The foundation for the court-house was soon laid. The county officials
had announced to Cavanaugh that a day had been appointed for a
ceremonious laying of a corner-stone, to which all the countryside had
been invited. A block of marble properly marked and dated was ordered
and came. The occasion was to be a great one. A brass band was expected
from a near-by town. There was to be a barbecue, with speeches and
singing from a hastily improvised platform.
John himself supervised the construction of the platform and the long
tables upon which the food was to be served.
The day arrived. The weather was most favorable, there being cool
breezes from the mountains and sufficient clouds to shut off the heat of
the sun. The speakers' stand was hung with flags and decorated with
flowers and evergreens. Long trenches had been dug in the earth. Fires
had been going in them all day. The dry hickory wood was reduced to live
coals and the pork, beef, and lamb were suspended over them. Negro men,
expert in the work, were busy turning and basting the meat, the aroma of
which floated on the air. A little organ from a near-by church had been
placed amid some chairs for choir-singers, and then John discovered that
Tilly was expected to play the instrument.
"The regular organist is away," Cavanaugh explained to John, "but I'll
bet our little girl will do it all right."
John said nothing, for he had caught sight of Tilly seated with her
mother in the front row of benches. She was dressed in white muslin from
head to foot. She wore a cheap sailor straw hat he had never seen her
wear before, and some flowers were pinned on her breast. The whiteness
of her attire seemed to accentuate the rare pinkness of her face, which
deepened as she caught his stealthy glance. She was the last of the
choir to take her place, the others being seated when she finally went
forward, seated herself on the organ-stool, and began to look over the
music. How calm and unruffled she seemed to John! On the platform sat a
candidate for the Governorship of the state, several ministers, the
Ordinary of the county, the Sheriff, an ex-judge, and several other men
of prominence, and yet in the eyes of the younger spectators John Trott,
who was to place and seal the stone, and stood with a new trowel in his
hand, was the most envied person there. He was well dressed,
good-looking, possessed with a forceful demeanor, and it was rumored
that he was a mason who could demand any wages he liked. It was little
wonder that poor young farmers who lived from hand to mouth to eke out
an existence should deem him most fortunate, and that the girls should
regard him with favor.
John was young; he was human, and he was experiencing a sort of new
birth. Aside from Cavanaugh, no one present knew of his mother's
reputation or of the social wall between him and the citizens of
Ridgeville, and here to-day he was being treated as he had never been
treated before. He felt strangely, buoyantly, at his ease. He was too
happy to analyze his wonderful transition. He wanted to do his part
well, not chiefly on account of Cavanaugh and the contract, or the
dignitaries about him, but it must be admitted that above all he was
considering Tilly. It pleased the poor boy to think of her as
conducting the music, and of himself as having charge of the other
details. There was a vague, new, and even confident dignity about his
erect figure, face, and tone of voice as he directed the laborers to
bring the corner-stone forward. There was a square cavity in the stone
into which souvenirs were to be placed, and it devolved upon John to
collect them from the audience. He did it well. He was a man drawn out
of an old environment by the dazzling experience of being in love. A
copy of a fresh issue of the county weekly was handed to him by the
paper's editor; the Ordinary contributed a photograph of the old
court-house, some one else put in a sheet containing the autographs of
leading citizens, and there were coins and various trinkets of more or
less historic significance. John placed them in the cavity, and under
the eyes of all began to close the opening. His new trowel tinkled
softly as he worked in the dead silence on all sides. When it was
finished the band played. There was much applause, and then the choir
sang. During this part of the program John had a chance to look at Tilly
without being seen by her. She sat very erectly at the organ, unabashed,
unperturbed. John, even from where he stood at one side, saw the red
welt on her hand. He told himself, sentimentally, that those were the
same little hands which churned daily, washed dishes, made fires in the
range, washed, hung out, and ironed clothes, and he marveled. Once as
she turned a page of the music-book she looked at him, seemed in a flash
to sense his admiration, and dropped her eyes. Something came into her
face which he could not have described, but it played there for an
instant like a beam of rose-colored light, and he throbbed and thrilled
in his whole being.
The speeches passed off. The band played again and John was asked by
the Ordinary to announce that the barbecue was ready to be served at the
tables.
John had never spoken in public, and yet to-day a new daring possessed
him. Quite unperturbed, he rang his trowel on the corner-stone till
quiet was restored, and then, with a half-jest, appropriately worded, he
made the announcement. Immediately the audience was on its feet and
surging toward the aromatic trenches and tables. The platform was soon
vacated, and John saw Tilly alone at the organ, putting up the
music-books. He longed to go to her, but a vast and sudden embarrassment
checked him. He started, but stopped and pretended to be inspecting the
corner-stone. She was behind him now, but she was the light and breath
of his new existence and he half saw, half felt her presence. He told
himself that she must think him an awkward fool, and yet he could not
approach her.
Suddenly he saw something for which he was not prepared. A tall, thin
young man with a scant brown mustache and rather long hair, who was
tanned like a farmer, and who had large, coarse hands and wore a
frock-coat which was thick enough for winter, was stepping upon the
platform and approaching Tilly.
"You must come get some of the barbecue," he said. "You are doing most
of the work and must be fed. I saw your ma and pa over at the first
table."
"I'm not very hungry, Joel," John heard Tilly say, and from the corner
of his eyes he saw that she was shaking hands with the young man. A
moment later they were passing close behind John. He knew that to
pretend still to be inspecting the corner-stone would be absurd and so
he turned and faced the couple. Tilly smiled, nodded, and glanced at the
stone.
"It is very pretty," she said, pausing and looking at the work he had
done. "This is my friend, Mr. Joel Eperson--Mr. Trott," she added.
The hands of two laboring-men met and swung up and down before the
little maid. "Pleased to meet you," both men said, and they stared at
each other, dumb, concealed thoughts in the depths of their eyes.
"You ran that singing all right." John dug the words from his perturbed
self-consciousness. "It went off fine."
"Yes, you certainly did that," the young farmer agreed. "You all must
have met and practised."
"Only once, last night," Tilly said. "We met at the church."
"We are going to get some of that barbecue," Eperson said, rather
stiffly, to John. "Won't you come along with us? I've got two places
reserved and can easily make room for another."
"Two places reserved!" The words had an unpleasant sound to John.
Evidently the fellow had been counting on eating with Tilly even before
he invited her. John hesitated. He noticed that Tilly had nothing to
say, and that irritated him.
"Oh, I'm not a bit hungry," he answered, now in his old, rough,
Ridgeville way, and he frowned.
"Well, you might come and see the rest of the animals fed," Eperson
jested. "I'd like to talk to you. Tilly wrote me about you coming. I
certainly would like to have a job like yours. Farming has gone to
pieces in this section."
Tilly had written him. Again John was conscious of irritation and a
strange, deep-seated uneasiness. Were the two on such terms of
familiarity that they exchanged letters while living so near together?
John was still hesitating when Cavanaugh suddenly elbowed his way
through the surging throng to his side.
"They expect you and me to set at the Ordinary's table along with the
speakers," he announced, momentously. "I've been looking for you all
about."
"We just asked him to go with us, Mr. Cavanaugh," Tilly said, "but of
course, if the Ordinary wants him we'll have to excuse him." She
introduced Eperson, and Cavanaugh smiled.
"I've heard about Mr. Eperson already," he said. "And I'll tell 'im to
his face that he has fine taste and knows a good thing in the female
line when he sees it."
The young farmer flushed red and smiled, but Tilly's face was unchanged.
"I see you are a tease," she said, indifferently. "Well, we'd better be
going."
John felt Cavanaugh grasp his arm and begin to lead him through the
crowd toward a distant table which was smaller than the others and at
which several local dignitaries were seated.
"We might as well give them young turtle-doves a chance to coo on a
perch by themselves," the contractor said, with a low chuckle. "I
understand the fellow don't get many chances to see his girl. They say
he has been in love with her ever since he was a little boy, but old
Whaley don't seem to like him. They say the old chap has shut down on
Eperson's visits--don't let 'im come around as often as he used to. I
reckon to-day is one of the fellow's chances to see her. My! what a nice
little trick she is! And take it from me--she deserves a better fate
than to marry a slow-going farmer like that one. She'd just change one
life of drudgery for another."
As if in a tantalizing dream, John heard these things as he walked
along, still tightly clutched by his old friend. He told himself that
it was incredible that he should care so much about the affairs of a
simple country girl whom he had known such a short time, but the
startling fact remained and haunted him.
They found their places at the table and sat down. The Ordinary, a
genial man of middle age, with a full brown beard, had a big jug of
fresh cider in front of him and was filling some tin cups with the amber
fluid.
"We are going to drink to the health and success of these two
gentlemen," he announced, when every one at the table had received his
cup of the beverage. "They are both agreeable men and are an honor to
our community. Moreover, I am satisfied that they are going to give us
the finest public building for the money in the state."
They all drank standing, and, as they resumed their seats, they glanced
at Cavanaugh as if expecting a response from him.
"I am much obliged," Cavanaugh stammered. "I can't make a speech or I'd
tell you how tickled I am by your compliment, and my young friend on my
right is, too. We are combining business and pleasure on this jaunt and
are having a fine time."
John was gloomily unconscious of the fact that he, too, was expected to
say something. Seeing Cavanaugh sit down, he did likewise. He was
watching Eperson and Tilly, who at one of the long tables near by sat
facing him. Eperson was bending eagerly toward her, smiling and saying
something in her ear. Tilly seemed to be listening, for she was smiling
also. Farther down the same table sat her father and mother. Whaley had
a plate heaped high with the meat and its accompanying peppery relish,
and was eating voraciously. Mrs. Whaley was chatting with a woman at
her side and scarcely eating at all. The brass band was playing, there
was a great clatter of knives and forks and tin cider-cups. John was in
one of his surliest moods. He was really hungry enough to have enjoyed
the feast, but his thoughts kept him from doing so. Presently he managed
to slip away from the table, and found himself alone. He wandered
aimlessly about the foundation of the new building, trying to make
himself believe that he was inspecting the work already done. The band
had ceased playing. The crowd of white citizens was thinning out, and
the negroes were falling into the vacant places at the tables. John saw
Cavanaugh and the elder Whaleys trudging homeward. Where was Tilly? he
wondered. Then he saw Eperson driving a poor horse drawing a ramshackle
buggy around from the public hitching-rack. Tilly stood waiting for him
alone on the edge of the sidewalk. Eperson got out, helped her into the
seat, and then got in beside her and drove her homeward.
John lingered about the foundations for half an hour. Then he saw
Eperson returning in the buggy alone. He had to pass close to where John
stood, but John refused to look up as he went by and turned into the
country road. There was a vague look of placid content on the earnest
face of the man which portended things John dared not think about.