A BRACE OF DUCKS
The very next morning after this talk Wyatt Jeffreys met Berkley
Matthews on the street just outside the Jackson House. "Hallo," cried
the latter. "Just have your note. I've been staying with John Emory,
and we've been off ducking so I didn't get my mail till this morning.
It certainly would be a good joke if I had captured your trunk. Suppose
you come and have a look at it, and if you identify it, of course you
shall have it without delay. Come up to my room."
As Mr. Jeffreys followed the springing step all suspicion fled. Once
in the room the trunk was easily recognized. "There were some papers,"
said Mr. Jeffreys.
"Oh, yes, they are over at my office. I had to get a locksmith to open
the trunk for me, and he had to put on a new lock, as you see. I took
out the clothing over here, sent the trunk across the way, dumped out
the papers in a valise without looking at them, and there they are. You
can get them any time."
"I'd like you to go over them with me when you have time, Matthews."
"Very well. Just now I am a little rushed, but we can take it up later
when I get this case through I am now at work upon. In the meantime I
will see that you get the trunk and the rest of the things. I'll try
to get them off this afternoon. I am certainly glad I happened to take
a fancy to your trunk, but what a queer coincidence it is. I never
associated it with you at all. Those initials, J. S. D. would have
misled me in any event. I told Miss Ri they stood for Judge Some Day,
and I think they are about the only part of the trunk I feel loth to
give up."
Mr. Jeffreys smiled. It was like a sentimental Southerner, he thought.
Then, after some discussion about cost of transportation and all that,
the matter was settled to the satisfaction of both.
With the delivery of the trunk came the ducks, not inside the trunk,
of course, for that contained everything which was in it at the time
of Berkley's first possession, everything except the papers. The trunk
was brought to Miss Parthy's by an old colored man picturesquely
antique both as regarded his costume and himself. Uncle Moke everyone
called him, his real name of Moses having fallen into disuse so long
before that no one remembered it. He was general factotum around
town and a trusty messenger. He had delivered his first charge at
Miss Parthy's door, and then was ready for Miss Ri. Nothing pleased
him more than such an errand. "Evenin' Miss Ri," said the old fellow
with many a bow and scrape, his ragged hat in his hand. "Mr. Berk
Matthews' compliments, Miss Ri, an' dese yer ducks, Miss. He say he
hopes yuh-alls have 'em fo' suppah, an' he be 'long 'bout seben fo' to
he'p yuh-alls eat 'em," the last with a little chuckle of pleasure at
delivering such a message.
"Very well, Uncle Moke," returned Miss Ri, taking the ducks. "Whether I
have them for supper or not is my look out, you tell Mr. Berk."
"Dey nice fat ducks," remarked Uncle Moke with the privilege of an old
acquaintance.
"I see they are."
"Yuh got some cu'ant jelly, is yuh, Miss Ri? Ef yuh ain't mah ole woman
got a little she kin spare yuh."
"I know Aunt Welcome's jelly is good, Uncle Moke, but I reckon I have
enough for some time to come. How is your wife?"
"She thes tollable, Miss Ri."
"And you?"
"I thes tollable. I has mis'ry in mah j'ints f'om de rheumatiz dese
col' days. I kin skeerce tote de rale heavy trunks. Dat one I thes now
taken to Miss Parthy's fo' de strange young man wa'n't de heavy kin'."
"Did you take a trunk to Miss Parthy's for Mr. Jeffreys?"
"Yas'm. Mr. Berk he done sont it f'om de hotel. Little weenchy trunk,
kinder old-fashion."
"Um-hm," said Miss Ri, nodding her head. "So that's done. Have you good
warm flannels, Uncle Moke?" Miss Ri looked him over, perceiving the
shabbiness of his attire, ragged shirt, threadbare trousers.
"I ain't had time to buy no winter flannins yet, Miss Ri," responded
the old man with a pride that forbade giving the real reason.
"Well, you stop by to-morrow," said Miss Ri. "I shouldn't in the least
wonder if there were some things in the house that you could wear, and
there is no use to buy anything when I'd be glad to get rid of some
underwear that I have on hand."
"Thanky, ma'am, thanky." The bowing and scraping were continued to a
degree. "I sholy is obleedged to yuh, Miss Ri. It save me a lot o'
bother. I nuvver was no han' at buyin' flannins, and Welky she don' git
about much."
Miss Ri watched him stiffly mount his creaking wagon drawn by a scrubby
mule, then she went in with the ducks. "Well," she announced, "here
they are at last. Don't let me forget, Verlinda, to hunt up some things
for Uncle Moke, and if I haven't anything I must buy some. The poor old
soul hasn't enough to keep him warm. I don't suppose he makes a great
deal these days, for the younger and stronger men are employed where
he used to be. He is not able to carry heavy burdens. By the way, the
trunk seems to have been delivered, too. Aren't you curious to hear the
report. Berk, the impudent boy, sent word he was coming over to help
eat the ducks, and wouldn't we please to have them for supper to-night.
Isn't that just like him? He does not deserve to be treated decently
after the way he has neglected us, but I suppose we shall have to be
nice to him as long as he has sent us the ducks." She went on to the
kitchen to see Phebe about supper of which she was ready enough to make
a true feast.
True to his promise, Berkley arrived promptly for supper. "You
renegade," cried Miss Ri. "We were beginning to think all manner of
evil about you."
"You were? I didn't expect that of you. What have I done?"
"You have neglected us abominably."
"It does look that way, but I really couldn't help it. I had a tough
week of it off with Judge Baker, and then to limber up my brain I took
a little outing with some of the boys. We all went down to John Emory's
little shack. Didn't I send you the first fruits of my chase? I hope
Unc' Moke understood he was to leave the ducks here, and that he didn't
take them to Miss Parthy's."
"They came safely enough, and our thanks are ready. We accept your
excuses since they seem moderately reasonable, don't we, Verlinda?"
She smiled her response and came forward to greet the young man.
"And how goes the school? Does the verse-making continue?" he asked
looking down with interest showing in his eyes.
"The school hasn't finished me yet, and the verses," she blushed a
little, "go spasmodically. I haven't sent out any more effusions."
"You must do it. Aren't we proud of her, Miss Ri? Oh, did you hear
that the trunk had been found, and that mine was the great mind that
happened to realize its value?"
"It was accident, pure accident," cried Miss Ri. "Your great mind had
nothing to do with it. You have sent it back to the owner?"
"Yes, worse luck. I wanted to keep it on account of the letters upon
it. Now I have nothing to cheer me in my despondent moments. It was
quite a fillip to my ambitions to see those letters. I don't know where
I shall get another mascot."
"What of the papers?" asked Linda.
"Oh, we haven't come to those yet; they are at my office, and there
they will stay till Jeffreys and I can look them over. Ducks ready?
Good! May I escort you, Miss Ri. Will you take my other arm, Linda?"
They marched solemnly to the dining-room. For some reason Berkley
was suddenly subdued and was so long in taking the initiative in the
carving of the ducks that Miss Ri spoke up. "Where are your thoughts,
Berk?" Then he picked up the wrong knife and fork in confusion and
laughed a little nervously.
But though the ducks were done to a turn, and everything was as it
should be, Berkley was distrait and ill at ease all the evening, though
he stayed quite as late as usual and went off with a jest.
The door had no sooner closed behind him than Miss Ri turned to Linda
to say. "I can't think what is the matter with Berk. Did it strike you
that he was embarrassed and unlike himself."
"I did think so, but put away the thought as coming from my own vain
imaginings. What do you suppose is the matter?"
"I should say it was one of two things; either he is in love or there
is something in those papers that is bothering him. I wonder if, after
all, it was his mother whom he was so eager to see in the city. I'm
beginning to get suspicious."
"But about the papers; what could be in them?"
"That is just what I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I have a
deal of thinking to do, Verlinda, my dear. Go to bed and let me puzzle
out a few things. Berk said he had seen Grace Talbot, didn't he?" Linda
paused, her foot on the stair. "Yes, he spoke of her, said she was
looking unusually well." Then a little laugh rippled out. "You don't
imagine he has fallen in love with Grace, do you?"
"Some men are fools enough to do anything," returned Miss Ri crossly.
"Then, of course, you don't get mad with such," vouchsafed Linda. Then
she turned, a slim graceful figure in trailing black, and came swiftly
up to Miss Ri. "You dear old thing," she said, "you mustn't get notions
in your head like that; it doesn't make any difference; nothing makes
very much difference. Suppose he should marry Grace, then I'd have
Talbot's Angles."
"And I'd lose you," returned Miss Ri ruefully. "Are you sleepy? No?
Come in then, and let's talk over people and things."
"Let's leave out Berkley and Grace."
"Very well, we'll talk of your new cousin. By the way, if Berk has
examined those papers he must know the relationship. Possibly that is
just what is the matter."
"I don't think so, besides, I had the impression that he had not looked
at them. But we weren't going to talk of Berk, you know. Tell me
plainly, what do you think of my new cousin?"
[Illustration: "YOU DON'T IMAGINE HE HAS FALLEN IN LOVE WITH GRACE, DO
YOU?"]
"I think he is an out and out Yankee. Clever enough in some directions,
rather whimsical, deadly afraid you will find out what he is thinking
about, frightfully cautious of showing his feelings, with a
conscience which worries him because his inclination isn't always
to follow it exactly, wherein he differs from another who follows
his impulses, and whose impulses are always generous ones. Your Mr.
Jeffreys sits down and pros and cons for hours. Someone, whose name we
don't mention, plunges out, impelled by an unselfish motive, and does
the thing that the other deliberates over. Yet I won't say the cousin
doesn't do fine honorable things once he makes up his mind it is right.
Very likely he rises to his heights by a different process, and doesn't
ever make the mistake of over zeal, of going at too brisk a pace like
the unmentioned sometimes does. What the latter does is with his whole
heart. I think he might almost perjure himself for one he loved; I know
he would cheerfully die in the same cause."
Linda, leaning with elbows on table, thoughtfully tapped one hand with
an ivory paper-cutter. "You are analytical, Aunt Ri, but probably you
are right. Yet, after all if a man, through evolutions of reasoning,
reaches a point where his conscience bids him do a noble deed, isn't
he just as much to be approved as he who rushes out, never asking for
reasons, and does a like noble thing? And isn't he more to be approved
than the man who sacrifices his integrity, or does a wrong thing for
love's sake?"
"Oh, yes, I don't doubt it though it depends largely upon one's view of
the case. For my part I admire the spontaneous, intrepid man more than
the deliberate one, but that is a matter of preference."
"Which do you think would be the easier to live with?" Linda balanced
the paper-cutter on the tips of her fingers. "Wouldn't the impetuous
man be more difficult, more trying, for the very reason of his
impetuosity?"
"Yes, but he'd be vastly more entertaining, to my mind, because of his
uncertainty."
"In perjuring himself, for example?"
"Oh, we needn't go so far as that, Verlinda. A really good man would
never go so far unless--"
"Unless?"
"He felt the cause for which he criminated himself was a greater thing
than his own state of well-being. I can imagine certain men who would
sacrifice their immortal welfare for the sake of a sacred cause."
"And you think Berkley Matthews is like that?"
"No, I don't say so? I won't go so far in my estimate of him, though I
do say there are few things he wouldn't do for one he loved. But you
remember we were not to mention him."
"We don't appear to be doing much else. We are comparing him all the
time with Mr. Jeffreys whether we mention his name or not. I agree
with you in thinking Berk is capable of fine things, but so I believe
is Mr. Jeffreys."
"Berk has the tenderest of hearts," continued Miss Ri, "and he has
thoughtful little ways that please an elderly woman like myself. I
could but notice the difference when I was walking with Mr. Jeffreys.
Did he help me over a gutter, or up a steep curb? Not he. Not that I
wanted help, but it was the outward and visible sign of an inward and
spiritual grace that I missed. Berk watches out for your every step,
makes way for you, as it were. If he wore a Sir Walter Raleigh cloak
it would be mud from end to end so readily would he spread it for a
woman's feet to tread on. He may not have the tall and graceful figure
of your cousin, but he can bow like a courtier, and will stand with
his head uncovered in any weather rather than wear his hat in a lady's
presence."
"I have noticed all those things," admitted Linda. "So far, in your
opinion, his side of the scales tip far, far below my cousin's, but
then one must make allowances for your partiality. You've known Berk
since he was born. Perhaps Mr. Jeffreys' mother may have had just so
good an opinion of him."
"Being his mother she probably had. What have you to put in his side of
the scales?"
"Oh, good looks, a very dignified bearing, and a perfectly
well-trained conscience which wouldn't run away with him."
"You know I don't call that so desirable a quality as the impulsive
generosity."
"But I do, so if you leave your impulsive generosity in the scales, I
must have the well-trained conscience."
"Very well. Go on."
"Then, there's your mud-spattered cloak which I will balance with--let
me see--"
"You can't find anything to equal that," cried Miss Ri triumphantly.
"Oh, yes, I can. There is a certain beautiful dignity and a certain
indescribable charm; I don't know exactly wherein it lies, but it is
there. Bertie Bryan has discovered it, too, and very probably it has
not escaped you."
"I don't see it at all."
"There we are again, so you will have to take the courtesy and I'll
have the dignity and charm. I haven't a doubt but if we knew Mr.
Jeffreys better we should find a host of other things."
"He is not sympathetic in the way Berk is."
The paper-cutter was at work again. "No-o," Linda admitted, "he doesn't
seem to be, but perhaps he really is, inside."
"Then I don't see what use it is to anyone. Berk shows that quality in
his eyes. He has dear eyes, I think."
Linda neither affirmed nor denied though she suddenly remembered the
eager, tender look bestowed upon her that day in the postoffice when
she gave back the newspaper after reading her little poem in it. "We
certainly have discussed those two long enough," she said lightly. "How
their ears must burn. What next, Aunt Ri?"
"I've been thinking I'd like to get some facts for you from some other
source than Wyatt Jeffreys. There's our old family lawyer, Judge
Goldsborough, who was your family's lawyer as well. He retired from
active life long ago, and is a very old man now, but I believe he could
tell us things. He knew your grandfather and all that. Some day we will
go to see him. We'll make it an ancestral pilgrimage. He lives up in
the next county where his son has a fine estate. On the way we can take
in that old church where my grandparents were married; they were Roman
Catholics, you see, and I have always wanted to see that old church.
How do you like the idea of such a trip?"
"Immensely. You are very clever to have thought of it, Aunt Ri."
"Then some Saturday we will go. The judge will be delighted to see you,
and me, too, I am not too modest to say. He is a dear old man and,
though his memory is not what it was, the way back things are those
he remembers the best. Now go to bed. We've talked long enough. Go to
bed."