THE STRANGER ON THE THRESHOLD.
"I am not in business," said the other. "I am a nephew of John Morgan,
of Macon. I suppose you must have known him."
"Yes, indeed."
"And am going out to wind up his affairs. I have been abroad and have
only just returned. The news of his death was quite a surprise to me. I
had not been informed that he was ill."
"Then you are the heir of John Morgan?"
"I am told so. It is but three days now since I reached this country,
and I have no information except as contained in a brief notice from
attorneys."
"How long since you have seen him?"
"I have never seen him--at least not since I was an infant, if then. My
parents left me to his care. I have spent my life in schools until six
or seven years ago, when, after graduating at Harvard and then at
Columbia college in law, I went abroad. Have never seen so much as the
picture of my uncle. I applied to him for one through his New York
lawyer once, sending a new one of myself, and he replied that he had too
much respect for art to have his taken."
"That sounds like him," and Montjoy laughed heartily. "He was a florid,
sandy-haired man, with eyes always half-closed against the light, stout
and walked somewhat heavily. He has been a famous criminal lawyer, but
for many years has not seemed to care for practice. He was a heavy
drinker, but with all that you could rely implicitly upon what he said.
He left a large property, I presume?"
"So I infer." Edward looked out of the window, but presently resumed the
conversation.
"My uncle stood well in the community, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; we have lost a good citizen. Do you expect to make your home
with us?"
"That depends upon circumstances. Very likely I shall."
"I see! Well, sir, I trust you will. The Morgan place is a nice one and
has been closed to the young people too long."
"I am afraid they will not find me very gay." A shadow flitted over his
face, blotting out the faint smile.
The towns and villages glided away.
Edward Morgan noticed that there was little paint upon the country
houses, and that the fences were gone from the neighborhoods. And then
the sun sank below the black cloud, painting its peaks with gold, and
filling the caverns with yellow light; church spires, tall buildings and
electric-light towers filed by with solemn dignity and then stood
motionless. The journey was at an end.
"My home is six miles out," said Montjoy, "and if you will go with me I
shall be glad to have you. It is quite a ride, but anything is
preferable to the hotels."
Morgan's face lighted up quickly at this unexpected courtesy.
"Thank you," he said "but I don't mind the hotels. I have never had any
other home, sir, except boarding houses." Through his smile there fell
the little, destroying shadow. Montjoy had not expected him to accept,
but he turned now, with his winning manner.
"Well, then, I insist. We shall find a wagon waiting outside, and
to-morrow I am coming in and shall bring you back. We will have to get
acquainted some of these days, and there is nothing like making an early
start." He was already heading for the sidewalk; his company was as
sunlight and Morgan was tempted to stay in the sunlight.
"Then I shall go," he said. "You are very kind."
A four-seated vehicle stood outside and by it a little old negro, who
laughed as Montjoy rapidly approached.
"Well, Isam," he said, tossing his bag in, "how are all at home?"
"Dey's all well."
"By the way, Mr. Morgan, we shall leave your trunks, but I can supply
you with everything for a 'one-night stand.'"
"I have a valise that will answer, if there is room."
"Plenty. Let Isam have the check and he will get it." While Morgan was
feeling for his bit of brass Isam continued:
"Miss Annie will be mighty glad to see you. Sent me in here now goin' on
fo' times an' gettin' madder----"
"That's all right; here's the check; hurry up." The negro started off
rapidly.
"Drive by the club, Isam," he said, when the negro had resumed the
lines. "I reckon we'll be too late for supper at home; better get it in
town."
"Miss Mary save supper for you, sho', Marse Norton."
"Save, the mischief! Go ahead!" The single horse moved forward in a
dignified trot.
As they entered the club several young men were grouped near a center
table. There was a vista of open doors, a glimmer of cards and the crash
of billiards. Montjoy walked up and dropped his hat on the table. There
followed a general handshaking. Edward Morgan noticed that they greeted
him with cordiality. Then he saw his manner change and he turned with a
show of formality.
"Gentlemen, this is my friend, Mr. Morgan, a nephew of Col. John
Morgan." He rapidly pronounced the names of those present, and each
shook the newcomer's hand. At the same time Morgan felt their sudden
scrutiny, but it was brief. Montjoy rang the bell.
"What are you going to have, gentlemen? John," to the old waiter, "how
are you, John?"
"First rate, Marse Norton; first rate." The old man bowed and smiled.
"Take these orders, John. Five toddies, one Rhine wine, and hurry, John!
Oh, John!" The worthy came back. "There is only one mistake you can make
with mine; take care about the water!"
"All right, sah, all right! Dare won't be any!"
Montjoy ordered a tremendous supper, as he called it, and while waiting
the half-hour for its preparation, several of the party repeated the
order for refreshments, it appeared to the stranger, with something like
anxiety. It was as though they feared an opportunity to return the
courtesies they had accepted would not be given. None joined them at
supper, but when the newcomers were seated one of the gentlemen lounged
near and dropping into a seat renewed the conversation that had been
interrupted. Champagne had been added to the supper and this gentleman
yielded at length to Montjoy's demand and joined them.
The conversation ran upon local politics until Morgan began to feel the
isolation. He took to studying the new man and presently felt the
slight, inexplicable prejudice that he had formed upon the introduction,
wearing away. The man was tall, dark and straightly built, probably
thirty years of age, with fine eyes and unchanging countenance. He did
but little talking, and when he spoke it was with great deliberation and
positiveness. If there were an unpleasant shading of character written
there it was in the mouth, which, while not ill-formed, seemed to
promise a relentless disposition. But the high and noble forehead
redeemed it all. This man was now addressing him:
"You will remain some time in Macon, Mr. Morgan?"
The voice possessed but few curves; it grated a trifle upon the
stranger.
"I cannot tell as yet," he said; "I do not know what will be required of
me."
"Well, I shall be pleased to see you at my place of business whenever
you find an opportunity of calling. Norton, bring Mr. Morgan down to see
me."
He laid his card by Edward and bade them good-evening. Looking over his
plate, the latter read H. R. Barksdale, president A. F. & C. railroad.
He had not caught the name in the general introduction. "Good fellow,"
said Montjoy, between mouthfuls; "talked more to-night than I ever heard
him, and never knew him to pull a card before."
The night was dark. The road ran over hills, but sometimes was sandy
enough to reduce the horse to his slowest gait. "From this point," said
Montjoy, looking back, "you can see the city five miles away, rather a
good view in the daytime, but now only the scattered electric lights
show up."
"It looks like the south of France," said Morgan. Montjoy revealed the
direction of his thoughts.
"You will find things at home very different from what they once were,"
he put in. "With free labor the plantations have run down, and it is
very hard for the old planters to make anything out of land now. The
negroes won't work and it hardly pays to plant cotton. I wish often that
father could do something else, but he can't change at his time of
life."
"Could not the young men do better with the plantations?"
"Young men! My dear sir, the young men can't afford to work the
plantations; it is as much as they can do to make a living in town--most
of them."
"Is there room for all?"
"No, indeed! They are having a hard time of it, I reckon, and salaries
are getting smaller every year."
"I have heard," said Morgan, slowly, "that labor is the wealth of a
country. It seems to me that if they expect to make anything out of
this, they must labor in the productive branches. Where does the support
for all come from?"
"From the farms--from cotton, mostly."
"The negro is, then, after all, the productive agent."
Montjoy thought a moment, then replied:
"Yes, as a rule. Manufacturing is increasing and there is some
development in mining, but as a matter of fact the negroes and the poor
whites of the country keep the balance up. Somebody has got to sweat it
out between the plow handles, but you can bet your bottom dollar that
Montjoy is out. I couldn't make $100 a year on the best plantation in
Georgia, but I can make $5,000 selling clothing."
The dignified horse had climbed his last hill for the night and was just
turning into an avenue, when a dark form came plunging out of the shadow
and collided with him violently. Morgan beheld a rider almost unhorsed
and heard an oath. For an instant only he saw the man's face, white and
malignant, and then it disappeared in the darkness. To Montjoy's
greeting, good-naturedly hurled into the night, there came no reply.
"My wife's cousin," he said, laughing. "I am glad it is not my horse he
is riding to-night."
They came up in front of a large house with Corinthian columns and many
lights. There was a sudden movement of chairs upon the long veranda and
then a young woman came slowly down to the gate and lifted her face to
Montjoy's kiss. A pretty boy of five climbed into his arms. Morgan stood
silent, touched by the scene. He started violently as Norton Montjoy,
remembering his presence, called his name. The woman extended her hand.
"I am very glad to see you," she said, accenting the adjective. Morgan,
sensitive to fine impressions, did not like the voice, although the
courtesy was perfect.
They advanced to the porch. An old gentleman was standing at the top of
the steps. In the light streaming from the hallway Morgan saw that he
was tall and soldierly and with gray hair pressed back in great waves
from the temples. He put one arm around his son and the other around his
grandson, but did not remove his eyes from the guest. While he addressed
words of welcome and chiding to the former, he was slowly extending his
right hand, seeing which the son said gayly:
"Mr. Morgan, father--a nephew of Col. John Morgan." The light fell upon
the half-turned face of the old gentleman and showed it lighted by a
mild and benevolent expression and dawning smile.
"Indeed! Come in, Mr. Morgan, come in; I am glad to see you."
The words were cordial and tone of voice perfect, but to Edward there
seemed a shading of surprise in the prolonged gaze that rested upon him.
Norton had passed on to the end of the porch, where an elderly lady sat
upright, prevented from rising by a little girl asleep in her lap. There
were sounds of repeated kisses as she embraced her overgrown boy, and
then her voice:
"The Duchess tried to keep her eyes open for you, but she could not. Why
are you so late?" Her voice was as the winds in the pines, and the hand
she gave to Morgan a moment later was as cool as chamois and as soft.
A young girl had come to the doorway. She was simply dressed in white
and her abundant hair was twisted into the Grecian knot that makes some
women appear more womanly. She put her arms about the big brother and
gave her little hand to Morgan. For a moment their eyes met, and then,
gently disengaging her hand, she went to lean against her father's
chair, softly stroking his white hair, while the conversation went
'round.
"Mary," said the older woman, presently, "Mr. Morgan and Norton have had
a long ride and must be hungry."
"No," said the latter, checking the girl's sudden movement, "we have had
something to eat in town."
"You should have waited, my son; it was a needless expense," said the
mother, gently. "But I am afraid you will never practice economy."
Norton laughed and did not dispute the proposition. The young mother and
children disappeared, and Norton gave a spirited account of the
quarantine incident without securing applause.
"I understand," said the colonel to his guest presently, when
conversation had lulled, "that you are a nephew of John Morgan. I did
not know that he had brothers or sisters----"
"I am not really a nephew," said Morgan, quietly, "but a distant
relative and always taught to regard him as uncle." Something in his
voice made the young girl lift her eyes. His figure in the half-light
where he sat was immovable. Against the white column beyond, his head,
graceful in its outlines, was sharply silhouetted. It was bent slightly
forward; and while they remained upon the porch, ever at the sound of
his voice she would turn her eyes slowly and let them rest upon the
speaker. But she was silent.