He was walking along, as has been said, feeling very blue and uncomfortable, when he heard his name called, and, turning around, saw a negro girl running after him. She came up panting and grinning.
"Miss Ritta say she wish you'd come dar right now," said the girl. "I been runnin' an' hollin atter you tell I wuz fear'd de dogs 'd take atter me. Miss Ritta say she want to see you right now."
The girl was small and very slim, bare-legged and good-humoured. Mr. Sanders looked at her hard, but failed to recognise her; nor had he the faintest idea as to the identity of "Miss Ritta." The girl bore his scrutiny4 very well, betraying a tendency to dance. As Mr. Sanders tried in vain to place her in his memory, she slapped her hands together, and whirled quickly on her heel more than once.
"You're a way yander ahead of me," he remarked, after reflecting awhile. "I reckon I've slipped a cog some'rs in my machinery5. What is your name?"
"I'm name Larceeny. Don't you know me, Marse Billy? I use ter b'long ter de Clopton Cadets, when Miss Nan was de Captain; but I wan't ez big den3 ez I is now. I been knowin' you most sence I was born."
"What is your mammy's name?"
"My mammy name Creecy," replied the girl, grinning broadly. "She cookin' fer Miss Ritta."
Mr. Sanders remembered Creecy very well. She had belonged to the Gaither family before the war. "Where do you stay?" he inquired. He was not disposed to admit, even indirectly6, that he didn't know every human being in the town.
"I stays dar wid Miss Ritta," replied Larceeny. "I goes ter de do', an' waits on Miss Nugeeny."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, with a smile of satisfaction. Here was a clew. Miss Nugeeny must be Eugenia Claiborne, and Miss Ritta was probably her mother.
"Miss Ritta say she wanter see you right now," insisted Larceeny. "When she seed you on de street, you wuz so fur, she couldn't holla at you, an' time she call me outer de gyarden, you wuz done gone. I wuz at de fur een' er de gyarden, pickin' rasbe'ies, an' I had ter drap ever'thing."
"Do you pick raspberries with your mouth?" inquired Mr. Sanders, with a very solemn air.
"Is my mouf dat red?" inquired Larceeny, with an alarmed expression on her face. She seized her gingham apron7 by the hem8, and, using the underside, proceeded to remove the incriminating stains, remarking, "I'm mighty9 glad you tol' me, kaze ef ol' Miss Polly had seed dat—well, she done preach my funer'l once, an' I don't want ter hear it no mo'."
Mr. Sanders, following Larceeny, proceeded to the Gaither Place, and was ushered10 into the parlour, where, to his surprise, he found Judge Vardeman, of Rockville, one of the most distinguished11 lawyers of the State. Mr. Sanders knew the Judge very well, and admired him not only on account of his great ability as a lawyer, but because of the genial12 simplicity13 of his character. They greeted each other very cordially, and were beginning to discuss the situation—it was the one topic that never grew stale during that sad time—when Mrs. Claiborne came in; she had evidently been out to attend to some household affairs.
"I'm very glad to see you, Mr. Sanders," she said. "I have sent for you at the suggestion of Judge Vardeman, who is a kinsman14 of mine by marriage. He is surprised that you and I are not well acquainted; but I tell him that in such sad times as these, it is a wonder that one knows one's next-door neighbours."
Mr. Sanders made some fitting response, and as soon as he could do so without rudeness, closely studied the countenance15 of the lady. There was a vivacity16, a gaiety, an archness in her manner that he found very charming. Her features were not regular, but when she laughed or smiled, her face was beautiful. If she had ever experienced any serious trouble, Mr. Sanders thought, she had been able to bear it bravely, for no marks of it were left on her speaking countenance. "Give me a firm faith and a light heart," says an ancient writer, "and the world may have everything else."
"I have sent for you, Mr. Sanders," said the lady, laughing lightly, "to ask if you will undertake to be my drummer."
"Your drummer!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders. "Well, I've been told that I have a way of blowin' my own horn, when the weather is fine and the spring sap is runnin', but as for drummin', I reely hain't got the knack17 on it."
"Oh, I only want you to do a little talking here and there, and give out various hints and intimations—you know what I mean. I am anxious to even up matters with a friend of yours, who, I am afraid, isn't any better than he should be."
While the lady was talking, Mr. Sanders was staring at a couple of crayon portraits on the wall. He rose from his seat, walked across the room, and attentively19 studied one of the portraits. It depicted20 a man between twenty-five and thirty-five.
"Well, I'll be jigged21!" he exclaimed as he resumed his seat. "Ef that ain't Silas Tomlin I'm a Dutchman!"
"Why, I shouldn't think you would recognise him after all these years," the lady said, smiling brightly. "Don't you think the portrait flatters him?"
"Quite a considerbul," replied Mr. Sanders; "but Silas has got p'ints about his countenance that a coat of tar18 wouldn't hide. Trim his eyebrows22, an' give him a clean, close shave, an' he's e'en about the same as he was then. An' ef I ain't mighty much mistaken, the pictur' by his side was intended to be took for you. The feller that took it forgot to put the right kind of a sparkle in the eye, an' he didn't ketch the laugh that oughter be hov'rin' round the mouth, like a butterfly tryin' to light on a pink rose; but all in all, it's a mighty good likeness23."
"Now, don't you think I should thank Mr. Sanders?" said the lady, turning to Judge Vardeman. "It has been many a day since I have had such a compliment. Actually, I believe I am blushing!" and she was.
"It wasn't much of a compliment to the artist," the Judge suggested.
"Well, when it comes to paintin' a purty 'oman," remarked Mr. Sanders, "it's powerful hard for to git in all the p'ints. A feller could paint our picturs in short order, Judge. A couple of kags of pink paint, a whitewash24 brush, an' two or three strokes, bold an' free, would do the business."
The Judge's eye twinkled merrily, and Mrs. Claiborne laughingly exclaimed, "Why, you'd make quite an artist. You certainly have an eye for colour."
Thereupon Judge Vardeman suggested to Mrs. Claiborne that she begin at the beginning, and place Mr. Sanders in possession of all the facts necessary to the successful carrying out of the plan she had in view. It was a plan, the Judge went on to say, that he did not wholly indorse, bordering, as it did, on frivolity25, but as the lady was determined26 on it, he would not advise against it, as the results bade fair to be harmless.
It must have been quite a story the lady had to tell Mr. Sanders, for the sun was nearly down when he came from the house; and it must have been somewhat amusing, too, for he came down the steps laughing heartily27. When he reached the sidewalk, he paused, looked back at the closed door, shook his head, and threw up his hands, exclaiming to himself, "Bless Katy! I'm powerful glad I ain't got no 'oman on my trail. 'Specially28 one like her. Be jigged ef she don't shake this old town up!"
He heard voices behind him, and turned to see Eugenia Claiborne and Paul Tomlin walking slowly along, engaged in a very engrossing29 conversation. Mr. Sanders looked at the couple long enough to make sure that he was not mistaken as to their identity, and then he went on his way.
He had intended to go straight home, but, yielding to a sudden whim30 or impulse, he went to the tavern31 instead. This old tavern, at a certain hour of the day, was the resort of all the men, old and young, who desired to indulge in idle gossip, or hear the latest news that might be brought by some stray traveller, or commercial agent, or cotton-buyer from Malvern. For years, Mr. Woodruff, the proprietor—he had come from Vermont in the forties, as a school-teacher—complained that the hospitality of the citizens was enough to ruin any public-house that had no gold mine to draw upon. But, after the war, the tide, such as it was, turned in his favour, and by the early part of 1868, he was beginning to profit by what he called "a pretty good line of custom," and there were days in the busy season when he was hard put to it to accommodate his guests in the way he desired.
During the spring and summer months, there was no pleasanter place than the long, low veranda32 of Mr. Woodruff's tavern, and it was very popular with those who had an idle hour at their disposal. This veranda was much patronised by Mr. Silas Tomlin, who, after the death of his wife, had no home-life worthy33 of the name. Silas was not socially inclined; he took no part in the gossip and tittle-tattle that flowed up and down the veranda. The most interesting bit of news never caused him to turn his head, and the raciest anecdote34 failed to bring a smile to his face. Nevertheless, nothing seemed to please him better than to draw a chair some distance away from the group of loungers, yet not out of ear-shot, lean back against one of the supporting pillars, close his eyes and listen to all that was said, or dream his own dreams, such as they might be.
Mr. Sanders was well aware of Silas Tomlin's tavern habits, and this was what induced him to turn his feet in that direction. He expected to find Silas there at this particular hour and he was not disappointed. Silas was sitting aloof35 from the crowd, his chair leaning against one of the columns, his legs crossed, his eyes closed, and his hands folded in his lap. But for an occasional nervous movement of his thin lips, and the twitching36 of his thumbs, he might have served as a model for a statue of Repose37. As a matter of fact, all his faculties38 were alert.
The crowd of loungers was somewhat larger than usual, having been augmented39 during the day by three commercial agents and a couple of cotton-buyers. Lawyer Tidwell was taking advantage of the occasion to expound40 and explain several very delicate and intricate constitutional problems. Mr. Tidwell was a very able man in some respects, and he was a very good talker, although he wanted to do all the talking himself. He lowered his voice slightly, as he saw Mr. Sanders, but kept on with his exposition of our organic law.
"Hello, Mr. Sanders!" said one of the cotton-buyers, taking advantage of a momentary41 pause in Mr. Tidwell's monologue42; "how are you getting on these days?"
"Well, I was gittin' on right peart tell to-day, but this mornin' I struck a job that's made me weak an' w'ary."
"You're looking mighty well, anyhow. What has been the trouble to-day?"
"Why, I'll tell you," responded Mr. Sanders, with a show of animation43. "I've been gwine round all day tryin' to git up subscriptions44 for to build a flatform for Gus Tidwell. Gus needs a place whar he can stand an' explutterate on the Constitution all day, and not be in nobody's way."
"Well, of course you succeeded," remarked Mr. Tidwell, good-naturedly.
"Middlin' well—middlin' well. A coloured lady flung a dime45 in the box, an' I put in a quarter. In all, I reckon I've raised a dollar an' a half. But I reely believe I could 'a' raised a hunderd dollars ef I'd 'a' told 'em whar the flatform was to be built."
"Where is that?" some one inquired.
"In the pine-thicket behind the graveyard," responded Mr. Sanders, so earnestly and promptly46 that the crowd shouted with laughter. Even Mr. Tidwell, who was "case-hardened," as Mrs. Absalom would say, to Mr. Sanders's jokes, joined in with the rest.
"Gus is a purty good lawyer," said Mr. Sanders, lifting his voice a little to make sure that Silas Tomlin would hear every syllable47 of what he intended to say; "but he'll never be at his best till he finds out that the Constitution, like the Bible, can be translated to suit the idees of any party or any crank. But I allers brag48 on Gus because I believe in paternizin' home industries. Howsomever, between us boys an' gals49, an' not aimin' for it to go any furder, there's a lawyer in town to-day—an' maybe he'll be here to-morrow—who knows more about the law in one minnit than Gus could tell you in a day and a half. An' when it comes to explutterations on p'ints of constitutional law, Gus wouldn't be in it."
"Is that so? What is the gentleman's name?" asked Mr. Tidwell.
"Judge Albert Vardeman," replied Mr. Sanders. "Now, when you come to talk about lawyers, you'll be doin' yourself injustice51 ef you leave out the name of Albert Vardeman. He ain't got much of a figure—he's shaped somethin' like a gourdful52 of water—but I tell you he's got a head on him."
"Is the Judge really here?" Mr. Tidwell asked. "I'd like very much to have a talk with him."
"I don't blame you, Gus," remarked Mr. Sanders, "you can git more straight p'ints from Albert Vardeman than you'll find in the books. He's been at Mrs. Claiborne's all day; I reckon she's gittin' him to ten' to some law business for her. They's some kinder kinnery betwixt 'em. His mammy's cat ketched a rat in her gran'mammy's smokehouse, I reckon. We've got more kinfolks in these diggin's, than they has been sence the first generation arter Adam."
At the mention of Mrs. Claiborne's name Silas Tomlin opened his eyes and uncrossed his legs. This movement caused him to lose his balance, and his chair fell from a leaning position with a sharp bang.
"What sort of a dream did you have, Silas?" Mr. Sanders inquired with affected53 solicitude54. "You'd better watch out; Dock Dorrin'ton says that when a man gits bald-headed, it's a sign that his bones is as brittle55 as glass. He found that out on one of his furrin trips."
"Don't worry about me, Sanders," replied Silas. He tried to smile.
"Well, I don't reckon you could call it worry, Silas, bekaze when I ketch a case of the worries, it allers sends me to bed wi' the jimmyjon. I can be neighbourly wi'out worryin', I hope."
"For a woman with a grown daughter," remarked Mr. Tidwell, speaking his thoughts aloud, as was his habit, "Mrs. Claiborne is well preserved—very well preserved." Mr. Tidwell was a widower56, of several years' standing57.
"Why, she's not only preserved, she's the preserves an' the preserver," Mr. Sanders declared. "To look in her eye an' watch her thoughts sparklin' like fire, to watch her movements, an' hear her laugh, not only makes a feller young agin, but makes him glad he's a-livin'. An' that gal50 of her'n—well, she's a thoroughbred. Did you ever notice the way she holds her head? I never see her an' Nan Dorrington together but what I'm sorry I never got married. I'd put up wi' all the tribulation58 for to have a gal like arry one on 'em."
Mr. Sanders paused a moment, and then turned to Silas Tomlin. "Silas, I think Paul is fixin' for to do you proud. As I come along jest now, him an' Jinny Claiborne was walkin' mighty close together. They must 'a' been swappin' some mighty sweet secrets, bekaze they hardly spoke59 above a whisper. An' they didn't look like they was in much of a hurry."
While Mr. Sanders was describing the scene he had witnessed, exaggerating the facts to suit his whimsical humour, Silas Tomlin sat bold upright in his chair, his eyes half-shut, and his thin lips working nervously60. "Paul knows which side his bread is buttered on," he snapped out.
"Bread!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, pretending to become tremendously excited; "bread! shorely you must mean poun'-cake, Silas. And whoever heard of putting butter on poun'-cake?"
When the loungers began to disperse61, some of them going home, and others going in to supper in response to the tavern bell, Mr. Silas Tomlin called to Lawyer Tidwell, and the two walked along together, their homes lying in the same direction.
"Gus," said Silas, somewhat nervously, "I want to put a case to you. It's purely62 imaginary, and has probably never happened in the history of the world."
"You mean what we lawyers call a hypothetical case," remarked Mr. Tidwell, in a tone that suggested a spacious63 and a tolerant mind.
"Precisely," replied Mr. Silas Tomlin, with some eagerness. "I was readin' a tale in an old copy of Blackwood's Magazine the other day, an' the whole business turned on just such a case. The sum and substance of it was about this: A man marries a woman and they get along together all right for awhile. Then, all of a sudden she takes a mortal dislike to the man, screams like mad when he goes about her, and kicks up generally when his name is mentioned. He, being a man of some spirit, and rather touchy64 at best, finally leaves her in disgust. Finally her folks send him word that she is dead. On the strength of that information, he marries again, after so long a time. All goes well for eighteen or twenty years, and then suddenly the first wife turns up. Now what, in law, is the man's status? Where does he stand? Is this woman really his wife?"
"Why, certainly," replied Mr. Tidwell. "His second marriage is no marriage at all. The issue of such a marriage is illegitimate."
"That's just what I thought," commented Silas Tomlin. "But in the tale, when the woman comes back, and puts in her claim, the judge flings her case out of court."
"That was in England," Mr. Tidwell suggested.
"Or Scotland—I forget which," Silas Tomlin replied.
"Well, it isn't the law over here," Mr. Tidwell declared confidently. They walked on a little way, when the lawyer suddenly turned to Silas and said: "Mr. Tomlin, will you fetch that magazine in to-morrow? I want to see the ground on which the woman's case was thrown out. It's interesting, even if it is all fiction. Perhaps there was some technicality."
"All right, Gus; I'll fetch it in to-morrow."
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1
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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jigged
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| v.（使）上下急动( jig的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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whitewash
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| v.粉刷，掩饰；n.石灰水，粉刷，掩饰 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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gourdful
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| n.一葫芦的量，一瓢的量 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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56
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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58
tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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59
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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60
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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61
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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62
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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63
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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64
touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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