"Yes, I know--education and thirty dollars a month. All very fine, but
give me the old house-servants of the South--the old Anthonys, and
Keziahs, and Rachels. They never went about rigged up like a stick of
black sealing-wax in a suit of black co't-plaster. They were easy-goin'
and comfortable. Yo' interest was their interest; they bore yo' name,
looked after yo' children, and could look after yo' house, too. Now see
this nigger of Jack's; he's better dressed than I am, tips round as solemn
on his toes as a marsh-crane, and yet I'll bet a dollar he's as slick and
cold-hearted as a high-water clam. That's what education has done for
_him_.
"You never knew Anthony, my old butler? Well, I want to tell you, he _was_
a servant, as _was_ a servant. During Mrs. Slocomb's life"--here the major
assumed a reminiscent air, pinching his fat chin with his thumb and
forefinger--"we had, of co'se, a lot of niggers; but this man Anthony! By
gravy! when he filled yo' glass with some of the old madeira that had
rusted away in my cellar for half a century,"--here the major now slipped
his thumb into the armhole of his vest,--"it tasted like the nectar of the
gods, just from the way Anthony poured it out.
"But you ought to have seen him move round the table when dinner was over!
He'd draw himself up like a drum-major, and throw back the mahogany doors
for the ladies to retire, with an air that was captivatin'." The major was
now on his feet--his reminiscent mood was one of his best. "That's been a
good many years ago, colonel, but I can see him now just as plain as if he
stood before me, with his white cotton gloves, white vest, and green coat
with brass buttons, standin' behind Mrs. Slocomb's chair. I can see the
old sidebo'd, suh, covered with George III. silver, heirlooms of a
century,"--this with a trance-like movement of his hand across his eyes.
"I can see the great Italian marble mantels suppo'ted on lions' heads, the
inlaid floor and wainscotin'."--Here the major sank upon the divan again,
shutting both eyes reverently, as if these memories of the past were a
sort of religion with him.
"And the way those niggers loved us! And the many holes they helped us out
of. Sit down there, and let me tell you what Anthony did for me once." I
obeyed cheerfully. "Some years ago I received a telegram from a very
intimate friend of mine, a distinguished Baltimorean,--the Nestor of the
Maryland bar, suh,--informin' me that he was on his way South, and that he
would make my house his home on the followin' night." The major's eyes
were still shut. He had passed out of his reverential mood, but the effort
to be absolutely exact demanded concentration.
"I immediately called up Anthony, and told him that Judge Spofford of the
Supreme Co't of Maryland would arrive the next day, and that I wanted the
best dinner that could be served in the county, and the best bottle of
wine in my cellar." The facts having been correctly stated, the major
assumed his normal facial expression and opened his eyes.
"What I'm tellin' you occurred after the war, remember, when putty near
everybody down our way was busted. Most of our niggers had run away,--all
'cept our old house-servants, who never forgot our family pride and our
noble struggle to keep up appearances. Well, suh, when Spofford arrived
Anthony carried his bag to his room, and when dinner was announced, if it
_was_ my own table, I must say that it cert'ly did fa'rly groan with the
delicacies of the season. After the crabs had been taken off,--we were
alone, Mrs. Slocomb havin' gone to Baltimo',--I said to the judge: 'Yo'
Honor, I am now about to delight yo' palate with the very best bottle of
old madeira that ever passed yo' lips. A wine that will warm yo' heart,
and unbutton the top button of yo' vest. It is part of a special
importation presented to Mrs. Slocomb's father by the captain of one of
his ships.--Anthony, go down into the wine-cellar, the inner cellar,
Anthony, and bring me a bottle of that old madeira of '37--stop, Anthony;
make it '39. I think, judge, it is a little dryer.' Well, Anthony bowed,
and left the room, and in a few moments he came back, set a lighted candle
on the mantel, and, leanin' over my chair, said in a loud whisper: 'De
cellar am locked, suh, and I'm 'feard Mis' Slocomb dun tuk de key.'
"'Well, s'pose she has,' I said; 'put yo' knee against it, and fo'ce the
do'.' I knew my man, suh. Anthony never moved a muscle.
"Here the judge called out, 'Why, major, I couldn't think of'--
"'Now, yo' Honor,' said I, 'please don't say a word. This is my affair.
The lock is not of the slightest consequence.'
"In a few minutes back comes Anthony, solemn as an owl. 'Major,' said he,
'I done did all I c'u'd, an' dere ain't no way 'cept breakin' down de do'.
Las' time I done dat, Mis' Slocomb neber forgib me fer a week.'
"The judge jumped up. 'Major, I won't have you breakin' yo' locks and
annoyin' Mrs. Slocomb.'
"'Yo' Honor,' I said, 'please take yo' seat. I'm d----d if you shan't
taste that wine, if I have to blow out the cellar walls.'
"'I tell you, major,' replied the judge in a very emphatic tone and with
some slight anger I thought, 'I ought not to drink yo' high-flavored
madeira; my doctor told me only last week I must stop that kind of thing.
If yo' servant will go upstairs and get a bottle of whiskey out of my bag,
it's just what I ought to drink.'
"Now I want to tell you, colonel, that at that time I hadn't had a bottle
of any kind of wine in my cellar for five years." Here the major closed
one eye, and laid his forefinger against his nose.
"'Of co'se, yo' Honor,' I said, 'when you put it on a matter of yo' health
I am helpless; that paralyzes my hospitality; I have not a word to say.
Anthony, go upstairs and get the bottle.' And we drank the judge's
whiskey! Now see the devotion and loyalty of that old negro servant, see
his shrewdness! Do you think this marsh-crane of Jack's"--
Here Jefferson threw open the door, ushering in half a dozen gentlemen,
and among them the rightful host, just returned after a week's
absence,--cutting off the major's outburst, and producing another equally
explosive:--
"Why, Jack!"
Before the two men grasp hands I must, in all justice to the major, say
that he not only had a sincere admiration for Jack's surroundings, but
also for Jack himself, and that while he had not the slightest
compunction in sharing or, for that matter, monopolizing his hospitality,
he would have been equally generous in return had it been possible for him
to revive the old days, and to afford a menage equally lavish.
It is needless for me to make a like statement for Jack. One half the
major's age, trained to practical business life from boyhood, frank,
spontaneous, every inch a man, kindly natured, and, for one so young, a
deep student, of men as well as of books, it was not to be wondered at
that not only the major but that every one else who knew him loved him.
The major really interested him enormously. He represented a type which
was new to him, and which it delighted him to study. The major's
heartiness, his magnificent disregard for _meum_ and _tuum_, his unique
and picturesque mendacity, his grandiloquent manners at times, studied, as
he knew, from some example of the old regime, whom he either consciously
or unconsciously imitated, his peculiar devotion to the memory of his late
wife,--all appealed to Jack's sense of humor, and to his enjoyment of
anything out of the common. Under all this he saw, too, away down in the
major's heart, beneath these several layers, a substratum of true
kindness and tenderness.
This kindness, I know, pleased Jack best of all.
So when the major sprang up in delight, calling out, "Why, Jack!" it was
with very genuine, although quite opposite individual, sympathies, that
the two men shook hands. It was beautiful, too, to see the major welcome
Jack to his own apartments, dragging up the most comfortable chair in the
room, forcing him into it, and tucking a cushion under his head, or
ringing up Jefferson every few moments for some new luxury. These he would
catch away from that perfectly trained servant's tray, serving them
himself, rattling on all the time as to how sorry he was that he did not
know the exact hour at which Jack would arrive, that he might have had
breakfast on the table--how hot had it been on the road--how well he was
looking, etc.
It was specially interesting, besides, after the proper introductions had
been made, to note the way in which Jack's friends, inoculated with the
contagion of the major's mood, and carried away by his breezy, buoyant
enthusiasm, encouraged the major to flow on, interjecting little asides
about his horses and farm stock, agreeing to a man that the two-year old
colt--a pure creation on the moment of the major--would certainly beat the
record and make the major's fortune, and inquiring with great solicitude
whether the major felt quite sure that the addition to the stables which
he contemplated would be large enough to accommodate his stud, with other
similar inquiries which, while indefinite and tentative, were, so to
speak, but flies thrown out on the stream of talk,--the major rising
continuously, seizing the bait, and rushing headlong over sunken rocks and
through tangled weeds of the improbable in a way that would have done
credit to a Munchausen of older date. As for Jack, he let him run on. One
plank in the platform of his hospitality was to give every guest a free
rein.
Before the men separated for the day, the major had invited each
individual person to make Crab Island his home for the balance of his
life, regretting that no woman now graced his table since Mrs. Slocomb's
death,--"Major Talbot's widow--Major John Talbot of Pocomoke, suh," this
impressively and with sudden gravity of tone,--placing his stables, his
cellar, and his servants at their disposal, and arranging for everybody
to meet everybody else the following day in Baltimore, the major starting
that night, and Jack and his friends the next day. The whole party would
then take passage on board one of the Chesapeake Bay boats, arriving off
Crab Island at daylight the succeeding morning.
This was said with a spring and joyousness of manner, and a certain
quickness of movement, that would surprise those unfamiliar with some of
the peculiarities of Widow Talbot's second husband. For with that true
spirit of vagabondage which saturated him, next to the exquisite luxury of
lying sprawled on a lounge with a noiseless servant attached to the other
end of an electric wire, nothing delighted the major so much as an outing,
and no member of any such junketing party, be it said, was more popular
every hour of the journey. He could be host, servant, cook, chambermaid,
errand-boy, and _grand seigneur_ again in the same hour, adapting himself
to every emergency that arose. His good-humor was perennial, unceasing,
one constant flow, and never checked. He took care of the dogs, unpacked
the bags, laid out everybody's linen, saw that the sheets were dry,
received all callers so that the boys might sleep in the afternoon, did
all the disagreeable and uncomfortable things himself, and let everybody
else have all the fun. He did all this unconsciously, graciously, and
simply because he could not help it. When the outing ended, you parted
from him with all the regret that you would from some chum of your college
days. As for him, he never wanted it to end. There was no office, nor law
case, nor sick patient, nor ugly partner, nor complication of any kind,
commercial, social, or professional, which could affect the major. For him
life was one prolonged drift: so long as the last man remained he could
stay. When he left, if there was enough in the larder to last over, the
major always made another day of it.