As Mr. Joe-Bob Grissom passed the Bascom Place on his way home, after
gathering from Major Jimmy Bass all the news and gossip of the town, he
heard Mr. Francis Underwood, the owner of the Place, walking up and down
the piazza, singing. Mr. Underwood appeared to be in a cheerful mood,
and he had a right to be. He was young,—not more than thirty,—full of
life, and the world was going on very well with him. Mr. Grissom paused
a moment and listened; then he made up his mind to go in and have a chat
with the young man. He opened the gate and went up the avenue under the
cedars and Lombardy poplars. A little distance from the house he was
stopped by a large mastiff. The great dog made no attempt to attack him,
but majestically barred the way.
“Squire,” yelled Joe-Bob, “ef you’ll call off your dog, I’ll turn right
’roun’ an’ go home an’ never bother you no more.”
“Is that you, Joe-Bob?” exclaimed Mr. Underwood. “Well, come right on.
The dog won’t trouble you.”
The dog thereupon turned around and went up the avenue to the house and
into the porch, where he stretched himself out at full length, Joe-Bob
following along at a discreet distance.
“Come in,” said Underwood heartily; “I’m glad to see you. Take this large
rocking-chair; you will find it more comfortable than the smaller one.”
Mr. Grissom sat down and looked cautiously around to see where the dog
was.
“I did come, Squire,” he said, “to see you on some kinder business, but
that dratted dog has done skeered it clean out ’n me.”
“Prince is a faithful watcher,” said Underwood, “but he never troubles
any one who is coming straight to the house. Do you, old fellow?” The dog
rapped an answer on the floor with his tail.
“Well,” said Joe-Bob, “I’d as lief be tore up into giblets, mighty nigh,
as to have my sev’m senses skeered out’n me. What I’m afeared of now,” he
went on, “is that that dog will jump over the fence some day an’ ketch
old Judge Bascome whilst he’s a-pirootin’ ’roun’ here a-lookin’ at the
old Place. An’ ef he don’t ketch the Judge, it’s more’n likely he’ll
ketch the Judge’s gal. I seen both of ’em this very evenin’ whilst I was
a-goin’ down town.”
“Was that the Judge?” exclaimed young Mr. Underwood, with some show of
interest; “and was the lady his daughter? I heard they had returned.”
“That was jest percisely who it was,” said Joe-Bob with emphasis. “It
wa’n’t nobody else under the shinin’ sun.”
“Well,” said Mr. Underwood, “I have seen them walking by several times.
It is natural they should be interested in the Place. The old gentleman
was born here?”
“Yes,” said Joe-Bob, “an’ the gal too. They tell me,” he went on, “that
the old Judge an’ his gal have seed a many ups an’ downs. I reckon they
er boun’ fer to feel lonesome when they come by an’ look at the prop’ty
that use’ to be theirn. I hear tell that the old Judge is gwine to try
an’ see ef he can’t git it back.”
Francis Underwood said nothing, but sat gazing out into the moonlight as
if in deep thought.
“I thinks, says I,” continued Joe-Bob, “that the old Judge’ll have to be
lots pearter ’n he looks to be ef he gits ahead of Squire Underwood.”
The “Squire” continued to gaze reflectively down the dim perspective of
cedars and Lombardy poplars. Finally he said:—
“Have a cigar, old man. These are good ones.”
Joe-Bob took the cigar and lighted it, handling it very gingerly.
“I ain’t a denyin’ but what they are good, Squire, but somehow er nuther
me an’ these here fine seegyars don’t gee,” said Joe-Bob, as he puffed
away. “They’re purty toler’ble nice, but jest about the time I git in
the notion of smokin’ they’re done burnted up, an’ then ef you ain’t got
sev’m or eight more, it makes you feel mighty lonesome. Now I’ll smoke
this’n’, an’ it’ll sorter put my teeth on edge fer my pipe, an’ when I
git home I’ll set up an’ have a right nice time.”
“And so you think,” said Underwood, speaking as if he had not heard
Joe-Bob’s remarks about the cigar—“and so you think Judge Bascom has come
to buy the old Place.”
“No, no!” said Joe-Bob, with a quick deprecatory gesture. “Oh, no,
Squire! not by no means! No, no! I never said them words. What I did say
was that it’s been talked up an’ down that the old Judge is a-gwine to
try to git his prop’ty back. That’s what old Major Jimmy Bass said he
heard, an’ I thinks, says I, he’ll have to be monst’us peart ef he gits
ahead of Squire Underwood. That’s what I said to myself, an’ then I ast
old Major Jimmy, says I, what the Judge would do wi’ the prop’ty arter
he got it, an’ Major Jimmy, he ups an’ says, says he, that the old Judge
would sell it back to Frank Underwood, says he.”
The young man threw back his head and laughed heartily, not less at the
comical earnestness of Joe-Bob Grissom than at the gossip of Major Jimmy
Bass.
“It seems, then, that we are going to have lively times around here,”
said Underwood, by way of comment.
“Yes, siree,” exclaimed Joe-Bob; “that’s what Major Jimmy Bass allowed.
Do you reckon, Squire,” he continued, lowering his voice as though the
matter was one to be approached cautiously, “do you reckon, Squire, they
could slip in on you an’ trip you up wi’ one of ’em writs of arousement
or one of ’em bills of injectment?”
“Not unless they catch me asleep,” replied Underwood, still laughing. “We
get up very early in the morning on this Place.”
“Well,” said Joe-Bob Grissom, “I ain’t much of a lawyer myself, an’ so I
thought I’d jest drap in an’ tell you the kind of talk what they’ve been
a-rumorin’ ’roun’. But I’ll tell you what you kin do, Squire. Ef the wust
comes to the wust, you kin make the old Judge an’ the gal take you along
wi’ the Place. Now them would be my politics.”
With that Joe-Bob gave young Underwood a nudge in the short ribs, and
chuckled to such an extent that he nearly strangled himself with cigar
smoke.
“I think I would have the best of the bargain,” said the young man.
“Now you would! you reely would!” exclaimed Joe-Bob in all seriousness.
“I can’t tell you the time when I ever seed a likelier gal than that one
wi’ the Judge this evenin’. As we say down here in Georgia, she’s the top
of the pot an’ the pot a-b’ilin’. I tell you that right pine-blank.”
After a little, Mr. Grissom rose to go. When Mr. Underwood urged him to
sit longer, he pointed to the sword and belt of Orion hanging low in the
southwest.
“The ell an’ yard are a-makin’ the’r disappearance,” he said; “an’ ef I
stay out much longer, my old ’oman’ll think I’ve been a-settin’ up by a
jug somewheres. Now ef you’ll jest hold your dog, Squire, I’ll go out as
peaceful as a lamb.”
“Why, I was just going to propose to send him down to the big gate with
you,” said young Underwood. “He’ll see you safely out.”
“No, no, Squire!” exclaimed Joe-Bob, holding up both hands. “Now don’t do
the like of that. I don’t like too much perliteness in folks, an’ I know
right well I couldn’t abide it in a dog. No, Squire; jest hold on to the
creetur’ wi’ both hands, an’ I’ll find my way out. Jest ketch him by the
forefoot. I’ve heard tell before now that ef you’ll hold a dog by his
forefoot he can’t git loose, an’ nuther kin he bite you.”
Long after Mr. Joe-Bob Grissom had gone home young Francis Underwood
sat in his piazza smoking and thinking. He had a good deal to think
about, too, for he was perhaps the busiest and the thriftiest person
that Hillsborough had ever seen. He had a dairy farm stocked with the
choicest strains of Jersey cattle, and he shipped hundreds of pounds
of golden butter all over the country every week in the year; he bred
Percheron horses for farm-work and trotting-horses for the road; he had a
flourishing farm on which he raised, in addition to his own supplies, a
hundred or more bales of cotton every year; he had a steam saw-mill and
cotton-gin; he was a contractor and builder; and he was also an active
partner in the largest store in Hillsborough. Moreover he took a lively
interest in the affairs of the town. His energy and his progressive ideas
seemed to be contagious, for in a few years the sleepy old town had made
tremendous strides, and everything appeared to move forward with an air
of business—such is the force of a genial and robust example.
There is no doubt that young Underwood was somewhat coolly received when
he first made his appearance in Hillsborough. He was a New Yorker and
therefore a Yankee; and some of the older people, who were still grieving
over the dire results of the war, as old people have a right to do, made
no concealment of their prejudices. Their grief was too bitter to be
lightly disposed of. Perhaps the young man appreciated this fact, for
his sympathies were wonderfully quick and true. At any rate, he carried
himself as buoyantly and as genially in the face of prejudice as he did
afterwards in the face of friendship.
The truth is, prejudice could not stand before him. He had that magnetic
personality which is a more precious possession than fame or fortune.
There was something attractive even in his restless energy; he had
that heartiness of manner and graciousness of disposition that are so
rare among men; and, withal, a spirit of independence that charmed the
sturdy-minded people with whom he cast his lot. It was not long before
the younger generation began to seek Mr. Underwood out, and after this
the social ice, so to speak, thawed quickly.
In short, young Underwood, by reason of a strong and an attractive
individuality, became a very prominent citizen of Hillsborough. He
found time, in the midst of his own business enterprises, to look after
the interests of the town and the county. One of his first movements
was to organize an agricultural society which held its meeting four
times a year in different parts of the county. It was purely a local
and native suggestion, however, that made it incumbent on the people
of the neighborhood where the Society met to grace the occasion with a
feast in the shape of a barbecue. The first result of the agricultural
society—which still exists, and which has had a wonderful influence on
the farmers of middle Georgia—was a county fair, of which Mr. Underwood
was the leading spirit. It may be said, indeed, that his energy and his
money made the fair possible. And it was a success. Young Underwood
had not only canvassed the county, but he had “worked it up in the
newspapers,” as the phrase goes, and it tickled the older citizens
immensely to see the dailies in the big cities of Atlanta, Macon, and
Savannah going into rhetorical raptures over their fair.
As a matter of fact, Francis Underwood, charged with the fiery energy of
a modern American, found it a much easier matter to establish himself
in the good graces of the people of Hillsborough and the surrounding
country than did Judge Bascom when he returned to his old home with his
lovely daughter. Politically speaking, he had committed the unpardonable
sin when he accepted office under what was known as the carpet-bag
government. It was an easy matter—thus the argument ran—to forgive and
respect an enemy, but it was hardly possible to forgive a man who had
proved false to his people and all their traditions—who had, in fact,
“sold his birthright for a mess of pottage,” to quote the luminous
language employed by Colonel Bolivar Blasingame in discussing the return
of Judge Bascom. It is due to Colonel Blasingame to say that he did not
allude to the sale of the Bascom Place, but to the fact that Judge Bascom
had drawn a salary from the State treasury while the Republicans were in
power in Georgia.
This was pretty much the temper of the older people of Hillsborough even
in 1876. They had no bitter prejudices against the old Judge; they were
even tolerant and kindly; but they made it plain to him that he was
regarded in a new light, and from a new standpoint. He was made to feel
that his old place among them must remain vacant; that the old intimacies
were not to be renewed. But this was the price that Judge Bascom was
willing to pay for the privilege of spending his last days within sight
of the old homestead. He made no complaints, nor did he signify by word
or sign, even to his daughter, that everything was not as it used to be.
As for the daughter, she was in blissful ignorance of the situation. She
was a stranger among strangers, and so was not affected by the lack of
sociability on the part of the townspeople—if, indeed, there was any lack
so far as she was concerned. The privations she endured in common with
her father were not only sufficient to correct all notions of vanity or
self-conceit, but they had given her a large experience of life; they
had broadened her views and enlarged her sympathies, so that with no
sacrifice of the qualities of womanly modesty and gentleness she had
grown to be self-reliant. She attracted all who came within range of her
sweet influence, and it was not long before she had broken down all the
barriers that prejudice against her father might have placed in her way.
She established a primary school, and what with her duties there and with
her music-class she soon had as much as she could do, and her income
from these sources was sufficient to support herself and her father in a
modest way; but it was not sufficient to carry out her father’s plans,
and this fact distressed her no little.
Sometimes Judge Bascom, sitting in the narrow veranda of the little house
they occupied, would suddenly arouse himself, as if from a doze, and
exclaim:—
“We must save money, daughter; we must save money and buy the old Place
back. It is ours. We must have it; we must save money.” And sometimes, in
the middle of the night, he would go to his daughter’s bedside, stroke
her hair, and say in a whisper:—
“We are not saving enough money, daughter; we must save more. We must buy
the old Place back. We must save it from ruin.”