A WEEK from that day Caleb Trench addressed a crowd of backwoodsmen and
some of the Eshcol farmers at the town hall at Cresset’s Corners. Even
if a reporter had not been there, it would have passed by word of mouth
all over the county, and, later, through the State.
There are moments when the eloquence of man consists in telling the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The fact that the
countrymen had not heard it for nearly fifteen years clothed it with
spell-binding powers. For half an hour Caleb Trench talked to them with
extraordinary simplicity and directness; when he had finished they knew
how they were governed and why. He had the power of making his argument
clear to the humblest, and yet convincing to the most learned, which is
the power that men call persuasion. In that half-hour they found that
they had raised up the Golden Calf themselves, and that it had smitten
them. Jacob Eaton suddenly appeared like a huge spider whose golden
web had immeshed the entire State, while they themselves were hung in
it like wounded flies. Yet, yesterday, Jacob Eaton had been a young
man of fine family and immense influence. That night they went home
disputing and lay awake, in the agonies of reflection, trying to find
a way to withdraw themselves from his investments; that they could not
find it involved them in still deeper distress. All this while, the
figure of Caleb Trench began to stand out sharply and suddenly, like
the silhouette thrown on the sheet by the lamp of the stereopticon.
He made no effort to keep himself before them; having told them the
truth, he acted as if he had performed his mission and went about his
own business, which was chiefly, just then, keeping shop and reading
law only at night. The summer trade was on, the roads were good, and
customers more plentiful than clients.
Thursday night was the date of Kitty Broughton’s ball; Wednesday, of
the previous week, brought Caleb his first client. The two events
afterwards fixed many things in his memory, for at this time he was
trying to forget that Miss Royall had ever sat in his old armchair by
the stove. The peculiarly haunting qualities of some individuals, who
are not spooks, is past explanation. Caleb felt that there was no more
pricking misery than to see eternally one face and one figure in his
favorite chair, when neither of them could ever possibly belong there,
and it was to his interest to forget them. There should be, by the
way, a method for exorcising such ghosts and compelling their rightful
owners to keep them labeled in a locked cabinet instead of projecting
them upon the innocent and the defenseless. Caleb’s method consisted,
at present, in turning the old chair upside down in the closet back of
the kitchen, which ought to have discouraged any self-respecting ghost,
yet Wednesday morning he got it out again and put it reverently in its
place, with a sheepish feeling of having committed a crime in trying to
dishonor it.
It was after the ceremony of restoration that Juniper arrived with a
long face. He had been temporarily reconciled to Aunt Charity and was
shouldering her chief responsibility, her son Lysander.
“De jedge, he sent me down ter see yo’, suh,” Juniper explained,
twisting his battered hat as usual. “I’se in a po’erful lot ob trouble
an’ so ez de ole woman.”
Caleb moved a little impatiently. “The silver teapot?” he asked dryly.
“No,” said Juniper, without embarrassment, “no, suh; de folks up ter
de Corners ez gwine ter hab Lysander ’rested. I reckon dey hez had him
’rested a’ready. Dey says he dun stole der chickens on Monday. Et wuz
de dark ob de moon, suh, an’ dat make it seem ez if dey got er case. De
jedge, he tole me ter come ter yo’.”
Caleb felt that Judge Hollis was enjoying his first case. He almost
heard the shouts of Homeric laughter from that inner office. “You’ll
have to prove that he didn’t steal the chickens,” he said. “In the
first place, who are the people?”
“Mr. Todd’s folks,” Juniper replied, “an’ dey ses et wuz two pullets
an’ er cockerel.”
Trench knew where Aaron Todd lived and recalled, less vividly, the
presence of a large chicken-yard. “How do they suppose he could have
carried them off undiscovered, even at night?” Caleb argued. “If I
remember where the chicken-yard is, you could hear a commotion among
the fowls at any time, particularly at night. It will be a simple
matter, Juniper, when we prove an alibi.”
Juniper rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “Dat’s so, suh,” he
replied; “I ’low dat I don’ wanter pay his fine, an’ Charity, she don’;
she sho’ won’t pay et bekase she say I oughter, an’ ef Lysander goes
up fo’ sixty days an’ works on de roads, he ain’t gwine ter do anodder
stroke all de year; dat’s Lysander; I knows ’im.”
“What time do they say the chickens were stolen?”
“Monday mawnin’, ’bout two o’clock.” Uncle Juniper rubbed his sleeve
thoughtfully across his forehead.
“Then we must prove an alibi,” said Caleb, swinging around in his
chair to view his client more directly. “The point is clear; where was
Lysander at two o’clock Monday morning?”
“I specks he wus up dar, suh,” said Juniper cheerfully. “He ain’t let
on ter me dat he wuz anywhere else.”
Caleb got up abruptly and threw open the door into the shop; he had
seen Colonel Royall coming. Then he dashed off a note to Aaron Todd,
enclosing a cheque for the two pullets and the cockerel, and gave it to
Juniper.
“Take that up to the Corners,” he said briefly, “and I think Lysander
will get off without arrest, but tell him if he steals any more I’ll
thrash him.”
“Yes, suh,” said Juniper, expectant but unbelieving.
Later, however, when Todd took the money and let Lysander off, he was
convinced, and, like all new converts, he became a zealot, and went
about telling of the miracles wrought by the new lawyer. Thus did
Caleb’s fame go abroad in the byways and alleys, which is, after all,
the road to celebrity.
Meanwhile, Colonel Royall, very inconsiderately, sat in Diana’s chair.
He had heard of the speech at Cresset’s Corners, and knew that Trench
was supporting Yarnall for the Democratic nomination. Yet the colonel
admired Trench, the force of whose convictions was already bearing
fruit.
Eight weeks before, Colonel Royall had made a formal call on Caleb to
thank him for his courtesy and service to Diana. He was a Southern
gentleman of the old school, and he had done it without allowing even a
drop of condescension in his manner. Moreover, he liked Trench and was
trying to put together the modesty of the man, who had colored at his
acknowledgments, with the incendiary ability that could rouse and hold
a meeting of backwoodsmen on a subject that was as foreign to their
understanding as it was alarming. Admitted, for the first time, into
the inner office, the colonel gazed about with almost as much curiosity
as Diana, and he drew conclusions not unlike hers, but more pregnant
with the truth.
The colonel’s own face in repose was infinitely sad, yet when he
spoke and laughed his expression was almost happy. But he had been
twenty years turning the key on his inner self, and the result was an
exterior that reminded an observer of an alabaster chalice in which the
throbbing pulse of life lay clasped and all but crystallized. His face
in repose had almost the sweetness of a woman’s, and only when the blue
eyes blazed with sudden wrath was there ever cause to fear him. That he
was a dreamer of dreams was apparent at a glance; that he could keep
an unhappy secret twenty years seemed more improbable. He leaned back
in his chair, clasping his hands on top of the stout hickory stick he
carried.
“Mr. Trench,” he said slowly, with his Southern drawl, “I congratulate
you on your success in politics.”
Caleb turned red. He was aware of the universal prejudice against his
politics in Colonel Royall’s class. “Thank you, Colonel,” he said
formally, rising to look for glasses in his cupboard. “I can’t offer
you fine old wine, sir, but I have some Kentucky whiskey that Judge
Hollis sent me.”
“After the speech at Cresset’s?” The corners of the colonel’s mouth
twitched.
Caleb poured out the whiskey and handed the glass to his guest. “You
know the judge well, sir,” he remarked, and his composure under the
jest won upon the colonel.
He tasted the whiskey with the air of a connoisseur. “In Virginia, Mr.
Trench, we should make this into juleps,” he said appreciatively; “the
judge was raised in the Kentucky mountains and he knows a good thing
when he sees it. I read the report of your speech, sir, and I admired
it, but”--the colonel let his hand fall a little heavily on the arm of
the chair where Diana’s elbow had rested,--he little knew the enormity
of his action--“if I thought it was all true I should have to change my
coat. I don’t--but I believe you do.”
“Thank you,” said Trench quietly, “I do.”
“Very good, sir,” said Colonel Royall; “then you did right, but you’ve
made more enemies than you could shake a stick at. Jacob Eaton’s my
cousin, a young man yet, but mighty clever, and I reckon he’ll remember
all you said. There isn’t any call for me to resent things for Jacob!
No, sir, I honor you for your courage, if those are your convictions,
but Yarnall can’t be elected here.”
“I think he can, Colonel,” Caleb replied, unmoved. The lines about his
mouth straightened a little and there was a glint in his gray eyes;
otherwise his composure was unruffled.
Colonel Royall set down his empty glass and waved aside the proffered
bottle. “No more, sir, it’s too good to be safe; like most fine things,
a little goes a long way. What makes you think you can nominate
Yarnall? Of course you can’t elect a Republican, so I see your point
in trying to influence the Democrats. By gum, sir, it’s the first time
it’s been attempted, and it’s knocked the organization into splinters;
they’re standing around waiting to see what you’ll do next!” The
colonel laughed softly.
“They’ll nominate Yarnall and they’ll elect him,” said Caleb; “Aylett
can’t get two votes out of ten. I’m sorry to go against your candidate,
Colonel,” he added, smiling.
“Eh?” said the colonel; he was, in fact, suddenly aware of the charm of
Caleb’s rare smile. He had not known that the man could smile like that.
“I’m afraid I appear an interloper in a fenced, no-trespass field,”
Caleb continued pleasantly. “I’m a Republican, of course, and”--his
eyes twinkled--“something of a Yankee, but, as we can’t elect a
Republican, you must forgive me for choosing the less instead of the
greater evil.”
Colonel Royall picked up his broad-brimmed Panama and twirled it
thoughtfully on the top of his stick. “What’s your objection to
Aylett?” he asked meditatively.
Trench was momentarily embarrassed, then he plunged boldly. “In the
parlance, we would call him a machine man,” he said; “he was elected by
the same system that has ruled this State for years; he’s bound hand
and foot to it, and his reëlection means--a continuance of the present
conditions.”
It was now Colonel Royall’s turn to smile. “You mean a continuance of
Jacob Eaton? Well, I expect it will, and I don’t know but what it’s a
good thing. You haven’t converted me to your heresy, Mr. Trench, but
I’ve tasted of your hospitality, and if you don’t come and taste mine
I’ll feel it a disgrace. Why have you not come to see me, sir? I asked
you when I came here to acknowledge your courtesy to my daughter.”
Trench reddened again. “I’m coming, Colonel,” he said at once,
“but”--he hesitated--“are you sure that a man of my political faith
will be entirely welcome?”
Colonel Royall straightened himself. “Sir, Mr. Eaton does not choose my
guests. I appreciate your feeling and understand it. I shall be happy,
sir, to see you next Sunday afternoon,” and he bowed formally, having
risen to his full height.
Caleb took his proffered hand heartily, and walked with him to the
door. Yet he did not altogether relish the thought of a call at Broad
Acres; he remembered too vividly his visit there to refund Diana’s
money, and reddened at the thought of a certain receipt which he still
carried in his pocket. He had set out to restore her change because
he did not wish her to think she had been overcharged, and it was not
until he had fairly embarked upon the interview that he had regretted
not sending it by mail, and had reached a point where stealing it would
have seemed a virtue! The fact that the Broad Acres people seldom, if
ever, came to his shop had made its return in the natural course of
events doubtful, and the matter had seemed to him simple and direct
until Diana met it. The Quaker in him received its first shock that
night, and he recoiled from giving them another opportunity to mortify
his pride. Before that he had regarded Miss Royall as supremely and
graciously beautiful; since then he had realized that she could be both
thoughtless and cruel.
He stood in his door watching the old colonel’s erect figure walking
up the long road under the shadow of the great trees that lined it
at intervals. There was something at once stately and appealing in
the old man’s aspect, yet there was power in his eyes and the pose of
his white head. He reminded Caleb of an old lion, sorely stricken but
magnificent; some wound had gone deep. As yet the younger man had no
notion of it; when he did know he marveled much at the strange mingling
of knight-errantry and tenderness in the breast of one of Nature’s
noblemen. As it was, he was supremely conscious that he liked Colonel
Royall and that Colonel Royall liked him, but that the colonel was
vividly aware that the shopkeeper at the Cross-Roads was not his social
equal; Caleb wondered bitterly if he went further, and considered that
the gentleman of good blood and breeding was his equal when in law and
politics?
He turned from the door with a whimsical smile and patted his dog’s
uplifted head; then, as his eyes lighted on the worn leather chair in
which the colonel had just sat, he turned it abruptly to the wall.