"Certainly; Jack lives right opposite. Give me your bag."
He refused, and rattled on, upbraiding me for not coming down to Crab
Island last spring with the "boys" when the ducks were flying, punctuating
his remarks here and there with his delight at seeing me looking so well,
his joy at being near enough to Jack to shake the dear fellow by the hand,
and the inexpressible ecstasy of being once more in New York, the centre
of fashion and wealth, "with mo' comfo't to the square inch than any other
spot on this terrestrial ball."
The "boys" referred to were members of a certain "Ducking Club" situated
within rifle-shot of the major's house on the island, of which club Jack
Hardy was president. They all delighted in the major's society, really
loving him for many qualities known only to his intimates.
Hardy, I knew, was not at home. This, however, never prevented his colored
servant, Jefferson, from being always ready at a moment's notice to
welcome the unexpected friend. In another instant I had rung Hardy's
bell,--third on right,--and Jefferson, in faultless evening attire, was
carrying the major's "carpet-bag" to the suite of apartments on the third
floor front.
Jefferson needs a word of comment. Although born and bred a slave, he is
the product of a newer and higher civilization. There is hardly a trace of
the old South left in him,--hardly a mark of the pit of slavery from which
he was digged. His speech is as faultless as his dress. He is clean,
close-shaven, immaculate, well-groomed, silent,--reminding me always of a
mahogany-colored Greek professor, even to his eye-glasses. He keeps his
rooms in admirable order, and his household accounts with absolute
accuracy; never spilled a drop of claret, mixed a warm cocktail, or served
a cold plate in his life; is devoted to Hardy, and so punctiliously polite
to his master's friends and guests that it is a pleasure to have him serve
you.
Strange to say, this punctilious politeness had never extended to the
major, and since an occurrence connected with this very bag, to be related
shortly, it had ceased altogether. Whether it was that Jefferson had
always seen through the peculiar varnish that made bright the major's
veneer, or whether in an unguarded moment, on a previous visit, the major
gave way to some such outburst as he would have inflicted upon the
domestics of his own establishment, forgetting for the time the superior
position to which Jefferson's breeding and education entitled him, I
cannot say, but certain it is that while to all outward appearances
Jefferson served the major with every indication of attention and
humility, I could see under it all a quiet reserve which marked the line
of unqualified disapproval. This was evident even in the way he carried
the major's bag,--holding it out by the straps, not as became the handling
of a receptacle containing a gentleman's wardrobe, but by the neck, so to
speak,--as a dog to be dropped in the gutter.
It was this bag, or rather its contents, or to be more exact its lack of
contents, that dulled the fine edge of Jefferson's politeness. He unpacked
it, of course, with the same perfunctory care that he would have bestowed
on the contents of a Bond Street Gladstone, indulging in a prolonged
chuckle when he found no trace of a most important part of a gentleman's
wardrobe,--none of any pattern. It was, therefore, with a certain grim
humor that, when he showed the major to his room the night of his
arrival, he led gradually up to a question which the unpacking a few hours
before had rendered inevitable.
"Mr. Hardy's orders are that I should inform every gentleman when he
retires that there's plenty of whiskey and cigars on the sideboard, and
that"--here Jefferson glanced at the bag--"and that if any gentleman came
unprepared there was a night shirt and a pair of pajams in the closet."
"I never wore one of 'em in my life, Jefferson; but you can put the
whiskey and the cigars on the chair by my bed, in case I wake in the
night."
When Jefferson, in answer to my inquiries as to how the major had passed
the night, related this incident to me the following morning, I could
detect, under all his deference and respect toward his master's guest, a
certain manner and air plainly implying that, so far as the major and
himself were concerned, every other but the most diplomatic of relations
had been suspended.
The major, by this time, was in full possession of my friend's home. The
only change in his dress was in the appearance of his shoes, polished by
Jefferson to a point verging on patent leather, and the adoption of a
black alpaca coat, which, although it wrinkled at the seams with a
certain home-made air, still fitted his fat shoulders very well. To this
were added a fresh shirt and collar, a white tie, nankeen vest, and the
same tight-fitting, splay-footed trousers, enriched by a crease of
Jefferson's own making.
As he lay sprawled out on Hardy's divan, with his round, rosy,
clean-shaven face, good-humored mouth, and white teeth, the whole
enlivened by a pair of twinkling eyes, you forgot for the moment that he
was not really the sole owner of the establishment. Further intercourse
thoroughly convinced you of a similar lapse of memory on the major's part.
"My dear colonel, let me welcome you to my New York home!" he exclaimed,
without rising from the divan. "Draw up a chair; have a mouthful of mocha?
Jefferson makes it delicious. Or shall I call him to broil another
po'ter-house steak? No? Then let me ring for some cigars," and he touched
the bell.
To lie on a divan, reach out one arm, and, with the expenditure of less
energy than would open a match-box, to press a button summoning an
attendant with all the unlimited comforts of life,--juleps, cigars,
coffee, cocktails, morning papers, fans, matches out of arm's reach,
everything that soul could covet and heart long for; to see all these
several commodities and luxuries develop, take shape, and materialize
while he lay flat on his back,--this to the major was civilization.
"But, colonel, befo' you sit down, fling yo' eye over that garden in the
square. Nature in her springtime, suh!"
I agreed with the major, and was about to take in the view over the
treetops, when he tucked another cushion under his head, elongated his
left leg until it reached the window-sill, thus completely monopolizing
it,-and continued without drawing a breath:--
"And I am so comfo'table here. I had a po'ter-house steak this
mornin'--you're sure you won't have one?" I shook my head. "A po'ter-house
steak, suh, that'll haunt my memory for days. We, of co'se, have at home
every variety of fish, plenty of soft-shell crabs, and 'casionally a
canvasback, when Hardy or some of my friends are lucky enough to hit one,
but no meat that is wo'th the cookin'. By the bye, I've come to take Jack
home with me; the early strawberries are in their prime, now. You will
join us, of course?"
Before I could reply, Jefferson entered the room, laid a tray of cigars
and cigarettes with a small silver alcohol lamp at my elbow, and, with a
certain inquiring and, I thought, slightly surprised glance at the major's
sprawling attitude, noiselessly withdrew. The major must have caught the
expression on Jefferson's face, for he dropped his telescope leg, and
straightened up his back, with the sudden awkward movement of a similarly
placed lounger surprised by a lady in a hotel parlor. The episode seemed
to knock the enthusiasm out of him, for after a moment he exclaimed in
rather a subdued tone:--
"Rather remarkable nigger, this servant of Jack's. I s'pose it is the
influence of yo' New York ways, but I am not accustomed to his kind."