It had been a day of triumph for Colonel Starbottle. First, for his
personality, as it would have been difficult to separate the Colonel's
achievements from his individuality; second, for his oratorical
abilities as a sympathetic pleader; and third, for his functions as the
leading legal counsel for the Eureka Ditch Company versus the State of
California. On his strictly legal performances in this issue I prefer
not to speak; there were those who denied them, although the jury had
accepted them in the face of the ruling of the half amused, half cynical
Judge himself. For an hour they had laughed with the Colonel, wept with
him, been stirred to personal indignation or patriotic exaltation by
his passionate and lofty periods,--what else could they do than give him
their verdict? If it was alleged by some that the American eagle, Thomas
Jefferson, and the Resolutions of '98 had nothing whatever to do with
the contest of a ditch company over a doubtfully worded legislative
document; that wholesale abuse of the State Attorney and his political
motives had not the slightest connection with the legal question
raised--it was, nevertheless, generally accepted that the losing party
would have been only too glad to have the Colonel on their side. And
Colonel Starbottle knew this, as, perspiring, florid, and panting, he
rebuttoned the lower buttons of his blue frock-coat, which had become
loosed in an oratorical spasm, and readjusted his old-fashioned,
spotless shirt frill above it as he strutted from the court-room amidst
the handshakings and acclamations of his friends.
And here an unprecedented thing occurred. The Colonel absolutely
declined spirituous refreshment at the neighboring Palmetto Saloon,
and declared his intention of proceeding directly to his office in the
adjoining square. Nevertheless, the Colonel quitted the building alone,
and apparently unarmed, except for his faithful gold-headed stick,
which hung as usual from his forearm. The crowd gazed after him with
undisguised admiration of this new evidence of his pluck. It was
remembered also that a mysterious note had been handed to him at
the conclusion of his speech,--evidently a challenge from the State
Attorney. It was quite plain that the Colonel--a practiced duelist--was
hastening home to answer it.
But herein they were wrong. The note was in a female hand, and simply
requested the Colonel to accord an interview with the writer at the
Colonel's office as soon as he left the court. But it was an engagement
that the Colonel--as devoted to the fair sex as he was to the
“code”--was no less prompt in accepting. He flicked away the dust from
his spotless white trousers and varnished boots with his handkerchief,
and settled his black cravat under his Byron collar as he neared his
office. He was surprised, however, on opening the door of his private
office, to find his visitor already there; he was still more startled to
find her somewhat past middle age and plainly attired. But the Colonel
was brought up in a school of Southern politeness, already antique in
the republic, and his bow of courtesy belonged to the epoch of his
shirt frill and strapped trousers. No one could have detected his
disappointment in his manner, albeit his sentences were short
and incomplete. But the Colonel's colloquial speech was apt to be
fragmentary incoherencies of his larger oratorical utterances.
“A thousand pardons--for--er--having kept a lady waiting--er!
But--er--congratulations of friends--and--er--courtesy due to
them--er--interfered with--though perhaps only heightened--by
procrastination--the pleasure of--ha!” And the Colonel completed his
sentence with a gallant wave of his fat but white and well-kept hand.
“Yes! I came to see you along o' that speech of yours. I was in court.
When I heard you gettin' it off on that jury, I says to myself, 'That's
the kind o' lawyer I want. A man that's flowery and convincin'! Just the
man to take up our case.”
“Ah! It's a matter of business, I see,” said the Colonel, inwardly
relieved, but externally careless. “And--er--may I ask the nature of the
case?”
“Well! it's a breach-o'-promise suit,” said the visitor calmly.
If the Colonel had been surprised before, he was now really startled,
and with an added horror that required all his politeness to conceal.
Breach-of-promise cases were his peculiar aversion. He had always held
them to be a kind of litigation which could have been obviated by the
prompt killing of the masculine offender--in which case he would have
gladly defended the killer. But a suit for damages,--DAMAGES!--with the
reading of love-letters before a hilarious jury and court, was against
all his instincts. His chivalry was outraged; his sense of humor was
small, and in the course of his career he had lost one or two important
cases through an unexpected development of this quality in a jury.
The woman had evidently noticed his hesitation, but mistook its cause.
“It ain't me--but my darter.”
The Colonel recovered his politeness. “Ah! I am relieved, my dear madam!
I could hardly conceive a man ignorant enough to--er--er--throw away
such evident good fortune--or base enough to deceive the trustfulness of
womanhood--matured and experienced only in the chivalry of our sex, ha!”
The woman smiled grimly. “Yes!--it's my darter, Zaidee Hooker--so ye
might spare some of them pretty speeches for HER--before the jury.”
The Colonel winced slightly before this doubtful prospect, but smiled.
“Ha! Yes!--certainly--the jury. But--er--my dear lady, need we go as
far as that? Can not this affair be settled--er--out of court? Could
not this--er--individual--be admonished--told that he must
give satisfaction--personal satisfaction--for his dastardly
conduct--to--er--near relative--or even valued personal friend?
The--er--arrangements necessary for that purpose I myself would
undertake.”
He was quite sincere; indeed, his small black eyes shone with that fire
which a pretty woman or an “affair of honor” could alone kindle. The
visitor stared vacantly at him, and said slowly, “And what good is that
goin' to do US?”
“Compel him to--er--perform his promise,” said the Colonel, leaning back
in his chair.
“Ketch him doin' it!” she exclaimed scornfully. “No--that ain't wot
we're after. We must make him PAY! Damages--and nothin' short o' THAT.”
The Colonel bit his lip. “I suppose,” he said gloomily, “you have
documentary evidence--written promises and protestations--er--er
love-letters, in fact?”
“No--nary a letter! Ye see, that's jest it--and that's where YOU come
in. You've got to convince that jury yourself. You've got to show what
it is--tell the whole story your own way. Lord! to a man like you that's
nothin'.”
Startling as this admission might have been to any other lawyer,
Starbottle was absolutely relieved by it. The absence of any
mirth-provoking correspondence, and the appeal solely to his own powers
of persuasion, actually struck his fancy. He lightly put aside the
compliment with a wave of his white hand.
“Of course,” he said confidently, “there is strongly presumptive and
corroborative evidence? Perhaps you can give me--er--a brief outline of
the affair?”
“Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon,” said the woman; “what I
want to know first is, kin you take the case?”
The Colonel did not hesitate; his curiosity was piqued. “I certainly
can. I have no doubt your daughter will put me in possession of
sufficient facts and details--to constitute what we call--er--a brief.”
“She kin be brief enough--or long enough--for the matter of that,” said
the woman, rising. The Colonel accepted this implied witticism with a
smile.
“And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?” he asked politely.
“Well, I reckon as soon as I can trot out and call her. She's just
outside, meanderin' in the road--kinder shy, ye know, at first.”
She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel nevertheless gallantly
accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and called shrilly,
“You Zaidee!”
A young girl here apparently detached herself from a tree and the
ostentatious perusal of an old election poster, and sauntered down
towards the office door. Like her mother, she was plainly dressed;
unlike her, she had a pale, rather refined face, with a demure mouth and
downcast eyes. This was all the Colonel saw as he bowed profoundly and
led the way into his office, for she accepted his salutations without
lifting her head. He helped her gallantly to a chair, on which she
seated herself sideways, somewhat ceremoniously, with her eyes following
the point of her parasol as she traced a pattern on the carpet. A second
chair offered to the mother that lady, however, declined. “I reckon to
leave you and Zaidee together to talk it out,” she said; turning to her
daughter, she added, “Jest you tell him all, Zaidee,” and before the
Colonel could rise again, disappeared from the room. In spite of his
professional experience, Starbottle was for a moment embarrassed. The
young girl, however, broke the silence without looking up.
“Adoniram K. Hotchkiss,” she began, in a monotonous voice, as if it were
a recitation addressed to the public, “first began to take notice of me
a year ago. Arter that--off and on”--
“One moment,” interrupted the astounded Colonel; “do you mean Hotchkiss
the President of the Ditch Company?” He had recognized the name of
a prominent citizen--a rigid, ascetic, taciturn, middle-aged man--a
deacon--and more than that, the head of the company he had just
defended. It seemed inconceivable.
“That's him,” she continued, with eyes still fixed on the parasol and
without changing her monotonous tone--“off and on ever since. Most
of the time at the Free-Will Baptist Church--at morning service,
prayer-meetings, and such. And at home--outside--er--in the road.”
“Is it this gentleman--Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss--who--er--promised
marriage?” stammered the Colonel.
“Yes.”
The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. “Most extraordinary! for--you
see--my dear young lady--this becomes--a--er--most delicate affair.”
“That's what maw said,” returned the young woman simply, yet with the
faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek.
“I mean,” said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, “that
this--er--gentleman--is in fact--er--one of my clients.”
“That's what maw said too, and of course your knowing him will make it
all the easier for you.”
A slight flush crossed the Colonel's cheek as he returned quickly and a
little stiffly, “On the contrary--er--it may make it impossible for me
to--er--act in this matter.”
The girl lifted her eyes. The Colonel held his breath as the long lashes
were raised to his level. Even to an ordinary observer that sudden
revelation of her eyes seemed to transform her face with subtle
witchery. They were large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an
extraordinary penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an
experienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. What else the
Colonel saw there Heaven only knows! He felt his inmost secrets
plucked from him--his whole soul laid bare--his vanity, belligerency,
gallantry--even his mediaeval chivalry, penetrated, and yet illuminated,
in that single glance. And when the eyelids fell again, he felt that a
greater part of himself had been swallowed up in them.
“I beg your pardon,” he said hurriedly. “I mean--this matter may
be arranged--er--amicably. My interest with--and as you wisely
say--my--er--knowledge of my client--er--Mr. Hotchkiss--may effect--a
compromise.”
“And DAMAGES,” said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if she
had never looked up.
The Colonel winced. “And--er--undoubtedly COMPENSATION--if you do not
press a fulfillment of the promise. Unless,” he said, with an attempted
return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the recollection of
her eyes made difficult, “it is a question of--er--the affections.”
“Which?” asked his fair client softly.
“If you still love him?” explained the Colonel, actually blushing.
Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel's breath away with eyes
that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had SAID, but
of what he thought and had not said, and with an added subtle suggestion
of what he might have thought. “That's tellin',” she said, dropping her
long lashes again.
The Colonel laughed vacantly. Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he
forced an equally weak gravity. “Pardon me--I understand there are no
letters; may I know the way in which he formulated his declaration and
promises?”
“Hymn-books.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the mystified lawyer.
“Hymn-books--marked words in them with pencil--and passed 'em on to
me,” repeated Zaidee. “Like 'love,' 'dear,' 'precious,' 'sweet,' and
'blessed,'” she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol on
the carpet. “Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady--and Solomon's
Song, you know, and sich.”
“I believe,” said the Colonel loftily, “that the--er--phrases of sacred
psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But in
regard to the distinct promise of marriage--was there--er--no OTHER
expression?”
“Marriage Service in the prayer-book--lines and words outer that--all
marked,” Zaidee replied.
The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly. “Very good. Were others
cognizant of this? Were there any witnesses?”
“Of course not,” said the girl. “Only me and him. It was generally at
church-time--or prayer-meeting. Once, in passing the plate, he slipped
one o' them peppermint lozenges with the letters stamped on it 'I love
you' for me to take.”
The Colonel coughed slightly. “And you have the lozenge?”
“I ate it.”
“Ah,” said the Colonel. After a pause he added delicately, “But were
these attentions--er--confined to--er--sacred precincts? Did he meet you
elsewhere?”
“Useter pass our house on the road,” returned the girl, dropping into
her monotonous recital, “and useter signal.”
“Ah, signal?” repeated the Colonel approvingly.
“Yes! He'd say 'Keerow,' and I'd say 'Keeree.' Suthing like a bird, you
know.”
Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call, the Colonel
thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least as SHE gave
it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the
melodiousness of HIS utterance. He gravely made her repeat it.
“And after that signal?” he added suggestively.
“He'd pass on.”
The Colonel again coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his
penholder.
“Were there any endearments--er--caresses--er--such as taking your
hand--er--clasping your waist?” he suggested, with a gallant yet
respectful sweep of his white hand and bowing of his head; “er--slight
pressure of your fingers in the changes of a dance--I mean,” he
corrected himself, with an apologetic cough--“in the passing of the
plate?”
“No; he was not what you'd call 'fond,'” returned the girl.
“Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not 'fond' in the ordinary acceptance of
the word,” noted the Colonel, with professional gravity.
She lifted her disturbing eyes, and again absorbed his in her own. She
also said “Yes,” although her eyes in their mysterious prescience of all
he was thinking disclaimed the necessity of any answer at all. He smiled
vacantly. There was a long pause. On which she slowly disengaged her
parasol from the carpet pattern, and stood up.
“I reckon that's about all,” she said.
“Er--yes--but one moment,” began the Colonel vaguely. He would have
liked to keep her longer, but with her strange premonition of him he
felt powerless to detain her, or explain his reason for doing so. He
instinctively knew she had told him all; his professional judgment told
him that a more hopeless case had never come to his knowledge. Yet he
was not daunted, only embarrassed. “No matter,” he said. “Of course I
shall have to consult with you again.”
Her eyes again answered that she expected he would, and she added
simply, “When?”
“In the course of a day or two;” he replied quickly. “I will send you
word.”
She turned to go. In his eagerness to open the door for her, he upset
his chair, and with some confusion, that was actually youthful, he
almost impeded her movements in the hall, and knocked his broad-brimmed
Panama hat from his bowing hand in a final gallant sweep. Yet as her
small, trim, youthful figure, with its simple Leghorn straw hat confined
by a blue bow under her round chin, passed away before him, she looked
more like a child than ever.
The Colonel spent that afternoon in making diplomatic inquiries. He
found his youthful client was the daughter of a widow who had a small
ranch on the cross-roads, near the new Free-Will Baptist Church--the
evident theatre of this pastoral. They led a secluded life, the
girl being little known in the town, and her beauty and fascination
apparently not yet being a recognized fact. The Colonel felt a
pleasurable relief at this, and a general satisfaction he could not
account for. His few inquiries concerning Mr. Hotchkiss only confirmed
his own impressions of the alleged lover,--a serious-minded, practically
abstracted man, abstentive of youthful society, and the last man
apparently capable of levity of the affections or serious flirtation.
The Colonel was mystified, but determined of purpose, whatever that
purpose might have been.
The next day he was at his office at the same hour. He was alone--as
usual--the Colonel's office being really his private lodgings, disposed
in connecting rooms, a single apartment reserved for consultation.
He had no clerk, his papers and briefs being taken by his faithful
body-servant and ex-slave “Jim” to another firm who did his office work
since the death of Major Stryker, the Colonel's only law partner, who
fell in a duel some years previous. With a fine constancy the Colonel
still retained his partner's name on his doorplate, and, it was alleged
by the superstitious, kept a certain invincibility also through the
'manes' of that lamented and somewhat feared man.
The Colonel consulted his watch, whose heavy gold case still showed
the marks of a providential interference with a bullet destined for its
owner, and replaced it with some difficulty and shortness of breath in
his fob. At the same moment he heard a step in the passage, and the door
opened to Adoniram K. Hotchkiss. The Colonel was impressed; he had a
duelist's respect for punctuality.
The man entered with a nod and the expectant inquiring look of a busy
man. As his feet crossed that sacred threshold the Colonel became all
courtesy; he placed a chair for his visitor, and took his hat from his
half reluctant hand. He then opened a cupboard and brought out a bottle
of whiskey and two glasses.
“A--er--slight refreshment, Mr. Hotchkiss,” he suggested politely.
“I never drink,” replied Hotchkiss, with the severe attitude of a total
abstainer.
“Ah--er--not the finest Bourbon whiskey, selected by a Kentucky friend?
No? Pardon me! A cigar, then--the mildest Havana.”
“I do not use tobacco nor alcohol in any form,” repeated Hotchkiss
ascetically. “I have no foolish weaknesses.”
The Colonel's moist, beady eyes swept silently over his client's sallow
face. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, and half closing his
eyes as in dreamy reminiscence, said slowly: “Your reply, Mr. Hotchkiss,
reminds me of--er--sing'lar circumstance that--er--occurred, in point of
fact--at the St. Charles Hotel, New Orleans. Pinkey Hornblower--personal
friend--invited Senator Doolittle to join him in social glass. Received,
sing'larly enough, reply similar to yours. 'Don't drink nor smoke?' said
Pinkey. 'Gad, sir, you must be mighty sweet on the ladies.' Ha!”
The Colonel paused long enough to allow the faint flush to pass from
Hotchkiss's cheek, and went on, half closing his eyes: “'I allow no man,
sir, to discuss my personal habits,' declared Doolittle, over his shirt
collar. 'Then I reckon shootin' must be one of those habits,' said
Pinkey coolly. Both men drove out on the Shell Road back of cemetery
next morning. Pinkey put bullet at twelve paces through Doolittle's
temple. Poor Doo never spoke again. Left three wives and seven children,
they say--two of 'em black.”
“I got a note from you this morning,” said Hotchkiss, with badly
concealed impatience. “I suppose in reference to our case. You have
taken judgment, I believe.”
The Colonel, without replying, slowly filled a glass of whiskey and
water. For a moment he held it dreamily before him, as if still engaged
in gentle reminiscences called up by the act. Then tossing it off,
he wiped his lips with a large white handkerchief, and leaning back
comfortably in his chair, said, with a wave of his hand, “The interview
I requested, Mr. Hotchkiss, concerns a subject--which I may say
is--er--er--at present NOT of a public or business nature--although
LATER it might become--er--er--both. It is an affair of
some--er--delicacy.”
The Colonel paused, and Mr. Hotchkiss regarded him with increased
impatience. The Colonel, however, continued, with unchanged
deliberation: “It concerns--er--er--a young lady--a beautiful,
high-souled creature, sir, who, apart from her personal
loveliness--er--er--I may say is of one of the first families of
Missouri, and--er--not remotely connected by marriage with one
of--er--er--my boyhood's dearest friends.” The latter, I grieve to say,
was a pure invention of the Colonel's--an oratorical addition to the
scanty information he had obtained the previous day. “The young lady,”
he continued blandly, “enjoys the further distinction of being
the object of such attention from you as would make this
interview--really--a confidential matter--er--er among friends
and--er--er--relations in present and future. I need not say that the
lady I refer to is Miss Zaidee Juno Hooker, only daughter of Almira
Ann Hooker, relict of Jefferson Brown Hooker, formerly of Boone County,
Kentucky, and latterly of--er--Pike County, Missouri.”
The sallow, ascetic hue of Mr. Hotchkiss's face had passed through a
livid and then a greenish shade, and finally settled into a sullen red.
“What's all this about?” he demanded roughly.
The least touch of belligerent fire came into Starbottle's eye, but his
bland courtesy did not change. “I believe,” he said politely, “I have
made myself clear as between--er--gentlemen, though perhaps not as clear
as I should to--er--er--jury.”
Mr. Hotchkiss was apparently struck with some significance in the
lawyer's reply. “I don't know,” he said, in a lower and more cautious
voice, “what you mean by what you call 'my attentions' to--any one--or
how it concerns you. I have not exchanged half a dozen words with--the
person you name--have never written her a line--nor even called at her
house.”
He rose with an assumption of ease, pulled down his waistcoat, buttoned
his coat, and took up his hat. The Colonel did not move.
“I believe I have already indicated my meaning in what I have called
'your attentions,'” said the Colonel blandly, “and given you my
'concern' for speaking as--er--er--mutual friend. As to YOUR statement
of your relations with Miss Hooker, I may state that it is fully
corroborated by the statement of the young lady herself in this very
office yesterday.”
“Then what does this impertinent nonsense mean? Why am I summoned here?”
demanded Hotchkiss furiously.
“Because,” said the Colonel deliberately, “that statement is
infamously--yes, damnably to your discredit, sir!”
Mr. Hotchkiss was here seized by one of those impotent and inconsistent
rages which occasionally betray the habitually cautious and timid man.
He caught up the Colonel's stick, which was lying on the table. At the
same moment the Colonel, without any apparent effort, grasped it by
the handle. To Mr. Hotchkiss's astonishment, the stick separated in two
pieces, leaving the handle and about two feet of narrow glittering steel
in the Colonel's hand. The man recoiled, dropping the useless fragment.
The Colonel picked it up, fitted the shining blade in it, clicked the
spring, and then rising with a face of courtesy yet of unmistakably
genuine pain, and with even a slight tremor in his voice, said
gravely,--
“Mr. Hotchkiss, I owe you a thousand apologies, sir, that--er--a weapon
should be drawn by me--even through your own inadvertence--under the
sacred protection of my roof, and upon an unarmed man. I beg your
pardon, sir, and I even withdraw the expressions which provoked
that inadvertence. Nor does this apology prevent you from holding me
responsible--personally responsible--ELSEWHERE for an indiscretion
committed in behalf of a lady--my--er--client.”
“Your client? Do you mean you have taken her case? You, the counsel for
the Ditch Company?” asked Mr. Hotchkiss, in trembling indignation.
“Having won YOUR case, sir,” replied the Colonel coolly,
“the--er--usages of advocacy do not prevent me from espousing the cause
of the weak and unprotected.”
“We shall see, sir,” said Hotchkiss, grasping the handle of the door and
backing into the passage. “There are other lawyers who”--
“Permit me to see you out,” interrupted the Colonel, rising politely.
--“will be ready to resist the attacks of blackmail,” continued
Hotchkiss, retreating along the passage.
“And then you will be able to repeat your remarks to me IN THE STREET,”
continued the Colonel, bowing, as he persisted in following his visitor
to the door.
But here Mr. Hotchkiss quickly slammed it behind him, and hurried away.
The Colonel returned to his office, and sitting down, took a sheet of
letter-paper bearing the inscription “Starbottle and Stryker, Attorneys
and Counselors,” and wrote the following lines:--
HOOKER versus HOTCHKISS.
DEAR MADAM,--Having had a visit from the defendant in above, we should
be pleased to have an interview with you at two P. M. to-morrow.
Your obedient servants,