that was somehow exceedingly pleasing to Millicent. She felt that Jack
Towns was a man of limitless resource, a man accustomed to do things
and to get others to do things, a man to be leant upon with confidence,
and the feeling was altogether comforting. The thought that floated
vaguely through her mind, though she shrank from formulating it, was
that if ever Jack Towns should love a woman, that woman would be
exceedingly comfortable in the certainty that his care of her would be
always tenderly solicitous in its impulse, aggressively masterful in
its manifestation, and measurelessly ingenious in its devices of safety
for her against every ill. If she had permitted her thought to frame
itself, as she resolutely refused to do, it would have been to the
effect that he was a man into whose arms the woman he loved might throw
herself in full assurance of a welcome and in trustful confidence of
all-loving, all-daring protection. She did not let the thought
formulate itself, but it floated nebulously in her mind, which was
perhaps even more dangerous--if indeed there was any danger involved.
In answer to his words she said:
"You are certainly very good. I'll leave it to you to arrange for me,
and as soon as I know definitely that my duty is done, I shall go back
to Boston,--or at least as soon after that as my brother can come down
here to escort me. You know the journey is a trying one."
"Yes, I know. But why trouble your brother needlessly? I shall be
obliged to go to Boston sometime soon, and if you permit, I shall be
glad to be your escort."
Jack was not fibbing. It is true that he had no business that required
him to visit Boston, and yet he really felt it necessary for him to go
thither. He had fully decided to ask Millicent Danvers to become his
wife, and he must go to Boston for that.
Millicent was right in saying that the journey was a trying one. In
that infant age of railroad service the trip from Richmond to Boston
involved eight or ten changes of cars, some of them at midnight. There
were no sleeping cars, no parlor cars, no dining cars, no buffet
cars--nothing in fact but rattletrap coaches, linked together with
chains and pins and controlled only by hand brakes. No car ran through,
or further than its own railway terminus. The connections were never
close, and for the waiting times between there were no accommodations
other than those which an open and often rain-drenched railway platform
afforded.
But there was the question of chaperonage to be considered. Boston
notions on that subject were different from Virginia notions. In
Virginia it was held that a man in escort of a woman was in honor bound
to protect her not only against all others but against himself as well.
He must not, under such circumstances, permit his conversation even
remotely to approach the confines of courtship. He must maintain, from
beginning to end of the escorting, the attitude of one performing a
duty with absolutely unemotional and impersonal temper. The man
escorting was supposed to be a gentleman who would suffer no harm to
come to the woman under his escort, even if his life should be the
forfeit.
But Jack Towns understood the difference between Northern and Southern
manners in that respect, and so, to his offer of escort, he promptly
added:
"My good old negro Mammy will go with you, of course. She'll see that
you have all the comforts that are possible on such a trip."
"But if you take her to Massachusetts she will be free, will she not?"
asked Millicent.
"Free? Yes. She is free now to do as she pleases, and she regulates me
with the high hand, just as she did when I was a baby. Why she even
dominates my dress. Not long ago I came to breakfast with a blue cravat
on, and she made me change it on the ground that I had a murder case to
defend that day and she thought black would be more appropriate. When I
get ready to go to the club in the afternoon, she inspects me, and if
any detail of my costume fails to meet the exigent requirements of her
code, I have to make a change, no matter how hurried I am. Oh, she's
free. Why, she took away the breakfast I had ordered the cook to
prepare for me the other day because it included fried eggs, and she
was persuaded that fried eggs didn't agree with me. She is absolute
mistress in my establishment, and every darkey there recognizes the
fact. Her authority is supreme; mine is utterly subordinate. If I want
any change made in the household arrangements, I must appeal to her to
order it. Fortunately she always gives the order because she still
regards me as her 'precious chile,' for whom everything must be done,
and whose uttermost whim is to be gratified, regardless of the
convenience of other folk, high or low."
"But she is a slave," answered Millicent, "and--"
"In a way, I suppose she is," he interrupted, "but all the eloquence of
all the orators of Boston could not convince her that her condition in
life could be improved. She is absolute mistress of an establishment
and of the poor fellow who owns it. She has everything that her heart
desires, everything that her imagination can conjure up as a want. Her
present is provided for, and her old age is secure. I don't know any
device of freedom that can match that."
"Neither do I," Millicent answered; "but I cannot approve slavery as an
institution. I am prejudiced, perhaps, but--"
"I am not prejudiced," he answered, "but I thoroughly agree with your
dislike of slavery as an institution. All our great Virginians, Thomas
Jefferson, John Randolph, George Wythe, Henry Clay, and the rest, have
regarded the institution as an inherited evil to be got rid of in any
way that might be practicable, in any way that might give to the
negroes a chance to become self-supporting citizens. Thomas Jefferson
put the Virginian thought into an apt phrase when he said that in
freeing the negroes we must not 'arm them with freedom and a dagger.'
He might have added, as many Virginians have done in practice, that we
must arm them with a hoe and a plow."
"I see," she said, "and history teaches us that Virginia has done more
for the restriction of slavery than any other State. It was in her
cession of the Northwest territory that a clause was written forever
excluding slavery from that region; and we cannot forget that in the
convention which framed the constitution, the Virginia delegates fought
vigorously for a provision to stop the African slave trade in the year
1800, and the New England delegates fought to continue it for eight
years longer. I think these things are not understood, and I think I
sympathize with your Virginian resentment of outside interference by
people who do not understand. At any rate I shall carry back to Boston
with me a very different impression of your attitude from that which I
had before. I shall be honored to have you for my escort, Mr. Towns,
and delighted to be coddled all the way home by your dear old Mammy."
At that moment one of the young men who had secured a place on
Millicent's card came to claim his dance, and the conversation was at
an end.
But Jack Towns had a problem to solve. He had promised to bring
Millicent and Westover together without seeming intention, and he did
not know how he was to do it. Suddenly a thought came to him, and, as
he had exhausted his claim upon Millicent's dancing card, he took
French leave, mounted his mare and set off for Chinquapin Knob, whither
Carley Farnsworth had preceded him many hours before. He arrived there
about breakfast time and entered at once into negotiations.
Carley Farnsworth, as Jack Towns knew, was in close touch with Judy
Peters; for these two friends of Boyd Westover had many confidences
with respect to the campaign, of which Westover himself knew nothing,
and Towns had learned all about Judy's attitude and initiative in
Boyd's campaign.
"Of course Boyd's election is secure," said Jack, as he buttered a
slice of the hot breakfast bread; "and now that Butler has withdrawn
and Colonel Conway has endorsed his candidacy, his support will include
a large majority of the vote down here."
"Yes, and that is what Judy and I have been working for. Her influence
in the mountains, when she gets ready to give the word, will settle the
question of election. But Judy is practising psychological
therapeutics. She wouldn't recognize the words, but they represent the
facts. Her sole interest in this thing is to brace Boyd up by showing
him that his fellow men believe in him. To that end she has planned to
secure as heavy a vote for him as possible down here among the planter
people. To that end she has held back all intimations of her purpose in
the mountains. To that end she arranged with Butler to withdraw from
the senatorial contest and run for the lower house instead. Of course
you understand that she means to elect him to that."
"No, does she?" asked Towns in astonishment. "I hadn't thought of that.
How astonishing!"
"Well, it is only a conjecture of mine, but it is what is going to
happen. Judy always pays her debts to the last cent. In this case, by
his own withdrawal Butler throws every Democratic vote in the district
to Boyd, and you don't imagine, do you, that he did that without
prospect of a recompense? Of course Judy negotiated it, and it is my
conjecture that the price she is to pay is the mountain vote for
Butler's election to the House of Delegates, which, with the Democratic
vote down here, will elect him. Of course I know nothing about the
matter. It is only that I can see through a millstone if there is a
hole in it. And besides I know Judy's ways. She doesn't care a fig for
this election except to make it serve her purpose of setting Boyd up
again and making him feel that he is Westover of Wanalah."
"I see," answered Jack; "and the old woman would do anything in reason,
I suppose, to aid in the accomplishment of that purpose?"
"Anything in reason? Yes. And anything out of reason too. What is it
you have in mind?"
"Well, I want Judy to give a frolic of some kind, and I'll take Miss
Danvers to it. Can you arrange that?"
"Easily, if it is likely to benefit Boyd. But I don't see--"
"Of course you don't. But I tell you it will do more for his
rejuvenation than would his unanimous election to the Senate. Of course
he must be there, and so must Miss Danvers. I will take care of the
rest."
"What is it you're up to, Jack?" asked Farnsworth in not unnatural
curiosity.
"I shall not tell you, except that I want Miss Danvers and Boyd
Westover to meet casually. Besides, Miss Danvers is an interested and
sympathetic student of Virginia life, and I want to show her the
mountain side of it before she goes back to Boston. How soon can you
arrange the thing, Carley?"
"Well, let's see. Edgar Coffey, who is not supposed to know me by sight
or by name is to be here to-night. He will see Judy tomorrow, some
time, and deliver my messages about Butler's withdrawal and the rest of
it. Will next Saturday do for the party?"
"Yes, if you can arrange it so soon."
"Judy does things promptly, when she is minded to do them at all, and
in this case she is sure to be so minded. You may safely invite Miss
Danvers to be one of the guests at next Saturday's frolic. Now you must
go to bed. You had a hard day yesterday, and made a brilliant speech,
and of course you danced all night with Miss Danvers. Since then you
have ridden fifteen miles with a load on your mind. It is time for you
to take some rest. The front room in the west wing is prepared for you.
Go!"
XXXIV
JUDY'S PLANS OF CAMPAIGN
The events at Fighting Creek threw Webb's political advisers into
something like panic. They realized that Butler's withdrawal and
Colonel Conway's support of Westover's candidacy would give Westover a
majority vote in the piedmont section of the district. If Webb was to
win at all, it must be by securing the mountain vote. To that end they
sent all their speakers into the mountains, arranging that Webb himself
should speak there twice or thrice a day. He was a plausible fellow,
persuasive in his oratory and capable of verbal acrobatics of a kind
likely to be attractive to simple minded audiences. But chiefly, Webb's
backers relied upon negotiations with Judy Peters, whose control over
the mountain vote of her own county was almost absolute, and whose
influence over the vote in other mountain parts of the district was apt
to be controlling if she saw fit to exercise it, as in many cases she
did not.
In the present campaign Judy had given no sign. Apparently she was
altogether indifferent. If she should persist in that indifference,
then a vigorous speaking campaign might turn the battle; but if she
could be induced to take an active interest in Webb's election, the
result would be secure.
So Webb and some of his most persuasive lieutenants were set to "arouse
Judy's interest." They visited her immediately after the Fighting Creek
disaster, and told her of the danger that impended. She entertained
them with glorified fried chicken, stewed shoat, salt pork with cream
gravy, apple butter, and limitless apple jack, but she declined to
commit herself. To all their solicitations she replied in carefully
equivocal phrases that left them pleased, encouraged, but by no means
satisfied.
"The old gal's a-goin' back on us, it's my belief," said Foggy when
these results were reported to him.
"You are certainly mistaken," Webb answered. "I had a long,
confidential talk with her and I came away from the conference with an
unshakable conviction that she means to throw her uttermost influence
in my favor."
"Did she say so in plain words?" asked Foggy.
"No, not precisely that, but she certainly intended to give me that
impression. You don't know Judy, or you would understand. She likes to
keep one hanging on, as it were. She never commits herself by definite
promises. Sometimes she doesn't let even her henchmen know how they are
going to vote until the night before election. We can safely trust
ourselves in Judy's hands."
"Well, I hope you're right, but I'd feel a good deal better," responded
Foggy, "if we had a definite promise."
No sooner was the visit of the Webb forces over than Judy turned to
Sapphira and said:
"Go an' hang my red petticoat on the frontmost panel o' the fence, an'
leave it there."
"Is Edgar Coffey a-comin' long by here this evenin'?" asked the girl
who had rendered this service on several former occasions.
"Don't be too knowin', Sapphiry, an' don't git yourself into a
inquirin' frame o' mind. That there red petticoat's enough fer you to
think about jest now."
About sunset Edgar Coffey came slouching up the road, apparently
intending to pass the place without stopping, but when he saw the red
petticoat hanging over the top rail of the fence he seemed suddenly to
remember that he wanted a drink of water from Judy's glacial spring,
with something to temper its coldness perhaps. So he leaped the fence,
and passing around the house, toward the spring, confronted Judy at her
back door. Quite casually she invited him in, and after her hospitable
habit she brought forth a decanter of apple jack for his entertainment.
"Now drink sparin'-like, Edgar," she said, "'cause you's got business
to ten' to an' I don't want none o' that confusion o' tongues the Bible
tells about. But mend your drink an' git over your tired an' then I'll
give you your pinters."
Edgar Coffey was habitually a sober man. That is to say he never drank
liquor that he must pay for; but when the tipple cost him nothing he
was apt to make up for lost time. Judy, whose habit it was to know all
about the men she dealt with, knew this, and upon occasion tempered her
alcoholic hospitality with prudent reserve. If she had had no mission
for Edgar Coffey to fulfil, he might have emptied the bottle without
interference on her part. As it was, she withdrew the supply as soon as
he had filled his little tumbler for the third time, and as soon as he
had emptied it again she addressed herself to the business in hand.
"That there William Wilberforce Webb has been here with his gang, to
'lectioneer me," she said. She would have used some opprobrious epithet
with Webb's name if she could have thought of one that seemed to her
more scornful than the man's own cumbersome name did.
"Yes, I knowed they was a-comin'," answered Edgar.
"Never mind what you knowed. Listen to me. You is to go an' git Morris
Bryant an' Lem Fulcher, an' Wyatt Fletcher an' two or three others, an'
'tend his speakin' meetin's, specially' them as don't lay close to
here--them as is held in the furder parts o' the mountings where may be
a word from me don't count for as much as it does round here."
"Is we to raise a racket an' break up the meetin's?"
"No. Yous is to be as meek as Moses, an' ax questions, jest as ef you
was doubtful like an' a seekin' information. But you ain't to ax
William Wilberforce Webb none o' the questions, 'cause he mout answer
'em an' spile the game. 'Tain't answers we want, but effec's. You is to
ax everybody you see, what that feller's wagon-load o' name means. An'
you's to wonder, jest curious like whar he got it to tote round. An'
then you can sort o' explain your curiosity by sayin' you's heard
somewhere's as how William Wilberforce is one o' the biggest
abolitionists, an' wonder whether Webb is his nephew or his son, an' if
Webb ain't maybe a abolitionist in disguise, a tryin' to git into the
Legislatur. Ef anybody answers your questions an' tries to explain, you
can jest say, 'Well, I dunno nothin' 'bout it, only it looks sort o'
'spicious like,' an' go away an' hunt up another crowd. You know how to
do a sneakin' thing like that, Edgar, better'n anybody I ever seen, an'
the men I's named fer your feller sinners ain't no slouches at that
sort o' thing nuther. You's got no call to argify or say anything as
anybody can pick up. You-all's business is jest to ax questions, raise
suspicions an' make impressions."
She chuckled as Edgar winked at her in token of complete comprehension,
and as she did so she muttered:
"That feller's name'll be the death of him yit."
Then she added:
"Now you can have another pull at the apple jack, Edgar, an' then you
must be off, fer they's a big Webb gatherin' 'pinted fer to-morrer over
at Olivet church, an' I want all you fellers to be thar."
"Wait a minute, Judy," said the hulking mountaineer as he unlimbered
his legs and sat upright in his chair. "I's got a message fer you from
Dr. Carley Farnsworth."
"Why didn't you tell me that fust off?" asked Judy almost angrily.
"'Cause 'twouldn't 'a' been polite, like, tell you was done speakin'.
'Ladies fust' is my motto."
"All right. Limber up your tongue an' tell me what 'tis."
"Well, he says he'll cover all expenses, but you is to give a very
select--them was his words--a _very select_ Brunswick Stew here next
Saturday an' let him bring up a wagon-load o' folks from down below. He
says it'll do more'n the 'lection itself for Westover in the way you
an' him is a-thinkin' of. I didn't ax him what he meant by that, 'cause
he seemed to think you'd know all about it. Oh, he said you must be
sure to send a partic'lar invite to Westover. He's to speak over at Cob
Station Friday."
Judy received the message placidly, and, without comment upon it,
hurried Edgar Coffey away on his mission.
"Well," she said to herself presently, "Carley Farnsworth ain't no
fool; but I'd give somethin' purty to know how he expects me to make a
Brunswick Stew this late in the fall when they ain't a tomato or a ear
o' green corn left alive in all the land."
Then suddenly she called for her three sons, Daniel Webster, Henry
Clay, and Theonidas, who happened to be at home at the time.
"We's a goin' to give a barbecue nex' Saturday, right out in the patch
o' red oak an' black gum woods. So you's got to git to work. Kill an'
dress a shoat an' two lambs an' 'bout a dozen chickens, an' hang 'em in
the spring house to cool. Then you three haul out the lumber from the
corn crib an' knock up a lot o' tables. No, Daniel Webster an' Henry
Clay can ten' to that, while Theonidas digs the roastin' pits an' chops
some oak an' hickory wood to roast with. Chop it short, Theonidas, an'
split it fine, so's it'll go to coals quick."
After she had given these orders and instructed Sapphira as to duties
that must devolve on her, she busied her mind with other things
relating to the affair. First of all she filled and lighted her pipe
and sat down in a big rocking chair to "do a little studyin'."
"Very select," she mused. "That means I mustn't let the fellers drink
too much. I can ten' to that, so they ain't no bother. He's a goin' to
bring a lot o' stuck-ups with him. That's all right, an' I'll make 'em
think we's purty nigh on to bein' sort o' civilized ourselves. Le's
see; Burch Wrigley an' Lewis Vance an' Jim Woodson won't do. They'd go
round chawin' meat an' a holdin' it in their han's what hain't been
washed sence Noah's flood cleaned things up, like. Them fellers ain't
to have no invites. I'll send 'em a feed in a bucket instid.
"Le' me see! Jim Wood's a-goin' down to the speakin' at Cob Station,
Friday. I'll tell him to tell Boyd to come up here Friday night. Then
I'll have him on the ground fer Saturday. Oh say, Judy, I'll send a
invite to William Wilberforce Webb! It'll be good fun to see him when
he fin's out what sort o' party I's got, an' oh Jemimy! When he fin's
Boyd here! An' jes' ten days 'fore the 'lection too! It'll be fun all
over the woods!"
And Judy was so pleased with her little device for amusement that she
chuckled over it for full ten minutes afterward. She wound up her
chuckling with the exclamation:
"William Wilberforce Webb! Blue lightning what a name! By the time
Edgar Coffey an' them fellers is through with him he'll wish he'd boxed
up that name an' put it in his cellar 'fore ever he come up into the
mountings. An' I'll string out the whole o' that name every time I
speak to him on Saturday."
Having thus settled upon her arrangements and set them going, Judy
turned her meditations into another channel.
"Of course Carley Farnsworth knows what he's about, but I don't. May be
I can figger it out, though. He sent word as how this thing would do
more good to Boyd than the 'lection itself. I reckon it somehow tetches
on his trouble with that gal what's been a preyin' on his mind. I
reckon that's it, an' Carley sees how to make it patch things up like.
Course that's it. They wouldn't be no sense in it ef that wasn't the
meanin'. All right. Ef we can straighten things out, twix' Boyd an' the
gal, they won't be no more trouble o' no sort 'bout him. They ain't
never no cause to worry 'bout a feller that's got a big office an' a
little gal all to wunst, I reckon."
XXXV
A MOUNTAIN TOP REVELATION
The barbecue at Judy's was successful in every way. Jack Towns and
Carley Farnsworth took two crowded wagon-loads of young women up the
mountain, starting early in the morning, and there were a dozen or
twenty young men on horseback to complete the piedmont contingent. Boyd
Westover was already at Judy's, and the Queen had summoned all the
presentable mountain folk, male and female, to the feast and frolic.
Millicent had begged Margaret to go, but there were conclusive reasons
why she should not, some of which she mentioned in excuse and some of
which she forbore to mention. Her aunt was really ill, as a result of
shock. Her father was by no means well. She herself was in distress,
and above and beyond all, she did not wish to meet Boyd Westover. She
could conceive of nothing more embarrassing than a meeting with him
under the circumstances. She did not say so to Millicent, but Millicent
understood, and Millicent had plans of her own, in aid of which, as
Jack Towns had clearly set forth, to her, this expedition had been
organized.
Another absentee, whose absence Judy resented rather angrily and
vituperatively, because his absence robbed her of anticipated fun, was
William Wilberforce Webb. He was on his way to Judy's when he learned
that Boyd Westover was there. Then suddenly he remembered some
engagement that took him in a different direction and far away from the
festivity. He sent an elaborately apologetic and rhetorically
grandiloquent letter of apology, which Judy did not read further than
the opening sentences that announced his inability to be present.
Having dug so much of meaning out of the rubbish of words in which it
was hidden, she muttered:
"The durned coward!" and cast the letter into the fire.
But there was fun enough and to spare. The mountaineers understood that
this was a show, that they were the performers and that the guests from
the piedmont region were the audience. They put forth their utmost
endeavors to entertain, and they were abundantly successful. Their
contests of strength and agility, their exhibitions of skill with the
rifle, in throwing "rocks" at a minute mark, and in other ways, won a
degree of applause that might have satisfied even the morbid desires of
an opera company.
Millicent was standing by Westover's side, talking of indifferent
things, when some change of program in the athletics created an
unannounced intermission. She seized upon the occasion for the
accomplishment of the purpose that had brought her thither.
"There must be a grand view," she suggested, "from the top of that rock
up there."