Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
THE LITTLE BROWN JUG AT KILDARE
By MEREDITH NICHOLSON
THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES
Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy 12mo, Cloth $1.50
THE PORT OF MISSING MEN
Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood 12mo, Cloth $1.50
ROSALIND AT RED GATE
Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller 12mo, Cloth $1.50
ZELDA DAMERON
Illustrated by John Cecil Clay 12mo, Cloth $1.50
THE MAIN CHANCE
Illustrated by Harrison Fisher 12mo, Cloth $1.50
POEMS
12mo, Cloth Net, $1.25
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANYINDIANAPOLIS
THE LITTLE BROWN JUG AT KILDARE
_By_MEREDITH NICHOLSON
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BYJAMES MONTGOMERY FLAGG
Oh, for you that I never knew, Only in dreams that bind you!-- By Spring's own grace I shall know your face When under the may I find you!
--_H. C. Bunner_
INDIANAPOLISTHE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANYPUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1908THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
SEPTEMBER
THE LITTLE BROWN JUG AT KILDARE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I Two Gentlemen Say Good-By 1
II The Absence of Governor Osborne 34
III The Jug and Mr. Ardmore 50
IV Duty and the Jug 73
V Mr. Ardmore Officially Recognized 98
VI Mr. Griswold Forsakes the Academic Life 126
VII An Affair at the State House 143
VIII The Labors of Mr. Ardmore 166
IX The Land of the Little Brown Jug 187
X Professor Griswold Takes the Field 201
XI Two Ladies on a Balcony 218
XII The Embarrassments of the Duke of Ballywinkle 235
XIII Miss Dangerfield Takes a Prisoner 257
XIV A Meeting of Old Friends 281
XV The Prisoner in the Corn-Crib 308
XVI The Flight of Gillingwater 336
XVII On the Road to Turner's 349
XVIII The Battle of the Raccoon 362
XIX In the Red Bungalow 375
XX Rosae Mundi 396
XXI Good-By to Jerry Dangerfield 414
THE LITTLE BROWN JUG AT KILDARE
CHAPTER I
TWO GENTLEMEN SAY GOOD-BY
"If anything really interesting should happen to me I think I shoulddrop dead," declared Ardmore as he stood talking to Griswold in therailway station at Atlanta. "I entered upon this life under falsepretenses, thinking that money would make the game easy, but here I am,twenty-seven years old, stalled at the end of a blind alley, with nolight ahead; and to be quite frank, old man, I don't believe you havethe advantage of me. What's the matter with us, anyhow?"
"The mistake we make," replied Griswold, "is in failing to seizeopportunities when they offer. You and I have talked ourselves hoarse athousand times planning schemes we never pull off. We are cursed withindecision, that's the trouble with us. We never see the handwriting onthe wall, or if we do, it's just a streak of hieroglyphics, and we don'tknow what it means until we read about it in the newspapers. But Ithought you were satisfied with the thrills you got running as a reformcandidate for alderman in New York last year. It was a large stage andthe lime-light struck you pretty often. Didn't you get enough? No doubtthey'd be glad to run you again."
Ardmore glanced hastily about and laid his hand heavily on his friend'sshoulder.
"Don't mention it--don't think of it! No more politics in mine. Theworld may go hang if it waits for me to set it right. What I want issomething different, a real adventure--something with spice in it. Ihave bought everything money can buy, and now I'm looking for somethingthat can't be tagged with a price."
"There's your yacht and the open sea," suggested Griswold.
"Sick of it! Sick to death of it!"
"You're difficult, old man, and mighty hard to please. Why don't youturn explorer and go in for the North Pole?"
"Perfectly bully! I've thought of it a lot, but I want to be sure I'vecleaned up everything else first. It's always up there waiting--on ice,so to speak--but when it's done once there will be nothing left. I wantto save that for the last call."
"You said about the same thing when we talked of Thibet that firstevening we met at the University Club, and now the Grand Lama sings inall the phonographs, and for a penny you can see him in a kinetoscope,eating his luncheon. I remember very well that night. We were facingeach other at a writing-table, and you looked up timidly from yourletter and asked me whether there were two _g's_ in aggravate, and Ianswered that it depended on the meaning--one _g_ for a mild case, twofor a severe one--and you laughed, and we began talking. Then we foundout how lonesome we both were, and you asked me to dinner, and then tookme to that big house of yours up there in Fifth Avenue and showed me thepictures in your art gallery, and we found out that we needed eachother."
"Yes, I had needed you all right!" And Ardmore sniffed dolefully, andcomplained of the smoke that was drifting in upon them from the trainsheds. "I wish you wouldn't always be leaving me. You ought to give upyour job and amuse me. You're the only chap I know who doesn't talkhorse or automobile or yacht, or who doesn't want to spend wholeevenings discussing champagne vintages; but you're too good a man to bewasted on a college professorship. Better let me endow an institutionthat will make you president--there might be something in that."
"It would make me too prominent, so that when we really make up ourminds to go in for adventures I should be embarrassed by my highposition. As a mere lecturer on _The Libeling of Sunken Ships_ in a lawschool, I'm the most obscure person in the world. And for another thing,we couldn't risk the scandal of tainted money. It would be nasty to haveyour great-grandfather's whisky deals with the Mohawk Indians chanted ina college yell."
The crowd surged past them to the Washington express, and a waitingporter picked up Griswold's bags.
"Wish you wouldn't go. I have three hours to wait," said Ardmore,looking at his watch, "and the only Atlanta man I know is out of town."
"What did you say you were going to New Orleans for?" demandedGriswold, taking out his ticket and moving toward the gate. "I thoughtyou exhausted the Creole restaurants long ago."
"The fact is," faltered Ardmore, coloring, "I'm looking for some one."
"Out with it--out with it!" commanded his friend.
"I'm looking for a girl I saw from a car window day before yesterday. Ihad started north, and my train stopped to let a south-bound train passsomewhere in North Carolina. The girl was on the south-bound sleeper,and her window was opposite mine. She put aside the magazine she wasreading and looked me over rather coolly."
"And you glanced carelessly in the opposite direction and pulled downyour shade, of course, like the well-bred man you are--" interruptedGriswold, holding fast to A
rdmore's arm as they walked down theplatform.
"I did no such thing. I looked at her and she looked at me. And then mytrain started--"
"Well, trains have a way of starting. Does the romance end here?"
"Then, just at the last moment, she winked at me!"
"It was a cinder, Ardy. The use of soft coal on railways is one of thesaddest facts of American transportation. I need hardly remind you, Mr.Ardmore, that nice girls don't wink at strange young men. It isn'tdone!"
"I would have you know, Professor, that this girl is a lady."
"Don't be so irritable, and let me summarize briefly on your ownhypothesis: You stared at a strange girl and she winked at you, safe inthe consciousness that she would never see you again. And now you aregoing to New Orleans to look for her. She will probably meet you at thestation, with her bridesmaids and wedding cake all ready for you. Andyou think this will lead to an adventure--you defer finding the NorthPole for this--for this? Poor Ardy! But did she toss her card from thewindow? Why New Orleans? Why not Minneapolis, or Bangor, Maine?"
"I'm not an ass, Grissy. I caught the name of the sleeper--you knowthey're all named, like yachts and tall buildings--the name of her carwas the _Alexandra_. I asked our conductor where it was bound for, andhe said it was the New Orleans car. So I took the first train back, raninto you here, and that's the whole story to date."
"I admire your spirit. New Orleans is much pleasanter than the polarice, and a girl with a winking eye isn't to be overlooked in this valeof tears. What did this alleviating balm for tired eyes look like, ifyou remember anything besides the wicked wink?"
"She was bareheaded, and her hair was wonderfully light and fluffy, andit was parted in the middle and tied behind with a black ribbon in agreat bow. She rested her cheek on her hand--her elbow on thewindow-sill, you know--and she smiled a little as the car moved off, andwinked--do you understand? Her eyes were blue, Grissy, big and blue--andshe was perfectly stunning."
"There are winks and winks, Ardy," observed Griswold with a judicialair. "There is the wink inadvertent, to which no meaning can beattached. There is the wink deceptive, usually given behind the back ofa third person, and a vulgar thing which we will not associate with yourgirl of the _Alexandra_. And then, to be brief, there is the wink ofmischief, which is observed occasionally in persons of exceptionalbringing up. There are moments in the lives of all of us when we loseour grip on conventions--on morality, even. The psychology of thismatter is very subtle. Here you are, a gentleman of austerely correctlife; here is a delightful girl, on whom you flash in an out-of-the-waycorner of the world. And she, not wholly displeased by the frankadmiration in your eyes--for you may as well concede that you stared ather--"
"Well, I suppose I did look at her," admitted Ardmore reluctantly.
"Pardonably, no doubt, just as you would look at a portrait in a picturegallery, of course. This boarding-school miss, who had never beforelapsed from absolute propriety, felt the conventional world crumblebeneath her as the train started. She could no more have resisted thetemptation to wink than she could have refused a caramel or aninvitation to appear as best girl at a church wedding. Thus wirelesscommunication is established between soul and soul for an instant only,and then you are cut off forever. Perhaps, in the next world, Ardy--"
Griswold and Ardmore had often idealized themselves as hopeless pursuersof the elusive, the unattainable, the impossible; or at least Ardmorehad, and Griswold had entered into the spirit of this sort of thing forthe joy it gave Ardmore. They had discussed frequently the call of soulto soul--the quick glance passing between perfect strangers in crowdedthoroughfares, and had fruitlessly speculated as to their proper coursein the event the call seemed imperative. A glance of the eye is onething, but it is quite another to address a stranger and offer eternalfriendship. The two had agreed that, while, soul-call or no soul-call, agentleman must keep clear of steamer flirtations, and avoid even themost casual remarks to strange young women in any circumstances, agentleman of breeding and character may nevertheless follow the world'slong trails in search of a never-to-be-forgotten face.
The fact is that Ardmore was exceedingly shy, and a considerableexperience of fashionable society had not diminished this shortcoming.Griswold, on the other hand, had the Virginian's natural socialinstinct, but he suffered from a widely-diffused impression that muchlearning had made him either indifferent or extremely critical wherewomen are concerned.
Ardmore shrugged his shoulders and fumbled in his coat pockets as thoughsearching for ideas. An austere composure marked his countenance at alltimes, and emphasized the real distinction of his clean-cut features.His way of tilting back his head and staring dreamily into vacancy hadestablished for him a reputation for stupidity that was whollyundeserved.
"Please limit the discussion to the present world, Professor."
When Ardmore was displeased with Griswold he called him Professor, in awithering tone that disposed of the academic life.
"We shall limit it to New Orleans or the universe, as you like."
"I'm disappointed in you, Grissy. You don't take this matter in theproper spirit. I'm going to find that girl, I tell you."
"I want you to find her, Ardy, and throw yourself at her feet. Be it farfrom me to deprive you of the joy of search. I thoroughly admire yourresolute spirit. It smacks of the old heroic times. Nor can I concealfrom you my consuming envy. If a girl should flatter me with a wink Ishould follow her thrice round the world. She should not elude meanywhere in the Copernican system. If it were not the nobler part foryou to pursue alone, I should forsake my professorship and buckle on myarmor and follow your standard--
With the winking eye For my battle-cry."
And Griswold hummed the words, beating time with his stick, much toArdmore's annoyance.
"In my ignorance," Griswold continued, "I recall but one allusion tothe wink in immortal song. If my memory serves me, it is no less a soulthan Browning who sings:
'All heaven, meanwhile, condensed into one eye Which fears to lose the wonder, should it wink.'
You seem worried, Ardy. Does the wink press so heavily, or what's thematter?"
"The fact is, I'm in trouble. My sister says I've got to marry."
"Which sister?"
"Mrs. Atchison. You know Nellie? She's a nice girl and she's a goodsister to me, but she's running me too hard on this marrying business.She's going to bring a bunch of girls down to Ardsley in a few days, andshe says she'll stay until I make a choice."
Griswold whistled.
"Then, as we say in literary circles, you're up against it. No wonderyou're beginning to take notice of the frolicsome boarding-school girlwho winks at the world. I believe I'd rather take chances myself withthat amiable sort than marry into your Newport transatlantic set."
"Well, one thing's certain, Grissy. You've got to come to Ardsley andhelp me out while those people are there. Nellie likes you; she thinksyou're terribly intellectual and all that, and if you'll throw in a wordnow and then, why--"
"Why, I may be able to protect you from the crafts and assaults of yoursister. You seem to forget, Ardy, that I'm not one of your Americanleisure class. I'm always delighted to meet Mrs. Atchison, but I'm aperson of occupations. I have a consultation in Richmond to-morrow, thenme for Charlottesville. We have examinations coming on, and, while Ilike to play with you, I've positively got to work."
"Not if I endow all the chairs in the university! You've not only got tocome, but you're going to be there the day they arrive."
Thomas Ardmore, of New York and Ardsley, struck his heavy stick--healways carried a heavy stick--smartly on the cement platform in thestress of his feeling. He was much shorter than Griswold, to whom he wasdeeply attached--for whom he had, indeed, the frank admiration of asmall boy for a big brother. He sometimes wondered how fully Griswoldentered into the projects of adventure which he, in his supremeidleness, planned and proposed; but he himself had never been quiteready to mount horse or shake out sail, an
d what Griswold had said aboutindecision rankled in his heart. He was sorry now that he had told ofthis new enterprise to which he had pledged himself, but he grew lenienttoward Griswold's lack of sympathy as he reflected that the quest of awinking girl was rather beneath the dignity of a gentleman wedded notmerely to the law, but to the austere teaching profession as well. Inhis heart he forgave Griswold, but he was all the more resolved toaddress himself stubbornly to his pursuit of the deity of the car_Alexandra_, for only by finding her could he establish himself inGriswold's eyes as a man of action, capable of carrying through a schemerequiring cleverness and tact.
Ardmore was almost painfully rich, but the usual diversions of thewealthy did not appeal to him, and, having exhausted foreign travel, hespent much time on his estate in the North Carolina hills, where hecould ride all day on his own land, and where he read prodigiously in ahuge library that he had assembled with special reference to works onpiracy, a subject that had attracted him from early youth.
It was this hobby that had sealed his friendship with Griswold, who hadrelinquished the practice of law, after a brilliant start in his nativecity of Richmond, to accept the associate professorship of admiralty inthe law department of the University of Virginia. Marine law had aparticular fascination for Griswold from its essentially romanticcharacter. As a law student he had read all the decisions in admiraltythat the libraries afforded, and, though faithfully serving theuniversity, he still occasionally accepted retainers in admiralty casesof unusual importance. His lectures were constantly attended by studentsin other departments of the university for sheer pleasure in Griswold'sracy and entertaining exposition of the laws touching the libeling ofschooners and the recovery of jettisoned cargoes. Henry Maine Griswoldwas tall, slender and dark, and he hovered recklessly, as he might haveput it, on the brink of thirty. He stroked his thin brown mustachehabitually, as though to hide the smile that played about his humorousmouth--a smile that lay even more obscurely in his fine brown eyes. Hedid violence to the academic traditions by dressing with metropolitancare, gray being his prevailing note, though his scarfs ventured uponbold color schemes that interested his students almost as much as hislectures. The darkest fact of his life--and one shared with none--washis experiments in verse. From his undergraduate days he had writtenoccasionally a little song, quite for his own pleasure in versifying,and to a little sheaf of these things in manuscript he still added a fewverses now and then.
"Don't worry, Ardy," he was saying to his friend as "all aboard" wascalled, "and don't be reckless. When you get through looking for thewinking eye, come up to Charlottesville and we'll plan _The True Life ofCaptain Kidd_ that is some day going to make us famous."
"I'll wire you later," replied Ardmore, clinging to his friend's hand amoment after the train began to move. Griswold leaned out of thevestibule to wave a last farewell to Ardmore, and something very kindand gentle and good to see shone in the lawyer's eyes. He went into thecar smiling, for he called Ardmore his best friend, and he was amused byhis last words, which were always Ardmore's last in their partings, andwere followed usually by telegrams about the most preposterous things,or suggestions for romantic adventures, or some new hypothesis touchingCaptain Kidd and his buried treasure. Ardmore never wrote letters; healways telegraphed, and he enjoyed filing long, mysterious and expensivemessages with telegraph operators in obscure places where a scrupulousten words was the frugal limit.
Griswold lighted a cigar and opened the afternoon Atlanta papers in thesmoking compartment. His eye was caught at once by imperativehead-lines. It is not too much to say that the eye of the continent wasarrested that evening by the amazing disclosure, now tardily reachingthe public, that something unusual had occurred at the annual meeting ofthe Cotton Planters' Association at New Orleans on the previous day.Every copy-reader and editor, every paragrapher on every newspaper inthe land had smiled and reached for a fresh pencil as a preliminarybulletin announced the passing of harsh words between the Governor ofNorth Carolina and the Governor of South Carolina. It may as well beacknowledged here that just what really happened at the Cotton Planters'convention will never be known, for this particular meeting was heldbehind closed doors, and as the two governors were honored guests of theassociation, no member has ever breathed a word touching an incidentthat all most sincerely deplored. Indeed, no hint of it would ever havereached the public had it not been that both gentlemen hurriedly leftthe convention hall, refused to keep their appointments to speak at thebanquet that followed the business meetings, and were reported to havetaken the first trains for their respective capitals. It was whisperedby a few persons that the Governor of South Carolina had taken a flingat the authenticity of the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence; itwas rumored in other quarters that the Governor of North Carolina wasthe aggressor, he having--it was said--declared that a people (meaningthe freemen of the commonwealth of South Carolina) who were notintelligent enough to raise their own hay, and who, moreover, boughtthat article in Ohio, were not worth the ground necessary for theirdecent interment. It is not the purpose of this chronicle either to seekthe truth of what passed between the two governors at New Orleans, or todiscuss the points of history and agriculture raised in the statementsjust indicated. As every one knows, the twentieth of May (or was it thethirty-first!), 1775, is solemnly observed in North Carolina as the dayon which the patriots of Mecklenburg County severed the relationstheretofore existing between them and his Majesty, King George theThird. Equally well known is the fact that in South Carolina it is anarticle of religious faith that on that twentieth day of May, 1775, thecitizens of Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, cheered the Englishflag and adopted resolutions reaffirming their ancient allegiance to theBritish crown. This controversy and the inadequacy of the South Carolinahay crop must be passed on to the pamphleteers, with such other vexedquestions as Andrew Jackson's birthplace--more debated than Homer's andnot to be carelessly conceded to the strutting sons of Waxhaw.
Griswold read of the New Orleans incident with a smile, while severalfellow-passengers discussed it in a tone of banter. One of them, agentleman from Mississippi, presently produced a flask, which he offeredto the others, remarking, "As the Governor of North Carolina said to theGovernor of South Carolina," which was, to be sure, pertinent to thehour and the discussion, and bristling with fresh significance.
"They were both in Atlanta this morning," said the man with the flask,"and they would have been traveling together on this train if theyhadn't met in the ticket office and nearly exploded with rage."
The speaker was suddenly overcome with his own humor, and slapped hisknee and laughed; then they all laughed, including Griswold.
"One ought to have taken the lower berth and one the upper to make itperfect," observed an Alabama man. "I wonder when they'll get home."
"They'll probably both walk to be sure they don't take the same train,"suggested a commercial traveler from Cincinnati, who had just come fromNew Orleans. "Their friends are doing their best to keep them apart.They both have a reputation for being quick on the trigger."
"Bosh!" exclaimed Griswold. "I dare say it's all a newspaper story.There's no knife-and-pistol nonsense in the South any more. They'll bothgo home and attend to their business, and that will be the last of it.The people of North Carolina ought to be proud of Dangerfield; he's oneof the best governors they ever had. And Osborne is a first-class man,too, one of the old Palmetto families."
"I guess they're both all right," drawled the Mississippian, settlinghis big black hat more firmly on his head. "Dangerfield spoke in ourtown at the state fair last year, and he's one of the best talkers Iever heard."
Therefore, as no one appeared to speak for the governor of SouthCarolina, the drummer volunteered to vouch for his oratorical gifts, onthe strength of an address lately delivered by Governor Osborne in alecture course at Cincinnati. Being pressed by the Mississippian, headmitted that he had not himself attended the lecture, but he had heardit warmly praised by competent critics.
; The Mississippian had resented Griswold's rejection of the possibilityof personal violence between the governors, and wished to return to thesubject.
"It's not only themselves," he declared, "but each man has got the honorof his state to defend. Suppose, when they met in the railway office atAtlanta this morning, Dangerfield had drawed his gun. Do you suppose,gentlemen, that if North Carolina had drawed South Carolina wouldn'thave followed suit? I declare, young man, you don't know what you'retalking about. If Bill Dangerfield won't fight, I don't know fightin'blood when I see it."
"Well, sir," began the Alabama man, "my brother-in-law in Charlestonwent to college with Osborne, and many's the time I've heard him saythat he was sorry for the man who woke up Charlie Osborne. Charlie--Imean the governor, you understand--is one of these fellows who neversays much, but when you get him going he's terrible to witness. BillDangerfield may be Governor of North Car'line, and I reckon he is, buthe ain't Governor of South Car'line, not by a damned good deal."
The discussion had begun to bore Griswold, and he went back to his ownsection, having it in mind to revise a lecture he was preparing on _TheRight of Search on the High Seas_. It had grown dark, and the car wasbrilliantly lighted. There were not more than half a dozen other personsin his sleeper, and these were widely scattered. Having taken aninventory of his belongings to be sure they were all at hand, he becameconscious of the presence of a young lady in the opposite section. Inthe seat behind her sat an old colored woman in snowy cap and apron, whowas evidently the young lady's servant. Griswold was aware that thisdusky duenna bristled and frowned and pursed her lips in the way of herpicturesque kind as he glanced at her, as though his presence were anintrusion upon her mistress, who sat withdrawn to the extreme corner ofher section, seeking its fullest seclusion, with her head against apillow, and the tips of her suede shoes showing under her gray travelingskirt on the further half of the section. She twirled idly in herfingers a half-opened white rosebud--a fact unimportant in itself, butdestined to linger long in Griswold's memory. The pillow afforded thehappiest possible background for her brown head, her cheek bright withcolor, and a profile clear-cut, and just now--an impression due,perhaps, to the slight quiver of her nostrils and the compression of herlips--seemingly disdainful of the world. Griswold hung up his hat andopened his portfolio; but the presence of the girl suggested Ardmore andhis ridiculous quest of the alluring blue eye, and it was refreshing torecall Ardmore and his ways. Here was one man, at least, in thistwentieth century, at whose door the Time Spirit might thump and thunderin vain.
The black woman rose and ministered to her mistress, muttering in kindmonotone consolatory phrases from which "chile" and "honey" occasionallyreached Griswold's ears. The old mammy produced from a bag severaltoilet bottles, a fresh handkerchief, a hand mirror and a brush, whichshe arranged in the empty seat. The silver trinkets glowed brightlyagainst the blue upholstery.
"Thank you, Aunt Phoebe, I'm feeling much better. Just let me alone now,please."
The girl put aside the white rose for a moment and breathed deeply ofthe vinaigrette, whose keen, pungent odor stole across the aisle toGriswold. She bent forward, took up the hand mirror, and brushed thehair away from her forehead with half a dozen light strokes. She touchedher handkerchief to the cologne flask, passed it across her eyes, andthen took up the rose again and settled back with a little sigh ofrelief. In her new upright position her gaze rested upon Griswold'snewspapers, which he had flung down on the empty half of his section.One of them had fallen open and lay with its outer page staring with thebold grin of display type.
TWO GOVERNORS AT WAR! WHAT DID THE GOVERNOR OF NORTH CAROLINA SAY TO THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA?
The color deepened in the girl's face; a slight frown gathered in hersmooth forehead; then she called the colored woman and a brief colloquyfollowed between them. In a moment Griswold was addressed in a tone andmanner at once condescending and deferential.
"If yo' please, suh, would yo' all 'low my mistus t' look at yo'newspapahs?"
"Certainly. Take them along."
And Griswold, recalled from a passage in his lecture that dealt withcontraband munitions of war, handed over the newspapers, and saw thempass into the hands of his fellow-passenger. He had read the newspaperspretty thoroughly, and knew the distribution of their contents, so thathe noted with surprise the girl's immediate absorption in the telegramsfrom New Orleans relating to the difficulty between the two governors.
As she read she lost, he thought, something of her splendid color, andat one point in her reading her face went white for a moment, andGriswold saw the paper wrinkle under the tightening grasp of her hands.The tidings from New Orleans had undoubtedly aroused her indignation,which expressed itself further in the rigid lines of her figure as sheread, and in the gradual lifting of her head, as though with some newresolution. She seemed to lose account of her surroundings, and severaltimes Griswold was quite sure that he heard her half exclaim,"Preposterous! Infamous!"
When she had finished the New Orleans telegrams she cast the offendingnewspapers from her, then, recalling herself, summoned the black woman,and returned them to Griswold, the dusky agent expressing the elaboratethanks of her race for his courtesy. The girl had utterly ignoredGriswold, and she now pulled down the curtain at her elbow with a snapand turned her face away from him.
Professor Griswold's eyes wandered repeatedly from his manuscript tothe car ceiling, then furtively to the uncompromisingly averted shoulderand head of the young lady, then back to his lecture notes, until he wasweary of the process. He wished Ardmore were at hand, for his friendwould find here a case that promised much better than the pursuit towhich he had addressed himself. The girl in this instance was at least aself-respecting lady, not given to flirtations with chance travelers,and the brown eyes, of which Griswold had caught one or two fleetingglimpses, were clearly not of the winking sort. The attendance of theblack mammy distinguished the girl as a person of quality, whose travelswere stamped with an austere propriety.
Her silver toilet articles testified to an acquaintance with thecomforts if not the luxuries of life. The alligator-hide suit-casethrust under the seat bore the familiar label of a Swiss hotel whereGriswold had once spent a week, and spoke of the girl's acquaintancewith an ampler world. When Phoebe had brought it forth the initials"B. O." in small black letters suggested Baltimore and Ohio toGriswold's lazy speculations, whereupon he reflected that whileBaltimore was plausible, the black servant eliminated Ohio; and as everyVirginian knows every other Virginian, he tried to identify her withOld Dominion family names beginning with O, but without result. Hefinally concluded that, while her name might be Beatrice or Barbara, itcould not be Bessie, and he decided that very likely the suit-casebelonged to her brother Benjamin, in whom he felt no interest whatever.
He went out to supper, secured the only remaining table for two, and wasgiving his order when the young lady appeared. She had donned her hat,and as she stood a moment in the entrance, surveying the line of tables,her distinction was undeniable. There were but two vacant places in thecar, one facing Griswold, the other across the aisle at a larger tablewhere three men were engaged in animated discussion. The girl viewed theprospect with evident disappointment as the waiter drew out the vacantchair at Griswold's table. She carried herself bravely, but wore still a_triste_ air that touched Griswold's sympathy. He rose, told the waiterthat he would sit at the other table, and the girl murmured her thankswith a forlorn little smile as she took his seat.
The appearance of Griswold aroused the Mississippian to a renewal of thediscussion of the New Orleans incident. He was in excellent humor, andhad carried to the car a quart bottle, which he pushed toward Griswold:
"As the Governor of North Carolina said to the Governor of SouthCarolina--"
"No, thank you," and as he spoke Griswold's eyes fell upon the girl, andhe saw annoyance written fleetingly on her face.
"You needn't be afraid of that whisky. It's all right," theM
ississippian protested.
"I'm confident of that; but some other time, thank you."
"Well, sir," the Mississippian declared, "after you left us a while agowe got to talking about Dangerfield and his trouble with Osborne.There's something back of this rumpus. You see, if they lived in thesame state you might account for a fierce rivalry between them. Both of'em, for example, might have the senatorial bee in their bonnets; buteither one of 'em could make the senate any time he pleased. I guessthey're the two biggest men in the South right now. They're too big tobe touchy about any small matter; that's why I reckon there's somethingbehind this little racket over there at New Orleans. No passing remarkwould send men off that way, so wild that they wouldn't travel on thesame train together. Why, gentlemen--"
"Please pass the salt," interposed Griswold.
The Mississippian enjoyed the sound of his own voice, which boomed outabove the noise of the train with broad effects of dialect that thesetypes will not be asked to reproduce. Griswold's eyes had again metthose of the girl opposite, and there was, he felt, a look of appeal inthem. The discussion distressed her, just as the telegrams from NewOrleans in the afternoon papers had distressed her, and Griswold beganat once to entertain his table companions with his views on a number ofnational political issues, that were as vital to Arizona or Wyoming asto the Carolinas. He told stories to illustrate his points, and toldthem so well that his three companions forgot the estrangement of thebelligerent governors.
Griswold ran on in the low, musical voice that distinguishes thecultivated Virginian in any company anywhere in the world, and the noisyloquacity of the Mississippian went down before him. He was so intent onholding their attention that his dishes were taken from him almostuntouched. The others lingered until his coffee was brought. He was soabsorbed that he failed to see the smile that occasionally passed overthe girl's face as some fragment of one of his stories found its way toher. He had undertaken to deflect the talk from a channel which had, itseemed, some painful association for her, but he had done more inunwittingly diverting her own thoughts by his droll humor. He did notcease until she had left the car, whereupon he followed his trio ofauditors to the smoking compartment, and there suffered theMississippian to hold uninterrupted sway.
When he went back into the car at eleven o'clock he found the girl andher maid still sitting in their sections, though most of the otherberths, including his own, had been made up. The train was slowing down,and, wishing a breath of air before retiring, he went to the rearplatform of the sleeper, which was the last car of the train. The porterhad opened the door in the vestibule to allow the brakeman to run backwith his torpedoes. The baggage car had developed a hot box, and,jumping out, Griswold saw lanterns flashing ahead where the trainmenlabored with the sick wheel. The porter vanished, leaving Griswoldalone. The train had stopped at the edge of a small town, whosescattered houses lay darkly against the hills beyond. The platformlamps of a station shone a quarter of a mile ahead. The feverish steelyielded reluctantly to treatment, and Griswold went forward and watchedthe men at work for a few minutes, then returned to the end of thetrain. He swung himself into the vestibule and leaned upon the guardrail, gazing down the track toward the brakeman's lantern. Then he grewimpatient at the continued delay and dropped down again, pacing back andforth in the road-bed behind the becalmed train. The night was overcast,with hints of rain in the air, and a little way from the rear lights itwas pitch dark. Griswold felt sure that the train would not leavewithout the brakeman, and he was further reassured by the lanterns ofthe trainmen beside the baggage car. Suddenly, as he reached the car andturned to retrace his steps, a man sprang up, seemingly from nowhere,and accosted him.
"I reckon y'u're the gov'nor, ain't y'u?"
"Yes, certainly, my man. What can I do for you?" replied Griswoldinstantly.
"I reckoned it was y'u when y'u fust come out on the platform. I'mapp'inted to tell y'u, Gov'nor, that if y'u have Bill Appleweightarrested in South Car'lina, y'u'll get something one of these days y'uwon't like. And if y'u try to find me y'u'll get it quicker. Goodnight, Gov'nor."
"Good night!" stammered Griswold.
The least irony had crept into the word governor as the man uttered itand slipped away into the darkness. The shadows swallowed him up; thefrogs in the ditch beside the track chanted dolorously; then thelocomotive whistled for the brakeman, whose lantern was already bobbingtoward the train.
As Griswold swung himself into the vestibule the girl who had borrowedhis newspapers turned away hurriedly and walked swiftly before him toher section. The porter, who was gathering her things together, said, asshe paused in the aisle by her seat:
"Beginnin' to get ready, Miss Osbo'n. We're gwine intu Columbia thirtyminutes late all account dat hot box."
Griswold passed on to the smoking compartment and lighted a cigar. Hisacquaintances of the supper table had retired, and he was glad to bealone with his thoughts before the train reached Columbia. He dealtharshly with himself for his stupidity in not having associated thegirl's perturbation over the breach between the governor of NorthCarolina and the governor of South Carolina with the initials on hertraveling bag; he had been very dull, but it was clear to him now thatshe was either the daughter or some other near relative of GovernorOsborne. In a few minutes she would leave the train at Columbia, wherethe governor lived, and, being a gentleman, he would continue on his wayto Richmond, and thence to the university, and the incident would beclosed. But Griswold was a lawyer, and he had an old-fashioned Southernlawyer's respect for the majesty of law. On the spur of curiosity orimpulse he had received a threatening message intended for the governorof South Carolina, who, from the manner of the delivery of the message,had been expected on this train. Griswold argued that the man who hadspoken to him had been waiting at the little station near which they hadstopped, in the hope of seeing the governor; that the waiting messengerhad taken advantage of the unexpected halt of the train, and, further,that some suggestion of the governor in his own appearance had deceivedthe stranger. He felt the least bit guilty at having deceived the man,but it was now clearly his duty to see that the governor was advised ofthe threat that had been communicated in so unusual a manner.
He was pondering whether he should do this in person or by letter ortelegram, when the rattle of the train over the switch frogs in theColumbia yards brought him to the point of decision.
The porter thrust his head into the compartment.
"Columbia, sah. Yo' berth's all ready, sah. Yo' gwine t' Richmond--yes,sah."
His hands were filled with the young lady's luggage. The lettering onthe suit-case seemed, in a way, to appeal to Griswold and to fix hisdetermination.
"Porter! Put my things off. I'll wait here for the morning train."
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare Page 1