“The cartridges I go about with,” he said, “are loaded with silver
bullets. I can’t afford to fire away two or three pounds of silver
every day. Lead keeps my hand in just as well as silver, and the silver
bullets are always ready for an emergency.”
Against such an imaginary emergency, I conceived he wore his belt and
kept his two rifles always at hand.
After his target practice he talked with his manager, looked over the
place, discussed his stock or watched his jockeys exercising their
mounts, for an hour or two. Once a week or so on his way back to town
he stopped to inspect uncle Rastus’ charges, and investigate his
doings. His early lunch was almost as simple as his breakfast. After
his lunch he slept an hour or more. Later he took a long ride, seldom
toward Shelby Manor. Always, both in going and in returning, he rode
past Judge Kenton’s mansion. At first his hour of starting on his ride
varied. Before many days he so timed his setting forth as to pass the
Kenton house when Mary was likely to be at her window, and his riding
homeward when she was likely to be on the portico. After a time she
was sure to be at her window when he passed and on the portico when
he repassed, and his departure and return occurred with clock-work
regularity. When she was at her window, they never gave any sign of
mutual recognition, but when she was on the portico she waved her hand
to him and he his hat to her.
Towards dusk in summer, after lamplight in winter, he ate a deliberate
dinner. It never seemed to make a particle of difference to him how
early he went to bed or how late, or whether he went to bed at all.
He was quite capable of sitting all night at cards if the game was
especially interesting. Yet he never made a habit of late hours. He
was an inveterate card-player, but play at his house generally ceased
before midnight and often much earlier. He could drink all night long,
four fingers deep and often, and never seem the worse for it. Yet it
was very seldom he did so. Habitually he drank freely after dinner, but
no effects of liquor were ever visible on him. His liquors were the
best and always set out in abundance. His cigars were as good as his
liquors and spread out in similar profusion. His wines at dinner were
unsurpassable and numerous. The dinners themselves could not have been
beaten. Uncle Samson was an adept at marketing and a superlative cook.
Pompey was an ideal butler. They seemed always ready to serve dinner
for their master alone without waste or for a dozen more also without
any sign of effort or dismay. As Case made welcome to his dinner table
as to his card table anyone who happened to drop in, he had no lack
of guests. All the bachelors of Brexington flocked to him as a matter
of course. The heads of families were puzzled. One after another they
invited him to their houses. His refusals were courteous but firm: for
explanations he referred them to me. Most of them accepted my dilution
of his utterances and acquiesced in his lopsided hospitality. One or
two demurred and laid special siege to him. Particularly Judge Kenton
would not be denied. When he was finally convinced that Colonel Case
would not respond to any invitation, he declared his resolution not
to cross Case’s threshold until his several visits there were properly
acknowledged by a return call at his house. Intercourse between him
and Case thereupon ceased. Judge Kenton, however, was alone in his
punctilious attitude. Everybody else frequented Case’s house and table.
His house indeed became a sort of informal club for all the most
agreeable men of the town and neighborhood. It was not mere creature
comforts or material attractions which drew them there, but the very
real charm of the host. Even while he was tenting, before the house was
ready for occupancy, he had made friends, according to their degree,
with every man in and about Brexington, white or black. Everybody knew
him, everybody liked him, everybody wondered at him.