“Now I’s a man, Mistah Taf’, dat don’t do nuffin’ in a hu’y. I don’
mek up my min’ quick ’bout myse’f ner ’bout othah people. But when my
min’ is made up, it’s made up. Now I come up hyeah to cornfide in you
’bout somep’n’. I was mighty glad to hyeah you say de othah day dat yo’
’fections was done sot an’ located, because hit meks me free to talk to
you ’bout a mattah, seein’ dat hit’s a mattah of my own ’fections.”
“This is ve’y int’rustin’, Mistah Dunkin; go on.”
“I’s a-cornfidin’ in you because you is a young man of presentment an’
knows jes’ how to pu’sue a co’se of cou’tin’. I unnerstan’ dat you is
ingaged to Miss Marfy Madison.”
Mr. Taft smiled with a sudden accession of modesty, either real or
assumed.
“Now, I ain’t nevah had no experunce in cou’tin’ ladies, because I nevah
’spected to ma’y. But hit’s nachul dat a man should change his min’,
Mistah Taf’, ’specially ’bout sich a mattah as matermony.”
“Nothin’ mo’ nachul in de world.”
“So, when I seed dat it was pos’ble to bring sich a young lady as I
hyeahed Miss Callena Johnson was, to Miltonville, by jes’ havin’ a
school, I wo’ks to have de school.”
“Oh, dat’s de reason you commence to tek sich a int’rus’, huh!” The
expression slipped from Alonzo’s lips.
“Don’ narrow me down, Mistah Taf’, don’ narrow me down! Dat was one o’ de
reasons. Howsomevah, we has de school an’ Miss Callena is hyeah. So fa’
my wo’k is good. But I ’low dat no man dat ain’t experunced in cou’tin’
ort to tek de ’sponsibility alone.”
“Of co’se not!” said Alonzo.
“So I t’ought I’d ax you to he’p me by drappin’ roun’ to Miss Callena’s
’casionally an’ puttin’ in a word fu’ me. I unnerstan’ dat women-folks
laks to hyeah ’bout de man dat’s cou’tin’ dem, f’om de outside. Now, you
kin be of gret suhvice to me, an’ you won’t lose nothin’ by it. Jes’
manage to let Miss Callena know ’bout my propity, an’ ’bout my hogs an’
my hosses an’ my chickens, an’ dat I’s buyin’ mo’ lan’. Drap it kind
o’ delikit lak. Don’ mention my name too often. Will you he’p me out
dat-away?”
“W’y, co’se I will, Mr. Dunkin. It’ll gi’ me gret pleasuah to he’p you
in dis way, an’ I’ll be jes’ as delikit as anybody kin.”
“Dat’s right; dat’s right.”
“I won’t mention yo’ name too much.”
“Dat’s right.”
“I’ll jes’ hint an’ hint an’ hint.”
“Dat’s right. You jes’ got it right ezactly, an’ you sha’n’t lose nothin’
by it, I tell you.”
The “prosp’ous bachelor” rose in great elation, and shook Mr. Taft’s hand
vigorously as he departed.
“Miss Marfy, Miss Callena: Miss Callena, Miss Marfy,” repeated Mr. Taft,
as he stood musing after his visitor had gone.
It may have been zeal in the cause of his good friend, or it may have
been some very natural desire for appreciation of his own merits, that
prompted Alonzo Taft to dress with such extreme care for his visit to
Miss Callena Johnson on the next night. He did explain his haste to make
the call by telling himself that if he was going to do anything for Mr.
Dunkin he had better be about it. But this anxiety on his protégé’s
account did not explain why he put on his fawn-coloured waistcoat, which
he had never once worn when visiting Miss Martha, nor why he needed
to be so extraordinarily long in tying his bow tie. His beaver was
rubbed and caressed until it shone again. Major Richardson himself had
not looked better in that blue Prince Albert coat, when it was a year
newer. Thus arrayed, stepping manfully and twirling a tiny cane, did the
redoubtable Mr. Taft set out for the conquest of Miss Callena Johnson. It
is just possible that it was Alonzo’s absorption in his own magnificence
that made him forgetfully walk down the very street on which Miss Martha
Madison’s cottage was situated. Miss Martha was at the gate. He looked up
and saw her, but too late to retreat.
“La! Mistah Taf’,” said Miss Martha, smiling as she opened the gate for
him. “I wasn’t expectin’ you dis evenin’. Walk right in.”
“I—I—I—thank you, Miss Marfy, thank you,” replied the dark beau, a bit
confused but stepping through the gateway. “It’s a mighty fine evenin’
we’re havin’.”
“I don’t wunner you taken yo’se’f out fu’ a walk. I was thinkin’ ’bout
goin’ out myse’f ontwell I seen you comin’ along. You mus’ ’a’ been
mighty tuk up wif de weathah, ’cause you hahdly knowed when you got to
de gate. I thought you was a-goin’ to pass on by.”
“Oh, I couldn’t pass dis gate. I’m so used to comin’ hyeah dat I reckon
my feet ’u’d jes’ tu’n up de walk of dey own accord.”
“Dey didn’t tu’n up dat walk much Sunday. Whaih was you all day aftah
mo’nin’ chu’ch? I ’spected you up in de aft’noon.”
“I—I—would ’a’ been”—Mr. Taft was beginning to writhe upon his chair—“but
I had to go out to mek some calls.”
“Oh, yes,” retorted Miss Martha, good-naturedly, “I reckon you was one o’
dem gent’mans dat was settin’ up at de schoolteachah’s house.”
“I fu’ one was callin’ on Miss Callena. Hit’s only propah when a strange
lady come to town fu’ de gent’men to call an’ pay deir ’spects.”
“I reckon hit ain’t propah fu’ de gent’mans to tek none o’ de ladies to
call.”
“I ain’t ’scussin’ dat,” said Mr. Taft, with some acerbity.
“Of co’se you ain’t. Well, hit ain’t none o’ my bus’ness, to be sho. I
ain’t thinkin’ nothin’ ’bout myse’f or none o’ de things you been sayin’
to me. But all I got to say is, you bettah leave Miss Callena, as you
call huh, alone, ’cause evahbody say ol’ man Dunkin got his eyes sot on
huh, an’ he gwine to win. Dey do say, too, dat he outsot you all, Sunday.”
Nothing could have hurt Alonzo Taft’s pride more than this, or more
thoroughly aroused his dignity.
“Ef I wanted Miss Callena Johnson,” he said, “I wouldn’t stan’ back fu’
nobody like ol’ man Dunkin.”
“I reckon you wouldn’t, but you might set in an’ git jes’ nachully sot
back;” and Martha laughed maliciously.
“I ain’t boastin’ ’bout what I could do ef I had a min’ to, but I ’low ef
I wan’ed to set my cap fu’ any young lady, I wouldn’t be feared o’ no ol’
man dat don’t know nothin’ but hogs an’ chickens.”
“Nevah min’! Dem hogs an’ chickens fetches money, an’ dat’s what yo’ fine
city ladies wants, an’ don’t you fu’git it.”
“Money ain’t a-gwine to mek no ol’ man young.”
“De ol’ man wa’n’t too ol’ to outset you all young men anyhow.”
“Dey’s somep’n’ mo’ to cou’tin’ ’sides settin’.”
“Yes, but a long set an’ a long pocket is mighty big evidence.”
“I don’t keer ef it is. Wha—what’s de use of argyin’? I do’ want Miss
Callena nohow—I do’ want huh.”
“You stahted de argyment; I didn’t staht it. You ain’t goin’, is you?”
“I got to go,” said Alonzo, with his hand on the door-knob; “I done
ovahstayed my time now.”
“Whaih you gwine to?”
“I—I—oh, I’m goin’ down de street. Don’ ax whaih I’m a-goin’ to, Miss
Marfy; it ain’t good raisin’.”
“I unnerstan’ you, ’Lonzo Taf’. I unnerstood you when you fus’ come in,
all rigged out in yo’ fines’ clothes. You did’n’ ’low to stop hyeah
nohow. You gwine down to see dat teachah, dat’s whaih you gwine.”
“Well, s’posin’ I am, s’posin’ I am?”
“Well, s’posin’ you is,” repeated Miss Martha. “Why, go on. But I hope
you won’t run acrost ol’ man Dunkin ag’in an’ git outsot.”
“I ain’t afeard o’ runnin’ acrost ol’ man Dunkin,” said Alonzo, as he
went out; and he smiled an inscrutable smile.
Martha watched him as he went down the street and faded into the
darkness. Then she went in and locked her door.
“I don’t keer,” she said to herself, “I don’t keer a bit. Ef he wants
huh, he kin go ’long an’ git huh. I ’low she’ll be glad enough to have
him. I ain’t gwine to try an’ hol’ him a bit.” Then, to fortify her
resolution, she buried her face in her apron and sobbed out the fulness
of her heart.
Mr. Taft’s good-humour and gallantry came back to him as he knocked at
Eli Thompson’s door and asked for the teacher. Yes, she was in, and came
smiling into the front room to see him. He carefully picked his phrases
of greeting, shook her hand gently, and hoped that she was enjoying good
health.
Alonzo rather prided himself on the elegance of his conversation. His
mind rebelled against the idea of having to talk hogs to this divine
creature, and for some one else besides.
“Reely, Miss Callena, I do’ know as de gent’men ought to bothah you by
callin’ ’roun’ in de evenin’. Haid wo’k is so hahd dat aftah yo’ dooties
endurin’ de day you mus’ be mos’ nigh wo’ out when night comes.”
“Oh, I assure you you are wrong, Mr. Taft. I am not very tired, and if I
were there is nothing that rests the mind like agreeable company.” And
oh, the ravishing smile as she said this! Alonzo felt his head going.
“I don’t reckon even agreeable company ’u’d res’ me aftah labourin’ wif
some o’ de childern you’ve got in yo’ school; I knows ’em.”
“Well, it’s true they’re not all of them saints.”
“No, indeed, they’re not saints. I don’t see how a slendah, delikit lady
like yo’se’f kin manage ’em, ’less ’n you jes’ ’spire ’em wif respect.”
“I can see already,” she answered, “that it is going to take something
more than inspiration to manage the rising generation of Miltonville.”
Here was Alonzo’s opportunity. He cast his eyes romantically toward the
ceiling.
“I c’nfess,” he said, “dat I am one o’ dem dat believes dat yo’ sex ought
to be mo’ fu’ o’nament. You ought to have de strong ahms of a man to
pertect you an’ manage fu’ you.”
If that was a twinkle which for an instant lightened the dark eyes of
Miss Callena, Mr. Taft did not see it, for his own orbs were still
feelingly contemplating the ceiling.
“Ah, yes,” sighed the teacher, “the strong arms of man would save poor
woman a great deal; but it is always the same difficulty, to find them
both strong and willing.”
“Oh, I know ef you was de lady in question, dey’d be plenty dat was
willin’ right hyeah in dis town.” Alonzo went on impetuously, “Men dat
owns houses an’ lan’ an’ hosses an’ hogs, even dey’d be willin’ ef it was
you.”
Miss Callena’s eyes were discreetly cast down.
“Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Taft.”
“Flattah you! No, ma’am. You don’t know lak I do. You have sholy brought
new life into dis hyeah town, an’ all Miltonville’ll tek off its hat to
you. Dat’s de way we feel to’ds you.”
“I am sure I appreciate these kind words of yours, and I hope that I
shall be able to keep the good opinion of Miltonville.”
“Jes’ as Miltonville hopes dat it may be pu’mitted to keep you,” said
Alonzo, gallantly. And so the conversation went along merrily.
It was after ten o’clock before the enamoured caller could tear himself
away from the soft glance and musical voice of the teacher. Then he told
her: “Miss Callena, I sholy have injoyed dis evenin’. It has been one of
de most unctious in all my life. I shell nevah fu’git it so long as I am
pu’mitted to remain on dis earth.”
In return, she said that the pleasure had been mutual, and it had been so
kind of him to come in and take her mind off the cares of the day, and
she did so hope that he would call again.
Would he call again! Could he stay away?
He went away walking on air. The beaver was tilted far back on his head,
and the cane was more furiously twirled. The blue Prince Albert was
thrown wide, showing the fawn-coloured waistcoat in all its glory.
“Miss Callena, Miss Marfy, Mr. Dunkin an’ me!” said Mr. Taft; and he
chuckled softly to himself. Then he added: “Well, I did speak ’bout de
hosses an’ de hogs an’ de lan’, didn’t I; well, what mo’ could I do? Of
co’se, I didn’t say whose dey was; but he didn’t want me to mention no
names—jes’ to hint, an’ I did hint. Nobody couldn’t ask no mo’ dan dat.”
Thus does that duplicity which is resident in the hearts of men seek to
deceive even itself, making shining virtues of its shadiest acts.
In the days that ensued, Alonzo availed himself of Miss Callena’s
invitation to call, and went often. If he was trying or had succeeded
in deceiving himself as to his feelings, in the minds of two sagacious
women there was yet no doubt about his intentions. The clear eyes of
the teacher could do something besides sparkle; they could see. And she
wondered and smiled at the beau’s veiled wooing. From the first gorgeous
moment of the fawn-coloured waistcoat and the blue Prince Albert,
the other woman, Martha, had seen through her recreant lover as by
inspiration. She constantly brooded over his infidelity. He had entirely
deserted her now, not even making any pretence of caring what she thought
of him. For a while the girl went stolidly about her own business,
and tried to keep her mind from dwelling on him. But his elegance and
grace would come back to her with the memory of their pleasant days of
courtship, and fill her heart with sorrow. Did she care for him still?
Of course she did. The admission hurt her pride, but fostered in her
a strong determination. If she did love him and had dared to confess
so much to herself, she had already reached the lowest depths of
humiliation. It could be no worse to make an effort to retain her lover.
This resolution gave her warrant to accost Mr. Dunkin the next time she
saw him pass the house.
“Howdy, Mistah Dunkin?—how you come on?”
“Jes’ tol’able, Miss Marfy. How’s yo’se’f?”
“Mode’t’, thanky, jes’ mode’t’. How de school-house come on?”
“Oh, hit’s p’ogressin’ mos’ salub’ious, thanky, ma’am.”
“I would ax you how de teachah, but hit do seem dat Mistah Taf’ done beat
yo’ time so claih dat you wouldn’t know nothin’ ’bout it.”
“Haw, haw, Miss Marfy, you sholy is de beatenes’ one to have yo’ joke.”
“I ’claih to goodness, Mistah Dunkin, I’s s’prised at a man o’ yo’
position lettin’ Mistah Taf’ git de bes’ of him dat way.”
“Nemmine, Miss Marfy, I ’low dat young man o’ yo’n done let out my secut,
but you cain’t rig me ’bout hit.”
“I don’t unnerstan’ you. What young man, an’ what secut?”
“Oh, I reckon you an’ Mistah Taf’ ’ll soon be man an’ wife, an’ hit ain’t
no hahm fu’ de wife to know what de husban’ know.”
“I do’ know huccome you say dat; Mistah Taf’ don’ have nothin’ to say to
me; he cou’tin’ Miss Callena Johnson.”
“Don’ have nothin’ to say to you! Cou’tin’ Miss Callena!”
“Dat’s de reason I wants to know huccome you back out.”
“Back out! Who back out? Me back out? I ain’t nevah backed out: Mistah
Taf’ foolin’ you.”
“’Tain’ me he’s a-foolin’. He may be foolin’ some folks, but hit ain’t
Marfy Jane Madison. La, Mistah Dunkin, I knows colo’ed folks, I kin shet
my eyes an’ put my han’s on ’em in de da’k. Co’se hit ain’t none o’ my
business, but I know he ain’t puttin’ on his bes’ clothes, an’ gwine to
see dat teachah th’ee times a week, ’less ’n he got notions in his haid.
’Tain’t in human natur, leastways not colo’ed human natur as I knows it.
’Tain’t me he’s a-foolin’.”
“Do he put on his best clothes an’ go th’ee times a week?”
“Dat he do, an’ ca’ies huh flowahs f’om ol’ Major Richardson’s
pusservatory besides, an’ you ain’t makin’ a move.”
“Ain’t Mistah Taf’ nevah tol’ you nothin’?”
“Tol’ me nothin’! No, suhree. What he got to tell me?”
“Uh huh!” said Mr. Dunkin, thoughtfully. “Well, good-night, Miss Marfy.
I’s glad I seed you; but I mus’ be gittin’ along. I got to delibe’ate
ovah dis question.”
“Oh, yes; you go on an’ delibe’ate, dat’s right, an’ while you
delibe’atin’, Mistah Taf’ he walk off wid de lady. But ’tain’t none o’ my
business, ’tain’t none o’ my business.”
Mr. Dunkin deliberated as he walked down the street. Could there be any
truth in Martha Madison’s surmises? He had talked with Alonzo only the
day before, and been assured that everything was going right. Could it be
that his lieutenant was playing him false? Some suspicious circumstances
now occurred to his mind. When he had spoken of going himself to see Miss
Callena, he remembered now how Alonzo had insisted that he had matters
in such a state that the interference of Mr. Dunkin just at that point
would spoil everything. It looked dark. His steps were taking him toward
Major Richardson’s. He heard a footstep, and who should be coming toward
him, arrayed even as Martha Madison had said, but the subject of his
cogitations? Mr. Dunkin thought he saw Alonzo start as their eyes met. He
had a bouquet in his hand.
“Hey ho, ’Lonzo. Gwine down to Miss Callena’s?”
“Why—why—ye’—yes. I jes’ thought I would walk down that way in yo’
int’rus’.”
“My! but you sholy has got yo’se’f up fit to kill.”
“When de genul sen’s his messengers out to negoterate, dey mus’ go in
full unifo’m, so’s to impress de people dat dey genul is somebody.”
“Jesso,” assented the elder man, “but I don’t want you to be waihin’ out
yo’ clothes in my suhvice, ’Lonzo.”
“Oh, dat’s all right, Mistah Dunkin; hit’s a pleasuah, I assuah you.”
“How’s things comin’ on, anyhow, down to Miss Callena’s?”
“Couldn’t be bettah, suh; dey’s most puspicious. Hit’ll soon be time fu’
you to come in an’ tek mattahs in yo’ own han’s.”
“Do you tell Miss Callena ’bout de houses an’ lan’?”
“Oh, yes; I tells huh all about dat.”
“What she say?”
“Oh, she jes’ smiles.”
“I reckon you tol’ huh ’bout de hogs an’ de chickens an’ de hosses?”
“Yes, indeed, I sholy done dat.”
“What she do den?”
“She jes’ smiled.”
“Did you th’ow out a hint ’bout me buyin’ mo’ lan’?”
“Why, co’se I wa’n’t go’n’ to leave dat paht out.”
“Well, den, what did she say?”
“She smiled ag’in.”
“Huh! she mus’ be a gone smiler. ’Pears to me, ’Lonzo, ’bout time she
_sayin’_ somep’n’.”
“Oh, she smile ’cause she kin do dat so purty, dat’s de reason she smile.”
“Uh huh! Well, go ’long, I mus’ be gittin’ home.”
Alonzo Taft smiled complacently as he passed on. “Yes,” he said to
himself, “it’ll soon be time fu’ Mistah Dunkin to come in an’ tek mattahs
in his own han’s. It’ll soon be time.”
He had lost all scruples at his course, and ceased self-questioning.
Mr. Dunkin gave no sign of perturbation of mind as he walked down the
street to his cottage. He walked neither faster nor slower than he had
gone before seeing Martha Madison. But when he sank down into the depths
of his arm-chair in the privacy of his own apartment, he said: “Miss
Marfy say dat while I delibe’atin’ Mistah Taf’ walk off wif de lady. Huh
uh! Well, I jes’ delibe’ate a little mo’ while I’s a-changin’ my clothes.”
Who shall tell of the charms which Miss Callena displayed that
night,—how her teeth gleamed and her eyes sparkled and her voice was
alternately merry or melting? It is small wonder that the heart of Alonzo
Taft throbbed, and that words of love rushed to his lips and burst
into speech. But even then some lingering sense of loyalty made his
expressions vague and ambiguous. There was the sea before him, but he
hated, nay, feared to plunge in. Miss Callena watched him as he dallied
upon the shore of an open declaration, and admired a timidity so rare in
a man of Taft’s attainments.
“I know you boun’ to look down on me, Miss Callena,” he said, with
subdued ardour, “’cause I’m a ign’ant man. I ain’t had no ejication nor
no schoolin’. I’m jes’ a se’f-made man. All I know I’ve lunned f’om de
white folks I’ve wo’ked fu’.”
“It isn’t always education that makes the man, Mr. Taft,” said the
school-teacher, encouragingly. “I’ve seen a great many men in my life who
had all the education and schooling that heart could wish, but when that
was said, all was said. They hadn’t anything here.” She pressed her hand
feelingly and impressively upon her heart. “It’s the noble heart, after
all, that makes the real man.”
Mr. Taft also pressed his hand against his heart and sighed. They were
both so absorbed that neither of them saw the shadow that fell on the
floor from a form that stood in the doorway.
“As for being self-made,” Miss Callena went on, “why, Mr. Taft, what can
be nobler or better for a man to know than that all he has he has got by
his own efforts?”
The shadow disappeared, and the form receded from the doorway as the
suitor was saying: “I tek no credit to myse’f fu’ what I’ve got, neither
in sense or money. But I am glad to say dat I wo’ked fu’ everything
myse’f.”
“You have reason to be proud of such a fact.”
They were visibly warming up. Alonzo moved his chair a little nearer, and
possessed himself of Miss Callena’s hand. She did not draw it away nor
repulse him. She even hung her head. Yes, the proud, educated, queenly
Callena Johnson hung her head. Meanwhile, in the darkness of the doorway
the form stood and glowered upon them.
“Miss Callena, at a time like dis, I hates to talk to you about de
o’dina’y things of life, but when anything se’ious arises, it is allus
well fu’ de pahties to know each othah’s circumstances.”
“You are a very sensible man, Mr. Taft.”
“Call me ’Lonzo,” he murmured, patting her hand. “But, as I was going to
say, it’s necessary dat you should know de circumstances of anybody who
wanted to ax fu’ dis han’ dat I’m a-holdin’.”
Miss Callena turned her head away and was silent. In fact, she held her
breath.
“Miss Johnson—Callena—what ’u’d you think of a nice cottage wif no
encumbrances on it, a couple o’ nice hosses, a cow an’ ha’f a dozen of
de fines’ hogs in Miltonville—”
“An’ all o’ dem mine!” thundered the voice of the form, striding into the
middle of the room.
Miss Callena shrieked. Alonzo had been about falling on his knees, but he
assumed an erect position with an alacrity that would have done credit to
a gymnast.
“Co’se, of co’se, Mistah Dunkin! I was jes’ a-comin’ to dat!”
“I jes’ come down fu’ feah you’d fu’git to tell Miss Callena who all dem
things ’longed to, an’ who’s a-layin’ dem at huh feet,” said Mr. Dunkin.
“I ’low Miss Callena unnerstan’ dat,” said Mr. Taft, bobbing his head
sheepishly.
“I don’t remember that Mr. Taft explained this before,” said Miss
Johnson, turning coldly from him. “Do have a seat, dear Mr. Dunkin.”
Alonzo saw with grief that the idol of his heart had transferred her
affectionate smiles to the rightful owner of the other property that
had been in question. He made his stay short, leaving Mr. Dunkin in
undisputed possession of the field.
That gentleman took no further time for deliberation. He promptly
proposed and was accepted. Perhaps even the romantic Miss Callena had an
eye to the main chance.
The day after the announcement of the engagement, he met his erstwhile
lieutenant on the street.
“Well, well, Mistah Dunkin, we winned huh, didn’t we?” said Alonzo.
“’Lonzo Taf’,” said Mr. Dunkin, deliberately, “I fu’give you, but you
ain’t de man I teken you to be.”