THE HONORABLE GID
"Now, Amandy, stick them jack-beans in the ground round side upwards.
Do you want 'em to have to turn over to sprout?" demanded Miss
Lavinia, as she stood leaning on her crotched stick over by the south
side of the garden fence, directing the planting of her favorite vine
that was to be trained along the pickets and over the gate. Little
Miss Amanda, as usual, was doing her best to carry out exactly the
behests of her older and a little more infirm sister. Miss Amanda was
possessed of a certain amount of tottering nimbleness which she put at
the disposal of Miss Lavinia at all times with the most cheery
good-will. Miss Amanda was of the order of little sisters who serve
and Miss Lavinia belonged to the sisterhood dominant by nature and by
the consent of Miss Amanda and the rest of her family.
"It's such a long row I don't know as I'll hold out to finish it,
Sister Viney, if I have to stop to finger the beans in such a way as
that. But I'll try," answered the little worker, going on sticking the
beans in with trembling haste.
"Let me help you, please, Miss Amanda," entreated Everett, who had
come out to watch the bean planting with the intention of offering
aid, with also the certainty of having it refused.
"No, young man," answered Miss Lavinia promptly and decidedly. "These
jack beans must be set in by a hand that knows 'em. We can't run no
risks of having 'em to fail to come up. I got the seed of 'em over to
Springfield when me and Mr. Robards was stationed there just before
the war. Mr. Robards was always fond of flowers, and these jack beans
in special. He was such a proper meek man and showed so few likings
that I feel like I oughter honor this one by growing these vines in
plenty as a remembrance, even if he has been dead forty-odd years."
"Was your husband a minister?" asked Everett in a voice of becoming
respect to the meek Mr. Robards, though he be demised for nearly half
a century.
"He was that, and a proper, saddlebags-riding, torment-preaching
circuit rider before he was made presiding elder at an astonishing
early age," answered Miss Lavinia, a fading fire blazing up in her
dark eyes. "He saved many a sinner in Harpeth Valley by preaching both
heaven and hell in their fitten places, what's a thing this younger
generation don't know how to do any more, it seems like. A sermon that
sets up heaven like a circus tent, with a come-sinner-come-all sign,
and digs hell no deeper than Mill Creek swimming pool, as is skeercely
over a boy's middle, ain't no sermon at all to my mind. Most preaching
in Sweetbriar are like that nowadays."
"But Brother Robards had a mighty sweet voice and he gave the call of
God's love so as to draw answers from all hearts," said Miss Amanda in
her own sweet little voice, as she jabbed in the beans with her right
hand and drew the dirt over them with her left.
"Yes, husband was a little inclined to preach from Psalms more'n good
rousing Proverbs, but I always belt him to the main meat of the Gospel
and only let him feed the flock on the sweets of faith in proper
proportion," answered Miss Lavinia, with an echo in her voice of the
energy expended in keeping the presiding elder to a Jeremiah rather
than a David rôle in his ministry.
"It was a mighty blow to the Methodist Church when he was taken away
so young," said Miss Amanda gently. "I know I said then that they
never would be--"
"Lands alive, if here ain't Miss Viney and Miss Amandy out planting
the jack beans and I ain't got down not a square foot of summer
turnip greens!" exclaimed a hearty voice as Mrs. Rucker hurried up
across the yard to the garden gate. "Now I know I'm a behind-hander,
for my ground's always ready, and in go the greens when you all turn
spade for the bean vines. Are you a-looking for a little job of
plowing, Mr. Mark? I'd put Mr. Rucker at it, but he give his left
ankle a twist yestidy and have had to be kinder quiet, a-setting on
the back porch or maybe a-hobbling over to the store."
"Yes, I'll plow, if you don't care whether your mule or plow or hame
strings come out alive," answered Everett with a laugh. Miss Amanda
had risen, hurried eagerly over to her favorite neighbor and held out
her hand for the pan tendered her.
"Them's your sally luns, Miss Amandy, and they are a good chanct if I
do say it myself. I jest know you and Rose Mary have got on the big
pot and little kettle for Mr. Newsome, and I'm mighty proud to have
the luns handed around with your all's fixings. I reckon Rose Mary is
so comfusticated you can't hardly trust her with no supper rolls or
such like. Have you seen him yet, Rose Mary?" she asked of Rose Mary,
who had appeared at the garden gate.
"No; I've just come up from the milk-house," answered Rose Mary with a
laughing blush. "When did Mr. Newsome come?"
"Just now," answered Mrs. Rucker, with further banter in her eyes.
"And none of Solomon's lilies in all they glory was ever arrayed like
one of him. You better go frill yourself out, Rose Mary, for the men
ain't a-going to be able to hold him chavering over there at the store
very long."
"It will only take me a few minutes to dress," answered Rose Mary,
with a continuation of the blush. "The Aunties are all ready for
supper, and Stonie and Uncle Tucker. Mag has got everything just ready
to dish up, and I'll take in the sally luns to be run in the stove at
the last moment. Isn't it lovely to have company? Friends right at
home you can show your liking for all the time, but you must be
careful to save their share for the others to give to them when they
come. Mr. Mark, don't you want to--"
But before Rose Mary had begun her sentence Mr. Mark Everett, of New
York City, New York, was striding away across the yard with a long
swing, and as he went through the front gate it somehow slipped out of
his hand and closed itself with a bang. The expression of his back as
he crossed the road might have led one versed in romantics to conclude
that a half-unsheathed sword hung at his side and that he had two
flintlocks thrust into his belt.
And over at the store he found himself in the midst of a jubilation.
Mr. Gideon Newsome, of Bolivar, Tennessee, stood in the doorway, and
surrounding him in the store, in the doorway and on the porch was the
entire masculine population of Sweetbriar.
Mr. Newsome was tall and broad and well on the way to portliness. His
limbs were massive and slow of movement and his head large, with a
mane of slightly graying hair flung back from a wide, unfurrowed brow.
Small and very black eyes pierced out from crinkled heavy lids and a
bulldog jaw shot out from under a fat beak of a nose. And over the
broad expanse of countenance was spread a smile so sweet, so deep, so
high that it gave the impression of obscuring the form of features
entirely. In point of fact it was a thick and impenetrable veil that
the Senator had for long hung before his face from behind which to
view the world at large. And through his mouth, as through a rent in
the smile, he was wont to pour out a volume of voice as musical in its
drawl and intensified southern burr as the bass note on a
well-seasoned 'cello.
He was performing the obligato of a prohibition hymn for the group of
farmers around him when he caught sight of Everett as he came across
the street. Instantly his voice was lowered to a honeyed
conversational pitch as he came to the edge of the porch and held out
a large, fat, white hand, into which Everett laid his own by courtesy
perforced.
"I'm delighted to see you, Mr. Everett, suh, delighted!" he boomed.
"And in such evident improved health. I inquired for you at Bolivar as
soon as I returned and I was informed that you had come over here to
find perfect restoration to health in the salubrious climate of this
wonderful town of Sweetbriar. I'm glad to see your looks confirm the
answer to my anxious inquiries. And is all well with you?"
"Thank you, Senator, I'm in pretty good shape again," answered Everett
with a counter smile. "Ten pounds on and I'm in fighting trim." The
words were said pleasantly, but for the life of him Everett could not
control the hostility of a quick glance that apparently struck
harmlessly against the veil of smiles.
"That there ten pounds had oughter be twenty, Senator, at the rate of
the Alloway feeding of him, from milk-house to cellar preserve shelf,"
said Mr. Crabtree from behind the counter where he was doing up a
pound of tea for the poet, who found it impossible to take his eyes
off the politician. "Miss Rose Mary ain't give me a glass of
buttermilk for more'n a week, and they do say she has to keep a loaf
handy in the milk-house to feed him 'fore he gets as far as Miss
Amandy and the kitchen. We're going to run him in a fattening race
with Mis' Rucker's fancy red hog she's gitting ready for the State
Fair and the new Poteet baby, young Master Tucker Poteet of
Sweetbriar."
"So there's a new Poteet young man, and named for my dear friend, Mr.
Alloway! My congratulations, Mr. Poteet!" exclaimed the senator as he
pumped the awkward, horny hand of the embarrassed but proud Mr. Poteet
up and down as if it were the handle of the town pump. "I must be
sure to have an introduction to the young man. Want to meet all the
voters," he added, shaking out the smile veil with energy.
And at this very opportune moment he looked down the Road and espied a
procession of presentation approaching. The General in the midst of
the Swarm was coming at a breakneck speed and clasped firmly in his
arms he held a small blue bundle. On his right galloped Tobe with
Shoofly swung at her usual dangerous angle on his hip, and Jennie
Rucker supported his left wing, with stumbling Petie pulled along
between her hand and that of small Peggy. Around and behind swarmed
the rest of the Poteet seven, the Ruckers and the Nickols, with Mrs.
Sniffer and the five little dogs bringing up the rear.
"Well, well, and what have we here?" exclaimed the great man as he
descended and stood in front of the lined-up cohorts.
"It's the Poteet baby," answered the General with precision. "We
bringed him to show you. He's going to be a boy; they can't nothing
change him now. Shoofly is a girl, but Mis' Poteet didn't fool us this
time. Besides if he'd been a girl we wouldn't a-had him for nothing."
"Why, young man, you don't mean to discredit the girls, do you?"
demanded the Senator with a gallantly propitiating glance in the
direction of Jennie, Peggy and the rest of the bunch of assorted pink
and blue little calico petticoats. "Why could anything be finer than a
sweet little girl?" And as he spoke he rested his hand on Jennie's
tow-pigtailed head.
"Well, what's sweet got to do with it if we've got too many of 'em?"
answered the General in his usual argumentative tone. "Till little
Tucker comed they was three more girls than they was boys, and it
wasn't fair. Now they is just two more, and four of Sniffie's puppies
is boys, so that makes it most even until another one comes, what'll
just _have_ to be a boy." And the General cast a threatening glance
in the direction of the calico bunch as he issued this ultimatum to
feminine Sweetbriar.
"I'll ask Maw," murmured Jennie bashfully, but Miss Peggy turned up
her small nose and switched her short skirts scornfully as the men on
the porch laughed and the Senator emitted a very roar in his booming
bass.
"Well, well, we'll have to settle that later," he said in his most
propitiating urge-voter voice as he cast a smile over the entire
Swarm. "Hadn't you better carry the young man back to his mother? He
seems to be restless," he further remarked, taking advantage of a
slight squirm in which young Tucker indulged himself, though he was
not at all uncomfortable in Stonie's arms, accustomed as he was to
being transported in any direction at any time by any one of his
confrères. And with this skilful hint of dismissal the Senator bent
down and bestowed the imperative political kiss on the little pink
Poteet head, smattered one or two over Shoofly and Pete, landed one on
the tip of Jennie Rucker's little freckled nose and started them all
up the Road in good order as he turned once more to the men in the
store.
But the advent of the Swarm had served to remind the group of his
friends that the time for the roof-tree gathering was fast
approaching, and Mr. Crabtree was busy filling half-forgotten supper
orders for impatient waiters, while most of the men had gone up or
down the Road in the wake of the scattering Swarm. For a few minutes
the Senator and Everett were left on the porch steps alone.
"I hear from some of the men that you have been able to do some
prospecting in the last weeks, Mr. Everett," remarked the Senator
casually from behind the veil, as he accepted and lighted a cigar.
"Just knocked around a bit," answered Everett carelessly. "The whole
Mississippi Valley is interesting geologically. There is quite a
promise of oil here, but practically no outcrop."
"Your examination been pretty thorough--professional?" queried the
Senator, still in an equally careless voice, though his little eyes
gleamed out of their slits.
"Oh, yes, I thrashed it all out, especially Mr. Alloway's place. I'd
like to have found oil for him--and the rest of Sweetbriar, too, but
it isn't here." Everett spoke decidedly, and there was a note in his
voice as if to end the discussion. His own eyes he kept down on his
cigar and, as he lounged against a post he had an air of being
slightly bored by an uninteresting shop topic. The Senator looked at
him a few seconds keenly, started to make a trivial change in the
conversation, then made a flank movement, bent toward Everett and
began to speak in a suave and most confidential manner.
"I'm sorry, too, you didn't find the oil on the old gentleman's
place," he said in his most open and dulcet tones. "I am very fond of
Mr. Alloway; I may say of the whole family. Farming is too hard work
for him at his years and I would have liked for him to have had the
ease of an increased income. Some time ago a phosphate expert examined
these regions, but reported nothing worth working. I had more hope of
the oil. As I say, I am interested in Mr. Alloway and the family--I
may say it to you in confidence, particularly interested in one of the
members." And the smile that the Senator bestowed upon Everett aroused
a keen desire for murder in the first degree. There was a challenge
and a warning in it and a cunning, too, that was deeper than both.
Controlling his impulse to smash the Senatorial bulldog jaw, Everett's
mind went instantly after the cunning.
"So you only got the phosphate in your examination report of the
Alloway place?" he asked in a friendly, interested tone, as if the
hint had failed to make a landing. The cunning in his own glance and
tone he was shrewd enough to hide.
"That was about all--nothing that was worth taking up then," answered
the Senator again carelessly, and at that moment Mr. Crabtree came out
to join them.
In a few minutes Everett threw away his cigar, glanced across at the
Briars, where he could see Rose Mary and Uncle Tucker establishing
Miss Lavinia, in her high company cap, in the big chair on the front
porch, and without a word he strode out the back door of the store and
across the fields toward Boliver. He stopped at the Rucker side fence
and entrusted a message to the willing Jenny, and then went on into
the twilight in the direction of the lights of the distant town.
And as he walked along his mood was, to say the least, savage, and he
cut, with a long switch he had picked up, at some nodding little wind
bells that had begun to show their colors along the side of the road.
He was hungry and he was having his supper in detached visions. Now
Rose Mary was handing the Senator a plate of high-piled supper rolls,
each with a golden stream of butter cascading down the side, and as
her lovely bare arm held them across to the guest probably she was
helping Stonie's plate with her other hand to a spoonful of cream
gravy over his nicely browned chicken leg. On her side of the table
Miss Lavinia was pouring the rich cream over her bowl of steaming mush
and the materialized aroma from Uncle Tucker's cup of coffee that Rose
Mary had just poured him brought tears to Everett's eyes. Then came a
flash of Aunt Amandy helping herself under Rose Mary's urging to a
second crisp waffle, and the Senator was preparing to accept his
sixth, impelled by the same solicitous smile that had landed the
second on the little old lady's plate. Again Rose Mary was pouring the
Senator's second cup and stirring in the cream. If she had lifted the
spoon to her lips, as she always did with Uncle Tucker's and
sometimes forgot and did with his, Everett would have--And at this
point he turned the bend and ran smash into the dramatic scene of a
romance.
Seated by the side of the road was Louisa Helen Plunkett, and before
her stood young Bob Nickols, an agony of helplessness showing in every
line of his face and big loose-jointed figure, for Louisa Helen was
weeping into a handkerchief and one of her blue muslin sleeves. And it
was not a series of sentimental sobs and sighs or controlled and
effective sniffs in which Louisa Helen was indulging, but she was
boo-hooing in good earnest with real chokings and gurgles of sobs. Bob
was screwing the toe of his boot into the dust and saying and doing
absolutely and desperately nothing.
"Why, Louisa Helen, what is the matter?" demanded Everett as he seated
himself beside the wailer and endeavored to bring down the pitch of
the sobs by a kindly pat on the heaving shoulder.
"What's happened, Bob?" he demanded of the silent and dejected lover,
who only shook his head as he answered from the depths of confusion.
"I don't know; she just of a sudden flung down and began to hollow and
I ain't never got her to say."
"Oh, I want a supper and a veil and a bokay!" came in a perfect howl
from the folds of the sleeve.
"I want some supper, too, Louisa Helen," said Everett quickly, and a
smile lifted the corners of his mouth as the situation began to
unravel itself to his sympathetic concern. "I guess I could take the
bouquet and veil, too," he added to himself in an undertone.
"I ain't a-going to let Maw insult Bob no more, but I don't want no
Boliver wedding in the office of no hotel. I want to be married where
folks can look at me, and have something good to eat, and throw old
shoes and rice at me," came in a more constrained and connected flow,
as the poor little fugitive raised her head from her arm and reached
down to settle her skirts about her ankles, from which she had flirted
them in the kicks of one of her most violent paroxysms. Louisa Helen
was very young and just as pretty as she was young. She was rosy and
dimpled and had absurd little baby curls trailing down over her eyes,
and her tears had no more effect on her face than a summer shower.
"Why, what did your mother say to Bob?" asked Everett, thus drawn into
the position of arbitrator between two family factions.
"She told him that Jennie Rucker would be about his frying size when
he got old enough to pick a wife, and it hurt his feelings so he
didn't come to see me for a week, and he says he ain't never coming no
more. If I want him I will have to go over to Boliver and marry him
to-morrow." A sob began to rise again in the poor little bride
prospective's throat at the thought of the horrible Boliver wedding.
The autocrat shifted uneasily, and in the dusk Everett could see that
he was completely melted and ready to surrender his position if he
could only find the line of retreat.
"Well," said Everett judicially, as he looked up at Bob with a wink,
which was answered by the slightest beginning of laugh from the
insulted one, "I don't believe Bob wants to do without that bouquet
and veil and supper either. They are just the greatest things that
ever happen to a man"--another wink at Bob--"and Bob don't want to
give them up. Now suppose you go on back home to-night and don't say
anything to your mother about the matter, and to-morrow I'll ask Mr.
Crabtree to step over and make it up with Bob for her. I feel sure
she'll invite them both in to supper, and then sometime soon we can
all discuss the veil-bouquet question. You aren't in a hurry, are
you?"
"Naw," answered Bob promptly. "Me and Paw ain't got all the winter
wheat in yet, and we've got to cut clover next week. We're mighty
busy now. I ain't in no hurry."
"And I don't want to get married no way except when the briar roses is
in bloom so I can have the church tucked out in 'em. And I've got to
get some pretty clothes made, too," answered Louisa Helen, thus
putting in direct contrast the feminine and masculine attitude towards
nuptials in general and also in particular.
"Then go on back home, you two," said Everett with a laugh, as he rose
to his feet and drew to hers the now smiling Louisa Helen. "And I
predict that by the time the briar roses are out something will happen
to make it all right. Put your faith in Mr. Crabtree, I should advise,
I suspect that he has--er influence with your mother." A giggle from
Louisa Helen and a guffaw from Bob, as the two young people started on
back along the Road, showed that they had both appreciated his veiled
sally.
And as he stood watching them out of sight down the Road the twilight
faded from off the Valley and darkness came down in a starlit veil
from over old Harpeth. Everett climbed up and seated himself on the
top rail of the fence and again gave himself over to his moods. This
time one of bitterness, almost anger, rose to the surface. The same
old wheel grinding out here in the wilderness that he had left in the
market places of the world. The vision he had caught of the great
cycle being turned by some still greater source above the hills was--a
vision. The wheels ground on with the victims strapped and the cogs
dripping. Loot and the woman--loot and the woman! And he had thought
that out here "_in the hollow of His hand_" he had lost the sound of
that grind. And such a woman--the lovely gracious thing with the
unfaithful, dishonored lover's child in her arms, other women's
tumbling children clinging to her skirts and with hands outstretched
to protect and comfort the old gray heads in her care! A woman with a
sorrow in her heart but with eyes that were deep blue pools in which
there mirrored loves for all her little world! For a long time he sat
and looked out into the darkness, then suddenly he squared his
shoulders, gripped the rail tight in his hands for a half second and
then slipped to the ground. Picking up his switch he turned and strode
off toward Sweetbriar, which by this time was a little handful of
fireflys glowing down in the sweet meadows.
When he got as far as the blacksmith's shop Everett climbed the wall
and approached the house through the garden, for in front of the store
had been piled high a bonfire of empty boxes and dry wood boughs, and
most of the inhabitants of Sweetbriar, small fry and large, were
assembled in jocular groups around its blaze of light. He could see
Mr. Crabtree and Bob rolling out an empty barrel to serve as a
speaking stand for the Honorable Gid, who stood in the foreground in
front of the store steps talking to Uncle Tucker, with an admiring
circle around him. Horses and wagons and buggies were hitched at
various posts along the road, which indicated the gathering of a small
crowd from neighboring towns to hear the coming oration, and the front
porch of the store presented a scene of unwonted excitement.
Everett clicked the garden gate and steered around to the back door of
the kitchen in hopes of finding black Mag still at her post and
begging of her a glass of milk and a biscuit. But as he stood in the
doorway, instead of Mag he discovered Rose Mary with her white skirts
tucked up under one of her long kitchen aprons, putting the final
polishing touch to a shining pile of dishes. She looked up at him for
a second, and then went on with her work, and Everett could see that
her curled lips were trembling like a hurt child's.
"I--I thought I might get a bite of something from--from Mag if she
hadn't left--the kitchen--I--I--" Everett hesitated on the threshold
and in speech. "I--I am sorry to trouble you," he finished lamely.
"I don't believe you care--care if you do," answered Rose Mary, and
her blue eyes showed a decided temper spark under their black lashes.
"I see I made a mistake in expecting anything of you. A friend's
fingers ought not to slip through yours when you need them to hold
tight. But come, get your supper--"
"Please, Rose Mary, I'm most awfully ashamed," he said as he came and
stood close beside her, and there was a note in his voice that fairly
startled him with its tenderness. "I'm just a cross old bear, and I
don't deserve anything, no supper and no--no Rose Mary to care whether
I'm hungry or not and no--"
"But I put the supper up," said Rose Mary, with a little laugh and
catch in her voice. "I couldn't let you be hungry, even if you did
treat me that way."
"Didn't Jennie Rucker come to tell you I couldn't get here to
supper?" asked Everett with what he felt to be a contemptible feint of
defense.
"Yes, she came; but you knew we were going to have company and that I
wanted you to be here. You know Mr. Newsome is the best friend we have
in the world and your staying away meant that you didn't care if he
had been good to us. It hurt me! And the first bowl of lilacs was on
the table; I had been saving them for a surprise for you for two days,
and everything was so good and just as you like it and--" Rose Mary's
voice faltered again and a little tear splashed on the saucer she held
poised in her hand.
"Well," answered Everett, like a sulky boy, "I didn't want any of the
Honorable Gid Newsome's lilacs or waffles or fried chicken, and I
didn't want to see you fix any coffee for him," he ended by blurting
out.
"I didn't--I--that is--you are _horrid_," answered Rose Mary, but she
raised her eyes to his in which smiles waltzed around with tears and
the glint of her white teeth showed through red lips curling with
laugh that was forcing itself over them by way of the dimple in the
corner of her chin. "Anyway, what I have here on the top of the stove
is your waffles and your fried chicken, and these are your lilacs,"
and she drew out a purple spray from her belt and dropped it on the
table beside him. "Sit down and I'll give it all to you right here
while I finish wiping the dishes. Mag was taken with a spell before
supper was over and had to go lie down and I stayed to finish things
while the others went over to the speaking," she added as she began to
bustle about with her usual hospitable concern.
"You are an angel, Rose Mary Alloway," said Everett as he placed
himself on a split-bottom kitchen chair, bestowed his long legs under
the table and drew up as near to Rose Mary and her dish-towel as was
possible to be sure of keeping out of the flirt. "And I--I'm a
brute," he added contritely, though he dared a quick kiss on the bare
arm next and close to him.
"No, you're not--just a boy," answered Rose Mary, as she set his
supper on the table before him. She had poured his coffee, stirred in
the cream and sugar and then laid the spoon decorous and straight in
the saucer beside the cup. For an instant Everett sat very still and
looked at her, then she picked up the cup and tipped it against her
lips, sipped judiciously and set it down with a satisfied air. For
just a second her eyes had gleamed down at him over the edge of the
cup and a tiny laugh gurgled in her throat as she swallowed her sip of
his beverage.
"That was mine, anyway--he can have his chicken wings," said Everett
with a laugh as he began operations on the food before him.
"It wasn't a very nice party," answered Rose Mary as she went on with
her work on the pile of china. "Stonie acted awfully. He piled up his
plate with pieces of chicken, and when Aunt Viney reproved him he
said he was saving it for you. And Aunt Viney said she was sure you
were sick, and then Uncle Tucker wanted to go look for you and I had
to tell him before them all that you had sent me word. Then Aunt
Amandy said she was afraid you were not a Prohibitionist, and Aunt
Viney said she would have to talk to you in the morning. Then they all
told Mr. Newsome all about you, and I don't think he liked it much
because he likes to tell us things about himself. We are so fond of
him, and we always want to hear him talk about where he has been and
what he has done. I tried to stop them and make him talk, but I
couldn't. It's strange how liking a person gets them on your mind so
that even if you don't talk about them you think about them all the
time, isn't it? But I oughtn't to blame them, for I was so afraid they
wouldn't leave enough of things for you that I forgot to talk myself.
I was glad Stonie acted that way about the chicken, for the piece he
saved made three pieces of white meat for you. Oh, please let's
hurry, because we will miss the speaking if we don't. Mr. Newsome
makes such beautiful speeches that I want you to hear him. Is there
any kind of pride in the world like that you have over your friends?"