A SLOW STEP ON THE STAIRS.
In the cool of the morning, and often at night when the gulf breeze was
blowing, I leaned back from my labor to muse upon the Senator's peculiar
attitude toward me. A certain sort of innocence or honor had
unquestionably blunted his eyesight and wrapped his reason in a silken
gauze, but he had seen and felt the interference of his daughter's
husband. And now why should he have pressed me to come again to his
house, even though the wife were away? The old woman had said that he
was trying to find a way that might lead to an easy apology. Apology for
what? A husband's clumsy resentment. And did he not know that my
entering the house again could easily be construed as a connivance on
his part? The politician is so absorbed a student of man and his
masculine ways that sometimes he may be forgetful of the delicate film
that surrounds a woman's name. But in the South a woman's name is so
secure that what in colder regions might be a film is here a sheet of
steel; and overconfidence might seem a want of due consideration.
One evening I heard a slow and heavy step on the stair; and I waited,
annoyed and nervous with the deliberate and solemn approach of the
unwelcome visitor. I counted the steps, wondering when they would cease.
I threw down my pen and got out of my chair. There was a shuffling of
awkward feet at the open door.
"Come in, Washington," I cried, and when he had entered I turned angrily
upon him.
"Oh, you have come to reproach me, to prove to my face that I am a
liar."
He had dropped his hat upon entering the door, and now he stood with
his head bowed meekly.
"Mr. Belford, if your heart smites you, don't blame me."
"But you have come to bid it smite me."
"No, but to ease it if it has been smiting you."
"Ah, sit down, Washington."
"I prefer to stand."
"But pick up your hat. Your humility embarrasses me."
"Let it lie there, Mr. Belford."
"Well, can't you do something? Damn it--"
"Mr. Belford, I don't ask you to respect me, but I command you to
respect my holy calling."
"Rot! Well, go on; I do respect it. I beg your pardon. But why do you
come here to hit me with the moral sandbag of a priest? Don't you know
that any calling can be made offensive?"
"The gospel is always offensive to the sinner."
"Look here, you black impostor, I'll not put up with your insolence. Get
out."
He stepped backward to the door, took up his hat, put it under his arm,
and bowed to me.
"Wait a moment, Washington. Confound it, you always make me strut and
talk like an actor. Let's get down off our high horses and turn them
loose to graze. What did you come to say?"
"I came to beg you not to be worried because you were not able to keep
your word with me."
"That's kind, but how do you know I was not able to keep it?"
"Old Miss Patsey told me that the Senator brought you home with him."
"And you know that _she_ was not at home."
"Yes, I knew that she was over at the State capital, with her husband."
"They didn't tell me where she was."
"No, it was not necessary. They do not blame you," he added, after a
moment's pause.
"Then you are the only one who does blame me, except, perhaps, the
Treasurer."
"Yes, the Treasurer who locked up the money of the State but forgot that
a diamond was within reach of--"
"A thief," I suggested, and he bowed his head.
"Washington," said I, "you tell me that the Senator is blind and that
the young woman herself does not suspect--" He shut me off with his
uplifted hand.
"What I said then and what might exist now are two different things."
"Ah, then she does know now; she has gathered some of the wisdom that
you have strewn about. You had seized the opportunity to be wise, and I
had hoped that you would be harmless. But your wisdom is offensive. It
seems that you would rejoice to have a hold on me."
"For what purpose, Mr. Belford?"
"Well, it isn't very clearly defined."
"No, Sir, and it never can be. Perhaps, after all, my discovery, if you
please to call it such, wasn't due to wisdom but to an animal instinct.
And even then it was a venture. You could have denied it better."
He came walking slowly forward, with his eyes fixed upon my
writing-table.
"That is one thing I can't learn to do well," he said, gazing at my
work. "My hand was too hard and stiff from labor before I went to
school."
"Then you don't write your sermons?"
"No, Sir, and Peter didn't write his."
"But you went to a college and Peter didn't."
"Ah, but Paul was learned of men, and Paul was the Master's greatest
follower."
"Washington, you are surely a remarkable man. How old were you at the
time you entered the university?"
"I don't know, Mr. Belford; I don't know how old I am now."
"Well, I have fought against you, but I can't help believing that you
are sincere. Here are five dollars for your church."
"Thankee, Sah; bleeged ter yer, Sah. I--I--I am profoundly grateful,
Sir," he hastened to add, bowing in humiliation. "You must pardon the
rude echo of my father's tongue. Good-night."