_Queed sits on the Steps with Sharlee, and sees Some Old Soldiers
go marching by._
Far as the eye could see, either way, the street was two parallels of
packed humanity. Both sidewalks, up and down, were loaded to capacity
and spilling off surplus down the side-streets. Navigation was next to
impossible; as for crossing you were a madman to think of such a thing.
At the sidewalks' edge policemen patrolled up and down in the street
with their incessant cry of "Back there!"--pausing now and then to
dislodge small boys from trees, whither they had climbed at enormous
peril to themselves and innocent by-standers. Bunting, flags, streamers
were everywhere; now and then a floral arch bearing words of welcome
spanned the roadway; circus day in a small town was not a dot upon the
atmosphere of thrilled expectancy so all-pervasive here. It was, in
fact, the crowning occasion of the Confederate Reunion, and the fading
remnants of Lee's armies were about to pass in annual parade and review.
Mrs. Weyland's house stood full on the line of march. It was the house
she had come to as a bride; she owned it; and because it could not
easily be converted over her head into negotiable funds, it had escaped
the predacious clutches of Henry G. Surface. After the crash, it would
doubtless have been sensible to sell it and take something cheaper; but
sentiment made her cling to this house, and her daughter, in time, went
to work to uphold sentiment's hands. It was not a large house, or a fine
one, but it did have a very comfortable little porch. To-day this porch
was beautifully decorated, like the whole town, with the colors of two
countries, one living and one dead; and the decorations for the dead
were three times greater than the decorations for the living. And why
not? Yet, at that, Sharlee was liberal-minded and a thorough-going
nationalist. On some houses, the decorations for the dead were five
times greater, like Benjamin's mess; on others, ten times; on yet
others, no colors at all floated but the beloved Stars and Bars.
Upon the steps of Mrs. Weyland's porch sat Mr. Queed, come by special
invitation of Mrs. Weyland's daughter to witness the parade.
The porch, being so convenient for seeing things, was hospitably taxed
to its limits. New people kept turning in at the gate, mostly ladies,
mostly white-haired ladies wearing black, and Sharlee was incessantly
springing up to greet them. However, Queed, feeling that the proceedings
might be instructive to him, had had the foresight to come early, before
the sidewalks solidified with spectators; and at first, and
spasmodically thereafter, he had some talk with Sharlee.
"So you didn't forget?" she said, in greeting him.
He eyed her reflectively. "When I was seven years old," he began, "Tim
once asked me to attend to something for him while he went out for a
minute. It was to mind some bacon that he had put on to broil for
supper. I became absorbed in a book I was reading, and Tim came back to
find the bacon a crisp. I believe I have never forgotten anything from
that day to this. You have a holiday at the Department?"
"Why, do you suppose we'd work to-day!" said Sharlee, and introduced him
to her mother, who, having attentively overheard his story of Tim and
the bacon, proceeded to look him over with some care.
Sharlee left them for a moment, and came back bearing a flag about the
size of a man's visiting card.
"You are one of us, aren't you? I have brought you," she said, "your
colors."
Queed looked and recognized the flag that was everywhere in predominance
that day. "And what will it mean if I wear it?"
"Only," said Sharlee, "that you love the South."
Vaguely Queed saw in her blue-spar eyes the same kind of softness that
he noticed in people's voices this afternoon, a softness which somehow
reminded him of a funeral, Fifi's or Colonel Cowles's.
"Oh, very well, if you like."
Sharlee put the flag in his buttonhole under her mother's watchful gaze.
Then she got cushions and straw-mats, and explained their uses in
connection with steps. Next, she gave a practical demonstration of the
same by seating the young man, and sitting down beside him.
"One thing I have noticed about loving the South. Everybody does it, who
takes the trouble to know us. Look at the people!--millions and
millions...."
"Colonel Cowles would have liked this."
"Yes--dear old man." Sharlee paused a moment, and then went on. "He was
in the parade last year--on the beautifullest black horse--You never saw
anything so handsome as he looked that day. It was in Savannah, and I
went. I was a maid of honor, but my real duties were to keep him from
marching around in the hot sun all day. And now this year ... You see,
that is what makes it so sad. When these old men go tramping by,
everybody is thinking: 'Hundreds of them won't be here next year, and
hundreds more the next year, and soon will come a year when there won't
be any parade at all."
She sprang up to welcome a new arrival, whom she greeted as either Aunt
Mary or Cousin Maria, we really cannot undertake to say which.
Queed glanced over the group on the porch, to most of whom he had been
introduced, superfluously, as it seemed to him. There must have been
twenty or twenty-five of them; some seated, some standing at the rail,
some sitting near him on the steps; but all, regardless of age and sex,
wearing the Confederate colors. He noticed particularly the white-haired
old ladies, and somehow their faces, also, put him in mind of Fifi's or
Colonel Cowles's funeral.
Sharlee came and sat down by him again. "Mr. Queed," said she, "I don't
know whether you expect sympathy about what the _Post_ directors did, or
congratulations."
"Oh, congratulations," he answered at once. "Considering that they
wanted to discharge me a year ago, I should say that the testimonial
they gave me represented a rather large change of front."
"Personally, I think it is splendid. But the important thing is: does it
satisfy _you?_"
"Oh, quite." He added: "If they had gone outside for a man, I might have
felt slighted. It is very different with a man like West. I am perfectly
willing to wait. You may remember that I did not promise to be editor in
any particular year."
"I know. And when they do elect you--you see I say when, and not
if--shall you pitch it in their faces, as you said?"
"No--I have decided to keep it--for a time at any rate."
Sharlee smiled, but it was an inward smile and he never knew anything
about it. "Have you gotten really interested in the work--personally
interested, I mean?"