All this was no less the result of Francis Underwood’s desire than of
the doctor’s commands. The old practitioner was noted for his skill
throughout the region, and after he had talked with Judge Bascom he gave
it as his opinion that the only physic necessary in the case was perfect
rest and quiet, and that these could be secured only by allowing the old
man to remain undisturbed in the belief that he was once more the owner
of the Bascom Place.
“He’ll not trouble you for long,” said Dr. Bynum, wiping his spectacles,
“and I’ve no doubt that whatever expense may be incurred will be settled
by his old friends. Oh, Bascom still has friends here,” exclaimed the
doctor, misunderstanding Underwood’s gesture of protest. “He went wrong,
badly wrong; but he is a Southerner, sir, to the very core, and in the
South we are in the habit of looking after our own. We may differ, sir,
but when the pinch comes you’ll find us together.”
The doctor’s lofty air was wholly lost on his companion.
“My dear sir,” said Underwood, laying his hand somewhat heavily on the
doctor’s shoulder, “what do you take me for? Do you suppose that I intend
to set up a hospital here?”
“Oh, by no means, by no means,” said Dr. Bynum, soothingly. “Not at all;
in fact, quite the contrary. As I say, you shall be reimbursed for all”—
“Dr. Bynum,” said Underwood, with some degree of emphasis, “permit me to
remind you that Judge Bascom is my guest. There is no question of money
except so far as your bill is concerned, and that”—
“Now, now, my _dear_ boy,” exclaimed the old doctor, holding up both
hands in a gesture of expostulation, “don’t, _don’t_ fly up! What is the
use? I was only explaining matters; I was only trying to let you know how
we Southerners feel. You must have noticed that the poor old Judge hasn’t
been treated very well since his return here. His best friends have
avoided him. I was only trying to tell you that they hold him in high
esteem, and that they are willing to do all they can for him.”
“As a Southerner?” inquired Underwood, “or as a man?”
“Tut, tut!” exclaimed Dr. Bynum. “Don’t come running at me with your head
down and your horns up. We’ve no time to fall into a dispute. You look
after the Judge as a Northerner, and I’ll look after him as a Southerner.
His daughter must come here. He is very feeble. He has but one irrational
idea, and that is that he owns the old Place. In every other particular
his mind is sound, and he will give you no trouble. His idea must be
humored, and even then the collapse will come too soon for that poor
girl, his daughter—as lovely a creature, sir, as you ever saw.”
This statement was neither information nor news so far as Underwood
was concerned. “If I see her,” the old doctor went on, with a somewhat
patronizing air, “I’ll try to explain matters; but it is a very delicate
undertaking, sir—very delicate.”
“No,” said Underwood; “there will be no need for explanations. My sister
will go for Miss Bascom, and whatever explanations may be necessary she
will make at the proper time.”
“An admirable arrangement,” said Dr. Bynum with a grunt of
satisfaction—“an admirable arrangement indeed. Well, my boy, you must
do the best you can, and I know that will be all that is necessary. I am
sorry for Bascom, very sorry, and I’m sorrier for his daughter. I’ll call
again tonight.”
As Dr. Bynum drove down the avenue, Underwood was much gratified to see
Jesse coming through the gate. The negro appeared to be much perplexed.
He took off his hat as he approached Underwood, and made a display of
politeness somewhat unusual, although he was always polite.
“Is you seed Marse Judge Bascom?” he inquired.
“Yes,” said Underwood. “He is in the house yonder, resting himself. You
seem frightened; what is the trouble?”
“Well, suh, I ain’t had no such worriment sence de Sherman army come
’long. I dunner what got inter Marse Judge Bascom. He been gwine on des
like yuther folks, settin’ ’roun’ en talkin’ ’long wid hisse’f, en den
all of er sudden he break out en shave en dress hisse’f, en go visitin’
whar he ain’t never been visitin’ befo’. I done year ’im say p’intedly
dat he ain’t never gwine come yer les’n de Place b’long ter ’im. Do he
look downhearted, suh?”
“No,” said Underwood, “I can’t say that he does. He seems to be very
well satisfied. He has called several times for Wesley. I have heard
you called Jesse, but perhaps the Judge knows you as Wesley. There are
several negroes around here who answer to different names.”
“No, suh,” said Jesse, scratching his head. “I ain’t never been call
Wesley sence I been bornded inter de worl’. Dey was er nigger name Wesley
what use ter go ’long wid Marse Judge Bascom en wait on ’im when I wuz
er little boy, but Wesley done been dead too long ago ter talk about.
I dunner what make folks’s min’ drop back dat ’a’way. Look like dey er
sorter fumblin’ ’roun’ tryin’ fer ter ketch holt er sump’n ne’r what done
been pulled up out’n reach.”
“Well,” said Underwood, “the Judge is in the house. See if he wants
anything; and if he asks about his daughter, tell him she will be here
directly.”
When Jesse went into the house he found the Judge lying on a lounge in
the hall. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be dozing; but Jesse’s
movements aroused him.
“Ah! is that you, Wesley? Where is your Miss Mildred?”
“She comin’, suh; she comin’ right now.”
“Very well, very well. You must make yourself at home here,” he said to
Francis Underwood, who had followed Jesse. “I am somewhat dilapidated
myself, but my daughter will entertain you. Wesley, I believe I will go
to my room. Lend me your arm.”
“Allow me to assist you,” said Underwood; and so between the two the old
man was carried to the room that had been his own when the house was
his. It happened to be Underwood’s room, but that made no difference. It
belonged once more to the Judge in his disordered fancy, and thither he
went.
After a while Miss Sophie came, bringing Mildred. Just how she had
explained matters to the poor girl no one ever knew, but it must have
been in some specially sympathetic way, for when Francis Underwood
assisted the ladies from the carriage Miss Bascom appeared to be the less
agitated of the two.
“The Judge is as comfortable as possible,” Underwood said cheerily.
“Jesse is with him, and I think he is asleep. His nervousness has passed
away.”
“Oh, do you think he is seriously ill?” exclaimed Mildred, clasping her
hands together.
“Certainly not, just now,” said Francis Underwood. “The doctor has been
here, and he has gone away apparently satisfied. Sister, do you take
charge of Miss Bascom, and show her how to be at home here.”
And so Judge Bascom and his beautiful daughter were installed at the
old Place. Mildred, under the circumstances, would rather have been
elsewhere, but she was practically under orders. It was necessary to the
well-being of her father, so the doctor said, that he should remain where
he was; it was necessary that he should be humored in the belief that he
was the owner of the old Place. It is only fair to say that Miss Sophie
Underwood and her brother were more willing and anxious to enter into
this scheme than Mildred appeared to be. She failed to comprehend the
situation until after she had talked with her father, and then she was in
despair. Judge Bascom was the representative of everything substantial
and enduring in his daughter’s experience, and when she realized that his
mind had been seized by a vagary she received a tremendous shock. But
the rough edges of the situation, so to speak, were smoothed and turned
by Miss Sophie, who assumed motherly charge of the young girl. Miss
Sophie’s methods were so sympathetic and so womanly, and she gave to the
situation such a matter-of-fact interpretation, that the grief and dismay
of the young girl were not as overwhelming as they otherwise would have
been.