JEFFERSON.
Bart has come well nigh breaking down on my hands two or three times.
I find him unmanageable. He is pitched too high and tuned too nicely
for common life; and I am only too glad to get him off out of Newbury,
to care much how he went. To say, however, that he went off cheerful
and happy, would do the poor fellow injustice. He did his best to show
himself that it was all right. But something arose and whispered that
it was all wrong. Of course Julia and her love were not for him, and
yet in his heart a cry for her would make itself heard.
Didn't he go voluntarily, because he would? Who was to blame? Yet he
despised himself as a huge baby, because there was a half conscious
feeling of self-pity, a consciousness of injustice, of being beaten.
Then he was lame from, over-exertion, and his heart was sore, and he
had to leave his mother and Ed and George. Would it have been better
to remain a day or two and meet Julia? He felt that he would certainly
break down in her presence, and he had started, and shut her forever
out. If she did not stay shut out it would be her own fault. And that
was logical.
He got into the stage, and had the front seat, with wide soft
cushions, to himself, and drawing his large camlet cloak about him, he
would rest and sleep.
Not a bit of it. On the back seat was an old lady and a young one
with her; and a man on the middle seat. At Parkers, where they changed
horses, they had heard all about it, and had it all delightfully
jumbled up. Barton Markham had rescued Miss Ridgeley from a gang of
wolves, which had driven her into the Chagrin River, which froze over,
etc., but it had all ended happily, and the wedding-day was fixed.
Miss Ridgeley was a lovely girl, but poor; and Bart was a hero, whom
the ladies would be glad to see.
The old lady asked Bart if he knew the parties.
"Yes." And he straightened out the tangle of names.
"Was Julia a beauty?"
"Decidedly."
"And Bart?"
Well, he didn't think much of Bart and didn't want to speak of him.
He thought the performance no great shakes, etc. The ladies were
offended.
"No matter, Julia would marry him?"
"She would never think of it."
At Hiccox's somebody recognized Bart and told the old lady who he was.
"Oh, dear!" He wished he had walked to Jefferson and had a good mind
to get out.
A few years ago, when Jefferson had become famous throughout the
United States as the residence of two men, a stranger, who met Senator
Wade, "old Ben," somewhere East, asked him what were the special
advantages of Jefferson. "Political," was the dry response.
Those privileges were not apparent to Bart, as he looked over the
little mud-beleaguered town of two or three hundred inhabitants, with
its two taverns, Court House, two or three churches, and half a dozen
stores and shops, and the high, narrow wooden sidewalks, mere foot
bridges, rising high above the quaggy, tenacious mud, that would
otherwise have forbidden all communication. The town was built on a
low level plain, every part of which, to Bart's eye, seemed a foot or
two lower and more depressed than every other.
In fact, his two days and two nights wallow in the mud, from Newbury
to Jefferson, had a rather depressing effect on a mind a little below
par when he started; and he was inclined to depressing views.
Bart was not one to be easily beaten, or stay beaten, unless when he
abandoned the field; and the battle at Jefferson was to be fought out.
Lord! how far away were Newbury and all the events of three days ago.
There was one that was not inclined to vacate, but Bart was resolute.
It was dark, and he would shut his eyes and push straight forward till
light came.
This, then, was the place where Henry had lived, and which he had
learned to like. He would like it too. He inquired the way, and soon
stood in front of a one-story wooden building, painted white, lettered
"Wade & Ranney, Attorneys at Law." The door was a little ajar and Bart
pushed it open and entered a largeish, dingy, soiled room, filled
with book-cases, tables and chairs, with a generally crumpled and
disarranged appearance; in the rear of which was its counterpart. A
slender, white-haired, very young looking man, and another of large
and heavy mould occupied the front room, while in the rear sat a
third, with his feet on the table. Bart looked around and bowing to
each: "I see Mr. Ranney is not in;" and with another glance around, "I
presume Mr. Wade is not?"
"No. Both would be in during the evening."
"I am Bart Ridgeley," he said. "You may remember my brother Henry?"
"How are you, Bart? We know you, but did not at first recognize you,"
said white-hair frankly. "My name is Case,--this is Ransom, and there
is Kennedy. We all knew your brother and liked him."
Bart shook hands with, and looked at, each. Case had small but marked
features--was too light, but his eyes redeemed his face; and his
features improved on acquaintance. Ransom was twenty-seven or
twenty-eight, of heavy build, dark, and with a quick, sharp eye, and
jerky positive way. Kennedy was sandy--hair, face, eyebrows and skin,
with good eyes.
"I think we shall like you, Bart," said Case, who had examined him.
"I hope you will; it must be very pleasant to be liked," said Bart
vivaciously. "I've never tried it much."
"There is one thing I observe," continued Case, "that won't suit
Ransom--that way of taking off your hat when you came in."
"Oh!" said Bart, laughing, "I'm imitative, with a tendency to improve;
and shall doubtless find good models."
"Don't mind Case," said Ransom; "he's of no account. Just come in?"
"Yes."
"How do you like our town?"
"Very well. There seems to be a little confusion of dry land and sea."
"You see, Mr. Ridgeley," said Case, "that the dry land and sea never
were separated here. The man that had the job failed, and nobody else
would ever undertake it. I think, Mr. Ridgeley," after a pause, "I
had better tell who and what we are, as we shall be together for some
time. This is Ransom--B. Ransom. His temperament is intellectual--I
may say, brainy. That B. stands for brains emphatically, being the
whole of them. He is rather a matter of fact than a conclusion of law,
and were you to apply a rule of law to him, although matter of fact,
he would be found to be immaterial, and might be wholly rejected as
surplusage. He's rather scriptural, also, and takes mostly to the
prophets, Jonadab, Meshac, and those revered worthies. He's highly
moral, and goes for light reading to the elder Scriptures, drawing
largely upon Tamar and Rachel and Leah, and the pure young daughters
of Lot. Ruth is too tame for him. He was the inventor of our 'moral
reform' sidewalks, on which, as you see, no young man can walk beside
a maiden. The effect on morals is salubrious."
"Case! Case!" protested Ransom.
"As for law, he goes into a law book as a mite goes through a cheese,
head on, and with about--"
"Case! Case! Case!" broke in Ransom again, "hold up your infernal
gabble."
"I know the importance of first impressions," said Case, with gravity,
"and I want you should start favorably; and if you don't come up
to my eulogium, something will be pardoned to the partiality of
friendship."
"Yes, yes! partiality of friendship!" said Ransom, excitedly; and
turning to Bart, "he is a Case, as you see; but if a man should go
into Court with such a Case, he would be non-suited; he isn't even
_prima facie_."
"Good!" exclaimed Kennedy.
"Ransom, you are inspired; flattery does you good."
"Go on!" said Case; "don't interrupt him, he'll never get such
another start."
"He's a poetic cuss," continued Ransom, "and writes verses for the
Painesville papers, and signs them "C.," though I've never been
able to see anything in them. He's strong on Byron, and though
he's--he's--" and he stopped in excessive excitement.
"There you're out, Ransom," said Case, "and that is by far the ablest
as well as the longest speech you ever made. If you had let me go on
and fully open out your excellencies, you might have completed the
last sentence. Now, Kennedy here--" resumed Case.
"Spare me!" said Kennedy, laughing; "give Ridgeley a chance to find
out my strong points, if you please."
"Now, Case," said Ransom, reflectively, "Case is not a bad fellow,
considering that he is good for nothing, and a smart fellow for one
who knows nothing, and you will like him. He's a little stiffish, and
devotes himself mostly to young ladies."
"Thank you," said Case.
Bart was amused at these free sketches, especially as none but good
feeling prevailed, and remarked, "that it was fortunate for him that
no acquaintance of his was present, who could do him justice."
He walked up to the large and well-filled book-cases, and mused about.
"My brother wrote and told me so much of all this that I thought I was
familiar with it," he said at last.
"He used to sit in that corner, by the table, with his back to the
window," said Kennedy, pointing to a place in the back room, which
Bart approached. "He was usually the first here in the morning and the
last to go at night, and then often took a book with him."
"We liked him very much," said Ransom, "and we forwarded to you a set
of resolutions on hearing of his death."
"I received them," replied Bart, "and if I did not acknowledge it, I
owe you an apology."
"You did, to Ranney," said Case.
The memory of his brother, who had read and worked, talked and
laughed, mused and hoped in that little nook, came up very fresh to
Barton.
Case proposed that they take a stroll, or a "string" as he called it,
about the village, and as they walked in single file on the narrow
sidewalks, the idea of "string" seemed to be realized. They went
into the Court House and up into the court-room, and down into the
Recorder's office, filled with books, and introduced Bart to Ben
Graylord, the Recorder, who showed him a record-book written by his
brother, every page of which sparkled with the beauty of the writing.
Then they went to the clerk's office of Col. Hendry, with its stuffed
pigeon-holes, and books, and into the sheriff's office, and to divers
other places.
Jefferson was about eleven or twelve miles from the lake, south of
Ashtabula. It was selected as the county seat, and at once became the
residence of the county officers, and of many wealthy and influential
citizens, but never became a place of much business, while Ashtabula
and Conneaut were already busy towns. Each lay at the mouth of a
considerable creek, whose names they respectively bore, and which
formed harbors for the lake commerce, and were both visited daily
by the steamers that run up and down Lake Erie. These facts were
communicated to Bart, as they walked about, and the residences of Mr.
Giddings, Judge Warren, Colonel Hendry, Mr. St. John, and others, were
pointed out to him.