It is difficult to refrain from mention of the leave-taking of Miss
Virginia Carvel from the Monticello “Female Seminary,” so called in the
'Democrat'. Most young ladies did not graduate in those days. There
were exercises. Stephen chanced to read in the 'Republican' about these
ceremonies, which mentioned that Miss Virginia Carvel, “Daughter of
Colonel Comyn Carvel, was without doubt the beauty of the day. She
wore--” but why destroy the picture? I have the costumes under my hand.
The words are meaningless to all males, and young women might laugh at
a critical time. Miss Emily Russell performed upon “that most superb of
all musical instruments the human voice.” Was it 'Auld Robin Gray' that
she sang? I am sure it was Miss Maude Catherwood who recited 'To My
Mother', with such effect. Miss Carvel, so Stephen learned with alarm,
was to read a poem by Mrs. Browning, but was “unavoidably prevented.”
The truth was, as he heard afterward from Miss Puss Russell, that
Miss Jinny had refused point blank. So the Lady Principal, to save her
reputation for discipline, had been forced to deceive the press.
There was another who read the account of the exercises with intense
interest, a gentleman of whom we have lately forborne to speak. This is
Mr. Eliphalet Hopper. Eliphalet has prospered. It is to be doubted if
that somewhat easy-going gentleman, Colonel Carvel, realized the
full importance of Eliphalet to Carvel & Company. Mr. Hood had been
superseded. Ephum still opened the store in the mornings, but Mr.
Hopper was within the ground-glass office before the place was warm, and
through warerooms and shipping rooms, rubbing his hands, to see if any
were late. Many of the old force were missed, and a new and greater
force were come in. These feared Eliphalet as they did the devil, and
worked the harder to please him, because Eliphalet had hired that kind.
To them the Colonel was lifted high above the sordid affairs of the
world. He was at the store every day in the winter, and Mr. Hopper
always followed him obsequiously into the ground-glass office, called in
the book-keeper, and showed him the books and the increased earnings.
The Colonel thought of Mr. Hood and his slovenly management, and sighed,
in spite of his doubled income. Mr. Hopper had added to the Company's
list of customers whole districts in the growing Southwest, and yet the
honest Colonel did not like him. Mr. Hopper, by a gradual process,
had taken upon his own shoulders, and consequently off the Colonel's,
responsibility after responsibility. There were some painful scenes,
of course, such as the departure of Mr. Hood, which never would have
occurred had not Eliphalet proved without question the incapacity of
the ancient manager. Mr. Hopper only narrowed his lids when the Colonel
pensioned Mr. Hood. But the Colonel had a will before which, when
roused, even Mr. Hopper trembled. So that Eliphalet was always polite
to Ephum, and careful never to say anything in the darkey's presence
against incompetent clerks or favorite customers, who, by the charity of
the Colonel, remained on his books.
One spring day, after the sober home-coming of Colonel Carvel from the
Democratic Convention at Charleston, Ephum accosted his master as
he came into the store of a morning. Ephum's face was working with
excitement.
“What's the matter with you, Ephum?” asked the Colonel, kindly. “You
haven't been yourself lately.”
“No, Marsa, I ain't 'zactly.”
Ephum put down the duster, peered out of the door of the private office,
and closed it softly.
“Marse Comyn?”
“Yes?”
“Marse Comyn, I ain't got no use fo' dat Misteh Hoppa', Ise kinder
sup'stitious 'bout him, Marsa.”
The Colonel put down his newspaper.
“Has he treated you badly, Ephum?” he asked quietly.
The faithful negro saw another question in his master's face. He well
knew that Colonel Carvel would not descend to ask an inferior concerning
the conduct of a superior.
“Oh no, suh. And I ain't sayin' nuthin' gin his honesty. He straight,
but he powerful sharp, Marse Comyn. An' he jus' mussiless down to a
cent.”
The Colonel sighed. He realized that which was beyond the grasp of the
negro's mind. New and thriftier methods of trade from New England were
fast replacing the old open-handedness of the large houses. Competition
had begun, and competition is cruel. Edwards, James, & Company had taken
a Yankee into the firm. They were now Edwards, James, & Doddington, and
Mr. Edwards's coolness towards the Colonel was manifest since the rise
of Eliphalet. They were rivals now instead of friends. But Colonel
Carvel did not know until after years that Mr. Hopper had been offered
the place which Mr. Doddington filled later.
As for Mr. Hopper, increase of salary had not changed him. He still
lived in the same humble way, in a single room in Miss Crane's
boarding-house, and he paid very little more for his board than he had
that first week in which he swept out Colonel Carvel's store. He
was superintendent, now, of Mr. Davitt's Sunday School, and a church
officer. At night, when he came home from business, he would read the
widow's evening paper, and the Colonel's morning paper at the office. Of
true Puritan abstemiousness, his only indulgence was chewing tobacco.
It was as early as 1859 that the teller of the Boatman's Bank began to
point out Mr. Hopper's back to casual customers, and he was more than
once seen to enter the president's room, which had carpet on the floor.
Eliphalet's suavity with certain delinquent customers from the Southwest
was A wording to Scripture. When they were profane, and invited him
into the street, he reminded them that the city had a police force and a
jail. While still a young man, he had a manner of folding his hands
and smiling which is peculiar to capitalists, and he knew the laws
concerning mortgages in several different states.
But Eliphalet was content still to remain in the sphere in which
Providence had placed him, and so to be an example for many of us.
He did not buy, or even hire, an evening suit. He was pleased to
superintend some of the details for a dance at Christmas-time before
Virginia left Monticello, but he sat as usual on the stair-landing.
There Mr. Jacob Cluyme (who had been that day in conversation with
the teller of the Boatman's Bank) chanced upon him. Mr. Cluyme was so
charmed at the facility with which Eliphalet recounted the rise and fall
of sugar and cotton and wheat that he invited Mr. Hopper to dinner. And
from this meal may be reckoned the first appearance of the family of
which Eliphalet Hopper was the head into polite society. If the Cluyme
household was not polite, it was nothing. Eliphalet sat next to Miss
Belle, and heard the private history of many old families, which he
cherished for future use. Mrs. Cluyme apologized for the dinner, which
(if the truth were told) needed an apology. All of which is significant,
but sordid and uninteresting. Jacob Cluyme usually bought stocks before
a rise.
There was only one person who really bothered Eliphalet as he rose into
prominence, and that person was Captain Elijah Brent. If, upon entering
the ground-glass office, he found Eliphalet without the Colonel,
Captain Lige would walk out again just as if the office were empty. The
inquiries he made were addressed always to Ephum. Once, when Mr. Hopper
had bidden him good morning and pushed a chair toward him, the honest
Captain had turned his back and marched straight to the house or Tenth
Street, where he found the Colonel alone at breakfast. The Captain sat
down opposite.
“Colonel,” said he, without an introduction. “I don't like this here
business of letting Hopper run your store. He's a fish, I tell you.”
The Colonel drank his coffee in silence.
“Lige,” he said gently, “he's nearly doubled my income. It isn't the old
times, when we all went our own way and kept our old customers year in
and year out. You know that.”
The Captain took a deep draught of the coffee which Jackson had laid
before him.
“Colonel Carvel,” he said emphatically, “the fellow's a damned rascal,
and will ruin you yet if you don't take advice.”
The Colonel shifted uneasily.
“The books show that he's honest, Lige.”
“Yes,” cried Lige, with his fist on the table. “Honest to a mill. But
if that fellow ever gets on top of you, or any one else, he'll grind you
into dust.”
“He isn't likely to get on top of me, Lige. I know the business, and
keep watch. And now that Jinny's coming home from Monticello, I feel
that I can pay more attention to her--kind of take her mother's place,”
said the Colonel, putting on his felt hat and tipping his chair. “Lige,
I want that girl to have every advantage. She ought to go to Europe and
see the world. That trip East last summer did her a heap of good. When
we were at Calvert House, Dan read her something that my grandfather had
written about London, and she was regularly fired. First I must take
her to the Eastern Shore to see Carvel Hall. Dan still owns it. Now it's
London and Paris.”
The Captain walked over to the window, and said nothing. He did not see
the searching gray eyes of his old friend upon him.
“Lige!” said the Colonel.
The Captain turned.
“Lige, why don't you give up steamboating and come along to Europe?
You're not forty yet, and you have a heap of money laid by.”
The Captain shook his head with the vigor that characterized him.
“This ain't no time for me to leave,” he said. “Colonel; I tell you
there's a storm comin'.”
The Colonel pulled his goatee uneasily. Here, at last, was a man in whom
there was no guile.
“Lige,” he said, “isn't it about time you got married?”
Upon which the Captain shook his head again, even with more vigor. He
could not trust himself to speak. After the Christmas holidays he had
driven Virginia across the frozen river, all the way to Monticello, in a
sleigh. It was night when they had reached the school, the light of its
many windows casting long streaks on the snow under the trees. He had
helped her out, and had taken her hand as she stood on the step.
“Be good, Jinny,” he had said. “Remember what a short time it will be
until June. And your Pa will come over to see you.”
She had seized him by the buttons of his great coat, and said tearfully:
“O Captain Lige! I shall be so lonely when you are away. Aren't you
going to kiss me?”
He had put his lips to her forehead, driven madly back to Alton, and
spent the night. The first thing he did the next day when he reached
St. Louis was to go straight to the Colonel and tell him bluntly of the
circumstance.
“Lige, I'd hate to give her up,” Mr. Carvel said; “but I'd rather you'd
marry her than any man I can think of.”