surely this could not be the same man I had met at the +table but an hour before, with that musical laugh and winning smile. I +scrutinized him more closely—the rose was still in his buttonhole. +</p> + +<p> +As the voice ceased, the condemned man lifted his face, and turned his +head slowly. For a moment his eyes rested on the Judge; then they +moved to the clerks, sitting silent and motionless; then behind, at +the constables, and then up into the black vault packed with his own +people. +</p> + +<p> +A deathlike silence met him everywhere. +</p> + +<p> +One of the officers stepped closer. The condemned man riveted his gaze +upon him, and held out his hands helplessly; the officer leaned +forward, and adjusted the handcuffs. Then came the sharp click of +their teeth, like the snap of a hungry wolf. +</p> + +<p> +The two men,—the criminal judged according to the law, and the +sheriff, its executor,—chained by their wrists, wheeled about and +faced the crowd. The constables raised their staffs, formed a guard, +and forced a way through the crowd, the silent gallery following with +their eyes until the door closed upon them. +</p> + +<p> +Then through the gloom there ran the audible shiver of pent-up sighs, +low whispers, and the stretching of tired muscles. +</p> + +<p> +When I reached the Judge, he was just entering the door of the +anteroom opening into his private quarters. His sunny smile had +returned, although the voice had not altogether regained its former +ring. He said,— +</p> + +<p> +"I trust you were not too late. I waited a few minutes, hoping you had +come, and then when it became so dark, I ordered a light lit, but I +couldn't find you in the crowd. Come in. Let me present you to the +district attorney and to the young lawyer whom I appointed to defend +the prisoner. While I was passing sentence, they were discussing the +verdict. Were you in time for the sentence?" he continued. +</p> + +<p> +"No," I answered, after shaking hands with both gentlemen and taking +the chair which one of them offered me, "only the last part. But I saw +the man before they led him away, and I must say he didn't look much +like a criminal. Tell me something about the murder," and I turned to +the young lawyer, a smooth-faced young man with long black hair tucked +behind his ears and a frank, open countenance. +</p> + +<p> +"You'd better ask the district attorney," he answered, with a slight +shrug of his shoulders. "He is the only one about here who seems to +know anything about the <i>murder</i>; my client, Crouch, didn't, +anyhow. I was counsel for the defense." +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with some feeling, and I thought with some irritation, but +whether because of his chagrin at losing the case or because of real +sympathy for the negro I could not tell. +</p> + +<p> +"You seem to forget the jury," answered the district attorney in a +self-satisfied way; "they evidently knew something about it." There +was a certain elation in his manner, as he spoke, that surprised +me—quite as if he had won a bet. That a life had been played for and +lost seemed only to heighten his interest in the game. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I don't forget the jury," retorted the young man, "and I don't +forget some of the witnesses; nor do I forget what you made them say +and how you got some of them tangled up. That negro is as innocent of +that crime as I am. Don't you think so, Judge?" and he turned to the +table and began gathering up his papers. +</p> + +<p> +His Honor had settled himself in his chair, the back tipped against +the wall. His old manner had returned, so had the charm of his voice. +He had picked up a reed pipe when he entered the room, and had filled +it with tobacco, which he had broken in finer grains in the palm of +his hand. He was now puffing away steadily to keep it alight. +</p> + +<p> +"I have no opinion to offer, gentlemen, one way or the other. The +matter, of course, is closed as far as I am concerned. I think you +will both agree, however, whatever may be your personal feelings, that +my rulings were fair. As far as I could see, the witnesses told a +straight story, and upon their evidence the jury brought in the +verdict. I think, too, my charge was just. There was"—here the Judge +puffed away vigorously—"there was, therefore, nothing left for me to +do but"—puff—puff—"to sentence him. Hang that pipe! It won't draw," +and the Judge, with one of his musical laughs, rose from his chair and +pulled a straw from the broom in the corner. +</p> + +<p> +The district attorney looked at the discomfited opposing counsel and +laughed. Then he added, as an expression of ill-concealed contempt for +his inexperience crept over his face:— +</p> + +<p> +"Don't worry over it, my boy. This is one of your first cases, and I +know it comes hard, but you'll get over it before you've tried as many +of them as I have. The nigger hadn't a dollar, and somebody had to +defend him. The Judge appointed you, and you've done your duty well, +and lost—that's all there is to it. But I'll tell you one thing for +your information,"—and his voice assumed a serious tone,—"and one +which you did not notice in this trial, and which you would have done +had you known the ways of these niggers as I do, and it went a long +way with me in establishing his guilt. From the time Crouch was +arrested, down to this very afternoon when the Judge sentenced him, +not one of his people has ever turned up,—no father, mother, wife, +nor child,—not one." +</p> + +<p> +"That's not news to me," interrupted the young man. "I tried to get +something from Crouch myself, but he wouldn't talk." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course he wouldn't talk, and you know why; simply because he +didn't want to be spotted for some other crime. This nigger +Crouch"—and the district attorney looked my way—"is a product of the +war, and one of the worst it has given us—a shiftless tramp that +preys on society." His remarks were evidently intended for me, for the +Judge was not listening, nor was the young lawyer. "Most of this class +of criminals have no homes, and if they had they lie about them, so +afraid are they, if they're fortunate enough to be discharged, that +they'll be rearrested for a crime committed somewhere else." +</p> + +<p> +"Which discharge doesn't very often happen around here," remarked the +young man with a sneer. "Not if you can help it." +</p> + +<p> +"No, which doesn't very often happen around here <i>if I can help +it</i>. You're right. That's what I'm here for," the district attorney +retorted with some irritation. "And now I'll tell you another thing. I +had a second talk with Crouch only this afternoon after the +verdict"—and he turned to me—"while the Judge was lunching with you, +sir, and I begged him, now that it was all over, to send for his +people, but he was stubborn as a mule, and swore he had no one who +would want to see him. I don't suppose he had; he's been an outcast +since he was born." +</p> + +<p> +"And that's why you worked so hard to hang him, was it?" The young man +was thoroughly angry. I could see the color mount to his cheeks. I +could see, too, that Crouch had no friends, except this young sprig of +the law, who seemed as much chagrined over the loss of his case as +anything else. And yet, I confess, I did not let my sympathies for the +under dog get the better of me. I knew enough of the record of this +new race not to recognize that there could be two sides to questions +like this. +</p> + +<p> +The district attorney bit his lip at the young man's thrust. Then he +answered him slowly, but without any show of anger:— +</p> + +<p> +"You have one thing left, you know. You can ask for a new trial. What +do you say, Judge?" +</p> + +<p> +The Judge made no answer. He evidently had lost all interest in the +case, for during the discussion he had been engaged in twisting the +end of the straw into the stem of the pipe and peering into the +clogged bowl with one eye shut. +</p> + +<p> +"And if the Judge granted it, what good would it do?" burst out the +young man as he rose to his feet. "If Sam Crouch had a soul as white +as snow, it wouldn't help him with these juries around here as long as +his skin is the color it is!" and he put on his hat and left the room. +</p> + +<p> +The Judge looked after him a moment and then said to me,— +</p> + +<p> +"Our young men, sir, are impetuous and outspoken, but their hearts are +all right. I haven't a doubt but that Crouch was guilty. He's probably +been a vagrant all his life." +</p> + + +<br> +<p class="head"> +III +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropS.jpg" alt="S" width="99" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">ome</span> weeks after these occurrences I was on my way South, and again +found myself within reach of the sleepy old park and the gruesome +court-room. +</p> + +<p> +I was the only passenger in the Pullman. I had traveled all night in +this royal fashion—a whole car to myself—with the porter, a quiet, +attentive young colored man of perhaps thirty years of age, duly +installed as First Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and I had settled +myself for a morning of seclusion when my privacy was broken in upon +at a way station by the entrance of a young man in a shooting jacket +and cap, and high boots splashed with mud. +</p> + +<p> +He carried a folding gun in a leather case, an overcoat, and a +game-bag, and was followed by two dogs. The porter relieved him of his +belongings, stowed his gun in the rack, hung his overcoat on the hook, +and distributed the rest of his equipment within reach of his hand. +Then he led the dogs back to the baggage car. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment the young sportsman glanced over the car, rose from +his seat, and held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"Haven't forgotten me, have you? Met you at the luncheon, you +know—time the Judge was late waiting for the jury to come in." +</p> + +<p> +To my delight and astonishment it was the young man in the Prince +Albert coat. +</p> + +<p> +He proved, as the morning wore on, to be a most entertaining young +fellow, telling me of his sport and the birds he had shot, and of how +good one dog was and how stupid the other, and how next week he was +going after ducks down the river, and he described a small club-house +which a dozen of his friends had built, and where, with true Southern +hospitality, he insisted I should join him. +</p> + +<p> +And then we fell to talking about the luncheon, and what a charming +morning we had spent, and of the pretty girls and the dear +grandmother; and we laughed again over the Judge's stories, and he +told me another, the Judge's last, which he had heard his Honor tell +at another luncheon; and then the porter put up a table, and spread a +cloth, and began opening things with a corkscrew, and filling empty +glasses with crushed ice and other things, and altogether we had a +most comfortable and fraternal and much-to-be-desired half hour. +</p> + +<p> +Just before he left the train—he had to get out at the junction—some +further reference to the Judge brought to my recollection that ghostly +afternoon in the courtroom. Suddenly the picture of the negro with +that look of stolid resignation on his face came before me. I asked +him if any appeal had been taken in the case as suggested by the +district attorney. +</p> + +<p> +"Appeal? In the Crouch case? Not much. Hung him high as Haman." +</p> + +<p> +"When?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Bout a week ago. And by the way, a very curious thing happened at +the hanging. The first time they strung Crouch up the rope broke and +let him down, and they had to send eight miles for another. While they +were waiting the mail arrived. The post-office was right opposite. In +the bag was a letter for Crouch, care of the warden, but not directed +to the jail. The postmaster brought it over and the warden opened it +and read it to the prisoner, asking him who it was from, and the +nigger said it was from his mother—that the man she worked for had +written it. Of course the warden knew it was from Crouch's girl, for +Crouch had always sworn he had no family, so the Judge told me. Then +Crouch asked the warden if he'd answer it for him before he died. The +warden said he would, and got a sheet of paper, a pen and ink, and +sitting down by Crouch under the gallows asked him what he wanted to +say. And now, here comes the funny part. All that negro wanted to say +was just this:— +</p> + +<p> + "'I'm enjoying good health and I hope to see you before long.' +</p> + +<p> + '<span class="sc">Sam Crouch.</span>' +</p> + +<p> +"Then Crouch reached over and took the pen out of the warden's hands, +and marked a cross underneath what the warden had written, and when +the warden asked him what he did that for, he said he wanted his +mother to have something he had touched himself. By that time the new +rope came and they swung him up. Curious, wasn't it? The warden said +it was the funniest message he ever knew a dying nigger to send, and +he'd hung a good many of 'em. It struck me as being some secret kind +of a password. You never can tell about these coons." +</p> + +<p> +"Did the warden mail it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, of course he mailed it—warden's square as a brick. Sent it, +of course, care of the man the girl works for. He lives somewhere +around here, or Crouch said he did. Awfully glad to see you again—I +get out here." +</p> + +<p> +The porter brought in the dogs, I picked up the gun, and we conducted +the young sportsman out of the car and into a buggy waiting for him at +the end of the platform. +</p> + +<p> +As I entered the car again and waved my hand to him from the open +window, I saw a negro woman dart from out the crowd of loungers, as if +in eager search of some one. She was a tall, bony, ill-formed woman, +wearing the rude garb of a farm hand—blue cotton gown, brown +sunbonnet, and the rough muddy shoes of a man. +</p> + +<p> +The dress was faded almost white in parts, and patched with different +colors, but looked fresh and clean. It was held together over her flat +bust by big bone buttons. There was neither collar nor belt. The +sleeves were rolled up above the elbows, showing her strong, muscular +arms, tough as rawhide. The hands were large and bony, with big +knuckles, the mark of the hoe in the palms. +</p> + +<p> +In her eagerness to speak to the porter the sunbonnet had slipped off. +Black as the face was, it brought to my mind, strange to say, those +weather-tanned fishwives of the Normandy coast—those sturdy, patient, +earnest women, accustomed to toil and exposure and to the buffetings +of wind and tempest. +</p> + +<p> +When the porter appeared on his way back to the car, she sprang +forward, and caught him by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm dat sorry! An' he ain't come wid ye?" she cried. "But ye see +him, didn't ye?" The voice was singularly sweet and musical. "Ye did? +Oh, dat's good." +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke, a little black bare-legged pickaninny, with one garment, +ran out from behind the corner of the station, and clung to the +woman's skirts, hiding her face in their folds. The woman put her +hard, black hand on the child's cheek, and drew the little woolly head +closer to her side. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, when's he comin'? I come dis mawnin' jes 's ye tol' me. An' ye +see him, did ye?" she asked with a strange quivering pathos in her +voice. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I see him yisterday." +</p> + +<p> +The porter's answer was barely audible. I noticed, too, that he looked +away from her as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"An' yer sho' now he ain't come wid ye," and she looked toward the +train as if expecting to find some one. +</p> + +<p> +"No, he can't come till nex' Saturday," answered the porter. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I'm mighty dis'pinted. I been a-waitin' an' a-waitin' till I +<i>mos</i>' gin out. Ain't nobody helped me like him. You tol' me las' +time dat he'd be here to-day," and her voice shook. "You tell him I +got his letter an' dat I think 'bout him night an' day, an' dat I'd +rudder see him dan anybody in de worl'. And you tell him—an' doan' ye +forgit dis—dat you see his sister Maria's chile—dis is her—hol' up +yer haid, honey, an' let him see ye. I thought if he come to-day he'd +like to see 'er, 'cause he useter tote her roun' on his back when she +warn't big'r'n a shote. An' ye <i>see</i> him, did ye? Well, I'm +mighty glad o' dat." +</p> + +<p> +She was bending forward, her great black hand on his wrist, her eyes +fixed on his. Then a startled, anxious look crossed her face. +</p> + +<p> +"But he ain't sick dat he didn't come? Yo' <i>sho'</i> now, he ain't +sick?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no; never see him lookin' so good." +</p> + +<p> +The porter was evidently anxious about the train, for he kept backing +away toward his car. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, den, good-by; but doan' ye forgit. Tell him ye see me an' dat I +'m a-hungerin' for him. You hear, <i>a-hungerin</i>' for him, an' dat +I can't git 'long no mo' widout him. Don' ye forgit, now, 'cause I +mos' daid a-waitin' for him. Good-by." +</p> + +<p> +The train rolled on. She was still on the platform, her gaunt figure +outlined against the morning sky, her eager eyes strained toward us, +the child clutching her skirts. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +I confess that I have never yet outgrown my affection for the colored +race: an affection at best, perhaps, born of the dim, undefined +memories of my childhood and of an old black mammy—my father's +slave—who crooned over me all day long, and sang me lullabies at +night. +</p> + +<p> +I am aware, too, that I do not always carry this affectionate sympathy +locked up in a safe, but generally pinned on the outside of my sleeve; +and so it is not surprising, as the hours wore on, and the porter +gradually developed his several capacities for making me comfortable, +that a certain confidence was established between us. +</p> + +<p> +Then, again, I have always looked upon a Pullman porter as a superior +kind of person—certainly among serving people. He does not often +think so himself, nor does he ever present to the average mind any +marked signs of genius. He is in appearance and deportment very much +like all other uniformed attendants belonging to most of the great +corporations; clean, neatly dressed, polite, watchful, and patient. He +is also indiscriminate in his ministrations; for he will gladly open +the window for No. 10, and as cheerfully close it one minute later for +No. 6. After traveling with him for half a day, you doubtless conclude +that nothing more serious weighs on his mind than the duty of +regulating the temperature of his car, or looking after its linen. But +you are wrong. +</p> + +<p> +All this time he is classifying you. He really located you when you +entered the car, summing you up as you sought out your berth number. +At his first glance he had divined your station in life by your +clothes, your personal refinement, by your carpet-bag, and your +familiarity with travel by the way you took your seat. The shoes he +will black for you in the still small hours of the morning, when he +has time to think, will give him any other points he requires. +</p> + +<p> +If they are patched or half-soled, no amount of diamond shirt studs or +watch chain worn with them will save your respectability. If you +should reverse your cuffs before him, or imbibe your stimulants from a +black bottle which you carry in your inside pocket instead of a silver +flask concealed in your bag, no amount of fees will gain for you his +unqualified respect. If none of these delinquencies can be laid to +your account, and he is still in doubt, he waits until you open your +bag. +</p> + +<p> +Should the first rapid glance betray your cigars packed next to your +shoes, or the handle of a toothbrush thrust into the sponge-bag, or +some other such violation of his standard, your status is fixed; he +knows you. And he does all this while he is bowing and smiling, +bringing you a pillow for your head, opening a transom, or putting up +wire screens to save you from draughts and dust, and all without any +apparent distinction between you and your fellow passengers. +</p> + +<p> +If you swear at him, he will not answer back, and if you smite him, he +will nine times out of ten turn to you the other cheek. He does all +this because his skin is black, and yours is white, and because he is +the servant and representative of a corporation who will see him +righted, and who are accustomed to hear complaints. Above all, he will +do so because of the wife and children or mother at home in need of +the money he earns, and destined to suffer if he lose his place. +</p> + +<p> +He has had, too, if you did but know it, a life as interesting, +perhaps, as any of your acquaintances. It is quite within the +possibilities that he has been once or twice to Spain, Italy, or +Egypt, depending on the movements of the master he served; that he can +speak a dozen words or more of Spanish or Italian or pigeon English, +and oftener than not the best English of our public schools; can make +an omelette, sew on a button, or clean a gun, and that in an emergency +or accident (I know of two who lost their lives to save their +passengers) he can be the most helpful, the most loyal, the most human +serving man and friend you can find the world over. +</p> + +<p> +If you are selfishly intent on your own affairs, and look upon his +civility and his desire to please you as included in the price of your +berth or seat, and decide that any extra service he may render you is +canceled by the miserable twenty-five cents which you give him, you +will know none of these accomplishments nor the spirit that rules +them. +</p> + +<p> +If, however, you are the kind of man who goes about the world with +your heart unbuttoned and your earflaps open, eager to catch and hold +any little touch of pathos or flash of humor or note of tragedy, you +cannot do better than gain his confidence. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +I cannot say by what process I accomplished this result with this +particular porter and on this particular train. It may have been the +newness of my shoes, combined with the proper stowing of my toothbrush +and the faultless cut of my pajamas; or it might have been the fact +that he had already divined that I liked his race; but certain it is +that no sooner was the woman out of sight than he came direct to my +seat, and, with a quiver in his voice, said,— +</p> + +<p> +"Did you see dat woman I spoke to, suh?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; you didn't seem to want to talk to her." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, it warn't dat, suh, but dat woman 'bout breaks my heart. Hadn't +been for de gemman gettin' off here an' me havin' to get his dogs, I +wouldn't 'a' got out de car at all. I hoped she wouldn't come to-day. +I thought she heared 'bout it. Everybody knows it up an' down de road, +an' de papers been full, tho' co'se she can't read. She lives 'bout +ten miles from here, an' she walked in dis mawnin'. Comes every +Saturday. I only makes dis run on Saturday, and she knows de day I'm +comin'." +</p> + +<p> +"Some trouble?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, suh, a heap o' trouble; mo' trouble dan she kin stan' when +she knows it. Beats all why nobody ain't done tol' her. I been talkin' +to her every Saturday now for a month, tellin' her I see him an' dat +he's a-comin' down, an' dat he sent her his love, an' once or twice +lately I'd bring her li'l' things he sent her. Co'se <i>he</i> didn't +send 'em, 'cause he was whar he couldn't get to 'em, but she didn't +know no better. He's de only son now she'd got, an' he's been mighty +good to her an' dat li'l' chile she had wid her. I knowed him ever +since he worked on de railroad. Mos' all de money he gits he gives to +her. If he done the thing they said he done I ain't got nothin' mo' to +say, but I don't believe he done it, an' never will. I thought maybe +dey'd let him go, an' den he'd come home, an' she wouldn't have to +suffer no mo'; dat made me keep on a-lyin' to her." +</p> + +<p> +"What's been the matter? Has he been arrested?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Rested! '<i>Rested!</i> Fo' God, suh, dey done hung him las' week." +</p> + +<p> +A light began to break in upon me. +</p> + +<p> +"What was his name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Same name as his mother's, suh—Sam Crouch." +</p> + + + + +<a name="162"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +"NEVER HAD NO SLEEP" +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropI.jpg" alt="I" width="105" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">t</span> was on the upper deck of a Chesapeake Bay boat, <i>en route</i> for +Old Point Comfort and Norfolk. I was bound for Norfolk. +</p> + +<p> +"Kinder ca'm, ain't it?" +</p> + +<p> +The voice proceeded from a pinched-up old fellow with a colorless +face, straggling white beard, and sharp eyes. He wore a flat-topped +slouch hat resting on his ears, and a red silk handkerchief tied in a +sporting knot around his neck. His teeth were missing, the lips +puckered up like the mouth of a sponge-bag. In his hand he carried a +cane with a round ivory handle. This served as a prop to his mouth, +the puckered lips fumbling about the knob. He was shadowed by an old +woman wearing a shiny brown silk, that glistened like a wet +waterproof, black mitts, poke-bonnet, flat lace collar, and a long +gold watch chain. I had noticed them at supper. She was cutting up his +food. +</p> + +<p> +"Kinder ca'm, ain't it?" he exclaimed again, looking my way. "Fust +real nat'ral vittles I've eat fur a year. Spect it's ther sea air. +This water's brackish, ain't it?" +</p> + +<p> +I confirmed his diagnosis of the saline qualities of the Chesapeake, +and asked if he had been an invalid. +</p> + +<p> +"Waal, I should say so! Bin livin' on hospital mush fur nigh on ter a +year; but, by gum! ter-night I jist said ter Mommie: 'Mommie, shuv +them soft-shells this way. Ain't seen none sence I kep' tavern.'" +</p> + +<p> +Mommie nodded her head in confirmation, but with an air of "if you're +dead in the morning, don't blame me." +</p> + +<p> +"What's been the trouble?" I inquired, drawing up a camp stool. +</p> + +<p> +"Waal, I dunno rightly. Got my stummic out o' gear, throat kinder +weak, and what with the seventies"—— +</p> + +<p> +"Seventies?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; had 'em four year. I'm seventy-five nex' buthday. But come ter +sum it all up, what's ther matter with me is I ain't never had no +sleep. Let me sit on t'other side. One ear's stopped workin' this ten +year." +</p> + +<p> +He moved across and pulled an old cloak around him. +</p> + +<p> +"Been long without sleep?" I asked sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bout sixty year—mebbe sixty-five." +</p> + +<p> +I looked at him inquiringly, fearing to break the thread if I jarred +too heavily. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, spect it must be more. Well, you keep tally. Five year bootblack +and porter in a tavern in Dover, 'leven year tendin' bar down in +Wilmington, fourteen year bootcherin', nineteen year an' six months +keepin' a roadhouse ten miles from Philadelphy fur ther hucksters +comin' to market—quit las' summer. How much yer got?" +</p> + +<p> +I nodded, assenting to his estimate of sixty-five years of service, if +he had started when fifteen. +</p> + +<p> +He ruminated for a time, caressing the ivory ball of his cane with his +uncertain mouth. +</p> + +<p> +I jogged him again. "Boots and tending bar I should think would be +wakeful, but I didn't suppose butchering and keeping hotel +necessitated late hours." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, that's 'cause yer don't know. Bootcherin's ther wakefulest +business as is. Now yer a country bootcher, mind—no city beef man, +nor porter-house steak and lamb chops fur clubs an' hotels, but jest +an all-round bootcher—lamb, veal, beef, mebbe once a week, ha'f er +whole, as yer trade goes. Now ye kill when ther sun goes down, so ther +flies can't mummuck 'em. Next yer head and leg 'em, gittin' in in +rough, as we call it—takin' out ther insides an' leavin' ther hide on +ther back. Ye let 'em hang fur four hours, and 'bout midnight ye go at +'em agin, trim an' quarter, an' 'bout four in winter and three in +summer ye open up ther stable with a lantern, git yer stuff in, an' +begin yer rounds." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I see; but keeping hotel isn't"—— +</p> + +<p> +"Now thar ye're dead out agin. Ye're a-keepin' a roadhouse, mind—one +of them huckster taverns where ha'f yer folks come in 'arly 'bout +sundown and sit up ha'f ther night, and t'other ha'f drive inter yer +yard 'bout midnight an' lie round till daybreak. It's eat er drink all +ther time, and by ther time ye've stood behind ther bar and jerked +down ev'ry bottle on ther shelf, gone out ha'f a dozen times with er +light ter keep some mule from kickin' out yer partitions, got er dozen +winks on er settee in a back room, and then begin bawlin' upstairs, +routin' out two or three hired gals to get 'arly breakfust, ye're nigh +tuckered out. By ther time this gang is fed, here comes another +drivin' in. Oh, thet's a nice quiet life, thet is! I quit las' year, +and me and Mommie is on our way to Old P'int Cumfut. I ain't never bin +thar, but ther name sounded peaceful like, and so I tho't ter try it. +I'm in sarch er sleep, I am. Wust thing 'bout me is, no matter whar +I'm lyin', when it comes three 'clock I'm out of bed. Bin at it all my +life; can't never break it." +</p> + +<p> +"But you've enjoyed life?" I interpolated. +</p> + +<p> +"Enj'yed life! Well, p'rhaps, and agin p'rhaps not," looking furtively +at his wife. Then, lowering his voice: "There ain't bin er horse race +within er hundred miles of Philadelphy I ain't tuk in. Enj'y! Well, +don't yer worry." And his sharp eyes snapped. +</p> + +<p> +I believed him. That accounted for the way the red handkerchief was +tied loosely round his throat—an old road-wagon trick to keep the +dust out. +</p> + +<p> +For some minutes he nursed his knees with his hands, rocking himself +to and fro, smiling gleefully, thinking, no doubt, of the days he had +speeded down the turnpike, and the seats, too, on the grand stand. +</p> + +<p> +I jogged him again, venturing the remark that I should think that now +he might try and corral a nap in the daytime. +</p> + +<p> +The gleeful expression faded instantly. "See here," he said seriously, +laying his hand with a warning gesture on my arm, the ivory knob +popping out of the sponge-bag. "Don't yer never take no sleep in ther +daytime; that's suicide. An' if yer sleep after eatin', that's murder. +Look at me. Kinder peaked, ain't I? Stummic gone, throat busted, mouth +caved in; but I'm seventy-five, ain't I? An' I ain't a wreck yet, am +I? An' a-goin' to Old P'int Cumfut, ain't we, me an' Mommie, who's +sixty—— Never mind, Mommie. I won't give it away"—with a sly wink +at me. The old woman looked relieved. "Now jist s'pose I'd sat all my +life on my back stoop, ha'f awake, an' ev'ry time I eat, lie down an' +go ter sleep. Waal, yer'd never bin talkin' to-night to old Jeb +Walters. They'd 'a' bin fertilizin' gardin truck with him. I've seen +more'n a dozen of my friends die thet way—busted on this back porch +snoozin' business. Fust they git loggy 'bout ther gills; then their +knees begin ter swell; purty soon they're hobblin' round on er cane; +an' fust thing they know they're tucked away in er number thirteen +coffin, an' ther daisies a-bloomin' over 'em. None er that fur me. +Come, Mommie, we'll turn in." +</p> + +<p> +When the boat, next morning, touched the pier at Old Point, I met the +old fellow and his wife waiting for the plank to be hauled aboard. +</p> + +<p> +"Did you sleep?" I asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Sleep? Waal, I could, p'rhaps, if I knowed ther ways aboard this +steamboat. Ther come er nigger to my room 'bout midnight, and wanted +ter know if I was ther gentleman that had lost his carpet-bag—he had +it with him. Waal, of course I warn't; and then 'bout three, jist as I +tho't I was dozin' off agin, ther come ther dangdest poundin' the nex' +room ter mine ye ever heard. Mommie, she said 'twas fire, but I didn't +smell no smoke. Wrong room agin. Feller nex' door was to go ashore in +a scow with some dogs and guns. They'd a-slowed down and was waitin', +an' they couldn't wake him up. Mebbe I'll git some sleep down ter Old +P'int Cumfut, but I ain't spectin' nuthin'. By, by." +</p> + +<p> +And he disappeared down the gang plank. +</p> + + + + +<a name="169"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +THE MAN WITH THE EMPTY SLEEVE +</p> + + +<p class="head"> +I +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropT.jpg" alt="T" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">he</span> Doctor closed the book with an angry gesture and handed it to me +as I lay in my steamer chair, my eyes on the tumbling sea. He had read +every line in it. So had P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, whose +property it was, and who had announced himself only a moment before as +heartily in sympathy with the pessimistic views of the author, +especially in those chapters which described domestic life in America. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor, who has a wrist of steel and a set of fingers steady +enough to adjust a chronometer, and who, though calm and silent as a +stone god when over an operating table, is often as restless and +outspoken as a boy when something away from it touches his +heartstrings, turned to me and said:— +</p> + +<p> +"There ought to be a law passed to keep these men out of the United +States. Here's a Frenchman, now, who speaks no language but his own, +and after spending a week at Newport, another at New York, two days at +Niagara, and then rushing through the West on a 'Limited,' goes home +to give his Impressions of America. Read that chapter on Manners," and +he stretched a hand over my shoulder, turning the leaves quickly with +his fingers. "You would think, to listen to these fellows, that all +there is to a man is the cut of his coat or the way he takes his soup. +Not a line about his being clean and square and alive and all a +man,—just manners! Why, it is enough to make a cast-iron dog bite a +blind man." +</p> + +<p> +It would be a waste of time to criticise the Doctor for these +irrelevant verbal explosives. Indefensible as they are, they are as +much parts of his individuality as the deftness of his touch and the +fearlessness of his methods are parts of his surgical training. +</p> + +<p> +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, looked at the Doctor with a slight +lifting of his upper lip and a commiserating droop of the eyelid,—an +expression indicating, of course, a consciousness of that superior +birth and breeding which prevented the possibility of such outbreaks. +It was a manner he sometimes assumed toward the Doctor, although they +were good friends. P. Wooverman and the Doctor are fellow townsmen and +members of the same set, and members, too, of the same club,—a most +exclusive club of one hundred. The Doctor had gained admission, not +because of his ancestors, etc. (see Log of the Mayflower), but because +he had been the first and only American surgeon who had removed some +very desirable portions of a gentleman's interior, had washed and +ironed them and scalloped their edges, for all I know, and had then +replaced them, without being obliged to sign the patient's death +certificate the next day. +</p> + +<p> +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, on the other hand, had gained +admission because of—well, Todd's birth and his position (he came of +an old Salem family who did something in whale oil,—not fish or +groceries, be it understood); his faultless attire, correct speech, +and knowledge of manners and men; his ability to spend his summers in +England and his winters in Nice; his extensive acquaintance among +distinguished people,—the very most distinguished, I know, for Todd +has told me so himself,—and—well, all these must certainly be +considered sufficient qualifications to entitle any man to membership +in almost any club in the world. +</p> + +<p> +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, I say, elevated his upper lip and +drooped his eyelid, remarking with a slight Beacon Street accent:— +</p> + +<p> +"I cawn't agree with you, my dear Doctor,"—there were often traces of +the manners and the bearing of a member of the Upper House in Todd, +especially when he talked to a man like the Doctor, who wore +turned-down collars and detached cuffs, and who, to quote the +distinguished Bostonian, "threw words about like a coal heaver,"—"I +cawn't agree with you, I say. It isn't the obzervar that we should +criticise; it is what he finds." P. Wooverman was speaking with his +best accent. Somehow, the Doctor's bluntness made him over-accentuate +it,—particularly when there were listeners about. "This French critic +is a man of distinction and a member of the most excloosive circles in +Europe. I have met him myself repeatedly, although I cawn't say I know +him. We Americans are too sensitive, my dear Doctor. His book, to me, +is the work of a keen obzervar who knows the world, and who sees how +woefully lacking we are in some of the common civilities of life," and +he smiled faintly at me, as if confident that I shared his opinion of +the Doctor's own short-comings. "This Frenchman does not lay it on a +bit too thick. Nothing is so mortifying to me as being obliged to +travel with a party of Americans who are making their first tour +abroad. And it is quite impossible to avoid them, for they all have +money and can go where they please. I remember once coming from Basle +to Paris, in a first-class carriage,—it was only larst summer,—with +a fellow from Indiana or Michigan, or somewhere out there. He had a +wife with him who looked like a cook, and a daughter about ten years +old, who was a most objectionable young person. You could hear them +talk all over the train. I shouldn't have minded it so much, but Lord +Norton's harf-brother was with me,"—and P. Wooverman Shaw Todd +glanced, as he spoke, at a thin lady with a smelling bottle and an air +of reserve, who always sat with a maid beside her, to see if she were +looking at him,—"and one of the best bred men in England, too, and a +man who"—— +</p> + +<p> +"Now hold on, Todd," broke in the Doctor, upon whom neither the thin +lady nor any other listener had made the slightest impression. "No +glittering generalities with me. Just tell me in so many plain words +what this man's vulgarity consisted of." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, his manners, his dress, Doctor,—everything about him," retorted +Todd. +</p> + +<p> +"Just as I thought! All you think about is manners, only manners!" +exploded the Doctor. "Your Westerner, no doubt, was a hard-fisted, +weather-tanned farmer, who had worked all his life to get money enough +to take his wife and child abroad. The wife had tended the dairy and +no doubt milked ten cows, and in their old age they both wanted to see +something of the world they had heard about. So off they go. If you +had any common sense or anything that brought you in touch with your +kind, Todd, and had met that man on his own level, instead of +overawing him with your high-daddy airs, he would have told you that +both the wife and he were determined that the little girl should have +a better start in life than their own, and that this trip was part of +her education. Do you know any other working people,"—and the Doctor +faced him squarely,—"any Dutch, or French, or English, Esquimaux or +Hottentots, who take their wives and children ten thousand miles to +educate them? If I had my way with the shaping of the higher education +of the country, the first thing I would teach a boy would be to learn +to work, and with his hands, too. We have raised our heroes from the +soil,—not from the easy-chairs of our clubs,"—and he looked at Todd +with his eyebrows knotted tight. "Let the boy get down and smell the +earth, and let him get down to the level of his kind, helping the +weaker man all the time and never forgetting the other fellow. When he +learns to do this he will begin to know what it is to be a man, and +not a manikin." +</p> + +<p> +When the Doctor is mounted on any one of his hobbies,—whether it is a +new microbe, Wagner, or the rights of the working-man,—he is apt to +take the bit in his teeth and clear fences. As he finished speaking, +two or three of the occupants of contiguous chairs laid down their +books to listen. The thin lady with the smelling bottle and the maid +remarked in an undertone to another exclusive passenger on the other +side of her, in diamonds and white ermine cape,—it was raining at the +time,—that "one need not travel in a first-class carriage to find +vulgar Americans," and she glanced from the Doctor to a group of young +girls and young men who were laughing as heartily and as merrily, and +perhaps as noisily, as if they were sitting on their own front porches +at their Southern homes. +</p> + +<p> +Another passenger—who turned out later to be a college +professor—said casually, this time to me, that he thought good and +bad manners were to be determined, not by externals, but by what lay +underneath; that neither dress, language, nor habits fixed or marred +the standard. "A high-class Turk, now," and he lowered his voice, +"would be considered ill bred by some people, because in the seclusion +of his own family he helps himself with his fingers from the common +dish; and yet so punctiliously polite and courteous is he that he +never sits down in his father's presence nor lights a cigarette +without craving his permission." +</p> + +<p> +After this the talk became general, the group taking sides; some +supporting the outspoken Doctor in his blunt defense of his +countrymen, others siding with the immaculately dressed Todd, so +correct in his every appointment that he was never known, during the +whole voyage, to wear a pair of socks that did not in color and design +match his cravat. +</p> + +<hr class="short"> + +<p> +The chief steward had given us seats at the end of one of the small +tables. The Doctor sat under the porthole, and Todd and I had the +chairs on either side of him. The two end seats—those on the +aisle—were occupied by a girl of twenty-five, simply clad in a plain +black dress with plainer linen collar and cuffs, and a young German. +The girl would always arrive late, and would sink into her revolving +chair with a languid movement, as if the voyage had told upon her. +Often her face was pale and her eyes were heavy and red, as if from +want of sleep. The young German—a Baron von Hoffbein, the passenger +list said—was one of those self-possessed, good-natured, pink-cheeked +young Teutons, with blue eyes, blond hair, and a tiny waxed mustache, +a mere circumflex accent of a mustache, over his "o" of a mouth. His +sponsors in baptism had doubtless sent him across the sea to chase the +wild boar or the rude buffalo, with the ultimate design, perhaps, of +founding a brewery in some Western city. +</p> + +<p> +The manners of this young aristocrat toward the girl were an especial +source of delight to Todd, who watched his every movement with the +keenest interest. Whenever the baron approached the table he would +hesitate a moment, as if in doubt as to which particular chair he +should occupy, and, with an apologetic hand on his heart and a slight +bow, drop into a seat immediately opposite hers. Then he would raise a +long, thin arm aloft and snap his fingers to call a passing waiter. I +noticed that he always ordered the same breakfast, beginning with cold +sausage and ending with pancakes. During the repast the young girl +opposite him would talk to him in a simple, straightforward way, quite +as a sister would have done, and without the slightest trace of either +coquetry or undue reserve. +</p> + +<p> +When we were five days out, a third person occupied a seat at one side +of the young woman. He was a man of perhaps sixty years of age, with +big shoulders and big body, and a great round head covered with a mass +of dull white hair which fell about his neck and forehead. The +newcomer was dressed in a suit of gray cloth, much worn and badly cut, +the coat collar, by reason of the misfit, being hunched up under his +hair. This gave him the appearance of a man without a shirt collar, +until a turn of his head revealed his clean starched linen and narrow +black cravat. He looked like a plain, well-to-do manufacturer or +contractor, one whose earlier years had been spent in the out of +doors; for the weather had left its mark on his neck, where one can +always look for signs of a man's manner of life. His was that of a man +who had worn low-collared flannel shirts most of his days. He had, +too, a look of determination, as if he had been accustomed to be +obeyed. He was evidently an invalid, for his cheeks were sunken and +pale, with the pallor that comes of long confinement. +</p> + +<p> +Apart from these characteristics there was nothing specially +remarkable about him except the two cavernous eye sockets, sunk in his +head, the shaggy eyebrows arched above them, and the two eyes which +blazed and flashed with the inward fire of black opals. As these +rested first on one object and then on another, brightening or paling +as he moved his head, I could not but think of the action of some +alert searchlight gleaming out of a misty night. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as he took his seat, the young woman, whose face for the first +time since she had been on board had lost its look of anxiety and +fatigue, leaned over him smilingly and began adjusting a napkin about +his throat and pinning it to his coat. He smiled in response as she +finished—a smile of singular sweetness—and held her hand until she +regained her seat. They seemed as happy as children or as two lovers, +laughing with each other, he now and then stopping to stroke her hand +at some word which I could not hear. When, a moment after, the von +Hoffbein took his accustomed seat, in full dress, too,—a red silk +lining to his waistcoat, and a red silk handkerchief tucked in above +it and worn liver-pad fashion,—the girl said simply, looking toward +the man in gray, "My father, sir;" whereupon the young fellow shot up +out of his chair, clicked his heels together, crooked his back, placed +two fingers on his right eyebrow, and sat down again. The man in gray +looked at him curiously and held out his hand, remarking that he was +pleased to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +Todd was also watching the group, for I heard him say to the Doctor: +"These high-class Germans seldom forget themselves. The young baron +saluted the old duffer with the bib as though he were his superior +officer." +</p> + +<p> +"Shouldn't wonder if he were," replied the Doctor, who had been +looking intently over his soup spoon at the man in gray, and who was +now summing up the circumflex accent, the red edges of the waistcoat, +the liver-pad handkerchief, and the rest of von Hoffbein. +</p> + +<p> +"You don't like him, evidently, my dear Doctor." +</p> + +<p> +"You saw him first, Todd—you can have him. I prefer the old duffer, +as you call him," answered the Doctor dryly, and put an end to the +talk in that direction. +</p> + +<p> +Soon the hum of voices filled the saloon, rising above the clatter of +the dishes and the occasional popping of corks. The baron and the man +in gray had entered into conversation almost at once, and could be +distinctly heard from where we sat, particularly the older man, who +was doubtless unconscious of the carrying power of his voice. Such +words as "working classes," "the people," "democracy," "when I was in +Germany," etc., intermingling with the high-keyed tones of the baron's +broken English, were noticeable above the din; the young girl +listening smilingly, her eyes on those of her father. Then I saw the +gray man bend forward, and heard him say with great earnestness, and +in a voice that could be heard by the occupants of all the tables near +our own:— +</p> + +<p> +"It is a great thing to be an American, sir. I never realized it until +I saw how things were managed on the other side. It must take all the +ambition out of a man not to be able to do what he wants to do and +what he knows he can do better than anybody else, simply because +somebody higher than he says he shan't. We have our periods of unrest, +and our workers sometimes lose their heads, but we always come out +right in the end. There is no place in the world where a man has such +opportunities as in my country. All he wants is brains and some little +horse sense,—the country will do the rest." +</p> + +<p> +Our end of the table had stopped to listen; so had the occupants of +the tables on either side; so had Todd, who was patting the Doctor's +arm, his face beaming. +</p> + +<p> +"Listen to him, Doctor! Hear that voice! How like a traveling +American! There's one of your ex<i>traw</i>d'nary clay-soiled sons of +toil out on an educating tour: aren't you proud of him? Oh, it's too +delicious!" +</p> + +<p> +For once I agreed with Todd. The peculiar strident tones of the man in +gray had jarred upon my nerves. I saw too, that one lady, with +slightly elevated shoulder, had turned her back and was addressing her +neighbor. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor had not taken his eyes from the gray man, and had not lost +a word of his talk. As Todd finished speaking, the daughter, with all +tenderness and with a pleased glance into her father's eyes, arose, +and putting her hand in his helped him to his feet, the baron standing +at "attention." As the American started to leave the table, and his +big shaggy head and broad shoulders reached their full height, the +Doctor leaned forward, craning his head eagerly. Then he turned to +Todd, and in his crisp, incisive way said: "Todd, the matter with you +is that you never see any further than your nose. You ought to be +ashamed of yourself. Look at his empty sleeve; off at the shoulder, +too!" +</p> + +<br> +<p class="head"> +II +</p> + +<p> +<img src="images/dropI.jpg" alt="I" width="105" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">n</span> the smoking-room that night a new and peculiar variety of passenger +made his appearance, and his first one—to me—although we were then +within two days of Sandy Hook. This individual wore a check suit of +the latest London cut, big broad-soled Piccadilly shoes, and smoked a +brierwood pipe which he constantly filled from a rubber pouch carried +in his waistcoat pocket. When I first noticed him, he was sitting at a +table with two Englishmen drinking brandy-and-sodas,—plural, not +singular. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor, Todd, and I were at an adjoining table: the Doctor +immersed in a scientific pamphlet, Todd sipping his crème de menthe, +and I my coffee. Over in one corner were a group of drummers playing +poker. They had not left the spot since we started, except at +meal-time and at midnight, when Fritz, the smoking-room steward, had +turned them out to air the room. Scattered about were other +passengers—some reading, some playing checkers or backgammon, others +asleep, among them the pink-cheeked von Hoffbein, who lay sprawled out +on one of the leather-covered sofas, his thin legs spread apart like +the letter A, as he emitted long-drawn organ tones, with only the nose +stop pulled out. +</p> + +<p> +The party of Englishmen, by reason of the unlimited number of +brandy-and-sodas which their comrade in the check suit had ordered for +them, were more or less noisy, laughing a good deal. They had +attracted the attention of the whole room, many of the old-timers +wondering how long it would be before the third officer would tap the +check suit on the shoulder, and send it and him to bed under charge of +a steward. The constant admonitions of his companions seemed to have +had no effect upon the gentleman in question, for he suddenly launched +out upon such topics as Colonial Policies and Governments and Taxation +and Modern Fleets; addressing his remarks, not to his two friends, but +to the room at large. +</p> + +<p> +According to my own experience, the traveling Englishman is a quiet, +well-bred, reticent man, brandy-and-soda proof (I have seen him drink +a dozen of an evening without a droop of an eyelid); and if he has any +positive convictions of the superiority of that section of the +Anglo-Saxon race to which he belongs,—and he invariably has,—he +keeps them to himself, certainly in the public smoking-room of a +steamer filled with men of a dozen different nations. The outbreak, as +well as the effect of the incentive, was therefore as unexpected as it +was unusual. +</p> + +<p> +The check-suit man, however, was not constructed along these lines. +The spirit of old Hennessy was in his veins, the stored energy of many +sodas pressed against his tongue, and an explosion was inevitable. No +portion of these excitants, strange to say, had leaked into his legs, +for outwardly he was as steady as an undertaker. He began again, his +voice pitched in a high key:— +</p> + +<p> +"Talk of coercing England! Why, we've got a hundred and forty-one +ships of the line, within ten days' sail of New York, that could blow +the bloody stuffin' out of every man Jack of 'em. And we don't care a +brass farthing what Uncle Sam says about it, either." +</p> + +<p> +His two friends tried to keep him quiet, but he broke out again on +Colonization and American Treachery and Conquest of Cuba; and so, +being desirous to read in peace, I nodded to the Doctor and Todd, +picked up my book, and drew up a steamer chair on the deck outside, +under one of the electric lights. +</p> + +<p> +I had hardly settled myself in my seat when a great shout went up from +the smoking-room that sent every one running down the deck, and jammed +the portholes and doors of the room with curious faces. Then I heard a +voice rise clear above the noise inside: "Not another word, sir; you +don't know what you are talking about. We Americans don't rob people +we give our lives to free." +</p> + +<p> +I forced my way past the door, and stepped inside. The Englishman was +being held down in his chair by his two friends. In his effort to +break loose he had wormed himself out of his coat. Beside their table, +close enough to put his hand on any one of them, stood the Doctor, a +curious set expression on his face. Todd was outside the circle, +standing on a sofa to get a better view. +</p> + +<p> +Towering above the Englishman, his eyes burning, his shaggy hair about +his face, his whole figure tense with indignation, was the man with +the empty sleeve! Close behind him, cool, polite, straight as a +gendarme, and with the look in his eye of a cat about to spring, stood +the young baron. As I reached the centre of the mêlée, wondering what +had been the provocation and who had struck the first blow, I saw the +baron lean forward, and heard him say in a low voice to one of the +Englishmen, "He is so old as to be his fadder; take me," and he tapped +his chest meaningly with his fingers. Evidently he had not fenced at +Heidelberg for nothing, if he did have pink cheeks and pipestem legs. +</p> + +<p> +The old man turned and laid his hand on the baron's shoulder. "I thank +you, sir, but I'll attend to this young man." His voice had lost all +its rasping quality now. It was low and concentrated, like that of one +accustomed to command. "Take your hands off him, gentlemen, if you +please. I don't think he has so far lost his senses as to strike a man +twice his age and with one arm. Now, sir, you will apologize to me, +and to the room, and to your own friends, who must be heartily ashamed +of your conduct." +</p> + +<p> +At the bottom of almost every Anglo-Saxon is a bed rock of common +sense that you reach through the shifting sands of prejudice with the +probe of fair play. The young man in the check suit, who was now on +his feet, looked the speaker straight in the eye, and, half drunk as +he was, held out his hand. "I'm sorry, sir, I offended you. I was +speaking to my friends here, and I did not know any Americans were +present." +</p> + +<p> +"Bravo!" yelled the Doctor. "What did I tell you Todd? That's the kind +of stuff! Now, gentlemen, all together—three cheers for the man with +the empty sleeve!" +</p> + +<p> +Everybody broke out with another shout—all but Todd, who had not made +the slightest response to the Doctor's invitation to loosen his legs +and his lungs. He did not show the slightest emotion over the fracas, +and, moreover, seemed to have become suddenly disgusted with the +baron. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Doctor grasped the young German by the hand, and said how +glad he was to know him, and how delighted he would be if he would +join them and "take something,"—all of which the young man accepted +with a frank, pleased look on his face. +</p> + +<p> +When the room had resumed its normal conditions, all three Englishmen +having disappeared, the Doctor, whose enthusiasm over the incident had +somehow paved the way for closer acquaintance, introduced me in the +same informal way both to the baron and to the hero of the occasion, +as "a brother American," and we all sat down beside the old man, his +face lighting up with a smile as he made room for us. Then laying his +hand on my knee, with the manner of an older man, he said: "I ought +not to have given way, perhaps; but the truth is, I'm not accustomed +to hear such things at home. I did not know until I got close to him +that he had been drinking, or I might have let it pass. I suppose this +kind of talk may always go on in the smoking-room of these steamers. I +don't know, for it's my first trip abroad, and on the way out I was +too ill to leave my berth. To-night is the first time I've been in +here. It was bad for me, I suppose. I've been ill all"—— +</p> + +<p> +He stopped suddenly, caught his breath quickly, and his hand fell from +my knee. For a moment he sat leaning forward, breathing heavily. +</p> + +<p> +I sprang up, thinking he was about to faint. The baron started for a +glass of water. The old man raised his hand. +</p> + +<p> +"No, don't be alarmed, gentlemen; it is nothing. I am subject to these +attacks; it will pass off in a moment," and he glanced around the room +as if to assure himself that no one but ourselves had noticed it. +</p> + +<p> +"The excitement was too much for you," the Doctor said gravely, in an +undertone. His trained eye had caught the peculiar pallor of the face. +"You must not excite yourself so." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know,—the heart," he said after a pause, speaking with short, +indrawn breaths, and straightening himself slowly and painfully until +he had regained his old erect position. After a little while he put +his hand again on my knee, with an added graciousness in his manner, +as if in apology for the shock he had given me. "It's passing +off,—yes, I'm better now." Then, in a more cheerful tone, as if to +change the subject, he added: "My steward tells me that we made four +hundred and fifty-two miles yesterday. This makes my little girl +happy. She's had an anxious summer, and I'm glad this part of it is +over. Yes, she's <i>very</i> happy to-day." +</p> + +<p> +"You mean on account of your health?" I asked sympathetically; +although I remembered afterward that I had not caught his meaning. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, not so much that, for that can never be any better, but on +account of our being so near home,—only two days more. I couldn't +bear to leave her alone on ship-board, but it's all right now. You +see, there are only two of us since her mother died." His voice fell, +and for the first time I saw a shade of sadness cross his face. The +Doctor saw it too, for there was a slight quaver in his voice when he +said, as he rose, that his stateroom was No. 13, and he would be happy +to be called upon at any time, day or night, whenever he could be of +service; then he resumed his former seat under the light, and +apparently his pamphlet, although I could see his eyes were constantly +fixed on the pallid face. +</p> + +<p> +The baron and I kept our seats, and I ordered three of something from +Fritz, as further excuse for tarrying beside the invalid. I wanted to +know something more of a man who was willing to fight the universe +with one arm in defense of his country's good name, though I was still +in the dark as to what had been the provocation. All I could gather +from the young baron, in his broken English, was that the Englishman +had maligned the motives of our government in helping the Cubans, and +that the old man had flamed out, astounding the room with the power of +his invective and thorough mastery of the subject, and compelling +their admiration by the genuineness of his outburst. +</p> + +<p> +"I see you have lost your arm," I began, hoping to get some further +facts regarding himself. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, some years ago," he answered simply, but with a tone that +implied he did not care to discuss either the cause or the incidents +connected with its loss. +</p> + +<p> +"An accident?" I asked. The empty sleeve seemed suddenly to have a +peculiar fascination for me. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, partly," and, smiling gravely, he rose from his seat, saying +that he must rejoin his daughter, who might be worrying. He bade the +occupants of the room good-night, many of whom, including the baron +and the Doctor, rose to their feet,—the baron saluting, and following +the old man out, as if he had been his superior officer. +</p> + +<p> +With the closing of the smoking-room door, P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, +Esquire, roused himself from his chair, walked toward the Doctor, and +sat down beside him. +</p> + +<p> +"Well! I must say that I'm glad that man's gone!" he burst out. "I +have never seen anything more outrageous than this whole performance. +This fire eater ought to travel about with a guardian. Suppose, now, +my dear Doctor, that everybody went about with these absurd +ideas,—what a place the world would be to live in! This is the worst +American I have met yet. And see what an example; even the young baron +lost his head, I am sorry to say. I heard the young Englishman's +remark. It was, I admit, indiscreet, but no part of it was addressed +to this very peculiar person; and it is just like that kind of an +American, full of bombast and bluster, to feel offended. Besides, +every word the young man said was true. There is a great deal of +politics in this Cuban business,—you know it, and I know it. We have +no men trained for colonial life, and we never shall have, so long as +our better class keep aloof from politics. The island will be made a +camping-ground for vulgar politicians—no question about it. Think, +now, of sending that firebrand among those people. You can see by his +very appearance that he has never done anything better than astonish +the loungers about a country stove. As for all this fuss about his +empty sleeve, no doubt some other fire eater put a bullet through it +in defense of what such kind of people call their honor. It is too +farcical for words, my dear Doctor,—too farcical for words," and P. +Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, pulled his steamer cap over his eyes, +jumped to his feet, and stalked out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor looked after Todd until he had disappeared. Then he turned +to his pamphlet again. There was evidently no composite, explosive +epithet deadly enough within reach at the moment, or there is not the +slightest doubt in my mind that he would have demolished Todd with it. +</p> + +<p> +Todd's departure made another vacancy at our table, and a tall man, +who had applauded the loudest at the apology of the Englishman, +dropped into Todd's empty chair, addressing the Doctor as representing +our party. +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you know who the old man is, don't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"That's John Stedman, manager of the Union Iron Works of Parkinton, a +manufacturing town in my State. He's one of the best iron men in the +country. Fine old fellow, isn't he? He's been ill ever since his wife +died, and I don't think he'll ever get over it. She had been sick for +years, and he nursed her day and night. He wouldn't go to Congress, +preferring to stay by her, and it almost broke his heart when she +died. Poor old man,—don't look as if he was long for this world. I +expected him to mop up the floor with that Englishman, sick as he is; +and he would, if he hadn't apologized. I heard, too, what your friend +who has just gone out said about Stedman not being the kind of a man +to send to Cuba. I tell you, they might look the country over, and +they couldn't find a better. That's been his strong hold, +straightening out troubles of one kind or another. Everybody believes +in him, and anybody takes his word. He's done a power of good in our +State." +</p> + +<p> +"In what way?" asked the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, in settling strikes, for one thing. You see, he started from the +scrap pile, and he knows the laboring man down to a dot, for he +carried a dinner pail himself for ten years of his life. When the men +are imposed upon he stands by 'em, and compels the manufacturers to +deal square; and if they don't, he joins the men and fights it out +with the bosses. If the men are wrong, and want what the furnaces +can't give 'em,—and there's been a good deal of that lately,—he +sails into the gangs, and, if nothing else will do, he gets a gun and +joins the sheriffs. He was all through that last strike we had, three +years ago, and it would be going on now but for John Stedman." +</p> + +<p> +"But he seems to be a man of fine education," interrupted the Doctor, +who was listening attentively. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, so he is,—learned it all at night schools. When he was a boy he +used to fire the kilns, and they say you could always find him with a +spelling-book in one hand and a chunk of wood in the other, reading +nights by the light of the kiln fires." +</p> + +<p> +"You say he went to Congress?" The Doctor's eyes were now fixed on the +speaker. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I said he <i>would</i>n't go. His wife was taken sick about that +time, and when he found she wasn't going to get well,—she had lung +trouble,—he told the committee that he wouldn't accept the +nomination; and of course nomination meant election for him. He told +'em his wife had stuck by him all her life, had washed his flannel +shirts for him and cooked his dinner, and that he was going to stick +by her now she was down. But I tell you what he did do: he stumped the +district for his opponent, because he said he was a better man than +his own party put up,—and elected him, too. That was just like John +Stedman. The heelers were pretty savage, but that made no difference +to him. +</p> + +<p> +"He's never recovered from his wife's death. That daughter with him is +the only child he's got. She's been so afraid he'd die on board and +have to be buried at sea that he's kept his berth just to please her. +The doctor at home told him Carlsbad was his only chance, and the +daughter begged so he made the trip. He was so sick when he went out +that he took a coffin with him,—it's in the hold now. I heard him +tell his daughter this morning that it was all right now, and he +thought he'd get up. You see, there are only two days more, and the +captain promised the daughter not to bury her father at sea when we +were that close to land. Stedman smiled when he told me, but that's +just like him; he's always been cool as a cucumber." +</p> + +<p> +"How did he lose his arm?" I inquired. I had been strangely absorbed +in what he had told me. "In the war?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. He served two years, but that's not how he lost his arm. He lost +it saving the lives of some of his men. I happened to be up at +Parkinton at the time, buying some coke, and I saw him carried out. It +was about ten years ago. He had invented a new furnace; 'most all the +new wrinkles they've got at the Union Company Stedman made for 'em. +When they got ready to draw the charge,—that's when the red-hot iron +is about to flow out of the furnace, you know, the outlet got clogged. +That's a bad thing to happen to a furnace; for if a chill should set +in, the whole plant would be ruined. Then, again, it might explode and +tear everything to pieces. Some of the men jumped into the pit with +their crowbars, and began to jab away at the opening in the wrong +place, and the metal started with a rush. Stedman hollered to 'em to +stop; but they either didn't hear him or wouldn't mind. Then he jumped +in among them, threw them out of the way, grabbed a crowbar, and +fought the flow until they all got out safe. But the hot metal had +about cooked his arm clear to the elbow before he let go." +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor, with hands deep in his pockets, began pacing the floor. +Then he stopped, and, looking down at me, said slowly, pointing off +his fingers one after the other to keep count as he talked:— +</p> + +<p> +"Tender and loyal to his wife—thoughtful of his child—facing death +like a hero—a soldier and patriot. What is there in the make-up of a +gentleman that this man hasn't got? +</p> + +<p> +"Come! Let's go out and find that high-collared, silk-stockinged, +sweet-scented Anglomaniac from Salem! By the Eternal, Todd's got to +apologize!" +</p> + + + + +<a name="200"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +"TINCTER OV IRON" +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropI.jpg" alt="I" width="105" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">t</span> was in an old town in Connecticut. Marbles kept the shop. "Joseph +Marbles, Shipwright and Blacksmith," the sign read. +</p> + +<p> +I knew Joe. He had repaired one of the lighters used in carrying +materials for the foundation of the lighthouse I was building. The +town lay in the barren end of the State, where they raised rocks +enough to make four stone fences to the acre. Joe always looked to me +as if he had lived off the crop. The diet never affected his temper +nor hardened his heart, so far as I could see. It was his body, his +long, lean, lank body, that suggested the stone diet. +</p> + +<p> +In his early days Joe had married a helpmate. She had lasted until the +beginning of the third year, and then she had been carried to the +cemetery on the hill, and another stone, and a new one, added to the +general assortment. This matrimonial episode was his last. +</p> + +<p> +This wife was a constant topic with Marbles. He would never speak of +her as a part of his life, one who had shared his bed and board, and +therefore entitled to his love and reverent remembrance. It was rather +as an appendage to his household, a curiosity, a natural freak, as one +would discuss the habits of a chimpanzee, and with a certain pity, +too, for the poor creature whom he had housed, fed, poked at, humored, +and then buried. +</p> + +<p> +And yet with it all I could always see that nothing else in his life +had made so profound an impression upon him as the companionship of +this "poor creeter," and that underneath his sparsely covered ribs +there still glowed a spot for the woman who had given him her youth. +</p> + +<p> +He would say, "It wuz one ov them days when she wouldn't eat, or it +was kind o' cur'us to watch her go on when she had one ov them +tantrums." Sometimes he would recount some joke he had played upon +her, rubbing his ribs in glee—holding his sides would have been a +superfluous act and the statement here erroneous. +</p> + +<p> +"That wuz when she fust come, yer know," he said to me one day, +leaning against an old boat, his adze in his hand. "Her folks belonged +over to Westerly. I never had seen much ov wimmen, and didn't know +their ways. But I tell yer she wuz a queer 'un, allers imaginin' she +wuz ailin', er had heart disease when she got out er breath runnin' +upstairs, er as'mer, er lumbago, er somethin' else dreadful. She wuz +the cur'usest critter too to take medicin' ye ever see. She never +ailed none really 'cept when she broke her coller bone a-fallin' +downstairs, and in the last sickness, the one that killed her, but she +believed all the time she wuz, which was wuss. Every time the druggist +would git out a new red card and stick it in his winder, with a cure +fer cold, or chilblains, er croup, er e'sipelas, she'd go and buy it, +an' out 'd cum ther cork, and she a-tastin' ov it 'fore she got hum. +She used ter rub herself with St. Jiminy's intment, and soak her feet +in sea-salt, and cover herself with plasters till yer couldn't rest. +Why, ther cum a feller once who painted a yaller sign on ther whole +side ov Buckley's barn—cure fer spiral meningeetius,—and she wuz +nigh crazy till she had found out where ther pain ought ter be, and +had clapped er plaster on her back and front, persuadin' herself she +had it. That's how she bruk her coller bone, a-runnin' fer hot water +to soak 'em off, they burnt so, and stumblin' over a kit ov tools I +had brung hum to do a job around the house. After this she begun ter +run down so, and git so thin and peaked, I begun to think she really +wuz goin' ter be sick, after all, jest fer a change. +</p> + +<p> +"When ther doctor come he sed it warn't nothin' but druggist's truck +that ailed her, and he throwed what there wuz out er ther winder, and +give her a tonic—Tincter ov Iron he called it. Well, yer never see a +woman hug a thing as she did that bottle. It was a spoonful three +times a day, and then she'd reach out fer it in ther night, vowin' it +was doin' her a heap er good, and I a-gettin' ther bottle filled at +Sarcy's ther druggist's, and payin' fifty cents every time he put er +new cork in it. I tried ter reason with her, but it warn't no use; she +would have it, and if she could have got outer bed and looked round at +the spring crop of advertisements on ther fences, she would hev struck +somethin' worse. So I let her run on until she tuk about seven +dollars' wuth of Tincter, and then I dropped in ter Sarcy's. 'Sarcy,' +sez I, 'can't ye wholesale this, er sell it by the quart? If the ole +woman's coller bone don't get ter runnin' easy purty soon I'll be +broke.' +</p> + +<p> +"'Well,' he said, 'if I bought a dozen it might come cheaper, but it +wuz a mighty pertic'ler medicine, and had ter be fixed jest so.' +</p> + +<p> +"''Taint pizen, is it?' I sez, 'thet's got ter be fixed so all-fired +kerful?' He 'lowed it warn't, and thet ye might take er barrel of it +and it wouldn't kill yer, but all ther same it has ter be made mighty +pertic'ler. +</p> + +<p> +"'Well, iron's cheap enough,' I sez, 'and strengthenin' too. If it's +ther Tincter thet costs so, don't put so much in.' Well, he laffed, +and said ther warn't no real iron in it, only Tincter, kinder iron +soakage like, same es er drawin' ov tea. +</p> + +<p> +"Goin' home thet night I got ter thinkin'. I'd been round iron all my +life and knowed its ways, but I hadn't struck no Tincter as I knowed +ov. When she fell asleep I poured out a leetle in another bottle and +slid it in my trousers pocket, an' next day, down ter ther shop, I +tasted ov it and held it up ter ther light. It was kind er persimmony +and dark-lookin', ez if it had rusty nails in it; and so thet night +when I goes hum I sez ter her, 'Down ter ther other druggist's I kin +git twice as much Tincter fer fifty cents as I kin at Sarcy's, and if +yer don't mind I'll git it filled there.' Well, she never kicked a +stroke, 'cept to say I'd better hurry, fer she hadn't had a spoonful +sence daylight, and she wuz beginnin' ter feel faint. When the whistle +blew I cum hum ter dinner, and sot the new bottle, about twice as big +as the other one, beside her bed. +</p> + +<p> +"'How's that?' I sez. 'It's a leetle grain darker and more muddy like, +but the new druggist sez thet's the Tincter, and thet's what's doin' +ov yer good.' Well, she never suspicioned; jest kept on, night and +day, wrappin' herself round it every two er three hours, I gettin' it +filled regerlar and she a-empt'in' ov it. +</p> + +<p> +"'Bout four weeks arter that she begun to git around, and then she'd +walk out ez fur ez ther shipyard fence, and then, begosh, she begun to +flesh up so as you wouldn't know her. Now an' then she'd meet the +doctor, and she'd say how she'd never a-lived but fer ther Tincter, +and he'd laff and drive on. When she got real peart I brought her down +to the shop one day, and I shows her an old paint keg thet I kep' +rusty bolts in, and half full ov water. +</p> + +<p> +"'Smell that,' I sez, and she smells it and cocks her eye. +</p> + +<p> +"'Taste it,' I sez, and she tasted it, and give me a look. Then I dips +a spoonful out in a glass, and I sez: 'It's most time to take yer +medicine. I kin beat Gus Sarcy all holler makin' Tincter; every drop +yer drunk fer a month come out er thet keg.'" +</p> + + + + +<a name="206"> </a> +<p class="chapter"> +"FIVE MEALS FOR A DOLLAR" +</p> + + +<p> +<img src="images/dropT.jpg" alt="T" width="100" height="100" align="left" hspace="3"><span class="dcap">he</span> Literary Society of West Norrington, Vt., had invited me to +lecture on a certain Tuesday night in February. +</p> + +<p> +The Tuesday night had arrived. So had the train. So had the +knock-kneed, bandy-legged hack—two front wheels bowed in, two hind +wheels bowed out—and so had the lecturer. +</p> + +<p> +West Norrington is built on a hill. At the foot are the station, a +saw-mill, and a glue factory. On the top is a flat plateau holding the +principal residences, printing-office, opera-house, confectionery +store, druggist's, and hotel. Up the incline is a scattering of +cigar-stores, butcher shops, real-estate agencies, and one lone +restaurant. You know it is a restaurant by the pile of extra-dry +oyster-shells in the window—oysterless for months—and the four +oranges bunched together in a wire basket like a nest of pool balls. +You know it also from the sign— +</p> + +<p> +"Five meals for a dollar." +</p> + +<p> +I saw this sign on my way up the hill, but it made no impression on my +mind. I was bound for the hotel—the West Norrington Arms, the +conductor called it; and as I had eaten nothing since seven o'clock, +and it was then four, I was absorbed mentally in arranging a bill of +fare. Broiled chicken, of course, I said to myself—always get +delicious broiled chicken in the country—and a salad, and +perhaps—you can't always tell, of course, what the cellars of these +old New England taverns may contain—yes, perhaps a pint of any really +good Burgundy, Pommard, or Beaune. +</p> + +<p> +"West Norrington Arms" sounded well. There was a distinct flavor of +exclusiveness and comfort about it, suggesting old side-boards, +hand-polished tables, small bar with cut-glass decanters, Franklin +stoves in the bedrooms, and the like. I could already see the luncheon +served in my room, the bright wood fire lighting up the dimity +curtains draping the high-post bedstead. Yes, I would order Pommard. +</p> + +<p> +Here the front knees came together with a jerk. Then the driver pulled +his legs out of a buffalo-robe, opened the door with a twist, and +called out,— +</p> + +<p> +"Nor'n't'n Arms." +</p> + +<p> +I got out. +</p> + +<p> +The first glance was not reassuring. It was perhaps more Greek than +Colonial or Early English or Late Dutch. Four high wooden boxes, +painted brown, were set up on end—Doric columns these—supporting a +pediment of like material and color. Half-way up these supports hung a +balcony, where the Fourth of July orator always stands when he +addresses his fellow citizens. Old, of course, I said to myself—early +part of this century. Not exactly moss-covered and inn-like, as I +expected to find, but inside it's all right. +</p> + +<p> +"Please take in that bag and fur overcoat." This to the driver, in a +cheery tone. +</p> + +<p> +The clerk was leaning over the counter, chewing a toothpick. Evidently +he took me for a drummer, for he stowed the bag behind the desk, and +hung the overcoat up on a nail in a side room opening out of the +office, and within reach of his eye. +</p> + +<p> +When I registered my name it made no perceptible change in his manner. +He said, "Want supper?" with a tone in his voice that convinced me he +had not heard a word of the Event which brought me to West +Norrington—I being the Event. +</p> + +<p> +"No, not now. I would like you to send to my room in half an hour a +broiled chicken, some celery, and any vegetable which you can get +ready—and be good enough to put a pint of Burgundy"—— +</p> + +<p> +I didn't get any further. Something in his manner attracted me. I had +not looked at him with any degree of interest before. He had been +merely a medium for trunk check, room key, and ice water—nothing +more. +</p> + +<p> +Now I did. I saw a young man—a mean-looking young man—with a narrow, +squeezed face, two flat glass eyes sewed in with red cotton, and a +disastrous complexion. His hair was brushed like a barber's, with a +scooping curl over the forehead; his neck was long and thin—so long +that his apple looked over his collar's edge. This collar ran down to +a white shirt decorated with a gold pin, the whole terminating in a +low-cut velvet vest. +</p> + +<p> +"Supper at seven," he said. +</p> + +<p> +This, too, came with a jerk. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know, but I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and don't +want to wait until"—— +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't nuthin' cooked 'tween meals. Supper at seven." +</p> + +<p> +"Can't I get"—— +</p> + +<p> +"Yer can't get nuthin' until supper-time, and yer won't get no +Burgundy then. Yer couldn't get a bottle in Norrington with a club. +This town's prohibition. Want a room?" This last word was almost +shouted in my ear. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—one with a wood fire." I kept my temper. +</p> + +<p> +"Front!"—this to a boy half asleep on a bench. "Take this bag to No. +37, and turn on the steam. Your turn next"—and he handed the pen to a +fresh arrival, who had walked up from the train. +</p> + +<p> +No. 37 contained a full set of Michigan furniture, including a patent +wash-stand that folded up to look like a bookcase, smelt slightly of +varnish, and was as hot as a Pullman sleeper. +</p> + +<p> +I threw up all the windows; came down and tackled the clerk again. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there a restaurant near by?" +</p> + +<p> +"Next block above. Nichols." +</p> + +<p> +He never looked up—just kept on chewing the toothpick. +</p> + +<p> +"Is there another hotel here?" +</p> + +<p> +Even a worm will turn. +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +That settled it. I didn't know any inhabitant—not even a +committeeman. It was the West Norrington Arms or the street. +</p> + +<p> +So I started for Nichols. By that time I could have eaten the shingles +off the church. +</p> + +<p> +Nichols proved to be a one-and-a-half-story house with a glass door, a +calico curtain, and a jingle bell. Inside was a cake shop, presided +over by a thin woman in a gingham dress and black lace cap and wig. In +the rear stood a marble-top table with iron legs. This made it a +restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +"Can you get me something to eat? Steak, ham and eggs—anything?" I +had fallen in my desires. +</p> + +<p> +She looked me all over. "Well, I'm 'mazin' sorry, but I guess you'll +have to excuse us; we're just bakin', and this is our busy day. +S'mother time we should like to, but to-day"—— +</p> + +<p> +I closed the door and was in the street again. I had no time for +lengthy discussions that didn't lead to something tangible and +eatable. +</p> + +<p> +"Alone in London," I said to myself. "Lost in New York. Adrift in West +Norrington. Plenty of money to buy, and nobody to sell. Everybody +going about their business with full stomachs, happy, contented,—all +with homes, and firesides, and ice chests, and things hanging to +cellar rafters, hams and such like, and I a wanderer and hungry, an +outcast, a tramp." +</p> + +<p> +Then I thought some citizen might take me in. She was a rather +amiable-looking old lady, with a kind, motherly face. +</p> + +<p> +"Madam!" This time I took off my hat. Ah, the common law of hunger +brings you down and humbles your pride. "Do you live here, madam?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes, sir," edging to the sidewalk. +</p> + +<p> +"Madam, I am a stranger here, and very hungry. It's baking-day at +Nichols. Do you know where I can get anything to eat?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, no, I can't rightly say," still eyeing me suspiciously. +"Hungry, be ye? Well, that's too bad, and Nichols baking." +</p> + +<p> +I corroborated all these statements, standing bare-headed, a wild idea +running through my head that her heart would soften and she would take +me home and set me down in a big chintz-covered rocking chair, near +the geraniums in the windows, and have her daughter—a nice, fresh, +rosy-cheeked girl in an apron—go out into the buttery and bring in +white cheese, and big slices of bread, and some milk, and preserves, +and a—— But the picture was never completed. +</p> + +<p> +"Well," she said slowly, "if Nichols is baking, I guess ye'll hev to +wait till suppertime." +</p> + +<p> +Then like a sail to a drowning man there rose before me the sign down +the hill near the station, "Five meals for a dollar." +</p> + +<p> +I had the money. I had the appetite. I would eat them all at once, and +<i>now</i>. +</p> + +<p> +In five minutes I was abreast of the extra-dry oyster-shells and the +pool balls. Then I pushed open the door. +</p> + +<p> +Inside there was a long room, bare of everything but a wooden counter, +upon which stood a glass case filled with cigars; behind this was a +row of shelves with jars of candy, and level with the lower shelf my +eye caught a slouch hat. The hat covered the head of the proprietor. +He was sitting on a stool, sorting out chewing-gum. +</p> + +<p> +"Can I get something to eat?" +</p> + +<p> +The hat rose until it stood six feet in the air, surmounting a round, +good-natured face, ending in a chin whisker. +</p> + +<p> +"Cert. What'll yer hev?" +</p> + +<p> +Here at last was peace and comfort and food and things! I could hardly +restrain myself. +</p> + +<p> +"Anything. Steak, fried potatoes—what have you got?" +</p> + +<p> +"Waal, I dunno. 'Tain't time yit for supper, but we kin fix ye +somehow. Lemme see." +</p> + +<p> +Then he pushed back a curtain that screened one half of the room, +disclosing three square tables with white cloths and casters, and +disappeared through a rear door. +</p> + +<p> +"We got a steak," he said, dividing the curtains again, "but the +potatoes is out." +</p> + +<p> +"Any celery?" +</p> + +<p> +"No. Guess can git ye some 'cross to ther grocery. Won't take a +minit." +</p> + +<p> +"All right. Could you"—and I lowered my voice—"could you get me a +bottle of beer?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—if you got a doctor's prescription." +</p> + +<p> +"Could <i>you</i> write one?" I asked nervously. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll try." And he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +In two minutes he was back, carrying four bunches of celery and a +paper box marked "Paraffine candles." +</p> + +<p> +"What preserves have you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Waal, any kind." +</p> + +<p> +"Raspberry jam, or apricots?" I inquired, my spirits rising. +</p> + +<p> +"We ain't got no rusberry, but we got peaches." +</p> + +<p> +"Anything else?" +</p> + +<p> +"Waal, no; come ter look 'em over, just peaches." +</p> + +<p> +So he added a can to the celery and candles, and carried the whole to +the rear. +</p> + +<p> +While he was gone I leaned over the cigar-case and examined the stock. +One box labeled "Bouquet" attracted my eye; each cigar had a little +paper band around its middle. I remembered the name, and determined to +smoke one after dinner if it took my last cent. +</p> + +<p> +Then a third person took a hand in the feast. This was the hired girl, +who came in with a tray. She wore an alpaca dress and a disgusted +expression. It was evident that she resented my hunger as a personal +affront—stopping everything to get supper two hours ahead of time! +She didn't say this aloud, but I knew it all the same. +</p> + +<p> +Then more tray, with a covered dish the size of a soap-cup, a few +sprigs of celery out of the four bunches, and a preserve-dish, about +the size of a butter pat, containing four pieces of peach swimming in +their own juice. +</p> + +<p> +In the soap-dish lay the steak. It was four inches in diameter and a +quarter of an inch thick. I opened the paraffine candles, poured out +half a glass, and demolished the celery and peaches. I didn't want to +muss up the steak. I was afraid I might bend it, and spoil it for some +one else. +</p> + +<p> +Then an idea struck me: "Could she poach me some eggs?" +</p> + +<p> +She supposed she could, if she could find the eggs; most everything +was locked up this time of day. +</p> + +<p> +I waited, and spread the mustard on the dry bread, and had more +peaches and paraffine. When the eggs came they excited my sympathies. +They were such innocent-looking things—pinched and shriveled up, as +if they had fainted at sight of the hot water and died in great agony. +The toast, too, on which they were coffined, had a cremated look. Even +the hired girl saw this. She said it was a "leetle mite too much +browned; she'd forgot it watchin' the eggs." +</p> + +<p> +Here the street door opened, and a young woman entered and asked for +two papers of chewing-gum. +</p> + +<p> +She got them, but not until the proprietor had shot together the +curtains screening off the candy store from the restaurant. The +dignity and exclusiveness of the establishment required this. +</p> + +<p> +When she was gone I poured out the rest of the paraffine, and called +out through the closed curtains for a cigar. +</p> + +<p> +"One of them bo-kets?" came the proprietor's voice in response. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, one of them." +</p> + +<p> +He brought it himself, in his hand, just as it was, holding the mouth +end between the thumb and forefinger. +</p> + +<p> +"And now how much?" +</p> + +<p> +He made a rapid accounting, overlooking the table, his eyes lighting +on the several fragments: "Beer, ten cents; steak, ten; peaches, five; +celery, three; eggs on toast, ten; one bo-ket, four." Then he paused a +moment, as if he wanted to be entirely fair and square, and said, +"Forty-two cents." +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="216"><img src="images/007.jpg" alt="FORTY-TWO CENTS" width="367" height="451"></a></div> +<p class="caption">"FORTY-TWO CENTS" +</p> + +<p> +When I reached the hotel, a man who said he was the proprietor came to +my room. He was a sad man with tears in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"You're comin' to supper, ain't ye? It'll be the last time. It's a +kind o' mournful occasion, but I like to have ye." +</p> + +<p> +It was now my turn. +</p> + +<p> +"No, I'm not coming to supper. You drove me out of here half starving +into the street two hours ago. I couldn't get anything to eat at +Nichols, and so I had to go down the hill to a place near the +saw-mill, where I got the most infernal"—— +</p> + +<p> +He stopped me with a look of real anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +"Not the five-meals-for-a-dollar place?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"And you swallowed it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly—poached eggs, peaches, and a lot of things." +</p> + +<p> +"No," he said reflectively, looking at me curiously. "<i>You</i> don't +want no supper—prob'bility is you won't want no breakfast, either. +You'd better eaten the saw-mill—it would 'er set lighter. If I'd +known who you were I'd tried"—— +</p> + +<p> +"But I told the clerk," I broke in. +</p> + +<p> +"What clerk?" he interrupted in an astonished tone. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, the clerk at the desk, where I registered—that long-necked +crane with red eyes." +</p> + +<p> +"He ain't no clerk; we ain't had one for a week. Don't you know what's +goin' on? Ain't you read the bills? Step out into the hall—there's +one posted up right in front of you. 'Sheriff's sale; all the stock +and fixtures of the Norrington Arms to be sold on Wednesday +morning'—that's to-morrow—'by order of the Court.' You can read the +rest yourself; print's too fine for me. That fellow you call a crane +is a deputy sheriff. He's takin' charge, while we eat up what's in the +house." +</p><br> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other Fellow, by F. 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Hopkinson Smith + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Other Fellow + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37148] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER FELLOW *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +_FICTION AND TRAVEL_ + +By F. Hopkinson Smith. + + +CALEB WEST, MASTER DIVER. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. + +TOM GROGAN. Illustrated. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50. + +THE OTHER FELLOW. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. + +A GENTLEMAN VAGABOND, AND SOME OTHERS. 16mo, $1.25. + +COLONEL CARTER OF CARTERSVILLE. With 20 illustrations by +the author and E. W. Kemble. 16mo, $1.25. + +A DAY AT LAGUERRE'S AND OTHER DAYS. 16mo, $1.25. + +A WHITE UMBRELLA IN MEXICO. Illustrated by the author. +16mo, gilt top, $1.50. + +GONDOLA DAYS. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50. + +WELL-WORN ROADS OF SPAIN, HOLLAND, AND ITALY, traveled by +a Painter in search of the Picturesque. With 16 full-page +phototype reproductions of water-color drawings, and text +by F. HOPKINSON SMITH, profusely illustrated +with pen-and ink sketches. A Holiday volume. Folio, gilt +top, $15.00. + +THE SAME. _Popular Edition._ Including some of the +illustrations of the above. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. + + +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. +BOSTON AND NEW YORK. + + + +THE OTHER FELLOW + +[Illustration: "MISS NANNIE GIB MARSE TOM BOLING HER HAN'" +(_Page 63_)] + + + +_The Other Fellow_ + +_By F. HOPKINSON SMITH_ + + +BOSTON AND NEW YORK +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + +The Riverside Press, Cambridge +1900 + +COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +Dick Sands, Convict 1 + +A Kentucky Cinderella 35 + +A Waterlogged Town 65 + +The Boy in the Cloth Cap 71 + +Between Showers in Dort 82 + +One of Bob's Tramps 113 + +According to the Law 124 + +"Never had no Sleep" 162 + +The Man with the Empty Sleeve 169 + +"Tincter ov Iron" 200 + +"Five Meals for a Dollar" 206 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + PAGE + +"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling +her han'" (page 63) _Frontispiece_ + +Aunt Chloe 36 + +"Her head crammed full of hifalutin' notions" 66 + +Through streets embowered in trees 82 + +The gossips lean in the doorways 88 + +Drenched leaves quivering 94 + +An ancient Groote Kerk 108 + +"Forty-two cents" 216 + + + + +DICK SANDS, CONVICT. + + +I + +The stage stopped at a disheartened-looking tavern with a sagging +porch and sprawling wooden steps. A fat man with a good-natured face, +tagged with a gray chin whisker, bareheaded, and without a coat--there +was snow on the ground, too--and who said he was the landlord, lifted +my yellow bag from one of the long chintz-covered stage cushions, and +preceded me through a sanded hall into a low-ceiled room warmed by a +red-hot stove, and lighted by windows filled with geraniums in full +bloom. The effect of this color was so surprising, and the contrast to +the desolate surroundings outside so grateful, that, without stopping +to register my name, I drew up a chair and joined the circle of baking +loungers. My oversight was promptly noted by the clerk--a sallow-faced +young man with an uncomfortably high collar, red necktie, and stooping +shoulders--and as promptly corrected by his dipping a pen in a wooden +inkstand and holding the book on his knee until I could add my own +superscription to those on its bespattered page. He had been +considerate enough not to ask me to rise. + +The landlord studied the signature, his spectacles on his nose, and +remarked in a kindly tone:-- + +"Oh, you're the man what's going to lecture to the college." + +"Yes; how far is it from here?" + +"'Bout two miles out, Bingville way. You'll want a team, won't you? If +I'd knowed it was you when yer got out I'd told the driver to come +back for you. But it's all right--he's got to stop here again in half +an hour--soon 's he leaves the mail." + +I thanked him and asked him to see that the stage called for me at +half-past seven, as I was to speak at eight o'clock. He nodded in +assent, dropped into a rocking chair, and guided a spittoon into range +with his foot. Then he backed away a little and began to scrutinize my +face. Something about me evidently puzzled him. A leaning mirror that +hung over a washstand reflected his head and shoulders, and gave me +every expression that flitted across his good-natured countenance. + +His summing up was evidently favorable, for his scrutinizing look gave +place to a benign smile which widened into curves around his mouth and +lost itself in faint ripples under his eyes. Hitching his chair +closer, he spread his fat knees, and settled his broad shoulders, +lazily stroking his chin whisker all the while with his puffy fingers. + +"Guess you ain't been at the business long," he said kindly. "Last one +we had a year ago looked kinder peaked." The secret of his peculiar +interest was now out. "Must be awful tough on yer throat, havin' to +holler so. I wasn't up to the show, but the fellers said they heard +him 'fore they got to the crossin'. 'Twas spring weather and the +winders was up. He didn't have no baggage--only a paper box and a +strap. I got supper for him when he come back, and he did eat +hearty--did me good to watch him." Then, looking at the clock and +recalling his duties as a host, he leaned over, and shielding his +mouth with his hand, so as not to be overheard by the loungers, said +in a confidential tone, "Supper'll be on in half an hour, if you want +to clean up. I'll see you get what you want. Your room's first on the +right--you can't miss it." + +I expressed my appreciation of his timely suggestion, and picking up +the yellow bag myself--hall-boys are scarce in these localities--mounted +the steps to my bedroom. + +Within the hour--fully equipped in the regulation costume, swallow-tail, +white tie, and white waistcoat--I was again hugging the stove, for +my bedroom had been as cold as a barn. + +My appearance created something of a sensation. A tall man in a +butternut suit, with a sinister face, craned his head as I passed, and +the sallow-faced clerk leaned over the desk in an absorbed way, his +eyes glued to my shirt front. The others looked stolidly at the red +bulb of the stove. No remarks were made--none aloud, the splendor of +my appearance and the immaculate nature of my appointments seeming to +have paralyzed general conversation for the moment. This silence +continued. I confess I did not know how to break it. Tavern stoves are +often trying ordeals to the wayfarer; the silent listeners with the +impassive leather faces and foxlike eyes disconcert him; he knows just +what they will say about him when they go out. The awkward stillness +was finally broken by a girl in blue gingham opening a door and +announcing supper. + +It was one of those frying-pan feasts of eggs, bacon, and doughnuts, +with canned corn in birds' bathtubs, plenty of green pickles, and dabs +of home-made preserves in pressed glass saucers. It occupied a few +moments only. When it was over, I resumed my chair by the stove. + +The night had evidently grown colder. The landlord had felt it, for he +had put on his coat; so had a man with a dyed mustache and heavy red +face, whom I had left tipped back against the wall, and who was now +raking out the ashes with a poker. So had the butternut man, who had +moved two diameters nearer the centre of comfort. All doubts, however, +were dispelled by the arrival of a thickset man with ruddy cheeks, who +slammed the door behind him and moved quickly toward the stove, +shedding the snow from his high boots as he walked. He nodded to the +landlord and spread his stiff fingers to the red glow. A faint wreath +of white steam arose from his coonskin overcoat, filling the room with +the odor of wet horse blankets and burned leather. The landlord left +the desk, where he had been figuring with the clerk, approached my +chair, and pointing to the new arrival, said:-- + +"This is the driver I been expectin' over from Hell's Diggings. He'll +take you. This man"--he now pointed to me--"wants to go to the college +at 7.30." + +The new arrival shifted his whip to the other hand, looked me all +over, his keen and penetrating eye resting for an instant on my white +shirt and waistcoat, and answered slowly, still looking at me, but +addressing the landlord:-- + +"He'll have to get somebody else. I got to take Dick Sands over to +Millwood Station; his mother's took bad again." + +"What, Dick Sands?" came a voice from the other side of the stove. It +was the man in the butternut suit. + +"Why, Dick Sands," replied the driver in a positive tone. + +"Not _Dick Sands_?" The voice expressed not only surprise but +incredulity. + +"Yes, DICK SANDS," shouted the driver in a tone that carried with it +his instant intention of breaking anybody's head who doubted the +statement. + +"Gosh! that so? When did he git out?" cried the butternut man. + +"Oh, a month back. He's been up in Hell's Diggin's ever since." Then +finding that no one impugned his veracity, he added in a milder tone: +"His old mother's awful sick up to her sister's back of Millwood. He +got word a while ago." + +"Well, this gentleman's got to speak at the college, and our team +won't be back in time." The landlord pronounced the word "gentleman" +with emphasis. The white waistcoat had evidently gotten in its fine +work. + +"Let Dick walk," broke in the clerk. "He's used to it, and used to +runnin', too"--this last with a dry laugh in spite of an angry glance +from his employer. + +"Well, Dick won't walk," snapped the driver, his voice rising. "He'll +ride like a white man, he will, and that's all there is to it. His +leg's bad ag'in." + +These remarks were not aimed at me nor at the room. They were fired +pointblank at the clerk. I kept silent; so did the clerk. + +"What time was you goin' to take Dick?" inquired the landlord in a +conciliatory tone. + +"'Bout 7.20--time to catch the 8.10." + +"Well, now, why can't you take this man along? You can go to the +Diggings for Dick, and then"--pointing again at me--"you can drop him +at the college and keep on to the station. 'Tain't much out of the +way." + +The driver scanned me closely and answered coldly:-- + +"Guess his kind don't want to mix in with Dick"--and started for the +door. + +"I have no objection," I answered meekly, "provided I can reach the +lecture hall in time." + +The driver halted, hit the spittoon squarely in the middle, and said +with deep earnestness and with a slight trace of deference:-- + +"Guess you don't know it all, stranger. Dick's served time. Been up +twice." + +"Convict?"--my voice evidently betrayed my surprise. + +"You've struck it fust time--last trip was for five years." + +He stood whip in hand, his fur cap pulled over his ears, his eyes +fixed on mine, noting the effect of the shot. Every other eye in the +room was similarly occupied. + +I had no desire to walk to Bingville in the cold. I felt, too, the +necessity of proving myself up to the customary village standard in +courage and complacency. + +"That don't worry me a bit, my friend. There are a good many of us out +of jail that ought to be in, and a good many in that ought to be out." +I said this calmly, like a man of wide experience and knowledge of the +world, one who had traveled extensively, and whose knowledge of +convicts and other shady characters was consequently large and varied. +The prehistoric age of this epigram was apparently unnoticed by the +driver, for he started forward, grasped my hand, and blurted out in a +whole-souled, hearty way, strangely in contrast with his former +manner:-- + +"You ain't so gol-darned stuck up, be ye? Yes, I'll take ye, and glad +to." Then he stooped over and laid his hand on my shoulder and said in +a softened voice: "When ye git 'longside o' Dick you tell him that; +it'll please him," and he stalked out and shut the door behind him. + +Another dead silence fell upon the group. Then a citizen on the other +side of the stove, by the aid of his elbows, lifted himself +perpendicularly, unhooked a coat from a peg, and remarked to himself +in a tone that expressed supreme disgust:-- + +"Please him! In a pig's eye it will," and disappeared into the night. + +Only two loungers were now left--the butternut man with the sinister +expression, and the red-faced man with the dyed mustache. + +The landlord for the second time dropped into a chair beside me. + +"I knowed Dick was out, but I didn't say nothing, so many of these +fellers 'round here is down on him. The night his time was up Dick +come in here on his way home and asked after his mother. He hadn't +heard from her for a month, and was nigh worried to death about her. I +told him she was all right, and had him in to dinner. He'd fleshed up +a bit and nobody didn't catch on who he was,--bein' away nigh five +years,--and so I passed him off for a drummer." + +At this the red-faced man who had been tilted back, his feet on the +iron rod encircling the stove, brought them down with a bang, +stretched his arms above his head, and said with a yawn, addressing +the pots of geraniums on the window sill, "Them as likes jail-birds +can have jail-birds," and lounged out of the room, followed by the +citizen in butternut. It was apparent that the supper hour of the +group had arrived. It was equally evident that the hospitality of the +fireside did not extend to the table. + +"You heard that fellow, didn't you?" said the landlord, turning to me +after a moment's pause. "You'd think to hear him talk there warn't +nobody honest 'round here but him. That's Chris Rankin--he keeps a rum +mill up to the Forks and sells tanglefoot and groceries to the miners. +By Sunday mornin' he's got 'bout every cent they've earned. There +ain't a woman in the settlement wouldn't be glad if somebody would +break his head. I'd rather be Dick Sands than him. Dick never drank a +drop in his life, and won't let nobody else if he can help it. That's +what that slouch hates him for, and that's what he hates me for." + +The landlord spoke with some feeling--so much so that I squared my +chair and faced him to listen the better. His last remark, too, +explained a sign tacked over the desk reading, "No liquors sold here," +and which had struck me as unusual when I entered. + +"What was this man's crime?" I asked. "There seems to be some +difference of opinion about him." + +"His crime, neighbor, was because there was a lot of fellers that +didn't have no common sense--that's what his crime was. I've known +Dick since he was knee-high to a barrel o' taters, and there warn't no +better"---- + +"But he was sent up the second time," I interrupted, glancing at my +watch. "So the driver said." I had not the slightest interest in Mr. +Richard Sands, his crimes or misfortunes. + +"Yes, and they'd sent him up the third time if Judge Polk had lived. +The first time it was a pocket-book and three dollars, and the second +time it was a ham. Polk did that. Polk's dead now. God help him if +he'd been alive when Dick got out the last time. First question he +asked me after I told him his mother was all right was whether 'twas +true Polk was dead. When I told him he was he didn't say nothin' at +first--just looked down on the floor and then he said slow-like:-- + +"'If Polk had had any common sense, Uncle Jimmy,'--he always calls me +'Uncle Jimmy,'--'he'd saved himself a heap o' worry and me a good deal +o' sufferin'. I'm glad he's dead.'" + + +II + +The driver arrived on the minute, backed up to the sprawling wooden +steps, and kicked open the door of the waiting-room with his foot. + +"All right, boss, I got two passengers 'stead o' one, but you won't +kick, I know. You git in; I'll go for the mail." The promotion and the +confidential tone were intended as a compliment. + +I slipped into my fur overcoat; slid my manuscript into the outside +pocket, and followed the driver out into the cold night. The only +light visible came from a smoky kerosene lamp boxed in at the far end +of the stage and protected by a pane of glass labeled in red paint, +"Fare, ten cents." + +Close to its rays sat a man, and close to the man--so close that I +mistook her for an overcoat thrown over his arm--cuddled a little +girl, the light of the lamp falling directly on her face. She was +about ten years of age, and wore a cheap woolen hood tied close to her +face, and a red shawl crossed over her chest and knotted behind her +back. Her hair was yellow and weather-burned, as if she had played out +of doors all her life; her eyes were pale blue, and her face freckled. +Neither she nor the man made any answer to my salutation. + +The child looked up into the man's face and shrugged her shoulders +with a slight shiver. The man drew her closer to him, as if to warm +her the better, and felt her chapped red hands. In the movement his +face came into view. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age--wiry and +well built, with an oval face ending in a pointed Vandyke beard; +piercing brown eyes, finely chiseled nose, and a well-modeled mouth +over which drooped a blond mustache. He was dressed in a dark blue +flannel shirt, with loose sailor collar tied with a red 'kerchief, and +a black, stiff-brimmed army-shaped hat a little drawn down over his +eyes. Buttoned over his chest was a heavy waistcoat made of a white +and gray deerskin, with the hair on the outside. His trousers, which +fitted snugly his slender, shapely legs, were tucked into his boots. +He wore no coat, despite the cold. + +A typical young westerner, I said to myself--one of the bone and sinew +of the land--accustomed to live anywhere in these mountains--cold +proof, of course, or he'd wear a coat on a night like this. Taking his +little sister home, I suppose. The country will never go to the dogs +as long as we have these young fellows to fall back upon. Then my eyes +rested with pleasure on the pointed beard, the peculiar curve of the +hat-brim, the slender waist corrugating the soft fur of the deerskin +waistcoat, and the peculiar set of his trousers and boots--like those +of an Austrian on parade. And how picturesque, I thought. What an +admirable costume for the ideal cowboy or the romantic mountain ranger +who comes in at the nick of time to save the young maiden; and what a +hit the favorite of the footlights would make if he could train his +physique down to such wire-drawn, alert, panther-like outlines and-- + +A heavy object struck the boot of the stage and interrupted my +meditations. It was the mail-bag. The next instant the driver's head +was thrust in the door. + +"Dick, this is the man I told you was goin' 'long far as Bingville. +He's got a show up to the college." + +I started, hardly believing my ears. Shades of D'Artagnan, Davy +Crockett, and Daniel Boone! Could this lithe, well-knit, brown-eyed +young Robin Hood be a convict? + +"Are you Dick Sands?" I faltered out. + +"Yes, that's what they call me when I'm out of jail. When I'm in I'm +known as One Hundred and Two." + +He spoke calmly, quite as if I had asked him his age--the voice clear +and low, with a certain cadence that surprised me all the more. His +answer, too, convinced me that the driver had told him of my +time-honored views on solitary confinement, and that it had disposed +him to be more or less frank toward me. If he expected, however, any +further outburst of sympathy from me he was disappointed. The surprise +had been so great, and the impression he had made upon me so +favorable, that it would have been impossible for me to remind him +even in the remotest way of his former misfortunes. + +The child looked at me with her pale eyes, and crept still closer, +holding on to the man's arm, steadying herself as the stage bumped +over the crossings. + +For some minutes I kept still, my topics of conversation especially +adapted to convicts being limited. Despite my implied boasting to the +driver, I had never, to my knowledge, met one before. Then, again, I +had not yet adjusted my mind to the fact that the man before me had +ever worn stripes. So I said, aimlessly:-- + +"Is that your little sister?" + +"No, I haven't got any little sister," still in the same calm voice. +"This is Ben Mulford's girl; she lives next to me, and I am taking her +down for the ride. She's coming back." + +The child's hand stole along the man's knee, found his fingers and +held on. I kept silence for a while, wondering what I would say next. +I felt that to a certain extent I was this man's guest, and therefore +under obligation to preserve the amenities. I began again:-- + +"The driver tells me your mother's sick?" + +"Yes, she is. She went over to her sister's last week and got cold. +She isn't what she was--I being away from her so much lately. I got +two terms; last time for five years. Every little thing now knocks her +out." + +He raised his head and looked at me calmly--all over--examining each +detail,--my derby hat, white tie, fur overcoat, along my arms to my +gloves, and slowly down to my shoes. + +"I s'pose you never done no time?" He had no suspicion that I had; he +only meant to be amiable. + +"No," I said, with equal simplicity, meeting him on his own +ground--quite as if an attack of measles at some earlier age was under +discussion, to which he had fallen a victim while I had escaped. As he +spoke his fingers tightened over the child's hand. Then he turned and +straightened her hood, tucking the loose strands of hair under its +edge with his fingers. + +"You seem rather fond of that little girl; is she any relation?" I +asked, forgetting that I had asked almost that same question before. + +"No, she isn't any relation--just Ben Mulford's girl." He raised his +other hand and pressed the child's head down upon the deerskin +waistcoat, close into the fur, with infinite tenderness. The child +reached up her small, chapped hand and laid it on his cheek, cuddling +closer, a shy, satisfied smile overspreading her face. + +My topics were exhausted, and we rode on in silence, he sitting in +front of me, his eyes now so completely hidden in the shadow of his +broad-brimmed hat that I only knew they were fixed on me when some +sudden tilt of the stage threw the light full on his face. I tried +offering him a cigar, but he would not smoke--"had gotten out of the +habit of it," he said, "being shut up so long. It didn't taste good to +him, so he had given it up." + +When the stage reached the crossing near the college gate and stopped, +he asked quietly:-- + +"You get out here?" and lifted the child as he spoke so that her +soiled shoes would not scrape my coat. In the action I saw that his +leg pained him, for he bent it suddenly and put his hand on the +kneecap. + +"I hope your mother will be better," I said. "Good-night; good-night, +little girl." + +"Thank you; good-night," he answered quickly, with a strain of sadness +that I had not caught before. The child raised her eyes to mine, but +did not speak. + +I mounted the hill to the big college building, and stopped under a +light to look back; following with my eyes the stage on its way to the +station. The child was on her knees, looking at me out of the window +and waving her hand, but the man sat by the lamp, his head on his +chest. + + * * * * * + +All through my discourse the picture of that keen-eyed, handsome young +fellow, with his pointed beard and picturesque deerskin waistcoat, the +little child cuddled down upon his breast, kept coming before me. + +When I had finished, and was putting on my coat in the president's +room,--the landlord had sent his team to bring me back,--I asked one +of the professors, a dry, crackling, sandy-haired professor, with +bulging eyes and watch-crystal spectacles, if he knew of a man by the +name of Sands who had lived in Hell's Diggings with his mother, and +who had served two terms in state's prison, and I related my +experience in the stage, telling him of the impression his face and +bearing had made upon me, and of his tenderness to the child beside +him. + +"No, my dear sir, I never heard of him. Hell's Diggings is a most +unsafe and unsavory locality. I would advise you to be very careful in +returning. The rogue will probably be lying in wait to rob you of your +fee;" and he laughed a little harsh laugh that sounded as if some one +had suddenly torn a coarse rag. + +"But the child with him," I said; "he seemed to love her." + +"That's no argument, my dear sir. If he has been twice in state's +prison he probably belongs to that class of degenerates in whom all +moral sense is lacking. I have begun making some exhaustive +investigations of the data obtainable on this subject, which I have +embodied in a report, and which I propose sending to the State +Committee on the treatment of criminals, and which"---- + +"Do you know any criminals personally?" I asked blandly, cutting +short, as I could see, an extract from the report. His manner, too, +strange to say, rather nettled me. + +"Thank God, no, sir; not one! Do you?" + +"I am not quite sure," I answered. "I thought I had, but I may have +been mistaken." + + +III + +When I again mounted the sprawling steps of the disheartened-looking +tavern, the landlord was sitting by the stove half asleep and alone. +He had prepared a little supper, he said, as he led the way, with a +benign smile, into the dining-room, where a lonely bracket lamp, +backed by a tin reflector, revealed a table holding a pitcher of milk, + a saucer of preserves, and some pieces of leather beef about the size +used in repairing shoes. + +"Come, and sit down by me," I said. "I want to talk to you about this +young fellow Sands. Tell me everything you know." + +"Well, you saw him; clean and pert-lookin', ain't he? Don't look much +like a habitual criminal, as Polk called him, does he?" + +"No, he certainly does not; but give me the whole story." I was in a +mood either to reserve decision or listen to a recommendation of +mercy. + +"Want me to tell you about the pocketbook or that ham scrape?" + +"Everything from the beginning," and I reached for the scraps of beef +and poured out a glass of milk. + +"Well, you saw Chris Rankin, didn't you,--that fellow that talked +about jail-birds? Well, one night about six or seven years ago,"--the +landlord had now drawn out a chair from the other side of the table +and was sitting opposite me, leaning forward, his arms on the +cloth,--"maybe six years ago, a jay of a farmer stopped at Rankin's +and got himself plumb full o' tanglefoot. When he come to pay he +hauled out a wallet and chucked it over to Chris and told him to take +it out. The wallet struck the edge of the counter and fell on the +floor, and out come a wad o' bills. The only other man besides him and +Chris in the bar-room was Dick. It was Saturday night, and Dick had +come in to git his paper, which was always left to Rankin's. Dick seen +he was drunk, and he picked the wallet up and handed it back to the +farmer. About an hour after that the farmer come a-runnin' in to +Rankin's sober as a deacon, a-hollerin' that he'd been robbed, and +wanted to know where Dick was. He said that he had had two rolls o' +bills; one was in an envelope with three dollars in it that he'd got +from the bank, and the other was the roll he paid Chris with. Dick, he +claimed, was the last man who had handled the wallet, and he vowed +he'd stole the envelope with the three dollars when he handed it back +to him. + +"When the trial come off everything went dead ag'in Dick. The cashier +of the bank swore he had given the farmer the money and envelope, and +in three new one-dollar bills of the bank, mind you, for the farmer +had sold some ducks for his wife and wanted clean money for her. Chris +swore he seen Dick pick it up and fix the money all straight again for +the farmer; the farmer's wife swore she had took the money out of her +husband's pocket, and that when she opened the wallet the envelope was +gone, and the farmer, who was so dumb he couldn't write his name, +swore that he hadn't stopped no place between Chris Rankin's and home, +'cept just a minute to fix his traces t'other side of Big Pond Woods. + +"Dick's mother, of course, was nigh crazy, and she come to me and I +went and got Lawyer White. It come up 'fore Judge Polk. After we had +all swore to Dick's good character and, mind you, there warn't one of +'em could say a word ag'in him 'cept that he lived in Hell's Diggin's, +Lawyer White began his speech, clamin' that Dick had always been +square as a brick, and that the money must be found on Dick or +somewheres nigh him 'fore they could prove he took it. + +"Well, the jury was the kind we always git 'round here, and they done +what Polk told 'em to in his charge,--just as they always do,--and +Dick was found guilty before them fellers left their seats. The mother +give a shriek and fell in a heap on the floor, but Dick never changed +a muscle nor said a word. When Polk asked him if he had anything to +say, he stood up and turned his back on Polk, and faced the +court-room, which was jam full, for everybody knowed him and everybody +liked him--you couldn't help it. + +"'You people have knowed me here,' Dick says, 'since I was a boy, and +you've knowed my mother. I ain't never in times back done nothin' I +was ashamed of, and I ain't now, and you know it. I tell you, men, I +didn't take that money.' Then he faced the jury. 'I don't know,' he +said, 'as I blame you. Most of you don't know no better and those o' +you who do are afraid to say it; but you, Judge Polk,' and he squared +himself and pointed his finger straight at him, 'you claim to be a man +of eddication, and so there ain't no excuse for you. You've seen me +grow up here, and if you had any common sense you'd know that a man +like me couldn't steal that man's money, and you'd know, too, that he +was too drunk to know what had become of it.' Then he stopped and said +in a low voice, and with his teeth set, looking right into Polk's +eyes: 'Now I'm ready to take whatever you choose to give me, but +remember one thing, I'll settle with you if I ever come back for +puttin' this misery on to my mother, and don't you forget it.' + +"Polk got a little white about the gills, but he give Dick a year, and +they took him away to Stoneburg. + +"After that the mother ran down and got poorer and poorer, and folks +avoided her, and she got behind and had to sell her stuff, and a month +before his time was out she got sick and pretty near died. Dick went +straight home and never left her day nor night, and just stuck to her +and nursed her like any girl would a-done, and got her well again. Of +course folks was divided, and it got red-hot 'round here. Some +believed him innercent, and some believed him guilty. Lawyer White and +fellers like him stuck to him, but Rankin's gang was down on him; and +when he come into Chris's place for his paper same as before, all the +bums that hang 'round there got up and left, and Chris told Dick he +didn't want him there no more. That kinder broke the boy's heart, +though he didn't say nothing, and after that he would go off up in the +woods by himself, or he'd go huntin' ches'nuts or picking flowers, all +the children after him. Every child in the settlement loved him, and +couldn't stay away from him. Queer, ain't it, how folks would trust +their chil'ren. All the folks in Hell's Diggin's did, anyhow." + +"Yes," I interrupted, "there was one with him to-night in the stage." + +"That's right. He always has one or two boys and girls 'long with him; +says nothin' ain't honest, no more, 'cept chil'ren and dogs. + +"Well, when his mother got 'round ag'in all right, Dick started in to +get something to do. He couldn't get nothin' here, so he went acrost +the mountains to Castleton and got work in a wagon fact'ry. When it +come pay day and they asked him his name he said out loud, Dick Sands, +of Hell's Diggin's. This give him away, and the men wouldn't work with +him, and he had to go. I see him the mornin' he got back. He come in +and asked for me, and I went out, and he said, 'Uncle Jimmy, they mean +I sha'n't work 'round here. They won't give me no work, and when I git +it they won't let me stay. Now, by God!'--and he slammed his fist down +on the desk--'they'll support me and my mother without workin',' and +he went out. + +"Next thing I heard Dick had come into Rankin's and picked up a ham +and walked off with it. Chris, he allus 'lowed, hurt him worse than +any one else around here, and so maybe he determined to begin on him. +Chris was standin' at the bar when he picked up the ham, and he +grabbed a gun and started for him. Dick waited a-standin' in the road, +and just as Chris was a-pullin' the trigger, he jumped at him, +plantin' his fist in 'tween Chris's eyes. Then he took his gun and +went off with the ham. Chris didn't come to for an hour. Then Dick +barricaded himself in his house, put his mother in the cellar, strung +a row of cartridges 'round his waist, and told 'em to come on. Well, +his mother plead with him not to do murder, and after a day he give +himself up and come out. + +"At the trial the worst scared man was Polk. Dick had dropped in on +him once or twice after he got out, tellin' him how he couldn't git no +work and askin' him to speak up and set him straight with the folks. +They do say that Polk never went out o' night when Dick was home, +'fraid he'd waylay him--though I knew Polk was givin' himself a good +deal of worry for nothin', for Dick warn't the kind to hit a man on +the sly. When Polk see who it was a-comin' into court he called the +constable and asked if Dick had been searched, and when he found he +had he told Ike Martin, the constable, to stand near the bench in case +the prisoner got ugly. + +"But Dick never said a word, 'cept to say he took the ham and he never +intended to pay for it, and he'd take it again whenever his mother was +hungry. + +"So Polk give him five years, sayin' it was his second offense, and +that he was a 'habitual criminal.' It was all over in half an hour, +and Ike Martin and the sheriff had Dick in a buggy and on the way to +Stoneburg. They reached the jail about nine o'clock at night, and +drove up to the gate. Well, sir, Ike got out on one side and the +sheriff he got out on t'other, so they could get close to him when he +got down, and, by gosh! 'fore they knowed where they was at, Dick give +a spring clear over the dashboard and that's the last they see of him +for two months. One day, after they'd hunted him high and low and lay +'round his mother's cabin, and jumped in on her half a dozen times in +the middle of the night, hopin' to get him,--for Polk had offered a +reward of five hundred dollars, dead or alive,--Ike come in to my +place all het up and his eyes a-hangin' out, and he say, 'Gimme your +long gun, quick, we got Dick Sands.' I says, 'How do you know?' and he +says, 'Some boys seen smoke comin' out of a mineral hole half a mile +up the mountain above Hell's Diggin's, and Dick's in there with a bed +and blanket, and we're goin' to lay for him to-night and plug him when +he comes out if he don't surrender.' And I says, 'You can't have no +gun o' mine to shoot Dick, and if I knowed where he was I'd go tell +him.' The room was full when he asked for my gun, and some o' the boys +from Hell's Diggin's heard him and slid off through the woods, and +when the sheriff and his men got there they see the smoke still comin' +up, and lay in the bushes all night watchin'. 'Bout an hour after +daylight they crep' up. The fire was out and so was Dick, and all they +found was a chicken half cooked and a quilt off his mother's bed. + +"'Bout a week after that, one Saturday night, a feller come runnin' up +the street from the market, sayin' Dick had walked into his place just +as he was closin' up,--he had a stall in the public market under the +city hall, where the court is,--and asked him polite as you please for +a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, and before he could holler Dick +was off again with the bread under his arm. Well, of course, nobody +didn't believe him, for they knowed Dick warn't darn fool enough to be +loafin' 'round a place within twenty foot of the room where Polk +sentenced him. Some said the feller was crazy, and some said it was a +put-up job to throw Ike and the others off the scent. But the next +night Dick, with his gun handy in the hollow of his arm, and his hat +cocked over his eye, stepped up to the cook shop in the corner of the +market and helped himself to a pie and a chunk o' cheese right under +their very eyes, and 'fore they could say 'scat,' he was off ag'in and +didn't leave no more tracks than a cat. + +"By this time the place was wild. Fellers was gettin' their guns, and +Ike Martin was runnin' here and there organizing posses, and most +every other man you'd meet had a gun and was swore in as a deputy to +git Dick and some of the five hundred dollars' reward. They hung +'round the market, and they patrolled the streets, and they had signs +and countersigns, and more tomfoolery than would run a circus. Dick +lay low and never let on, and nobody didn't see him for another week, +when a farmer comin' in with milk 'bout daylight had the life pretty +nigh scared out o' him by Dick stopping him, sayin' he was thirsty, +and then liftin' the lid off the tin without so much as 'by your +leave,' and takin' his fill of the can. 'Bout a week after that the +rope got tangled up in the belfry over the court-house so they +couldn't ring for fires, and the janitor went up to fix it, and when +he came down his legs was shakin' so he couldn't stand. What do you +think he'd found?" And the landlord leaned over and broke out in a +laugh, striking the table with the flat of his hand until every plate +and tumbler rattled. + +I made no answer. + +"By gosh, there was Dick sound asleep! He had a bed and blankets and +lots o' provisions, and was just as comfortable as a bug in a rug. +He'd been there ever since he got out of the mineral hole! Tell you I +got to laugh whenever I think of it. Dick laughed 'bout it himself +t'other day when he told me what fun he had listenin' to Ike and the +deputies plannin' to catch him. There ain't another man around here +who'd been smart enough to pick out the belfry. He was right over the +room in the court-house where they was, ye see, and he could look down +'tween the cracks and hear every word they said. Rainy nights he'd +sneak out, and his mother would come down to the market, and he'd see +her outside. They never tracked her, of course, when she come there. +He told me she wanted him to go clean away somewheres, but he wouldn't +leave her. + +"When the janitor got his breath he busted in on Ike and the others +sittin' 'round swappin' lies how they'd catch Dick, and Ike reached +for his gun and crep' up the ladder with two deputies behind him, and +Ike was so scared and so 'fraid he'd lose the money that he fired +'fore Dick got on his feet. The ball broke his leg, and they all +jumped in and clubbed him over the head and carried him downstairs for +dead in his blankets, and laid him on a butcher's table in the market, +and all the folks in the market crowded 'round to look at him, lyin' +there with his head hangin' down over the table like a stuck calf's, +and his clothes all bloody. Then Ike handcuffed him and started for +Stoneburg in a wagon 'fore Dick come to." + +"That's why he couldn't walk to-night," I asked, "and why the driver +took him over in the stage?" + +"Yes, that was it. He'll never get over it. Sometimes he's all right, +and then ag'in it hurts him terrible, 'specially when the weather's +bad. + +"All the time he was up to Stoneburg them last four years--he got a +year off for good behavior--he kept makin' little things and sellin' +'em to the visitors. Everybody went to his cell--it was the first +place the warders took 'em, and they all bought things from Dick. He +had a nice word for everybody, kind and comforting-like. He was the +handiest feller you ever see. When he got out he had twenty-nine +dollars. He give every cent to his mother. Warden told him when he +left he hadn't had no better man in the prison since he had been +'p'inted. And there ain't no better feller now. It's a darned mean +shame how Chris Rankin and them fellers is down on him, knowin', too, +how it all turned out." + +I leaned back in my chair and looked at the landlord. I was conscious +of a slight choking in my throat which could hardly be traced to the +dryness of the beef. I was conscious, too, of a peculiar affection of +the eyes. Two or three lamps seemed to be swimming around the room, +and one or more blurred landlords were talking to me with elbows on +tables. + +"What do you think yourself about that money of the farmer's?" I asked +automatically, though I do not think even now that I had the slightest +suspicion of his guilt. "Do you believe he stole the three dollars +when he handed the wallet back?" + +"Stole 'em? Not by a d---- sight! Didn't I tell you? Thought I had. +That galoot of a farmer dropped it in the woods 'longside the road +when he got out to fix his traces, and he was too full of Chris +Rankin's rum to remember it, and after Dick had been sent up for the +second time, the second time now, mind ye, and had been in two years +for walking off with Rankin's ham, a lot of school children huntin' +for ches'nuts come upon that same envelope in the ditch with them +three new dollars in it, covered up under the leaves and the weeds +a-growin' over it. Ben Mulford's girl found it." + +"What, the child he had with him tonight?" + +"Yes, little freckle-faced girl with white eyes. Oh, I tell you Dick's +awful fond of that kid." + + + + +A KENTUCKY CINDERELLA + + +I was bending over my easel, hard at work upon a full-length portrait +of a young girl in a costume of fifty years ago, when the door of my +studio opened softly and Aunt Chloe came in. + +"Good-mawnin', suh! I did n' think you'd come to-day, bein' a Sunday," +she said, with a slight bend of her knees. "I'll jes' sweep up a lil +mite; doan' ye move, I won't 'sturb ye." + +Aunt Chloe had first opened my door a year before with a note from +Marny, a brother brush, which began with "Here is an old Southern +mammy who has seen better days; paint her if you can," and ended with, +"Any way, give her a job." + +The bearer of the note was indeed the ideal mammy, even to the +bandanna handkerchief bound about her head, and the capacious waist +and ample bosom--the lullaby resting-place for many a child, white and +black. I had never seen a real one in the flesh before. I had heard +about them in my earlier days. Daddy Billy, my father's body servant +and my father's slave, who lived to be ninety-four, had told me of his +own Aunt Mirey, who had died in the old days, but too far back for me +to remember. And I had listened, when a boy, to the traditions +connected with the plantations of my ancestors,--of the Keziahs and +Mammy Crouches and Mammy Janes,--but I had never looked into the eyes +of one of the old school until I saw Aunt Chloe, nor had I ever fully +realized how quaintly courteous and gentle one of them could be until, +with an old-time manner, born of a training seldom found outside of +the old Southern homes, she bent forward, spread her apron with both +hands, and with a little backward dip had said as she left me that +first day: "Thank ye, suh! I'll come eve'y Sunday mawnin'. I'll do my +best to please ye, an' I specs I kin." + +I do not often work on Sunday, but my picture had been too long +delayed waiting for a faded wedding dress worn once by the original +when she was a bride, and which had only been found when two of her +descendants had ransacked their respective garrets. + +"Mus' be mighty driv, suh," she said, "a-workin' on de Sabbath day. +Golly, but dat's a purty lady!" and she put down her pail. "I see it +las' Sunday when I come in, but she didn't had dem ruffles 'round her +neck den dat you done gib her. 'Clar' to goodness, dat chile look like +she was jes' a-gwine to speak." + +[Illustration: AUNT CHLOE] + +Aunt Chloe was leaning on her broom, her eyes scrutinizing the +portrait. + +"Well, if dat doan' beat de lan'. I ain't never seen none o' dem +frocks since de ole times. An' dem lil low shoes wid de ribbons +crossed on de ankles! She's de livin' pussonecation--she is so, for a +fac'. Uhm! Uhm!" (It is difficult to convey this peculiar sound of +complete approval in so many letters.) + +"Did you ever know anybody like her?" I asked. + +The old woman straightened her back, and for a moment her eyes looked +into mine. I had often tried to draw from her something of her earlier +life, but she had always evaded my questions. Marny had told me that +his attempts had at first been equally disappointing. + +"Body as ole's me, suh, seen a plenty o' people." Then her eyes sought +the canvas again. + +After a moment's pause she said, as if to herself: "You's de real +quality, chile, dat you is; eve'y spec an' spinch o' ye." + +I tried again. + +"Does it look like anybody you ever saw, Aunt Chloe?" + +"It do an' it don't," she answered critically. "De feet is like hern, +but de eyes ain't." + +"Who?" + +"Oh, Miss Nannie." And she leaned again on her broom and looked down +on the floor. + +I heaped up a little pile of pigments on one corner of my palette and +flattened them for a high light on a fold in the satin gown. + +"Who was Miss Nannie?" I asked carelessly. I was afraid the thread +would break if I pulled too hard. + +"One o' my chillen, honey." A peculiar softness came into her voice. + +"Tell me about her. It will help me get her eyes right, so you can +remember her better. They don't look human enough to me anyhow" (this +last to myself). "Where did she live?" + +"Where dey all live--down in de big house. She warn't Marse Henry's +real chile, but she come o' de blood. She didn't hab dem kind o' shoes +on her footses when I fust see her, but she wore 'em when she lef' me. +Dat she did." Her voice rose suddenly and her eyes brightened. "An' +dem ain't nothin' to de way dey shined. I ain't never seen no satin +slippers shine like dem slippers; dey was jes' ablaze!" + +I worked on in silence. Marny had cautioned me not to be too curious. +Some day she might open her heart and tell me wonderful stories of her +earlier life, but I must not appear too anxious. She had become rather +suspicious of strangers since she had moved North and lost track of +her own people, Marny had said. + +Aunt Chloe picked up her pail and began moving some easels into a far +corner of my studio and piling the chairs in a heap. This done, she +stopped again and stood behind me, looking intently at the canvas over +my shoulder. + +"My! My! ain't dat de ve'y image of dat frock? I kin see it now jes' +as Miss Nannie come down de stairs. But you got to put dat gold chain +on it 'fore it gits to be de ve'y 'spress image. I had it roun' my own +neck once; I know jes' how it looked." + +I laid down my palette, and picking up a piece of chalk asked her to +describe it so that I could make an outline. + +"It was long an' heavy, an' it woun' roun' de neck twice an' hung down +to de wais'. An' dat watch on de end of it! Well, I ain't seen none +like dat one sence. I 'clar' to ye it was jes' 's teeny as one o' dem +lil biscuits I used to make for 'er when she come in de kitchen--an' +she was dere most of de time. Dey didn't care nuffin for her much. Let +'er go roun' barefoot half de time, an' her hair a-fiyin'. Only one +good frock to her name, an' dat warn't nuffin but calico. I used to +wash dat many a time for her long 'fore she was outen her bed. Allus +makes my blood bile to dis day whenever I think of de way dey treated +dat chile. But it didn't make no diff'ence what she had on--shoes or +no shoes--her footses was dat lil. An' purty! Wid her big eyes an' her +cheeks jes' 's fresh as dem rosewater roses dat I used to snip off for +ole Sam to put on de table. Oh! I tell ye, if ye could picter her like +dat dey wouldn't be nobody clear from here to glory could come nigh +her." + +Aunt Chloe's eyes were kindling with every word. I remembered Marny's +warning and kept still. I had abandoned the sketch of the chain as an +unnecessary incentive, and had begun again with my palette knife, +pottering away, nodding appreciatingly, and now and then putting a +question to clear up some tangled situation as to dates and localities +which her rambling talk had left unsettled. + +"Yes, suh, down in the blue grass country, near Lexin'ton, Kentucky, +whar my ole master, Marse Henry Gordon, lived," she answered to my +inquiry as to where this all happened. "I used to go eve'y year to see +him after de war was over, an' kep' it up till he died. Dere warn't +nobody like him den, an' dere ain't none now. He warn't never spiteful +to chillen, white or black. Eve'ybody knowed dat. I was a pickaninny +myse'f, an' I b'longed to him. An' he ain't never laid a lick on me, +an' he wouldn't let nobody else do't nuther, 'cept my mammy. I +'members one time when Aunt Dinah made cake dat ole Sam--he war a heap +younger den--couldn't put it on de table 'ca'se dere was a piece broke +out'n it. Sam he riz, an' Dinah she riz, an' after dey'd called each +other all de names dey could lay dere tongues to, Miss Ann, my own +fust mist'ess, come in an' she say dem chillen tuk dat cake, an' +'tain't nary one o' ye dat's 'sponsible.' 'What's dis,' says Marse +Henry--'chillen stealin' cake? Send 'em here to me!' When we all come +in--dere was six or eight of us--he says, 'Eve'y one o' ye look me in +de eye; now which one tuk it?' I kep' lookin' away,--fust on de flo' +an' den out de windy. 'Look at me,' he says agin. 'You ain't lookin', +Clorindy.' Den I cotched him watchin' me. 'Now you all go out,' he +says, 'and de one dat's guilty kin come back agin.' Den we all went +out in de yard. 'You tell him,' says one. 'No, you tell him;' an' +dat's de way it went on. I knowed I was de wustest, for I opened de +door o' de sideboard an' gin it to de others. Den I thought, if I +don't tell him mebbe he'll lick de whole passel on us, an' dat ain't +right; but if I go tell him an' beg his 'umble pardon he might lemme +go. So I crep' 'round where he was a-settin' wid his book on his +knee,"--Aunt Chloe was now moving stealthily behind me, her eyes fixed +on her imaginary master, head down, one finger in her mouth,--"an' I +say, 'Marse Henry!' An' he look up an' say, 'Who's dat?' An' I say, +'Dat's Clorindy.' An' he say, 'What you want?' 'Marse Henry, I come to +tell ye I was hungry, an' I see de door open an' I shove it back an' +tuk de piece o' cake, an' maybe I thought if I done tole ye you'd +forgib me.' + +"'Den you is de ringleader,' he says, 'an' you tempted de other +chillen?' 'Yes,' I says, 'I spec so.' 'Well,' he says, lookin' down on +de carpet, 'now dat you has perfessed an' beg pardon, you is good an' +ready to pay 'tention to what I'm gwine to say.' De other chillen had +sneaked up an' was listenin'; dey 'spected to see me git it, though +dere ain't nary one of 'em ever knowed him to strike 'em a lick. Den +he says: 'Dis here is a lil thing,--dis stealin a cake; an' it's a big +thing at de same time. Miss Ann has been right smart put out 'bout it, +an' I'm gwine to see dat it don't happen agin. If you see a pin on de +fl'or you wouldn't steal it,--you'd pick it up if you wanted it, an' +it wouldn't be nuffin, 'cause somebody th'owed it away an' it was free +to eve'body; but if you see a piece o' money on de fl'or, you knowed +nobody didn't th'ow dat away, an' if you pick it up an' don't tell, +dat's somethin' else--dat's stealin', 'cause you tuk somethin' dat +somebody else has paid somethin' for an' dat belongs to him. Now dis +cake ain't o' much 'count, but it warn't yourn, an' you oughtn't to +ha' tuk it. If you'd asked yo'r mist'ess for it she'd gin you a piece. +There ain't nuffin here you chillen doan' git when ye ask for it.' I +didn't say nuffin more. I jes' waited for him to do anythin' he wanted +to me. Den he looks at de carpet for a long time an' he says:-- + +"'I reckon you won't take no mo' cake 'thout askin' for it, Clorindy, +an' you chillen kin go out an' play agin.'" + +The tears were now standing in her eyes. + +"Dat's what my ole master was, suh; I ain't never forgot it. If he had +beat me to death he couldn't 'a' done no mo' for me. He jes' splained +to me an' I ain't never forgot since." + +"Did your own mother find it out?" I asked. + +The tears were gone now; her face was radiant again at my question. + +"Dat she did, suh. One o' de chillen done tole on me. Mammy jes' made +one grab as I run pas' de kitchen door, an' reached for a barrel +stave, an' she fairly sot--me--afire!" + +Aunt Chloe was now holding her sides with laughter, fresh tears +streaming down her cheeks. + +"But Marse Henry never knowed it. Lawd, suh, dere ain't nobody round +here like him, nor never was. I kin 'member him now same as it was +yisterday, wid his white hair, an' he a-settin' in his big chair. It +was de las' time I ever see him. De big house was gone, an' de colored +people was gone, an' he was dat po' he didn't know where de nex' +mouf'ful was a-comin' from. I come out behind him so,"--Aunt Chloe +made me her old master and my stool his rocking-chair,--"an' I pat him +on the shoulder dis way, an' he say, 'Chloe, is dat you? How is it yo' +looks so comf'ble like?' An' I say, 'It's you, Marse Henry; you done +it all; yo' teachin' made me what I is, an' if you study about it +you'll know it's so. An' de others ain't no wus'. Of all de colored +people you owned, dere ain't nary one been hung, or been in de +penitentiary, nor ain't knowed as liars. Dat's de way you fotch us +up.' + +"An' I love him yet, an' if he was a-livin' to-day I'd work for him +an' take care of him if I went hungry myse'f. De only fool thing +Marster Henry ever done was a-marryin' dat widow woman for his second +wife. Miss Nannie, dat looks a lil bit like dat chile you got dere +before ye"--and she pointed to the canvas--"wouldn't a been sot on an' +'bused like she was but for her. Dat woman warn't nuffin but a +harf-strainer noway, if I do say it. Eve'body knowed dat. How Marse +Henry Gordon come to marry her nobody don't know till dis day. She +warn't none o' our people. Dey do say dat he met her up to Frankfort +when he was in de Legislater, but I don't know if dat's so. But she +warn't nuffin, nohow." + +"Was Miss Nannie her child?" I asked, stepping back from my easel to +get the better effect of my canvas. + +"No suh, dat she warn't!" with emphasis. "She was Marse Henry's own +sister's chile, she was. Her people--Miss Nannie's--lived up in +Indiany, an' dey was jes's po' as watermelon rinds, and when her +mother died Marse Henry sent for her to come live wid him, 'cause he +said Miss Rachel--dat was dat woman's own chile by her fust +husband--was lonesome. Dey was bofe about de one age,--fo'teen or +fifteen years old,--but Lawd-a-massy! Miss Rachel warn't lonesome +'cept for what she couldn't git, an' she most broke her heart 'bout +dat, much's she could break it 'bout anything. + +"I remember de ve'y day Miss Nannie come. I see her comin' down de +road totin' a big ban'box, an' a carpet bag mos's big's herse'f. Den +she turned in de gate. ''Fo' God,' I says to ole Sam, who was settin' +de table for dinner, 'who's dis yere comin' in?' Den I see her stop +an' set de bundles down an' catch her bref, and den she come on agin. + +"'Dat's Marse Henry's niece,' he says. 'I heared de mist'ess say she +was a-comin' one day dis week by de coach.' + +"I see right away dat dat woman was up to one of her tricks; she +didn't 'tend to let dat chile come no other way 'cept like a servant; +she was dat dirt mean. + +"Oh, you needn't look, suh! I ain't meanin' no onrespect, but I knowed +dat woman when Marse Henry fust married her, an' she ain't never +fooled me once. Fust time she come into de house she walked plumb in +de kitchen, where me an' old Sam an' ole Dinah was a-eaten our dinner, +we setten at de table like we useter did, and she flung her head up in +de air and she says: 'After dis when I come in I want you niggers to +git up on yo' feet.' Think o' dat, will ye? Marse Henry never called +nary one of us nigger since we was pickaninnies. I knowed den she +warn't 'customed to nuthin'. But I tell ye she never put on dem kind +o' airs when Marse Henry was about. No, suh. She was always mighty +sugar-like to him when he was home, but dere ain't no conniption she +warn't up to when he couldn't hear of it. She had purty nigh riz de +roof when he done tell her dat Miss Nannie was a-comin' to live wid +'em, but she couldn't stand agin him, for warn't her only daughter, +Miss Rachel, livin' on him, an' not only Miss Rachel, but lots mo' of +her people where she come from? + +"Well, suh, as soon as ole Sam said what chile it was dat was a-comin' +down de road I dropped my dishcloth an' I run out to meet 'er. + +"'Is you Miss Nannie?' I says. 'Gimme dat bag,' I says, 'an' dat box.' + +"'Yes,' she says, 'dat's me, an' ain't you Aunt Chloe what I heared so +much about?' + +"Honey, you ain't never gwine to git de kind o' look on dat picter +you's workin' on dere, suh, as sweet as dat chile's face when she said +dat to me. I loved her from dat fust minute I see her, an' I loved her +ever since, jes' as I loved her mother befo' her. + +"When she got to de house, me a-totin' de things on behind, de +mist'ess come out on de po'ch. + +"'Oh, dat's you, is it, Nannie?' she says. 'Well, Chloe'll tell ye +where to go,' an' she went straight in de house agin. Never kissed +her, nor touched her, nor nuffin! + +"Ole Sam was bilin'. He heard her say it, an' if he was alive he'd +tell ye same as me. + +"'Where's she gwine to sleep?' I says, callin' after her; 'upstairs +long wid Miss Rachel?' I was gittin' hot myse'f, though I didn't say +nuffin. + +"'No,' she says, flingin' up her head like a goat; 'my daughter needs +all de room she's got. You kin take her downstairs an' fix up a place +for her 'longside o' you an' Dinah.' She was de old cook. + +"'Come 'long,' I says, 'Miss Nannie,' an' I dropped a curtsey same's +if she was a princess. An' so she was, an' Marse Henry's own eyes in +her head, an' 'nough like him to be his own chile. 'I'll hab ev'ything +ready for ye,' I says. 'You wait here an' take de air,' an' I got a +chair an' sot her down on de po'ch, an' ole Sam brung her some cake, +an' I went to git de room ready--de room offn de kitchen pantry, where +dey puts de overseer's chillen when dey come to see him. + +"Purty soon Miss Rachel come down an' went up an' kissed her--dat is, +Sam said so, though I ain't never seen her kiss her dat time nor no +other time. Miss Rachel an' de mist'ess was bofe split out o' de same +piece o' kindlin', an' what one was agin t'other was agin--a blind man +could see dat. Miss Rachel never liked Miss Nannie from de fust, she +was dat cross-grained and pernicketty. No matter what Miss Nannie done +to please her it warn't good 'nough for her. Why, do you know, when de +other chillen come over from de nex' plantation Miss Rachel wouldn't +send for Miss Nannie to come in de parlor. No, suh, dat she wouldn't! +An' dey'd run off an' leave her, too, when dey was gwine picknickin', +an' treat dat chile owdacious, sayin' she was po' white trash, an' +charity chile, an' things like dat, till I would go an' tell Marse +Henry 'bout it. Den dere would be a 'ruction, an' Marse Henry'd blaze +out, an' jes 's soon 's he was off agin to Frankfort--an' he was dere +mos' of de time, for he was one o' dese yere ole-timers dat dey +couldn't git 'long widout at de Legislater--dey'd treat her wus'n +ever. Soon 's Dinah an' me see dat, we kep' Miss Nannie 'long wid us +much as we could. She'd eat wid 'em when dere warn't no company +'round, but dat was 'bout all." + +"Did they send her to school?" I asked, fearing she would again lose +the thread. My picture had a new meaning for me now that it looked +like her heroine. + +"No, suh, dat dey didn't, 'cept to de schoolhouse at de cross-roads +whar eve'ybody's chillen went. But dey sent Miss Rachel to a real +highty-tighty school, dat dey did, down to Louisville. Two winters she +was dere, an' eve'y time when she come home for holiday times she had +mo' airs dan when she went away. Marse Henry wanted bofe chillen to +go, but dat woman outdid him, an' she faced him up an' down dat dere +warn't money 'nough for two, an' dat her daughter was de fittenest, +an' all dat, an' he give in. I didn't hear it, but ole Sam did, an' +his han' shook so he mos' spilt de soup. But law, honey, dat didn't +make no diff'ence to Miss Nannie. She'd go off by herse'f wid her +books an' sit all day under de trees, an' sing to herse'f jes' like a +bird, an' dey'd sing to her, an' all dat time her face was a-beamin' +an' her hair shinin' like gold, an' she a-growin' taller, an' her eyes +gittin' bigger an' bigger, an' brighter, an' her little footses white +an' cunnin' as a rabbit's. + +"De only place whar she did go outside de big house was over to Mis' +Morgan's, who lived on de nex' plantation. Miss Morgan didn't hab no +chillen of her own, an' she'd send for Miss Nannie to come an' keep +her company, she was dat dead lonesome, an' dey was glad 'nough to let +dat chile go so dey could git her out o' de house. Ole Sam allers said +dat, for he heared 'em talk at table an' knowed what was gwine on. + +"Purty soon long come de time when Miss Rachel done finish her +eddication, an' she come back to de big house an' sot herse'f up to +'ceive company. She warn't bad lookin' in dem days, I mus' say, an' if +dat woman's sperit hadn't 'a' been in her she might 'a' pulled +through. But dere warn't no fotching up could stand agin dat blood. +Miss Rachel'd git dat ornery dat you couldn't do nuffin wid her, jes' +like her maw. De fust real out-an'-out beau she had was Dr. Tom +Boling. He lived 'bout fo'teen miles out o' Lexin'ton on de big +plantation, an' was de richest young man in our parts. His paw had +died 'bout two years befo' an' lef him mo' money dan he could th'ow +away, an' he'd jes' come back from Philadelphy, whar he'd been +a-learnin' to be a doctor. He met Miss Rachel at a party in +Louisville, an' de fust Sunday she come home he driv over to see her. +If ye could 'a' seen de mist'ess when she see him comin' in de gate! +All in his ridin' boots an' his yaller breeches an' bottle-green coat, +an' his servant a-ridin' behind to hold de horses. + +"Ole Sam an' me was a-watchin' de mist'ess peekin' th'ough de blind at +him, her eyes a-blazin', an' Sam laughed so he had to stuff a napkin +in his mouf to keep 'er from hearin' him. Well, suh, dat went on all +de summer. Eve'y time he come de mist'ess'd be dat sweet mos' make a +body sick to see her, an' when he'd stay away she was dat pesky dere +warn't no livin' wid her. Of co'se dere was plenty mo' gemmen co'rting +Miss Rachel, too, but none o' dem didn't count wid de mist'ess 'cept +de doctor, 'cause he was rich, dat's all dere was to 't, 'cause he was +rich. I tell ye ole Sam had to tell many a lie to the other gemmen, +sayin' Miss Rachel was sick or somethin' else when she was a-waitin' +for de doctor to come, and was feared he might meet some of 'em an' +git skeered away. + +"Miss Nannie, she'd watch him, too, from behind de kitchen door, or +scrunched down lookin' over de pantry winder sill, an' den she'd tell +Dinah an' me what he did, an' how he got off his horse an' han' de +reins to de boy, an' slap his boots wid his ridin' whip, like he was +a-dustin' off a fly. An' she'd act it all out for me an' Dinah, an' +slap her own frock, an' den she'd laugh fit to kill herse'f an' dance +all 'round de kitchen. Would yo' believe it? No! dere ain't nobody'd +believe it. Dey never asked her to come in once while he was in de +parlor, an' dey never once tole him dat Miss Nannie was a-livin' on de +top side o' de yearth! + +"'Co'se people 'gin to talk, an' ev'ybody said dat Dr. Boling was +gittin' nighest de coon, an' dat fust thing dey'd know dere would be a +weddin' in de Gordon fambly. An' den agin dere was plenty mo' people +said he was only passin' de time wid Miss Rachel, an' dat he come to +see Marse Henry to talk pol'tics. + +"Well, one day, suh, I was a-standin' in de door an' I see him come in +a-foot, widout his horse an' servant, an' step up on de po'ch quick +an' rap at de do', like he say to himse'f, 'Lemme in; I'm in a hurry; +I got somethin' on my mind.' Ole Sam was jes' a-gwine to open de do' +for him when Miss Nannie come a-runnin' in de kitchen from de yard, +her cheeks like de roses, her hair a-flyin', an' her big hat hangin' +to a string down her back. I gin Sam one look an' he stopped, an' I +says to Miss Nannie, 'Run, honey,' I says, 'an' open de do' for ole +Sam; I spec',' I says, 'it's one o' dem peddlers.' + +"If you could 'a' seen dat chile's face when she come back!" + +Aunt Chloe's hands were now waving above her head, her mouth wide open +in her merriment, every tooth shining. + +"She was white one minute an' red as a beet de nex'. 'Oh, Aunt Chloe, +what did you let me go for?' she says. 'Oh! I wouldn't 'a' let him see +me like dis for anythin' in de wo'ld. Oh, I'm dat put out.' + +"'What did he say to ye, honey?' I says. + +"'He didn't say nuffin; he jes' look at me an' say he beg my pardon, +an' was Miss Rachel in, an' den I said I'd run an' tell her, an' when +I come downstairs agin he was a-standin' in de hall wid his eyes up de +staircase, an' he never stopped lookin' at me till I come down.' + +"'Well, dat won't do you no harm, chile,' I says; 'a cat kin look at a +king.' + +"Ole Sam was a-watchin' her, too, an' when she'd gone in her leetle +room an' shet de do' Sam says, 'I'll lay if Marse Tom Boling had +anythin' on his mind when he come here to-day it's mighty unsettled by +dis time.' + +"Nex' time Dr. Tom Boling come he say to de mist'ess, 'Who's dat young +lady,' he says, 'dat opened de door for me las' time I was here? I +hoped to see her agin. Is she in?' + +"Den dey bofe cooked up some lie 'bout her bein' over to Mis' Morgan's +or somethin', an' as soon's he was gone dey come down an' riz Sam for +not 'tendin' de door an' lettin' dat ragged fly-away gal open it. Den +dey went for Miss Nannie till dey made her cry, an' she come to me, +an' I took her in my lap an' comfo'ted her like I allers did. + +"De nex' time he come he says, 'I hear dat yo'r niece, Miss Nannie +Barnes, is livin' wid you, an' dat she is ve'y 'sclusive. I hope dat +you'll 'suade her to come in de parlor,' he says. Dem was his ve'y +words. Sam was a-standin' close to him as I am to you an' he heared +him. + +"'She ain't yet in s'ciety,' de mist'ess says, 'an' she's dat wild dat +we can't p'esent her.' + +"'Oh! is dat so?' he says. 'Is she in now?' + +"'No,' she says, 'she's over to Mis' Morgan's.' + +"Dat was a fac' dis time; she'd gone dat very mawnin'. Den Miss Rachel +come down, an' co'se Sam didn't hear no mo' 'cause he had to go out. +Purty soon out de Doctor come. Dese visits, min' ye, was gittin' +shorter an' shorter, though he do come as often, an' over he goes to +Mis' Morgan's hisse'f. + +"Now I doan' know what he said to Miss Nannie, or what passed 'twixt +'em, 'cause she didn't tell me. Only dat she said he had come to see +Mis' Morgan 'bout some land matters, an' dat Mis' Morgan interjuced +'em, but nuffin mo'. Lord bless dat chile! An', suh, dat was de fust +time she ever kep' anythin' from her ole mammy. Dat made me mo' glad +'n ever. I knowed den dey was bofe hit. + +"But my lan', de fur begin to fly when de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel +heared 'bout dat visit! + +"'What you mean by makin' eyes at Dr. Boling? Don't you know he's good +as 'gaged to my daughter?' de mist'ess said. Dat was a lie, for he +never said a word to Miss Rachel; ole Sam could tole you dat. 'Git out +o' my house, you good-for-nothin' pauper, an' take yo' rags wid ye.' + +"I see right away de fat was in de fire. Marse Henry warn't spected +home till de nex' Sunday, an' so I tuk her over to Mis' Morgan, an' +den I ups an' tells her eve'ything dat woman had done to dat chile +since de day she come. An' when I'd done she tuk Miss Nannie by de +han' an' she says:-- + +"'You won't never want a home, chile, so long as I live. Go back, +Chloe, an' git her clo'es.' But I didn't git 'em. I knowed Marse +Henry'd raise de roof when he come, an' he did, bless yo' heart. Went +over hisse'f an' got her, an' brought her home, an' dat night when Dr. +Boling come he made her sit down in de parlor, an' 'fo' he went home +dat night de Doctor he say to Marse Henry, 'I want yo' permission, +Mister Gordon, to pay my addresses to Miss Nannie, yo' niece.' Sam was +a-standing close as he could git to de door, an' he heard ev'y word. +Now he ain't never said dat, mind ye, to Marse Henry 'bout Miss +Rachel! An' dat's why I know dat he warn't hit unto death wid her. + +"Well, do you know, suh, dat dat woman was dat owdacious she wouldn't +let 'em see each other after dat 'cept on de front po'ch. Wouldn't let +'em come in de house; make 'em do all dere co'rtin' on de steps an' +out at de paster gate. De doctor would rare an' pitch an' git white in +de face at de scand'lous way dat Miss Barnes was bein' treated, until +Miss Nannie put bofe her leetle han's on his'n, soothin' like, an' den +he'd grab 'em an' kiss 'em like he'd eat 'em up. Sam cotched him at +it, an' done tole me; an' den dey'd sa'nter off down de po'ch, sayin' +it was too hot or too cool, or dat dey was lookin' for birds' nests in +de po'ch vines, till dey'd git to de far end, where de mist'ess nor +Sam nor nobody else couldn't hear what dey was a-sayin' an' +a-whisperin', an' dere dey'd sit fer hours. + +"But I tell ye de doctor had a hard time a-gittin' her even when Marse +Henry gin his consent. An' he never would 'a' got her if Miss Rachel, +jes' for spite, I spec', hadn't 'a' took up wid Colonel Todhunter's +son dat was a-co'rtin' on her too, an' run off an' married him. Den +Miss Nannie knowed she was free to follow her own heart. + +"I tell you it'd 'a' made ye cry yo' eyes out, suh, to see dat chile +try an' fix herse'f up to meet him de days an' nights she knowed he +was comin', an' she wid jes' one white frock to her name. An' we all +felt jes' as bad as her. Dinah would wash it an' I'd smooth her hair, +an' ole Sam'd git her a fresh rose to put in her neck. + +"Purty soon de weddin' day was 'pinted, an' me an' Dinah an' ole Sam +gin to wonder how dat chile was a-gwine to git clo'es to be married +in. Sam heared ole marster ask dat same question at de table, an' he +see him gib de mist'ess de money to buy 'em for her, an' de mist'ess +said dat she reckoned 'Miss Nannie's people would want de priv'lege o' +dressin' her now dat she was a-gwine to marry dat wo'thless young +doctor, Tom Boling, dat nobody wouldn't hab in de house, but dat if +dey didn't she'd gin her some of Miss Rachel's clo'es, an' if dem +warn't 'nough den she'd spen' de money to de best advantage.' Dem was +her ve'y words. Sam heared her say 'em. I knowed dat meant dat de +chile would go naked, for she wouldn't a-worn none o' Miss Rachel's +rubbish, an' not a cent would she git o' de money. So I got dat ole +white frock out, an' Dinah found a white ribbon in a ole trunk in de +garret, an' washed an' ironed it to tie 'round her waist, an' Miss +Nannie come an' look at it, an' when she see it de tears riz up in her +eyes. + +"'Doan' you cry, chile,' I says. 'He ain't lovin' ye for yo' clo'es, +an' never did. Fust time he see ye yo' was purty nigh barefoot. It's +you he wants, not yo' frocks, honey;' an' den de sun come out in her +face an' her eyes dried up, an' she gin to smile an' sing like a robin +after de rain. + +"Purty soon 'long come Chris'mas time, an' me an' ole Sam an' Dinah +was a-watchin' out to see what Marse Tom Boling was gwine to gin his +bride, fur she was purty nigh dat, as dey was to be married de week +after Chris'mas. Well, suh, de mawnin' 'fore Chris'mas come, an' den +de arternoon come, an' den de night come, an' mos' ev'y hour somebody +sent somethin' for Miss Rachel, an' yet not one scrap of nuffin big as +a chink-a-pin come for Miss Nannie. Dinah an' me was dat onres'less +dat we couldn't sleep. Miss Nannie didn't say nuffin when she went to +bed, but I see a little shadder creep over her face an' I knowed right +away what hurted her. + +"Well, de nex' mawnin'--Chris'mas mawnin' dat was--ole Sam come +a-bustin' in de kitchen do', a-hollerin' loud as he could +holler"--Aunt Chloe was now rocking herself back and forth, clapping +her hands as she talked--"dat dere was a trunk on de front po'ch for +Miss Nannie dat was dat heavy it tuk fo' niggers to lif it. I run, an' +Dinah run, an' when we got to de trunk mos' all de niggers was thick +'round it as flies, an' Miss Nannie was standin' over it readin' a +card wid her name on it an' a 'scription sayin' dat it was 'a +Chris'mas gif', wid de compliments of a friend.' But who dat friend +was, whether it was Marse Henry, who sent it dat way so dat woman +wouldn't tear his hair out; or whether Mis' Morgan sent it, dat hadn't +mo'n 'nough money to live on; or whether some of her own kin in +Indiany, dat was dirt po', stole de money an' sent it; or whether de +young Dr. Tom Boling, who had mo' money dan all de banks in Lexin'ton, +done did it, don't nobody know till dis day, 'cept me an' ole Sam, an' +we ain't tellin'. + +"But, my soul alive, de insides of dat trunk took de bref clean out o' +de mist'ess an' Miss Rachel. Sam opened it, an' I tuk out de things. +Honey! dere was a weddin' dress all white satin dat would stand +alone,--jes' de ve'y mate of de one you got in dat picter 'fore +ye,--an' a change'ble silk, dat heavy! an' a plaid one, an' eve'ything +a young lady could git on her back from her skin out, an' a +thousand-dollar watch an' chain. I wore dat watch myse'f; Miss Nannie +was standin' by me, a-clappin' her han's an' laughin', an' when dat +watch an' chain came out she jes' th'owed de chain over my neck an' +stuck de leetle watch in my bosom, an' says, 'Dere, you dear ole +mammy, go look at you'se'f in de glass an' see how fine you is.' + +"De nex' week come de weddin'. I'll never forgit dat weddin' to my +dyin' day. Marse Tom Boling driv in wid a coach an' four an' two +outriders, an' de horses wore white ribbons on dere ears; an' de +coachman had flowers in his coat mos' big as his head, an' dey whirled +up in front of de po'ch, an' out he stepped in his blue coat an' brass +buttons an' a yaller wais'coat,--yaller as a gourd,--an' his +bell-crown hat in his han'. She was a-waitin' for him wid dat white +satin dress on, an' de chain 'round her neck, an' her lil footses tied +up wid silk ribbons de ve'y match o' dem you got pictered, an' her +face shinin' like a angel. An' all de niggers was a-standin' 'roun' de +po'ch, dere eyes out'n dere heads, an' Marse Henry was dere in his new +clo'es lookin' so grand, an' Sam in his white gloves, an' me in a new +head han'chief. + +"Eve'ybody was happy 'cept one. Dat one was de mist'ess, standin' in +de door. She wouldn't come out to de coach where de horses was +a-champin' de bits an' de froth a-droppin' on de groun', an' she +wouldn't speak to Marse Tom. She kep' back in de do'way. + +"Miss Rachel was dat mean she wouldn't come downstairs. + +"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling her han' an' look up in his face +like a queen, an' den she kissed Marse Henry, an' whispered somethin' +in his ear dat nobody didn't hear, only de tears gin to jump out an' +roll down his cheeks, an' den she looked de mist'ess full in de face, +an' 'thout a word dropped her a low curtsey. + +"I come de las'. She looked at me for a minute wid her eyes +a-swimmin', an' den she th'owed her arms roun' my neck an' hugged an' +kissed me, an' den I see an arm slip 'roun' her wais' an' lif' her in +de coach. Den de horses gin a plunge an' dey was off. + +"An 'arter dat dey had five years--de happiest years dem two ever +seen. I know, 'cause Marse Henry gin me to her, an' I lived wid 'em +day in an' day out till dat baby come, an' den"---- + +Aunt Chloe stopped and reached out her hand as if to steady herself. +The tears were streaming down her cheeks. + +Then she advanced a step, fixed her eyes on the portrait, and in a +voice broken with emotion, said:-- + +"Honey, chile,--honey, chile,--is you tired a-waitin' for yo' ole +mammy? Keep a-watchin', honey--keep a-watchin'--It won't be long now +'fore I come. Keep a-watchin'." + + + + +A WATERLOGGED TOWN + + +He was backed up against the Column of the Lion, holding at bay a +horde of gondoliers who were shrieking, "Gondola! Gondola!" as only +Venetian gondoliers can. He had a half-defiant look, like a cornered +stag, as he stood there protecting a small wizen-faced woman of an +uncertain age, dressed in a long gray silk duster and pigeon-winged +hat--one of those hats that looked as if the pigeon had alighted on it +and exploded. + +"No, durn ye, I don't want no gon-_do_-la; I got one somewhere round +here if I can find it." + +If his tall gaunt frame, black chin whisker, and clearly defined +features had not located him instantly in my mind, his dialect would +have done so. + +"You'll probably find your gondola at the next landing," I said, +pointing to the steps. + +He looked at me kindly, took the woman by the arm, as if she had been +under arrest, and marched her to the spot indicated. + +In another moment I felt a touch on my shoulder. "Neighbor, ain't you +from the U.S.A.?" + +I nodded my head. + +"Shake! It's God's own land!" and he disappeared in the throng. + +The next morning I was taking my coffee in the cafe at the Britannia, +when I caught a pair of black eyes peering over a cup, at a table +opposite. Then six feet and an inch or two of raw untilled American +rose in the air, picked up his plates, cup, and saucer, and, crossing +the room, hooked out a chair with his left foot from my table, and sat +down. + +"You're the painter feller that helped me out of a hole yesterday? +Yes, I knowed it; I see you come in to dinner last night. Eliza-beth +said it was you, but you was so almighty rigged up in that +swallow-tailed coat of yourn I didn't catch on for a minute, but +Eliza-beth said she was dead sure." + +"The lady with you--your wife?" + +[Illustration: "HER HEAD CRAMMED FULL OF HIFALUTIN' NOTIONS"] + +"Not to any alarming extent, young man. Never had one--she's my +sister--only one I got; and this summer she took it into her head--you +don't mind my setting here, do you? I'm so durned lonesome among these +jabbering Greeks I'm nearly froze stiff. Thank ye!--took it into her +head she'd come over here, and of course I had to bring her. You ain't +never traveled around, perhaps, with a young girl of fifty-five, with +her head crammed full of hifalutin' notions,--convents and early +masters and Mont Blancs and Bon Marches,--with just enough French to +make a muddle of everything she wants to get. Well, that's Eliza-beth. +First it was a circulating library, at Unionville, back of Troy, where +I live; then come a course of lectures twice a week on old Edinburgh +and the Alps and German cities; and then, to cap all, there come a +cuss with magic-lantern slides of 'most every old ruin in Europe, and +half our women were crazy to get away from home, and Eliza-beth worse +than any of 'em; and so I got a couple of Cook's tickets out and back, +and here we are; and I don't mind saying," and a wicked, vindictive +look filled his eyes, "that of all the cussed holes I ever got into in +my life, this here Venice takes--the--cake. Here, John Henry, bring me +another cup of coffee; this's stone-cold. P.D.Q., now! Don't let me +have to build a fire under you." This to a waiter speaking every +language but English. + +"Do not the palaces interest you?" I asked inquiringly, in my effort +to broaden his views. + +"Palaces be durned! Excuse my French. Palaces! A lot of caved-in old +rookeries; with everybody living on the second floor because the first +one's so damp ye'd get your die-and-never-get-over-it if you lived in +the basement, and the top floors so leaky that you go to bed under an +umbrella; and they all braced up with iron clamps to keep 'em from +falling into the canal, and not a square inch on any one of 'em clean +enough to dry a shirt on! What kind of holes are they for decent---- +Now see here," laying his hand confidingly on my shoulder, "just +answer me one question--you seem like a level-headed young man, and +ought to give it to me straight. Been here all summer, ain't you?" + +"Yes." + +"Been coming years, ain't you?" + +I nodded my head. + +"Well, now, I want it straight,"--and he lowered his voice,--"what +does a sensible man find in an old waterlogged town like this?" + +I gave him the customary answer: the glories of her past; the +picturesque life of the lagoons; the beauty of her palaces, churches, +and gardens; the luxurious gondolas, etc., etc. + +"Don't see it," he broke out before I had half finished. "As for the +gon-do-las, you're dead right, and no mistake. First time I settled on +one of them cushions I felt just as if I'd settled in a basket of +kittens; but as for palaces! Why, the State House at Al-ba-ny knocks +'em cold; and as for gardens! Lord! when I think of mine at home all +chock-full of hollyhocks and sunflowers and morning-glories, and then +think what a first-class cast-iron idiot I am wandering around +here"---- He gazed abstractedly at the ceiling for a moment as if the +thought overpowered him, and then went on, "I've got a stock-farm six +miles from Unionville, where I've got some three-year-olds can trot in +2.23--Gardens!"--suddenly remembering his first train of thought,--"they +simply ain't in it. And as for ler-goons! We've got a river sailing +along in front of Troy that mayn't be so wide, but it's a durned sight +safer and longer, and there ain't a gallon of water in it that ain't +as sweet as a daisy; and that's what you can't say of these streaks of +mud around here, that smell like a dumping-ground." Here he rose from +his chair, his voice filling the room, the words dropping slowly: +"I--ain't--got--no--use--for--a--place--where--there--ain't--a--horse +--in--the--town,--and every--cellar--is--half--full--of--water." + +A few mornings after, I was stepping into my gondola when I caught +sight of the man from Troy sitting in a gondola surrounded by his +trunks. His face expressed supreme content, illumined by a sort of +grim humor, as if some master effort of his life had been rewarded +with more than usual success. Eliza-beth was tucked away on "the +basket of kittens," half hidden by the linen curtains. + +"Off?" I said inquiringly. + +"You bet!" + +"Which way?" + +"Paris, and then a bee-line for New York." + +"But you are an hour too early for your train." + +He held his finger to his lips and knitted his eyebrows. + +"What's that?" came a shrill plaintive voice from the curtains. "An +hour more? George, please ask the gentleman to tell the gondolier to +take us to Salviate's; we've got time for that glass mirror, and I +can't bear to leave Venice without"---- + +"Eliza-beth, you sit where you air, if it takes a week. No Salviate's +in mine, and no glass mirror. We are stuffed now so jammed full of +wooden goats, glass bottles, copper buckets, and old church rags that +I had to jump on my trunk to lock it." Then waving his hand to me, he +called out as I floated off, "This craft is pointed for home, and +don't you forget it." + + + + +THE BOY IN THE CLOTH CAP + + +I had seen the little fellow but a moment before, standing on the car +platform and peering wistfully into the night, as if seeking some face +in the hurrying crowd at the station. I remembered distinctly the +cloth cap pulled down over his ears, his chubby, rosy cheeks, and the +small baby hand clutching the iron rail of the car, as I pushed by and +sprang into a hack. + +"Lively, now, cabby; I haven't a minute," and I handed my driver a +trunk check. + +Outside the snow whirled and eddied, the drifts glistening white in +the glare of the electric light. + +I drew my fur coat closer around my throat, and beat an impatient +tattoo with my feet. The storm had delayed the train, and I had less +than an hour in which to dine, dress, and reach my audience. + +Two minutes later something struck the cab with a force that rattled +every spoke in the wheels. It was my trunk, and cabby's head, white +with snow, was thrust through the window. + +"Morgan House, did you say, boss?" + +"Yes, and on the double-quick." + +Another voice now sifted in--a small, thin, pleading voice, too low +and indistinct for me to catch the words from where I sat. + +"Want to go where?" cried cabby. The conversation was like one over +the telephone, in which only one side is heard. "To the orphan asylum? +Why, that's three miles from here.... Walk?... See, here, sonny, you +wouldn't get halfway.... No, I can't take yer--got a load." + +My own head had filled the window now. + +"Here, cabby, don't stand there all night! What's the matter, anyway?" + +"It's a boy, boss, about a foot high, wants to walk to the orphan +'sylum." + +"Pass him in." + +He did, literally, through the window, without opening the door, his +little wet shoes first, then his sturdy legs in wool stockings, round +body encased in a pea-jacket, and last, his head, covered by the same +cloth cap I had seen on the platform. I caught him, feet first, and +helped land him on the front seat, where he sat looking at me with +staring eyes that shone all the brighter in the glare of the arc +light. Next a collar-box and a small paper bundle were handed in. +These the little fellow clutched eagerly, one in each hand, his eyes +still looking into mine. + +"Are you an orphan?" I asked--a wholly thoughtless question, of +course. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Got no father nor mother?" + +Another, equally idiotic; but my interest in the boy had been inspired +by the idea of the saving of valuable minutes. As long as he stood +outside in the snow, he was an obstruction. Once aboard, I could take +my time in solving his difficulties. + +"Got a father, sir, but my mother's dead." + +We were now whirling up the street, the cab lighting up and growing +pitch dark by turns, depending on the location of the street lamps. + +"Where's your father?" + +"Went away, sir." He spoke the words without the slightest change in +his voice, neither abashed nor too bold, but with a simple +straightforwardness which convinced me of their truth. + +"Do you want to go to the asylum?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Why?" + +"Because I can learn everything there is to learn, and there isn't any +other place for me to go." + +This was said with equal simplicity. No whining; no "me mother's dead, +sir, an' I ain't had nothin' to eat all day," etc. Not that air about +him at all. It was merely the statement of a fact which he felt sure I +knew all about. + +"What's your name?" + +"Ned." + +"Ned what?" + +"Ned Rankin, sir." + +"How old are you?" + +"I'm eight"--then, thoughtfully--"no, I'm nine years old." + +"Where do you live?" + +I was firing these questions one after the other without the slightest +interest in either the boy or his welfare. My mind was on my lecture, +and the impatient look on the faces of the audience, and the consulted +watch of the chairman of the committee, followed by the inevitable: +"You are not very prompt, sir," etc. "Our people have been in their +seats," etc. If the boy had previously replied to my question as to +where he lived, I had forgotten the name of the town. + +"I live"---- Then he stopped. "I live in---- Do you mean now?" he +added simply. + +"Yes." + +There was another pause. "I don't know, sir; maybe they won't let me +stay." + +Another foolish question. Of course, if he had left home for good, and +was now on his way to the asylum for the first time, his present home +was this hack. + +But he had won my interest now. His words had come in tones of such +directness, and were so calm, and gave so full a statement of the +exact facts, that I leaned over quickly, and began studying him a +little closer. + +I saw that this scrap of a boy wore a gray woolen suit, and I noticed +that the cap was made of the same cloth as the jacket, and that both +were the work of some inexperienced hand, with uneven, unpressed +seams--the seams of a flat-iron, not a tailor's goose. Instinctively +my mind went back to what his earlier life had been. + +"Have you got any brothers and sisters, my boy?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Where are they?" + +"I don't know, sir; I was too little to remember." + +The pathos of this answer stirred me all the more. + +"Who's been taking care of you ever since your father left you?" I had +lowered my voice now to a more confidential tone. + +"A German man." + +"What did you leave him for?" + +"He had no work, and he took me to the priest." + +"When?" + +"Last week, sir." + +"What did the priest do?" + +"He gave me these clothes. Don't you think they're nice? The priest's +sister made them for me--all but the stockings; she bought those." + +As he said this he lifted his arms so I could look under them, and +thrust out toward me his two plump legs. I said the clothes were very +nice, and that I thought they fitted him very well, and I felt his +chubby knees and calves as I spoke, and ended by getting hold of his +soft wee hand, which I held on to. His fingers closed tightly over +mine, and a slight smile lighted up his face. It seemed good to him to +have something to hold on to. I began again:-- + +"Did the priest send you here?" + +"Yes, sir. Do you want to see the letter?" The little hand--the free +one--fumbled under the jacket, loosened the two lower buttons, and +disclosed a white envelope pinned to his shirt. + +"I'm to give it to 'em at the asylum. But I can't unpin it. He told me +not to." + +"That's right, my boy. Leave it where it is." + +"You poor little rat," I said to myself. "This is pretty rough on you. +You ought to be tucked up in some warm bed, not out here alone in this +storm." + +The boy felt for the pin in the letter, reassured himself that it was +safe, and carefully rebuttoned his jacket. I looked out of the window, +and caught glimpses of houses flying by, with lights in their windows, +and now and then the cheery blaze of a fire. Then I looked into his +eyes again. I still had hold of his hand. + +"Surely," I said to myself, "this boy must have some one soul who +cares for him." I determined to go a little deeper. + +"How did you get here, my boy?" I had leaned nearer to him. + +"The priest put me on the train, and a lady told me where to get off." + +"Oh, a lady!" Now I was getting at it! Then he was not so desolate; a +lady had looked after him. "What's her name?" This with increased +eagerness. + +"She didn't tell me, sir." + +I sank back on my seat. No! I was all wrong. It was a positive, +undeniable, piteous fact. Seventy millions of people about him, and +not one living soul to look to. Not a tie that connected him with +anything. A leaf blown across a field; a bottle adrift in the sea, +sailing from no port and bound for no haven. I got hold of his other +hand, and looked down into his eyes, and an almost irresistible desire +seized me to pick him up in my arms and hug him; he was too big to +kiss, and too little to shake hands with; hugging was all there was +left. But I didn't. There was something in his face that repelled any +such familiarity,--a quiet dignity, pluck, and patience that inspired +more respect than tenderness, that would make one want rather to touch +his hat to him. + +Here the cab stopped with so sudden a jerk that I had to catch him by +the arms to steady him. Cabby opened the door. + +"Morgan House, boss. Goin's awful, or I'd got ye here sooner." + +The boy looked up into my face; not with any show of uneasiness, only +a calm patience. If he was to walk now, he was ready. + +"Cabby, how far is it to the asylum?" I asked. + +"'Bout a mile and a half." + +"Throw that trunk off and drive on. This boy can't walk." + +"I'll take him, boss." + +"No; I'll take him myself. Lively, now." + +I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes of the hour had gone. I would +still have time to jump into a dress suit, but the dinner must be +brief. There came a seesaw rocking, then a rebound, and a heavy thud +told where the trunk had fallen. The cab sped on round a sharp corner, +through a narrow street, and across a wide square. + +Suddenly a thought rushed over me that culminated in a creeping chill. +Where was his trunk? In my anxiety over my own, I had forgotten the +boy's. + +I turned quickly to the window, and shouted:-- + +"Cabby! _Cabby_, you didn't leave the boy's trunk, too, did you?" + +The little fellow slid down from the seat, and began fumbling around +in the dark. + +"No, sir; I've got 'em here;" and he held up the collar box and brown +paper bundle! + +"Is that all?" I gasped. + +"Oh, no, sir! I got ten cents the lady give me. Do you want to see +it?" and he began cramming his chubby hand into his side pocket. + +"No, my son, I don't want to see it." + +I didn't want to see anything in particular. His word was good enough. +I couldn't, really. My eyelashes somehow had got tangled up in each +other, and my pupils wouldn't work. It's queer how a man's eyes act +sometimes. + +We were now reaching the open country. The houses were few and farther +apart. The street lamps gave out; so did the telegraph wires festooned +with snow loops. Soon a big building, square, gray, sombre-looking, +like a jail, loomed up on a hill. Then we entered a gate between +flickering lamps, and tugged up a steep road, and stopped. Cabby +sprang down and rang a bell, which sounded in the white stillness like +a fire-gong. A door opened, and a flood of light streamed out, showing +the kindly face and figure of an old priest in silhouette, the yellow +glow forming a golden background. + +"Come, sonny," said cabby, throwing open the cab door. + +The little fellow slid down again from the seat, caught up the box and +bundle, and, looking me full in the face, said:-- + +"It _was_ too far to walk." + +There were no thanks, no outburst. He was merely a chip in the +current. If he had just escaped some sunken rock, it was the way with +chips like himself. All boys went to asylums, and had no visible +fathers nor invisible mothers nor friends. This talk about boys going +swimming, and catching bull-frogs, and robbing birds' nests, and +playing ball, and "hooky," and marbles, was all moonshine. Boys never +did such things, except in story-books. He was a boy himself, and +knew. There couldn't anything better happen to a boy than being sent +to an orphan asylum. Everybody knew that. There was nothing strange +about it. That's what boys were made for. + +All this was in his eyes. + + * * * * * + +When I reached the platform and faced my audience, I was dinnerless, +half an hour late, and still in my traveling dress. + +I began as follows:-- + +"Ladies and gentlemen, I ask your forgiveness. I am very sorry to have +kept you waiting, but I could not help it. I was occupied in escorting +to his suburban home one of your most distinguished citizens." + +And I described the boy in the cloth cap, with his box and bundle, and +his patient, steady eyes, and plump little legs in the yarn stockings. + +I was forgiven. + + + + +BETWEEN SHOWERS IN DORT + + +There be inns in Holland--not hotels, not pensions, nor +stopping-places--just inns. The Bellevue at Dort is one, and the +Holland Arms is another, and the--no, there are no others. Dort only +boasts these two, and Dort to me is Holland. + +The rivalry between these two inns has been going on for years, and it +still continues. The Bellevue, fighting for place, elbowed its way +years ago to the water-line, and took its stand on the river-front, +where the windows and porticos could overlook the Maas dotted with +boats. The Arms, discouraged, shrank back into its corner, and made up +in low windows, smoking-rooms, and private bathroom--one for the whole +house--what was lacking in porticos and sea view. Then followed a +slight skirmish in paint,--red for the Arms and yellow-white for the +Bellevue; and a flank movement of shades and curtains,--linen for the +Arms and lace for the Bellevue. Scouting parties were next ordered out +of porters in caps, banded with silk ribbons, bearing the names of +their respective hostelries. Yacob of the Arms was to attack weary +travelers on alighting from the train, and acquaint them with the +delights of the downstairs bath, and the dark-room for the kodakers, +all free of charge. And Johan of the Bellevue was to give minute +descriptions of the boats landing in front of the dining-room windows +and of the superb view of the river. + + * * * * * + +It is always summer when I arrive in Dordrecht. I don't know what +happens in winter, and I don't care. The groundhog knows enough to go +into his hole when the snow begins to fly, and to stay there until the +sun thaws him out again. Some tourists could profit by following his +example. + +[Illustration: THROUGH STREETS EMBOWERED IN TREES] + +It is summer then, and the train has rolled into the station at +Dordrecht, or beside it, and the traps have been thrown out, and +Peter, my boatman--he of the "Red Tub," a craft with an outline like a +Dutch vrou, quite as much beam as length (we go a-sketching in this +boat)--Peter, I say, who has come to the train to meet me, has swung +my belongings over his shoulder, and Johan, the porter of the +Bellevue, with a triumphant glance at Yacob of the Arms, has stowed +the trunk on the rear platform of the street tram,--no cabs or trucks, +if you please, in this town,--and the one-horse car has jerked its way +around short curves and up through streets embowered in trees and +paved with cobblestones scrubbed as clean as china plates, and over +quaint bridges with glimpses of sluggish canals and queer houses, and +so on to my lodgings. + +And mine host, Heer Boudier, waiting on the steps, takes me by the +hand and says the same room is ready and has been for a week. + +Inside these two inns, the only inns in Dort, the same rivalry exists. +But my parallels must cease. Mine own inn is the Bellevue, and my old +friend of fifteen years, Heer Boudier, is host, and so loyalty compels +me to omit mention of any luxuries but those to which I am accustomed +in his hostelry. + +Its interior has peculiar charms for me. Scrupulously clean, simple in +its appointments and equipment, it is comfort itself. Tyne is +responsible for its cleanliness--or rather, that particular portion of +Tyne which she bares above her elbows. Nobody ever saw such a pair of +sledge-hammer arms as Tyne's on any girl outside of Holland. She is +eighteen; short, square-built, solid as a Dutch cheese, fresh and rosy +as an English milkmaid; moon-faced, mild-eyed as an Alderney heifer, +and as strong as a three-year-old. Her back and sides are as straight +as a plank; the front side is straight too. The main joint in her body +is at the hips. This is so flexible that, wash-cloth in hand, she can +lean over the floor without bending her knees and scrub every board in +it till it shines like a Sunday dresser. She wears a snow-white cap as +dainty as the finest lady's in the land; an apron that never seems to +lose the crease of the iron, and a blue print dress bunched up behind +to keep it from the slop. Her sturdy little legs are covered by gray +yarn stockings which she knits herself, the feet thrust into wooden +sabots. These clatter over the cobbles as she scurries about with a +crab-like movement, sousing, dousing, and scrubbing as she goes; for +Tyne attacks the sidewalk outside with as much gusto as she does the +hall and floors. + +Johan the porter moves the chairs out of Tyne's way when she begins +work, and, lately, I have caught him lifting her bucket up the front +steps--a wholly unnecessary proceeding when Tyne's muscular +developments are considered. Johan and I had a confidential talk one +night, when he brought the mail to my room,--the room on the second +floor overlooking the Maas,--in which certain personal statements were +made. When I spoke to Tyne about them the next day, she looked at me +with her big blue eyes, and then broke into a laugh, opening her mouth +so wide that every tooth in her head flashed white (they always +reminded me somehow of peeled almonds). With a little bridling twist +of her head she answered that--but, of course, this was a strictly +confidential communication, and of so entirely private a nature that +no gentleman under the circumstances would permit a single word of it +to-- + +Johan is taller than Tyne, but not so thick through. When he meets you +at the station, with his cap and band in his hand, his red hair +trimmed behind as square as the end of a whisk-broom, his thin, +parenthesis legs and Vienna guardsman waist,--each detail the very +opposite, you will note, from Tyne's,--you recall immediately one of +George Boughton's typical Dutchmen. The only thing lacking is his +pipe; he is too busy for that. + +When he dons his dress suit for dinner, and bending over your shoulder +asks, in his best English: "Mynheer, don't it now de feesh you haf?" +you lose sight of Boughton's Dutchman and see only the cosmopolitan. +The transformation is due entirely to continental influences--Dort +being one of the main highways between London and Paris--influences so +strong that even in this water-logged town on the Maas, bonnets are +beginning to replace caps, and French shoes sabots. + +The guests that Johan serves at this inn of my good friend Boudier are +as odd looking as its interior. They line both sides and the two ends +of the long table. Stout Germans in horrible clothes, with stouter +wives in worse; Dutchmen from up-country in brown coats and green +waistcoats; clerks off on a vacation with kodaks and Cook's tickets; +bicyclists in knickerbockers; painters, with large kits and small +handbags, who talk all the time and to everybody; gray-whiskered, +red-faced Englishmen, with absolutely no conversation at all, who +prove to be distinguished persons attended by their own valets, and on +their way to Aix or the Engadine, now that the salmon-fishing in +Norway is over; school teachers from America, just arrived from +Antwerp or Rotterdam, or from across the channel by way of Harwich, +their first stopping-place really since they left home--one +traveling-dress and a black silk in the bag; all the kinds and +conditions and sorts of people who seek out precious little places +like Dort, either because they are cheap or comfortable, or because +they are known to be picturesque. + +I sought out Dort years ago because it was untouched by the hurry that +makes life miserable, and the shams that make it vulgar, and I go back +to it now every year of my life, in spite of other foreign influences. + +[Illustration: THE GOSSIPS LEAN IN THE DOORWAYS] + +And there is no real change in fifteen years. Its old trees still nod +over the sleepy canals in the same sleepy way they have done, no +doubt, for a century. The rooks--the same rooks, they never die--still +swoop in and out of the weather-stained arches high up in the great +tower of the Groote Kerk, the old twelfth-century church, the tallest +in all Holland; the big-waisted Dutch luggers with rudders painted +arsenic green--what would painters do without this green?--doze under +the trees, their mooring lines tied to the trunks; the girls and boys, +with arms locked, a dozen together, clatter over the cobbles, singing +as they walk; the steamboats land and hurry on--"Fop Smit's boats" the +signs read--it is pretty close, but I am not part owner in the line; +the gossips lean in the doorways or under the windows banked with +geraniums and nasturtiums; the cumbersome state carriages with the big +ungainly horses with untrimmed manes and tails--there are only five of +these carriages in all Dordrecht--wait in front of the great houses +eighty feet wide and four stories high, some dating as far back as +1512, and still occupied by descendants of the same families; the old +women in ivory black, with dabs of Chinese white for sabots and caps, +push the same carts loaded with Hooker's green vegetables from door to +door; the town crier rings his bell; the watchman calls the hour. + +Over all bends the ever-changing sky, one hour close-drawn, gray-lined +with slanting slashes of blinding rain, the next piled high with great +domes of silver-white clouds inlaid with turquoise blue or hemmed in +by low-lying ranges of purple peaks capped with gold. + + * * * * * + +I confess that an acute sense of disappointment came over me when I +first saw these gray canals, rain-varnished streets, and rows of green +trees. I recognized at a glance that it was not my Holland; not the +Holland of my dreams; not the Holland of Mesdag nor Poggenbeck nor +Kever. It was a fresher, sweeter, more wholesome land, and with a more +breathable air. These Dutch painters had taught me to look for dull, +dirty skies, soggy wharves, and dismal perspectives of endless dikes. +They had shown me countless windmills, scattered along stretches of +wind-swept moors backed by lowering skies, cold gray streets, quaint, +leanover houses, and smudgy, grimy interiors. They had enveloped all +this in the stifling, murky atmosphere of a western city slowly +strangling in clouds of coal smoke. + +These Dutch artists were, perhaps, not alone in this falsification. It +is one of the peculiarities of modern art that many of its masters +cater to the taste of a public who want something that _is not_ in +preference to something that _is_. Ziem, for instance, had, up to the +time of my enlightenment, taught me to love an equally untrue and +impossible Venice--a Venice all red and yellow and deep ultra-marine +blue--a Venice of unbuildable palaces and blazing red walls. + +I do not care to say so aloud, where I can be heard over the way, but +if you will please come inside my quarters, and shut the door and +putty up the keyhole, and draw down the blinds, I will whisper in your +ear that my own private opinion is that even Turner himself would have +been an infinitely greater artist had he built his pictures on Venice +instead of building them on Turner. I will also be courageous enough +to assert that the beauty and dignity of Venetian architecture--an +architecture which has delighted many appreciative souls for +centuries--finds no place in his canvases, either in detail or in +mass. The details may be unimportant, for the soft vapor of the +lagoons ofttimes conceals them, but the correct outline of the +mass--that is, for instance, the true proportion of the dome of the +Salute, that incomparable, incandescent pearl, or the vertical line of +the Campanile compared to the roofs of the connecting palaces--should +never be ignored, for they are as much a part of Venice, the part that +makes for beauty, as the shimmering light of the morning or the glory +of its sunsets. So it is that when most of us for the first time reach +the water-gates of Venice, the most beautiful of all cities by the +sea, we feel a certain shock and must begin to fall in love with a new +sweetheart. + +So with many painters of the Holland school--not the old Dutch school +of landscape painters, but the more modern group of men who paint +their native skies with zinc-white toned with London fog, or mummy +dust and bitumen. It is all very artistic and full of "tone," but it +is not Holland. + +There is Clays, for instance. Of all modern painters Clays has charmed +and wooed us best with certain phases of Holland life, particularly +the burly brown boats lying at anchor, their red and white sails +reflected in the water. I love these boats of Clays. They are superbly +drawn, strong in color, and admirably painted; the water treatment, +too, is beyond criticism. But where are they in Holland? I know +Holland from the Zuyder Zee to Rotterdam, but I have never yet seen +one of Clays's boats in the original wood. + +Thus by reason of such smeary, up and down fairy tales in paint have +we gradually become convinced that vague trees, and black houses with +staring patches of whitewash, and Vandyke brown roofs are thoroughly +characteristic of Holland, and that the blessed sun never shines in +this land of sabots. + +[Illustration: DRENCHED LEAVES QUIVERING] + +But doesn't it rain? Yes, about half the time, perhaps three quarters +of the time. Well, now that I think of it, about all the time. But not +continuously; only in intermittent downpours, floods, gushes of +water--not once a day but every half hour. Then comes the quick +drawing of a gray curtain from a wide expanse of blue, framing ranges +of snow-capped cumuli; streets swimming in great pools; drenched +leaves quivering in dazzling sunlight, and millions of raindrops +flashing like diamonds. + + +II + +But Peter, my boatman, cap in hand, is waiting on the cobbles outside +the inn door. He has served me these many years. He is a wiry, thin, +pinch-faced Dutchman, of perhaps sixty, who spent his early life at +sea as man-o'-war's-man, common sailor, and then mate, and his later +years at home in Dort, picking up odd jobs of ferriage or stevedoring, +or making early gardens. While on duty he wears an old white +traveling-cap pulled over his eyes, and a flannel shirt without collar +or tie, and sail-maker's trousers. These trousers are caught at his +hips by a leather strap supporting a sheath which holds his knife. He +cuts everything with this knife, from apples and navy plug to ship's +cables and telegraph wire. His clothes are waterproof; they must be, +for no matter how hard it rains, Peter is always dry. The water may +pour in rivulets from off his cap, and run down his forehead and from +the end of his gargoyle of a nose, but no drop ever seems to wet his +skin. When it rains the fiercest, I, of course, retreat under the +poke-bonnet awning made of cotton duck stretched over barrel hoops +that protects the stern of my boat, but Peter never moves. This Dutch +rain does not in any way affect him. It is like the Jersey +mosquito--it always spares the natives. + +Peter speaks two languages, both Dutch. He says that one is English, +but he cannot prove it--nobody can. When he opens his mouth you know +all about his ridiculous pretensions. He says--"Mynheer, dot manus ist +er blowdy rock." He has learned this expression from the English +sailors unloading coal at the big docks opposite Pappendrecht, and he +has incorporated this much of their slang into his own nut-cracking +dialect. He means of course "that man is a bloody rogue." He has a +dozen other phrases equally obscure. + +Peter's mission this first morning after my arrival is to report that +the good ship Red Tub is now lying in the harbor fully equipped for +active service. That her aft awning has been hauled taut over its +hoops; that her lockers of empty cigar boxes (receptacles for brushes) +have been clewed up; the cocoa-matting rolled out the whole length of +her keel, and finally that the water bucket and wooden chair (I use a +chair instead of an easel) have been properly stowed. + +Before the next raincloud spills over its edges, we must loosen the +painter from the iron ring rusted tight in the square stone in the +wharf, man the oars, and creep under the little bridge that binds +Boudier's landing to the sidewalk over the way, and so set our course +for the open Maas. For I am in search of Dutch boats to-day, as near +like Clays's as I can find. I round the point above the old India +warehouses, I catch sight of the topmasts of two old luggers anchored +in midstream, their long red pennants flattened against the gray sky. +The wind is fresh from the east, filling the sails of the big +windmills blown tight against their whirling arms. The fishing-smacks +lean over like dipping gulls; the yellow water of the Maas is flecked +with wavy lines of beer foam. + +The good ship Red Tub is not adapted to outdoor sketching under these +conditions. The poke-bonnet awning acts as a wind-drag that no amount +of hard pulling can overcome. So I at once convene the Board of +Strategy, Lieutenant-Commander Peter Jansen, Red Tub Navy, in the +chair. That distinguished naval expert rises from his water-soaked +seat on the cocoa-matting outside the poke bonnet, sweeps his eye +around the horizon, and remarks sententiously:-- + +"It no tam goot day. Blow all dime; we go ba'd-hoose," and he turns +the boat toward a low-lying building anchored out from the main shore +by huge chains secured to floating buoys. + +In some harbors sea-faring men are warned not to "anchor over the +water-pipes." In others particular directions are given to avoid +"submarine cables planted here." In Dort, where none of these modern +conveniences exist, you are notified as follows: "No boats must land +at this Bath." + +If Peter knew of this rule he said not one word to me as I sat back +out of the wet, hived under the poke bonnet, squeezing color-tubes and +assorting my brushes. He rowed our craft toward the bath-house with +the skill of a man-o'-war's-man, twisted the painter around a short +post, and unloaded my paraphernalia on a narrow ledge or plank walk +some three feet wide, and which ran around the edge of the floating +bath-house. + +It never takes me long to get to work, once my subject is selected. I +sprang from the boat while Peter handed me the chair, stool, and +portfolio containing my stock of gray papers of different tones; +opened my sketch frame, caught a sheet of paper tight between its +cleats; spread palettes and brushes on the floor at my side; placed +the water bucket within reach of my hand, and in five minutes I was +absorbed in my sketch. + +Immediately the customary thing happened. The big bank of gray cloud +that hung over the river split into feathery masses of white framed in +blue, and out blazed the glorious sun. + +Meantime, Peter had squatted close beside me, sheltered under the lee +of the side wall of the bath-house, protected equally from the slant +of the driving rain and the glare of the blinding sun. Safe too from +the watchful eye of the High Pan-Jam who managed the bath, and who at +the moment was entirely oblivious of the fact that only two inches of +pine board separated him from an enthusiastic painter working like +mad, and an equally alert marine assistant who supplied him with fresh +water and charcoal points, both at the moment defying the law of the +land, one in ignorance and the other in a spirit of sheer bravado. For +Peter must have known the code and the penalty. + +The world is an easy place for a painter to live and breathe in when +he is sitting far from the madding crowd--of boys--protected from the +wind and sun, watching a sky piled up in mountains of snow, and +inhaling ozone that is a tonic to his lungs. When the outline of his +sketch is complete and the colors flow and blend, and the heart is on +fire; when the bare paper begins to lose itself in purple distances +and long stretches of tumbling water, and the pictured boats take +definite shape, and the lines of the rigging begin to tell; when +little by little, with a pat here and a dab there, there comes from +out this flat space a something that thrilled him when he first +determined to paint the thing that caught his eye,--not the thing +itself, but the spirit, the soul, the feeling, and meaning of the +color-poem unrolled before him,--when a painter feels a thrill like +this, all the fleets of Spain might bombard him, and his eye would +never waver nor his touch hesitate. + +I felt it to-day. + +Peter didn't. If he had he would have kept still and passed me fresh +water and rags and new tubes and whatever I wanted--and I wanted +something every minute--instead of disporting himself in an entirely +idiotic and disastrous way. Disastrous, because you might have seen +the sketch which I began reproduced in these pages had the +Lieutenant-Commander, R.T.N., only carried out the orders of the +Lord High Admiral commanding the fleet. + +A sunbeam began it. It peeped over the edge of the side wall--the wall +really was but little higher than Peter's head when he stood +erect--and started in to creep down my half-finished sketch. Peter +rose in his wrath, reached for my white umbrella, and at once opened +it and screwed together the jointed handle. Then he began searching +for some convenient supporting hook on which to hang his shield of +defence. Next a brilliant, intellectual dynamite-bomb of a thought +split his cranium. He would hoist the umbrella _above_ the top of +the thin wall of the bath-house, resting one half upon its upper edge, +drive the iron spike into the plank under our feet, and secure the +handle by placing his back against it. No sunbeam should pass him! + +The effect can be imagined on the High-Pan-Jam inside the +bath-house--an amphibious guardian, oblivious naturally to sun and +rain--when his eye fell upon this flag of defiance thrust up above his +ramparts. You can imagine, too, the consternation of the peaceful +inmates of the open pools, whose laughter had now and then risen above +the sough of the wind and splash of the water. Almost immediately I +heard the sound of hurrying footsteps from a point where no sound had +come before, and there followed the scraping of a pair of toes on the +planking behind me, as if some one was drawing himself up. + +I looked around and up and saw eight fingers clutching the top of the +planking, and a moment later the round face of an astonished Dutchman. +I haven't the faintest idea what he said. I didn't know then and I +don't know now. I only remember that his dialect sounded like the +traditional crackling of thorns under a pot, including the +spluttering, and suggesting the equally heated temperature. When his +fingers gave out he would drop out of sight, only to rise again and +continue the attack. + +Here Peter, I must say, did credit to his Dutch ancestors. He did not +temporize. He did not argue. He ignored diplomacy at the start, and +blazed out that we were out of everybody's way and on the lee side of +the structure; that there was no sign up on that side; that I was a +most distinguished personage of blameless life and character, and +that, rules or no rules, he was going to stay where he was and so was +I. + +"You tam blowdy rock. It's s'welve o'clook now--no rule aft' s'welve +o'clook,--nopody ba'd now;"--This in Dutch, but it meant that, then +turning to me, "You stay--you no go--I brek tam head him."-- + +None of this interested me. I had heard Peter explode before. I was +trying to match the tone of an opalescent cloud inlaid with +mother-of-pearl, the shadow side all purplish gray. Its warm +high-lights came all right, but I was half out of my head trying to +get its shadow-tones true with Payne's gray and cobalt. The cloud +itself had already cast its moorings and was fast drifting over the +English Channel. It would be out of sight in five minutes. + +"Peter--_Peter!_" I cried. "Don't talk so much. Here, give him half a +gulden and tell him to dry up. Hand me that sky brush--quick now!" + +The High Pan-Jam dropped with a thud to his feet. His swinging +footsteps could be heard growing fainter, but no stiver of my silver +had lined his pocket. + +I worked on. The tea-rose cloud had disappeared entirely; only its +poor counterfeit remained. The boats were nearly finished; another +wash over their sails would bring them all right. Then the tramp as of +armed men came from the in-shore side of the bath-house. Peter stood +up and craned his neck around the edge of the planking, and said in an +undertone:-- + +"Tam b'lice, he come now; nev' mind, you stay 'ere--no go. Tam blowdy +rock no mak' you go." + +Behind me stood the High Pan-Jam who had scraped his toes on the +fence. With him was an officer of police! + +Peter was now stamping his feet, swearing in Dutch, English, and +polyglot, and threatening to sponge the Dutch government from the face +of the universe. + +My experience has told me that it is never safe to monkey with a +gendarme. He is generally a perfectly cool, self-poised, +unimpressionable individual, with no animosity whatever toward you or +anybody else, but who intends to be obeyed, not because it pleases +him, but because the power behind him compels it. I instantly rose +from my stool, touched my hat in respectful military salute, and +opened my cigarette-case. The gendarme selected a cigarette with +perfect coolness and good humor, and began politely to unfold to me +his duties in connection with the municipal laws of Dordrecht. The +manager of the bath, he said, had invoked his services. I might not be +aware that it was against the law to land on this side of the +bath-house, etc. + +But the blood of the Jansens was up. Some old Koop or De Witt or Von +Somebody was stirring Peter. + +"No ba'd aft' s'welve o'clook"--this to me, both fists in the air, one +perilously near the officer's face. The original invective was in his +native tongue, hurled at Pan-Jam and the officer alike. + +"What difference does it make, your Excellency," I asked, "whether I +sit in my boat and paint or sit here where there is less motion?" + +"None, honored sir," and he took a fresh cigarette (Peter was now +interpreting),--"except for the fact that you have taken up your +position on the _women's_ side of the bath-house. They bathe from +twelve o'clock till four. When the ladies saw the umbrella they were +greatly disturbed. They are now waiting for you to go away!" + + +III + +My room at Heer Boudier's commands a full view of the Maas, with all +its varied shipping. Its interior fittings are so scrupulously clean +that one feels almost uncomfortable lest some of the dainty +appointments might be soiled in the using. The bed is the most +remarkable of all its comforts. It is more of a box than a bed, and so +high at head and foot, and so solid at its sides, that it only needs a +lid to make the comparison complete. There is always at its foot an +inflated eider-down quilt puffed up like a French souffle potato; and +there are always at its head two little oval pillows solid as bags of +ballast, surmounting a bolster that slopes off to an edge. I have +never yet found out what this bolster is stuffed with. The bed itself +would be bottomless but for the slats. When you first fall overboard +into this slough you begin to sink through its layers of feathers, and +instinctively throw out your hands, catching at the side boards as a +drowning man would clutch at the gunwales of a suddenly capsized boat. + +The second night after my arrival, I, in accordance with my annual +custom, deposited the contents of this bed in a huge pile outside my +door, making a bottom layer of the feathers, then the bolster, and +last the souffle with the hard-boiled eggs on top. + +Then I rang for Tyne. + +She had forgotten all about the way I liked my sleeping arrangements +until she saw the pile of bedding. Then she held her sides with +laughter, while the tears streamed down her red cheeks. Of course, the +Heer should have a mattress and big English pillows, and no +bouncy-bounce, speaking the words not with her lips, but with a +gesture of her hand. Then she called Johan to help. I never can see +why Tyne always calls Johan to help when there is anything to be done +about my room out of the usual order of things,--the sweeping, +dusting, etc.,--but she does. I know full well that if she so pleased +she could tuck the whole pile of bedding under her chin, pick up the +bureau in one hand and the bed in the other, and walk downstairs +without even mussing her cap-strings. + +When Johan returned with a hair mattress and English pillows,--you can +get anything you want at Boudier's,--he asked me if I had heard the +news about Peter. Johan, by the way, speaks very good English--for +Johan. The Burgomaster, he said, had that day served Peter with a +writ. If I had looked out of the window an hour ago, I could have seen +the Lieutenant-Commander of the Red Tub, under charge of an officer of +the law, on his way to the Town Hall. Peter, he added, had just +returned and was at the present moment engaged in scrubbing out the R. +T. for active service in the morning. + +I at once sent for Peter. + +He came up, hat in hand. But there was no sign of weakening. The blood +of the Jansens was still in his eye. + +"What did they arrest you for, Peter?" + +"For make jaw wid de tam bolice. He say I mos' pay two gulden or one +tay in jail. Oh, it is notting; I no pay. Dot bolice lie ven he say +vimmen ba'd. Nopoty ba'd in de hoose aft' s'welve 'clook." + +Later, Heer Boudier tells me that because of Peter's action in +resisting the officer in the discharge of his duty, he is under +arrest, and that he has but _five days in which to make up his mind_ +as to whether he will live on bread and water for a day and night in +the town jail, or whether he will deplete his slender savings in favor +of the state to the extent of two gulden. + +"But don't they lock him up, meanwhile?" I asked. + +Boudier laughed. "Where would he run to, and for what? To save two +gulden?" + +My heart was touched. I could not possibly allow Peter to spend five +minutes in jail on my account. I should not have slept one wink that +night even in my luxurious bed-box with English pillows, knowing that +the Lieutenant-Commander was stretched out on a cold floor with a +cobblestone under his cheek. I knew, too, how slender was his store, +and what a godsend my annual visit had been to his butcher and baker. +The Commander of the Red Tub might be impetuous, even aggressive, but +by no possible stretch of the imagination could he be considered +criminal. + +That night I added these two gulden (about eighty cents) to Peter's +wages. He thanked me with a pleased twinkle in his eye, and a +wrinkling of the leathery skin around his nose and mouth. Then he put +on his cap and disappeared up the street. + + * * * * * + +But the inns, quaint canals, and rain-washed streets are not Dort's +only distinctions. There is an ancient Groote Kerk, overlaid with +colors that are rarely found outside of Holland. It is built of brick, +with a huge square tower that rises above the great elms pressing +close about it, and which is visible for miles. The moist climate not +only encrusts its twelfth-century porch with brown-and-green patches +of lichen over the red tones, but dims the great stained-glass windows +with films of mould, and covers with streaks of Hooker's green the +shadow sides of the long sloping roofs. Even the brick pavements about +it are carpeted with strips of green, as fresh in color as if no +passing foot had touched them. And few feet ever do touch them, for it +is but a small group of worshipers that gather weekly within the old +kirk's whitewashed walls. + +[Illustration: AN ANCIENT GROOTE KERK] + +These faithful few do not find the rich interior of the olden time, +for many changes have come over it since its cathedral days, the days +of its pomp and circumstance. All its old-time color is gone when you +enter its portals, and only staring white walls and rigid, naked +columns remain; only dull gray stone floors and hard, stiff-backed +benches. I have often sat upon these same benches in the gloom of a +fast-fading twilight and looked about me, bemoaning the bareness, and +wondering what its _ensemble_ must have been in the days of its +magnificence. There is nothing left of its glories now but its +architectural lines. The walls have been stripped of their costly +velvets, tapestries, and banners of silk and gold, the uplifted cross +is gone; the haze of swinging censers no longer blurs the vistas, nor +the soft light of many tapers illumines their gloom. + +I have always believed that duty and beauty should ever go hand in +hand in our churches. To me there is nothing too rich in tone, too +luxurious in color, too exquisite in line for the House of God. +Nothing that the brush of the painter can make glorious, the chisel of +the sculptor beautify, or the T-square of the architect ennoble, can +ever be out of place in the one building of all others that we +dedicate to the Creator of all beauty. I have always thanked Him for +his goodness in giving as much thought to the flowers that cover the +hillsides as He did to the dull earth that lies beneath; as much care +to the matchings of purples and gold in the sunsets as to the +blue-black crags that are outlined against them. With these feelings +in my heart I have never understood that form of worship which +contents itself with a bare barn filled with seats of pine, a square +box of a pulpit, a lone pitcher of ice water, and a popular edition of +the hymns. But then, I am not a Dutchman. + +Besides this town of Dort, filled with queer warehouses, odd +buildings, and cobbled streets, and dominated by this majestic +cathedral, there is across the river--just a little way (Peter rows me +over in ten minutes)--the Noah's Ark town of Pappendrecht, surrounded +by great stretches of green meadow, dotted with black and white cows, +and acres and acres of cabbages and garden truck, and tiny farmhouses, +and absurdly big barns; and back of these, and in order to keep all +these dry, is a big dike that goes on forever and is lost in the +perspective. On both sides of this dike (its top is a road) are built +the toy houses facing each other, each one cleaner and better scrubbed +than its neighbor, their big windows gay with geraniums. + +Farther down is another 'recht--I cannot for the life of me remember +the first part of its name--where there is a shipyard and big +windlasses and a horse hitched to a sweep, which winds up water-soaked +luggers on to rude ways, and great pots of boiling tar, the yellow +smoke drifting away toward the sea. + +And between these towns of Dort, Pappendrecht, and the other 'recht +moves a constant procession of water craft; a never-ceasing string of +low, rakish barges that bear the commerce of Germany out to the sea, +each in charge of a powerful tug puffing eagerly in its hurry to reach +tide water, besides all the other boats and luggers that sail and +steam up and down the forked Maas in front of Boudier's Inn--for Dort +is really on an island, the water of the Rhine being divided here. You +would never think, were you to watch these ungainly boats, that they +could ever arrive anywhere. They look as if they were built to go +sideways, endways, or both ways; and yet they mind their helms and +dodge in and out and swoop past the long points of land ending in the +waving marsh grass, and all with the ease of a steam yacht. + + * * * * * + +These and a hundred other things make me love this quaint old town on +the Maas. There is everything within its borders for the painter who +loves form and color--boats, queer houses, streets, canals, odd, +picturesque interiors, figures, brass milk cans, white-capped girls, +and stretches of marsh. If there were not other places on the earth I +love equally as well--Venice, for instance--I would be content never +to leave its shower-drenched streets. But I know that my gondola, gay +in its new _tenta_ and polished brasses, is waiting for me in the +little canal next the bridge, and I must be off. + +Tyne has already packed my trunk, and Johan is ready to take it down +the stairs. Tyne sent for him. I did not. + +When Johan, like an overloaded burro stumbling down the narrow defile +of the staircase, my trunk on his back, disappears through the lower +door, Tyne reenters my room, closes the door softly, and tells me that +Johan's wages have been raised, and that before I return next summer +she and-- + +But I forgot. This is another strictly confidential communication. +Under no possible circumstances could a man of honor--certainly not. + +Peter, to my surprise, is not in his customary place when I reach the +outer street door. Johan, at my inquiring gesture, grins the width of +his face, but has no information to impart regarding Peter's unusual +absence. + +Heer Boudier is more explicit. + +"Where's Peter?" I cry with some impatience. + +My host shrugs his shoulders with a helpless movement, and opens wide +the fingers of both hands. + +"Mynheer, the five days are up. Peter has gone to jail." + +"What for?" I ask in astonishment. + +"To save two gulden." + + + + +ONE OF BOB'S TRAMPS + + +I had passed him coming up the dingy corridor that led to Bob's law +office, and knew at once that he was one of Bob's tramps. + +When he had squeezed himself through the partly open door and had +closed it gently,--closed it with a hand held behind his back, like +one who had some favor to ask or some confidence game to play,--he +proved to be a man about fifty years of age, fat and short, with a +round head partly bald, and hair quite gray. His face had not known a +razor for days. He was dressed in dark clothes, once good, showing a +white shirt, and he wore a collar without a cravat. Down his cheeks +were uneven furrows, beginning at his spilling, watery eyes, and +losing themselves in the stubble-covered cheeks,--like old +rain-courses dried up,--while on his flat nose were perched a pair of +silver-rimmed spectacles, over which he looked at us in a dazed, +half-bewildered, half-frightened way. In one hand he held his +shapeless slouch hat; the other grasped an old violin wrapped in a +grimy red silk handkerchief. + +For an instant he stood before the door, bent low with unspoken +apologies; then placing his hat on the floor, he fumbled nervously in +the breast pocket of his coat, from which he drew a letter, penned in +an unknown hand and signed with an unknown name. Bob read it, and +passed it to me. + +"Please buy this violin," the note ran. "It is a good instrument, and +the man needs the money. The price is sixty dollars." + +"Who gave you this note?" Bob asked. He never turns a beggar from his +door if he can help it. This reputation makes him the target for half +the tramps in town. + +"Te leader of te orchestra at te theatre. He say he not know you, but +dat you loafe good violin. I come von time before, but vas nobody +here." Then, after a pause, his wavering eye seeking Bob's, "Blease +you buy him?" + +"Is it yours?" I asked, anxious to get rid of him. The note trick had +been played that winter by half the tramps in town. + +"Yes. Mine vor veefteen year," he answered slowly, in an unemotional +way. + +"Why do you want to sell it?" said Bob, his interest increasing, as he +caught the pleading look in the man's eyes. + +"I don't vant to sell it--I vant to keep it; but I haf notting," his +hands opening wide. "Ve vas in Phildelphy, ant ten Scranton, ant ten +we get here to Peetsburgh, and all te scenery is by te shereef, and te +manager haf notting. Vor vourteen tays I valk te streets, virst it is +te ofercoat ant vatch, ant yestertay te ledder case vor veefty cents. +If you ton't buy him I must keep valking till I come by New York." + +"I've got a good violin," said Bob, softening. + +"Ten you don't buy him?" and a look as of a returning pain crossed his +hopeless, impassive face. "Vell, I go vay, ten," he said, with a sigh +that seemed to empty his heart. + +We both looked on in silence as he slowly wrapped the silk rag around +it, winding the ends automatically about the bridge and strings, as he +had no doubt done a dozen times before that day in his hunt for a +customer. Suddenly as he reached the neck he stopped, turned the +violin in his hand, and unwound the handkerchief again. + +"Tid you oxamine te neck? See how it lays in te hand! Tid you ever see +neck like dat? No, you don't see it, never," in a positive tone, +looking at us again over the silver rims of his spectacles. + +Bob took the violin in his hand. It was evidently an old one and of +peculiar shape. The swells and curves of the sides and back were +delicately rounded and highly finished. The neck, too, to which the +man pointed, was smooth and remarkably graceful, like the stem of an +old meerschaum pipe, and as richly colored. + +Bob handled it critically, scrutinizing every inch of its surface--he +adores a Cremona as some souls do a Madonna--then he walked with it to +the window. + +"Why, this has been mended!" he exclaimed in surprise and with a trace +of anger in his voice. "This is a new neck put on!" + +I knew by the tone that Bob was beginning now to see through the game. + +"Ah, you vind day oud, do you? Tat _is_ a new neck, sure, ant a goot +von, put on py Simon Corunden--not Auguste!--Simon! It is better as +efer." + +I looked for the guileless, innocent expression with the regulation +smile that distinguishes most vagabonds on an errand like this, but +his lifeless face was unlit by any visible emotion. + +Drawing the old red handkerchief from his pocket in a tired, hopeless +way, he began twisting it about the violin again. + +"Play something on it," said Bob. He evidently believed every word of +the impromptu explanation, and was weakening again. Harrowing +sighs--chronic for years--or trickling tears shed at the right moment +by some grief-stricken woman never failed to deceive him. + +"No, I don't blay. I got no heart inside of me to blay," with a weary +movement of his hand. He was now tucking the frayed ends of the +handkerchief under the strings. + +"_Can_ you play?" asked Bob, grown suddenly suspicious, now that the +man dare not prove his story. + +"Can I _blay_?" he answered, with a quick lifting of his eyes, and the +semblance of a smile lighting up his furrowed face. "I blay mit +Strakosch te Mendelssohn Concerto in te olt Academy in Vourteenth +Street; ant ven Alboni sing, no von in te virst violins haf te solo +but me, ant dere is not a pin drop in te house, ant Madame Alboni send +me all te flowers tey gif her. Can I BLAY!" + +The tone of voice was masterly. He was a new experience to me, +evidently an expert in this sort of thing. Bob looked down into his +stagnant, inert face, noting the slightly scornful, hurt expression +that lingered about the mouth. Then his tender heart got the better of +him. + +"I cannot afford to pay sixty dollars for another violin," he said, +his voice expressing the sincerity of his regret. + +"I cannot sell him vor less," replied the man, in a quick, decided +way. It would have been an unfledged amateur impostor who could not +have gained courage at this last change in Bob's tone. "Ven I get to +New York," he continued, with almost a sob, "I must haf some money +more as my railroad ticket to get anudder sheap violin. Te peoples +will say it is Grossman come home vidout hees violin--he is broke. No, +I no can sell him vor less. Tis cost one hundret ant sefenty-vive +dollar ven I buy him." + +I was about to offer him five dollars, buy the patched swindle, and +end the affair--I had pressing business with Bob that morning--when he +stopped me. + +"Would you take thirty dollars and my old violin?" + +The man looked at him eagerly. + +"Vere is your violin?" + +"At my house." + +"Is it a goot von? Stop a minute"---- For the third time he removed +the old red silk handkerchief. "Draw te bow across vonce. I know aboud +your violin ven I hears you blay." + +Bob tucked the instrument under his chin and drew a full, clear, +resonant tone. + +The watery eyes glistened. + +"Yes, I take your violin ant te money," in a decided tone. "You know +'em, ant I tink you loafe 'em too." + +The subtle flattery of this last touch was exquisitely done. The man +was an artist. + +Bob reached for a pad, and, with the remark that he was wanted in +court or he would go to his house with him, wrote an order, sealed it, +and laid three ten-dollar bills on the table. + +I felt that nothing now could check Bob. Whatever I might say or do +would fail to convince him. "I know how hard a road can be and how +sore one's feet can get," he would perhaps say to me, as he had often +done before when we blamed him for his generosities. + +The man balanced the letter on his hand, reading the inscription in a +listless sort of way, picked up the instrument, looked it all over +carefully, flecked off some specks of dust from the finger-board, laid +the violin on the office table, thrust the soiled rag into his pocket, +caught up the money, and without a word of thanks closed the door +behind him. + +"Bob," I said, the man's absolute ingratitude and my friend's colossal +simplicity irritating me beyond control, "why in the name of common +sense did you throw your money away on a sharp like that? Didn't you +see through the whole game? That note was written by himself. Corunden +never saw that fiddle in his life. You can buy a dozen of them for +five dollars apiece in any pawn-shop in town." + +Bob looked at me with that peculiar softening of the eyelids which we +know so well. Then he said thoughtfully: "Do you know what it is to be +stranded in a strange city with not a cent in your pocket, afraid to +look a policeman in the face lest he run you in? hungry, unwashed, not +a clean shirt for weeks? I don't care if he is a fraud. He sha'n't go +hungry if I can help it." + +There are some episodes in Bob's life to which he seldom refers. + +"Then why didn't he play for you?" I asked, still indignant, yet +somewhat touched by an intense earnestness unusual in Bob. + +"Yes, I wondered at that," he replied in a musing tone, but without a +shadow of suspicion in his voice. + +"You don't think," I continued, "he's such a fool as to go to your +house for your violin? I'll bet you he's made a bee line for a rum +mill; then he'll doctor up another old scraper and try the same game +somewhere else. Let me go after him and bring him back." + +Bob did not answer. He was tying up a bundle of papers. The violin lay +on the green-baize table where the man had put it, the law books +pushed aside to give it room. Then he put on his coat and went over to +court. + +In an hour he was back again--he and I, sitting in the small inner +office overlooking the dingy courtyard. + +We had talked but a few moments when a familiar shuffling step was +heard in the corridor. I looked through the crack in the door, touched +Bob's arm, and put my finger to my lips. Bob leaned forward and +watched with me through the crack. + +The outer office door was being slowly opened in the same noiseless +way, and the same man was creeping in. He gave an anxious glance about +the room. He had Bob's own violin in his hand; I knew it by the case. + +"Tey all oud," he muttered in an undertone. + +For an instant he wavered, looked hungrily towards his old violin, +laid Bob's on a chair near the door, stepped on tiptoe to the +green-baize table, picked up the Cremona, looked it all over, +smoothing the back with his hands, then, nestling it under his chin, +drew the bow gently across the strings, shut his eyes, and began the +Concerto,--the one he had played with Alboni,--not with its full +volume of sound or emphasis, but with echoes, pulsations, tremulous +murmurings, faint breathings of its marvelous beauty. The instrument +seemed part of himself, the neck welded to his fingers, the bow but a +piece of his arm, with a heart-throb down its whole length. + +When it was ended he rubbed his cheek softly against his old comrade, +smoothed it once or twice with his hand, laid it tenderly back in its +place on the table among the books, picked up Bob's violin from the +chair, and gently closed the door behind him. + +I looked at Bob. He was leaning against his desk, his eyes on the +floor, his whole soul filled with the pathos of the melody. Suddenly +he roused himself, sprang past me into the other room, and, calling to +the man, ran out into the corridor. + +"I couldn't catch him," he said in a dejected tone, coming back all +out of breath, and dropping into a chair. + +"What did you want to catch him for?" I asked; "he never robbed you?" + +"Robbed me!" cried Bob, the tears starting to his eyes. "Robbed _me_! +Good God, man! Couldn't you hear? I robbed _him_!" + +We searched for him all that day--Bob with the violin under his arm, I +with an apology. + +But he was gone. + + + + +ACCORDING TO THE LAW + + +I + +The luncheon was at one o'clock. Not one of your club luncheons, +served in a silent, sedate mausoleum on the principal street, where +your host in the hall below enters your name in a ledger, and a +brass-be-buttoned Yellowplush precedes you upstairs into a desolate +room furnished with chairs and a round table decorated with pink +_boutonnieres_ set for six, and where you are plied with Manhattans +until the other guests arrive. + +Nor yet was it one of your smart petticoat luncheons in a Fifth Avenue +mansion, where a Delmonico veteran pressed into service for the +occasion waves you upstairs to another recruit, who deposits your coat +and hat on a bed, and who later on ushers you into a room ablaze with +gaslights--midday, remember--where you and the other unfortunates are +served with English pheasants cooked in their own feathers, or +Kennebec salmon embroidered with beets and appliqued with green +mayonnaise. Not that kind of a mid-day meal at all. + +On the contrary, it was served,--no, it was eaten,--reveled in, made +merry over, in an ancient house fronting on a sleepy old park filled +with live oaks and magnolias, their trunks streaked with green moss +and their branches draped with gray crape: an ancient house with a big +white door that stood wide open to welcome you,--it was December, +too,--and two verandas on either side, stretched out like welcoming +arms, their railings half hidden in clinging roses, the blossoms in +your face. + +There was an old grandmother, too,--quaint as a miniature,--with +fluffy white cap and a white worsted shawl and tea-rose cheeks, and a +smile like an opening window, so sunny did it make her face. And how +delightfully she welcomed us. + +I can hear even now the very tones of her voice, and feel the soft, +cool, restful touch of her hand. + +And there was an old darky, black as a gum shoe, with tufts of +grizzled gray wool glued to his temples--one of those loyal old house +servants of the South who belong to a regime that is past. I watched +him from the parlor scuffling with his feet as he limped along the +wide hall to announce each new arrival (his master's old Madeira had +foundered him, they said, years before), and always reaching the +drawing-room door long after the newcomer had been welcomed by shouts +of laughter and the open arms of every one in the room: the newcomer +another girl, of course. + +And this drawing-room, now I think of it, was not like any other +drawing-room that I knew. Very few things in it matched. The carpet +was a faded red, and of different shades of repair. The hangings were +of yellow silk. There were haircloth sofas, and a big fireplace, and +plenty of rocking chairs, and lounges covered with chintz of every +pattern, and softened with cushions of every hue. + +At one end hung a large mirror made of squares of glass laid like +tiles in a dull gilt frame that had held it together for nearly a +century, and on the same wall, too, and all so splotched and mouldy +with age that the girls had to stoop down to pick out a pane clear +enough to straighten their bonnets by. + +And on the side wall there were family portraits, and over the mantel +queer Chinese porcelains and a dingy coat-of-arms in a dingier frame, +and on every table, in all kinds of dishes, flat and square and round, +there were heaps and heaps of roses--De Vonienses, Hermosas, and +Agripinas--whose distinguished ancestors, hardy sons of the soil, came +direct from the Mayflower (This shall not happen again), and who +consequently never knew the enervating influences of a hothouse. And +there were marble busts on pedestals, and a wonderful clock on high +legs, and medallions with weeping willows of somebody's hair, besides +a miscellaneous collection of large and small bric-a-brac, the +heirlooms of five generations. + +And yet, with all this mismatching of color, form, and style,--this +chronological array of fittings and furnishings, beginning with the +mouldy mirror and ending with the modern straw chair,--there was a +harmony that satisfied one's every sense. + +And so restful, and helpful, and comforting, and companionable was it +all, and so accustomed was everything to be walked over, and sat on, +and kicked about; so glad to be punched out of shape if it were a +cushion which you needed for some special curve in your back or twist +of your head; so delighted to be scratched, or slopped over, or +scarred full of holes if it were a table that could hold your books or +paste-pot or lighted pipe; so hilariously joyful to be stretched out +of shape or sagged into irredeemable bulges if it were a straw chair +that could sooth your aching bones or rest a tired muscle! + +When all the girls and young fellows had arrived,--such pretty girls, +with such soft, liquid voices and captivating dialects, the one their +black mammies had taught them,--and such unconventional, happy young +fellows in all sorts of costumes from blue flannel to broadcloth,--one +in a Prince Albert coat and a straw hat in his hand, and it near +Christmas,--the old darky grew more and more restless, limping in and +out of the open door, dodging anxiously into the drawing-room and out +again, his head up like a terrapin's. + +Finally he veered across to a seat by the window, and, shielding his +mouth with his wrinkled, leathery paw, bent over the old grandmother +and poured into her ear a communication of such vital import that the +dear old lady arose at once and, taking my hand, said in her low, +sweet voice that we would wait no longer for the Judge, who was +detained in court. + +After this the aged Terrapin scuffled out again, reappearing almost +immediately before the door in white gloves inches too long at the +fingers. Then bowing himself backwards he preceded us into the +dining-room. + +And the table was so inviting when we took our seats around it, I +sitting on the right of the grandmother--being the only stranger--and +the prettiest of all the girls next to me. And the merriment was so +contagious, and the sallies of wit so sparkling, and the table itself! +Solid mahogany, this old heirloom! rich and dark as a meerschaum, the +kind of mahogany that looked as if all the fine old Madeira and choice +port that had been drunk above it had soaked into its pores. And every +fibre of it in evidence, too, except where the silver coasters, and +the huge silver centrepiece filled with roses, and the plates and the +necessary appointments hid its shining countenance. + +And the aged Terrapin evidently appreciated in full the sanctity of +this family altar, and duly realized the importance of his position as +its High Priest. Indeed, there was a gravity, a dignity, and repose +about him as he limped through his ministrations which I had noticed +in him before. If he showed any nervousness at all it was as he +glanced now and then toward the drawing-room door through which the +Judge must enter. + +And yet he appeared outwardly calm, even under this strain. For had he +not provided for every emergency? Were not His Honor's viands already +at that moment on the kitchen hearth, with special plates over them to +keep them hot against his arrival? + +And what a luncheon it was! The relays of fried chicken, baked sweet +potatoes, corn-bread, and mango pickles--a most extraordinary +production, I maintain, is a mango pickle!--and things baked on top +and brown, and other things baked on the bottom and creamy white. + +And the fun, too, as each course appeared and disappeared only to be +followed by something more extraordinary and seductive. The men +continued to talk, and the girls never ceased laughing, and the +grandmother's eyes constantly followed the Terrapin, giving him +mysterious orders with the slightest raising of an eyelash, and we had +already reached the salad--or was it the baked ham?--when the fairy in +the pink waist next me clapped her hands and cried out:-- + +"Oh, you dear Judge! We waited an hour for you"--it doubtless seemed +long to her. "What in the world kept you?" + +"Couldn't help it, little one," came a voice in reply; and a man with +silver-white hair, dignified bearing, and a sunny smile on his face +edged his way around the table to the grandmother, every hand held out +to him as he passed, and, bending low over the dear lady, expressed +his regrets at having been detained. + +Then with an extended hand to me and, "It gives me very great pleasure +to see you in this part of the South, sir," he sat down in the vacant +chair, nodding to everybody graciously as he spread his napkin. A +moment later he leaned forward and said in explanation to the +grandmother,-- + +"I waited for the jury to come in. You received my message, of +course?" + +"Oh, yes, dear Judge; and although we missed you we sat down at once." + +"Have you been in court all day?" I asked as an introductory remark. +Of course he had if he had waited for the jury. What an extraordinary +collection of idiocies one could make if he jotted down all the stupid +things said and heard when conversations were being opened. + +"Yes, I am sorry to say, trying one of those cases which are becoming +daily more common." + +I looked up inquiringly. + +"Oh, a negro, of course," and the Judge picked up his fork and moved +back the wine glass. + +"And such dreadful things happen, and such dreadful creatures are +going about," said the grandmother, raising her hand deprecatingly. + +"How do you account for it, madam?" I asked. "It was quite different +before the war. I have often heard my father tell of the old days, and +how much the masters did for their slaves, and how loyal their +servants were. I remember one old servant whom we boys called Daddy +Billy, who was really one of the family--quite like your"--and I +nodded toward the Terrapin, who at the moment was pouring a thin +stream of brown sherry into an equally attenuated glass for the +special comfort and sustenance of the last arrival. + +"Oh, you mean Mordecai," she interrupted, looking at the Terrapin. "He +has always been one of our family. How long do you think he has lived +with us?"--and she lowered her voice. "Forty-eight years--long before +the war--and we love him dearly. My father gave him to us. No, it is +not the old house servants,--it is these new negroes, born since the +war, that make all the trouble." + +"You are right, madam. They are not like Mordecai," and the Judge held +up the thin glass between his eye and the light. "God bless the day +when Mordecai was born! I think this is the Amazon sherry, is it not, +my dear madam?" + +"Yes, Mordecai's sherry, as we sometimes call it. It may interest you, +sir, to hear about it," and she turned to me again. "This wine that +the Judge praises so highly was once the pride of my husband's heart, +and when Sherman came through and burned our homes, among the few +things that were saved were sixty-two bottles of this old Amazon +sherry, named after the ship that brought it over. Mordecai buried +them in the woods and never told a single soul for two years +after--not even my husband. There are a few bottles left, and I always +bring one out when we have distinguished guests," and she bowed her +head to the Judge and to me. "Oh, yes, Mordecai has always been one of +our family, and so has his wife, who is almost as old as he is. She is +in the kitchen now, and cooked this luncheon. If these new negroes +would only behave like the old ones we would have no trouble," and a +faint sigh escaped her. + +The Terrapin, who during the conversation had disappeared in search of +another hot course for the Judge, had now reappeared, and so the +conversation was carried on in tones too low for his ears. + +"And has any effort been made to bring these modern negroes, as you +call them, into closer relation with you all, and"---- + +"It would be useless," interrupted the Judge. "The old negroes were +held in check by their cabin life and the influence of the 'great +house,' as the planter's home was called. All this has passed away. +This new product has no home and wants none. They live like animals, +and are ready for any crime. Sometimes I think they care neither for +wife, child, nor any family tie. The situation is deplorable, and is +getting worse every day. It is only the strong hand of the law that +now controls these people." His Honor spoke with some positiveness, I +thought, and with some warmth. + +"But," I broke in, "if when things became more settled you had begun +by treating them as your friends"--I was getting into shoal water, but +I blundered on, peering into the fog--"and if you had not looked upon +them as an alien race who"---- + +Just here the siren with the pink waist who sat next me--bless her +sweet face!--blew her conch-shell--she had seen the rocks ahead--and +cried out:-- + +"Now, grandma, please stop talking about the war!" (The dear lady had +been silent for five minutes.) "We're tired and sick of it, aren't we, +girls? And don't you say another word, Judge. You've got to tell us +some stories." + +A rattle of glasses from all the young people was the response, and +the Judge rose, with his hand on his heart and his eyes upraised like +those of a dying saint. He protested gallantly that he hadn't said a +word, and the grandmother insisted with a laugh that she had merely +told me about Mordecai hiding the sherry, while I vowed with much +solemnity that I had not once opened my lips since I sat down, and +called upon the siren in pink to confirm it. To my great surprise she +promptly did, with an arch look of mock reproof in her eye; whereupon, +with an atoning bow to her, I grasped the lever, rang "full speed," +and thus steamed out into deep water again. + +While all this was going on at our end of the table, a running fire of +fun had been kept at the other end, near the young man in the Prince +Albert coat, which soon developed into heavy practice, the Judge with +infinite zest joining in the merriment, exploding one story after +another, each followed by peals of laughter and each better than the +other, his Honor eating his luncheon all the while with great gusto as +he handled the battery. + +During all this the Terrapin neglected no detail of his duty, but +served the fifth course to the ladies and the kept-hot courses to the +Judge with equal dexterity, and both at the same time, and all without +spilling a drop or clinking a plate. + +When the ladies had withdrawn and we were seated on the veranda +fronting the sleepy old park, each man with a rose in his buttonhole, +the gift of the girl who had sat next him (the grandmother had pinned +the rose she wore at her throat on the lapel of the Judge's coat), and +when the Terrapin had produced a silver tray and was about to fill +some little egg-shell cups from a George-the-Third coffee-pot, the +Judge, who was lying back in a straw chair, a picture of perfect +repose and of peaceful digestion, turned his head slightly toward me +and said,-- + +"I am sorry, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave you in a few +minutes. I have to sentence a negro by the name of Sam Crouch. When +these ladies can spare you it will give me very great pleasure to have +you come into court and see how we administer justice to this +much-abused and much-misunderstood race," and he smiled significantly +at me. + +"What was his crime, Judge?" asked the young man in the Prince Albert +coat, as he held out his cup for Mordecai to fill. "Stealing +chickens?" The gayety of the table was evidently still with him and +upon him. + +"No," replied the Judge gravely, and he looked at me, the faintest +gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Murder." + + +II + +There are contrasts in life, sudden transitions from light to dark, +startling as those one experiences in dropping from out the light of a +spring morning redolent with perfume into the gloom of a coal mine +choked with noxious vapors--out of a morning, if you will, all joy and +gladness and the music of many birds; a morning when the wide, white +sky is filled with cloud ships drifting lazily; when the trees wave in +the freshening wind, and the lark hanging in mid-air pours out its +soul for very joy of living! + +And the horror of that other! The never-ending night and silence; the +foul air reeking with close, stifling odors; the narrow walls where +men move as ghosts with heads alight, their bodies lost in the +shadows; the ominous sounds of falling rock thundering through the +blackness; and again, when all is still, the slow drop, drop of the +ooze, like the tick of a deathwatch. It is a prison and a tomb, and to +those who breathe the sweet air of heaven, and who love the sunshine, +the very house of despair. + +I myself experienced one of these contrasts when I exchanged all the +love and gladness, all the wit and laughter and charm of the +breakfast, for the court-room. + +It was on the ground floor, level with the grass of the courtyard, +which a sudden storm had just drenched. The approach was through a +cold, crypt-like passage running under heavy brick arches. At its end +hung a door blocked up with slouching ragged figures, craning their +woolly heads for a glimpse inside whenever some official or visitor +passed in or out. + +I elbowed my way past the constables holding long staffs, and, +standing on my toes, looked over a sea of heads--a compact mass wedged +together as far down as the rail outside the bench. The air was +sickening, loathsome, almost unbreathable. The only light, except the +dull gray light of the day, came from a single gas jet flaring over +the Judge's head. Every other part of the court-room was lost in the +shadow of the passing storm. + +Inside the space where the lawyers sat, the floor was littered with +torn papers, and the tables were heaped with bundles of briefs and law +books in disorder, many of them opened face down. + +Behind me rose the gallery reserved for negroes, a loft having no +window nor light, hanging like a huge black shadow without form or +outline. All over this huge black shadow were spattered specks of +white. As I looked again, I could see that these were the strained +eyeballs and set teeth of motionless negroes. + +The Judge, his hands loosely clasped together, sat leaning forward in +his seat, his eyes fastened on the prisoner. The flare of the gas jet +fell on his stern, immobile face, and cast clear-lined shadows that +cut his profile sharp as a cameo. + +The negro stood below him, his head on his chest, his arms hanging +straight. On either side, close within reach of the doomed man, were +the sheriffs--rough-looking men, with silver shields on their breasts. +They looked straight at the Judge, nodding mechanically as each word +fell from his lips. They knew the litany. + +The condemned man was evidently under thirty years of age, of almost +pure African blood, well built, and strong. The forehead was low, the +lips heavy, the jaw firm. The brown-black face showed no cruelty; the +eyes were not cunning. It was only a dull, inert face, like those of a +dozen others about him. + +As he turned again, I saw that his hair was cut short, revealing +lighter-colored scars on the scalp--records of a not too peaceful +life, perhaps. His dress was ragged and dingy, patched trousers, and +shabby shoes, and a worn flannel shirt open at the throat, the skin +darker than the flannel. On a chair beside him lay a crumpled slouch +hat, grimed with dirt, the crown frayed and torn. + +As I pressed my way farther into the throng toward the bench, the +voice of the Judge rose, filling every part of the room, the words +falling slowly, as earth drops upon a coffin:-- + +--"until you be dead, and may God have mercy on your soul!" + +I looked searchingly into the speaker's face. There was not an +expression that I could recall, nor a tone in his voice that I +remembered. Surely this could not be the same man I had met at the +table but an hour before, with that musical laugh and winning smile. I +scrutinized him more closely--the rose was still in his buttonhole. + +As the voice ceased, the condemned man lifted his face, and turned his +head slowly. For a moment his eyes rested on the Judge; then they +moved to the clerks, sitting silent and motionless; then behind, at +the constables, and then up into the black vault packed with his own +people. + +A deathlike silence met him everywhere. + +One of the officers stepped closer. The condemned man riveted his gaze +upon him, and held out his hands helplessly; the officer leaned +forward, and adjusted the handcuffs. Then came the sharp click of +their teeth, like the snap of a hungry wolf. + +The two men,--the criminal judged according to the law, and the +sheriff, its executor,--chained by their wrists, wheeled about and +faced the crowd. The constables raised their staffs, formed a guard, +and forced a way through the crowd, the silent gallery following with +their eyes until the door closed upon them. + +Then through the gloom there ran the audible shiver of pent-up sighs, +low whispers, and the stretching of tired muscles. + +When I reached the Judge, he was just entering the door of the +anteroom opening into his private quarters. His sunny smile had +returned, although the voice had not altogether regained its former +ring. He said,-- + +"I trust you were not too late. I waited a few minutes, hoping you had +come, and then when it became so dark, I ordered a light lit, but I +couldn't find you in the crowd. Come in. Let me present you to the +district attorney and to the young lawyer whom I appointed to defend +the prisoner. While I was passing sentence, they were discussing the +verdict. Were you in time for the sentence?" he continued. + +"No," I answered, after shaking hands with both gentlemen and taking +the chair which one of them offered me, "only the last part. But I saw +the man before they led him away, and I must say he didn't look much +like a criminal. Tell me something about the murder," and I turned to +the young lawyer, a smooth-faced young man with long black hair tucked +behind his ears and a frank, open countenance. + +"You'd better ask the district attorney," he answered, with a slight +shrug of his shoulders. "He is the only one about here who seems to +know anything about the _murder_; my client, Crouch, didn't, anyhow. I +was counsel for the defense." + +He spoke with some feeling, and I thought with some irritation, but +whether because of his chagrin at losing the case or because of real +sympathy for the negro I could not tell. + +"You seem to forget the jury," answered the district attorney in a +self-satisfied way; "they evidently knew something about it." There +was a certain elation in his manner, as he spoke, that surprised +me--quite as if he had won a bet. That a life had been played for and +lost seemed only to heighten his interest in the game. + +"No, I don't forget the jury," retorted the young man, "and I don't +forget some of the witnesses; nor do I forget what you made them say +and how you got some of them tangled up. That negro is as innocent of +that crime as I am. Don't you think so, Judge?" and he turned to the +table and began gathering up his papers. + +His Honor had settled himself in his chair, the back tipped against +the wall. His old manner had returned, so had the charm of his voice. +He had picked up a reed pipe when he entered the room, and had filled +it with tobacco, which he had broken in finer grains in the palm of +his hand. He was now puffing away steadily to keep it alight. + +"I have no opinion to offer, gentlemen, one way or the other. The +matter, of course, is closed as far as I am concerned. I think you +will both agree, however, whatever may be your personal feelings, that +my rulings were fair. As far as I could see, the witnesses told a +straight story, and upon their evidence the jury brought in the +verdict. I think, too, my charge was just. There was"--here the Judge +puffed away vigorously--"there was, therefore, nothing left for me to +do but"--puff--puff--"to sentence him. Hang that pipe! It won't draw," +and the Judge, with one of his musical laughs, rose from his chair and +pulled a straw from the broom in the corner. + +The district attorney looked at the discomfited opposing counsel and +laughed. Then he added, as an expression of ill-concealed contempt for +his inexperience crept over his face:-- + +"Don't worry over it, my boy. This is one of your first cases, and I +know it comes hard, but you'll get over it before you've tried as many +of them as I have. The nigger hadn't a dollar, and somebody had to +defend him. The Judge appointed you, and you've done your duty well, +and lost--that's all there is to it. But I'll tell you one thing for +your information,"--and his voice assumed a serious tone,--"and one +which you did not notice in this trial, and which you would have done +had you known the ways of these niggers as I do, and it went a long +way with me in establishing his guilt. From the time Crouch was +arrested, down to this very afternoon when the Judge sentenced him, +not one of his people has ever turned up,--no father, mother, wife, +nor child,--not one." + +"That's not news to me," interrupted the young man. "I tried to get +something from Crouch myself, but he wouldn't talk." + +"Of course he wouldn't talk, and you know why; simply because he +didn't want to be spotted for some other crime. This nigger +Crouch"--and the district attorney looked my way--"is a product of the +war, and one of the worst it has given us--a shiftless tramp that +preys on society." His remarks were evidently intended for me, for the +Judge was not listening, nor was the young lawyer. "Most of this class +of criminals have no homes, and if they had they lie about them, so +afraid are they, if they're fortunate enough to be discharged, that +they'll be rearrested for a crime committed somewhere else." + +"Which discharge doesn't very often happen around here," remarked the +young man with a sneer. "Not if you can help it." + +"No, which doesn't very often happen around here _if I can help it_. +You're right. That's what I'm here for," the district attorney +retorted with some irritation. "And now I'll tell you another thing. I +had a second talk with Crouch only this afternoon after the +verdict"--and he turned to me--"while the Judge was lunching with you, +sir, and I begged him, now that it was all over, to send for his +people, but he was stubborn as a mule, and swore he had no one who +would want to see him. I don't suppose he had; he's been an outcast +since he was born." + +"And that's why you worked so hard to hang him, was it?" The young man +was thoroughly angry. I could see the color mount to his cheeks. I +could see, too, that Crouch had no friends, except this young sprig of +the law, who seemed as much chagrined over the loss of his case as +anything else. And yet, I confess, I did not let my sympathies for the +under dog get the better of me. I knew enough of the record of this +new race not to recognize that there could be two sides to questions +like this. + +The district attorney bit his lip at the young man's thrust. Then he +answered him slowly, but without any show of anger:-- + +"You have one thing left, you know. You can ask for a new trial. What +do you say, Judge?" + +The Judge made no answer. He evidently had lost all interest in the +case, for during the discussion he had been engaged in twisting the +end of the straw into the stem of the pipe and peering into the +clogged bowl with one eye shut. + +"And if the Judge granted it, what good would it do?" burst out the +young man as he rose to his feet. "If Sam Crouch had a soul as white +as snow, it wouldn't help him with these juries around here as long as +his skin is the color it is!" and he put on his hat and left the room. + +The Judge looked after him a moment and then said to me,-- + +"Our young men, sir, are impetuous and outspoken, but their hearts are +all right. I haven't a doubt but that Crouch was guilty. He's probably +been a vagrant all his life." + + +III + +Some weeks after these occurrences I was on my way South, and again +found myself within reach of the sleepy old park and the gruesome +court-room. + +I was the only passenger in the Pullman. I had traveled all night in +this royal fashion--a whole car to myself--with the porter, a quiet, +attentive young colored man of perhaps thirty years of age, duly +installed as First Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and I had settled +myself for a morning of seclusion when my privacy was broken in upon +at a way station by the entrance of a young man in a shooting jacket +and cap, and high boots splashed with mud. + +He carried a folding gun in a leather case, an overcoat, and a +game-bag, and was followed by two dogs. The porter relieved him of his +belongings, stowed his gun in the rack, hung his overcoat on the hook, +and distributed the rest of his equipment within reach of his hand. +Then he led the dogs back to the baggage car. + +The next moment the young sportsman glanced over the car, rose from +his seat, and held out his hand. + +"Haven't forgotten me, have you? Met you at the luncheon, you +know--time the Judge was late waiting for the jury to come in." + +To my delight and astonishment it was the young man in the Prince +Albert coat. + +He proved, as the morning wore on, to be a most entertaining young +fellow, telling me of his sport and the birds he had shot, and of how +good one dog was and how stupid the other, and how next week he was +going after ducks down the river, and he described a small club-house +which a dozen of his friends had built, and where, with true Southern +hospitality, he insisted I should join him. + +And then we fell to talking about the luncheon, and what a charming +morning we had spent, and of the pretty girls and the dear +grandmother; and we laughed again over the Judge's stories, and he +told me another, the Judge's last, which he had heard his Honor tell +at another luncheon; and then the porter put up a table, and spread a +cloth, and began opening things with a corkscrew, and filling empty +glasses with crushed ice and other things, and altogether we had a +most comfortable and fraternal and much-to-be-desired half hour. + +Just before he left the train--he had to get out at the junction--some +further reference to the Judge brought to my recollection that ghostly +afternoon in the courtroom. Suddenly the picture of the negro with +that look of stolid resignation on his face came before me. I asked +him if any appeal had been taken in the case as suggested by the +district attorney. + +"Appeal? In the Crouch case? Not much. Hung him high as Haman." + +"When?" + +"'Bout a week ago. And by the way, a very curious thing happened at +the hanging. The first time they strung Crouch up the rope broke and +let him down, and they had to send eight miles for another. While they +were waiting the mail arrived. The post-office was right opposite. In +the bag was a letter for Crouch, care of the warden, but not directed +to the jail. The postmaster brought it over and the warden opened it +and read it to the prisoner, asking him who it was from, and the +nigger said it was from his mother--that the man she worked for had +written it. Of course the warden knew it was from Crouch's girl, for +Crouch had always sworn he had no family, so the Judge told me. Then +Crouch asked the warden if he'd answer it for him before he died. The +warden said he would, and got a sheet of paper, a pen and ink, and +sitting down by Crouch under the gallows asked him what he wanted to +say. And now, here comes the funny part. All that negro wanted to say +was just this:-- + + "'I'm enjoying good health and I hope to see you before long.' + + 'SAM CROUCH.' + +"Then Crouch reached over and took the pen out of the warden's hands, +and marked a cross underneath what the warden had written, and when +the warden asked him what he did that for, he said he wanted his +mother to have something he had touched himself. By that time the new +rope came and they swung him up. Curious, wasn't it? The warden said +it was the funniest message he ever knew a dying nigger to send, and +he'd hung a good many of 'em. It struck me as being some secret kind +of a password. You never can tell about these coons." + +"Did the warden mail it?" + +"Oh, yes, of course he mailed it--warden's square as a brick. Sent it, +of course, care of the man the girl works for. He lives somewhere +around here, or Crouch said he did. Awfully glad to see you again--I +get out here." + +The porter brought in the dogs, I picked up the gun, and we conducted +the young sportsman out of the car and into a buggy waiting for him at +the end of the platform. + +As I entered the car again and waved my hand to him from the open +window, I saw a negro woman dart from out the crowd of loungers, as if +in eager search of some one. She was a tall, bony, ill-formed woman, +wearing the rude garb of a farm hand--blue cotton gown, brown +sunbonnet, and the rough muddy shoes of a man. + +The dress was faded almost white in parts, and patched with different +colors, but looked fresh and clean. It was held together over her flat +bust by big bone buttons. There was neither collar nor belt. The +sleeves were rolled up above the elbows, showing her strong, muscular +arms, tough as rawhide. The hands were large and bony, with big +knuckles, the mark of the hoe in the palms. + +In her eagerness to speak to the porter the sunbonnet had slipped off. +Black as the face was, it brought to my mind, strange to say, those +weather-tanned fishwives of the Normandy coast--those sturdy, patient, +earnest women, accustomed to toil and exposure and to the buffetings +of wind and tempest. + +When the porter appeared on his way back to the car, she sprang +forward, and caught him by the arm. + +"Oh, I'm dat sorry! An' he ain't come wid ye?" she cried. "But ye see +him, didn't ye?" The voice was singularly sweet and musical. "Ye did? +Oh, dat's good." + +As she spoke, a little black bare-legged pickaninny, with one garment, +ran out from behind the corner of the station, and clung to the +woman's skirts, hiding her face in their folds. The woman put her +hard, black hand on the child's cheek, and drew the little woolly head +closer to her side. + +"Well, when's he comin'? I come dis mawnin' jes 's ye tol' me. An' ye +see him, did ye?" she asked with a strange quivering pathos in her +voice. + +"Oh, yes, I see him yisterday." + +The porter's answer was barely audible. I noticed, too, that he looked +away from her as he spoke. + +"An' yer sho' now he ain't come wid ye," and she looked toward the +train as if expecting to find some one. + +"No, he can't come till nex' Saturday," answered the porter. + +"Well, I'm mighty dis'pinted. I been a-waitin' an' a-waitin' till I +_mos_' gin out. Ain't nobody helped me like him. You tol' me las' time +dat he'd be here to-day," and her voice shook. "You tell him I got his +letter an' dat I think 'bout him night an' day, an' dat I'd rudder see +him dan anybody in de worl'. And you tell him--an' doan' ye forgit +dis--dat you see his sister Maria's chile--dis is her--hol' up yer +haid, honey, an' let him see ye. I thought if he come to-day he'd like +to see 'er, 'cause he useter tote her roun' on his back when she +warn't big'r'n a shote. An' ye _see_ him, did ye? Well, I'm mighty +glad o' dat." + +She was bending forward, her great black hand on his wrist, her eyes +fixed on his. Then a startled, anxious look crossed her face. + +"But he ain't sick dat he didn't come? Yo' _sho'_ now, he ain't sick?" + +"Oh, no; never see him lookin' so good." + +The porter was evidently anxious about the train, for he kept backing +away toward his car. + +"Well, den, good-by; but doan' ye forgit. Tell him ye see me an' dat I +'m a-hungerin' for him. You hear, _a-hungerin_' for him, an' dat I +can't git 'long no mo' widout him. Don' ye forgit, now, 'cause I mos' +daid a-waitin' for him. Good-by." + +The train rolled on. She was still on the platform, her gaunt figure +outlined against the morning sky, her eager eyes strained toward us, +the child clutching her skirts. + + * * * * * + +I confess that I have never yet outgrown my affection for the colored +race: an affection at best, perhaps, born of the dim, undefined +memories of my childhood and of an old black mammy--my father's +slave--who crooned over me all day long, and sang me lullabies at +night. + +I am aware, too, that I do not always carry this affectionate sympathy +locked up in a safe, but generally pinned on the outside of my sleeve; +and so it is not surprising, as the hours wore on, and the porter +gradually developed his several capacities for making me comfortable, +that a certain confidence was established between us. + +Then, again, I have always looked upon a Pullman porter as a superior +kind of person--certainly among serving people. He does not often +think so himself, nor does he ever present to the average mind any +marked signs of genius. He is in appearance and deportment very much +like all other uniformed attendants belonging to most of the great +corporations; clean, neatly dressed, polite, watchful, and patient. He +is also indiscriminate in his ministrations; for he will gladly open +the window for No. 10, and as cheerfully close it one minute later for +No. 6. After traveling with him for half a day, you doubtless conclude +that nothing more serious weighs on his mind than the duty of +regulating the temperature of his car, or looking after its linen. But +you are wrong. + +All this time he is classifying you. He really located you when you +entered the car, summing you up as you sought out your berth number. +At his first glance he had divined your station in life by your +clothes, your personal refinement, by your carpet-bag, and your +familiarity with travel by the way you took your seat. The shoes he +will black for you in the still small hours of the morning, when he +has time to think, will give him any other points he requires. + +If they are patched or half-soled, no amount of diamond shirt studs or +watch chain worn with them will save your respectability. If you +should reverse your cuffs before him, or imbibe your stimulants from a +black bottle which you carry in your inside pocket instead of a silver +flask concealed in your bag, no amount of fees will gain for you his +unqualified respect. If none of these delinquencies can be laid to +your account, and he is still in doubt, he waits until you open your +bag. + +Should the first rapid glance betray your cigars packed next to your +shoes, or the handle of a toothbrush thrust into the sponge-bag, or +some other such violation of his standard, your status is fixed; he +knows you. And he does all this while he is bowing and smiling, +bringing you a pillow for your head, opening a transom, or putting up +wire screens to save you from draughts and dust, and all without any +apparent distinction between you and your fellow passengers. + +If you swear at him, he will not answer back, and if you smite him, he +will nine times out of ten turn to you the other cheek. He does all +this because his skin is black, and yours is white, and because he is +the servant and representative of a corporation who will see him +righted, and who are accustomed to hear complaints. Above all, he will +do so because of the wife and children or mother at home in need of +the money he earns, and destined to suffer if he lose his place. + +He has had, too, if you did but know it, a life as interesting, +perhaps, as any of your acquaintances. It is quite within the +possibilities that he has been once or twice to Spain, Italy, or +Egypt, depending on the movements of the master he served; that he can +speak a dozen words or more of Spanish or Italian or pigeon English, +and oftener than not the best English of our public schools; can make +an omelette, sew on a button, or clean a gun, and that in an emergency +or accident (I know of two who lost their lives to save their +passengers) he can be the most helpful, the most loyal, the most human +serving man and friend you can find the world over. + +If you are selfishly intent on your own affairs, and look upon his +civility and his desire to please you as included in the price of your +berth or seat, and decide that any extra service he may render you is +canceled by the miserable twenty-five cents which you give him, you +will know none of these accomplishments nor the spirit that rules +them. + +If, however, you are the kind of man who goes about the world with +your heart unbuttoned and your earflaps open, eager to catch and hold +any little touch of pathos or flash of humor or note of tragedy, you +cannot do better than gain his confidence. + + * * * * * + +I cannot say by what process I accomplished this result with this +particular porter and on this particular train. It may have been the +newness of my shoes, combined with the proper stowing of my toothbrush +and the faultless cut of my pajamas; or it might have been the fact +that he had already divined that I liked his race; but certain it is +that no sooner was the woman out of sight than he came direct to my +seat, and, with a quiver in his voice, said,-- + +"Did you see dat woman I spoke to, suh?" + +"Yes; you didn't seem to want to talk to her." + +"Oh, it warn't dat, suh, but dat woman 'bout breaks my heart. Hadn't +been for de gemman gettin' off here an' me havin' to get his dogs, I +wouldn't 'a' got out de car at all. I hoped she wouldn't come to-day. +I thought she heared 'bout it. Everybody knows it up an' down de road, +an' de papers been full, tho' co'se she can't read. She lives 'bout +ten miles from here, an' she walked in dis mawnin'. Comes every +Saturday. I only makes dis run on Saturday, and she knows de day I'm +comin'." + +"Some trouble?" I asked. + +"Oh, yes, suh, a heap o' trouble; mo' trouble dan she kin stan' when +she knows it. Beats all why nobody ain't done tol' her. I been talkin' +to her every Saturday now for a month, tellin' her I see him an' dat +he's a-comin' down, an' dat he sent her his love, an' once or twice +lately I'd bring her li'l' things he sent her. Co'se _he_ didn't send +'em, 'cause he was whar he couldn't get to 'em, but she didn't know no +better. He's de only son now she'd got, an' he's been mighty good to +her an' dat li'l' chile she had wid her. I knowed him ever since he +worked on de railroad. Mos' all de money he gits he gives to her. If +he done the thing they said he done I ain't got nothin' mo' to say, +but I don't believe he done it, an' never will. I thought maybe dey'd +let him go, an' den he'd come home, an' she wouldn't have to suffer no +mo'; dat made me keep on a-lyin' to her." + +"What's been the matter? Has he been arrested?" + +"'Rested! '_Rested!_ Fo' God, suh, dey done hung him las' week." + +A light began to break in upon me. + +"What was his name?" + +"Same name as his mother's, suh--Sam Crouch." + + + + +"NEVER HAD NO SLEEP" + + +It was on the upper deck of a Chesapeake Bay boat, _en route_ for Old +Point Comfort and Norfolk. I was bound for Norfolk. + +"Kinder ca'm, ain't it?" + +The voice proceeded from a pinched-up old fellow with a colorless +face, straggling white beard, and sharp eyes. He wore a flat-topped +slouch hat resting on his ears, and a red silk handkerchief tied in a +sporting knot around his neck. His teeth were missing, the lips +puckered up like the mouth of a sponge-bag. In his hand he carried a +cane with a round ivory handle. This served as a prop to his mouth, +the puckered lips fumbling about the knob. He was shadowed by an old +woman wearing a shiny brown silk, that glistened like a wet +waterproof, black mitts, poke-bonnet, flat lace collar, and a long +gold watch chain. I had noticed them at supper. She was cutting up his +food. + +"Kinder ca'm, ain't it?" he exclaimed again, looking my way. "Fust +real nat'ral vittles I've eat fur a year. Spect it's ther sea air. +This water's brackish, ain't it?" + +I confirmed his diagnosis of the saline qualities of the Chesapeake, +and asked if he had been an invalid. + +"Waal, I should say so! Bin livin' on hospital mush fur nigh on ter a +year; but, by gum! ter-night I jist said ter Mommie: 'Mommie, shuv +them soft-shells this way. Ain't seen none sence I kep' tavern.'" + +Mommie nodded her head in confirmation, but with an air of "if you're +dead in the morning, don't blame me." + +"What's been the trouble?" I inquired, drawing up a camp stool. + +"Waal, I dunno rightly. Got my stummic out o' gear, throat kinder +weak, and what with the seventies"---- + +"Seventies?" I asked. + +"Yes; had 'em four year. I'm seventy-five nex' buthday. But come ter +sum it all up, what's ther matter with me is I ain't never had no +sleep. Let me sit on t'other side. One ear's stopped workin' this ten +year." + +He moved across and pulled an old cloak around him. + +"Been long without sleep?" I asked sympathetically. + +"'Bout sixty year--mebbe sixty-five." + +I looked at him inquiringly, fearing to break the thread if I jarred +too heavily. + +"Yes, spect it must be more. Well, you keep tally. Five year bootblack +and porter in a tavern in Dover, 'leven year tendin' bar down in +Wilmington, fourteen year bootcherin', nineteen year an' six months +keepin' a roadhouse ten miles from Philadelphy fur ther hucksters +comin' to market--quit las' summer. How much yer got?" + +I nodded, assenting to his estimate of sixty-five years of service, if +he had started when fifteen. + +He ruminated for a time, caressing the ivory ball of his cane with his +uncertain mouth. + +I jogged him again. "Boots and tending bar I should think would be +wakeful, but I didn't suppose butchering and keeping hotel +necessitated late hours." + +"Well, that's 'cause yer don't know. Bootcherin's ther wakefulest +business as is. Now yer a country bootcher, mind--no city beef man, +nor porter-house steak and lamb chops fur clubs an' hotels, but jest +an all-round bootcher--lamb, veal, beef, mebbe once a week, ha'f er +whole, as yer trade goes. Now ye kill when ther sun goes down, so ther +flies can't mummuck 'em. Next yer head and leg 'em, gittin' in in +rough, as we call it--takin' out ther insides an' leavin' ther hide on +ther back. Ye let 'em hang fur four hours, and 'bout midnight ye go at +'em agin, trim an' quarter, an' 'bout four in winter and three in +summer ye open up ther stable with a lantern, git yer stuff in, an' +begin yer rounds." + +"Yes, I see; but keeping hotel isn't"---- + +"Now thar ye're dead out agin. Ye're a-keepin' a roadhouse, mind--one +of them huckster taverns where ha'f yer folks come in 'arly 'bout +sundown and sit up ha'f ther night, and t'other ha'f drive inter yer +yard 'bout midnight an' lie round till daybreak. It's eat er drink all +ther time, and by ther time ye've stood behind ther bar and jerked +down ev'ry bottle on ther shelf, gone out ha'f a dozen times with er +light ter keep some mule from kickin' out yer partitions, got er dozen +winks on er settee in a back room, and then begin bawlin' upstairs, +routin' out two or three hired gals to get 'arly breakfust, ye're nigh +tuckered out. By ther time this gang is fed, here comes another +drivin' in. Oh, thet's a nice quiet life, thet is! I quit las' year, +and me and Mommie is on our way to Old P'int Cumfut. I ain't never bin +thar, but ther name sounded peaceful like, and so I tho't ter try it. +I'm in sarch er sleep, I am. Wust thing 'bout me is, no matter whar +I'm lyin', when it comes three 'clock I'm out of bed. Bin at it all my +life; can't never break it." + +"But you've enjoyed life?" I interpolated. + +"Enj'yed life! Well, p'rhaps, and agin p'rhaps not," looking furtively +at his wife. Then, lowering his voice: "There ain't bin er horse race +within er hundred miles of Philadelphy I ain't tuk in. Enj'y! Well, +don't yer worry." And his sharp eyes snapped. + +I believed him. That accounted for the way the red handkerchief was +tied loosely round his throat--an old road-wagon trick to keep the +dust out. + +For some minutes he nursed his knees with his hands, rocking himself +to and fro, smiling gleefully, thinking, no doubt, of the days he had +speeded down the turnpike, and the seats, too, on the grand stand. + +I jogged him again, venturing the remark that I should think that now +he might try and corral a nap in the daytime. + +The gleeful expression faded instantly. "See here," he said seriously, +laying his hand with a warning gesture on my arm, the ivory knob +popping out of the sponge-bag. "Don't yer never take no sleep in ther +daytime; that's suicide. An' if yer sleep after eatin', that's murder. +Look at me. Kinder peaked, ain't I? Stummic gone, throat busted, mouth +caved in; but I'm seventy-five, ain't I? An' I ain't a wreck yet, am +I? An' a-goin' to Old P'int Cumfut, ain't we, me an' Mommie, who's +sixty---- Never mind, Mommie. I won't give it away"--with a sly wink +at me. The old woman looked relieved. "Now jist s'pose I'd sat all my +life on my back stoop, ha'f awake, an' ev'ry time I eat, lie down an' +go ter sleep. Waal, yer'd never bin talkin' to-night to old Jeb +Walters. They'd 'a' bin fertilizin' gardin truck with him. I've seen +more'n a dozen of my friends die thet way--busted on this back porch +snoozin' business. Fust they git loggy 'bout ther gills; then their +knees begin ter swell; purty soon they're hobblin' round on er cane; +an' fust thing they know they're tucked away in er number thirteen +coffin, an' ther daisies a-bloomin' over 'em. None er that fur me. +Come, Mommie, we'll turn in." + +When the boat, next morning, touched the pier at Old Point, I met the +old fellow and his wife waiting for the plank to be hauled aboard. + +"Did you sleep?" I asked. + +"Sleep? Waal, I could, p'rhaps, if I knowed ther ways aboard this +steamboat. Ther come er nigger to my room 'bout midnight, and wanted +ter know if I was ther gentleman that had lost his carpet-bag--he had +it with him. Waal, of course I warn't; and then 'bout three, jist as I +tho't I was dozin' off agin, ther come ther dangdest poundin' the nex' +room ter mine ye ever heard. Mommie, she said 'twas fire, but I didn't +smell no smoke. Wrong room agin. Feller nex' door was to go ashore in +a scow with some dogs and guns. They'd a-slowed down and was waitin', +an' they couldn't wake him up. Mebbe I'll git some sleep down ter Old +P'int Cumfut, but I ain't spectin' nuthin'. By, by." + +And he disappeared down the gang plank. + + + + +THE MAN WITH THE EMPTY SLEEVE + + +I + +The Doctor closed the book with an angry gesture and handed it to me +as I lay in my steamer chair, my eyes on the tumbling sea. He had read +every line in it. So had P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, whose +property it was, and who had announced himself only a moment before as +heartily in sympathy with the pessimistic views of the author, +especially in those chapters which described domestic life in America. + +The Doctor, who has a wrist of steel and a set of fingers steady +enough to adjust a chronometer, and who, though calm and silent as a +stone god when over an operating table, is often as restless and +outspoken as a boy when something away from it touches his +heartstrings, turned to me and said:-- + +"There ought to be a law passed to keep these men out of the United +States. Here's a Frenchman, now, who speaks no language but his own, +and after spending a week at Newport, another at New York, two days at +Niagara, and then rushing through the West on a 'Limited,' goes home +to give his Impressions of America. Read that chapter on Manners," and +he stretched a hand over my shoulder, turning the leaves quickly with +his fingers. "You would think, to listen to these fellows, that all +there is to a man is the cut of his coat or the way he takes his soup. +Not a line about his being clean and square and alive and all a +man,--just manners! Why, it is enough to make a cast-iron dog bite a +blind man." + +It would be a waste of time to criticise the Doctor for these +irrelevant verbal explosives. Indefensible as they are, they are as +much parts of his individuality as the deftness of his touch and the +fearlessness of his methods are parts of his surgical training. + +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, looked at the Doctor with a slight +lifting of his upper lip and a commiserating droop of the eyelid,--an +expression indicating, of course, a consciousness of that superior +birth and breeding which prevented the possibility of such outbreaks. +It was a manner he sometimes assumed toward the Doctor, although they +were good friends. P. Wooverman and the Doctor are fellow townsmen and +members of the same set, and members, too, of the same club,--a most +exclusive club of one hundred. The Doctor had gained admission, not +because of his ancestors, etc. (see Log of the Mayflower), but because +he had been the first and only American surgeon who had removed some +very desirable portions of a gentleman's interior, had washed and +ironed them and scalloped their edges, for all I know, and had then +replaced them, without being obliged to sign the patient's death +certificate the next day. + +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, on the other hand, had gained +admission because of--well, Todd's birth and his position (he came of +an old Salem family who did something in whale oil,--not fish or +groceries, be it understood); his faultless attire, correct speech, +and knowledge of manners and men; his ability to spend his summers in +England and his winters in Nice; his extensive acquaintance among +distinguished people,--the very most distinguished, I know, for Todd +has told me so himself,--and--well, all these must certainly be +considered sufficient qualifications to entitle any man to membership +in almost any club in the world. + +P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, I say, elevated his upper lip and +drooped his eyelid, remarking with a slight Beacon Street accent:-- + +"I cawn't agree with you, my dear Doctor,"--there were often traces of +the manners and the bearing of a member of the Upper House in Todd, +especially when he talked to a man like the Doctor, who wore +turned-down collars and detached cuffs, and who, to quote the +distinguished Bostonian, "threw words about like a coal heaver,"--"I +cawn't agree with you, I say. It isn't the obzervar that we should +criticise; it is what he finds." P. Wooverman was speaking with his +best accent. Somehow, the Doctor's bluntness made him over-accentuate +it,--particularly when there were listeners about. "This French critic +is a man of distinction and a member of the most excloosive circles in +Europe. I have met him myself repeatedly, although I cawn't say I know +him. We Americans are too sensitive, my dear Doctor. His book, to me, +is the work of a keen obzervar who knows the world, and who sees how +woefully lacking we are in some of the common civilities of life," and +he smiled faintly at me, as if confident that I shared his opinion of +the Doctor's own short-comings. "This Frenchman does not lay it on a +bit too thick. Nothing is so mortifying to me as being obliged to +travel with a party of Americans who are making their first tour +abroad. And it is quite impossible to avoid them, for they all have +money and can go where they please. I remember once coming from Basle +to Paris, in a first-class carriage,--it was only larst summer,--with +a fellow from Indiana or Michigan, or somewhere out there. He had a +wife with him who looked like a cook, and a daughter about ten years +old, who was a most objectionable young person. You could hear them +talk all over the train. I shouldn't have minded it so much, but Lord +Norton's harf-brother was with me,"--and P. Wooverman Shaw Todd +glanced, as he spoke, at a thin lady with a smelling bottle and an air +of reserve, who always sat with a maid beside her, to see if she were +looking at him,--"and one of the best bred men in England, too, and a +man who"---- + +"Now hold on, Todd," broke in the Doctor, upon whom neither the thin +lady nor any other listener had made the slightest impression. "No +glittering generalities with me. Just tell me in so many plain words +what this man's vulgarity consisted of." + +"Why, his manners, his dress, Doctor,--everything about him," retorted +Todd. + +"Just as I thought! All you think about is manners, only manners!" +exploded the Doctor. "Your Westerner, no doubt, was a hard-fisted, +weather-tanned farmer, who had worked all his life to get money enough +to take his wife and child abroad. The wife had tended the dairy and +no doubt milked ten cows, and in their old age they both wanted to see +something of the world they had heard about. So off they go. If you +had any common sense or anything that brought you in touch with your +kind, Todd, and had met that man on his own level, instead of +overawing him with your high-daddy airs, he would have told you that +both the wife and he were determined that the little girl should have +a better start in life than their own, and that this trip was part of +her education. Do you know any other working people,"--and the Doctor +faced him squarely,--"any Dutch, or French, or English, Esquimaux or +Hottentots, who take their wives and children ten thousand miles to +educate them? If I had my way with the shaping of the higher education +of the country, the first thing I would teach a boy would be to learn +to work, and with his hands, too. We have raised our heroes from the +soil,--not from the easy-chairs of our clubs,"--and he looked at Todd +with his eyebrows knotted tight. "Let the boy get down and smell the +earth, and let him get down to the level of his kind, helping the +weaker man all the time and never forgetting the other fellow. When he +learns to do this he will begin to know what it is to be a man, and +not a manikin." + +When the Doctor is mounted on any one of his hobbies,--whether it is a +new microbe, Wagner, or the rights of the working-man,--he is apt to +take the bit in his teeth and clear fences. As he finished speaking, +two or three of the occupants of contiguous chairs laid down their +books to listen. The thin lady with the smelling bottle and the maid +remarked in an undertone to another exclusive passenger on the other +side of her, in diamonds and white ermine cape,--it was raining at the +time,--that "one need not travel in a first-class carriage to find +vulgar Americans," and she glanced from the Doctor to a group of young +girls and young men who were laughing as heartily and as merrily, and +perhaps as noisily, as if they were sitting on their own front porches +at their Southern homes. + +Another passenger--who turned out later to be a college +professor--said casually, this time to me, that he thought good and +bad manners were to be determined, not by externals, but by what lay +underneath; that neither dress, language, nor habits fixed or marred +the standard. "A high-class Turk, now," and he lowered his voice, +"would be considered ill bred by some people, because in the seclusion +of his own family he helps himself with his fingers from the common +dish; and yet so punctiliously polite and courteous is he that he +never sits down in his father's presence nor lights a cigarette +without craving his permission." + +After this the talk became general, the group taking sides; some +supporting the outspoken Doctor in his blunt defense of his +countrymen, others siding with the immaculately dressed Todd, so +correct in his every appointment that he was never known, during the +whole voyage, to wear a pair of socks that did not in color and design +match his cravat. + + * * * * * + +The chief steward had given us seats at the end of one of the small +tables. The Doctor sat under the porthole, and Todd and I had the +chairs on either side of him. The two end seats--those on the +aisle--were occupied by a girl of twenty-five, simply clad in a plain +black dress with plainer linen collar and cuffs, and a young German. +The girl would always arrive late, and would sink into her revolving +chair with a languid movement, as if the voyage had told upon her. +Often her face was pale and her eyes were heavy and red, as if from +want of sleep. The young German--a Baron von Hoffbein, the passenger +list said--was one of those self-possessed, good-natured, pink-cheeked +young Teutons, with blue eyes, blond hair, and a tiny waxed mustache, +a mere circumflex accent of a mustache, over his "o" of a mouth. His +sponsors in baptism had doubtless sent him across the sea to chase the +wild boar or the rude buffalo, with the ultimate design, perhaps, of +founding a brewery in some Western city. + +The manners of this young aristocrat toward the girl were an especial +source of delight to Todd, who watched his every movement with the +keenest interest. Whenever the baron approached the table he would +hesitate a moment, as if in doubt as to which particular chair he +should occupy, and, with an apologetic hand on his heart and a slight +bow, drop into a seat immediately opposite hers. Then he would raise a +long, thin arm aloft and snap his fingers to call a passing waiter. I +noticed that he always ordered the same breakfast, beginning with cold +sausage and ending with pancakes. During the repast the young girl +opposite him would talk to him in a simple, straightforward way, quite +as a sister would have done, and without the slightest trace of either +coquetry or undue reserve. + +When we were five days out, a third person occupied a seat at one side +of the young woman. He was a man of perhaps sixty years of age, with +big shoulders and big body, and a great round head covered with a mass +of dull white hair which fell about his neck and forehead. The +newcomer was dressed in a suit of gray cloth, much worn and badly cut, +the coat collar, by reason of the misfit, being hunched up under his +hair. This gave him the appearance of a man without a shirt collar, +until a turn of his head revealed his clean starched linen and narrow +black cravat. He looked like a plain, well-to-do manufacturer or +contractor, one whose earlier years had been spent in the out of +doors; for the weather had left its mark on his neck, where one can +always look for signs of a man's manner of life. His was that of a man +who had worn low-collared flannel shirts most of his days. He had, +too, a look of determination, as if he had been accustomed to be +obeyed. He was evidently an invalid, for his cheeks were sunken and +pale, with the pallor that comes of long confinement. + +Apart from these characteristics there was nothing specially +remarkable about him except the two cavernous eye sockets, sunk in his +head, the shaggy eyebrows arched above them, and the two eyes which +blazed and flashed with the inward fire of black opals. As these +rested first on one object and then on another, brightening or paling +as he moved his head, I could not but think of the action of some +alert searchlight gleaming out of a misty night. + +As soon as he took his seat, the young woman, whose face for the first +time since she had been on board had lost its look of anxiety and +fatigue, leaned over him smilingly and began adjusting a napkin about +his throat and pinning it to his coat. He smiled in response as she +finished--a smile of singular sweetness--and held her hand until she +regained her seat. They seemed as happy as children or as two lovers, +laughing with each other, he now and then stopping to stroke her hand +at some word which I could not hear. When, a moment after, the von +Hoffbein took his accustomed seat, in full dress, too,--a red silk +lining to his waistcoat, and a red silk handkerchief tucked in above +it and worn liver-pad fashion,--the girl said simply, looking toward +the man in gray, "My father, sir;" whereupon the young fellow shot up +out of his chair, clicked his heels together, crooked his back, placed +two fingers on his right eyebrow, and sat down again. The man in gray +looked at him curiously and held out his hand, remarking that he was +pleased to meet him. + +Todd was also watching the group, for I heard him say to the Doctor: +"These high-class Germans seldom forget themselves. The young baron +saluted the old duffer with the bib as though he were his superior +officer." + +"Shouldn't wonder if he were," replied the Doctor, who had been +looking intently over his soup spoon at the man in gray, and who was +now summing up the circumflex accent, the red edges of the waistcoat, +the liver-pad handkerchief, and the rest of von Hoffbein. + +"You don't like him, evidently, my dear Doctor." + +"You saw him first, Todd--you can have him. I prefer the old duffer, +as you call him," answered the Doctor dryly, and put an end to the +talk in that direction. + +Soon the hum of voices filled the saloon, rising above the clatter of +the dishes and the occasional popping of corks. The baron and the man +in gray had entered into conversation almost at once, and could be +distinctly heard from where we sat, particularly the older man, who +was doubtless unconscious of the carrying power of his voice. Such +words as "working classes," "the people," "democracy," "when I was in +Germany," etc., intermingling with the high-keyed tones of the baron's +broken English, were noticeable above the din; the young girl +listening smilingly, her eyes on those of her father. Then I saw the +gray man bend forward, and heard him say with great earnestness, and +in a voice that could be heard by the occupants of all the tables near +our own:-- + +"It is a great thing to be an American, sir. I never realized it until +I saw how things were managed on the other side. It must take all the +ambition out of a man not to be able to do what he wants to do and +what he knows he can do better than anybody else, simply because +somebody higher than he says he shan't. We have our periods of unrest, +and our workers sometimes lose their heads, but we always come out +right in the end. There is no place in the world where a man has such +opportunities as in my country. All he wants is brains and some little +horse sense,--the country will do the rest." + +Our end of the table had stopped to listen; so had the occupants of +the tables on either side; so had Todd, who was patting the Doctor's +arm, his face beaming. + +"Listen to him, Doctor! Hear that voice! How like a traveling +American! There's one of your ex_traw_d'nary clay-soiled sons of toil +out on an educating tour: aren't you proud of him? Oh, it's too +delicious!" + +For once I agreed with Todd. The peculiar strident tones of the man in +gray had jarred upon my nerves. I saw too, that one lady, with +slightly elevated shoulder, had turned her back and was addressing her +neighbor. + +The Doctor had not taken his eyes from the gray man, and had not lost +a word of his talk. As Todd finished speaking, the daughter, with all +tenderness and with a pleased glance into her father's eyes, arose, +and putting her hand in his helped him to his feet, the baron standing +at "attention." As the American started to leave the table, and his +big shaggy head and broad shoulders reached their full height, the +Doctor leaned forward, craning his head eagerly. Then he turned to +Todd, and in his crisp, incisive way said: "Todd, the matter with you +is that you never see any further than your nose. You ought to be +ashamed of yourself. Look at his empty sleeve; off at the shoulder, +too!" + + +II + +In the smoking-room that night a new and peculiar variety of passenger +made his appearance, and his first one--to me--although we were then +within two days of Sandy Hook. This individual wore a check suit of +the latest London cut, big broad-soled Piccadilly shoes, and smoked a +brierwood pipe which he constantly filled from a rubber pouch carried +in his waistcoat pocket. When I first noticed him, he was sitting at a +table with two Englishmen drinking brandy-and-sodas,--plural, not +singular. + +The Doctor, Todd, and I were at an adjoining table: the Doctor +immersed in a scientific pamphlet, Todd sipping his creme de menthe, +and I my coffee. Over in one corner were a group of drummers playing +poker. They had not left the spot since we started, except at +meal-time and at midnight, when Fritz, the smoking-room steward, had +turned them out to air the room. Scattered about were other +passengers--some reading, some playing checkers or backgammon, others +asleep, among them the pink-cheeked von Hoffbein, who lay sprawled out +on one of the leather-covered sofas, his thin legs spread apart like +the letter A, as he emitted long-drawn organ tones, with only the nose +stop pulled out. + +The party of Englishmen, by reason of the unlimited number of +brandy-and-sodas which their comrade in the check suit had ordered for +them, were more or less noisy, laughing a good deal. They had +attracted the attention of the whole room, many of the old-timers +wondering how long it would be before the third officer would tap the +check suit on the shoulder, and send it and him to bed under charge of +a steward. The constant admonitions of his companions seemed to have +had no effect upon the gentleman in question, for he suddenly launched +out upon such topics as Colonial Policies and Governments and Taxation +and Modern Fleets; addressing his remarks, not to his two friends, but +to the room at large. + +According to my own experience, the traveling Englishman is a quiet, +well-bred, reticent man, brandy-and-soda proof (I have seen him drink +a dozen of an evening without a droop of an eyelid); and if he has any +positive convictions of the superiority of that section of the +Anglo-Saxon race to which he belongs,--and he invariably has,--he +keeps them to himself, certainly in the public smoking-room of a +steamer filled with men of a dozen different nations. The outbreak, as +well as the effect of the incentive, was therefore as unexpected as it +was unusual. + +The check-suit man, however, was not constructed along these lines. +The spirit of old Hennessy was in his veins, the stored energy of many +sodas pressed against his tongue, and an explosion was inevitable. No +portion of these excitants, strange to say, had leaked into his legs, +for outwardly he was as steady as an undertaker. He began again, his +voice pitched in a high key:-- + +"Talk of coercing England! Why, we've got a hundred and forty-one +ships of the line, within ten days' sail of New York, that could blow +the bloody stuffin' out of every man Jack of 'em. And we don't care a +brass farthing what Uncle Sam says about it, either." + +His two friends tried to keep him quiet, but he broke out again on +Colonization and American Treachery and Conquest of Cuba; and so, +being desirous to read in peace, I nodded to the Doctor and Todd, +picked up my book, and drew up a steamer chair on the deck outside, +under one of the electric lights. + +I had hardly settled myself in my seat when a great shout went up from +the smoking-room that sent every one running down the deck, and jammed +the portholes and doors of the room with curious faces. Then I heard a +voice rise clear above the noise inside: "Not another word, sir; you +don't know what you are talking about. We Americans don't rob people +we give our lives to free." + +I forced my way past the door, and stepped inside. The Englishman was +being held down in his chair by his two friends. In his effort to +break loose he had wormed himself out of his coat. Beside their table, +close enough to put his hand on any one of them, stood the Doctor, a +curious set expression on his face. Todd was outside the circle, +standing on a sofa to get a better view. + +Towering above the Englishman, his eyes burning, his shaggy hair about +his face, his whole figure tense with indignation, was the man with +the empty sleeve! Close behind him, cool, polite, straight as a +gendarme, and with the look in his eye of a cat about to spring, stood +the young baron. As I reached the centre of the melee, wondering what +had been the provocation and who had struck the first blow, I saw the +baron lean forward, and heard him say in a low voice to one of the +Englishmen, "He is so old as to be his fadder; take me," and he tapped +his chest meaningly with his fingers. Evidently he had not fenced at +Heidelberg for nothing, if he did have pink cheeks and pipestem legs. + +The old man turned and laid his hand on the baron's shoulder. "I thank +you, sir, but I'll attend to this young man." His voice had lost all +its rasping quality now. It was low and concentrated, like that of one +accustomed to command. "Take your hands off him, gentlemen, if you +please. I don't think he has so far lost his senses as to strike a man +twice his age and with one arm. Now, sir, you will apologize to me, +and to the room, and to your own friends, who must be heartily ashamed +of your conduct." + +At the bottom of almost every Anglo-Saxon is a bed rock of common +sense that you reach through the shifting sands of prejudice with the +probe of fair play. The young man in the check suit, who was now on +his feet, looked the speaker straight in the eye, and, half drunk as +he was, held out his hand. "I'm sorry, sir, I offended you. I was +speaking to my friends here, and I did not know any Americans were +present." + +"Bravo!" yelled the Doctor. "What did I tell you Todd? That's the kind +of stuff! Now, gentlemen, all together--three cheers for the man with +the empty sleeve!" + +Everybody broke out with another shout--all but Todd, who had not made +the slightest response to the Doctor's invitation to loosen his legs +and his lungs. He did not show the slightest emotion over the fracas, +and, moreover, seemed to have become suddenly disgusted with the +baron. + +Then the Doctor grasped the young German by the hand, and said how +glad he was to know him, and how delighted he would be if he would +join them and "take something,"--all of which the young man accepted +with a frank, pleased look on his face. + +When the room had resumed its normal conditions, all three Englishmen +having disappeared, the Doctor, whose enthusiasm over the incident had +somehow paved the way for closer acquaintance, introduced me in the +same informal way both to the baron and to the hero of the occasion, +as "a brother American," and we all sat down beside the old man, his +face lighting up with a smile as he made room for us. Then laying his +hand on my knee, with the manner of an older man, he said: "I ought +not to have given way, perhaps; but the truth is, I'm not accustomed +to hear such things at home. I did not know until I got close to him +that he had been drinking, or I might have let it pass. I suppose this +kind of talk may always go on in the smoking-room of these steamers. I +don't know, for it's my first trip abroad, and on the way out I was +too ill to leave my berth. To-night is the first time I've been in +here. It was bad for me, I suppose. I've been ill all"---- + +He stopped suddenly, caught his breath quickly, and his hand fell from +my knee. For a moment he sat leaning forward, breathing heavily. + +I sprang up, thinking he was about to faint. The baron started for a +glass of water. The old man raised his hand. + +"No, don't be alarmed, gentlemen; it is nothing. I am subject to these +attacks; it will pass off in a moment," and he glanced around the room +as if to assure himself that no one but ourselves had noticed it. + +"The excitement was too much for you," the Doctor said gravely, in an +undertone. His trained eye had caught the peculiar pallor of the face. +"You must not excite yourself so." + +"Yes, I know,--the heart," he said after a pause, speaking with short, +indrawn breaths, and straightening himself slowly and painfully until +he had regained his old erect position. After a little while he put +his hand again on my knee, with an added graciousness in his manner, +as if in apology for the shock he had given me. "It's passing +off,--yes, I'm better now." Then, in a more cheerful tone, as if to +change the subject, he added: "My steward tells me that we made four +hundred and fifty-two miles yesterday. This makes my little girl +happy. She's had an anxious summer, and I'm glad this part of it is +over. Yes, she's _very_ happy to-day." + +"You mean on account of your health?" I asked sympathetically; +although I remembered afterward that I had not caught his meaning. + +"Well, not so much that, for that can never be any better, but on +account of our being so near home,--only two days more. I couldn't +bear to leave her alone on ship-board, but it's all right now. You +see, there are only two of us since her mother died." His voice fell, +and for the first time I saw a shade of sadness cross his face. The +Doctor saw it too, for there was a slight quaver in his voice when he +said, as he rose, that his stateroom was No. 13, and he would be happy +to be called upon at any time, day or night, whenever he could be of +service; then he resumed his former seat under the light, and +apparently his pamphlet, although I could see his eyes were constantly +fixed on the pallid face. + +The baron and I kept our seats, and I ordered three of something from +Fritz, as further excuse for tarrying beside the invalid. I wanted to +know something more of a man who was willing to fight the universe +with one arm in defense of his country's good name, though I was still +in the dark as to what had been the provocation. All I could gather +from the young baron, in his broken English, was that the Englishman +had maligned the motives of our government in helping the Cubans, and +that the old man had flamed out, astounding the room with the power of +his invective and thorough mastery of the subject, and compelling +their admiration by the genuineness of his outburst. + +"I see you have lost your arm," I began, hoping to get some further +facts regarding himself. + +"Yes, some years ago," he answered simply, but with a tone that +implied he did not care to discuss either the cause or the incidents +connected with its loss. + +"An accident?" I asked. The empty sleeve seemed suddenly to have a +peculiar fascination for me. + +"Yes, partly," and, smiling gravely, he rose from his seat, saying +that he must rejoin his daughter, who might be worrying. He bade the +occupants of the room good-night, many of whom, including the baron +and the Doctor, rose to their feet,--the baron saluting, and following +the old man out, as if he had been his superior officer. + +With the closing of the smoking-room door, P. Wooverman Shaw Todd, +Esquire, roused himself from his chair, walked toward the Doctor, and +sat down beside him. + +"Well! I must say that I'm glad that man's gone!" he burst out. "I +have never seen anything more outrageous than this whole performance. +This fire eater ought to travel about with a guardian. Suppose, now, +my dear Doctor, that everybody went about with these absurd +ideas,--what a place the world would be to live in! This is the worst +American I have met yet. And see what an example; even the young baron +lost his head, I am sorry to say. I heard the young Englishman's +remark. It was, I admit, indiscreet, but no part of it was addressed +to this very peculiar person; and it is just like that kind of an +American, full of bombast and bluster, to feel offended. Besides, +every word the young man said was true. There is a great deal of +politics in this Cuban business,--you know it, and I know it. We have +no men trained for colonial life, and we never shall have, so long as +our better class keep aloof from politics. The island will be made a +camping-ground for vulgar politicians--no question about it. Think, +now, of sending that firebrand among those people. You can see by his +very appearance that he has never done anything better than astonish +the loungers about a country stove. As for all this fuss about his +empty sleeve, no doubt some other fire eater put a bullet through it +in defense of what such kind of people call their honor. It is too +farcical for words, my dear Doctor,--too farcical for words," and P. +Wooverman Shaw Todd, Esquire, pulled his steamer cap over his eyes, +jumped to his feet, and stalked out of the room. + +The Doctor looked after Todd until he had disappeared. Then he turned +to his pamphlet again. There was evidently no composite, explosive +epithet deadly enough within reach at the moment, or there is not the +slightest doubt in my mind that he would have demolished Todd with it. + +Todd's departure made another vacancy at our table, and a tall man, +who had applauded the loudest at the apology of the Englishman, +dropped into Todd's empty chair, addressing the Doctor as representing +our party. + +"I suppose you know who the old man is, don't you?" + +"No." + +"That's John Stedman, manager of the Union Iron Works of Parkinton, a +manufacturing town in my State. He's one of the best iron men in the +country. Fine old fellow, isn't he? He's been ill ever since his wife +died, and I don't think he'll ever get over it. She had been sick for +years, and he nursed her day and night. He wouldn't go to Congress, +preferring to stay by her, and it almost broke his heart when she +died. Poor old man,--don't look as if he was long for this world. I +expected him to mop up the floor with that Englishman, sick as he is; +and he would, if he hadn't apologized. I heard, too, what your friend +who has just gone out said about Stedman not being the kind of a man +to send to Cuba. I tell you, they might look the country over, and +they couldn't find a better. That's been his strong hold, +straightening out troubles of one kind or another. Everybody believes +in him, and anybody takes his word. He's done a power of good in our +State." + +"In what way?" asked the Doctor. + +"Oh, in settling strikes, for one thing. You see, he started from the +scrap pile, and he knows the laboring man down to a dot, for he +carried a dinner pail himself for ten years of his life. When the men +are imposed upon he stands by 'em, and compels the manufacturers to +deal square; and if they don't, he joins the men and fights it out +with the bosses. If the men are wrong, and want what the furnaces +can't give 'em,--and there's been a good deal of that lately,--he +sails into the gangs, and, if nothing else will do, he gets a gun and +joins the sheriffs. He was all through that last strike we had, three +years ago, and it would be going on now but for John Stedman." + +"But he seems to be a man of fine education," interrupted the Doctor, +who was listening attentively. + +"Yes, so he is,--learned it all at night schools. When he was a boy he +used to fire the kilns, and they say you could always find him with a +spelling-book in one hand and a chunk of wood in the other, reading +nights by the light of the kiln fires." + +"You say he went to Congress?" The Doctor's eyes were now fixed on the +speaker. + +"No, I said he _would_n't go. His wife was taken sick about that +time, and when he found she wasn't going to get well,--she had lung +trouble,--he told the committee that he wouldn't accept the +nomination; and of course nomination meant election for him. He told +'em his wife had stuck by him all her life, had washed his flannel +shirts for him and cooked his dinner, and that he was going to stick +by her now she was down. But I tell you what he did do: he stumped +the district for his opponent, because he said he was a better man +than his own party put up,--and elected him, too. That was just like +John Stedman. The heelers were pretty savage, but that made no +difference to him. + +"He's never recovered from his wife's death. That daughter with him is +the only child he's got. She's been so afraid he'd die on board and +have to be buried at sea that he's kept his berth just to please her. +The doctor at home told him Carlsbad was his only chance, and the +daughter begged so he made the trip. He was so sick when he went out +that he took a coffin with him,--it's in the hold now. I heard him +tell his daughter this morning that it was all right now, and he +thought he'd get up. You see, there are only two days more, and the +captain promised the daughter not to bury her father at sea when we +were that close to land. Stedman smiled when he told me, but that's +just like him; he's always been cool as a cucumber." + +"How did he lose his arm?" I inquired. I had been strangely absorbed +in what he had told me. "In the war?" + +"No. He served two years, but that's not how he lost his arm. He lost +it saving the lives of some of his men. I happened to be up at +Parkinton at the time, buying some coke, and I saw him carried out. It +was about ten years ago. He had invented a new furnace; 'most all the +new wrinkles they've got at the Union Company Stedman made for 'em. +When they got ready to draw the charge,--that's when the red-hot iron +is about to flow out of the furnace, you know, the outlet got clogged. +That's a bad thing to happen to a furnace; for if a chill should set +in, the whole plant would be ruined. Then, again, it might explode and +tear everything to pieces. Some of the men jumped into the pit with +their crowbars, and began to jab away at the opening in the wrong +place, and the metal started with a rush. Stedman hollered to 'em to +stop; but they either didn't hear him or wouldn't mind. Then he jumped +in among them, threw them out of the way, grabbed a crowbar, and +fought the flow until they all got out safe. But the hot metal had +about cooked his arm clear to the elbow before he let go." + +The Doctor, with hands deep in his pockets, began pacing the floor. +Then he stopped, and, looking down at me, said slowly, pointing off +his fingers one after the other to keep count as he talked:-- + +"Tender and loyal to his wife--thoughtful of his child--facing death +like a hero--a soldier and patriot. What is there in the make-up of a +gentleman that this man hasn't got? + +"Come! Let's go out and find that high-collared, silk-stockinged, +sweet-scented Anglomaniac from Salem! By the Eternal, Todd's got to +apologize!" + + + + +"TINCTER OV IRON" + + +It was in an old town in Connecticut. Marbles kept the shop. "Joseph +Marbles, Shipwright and Blacksmith," the sign read. + +I knew Joe. He had repaired one of the lighters used in carrying +materials for the foundation of the lighthouse I was building. The +town lay in the barren end of the State, where they raised rocks +enough to make four stone fences to the acre. Joe always looked to me +as if he had lived off the crop. The diet never affected his temper +nor hardened his heart, so far as I could see. It was his body, his +long, lean, lank body, that suggested the stone diet. + +In his early days Joe had married a helpmate. She had lasted until the +beginning of the third year, and then she had been carried to the +cemetery on the hill, and another stone, and a new one, added to the +general assortment. This matrimonial episode was his last. + +This wife was a constant topic with Marbles. He would never speak of +her as a part of his life, one who had shared his bed and board, and +therefore entitled to his love and reverent remembrance. It was rather +as an appendage to his household, a curiosity, a natural freak, as one +would discuss the habits of a chimpanzee, and with a certain pity, +too, for the poor creature whom he had housed, fed, poked at, humored, +and then buried. + +And yet with it all I could always see that nothing else in his life +had made so profound an impression upon him as the companionship of +this "poor creeter," and that underneath his sparsely covered ribs +there still glowed a spot for the woman who had given him her youth. + +He would say, "It wuz one ov them days when she wouldn't eat, or it +was kind o' cur'us to watch her go on when she had one ov them +tantrums." Sometimes he would recount some joke he had played upon +her, rubbing his ribs in glee--holding his sides would have been a +superfluous act and the statement here erroneous. + +"That wuz when she fust come, yer know," he said to me one day, +leaning against an old boat, his adze in his hand. "Her folks belonged +over to Westerly. I never had seen much ov wimmen, and didn't know +their ways. But I tell yer she wuz a queer 'un, allers imaginin' she +wuz ailin', er had heart disease when she got out er breath runnin' +upstairs, er as'mer, er lumbago, er somethin' else dreadful. She wuz +the cur'usest critter too to take medicin' ye ever see. She never +ailed none really 'cept when she broke her coller bone a-fallin' +downstairs, and in the last sickness, the one that killed her, but she +believed all the time she wuz, which was wuss. Every time the druggist +would git out a new red card and stick it in his winder, with a cure +fer cold, or chilblains, er croup, er e'sipelas, she'd go and buy it, +an' out 'd cum ther cork, and she a-tastin' ov it 'fore she got hum. +She used ter rub herself with St. Jiminy's intment, and soak her feet +in sea-salt, and cover herself with plasters till yer couldn't rest. +Why, ther cum a feller once who painted a yaller sign on ther whole +side ov Buckley's barn--cure fer spiral meningeetius,--and she wuz +nigh crazy till she had found out where ther pain ought ter be, and +had clapped er plaster on her back and front, persuadin' herself she +had it. That's how she bruk her coller bone, a-runnin' fer hot water +to soak 'em off, they burnt so, and stumblin' over a kit ov tools I +had brung hum to do a job around the house. After this she begun ter +run down so, and git so thin and peaked, I begun to think she really +wuz goin' ter be sick, after all, jest fer a change. + +"When ther doctor come he sed it warn't nothin' but druggist's truck +that ailed her, and he throwed what there wuz out er ther winder, and +give her a tonic--Tincter ov Iron he called it. Well, yer never see a +woman hug a thing as she did that bottle. It was a spoonful three +times a day, and then she'd reach out fer it in ther night, vowin' it +was doin' her a heap er good, and I a-gettin' ther bottle filled at +Sarcy's ther druggist's, and payin' fifty cents every time he put er +new cork in it. I tried ter reason with her, but it warn't no use; she +would have it, and if she could have got outer bed and looked round at +the spring crop of advertisements on ther fences, she would hev struck +somethin' worse. So I let her run on until she tuk about seven +dollars' wuth of Tincter, and then I dropped in ter Sarcy's. 'Sarcy,' +sez I, 'can't ye wholesale this, er sell it by the quart? If the ole +woman's coller bone don't get ter runnin' easy purty soon I'll be +broke.' + +"'Well,' he said, 'if I bought a dozen it might come cheaper, but it +wuz a mighty pertic'ler medicine, and had ter be fixed jest so.' + +"''Taint pizen, is it?' I sez, 'thet's got ter be fixed so all-fired +kerful?' He 'lowed it warn't, and thet ye might take er barrel of it +and it wouldn't kill yer, but all ther same it has ter be made mighty +pertic'ler. + +"'Well, iron's cheap enough,' I sez, 'and strengthenin' too. If it's +ther Tincter thet costs so, don't put so much in.' Well, he laffed, +and said ther warn't no real iron in it, only Tincter, kinder iron +soakage like, same es er drawin' ov tea. + +"Goin' home thet night I got ter thinkin'. I'd been round iron all my +life and knowed its ways, but I hadn't struck no Tincter as I knowed +ov. When she fell asleep I poured out a leetle in another bottle and +slid it in my trousers pocket, an' next day, down ter ther shop, I +tasted ov it and held it up ter ther light. It was kind er persimmony +and dark-lookin', ez if it had rusty nails in it; and so thet night +when I goes hum I sez ter her, 'Down ter ther other druggist's I kin +git twice as much Tincter fer fifty cents as I kin at Sarcy's, and if +yer don't mind I'll git it filled there.' Well, she never kicked a +stroke, 'cept to say I'd better hurry, fer she hadn't had a spoonful +sence daylight, and she wuz beginnin' ter feel faint. When the whistle +blew I cum hum ter dinner, and sot the new bottle, about twice as big +as the other one, beside her bed. + +"'How's that?' I sez. 'It's a leetle grain darker and more muddy like, +but the new druggist sez thet's the Tincter, and thet's what's doin' +ov yer good.' Well, she never suspicioned; jest kept on, night and +day, wrappin' herself round it every two er three hours, I gettin' it +filled regerlar and she a-empt'in' ov it. + +"'Bout four weeks arter that she begun to git around, and then she'd +walk out ez fur ez ther shipyard fence, and then, begosh, she begun to +flesh up so as you wouldn't know her. Now an' then she'd meet the +doctor, and she'd say how she'd never a-lived but fer ther Tincter, +and he'd laff and drive on. When she got real peart I brought her down +to the shop one day, and I shows her an old paint keg thet I kep' +rusty bolts in, and half full ov water. + +"'Smell that,' I sez, and she smells it and cocks her eye. + +"'Taste it,' I sez, and she tasted it, and give me a look. Then I dips +a spoonful out in a glass, and I sez: 'It's most time to take yer +medicine. I kin beat Gus Sarcy all holler makin' Tincter; every drop +yer drunk fer a month come out er thet keg.'" + + + + +"FIVE MEALS FOR A DOLLAR" + + +The Literary Society of West Norrington, Vt., had invited me to +lecture on a certain Tuesday night in February. + +The Tuesday night had arrived. So had the train. So had the +knock-kneed, bandy-legged hack--two front wheels bowed in, two hind +wheels bowed out--and so had the lecturer. + +West Norrington is built on a hill. At the foot are the station, a +saw-mill, and a glue factory. On the top is a flat plateau holding the +principal residences, printing-office, opera-house, confectionery +store, druggist's, and hotel. Up the incline is a scattering of +cigar-stores, butcher shops, real-estate agencies, and one lone +restaurant. You know it is a restaurant by the pile of extra-dry +oyster-shells in the window--oysterless for months--and the four +oranges bunched together in a wire basket like a nest of pool balls. +You know it also from the sign-- + +"Five meals for a dollar." + +I saw this sign on my way up the hill, but it made no impression on my +mind. I was bound for the hotel--the West Norrington Arms, the +conductor called it; and as I had eaten nothing since seven o'clock, +and it was then four, I was absorbed mentally in arranging a bill of +fare. Broiled chicken, of course, I said to myself--always get +delicious broiled chicken in the country--and a salad, and +perhaps--you can't always tell, of course, what the cellars of these +old New England taverns may contain--yes, perhaps a pint of any really +good Burgundy, Pommard, or Beaune. + +"West Norrington Arms" sounded well. There was a distinct flavor of +exclusiveness and comfort about it, suggesting old side-boards, +hand-polished tables, small bar with cut-glass decanters, Franklin +stoves in the bedrooms, and the like. I could already see the luncheon +served in my room, the bright wood fire lighting up the dimity +curtains draping the high-post bedstead. Yes, I would order Pommard. + +Here the front knees came together with a jerk. Then the driver pulled +his legs out of a buffalo-robe, opened the door with a twist, and +called out,-- + +"Nor'n't'n Arms." + +I got out. + +The first glance was not reassuring. It was perhaps more Greek than +Colonial or Early English or Late Dutch. Four high wooden boxes, +painted brown, were set up on end--Doric columns these--supporting a +pediment of like material and color. Half-way up these supports hung a +balcony, where the Fourth of July orator always stands when he +addresses his fellow citizens. Old, of course, I said to myself--early +part of this century. Not exactly moss-covered and inn-like, as I +expected to find, but inside it's all right. + +"Please take in that bag and fur overcoat." This to the driver, in a +cheery tone. + +The clerk was leaning over the counter, chewing a toothpick. Evidently +he took me for a drummer, for he stowed the bag behind the desk, and +hung the overcoat up on a nail in a side room opening out of the +office, and within reach of his eye. + +When I registered my name it made no perceptible change in his manner. +He said, "Want supper?" with a tone in his voice that convinced me he +had not heard a word of the Event which brought me to West +Norrington--I being the Event. + +"No, not now. I would like you to send to my room in half an hour a +broiled chicken, some celery, and any vegetable which you can get +ready--and be good enough to put a pint of Burgundy"---- + +I didn't get any further. Something in his manner attracted me. I had +not looked at him with any degree of interest before. He had been +merely a medium for trunk check, room key, and ice water--nothing +more. + +Now I did. I saw a young man--a mean-looking young man--with a narrow, +squeezed face, two flat glass eyes sewed in with red cotton, and a +disastrous complexion. His hair was brushed like a barber's, with a +scooping curl over the forehead; his neck was long and thin--so long +that his apple looked over his collar's edge. This collar ran down to +a white shirt decorated with a gold pin, the whole terminating in a +low-cut velvet vest. + +"Supper at seven," he said. + +This, too, came with a jerk. + +"Yes, I know, but I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and don't +want to wait until"---- + +"Ain't nuthin' cooked 'tween meals. Supper at seven." + +"Can't I get"---- + +"Yer can't get nuthin' until supper-time, and yer won't get no +Burgundy then. Yer couldn't get a bottle in Norrington with a club. +This town's prohibition. Want a room?" This last word was almost +shouted in my ear. + +"Yes--one with a wood fire." I kept my temper. + +"Front!"--this to a boy half asleep on a bench. "Take this bag to No. +37, and turn on the steam. Your turn next"--and he handed the pen to a +fresh arrival, who had walked up from the train. + +No. 37 contained a full set of Michigan furniture, including a patent +wash-stand that folded up to look like a bookcase, smelt slightly of +varnish, and was as hot as a Pullman sleeper. + +I threw up all the windows; came down and tackled the clerk again. + +"Is there a restaurant near by?" + +"Next block above. Nichols." + +He never looked up--just kept on chewing the toothpick. + +"Is there another hotel here?" + +Even a worm will turn. + +"No." + +That settled it. I didn't know any inhabitant--not even a +committeeman. It was the West Norrington Arms or the street. + +So I started for Nichols. By that time I could have eaten the shingles +off the church. + +Nichols proved to be a one-and-a-half-story house with a glass door, a +calico curtain, and a jingle bell. Inside was a cake shop, presided +over by a thin woman in a gingham dress and black lace cap and wig. In +the rear stood a marble-top table with iron legs. This made it a +restaurant. + +"Can you get me something to eat? Steak, ham and eggs--anything?" I +had fallen in my desires. + +She looked me all over. "Well, I'm 'mazin' sorry, but I guess you'll +have to excuse us; we're just bakin', and this is our busy day. +S'mother time we should like to, but to-day"---- + +I closed the door and was in the street again. I had no time for +lengthy discussions that didn't lead to something tangible and +eatable. + +"Alone in London," I said to myself. "Lost in New York. Adrift in West +Norrington. Plenty of money to buy, and nobody to sell. Everybody +going about their business with full stomachs, happy, contented,--all +with homes, and firesides, and ice chests, and things hanging to +cellar rafters, hams and such like, and I a wanderer and hungry, an +outcast, a tramp." + +Then I thought some citizen might take me in. She was a rather +amiable-looking old lady, with a kind, motherly face. + +"Madam!" This time I took off my hat. Ah, the common law of hunger +brings you down and humbles your pride. "Do you live here, madam?" + +"Why, yes, sir," edging to the sidewalk. + +"Madam, I am a stranger here, and very hungry. It's baking-day at +Nichols. Do you know where I can get anything to eat?" + +"Well, no, I can't rightly say," still eyeing me suspiciously. +"Hungry, be ye? Well, that's too bad, and Nichols baking." + +I corroborated all these statements, standing bare-headed, a wild idea +running through my head that her heart would soften and she would take +me home and set me down in a big chintz-covered rocking chair, near +the geraniums in the windows, and have her daughter--a nice, fresh, +rosy-cheeked girl in an apron--go out into the buttery and bring in +white cheese, and big slices of bread, and some milk, and preserves, +and a---- But the picture was never completed. + +"Well," she said slowly, "if Nichols is baking, I guess ye'll hev to +wait till suppertime." + +Then like a sail to a drowning man there rose before me the sign down +the hill near the station, "Five meals for a dollar." + +I had the money. I had the appetite. I would eat them all at once, and +_now_. + +In five minutes I was abreast of the extra-dry oyster-shells and the +pool balls. Then I pushed open the door. + +Inside there was a long room, bare of everything but a wooden counter, +upon which stood a glass case filled with cigars; behind this was a +row of shelves with jars of candy, and level with the lower shelf my +eye caught a slouch hat. The hat covered the head of the proprietor. +He was sitting on a stool, sorting out chewing-gum. + +"Can I get something to eat?" + +The hat rose until it stood six feet in the air, surmounting a round, +good-natured face, ending in a chin whisker. + +"Cert. What'll yer hev?" + +Here at last was peace and comfort and food and things! I could hardly +restrain myself. + +"Anything. Steak, fried potatoes--what have you got?" + +"Waal, I dunno. 'Tain't time yit for supper, but we kin fix ye +somehow. Lemme see." + +Then he pushed back a curtain that screened one half of the room, +disclosing three square tables with white cloths and casters, and +disappeared through a rear door. + +"We got a steak," he said, dividing the curtains again, "but the +potatoes is out." + +"Any celery?" + +"No. Guess can git ye some 'cross to ther grocery. Won't take a +minit." + +"All right. Could you"--and I lowered my voice--"could you get me a +bottle of beer?" + +"Yes--if you got a doctor's prescription." + +"Could _you_ write one?" I asked nervously. + +"I'll try." And he laughed. + +In two minutes he was back, carrying four bunches of celery and a +paper box marked "Paraffine candles." + +"What preserves have you?" + +"Waal, any kind." + +"Raspberry jam, or apricots?" I inquired, my spirits rising. + +"We ain't got no rusberry, but we got peaches." + +"Anything else?" + +"Waal, no; come ter look 'em over, just peaches." + +So he added a can to the celery and candles, and carried the whole to +the rear. + +While he was gone I leaned over the cigar-case and examined the stock. +One box labeled "Bouquet" attracted my eye; each cigar had a little +paper band around its middle. I remembered the name, and determined to +smoke one after dinner if it took my last cent. + +Then a third person took a hand in the feast. This was the hired girl, +who came in with a tray. She wore an alpaca dress and a disgusted +expression. It was evident that she resented my hunger as a personal +affront--stopping everything to get supper two hours ahead of time! +She didn't say this aloud, but I knew it all the same. + +Then more tray, with a covered dish the size of a soap-cup, a few +sprigs of celery out of the four bunches, and a preserve-dish, about +the size of a butter pat, containing four pieces of peach swimming in +their own juice. + +In the soap-dish lay the steak. It was four inches in diameter and a +quarter of an inch thick. I opened the paraffine candles, poured out +half a glass, and demolished the celery and peaches. I didn't want to +muss up the steak. I was afraid I might bend it, and spoil it for some +one else. + +Then an idea struck me: "Could she poach me some eggs?" + +She supposed she could, if she could find the eggs; most everything +was locked up this time of day. + +I waited, and spread the mustard on the dry bread, and had more +peaches and paraffine. When the eggs came they excited my sympathies. +They were such innocent-looking things--pinched and shriveled up, as +if they had fainted at sight of the hot water and died in great agony. +The toast, too, on which they were coffined, had a cremated look. Even +the hired girl saw this. She said it was a "leetle mite too much +browned; she'd forgot it watchin' the eggs." + +Here the street door opened, and a young woman entered and asked for +two papers of chewing-gum. + +She got them, but not until the proprietor had shot together the +curtains screening off the candy store from the restaurant. The +dignity and exclusiveness of the establishment required this. + +When she was gone I poured out the rest of the paraffine, and called +out through the closed curtains for a cigar. + +"One of them bo-kets?" came the proprietor's voice in response. + +"Yes, one of them." + +He brought it himself, in his hand, just as it was, holding the mouth +end between the thumb and forefinger. + +"And now how much?" + +He made a rapid accounting, overlooking the table, his eyes lighting +on the several fragments: "Beer, ten cents; steak, ten; peaches, five; +celery, three; eggs on toast, ten; one bo-ket, four." Then he paused a +moment, as if he wanted to be entirely fair and square, and said, +"Forty-two cents." + +[Illustration: "FORTY-TWO CENTS"] + +When I reached the hotel, a man who said he was the proprietor came to +my room. He was a sad man with tears in his voice. + +"You're comin' to supper, ain't ye? It'll be the last time. It's a +kind o' mournful occasion, but I like to have ye." + +It was now my turn. + +"No, I'm not coming to supper. You drove me out of here half starving +into the street two hours ago. I couldn't get anything to eat at +Nichols, and so I had to go down the hill to a place near the +saw-mill, where I got the most infernal"---- + +He stopped me with a look of real anxiety. + +"Not the five-meals-for-a-dollar place?" + +"Yes." + +"And you swallowed it?" + +"Certainly--poached eggs, peaches, and a lot of things." + +"No," he said reflectively, looking at me curiously. "_You_ don't +want no supper--prob'bility is you won't want no breakfast, either. +You'd better eaten the saw-mill--it would 'er set lighter. If I'd +known who you were I'd tried"---- + +"But I told the clerk," I broke in. + +"What clerk?" he interrupted in an astonished tone. + +"Why, the clerk at the desk, where I registered--that long-necked +crane with red eyes." + +"He ain't no clerk; we ain't had one for a week. Don't you know what's +goin' on? Ain't you read the bills? Step out into the hall--there's +one posted up right in front of you. 'Sheriff's sale; all the stock +and fixtures of the Norrington Arms to be sold on Wednesday +morning'--that's to-morrow--'by order of the Court.' You can read the +rest yourself; print's too fine for me. That fellow you call a crane +is a deputy sheriff. He's takin' charge, while we eat up what's in the +house." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other Fellow, by F. 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