MR. STILL OFFERS A COMPROMISE, AND A BLUFF
The term approached at which the Red Rock suit was to be tried, and
both parties made preparations for it. A number of the prominent
members of the Bar had volunteered as Jacquelin’s counsel. They knew
the character of the new judge, Bail, and they considered Jacquelin’s
cause that of every man in the State. Leech, on his side, had
associated with him as counsel for Still several lawyers of well-known
ability, if of less recognized integrity; and Major Welch had retained
old Mr. Bagby to represent his interest. As the term drew near, Still
applied to Mr. Bagby to represent him too. The old lawyer declined. The
interest of his client, Major Welch, might in some way conflict, though
he could not see how; in a way he already represented Still, since to
protect his client he had to look after Still’s title also. “Besides,
Still already had lawyers enough to ruin his case,” he said, “and he
would charge him a big fee.” But these reasons were not sufficient for
Still. He wished Mr. Bagby to represent him. He told him Leech had
employed those others; but he wanted a man he knew. “There wasn’t a man
in the State could carry a jury like Mr. Bagby, and he did not mind the
fee.”
Flattery is a key that fits many locks. So the old lawyer consented,
after consulting Major Welch, and notifying Still that if at any time
or at any point in the case he found his interest conflicting with
Major Welch’s he would give him up. Still grew more anxious and sought
so many interviews with the old counsellor that finally his patience
wore out, and he gave his new client to understand that he had other
business, and if he wanted so much of his time he must increase his
fees. Still consented even to this, with the effect of arousing
suspicion on the old lawyer’s part that there must be something in his
client’s case which he did not understand. “Something in it he has not
let out,” reflected the old lawyer. “I must get at it.”
Not very long after this arrangement, Still asked Mr. Bagby to come
and see him at his home on business of great importance, alleging as
a reason for his not going to see Mr. Bagby that he was too unwell
to travel. The note for some reason offended Mr. Bagby. However, as
he had to go to Major Welch’s that night, he rode by Red Rock to see
Still. He found him in a state of great anxiety and nervousness. Still
went over the same ground that he had been over with him already
several times; wanted to know what he thought of the bill, and of the
Grays’ chances of success. The old lawyer frowned. Up to the time of
beginning a suit he was ready to be doubtful, prudent, cautious, even
anxious, in advising; but the fight once begun he was in it to the end;
doubt disappeared; defeat was not among the possibilities. It was an
intellectual contest and he rejoiced in it; put into it every nerve and
every power he possessed, and was ready to trample down every adversary
from the sheriff who served the writ, to the Supreme Court itself. So
now, when Still, almost at the entrance of the term, was whimpering as
to his chances, the old lawyer answered him with scant courtesy.
“The bill? I think the same of it I thought when you asked me
before; that it is a good bill in certain respects and a poor one in
others;—good as to your accounts showing rents and profits, and too
general as to the bonds. It’s a good thing you got hold of so much of
Gray’s paper. I knew he was a free liver and a careless man; but I had
no idea he owed so much money.” He was speaking rather to himself.
“What do you mean?” faltered Still, his face flushing and then growing
pale.
“That if they can prove what they allege about the crops in the years
just before and after the war, they’ll sweep you for rents and profits,
and you’ll need the bonds.” He reflected for a minute, then looked at
Still.
“Mr. Still, tell me exactly how you came by that big bond.” He shut his
eyes to listen, so did not see the change that came over his client’s
face.
“What’d you think of a compromise?” asked Still, suddenly.
“Have they offered one?”
“Well, not exactly,” said Still, who was lying; “but I know they’d like
to make one. What’d you think of our kind of broaching the subject?”
“What! You? After that bill aspersing your character!” He looked
at Still keenly. “Do as you please! But Major Welch will offer
no compromise.” He rose and walked off from Still for a moment,
formulating in his mind some sentence that would relieve him from his
relation of counsel to him. It was the first time he had been in the
house since Still’s occupancy; and as he paced across the hall, the
pictures lining the walls arrested his attention, and he began to
examine them. He stopped in front of the “Indian-killer,” and gazed at
it attentively.
“Astonishingly like him!” he muttered, musingly; and then after another
look he asked, “Do you know whether there really was a cabinet behind
that picture or not?” Still did not answer, but his face turned a
sudden white. The old lawyer had his back to him. He stepped up nearer
the picture and began to examine the frame more closely. “I believe
there is,” he said, musingly. “Yes, that red paint goes under.” He took
out a large pocket-knife. “Those nails are loose. I believe I’ll see.”
He inserted the blade of his knife and began to prize at the frame.
“My G—d! don’t do that!” exclaimed Still; and, giving a bound, he
seized the old lawyer’s arm.
The latter turned on him in blank amazement. Still’s face was as white
as death.
“What in the d—l is the matter with you?” demanded Mr. Bagby.
“Don’t! for God’s sake!” stammered Still, and staggered into a chair,
the perspiration standing out on his forehead.
“What’s the matter with you, man?” Mr. Bagby poured out a glass of
whiskey from a decanter on the table and gave it to him. The liquor
revived him, and in a moment he began to talk.
It was nothing, he said, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. He had of
late been having a sort of spells; had not been sleeping well—his son
was giving him some physic for it; ’twas a sort of nervousness, and he
supposed he just had one, and couldn’t help thinking of that story of
the picture coming down always meaning bad luck, and the story of the
old fellow being seen on horseback at night. Some of the niggers had
been saying that he had been seen at night once or twice lately riding
around, and he supposed that had got in his mind. But of course he
didn’t believe any such lies as that.
“I hope not,” sniffed the old lawyer. He rose and took up his hat and
saddle-bags. Still urged him to stay; he had had his horse put in the
stable and fed; but Mr. Bagby said he must go, he wished to see Major
Welch. He had made up his mind that he would not remain in the case
as Still’s counsel. He could not get over the feeling that there was
something in Still’s case which Still had not confided to him, or the
idea of his wishing to compromise after a charge of fraud; and the
rough way in which Still had seized his arm and had spoken to him had
offended him. So he would not be his guest. He told Still that he felt
that he could not act further as his counsel, in association with his
other counsel. Again Still’s face blanched. He offered to throw them
all over—except Leech. He was obliged to keep Leech; but the others he
would let go. This, however, Mr. Bagby would not hear of.
As it was late, and the servants had retired, Still walked with Mr.
Bagby to the stable to get his horse. He continued to urge him to
remain in the suit as his counsel. But the old lawyer was firm.
As they approached the stables there came to them from the field over
beyond the gardens and toward Major Welch’s the distant neigh of a
horse. Still clutched Mr. Bagby’s arm.
“My G—d! did you hear that?”
“What? Yes—one of your horses over in your pasture?”
“No, there ain’t no horses over in that field, or in a field between
here and Stamper’s house. It’s all in crop. That’s over toward the
grave-yard.”
“Oh! the d—l!” the old man exclaimed, impatiently.
But Still seized him.
“Look! Look yonder!” he gasped. The lawyer looked, and at the moment
the outline of a man on horseback was clearly defined against the
skyline on the crest of a hill. How far away it was he could not tell;
but apparently it was just behind the dark clump of trees where lay the
old Gray burying-ground. The next second the moon was shrouded and the
horseman faded out.
When Mr. Bagby reached Major Welch’s, the latter came out to meet him:
he had sat up for him.
“I thought you had come a half-hour ago. I fancied I heard your horse
neigh,” he said.
As he went to call a servant, he picked up from a small side-porch a
parcel wrapped around with paper. He took it in to the light. It was a
large bunch of jonquils, addressed to Ruth.
“Ah!” thought the old lawyer, with a chuckle, “that is what our ghostly
horseman was doing.”
The next morning, when Major Welch and his guest came to breakfast,
the table was already decorated with jonquils, which were lighting it
up with their golden glow; and one or two of them were pinned on Miss
Ruth’s dainty white dress.
Both Major Welch and the guest remarked on the beauty of the flowers,
and the Major mentioned his surprise that Ruth should have left them
out on the porch overnight. The remark was quite casual, and the Major
was not looking at Ruth at the moment; but the old lawyer was looking,
and his eyes twinkled as he noticed the deep color that rushed up into
the girl’s cheeks. No age is too great to be stirred by the sight of a
romance, and the old fellow’s countenance softened as he looked at the
young girl.
“Lucky dog,” he thought, “that night rider! I wonder who he is? I’d
give my fee in this case to be able to call up that blush. I remember
doing that same thing once—forty odd years ago. The flowers faded, and
the girl—My dear, will you give me one of those jonquils?” he broke
off, suddenly, addressing Ruth. Ruth, with a smile, pinned it on him,
and the old man wore it with as proud a mien as he had ever had after a
successful verdict.
The apparition was too much for Hiram Still. A few days after his
interview with Mr. Bagby, Still, without consulting any of his counsel,
took the step on his own account which he had suggested to the lawyer.
If it went through, he could put it on the ground of friendship for
Jacquelin’s father. He selected his opportunity.
Steve Allen was away that day and Jacquelin Gray was sitting in his
office alone, when there was a heavy, slow step outside and, after a
moment’s interval, a knock at the door. “Come in,” Jacquelin called;
and the door opened slowly and Hiram Still walked half-way in and
stopped doubtfully. He was pale, and a simper was on his face.
Jacquelin did not stir. His face flushed slightly.
“Good-mornin’, Mr. Jacquelin,” said the visitor, in his most
insinuating tone.
“What do you want?” Jacquelin asked, coldly.
“Mr. Jacquelin, I thought I’d come and see you when you was by yourself
like, and see if me and you couldn’t come to a understandin’ about our
suit.”
Jacquelin was so taken by surprise that he did not try to answer
immediately, and Still took it for assent and moved a step farther into
the room.
“I don’t want no lawyers between us; we’re old friends. I ain’t got
nothin’ against you, and you ain’t got nothin’ against me; and I don’t
want no trouble or nothin’. Your father was the best friend I ever
had; and I jist thought I’d come like a friend, and see if we couldn’t
settle things like old friends—kind of compromise, kind o’——?” He
waved his hands expressively.
Jacquelin found his voice.
“Get out,” he said, quietly, with a sudden paling of his face. Still’s
jaw dropped. Jacquelin rose to his feet, a gleam in his eyes.
“Get out.” There was a ring in his voice, and he took a step toward
Still. But Still did not wait. He turned quickly and rushed out of the
room, never stopping until he had got out of the court-green.
He went to the bar of the tavern and ordered two drinks in rapid
succession.
“D—n him!” he said, as he drained off his glass the second time. “If
he had touched me I’d have shot him.”
“You’re lookin’ sort o’ puny these days. Been sick?” the man at the bar
asked.
“Yes—no—I don’ know,” said Still, gruffly. He went up and looked at
himself in a small fly-speckled, tin-like mirror on the wall. “I ain’t
been so mighty well.”
“Been ridin’ pretty hard lately ’bout your suit, I reckon?” said the
bar-keeper.
“I don’ know. I ain’t afeared ’bout it. If they choose to fling away
money tryin’ to beat me out o’ my property, I’ve got about as much as
they have, I reckon.”
“I reckon you have.” The man’s manner was so dry that Still cut his
eye at him. “Why don’t you try him with a compromise?” Still looked at
him sharply; but he was washing a glass, and his face was as impassive
as a mask.
“D—n him! I wouldn’t compromise with him to save his life,” said
Still. “D’ you think I’d compromise with a man as is aspersed my
character?”
“I d’n’ know. I hear there’s to be a jury; and I always heard, if
there’s one thing the L—d don’ know, it’s how a jury’s goin’ to
decide.”
“I ain’t afeared of _that_ jury,” said Still, on whom the whiskey was
working. “I’ve got——” He caught a look of sharpness on the man’s face
and changed. “I ain’t afeared o’ no jury—that jury or no other. And I
ain’t afeared o’ Jacquelin Gray nor Mr. Steve Allen neither. I ain’t
afeared o’ no man as walks.”
“How about them as rides?” asked the bar-keeper, dryly.
The effect was electric.
“What d’you know about them as rides?” asked Still, surlily, his face
pale.
“Nothin’ but what I hear. I hear they’s been a rider seen roun’ Red
Rock of nights, once or twice lately, ain’t nobody caught up with.”
“Some o’ these scoundrels been a tryin’ to skeer me,” said Still, with
an affectation of indifference. “But they don’t know me. I’ll try how a
bullet’ll act on ’em next time I see one of ’em.”
“I would,” said the bar-keeper. “You’se seen him, then? I heard you
had.”
Hiram saw that he had been trapped into an admission. Before he could
answer, the man went on:
“They say down this away it means something’s goin’ to happen. How’s
that old picture been standing of late?”
Still burst out in a rage, declaring that it had been standing all
right, and would continue to stand till every man against him was in
the hottest region his imagination could picture. It seemed to him,
he said, that everybody in the County was in league against him. The
bar-keeper heard him unmoved; but, when his customer left, he closed
his door and sauntered over to the office of Allen and Gray.
When Steve returned next day, Jacquelin told him of the interview with
Still. Steve’s eyes lit up.
“By Jove! It means there’s something we don’t know! What did you do?”
“Threatened to kick him out of the room.”
“I supposed so. But, do you know, Jack,” he said, after a moment’s
reflection, “I am not sure you did right? As a man I feel just as you
did; but as a lawyer I think we should try and compromise. The case
as it stands is a doubtful one on the law; but what show do we stand
before his new judge. You know he is hand in glove with them, and they
say was appointed to try this very case. Remember, there is Rupert.”
“I tell you what I will do,” said Jacquelin, “and it is the only
compromise I will make. You can go to him and say I will agree to
dismiss the case. If he will give Rupert the full half of the place,
including the house, and me the grave-yard and Birdwood, with three
hundred acres of land, I will dismiss the suit. You can go to him and
say so. It will still leave him more than the value of Birdwood.”
“Birdwood! What do you want with Bird——?” asked Steve, in amazement;
but at the moment his eye rested on Jacquelin’s face. Jacquelin was
blushing. “Oho!” he exclaimed. “I see.”
“Not at all!” said Jacquelin. “I have no hope whatever. Everything has
gone wrong with me. I feel as if as soon as I am interested, the very
laws of nature become reversed!”
“Nonsense! The laws of nature are never reversed!” exclaimed Steve.
“It’s nothing but our infernal stupidity or weakness. Have you ever
said anything to her since?”
“No, I am done. She’s an iceberg.”
“Iceberg? When I saw her she was a volcano. Besides, ice melts,” said
Steve, sententiously. “I’m engaged in the process myself.”
Jacquelin could not talk lightly of Blair, and he rose and quietly
walked out of the office. As his footsteps died away, Steve sat back in
his chair and fell into a reverie, induced by Jacquelin’s words and his
reply.
Jacquelin had just left the office when there was a step outside, and a
knock so timid that Steve felt sure that it must be a woman. He called
to the person to come in; the knock, however, was repeated; so Steve
called out more loudly. The door opened slowly, and a young colored
woman put her head in and surveyed the office carefully. “Is dat you,
Marse Steve?” she asked, and inserted her whole body. Then turning her
back on Steve, she shut the door.
Steve waited with interest, for his visitor was Martha, Jerry’s wife,
who was a maid at Major Welch’s. It was not the first time Martha had
consulted him. Now, however, Steve was puzzled, for on former occasions
when she came to see him, Jerry had been on a spree; but Steve had seen
Jerry only the evening before, and he was sober. Steve motioned the
girl to a seat and waited.
She was so embarrassed, however, that all she could do was to tug at
something which she held securely tied up in her apron. Steve tried to
help her out.
“Jerry drunk again? I thought I had given him a lesson last time that
would last him longer.”
“Nor, suh, he ain’ drunk—yit. But I thought I’d come to ’sult you.”
Again she paused, and looked timidly around the room.
“Well, what is it? Has he threatened to beat you?” he asked, a shade
gathering on his brow. “He knows what he’ll get if he tries that again.”
“Nor, suh,” said Martha, quickly; “I ain’ feared o’ dat. He know better
’n dat now—sence you an’ my gran’mother got hold o’ him; but”—her
knot came untied, and suddenly she gained courage—“what I want to
’sult you about is dis: I want to ax you,—is Mr. Spickit—’lowed to
write ‘whiskey’ down in my sto’-book?” She clutched her book, and gazed
at Steve as if the fate of the universe depended on the answer.
Steve took the book and glanced over it. It was a small, greasy
account-book, such as was kept by persons who dealt at the little
country-stores about the County. Many of the items were simply “Mdse.,”
but on the last two or three pages, the item “Whiskey” appeared with
somewhat undue frequency.
“What do you mean?” asked Steve.
“Well, you see, it’s disaway. Jerry, he gits his whiskey at Mr.
Spickit’s—_some_ o’ it—an’ he say Mr. Spickit _shell_ write hit down
on de book dat way, an——”
“Oh! You don’t want him to have it?” said Steve, a light breaking on
him.
“Nor, suh—dat ain’t it. I don’ mine he havin’ de _whiskey_—I don’
mine he gittin’ all he want—cuz I know he gwine _drink_ it. But I don’
want him to have it put down dat away on de _book_. I is a member o’ de
chutch, and I don’ want whiskey writ all over my book—dat’s hit!”
“Oh!” Steve smiled acquiescingly.
“An’ I done tell Jerry so; an’ I done tell Mr. Spickit so, an’ ax him
not to do it.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I wants him to put it down ‘merchandise,’ dat’s all; an’ I come to ax
you, can’t you meck Jerry do it dat away.”
“Ah! I see. Why, certainly I can.”
“An’ I want to ax you dis: Jerry say, ef I don’ stop meddlin’ wid he
business, he won’ let me have no sto’-book, an’ he gwine lef’ me; dat
he’ll meck you git a divo’ce from me—an’ I want to ax you ef he ken
lef’ me jes cuz I want him to mark it merchandise? Kin he git a divorce
jes for dat?” She was far too serious for Steve to laugh now. Her face
was filled with anxiety.
“Of course, he cannot.”
“Well, will you write me dat down, so I ken show it to him?”
Steve gravely wrote a few lines, which, after reading to her, he folded
with great solemnity and handed her.
They read as follows:
“LEGAL OPINION.
“I am of opinion that it is not a cause for divorce, either _a vinculo
matrimonii or a mensâ et thoro_, when a woman insists that the whiskey
which her husband drinks, and which she pays for, shall be entered on
her account-book as _Mdse_. Given under my hand this —— day of ——,
18—.
“STEVENSON ALLEN,
“_Attorney and Counsellor-at-Law_.”
The young woman received the paper with the greatest reverence and
relief.
“Thankee, Marse Steve,” she said, with repeated bows and courtesies.
“Dis will fix him. I knowed dat if I come to you, you’d tell me de law.
Jerry talk like he know all de law in the wull!” Armed with her weapon,
her courage was returning. “But I’ll straighten him out wid dis.” She
tied her letter up in her apron with elaborate care. Suddenly her face
grew grave again.
“‘Spose Jerry say he’ll trick me cuz I come to you?”
“Trick you——!” began Steve, in a tone of contempt.
“Not he himself; but dat he’ll git Doct’ Moses to do it?” Her face had
grown quite pale.
“If he says he’ll trick you, tell him I’ll lick him. You come to me.”
“Yes, suh.” She was evidently much relieved, but not wholly so. “I
cert’ny is feared o’ him,” she said, plaintively. “He done tricked
Jane—Sherrod’s wife—and a whole lot o’ urrs,” she said. Steve knew
from her face that the matter was too serious to be laughed at.
“You tell Jerry that if he dares to try it, or even threatens you
with it, I’ll lick the life out of him and discharge him. And as for
Moses——” His face darkened.
“I don’t want you to do that,” she said, quickly.
“Well, you tell him so, anyhow. And if I get hold of Moses, he won’t
trouble you.”
“Yas, suh, I’ll tell him ef he try to trick me. ’Cus I cert’ny is
feared o’ dat man.” She was going out, when Steve called her back.
“Ah! Martha? How are they all at Major Welch’s?”
“Dee’s all right well, thankee, suh,” said Martha. “Sept Miss Ruth—she
ain been so mighty well lately.” Steve’s face brightened.
“Ah! What is the matter with her?” His voice was divided between
solicitude and feigned indifference.
“I don’ know, indeed, suh. She’s jes sort o’ puny—jes heah lately. She
don’t eat nuttin’. Dee talk ’bout sen’in’ her ’way.”
“Indeed!” Steve was conscious of a sudden sinking of the heart.
“I think she ride ’bout too much in de hot sun,” explained Martha, with
the air of an authority.
“I have no doubt of it,” said Steve.
“She come home tother evenin’ right down sick, and had to go to bed,”
continued Martha.
“Ah! when was that? Why don’t they send for a doctor?—Dr. Still?”
asked Steve, guilefully.
“Go ’way, Marse Steve, you know dee ain gwine let dat man practus on
Miss Ruth. Dat’s what de matter wid her now. He come dyah all de time
teckin’ her out ridin’——”
“Why, he’s away from the County,” declared Steve, who appeared to have
a surprising knowledge of the young Doctor’s movement.
“Yas, suh; but I talkin’ ’bout b’fo’ he went way. He was wid her dat
evenin’. Least, he went way wid her, but he didn’t come back wid her.”
Her tone was so significant that again the light came into Captain
Allen’s eyes.
“And he hasn’t been back since?”
“Nor, suh, an’ he ain’t comin’ back nurr.”
“And you don’t know where Miss Welch is going, or when?”
“Nor, suh, she ain’ goin’ at all. I heah her say she wa’n’t gwine; but
she cert’ny look mighty thin, heah lately.” The conversation had ended.
Steve was in a reverie, and Martha moved toward the door.
“Well, good-by, Marse Steve. I cert’ny is obliged to you, an’ I gwine
send you some eggs soon as my hens begins to lay again.”
But Captain Allen told her she did not owe him anything.
“Come again, Martha, whenever you want to know about anything—anything
at all.”
When Martha went out she heard him singing.
* * * * *
The story of Still’s offer of a compromise to Jacquelin got abroad,
and, notwithstanding the wise doctrine of the law that an offer of
compromise shall not be taken as evidence in any case, this particular
offer was so taken. Still found himself roundly abused by his counsel
for being such a fool as to propose it. All sorts of rumors began
to fly about. It was said that Mr. Bagby had declined to act as his
counsel. To meet these reports it was necessary to do something, and
Still’s counsel held a consultation. It was decided that he should give
an entertainment.
It would show his indifference to the claims of the Grays to his
plantation, and would prove his position in the County. Leech thought
that this would be a good thing to do; it would anger the Grays, if it
did nothing else. He could invite Judge Bail up to it.
“Make it a fine one when you do have it,” said the counsellor. “I’ve
found champagne make its way to a man’s heart when you couldn’t get at
it through his pocket.”
Dr. Still also was eager to have such an entertainment. He, too,
appreciated the fineness of the stroke that, on the eve of battle,
would show their contempt for the other side. Besides which, the young
physician had another motive. Soon after his removal from the County
to the city Dr. Still had become an admirer of Governor Krafton’s
daughter. She was the Governor’s only child, and even the Governor’s
bitterest enemies admitted that he was a devoted father; and in the
press that was opposed to him, often side by side with the bitterest
attacks on the Governor, was some admiring mention of his handsome
and accomplished daughter. He would have given her the moon, someone
said to General Legaie. “Yes, even if he had to steal it to do so,”
said the General. Miss Krafton had had the best education that the
country could afford. This she had finished off with a year or two of
travel abroad. She had just returned home. She idolized her father, and
perhaps the Governor had not been sorry to have her out of the country
where half the press was daily filled with the most direct and vehement
accusations against him. The Governor’s apologists declared that his
most questionable acts were from the desire to build up a fortune for
his daughter. It was for her that he had bought the old Haskelton
place, one of the handsomest in the city, and, pulling down the fine
old colonial mansion, had erected on its site one of the costliest and
most bewildering structures in the State.
It is often the case that the very magnitude of the efforts made to
accomplish a design frustrates it; and Governor Krafton, with all his
eagerness to be very rich, and his absolute indifference as to the
means employed, was always involved pecuniarily, while the men with
whom he worked appeared to be immensely successful. Until he fell
out with Leech and Still, he had gone in with them in their railroad
and land schemes; but while everything that they touched appeared to
turn to gold (at least, it was so with Still; for there were rumors
respecting Leech), the Governor was always hard pushed to meet his
expenditures.
Still’s explanation to his son was that he let others climb the trees
and do the shaking, and he stayed on the ground and gathered the
apples. “Krafton and Leech has both made more money than I have,” he
said, shrewdly; “but they have to pay it out to keep their offices,
while I——” He completed the sentence by a significant buttoning of
his pocket. “They think that because they get a bigger sheer generally
than I do, they do better. But—it ain’t the water that falls on the
land that makes the crops; it’s what sinks in. This thing’s got to
stop some time, my son—ground gets worked out—and when the crops are
gathered I know who mine’s for.” He gazed at his son, with mingled
shrewdness and affection. The young Doctor also looked pleased. His
father’s sharpness at times made up to him for his ignorance and want
of education. Dr. Still was not lacking in smartness himself, and had
been quick enough to see which way Miss Krafton’s tastes lay. He had
discovered that she was both proud and ambitious—Not politically. She
said she detested politics; that her father never allowed politics
to be talked before her; and when he gave a “political dinner,” she
did not even come downstairs. She was ambitious socially. Dr. Still
promptly began to play on this chord. He had prevailed on his father
to set him up a handsome establishment in the city, and he became
deeply literary. He began to talk of his family—the Stills had
originally been Steels, he said, and were the same family to which Sir
Richard Steel belonged—and to speak of his “old place” and his “old
pictures.” He described them with so much eloquence that Miss Krafton
said she wished she could see them. This gave Dr. Still an idea, and he
forthwith began to plan an entertainment. As it happened, it was at the
very time that Leech had suggested the same thing to Hiram Still; and
as his son and Leech rarely agreed about anything these days, Still was
impressed, and the entertainment was determined on. It was to be the
“finest party” that had ever been given at Red Rock. On this all were
united. Even Hiram yielded to the general pressure, and admitted that
if you were “going to send for a man’s turn of corn it was no good to
send a boy to mill after it.”
He entrusted the arrangements to the young Doctor, who laid himself out
on them. A florist and a band were to be brought up from the city, and
the decorations and supper were to surpass everything that had ever
been seen. A large company was invited, including many guests from the
city, for whom a special train was furnished, and Still, “to show his
good feeling,” extended the invitation to many of his neighbors. Major
and Mrs. Welch and Ruth were invited. Still remembered that Major Welch
had been to one entertainment in that house, and he wished to show him
that he could excel even the Grays. Dr. Still was at first determined
that Miss Welch should not come; but it was suggested that it would be
a greater triumph to invite her, and more mature reflection decided
him that this was so. He would show her Miss Krafton, and this would
be a greater victory than to omit her from the list. He could not but
believe that she would be jealous.
On the evening of the entertainment Major Welch and Mrs. Welch
attended. But Miss Ruth did not accompany them. She was not very well,
Mrs. Welch said in reply to Virgy, who, under Dr. Still’s wing, was
“receiving” in a stiff, white satin dress, and looking unfeignedly
scared as she held her great bouquet, like an explosive that might “go
off” at any time. Miss Virgy’s face, however, on seeing Mrs. Welch’s
familiar countenance, lit up, and she greeted her with real pleasure,
and expressed regret that Ruth had not come, with a sincerity that
made Mrs. Welch warm toward her. Mrs. Welch liked her better than she
did Miss Krafton, whom she had met casually and thought a handsome and
intelligent, but rather conceited girl.
It was a curious company that Major and Mrs. Welch found assembled. The
strangers from the city included the judge, who was a dark-looking man
with a strong face, a heavy mouth, and a lowering gray eye; a number
of people of various conditions, whom Mrs. Welch recognized as men
whose names she had heard as connected with Leech; and a number of
others whom she had never heard of. But there was not a soul whom she
had ever met before socially. Not a member of the St. Ann congregation
was present. Both the Stills were in an ill-humor, and Virgy, though
she was kind and cordial, looked wretchedly unhappy. Mrs. Welch was
glad that, for once, she had not permitted her principles to override
her instincts, and had left Ruth at home. As she glanced about her, her
gaze rested on her host. Hiram Still was talking to one of his guests,
a small, stumpy, red-headed man with a twinkling eye and a bristly red
mustache, whom Mrs. Welch recognized as an office-holder who had come
down from one of the Northern States.
Still was talking in a high, complaining voice.
“Yes,” he said, evidently in answer to a speech by his guest, “it is
a fine party—the finest ever given in this County. It ought to be;
I’ve spent enough money on it to buy a plantation, and to show my
friendliness I invited my neighbors. Some of ’em I didn’t have no call
to invite,—and yet just look around you. I’ve got a lot of folks from
the city I don’t know, and some from the County I know too well; but
not one of my old neighbors has come—not one gentleman has put his
foot here this night.”
His guest glanced round the hall, and ended with a quizzical look up in
Still’s face. “Of course, what did you expect? Do you suppose, Still,
if I were a gentleman I’d have come to your party? I’d have seen you
d—d first. Let’s go and have some more champagne.”
It was the first time the fact had struck Mrs. Welch. It was
true—there was not a gentleman there except her husband.
When Mrs. Welch left, shortly afterward, Still and his guest had
evidently got more champagne. Still was vowing that it was the finest
party ever given in Red Rock, even if there wasn’t a gentleman
present; and his guest was laughing and egging him on. As Major and
Mrs. Welch waited for their carriage, Leech passed with Miss Krafton on
his arm. Mrs. Welch drove home in silence. There were things she did
not wholly understand.