Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction

by Joel Chandler Harris

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  _Silas Tomlin Finds Trouble_

  When Silas Tomlin reached home, he found his son reading a book. No wordof salutation passed between them; Paul simply changed his position inthe chair, and Silas grunted. They had no confidences, and they seemedto have nothing in common. As a matter of fact, however, Silas was veryfond of this son, proud of his appearance--the lad was as neat as a pin,and fairly well-favoured,--and proud of his love for books. Unhappily,Silas was never able to show his affection and his fair-haired son neverknew to his dying day how large a place he occupied in his father'sheart. Miserly Silas was with money, but his love for his son wasboundless. It destroyed or excluded every other sentiment or emotionthat was in conflict with it. His miserliness was for his son's sake,and he never put away a dollar without a feeling of exultation; herejoiced in the fact that it would enable his son to live morecomfortably than his father had cared to live. Silas loved money, notfor its own sake, but for the sake of his son.

  Mrs. Absalom would have laughed at such a statement. The socialstructure of the Southern people, and the habits and traditions basedthereon, were of such a character that a great majority could not bebrought to believe that it was possible for parsimony to exist side byside with any of the finer feelings. All the conditions andcircumstances, the ability to command leisure, the very climate itself,promoted hospitality, generosity, open-handedness, and that fine spiritof lavishness that seeks at any cost to give pleasure to others. Popularopinion, therefore, looked with a cold and suspicious eye on allmanifestations of selfishness.

  But Silas Tomlin's parsimony, his stinginess, had no selfish basis. Hewas saving not for himself, but for his son, in whom all his affectionsand all his ambitions were centered. He had reared Paul tenderly withoutdisplaying any tenderness, and if the son had speculated at all inregard to the various liberties he had been allowed, or the indulgentmethods that had been employed in his bringing up, he would have tracedthem to the carelessness and indifference of his father, rather than tothe ardent affection that burned unseen and unmarked in Silas's bosom.

  He had never, by word or act, intentionally wounded the feelings of hisson; he had never thrown himself in the path of Paul's wishes. There wasa feeling in Shady Dale that Silas was permitting his son to go to thedogs; whereas, as a matter of fact, no detective was ever more alert.Without seeming to do so, he had kept an eye on all Paul's comings andgoings. When the lad's desires were reasonable, they were promptlygratified; when they were unreasonable, their gratification waspostponed until they were forgotten. Books Paul had in abundance. Halfof the large library of Meredith Tomlin had fallen to Silas, and theother half to Pulaski Tomlin, and the lad had free access to all.

  Paul was very fond of his Uncle Pulaski and his Aunt Fanny, and he wasfar more familiar with these two than he was with his father. Hisassociation with his uncle and aunt was in the nature of a liberaleducation. It was Pulaski Tomlin who really formed Paul's character, whogathered together all the elements of good that are native to the mindof a sensitive lad, and moulded them until they were strong enough tooutweigh and overwhelm the impulses of evil that are also native to thegrowing mind. Thus it fell out that Paul was a young man to be admiredand loved by all who find modest merit pleasing.

  When his father arrived at home on that particular evening, as has beennoted, Paul was reading a book. He changed his position, but saidnothing. After awhile, however, he felt something was wrong. His father,instead of seating himself at the table, and consulting his note-book,walked up and down the floor.

  "What is wrong? Are you ill?" Paul asked after awhile.

  "No, son; I am as well in body as ever I was; but I'm greatly troubled.I wish to heaven I could go back to the beginning, and tell you allabout it; but I can't--I just can't."

  Paul also had his troubles, and he regarded his father gloomily enough."Why can't you tell me?" he asked, somewhat impatiently. "But I needn'task you that; you never tell me anything. I heard something to-day thatmade me ashamed."

  "Ashamed, Paul?" gasped his father.

  "Yes--ashamed. And if it is true, I am going away from here and nevershow my face again."

  Silas fell, rather than leaned, against the mantel-piece, his faceghastly white. He tried to say, "What did you hear, Paul?" His lipsmoved, but no sound issued from his throat.

  "Two or three persons told me to-day," Paul went on, "that they hadheard of your intention to join the radicals, and run for thelegislature. I told each and every one of them that it was an infernallie; but I don't know whether it is a lie or not. If it isn't I'll leavehere."

  Silas Tomlin's heart had been in his throat, as the saying is, but hegulped it down again and smiled faintly. If this was all Paul had heard,well and good. Compared with some other things, it was a mere matter ofmoonshine. Paul took up his book again, but he turned the leavesrapidly, and it was plain that he was impatiently waiting for furtherinformation.

  At last Silas spoke: "All the truth in that report, Paul, is this--Ithas been suggested to me that it would be better for the whites here ifsome one who sympathises with their plans, and understands theirinterests, should pretend to become a Republican, and make the race forthe legislature. This is what some of our best men think."

  "What do you mean by our best men, father?"

  "Why, I don't know that I am at liberty to mention names even to you,Paul," said Silas, who had no notion of being driven into a corner. "Andthen, on the other hand, the white Republicans are not as fond of thenegroes as they pretend to be. And if they can't get some native-bornwhite man to run, who do you reckon they'll have to put up as acandidate? Why, old Jerry, Pulaski's man of all work."

  "Well, what of it?" Paul asked with rising indignation. "Jerry is agreat deal better than any white man who puts himself on an equalitywith him."

  "Have you met Mr. Hotchkiss?" asked Silas. "He seems to be a very cleverman."

  "No, I haven't met him and I don't want to meet him." Paul rose from hisseat, and stood facing his father. He was a likely-looking young man,tall and slim, but broad-shouldered. He had the delicate pink complexionthat belongs to fair-haired persons. "This is a question, father, thatcan't be discussed between us. You beat about the bush in such a way asto compel me to believe the reports I have heard are true. Well, you cando as you like; I'll not presume to dictate to you. You may disgraceyourself, but you sha'n't disgrace me."

  With that, the high-strung young fellow seized his hat, and flung out ofthe house, carrying his book with him. He shut the door after him with abang, as he went out, demonstrating that he was full of the heroicindignation that only young blood can kindle.

  Silas Tomlin sank into a chair, as he heard the street-door slammed."Disgrace him! My God! I've already disgraced him, and when he finds itout he'll hate me. Oh, Lord!" If the man's fountain of tears had notbeen dried up years before, he would have wept scalding ones.

  An inner door opened and a negro woman peeped in. Seeing no one butSilas, she cried out indignantly, "Who dat slammin' dat front do'?You'll break eve'y glass in de house, an' half de crock'ry-ware in dedinin'-room, an' den you'll say I done it."

  "It was Paul, Rhody; he was angry about something."

  The negro woman gave an indignant snort. "I don't blame 'im--I don'tblame 'im; not one bit. Ain't I been tellin' you how 'twould be? Ain't Ibeen tellin' you dat you'd run 'im off wid yo' scrimpin' an' pinchin'?But 'tain't dat dat run'd 'im off. It's sump'n wuss'n dat. He ain'tnever done dat away befo'. Ef dat boy ain't had de patience er Job, he'd'a' been gone fum here long ago."

  Rhody came into the room where she could look Silas in the eyes. Heregarded her with curiosity, which appeared to be the only emotion lefthim. Certainly he had never seen his cook and aforetime slave in such atantrum. What would she say and do next?

  "Home!" she exclaimed in a loud voice. Then she turned around anddeliberately inspected the room as if she had never seen it before. "An'so dis is what you call Home--you, wid all yo' money hid away in holesin
de groun'! Dis de kinder place you fix up fer dat boy, an' him deonliest one you got! Well!" Rhody's indignation could only be accountedfor on the ground that she had overheard the whole conversation betweenfather and son.

  "Why, you never said anything about it before," remarked Silas Tomlin.

  "No, I didn't, an' I wouldn't say it now, ef dat boy hadn't 'a' foun'out fer hisse'f what kinder daddy he got."

  "Blast your black hide! I'll knock your brains out if you talk that wayto me!" exclaimed Silas Tomlin, white with anger.

  "Well, I bet you nobody don't knock yo' brains out," remarked Rhodyundismayed. "An' while I'm 'bout it, I'll tell you dis: Yo' supper's indar in de pots an' pans; ef you want it you go git it an' put on detable, er set flat on de h'ath an' eat it. Dat chile's gone, an' I'mgwine."

  "You dratted fool!" Silas exclaimed, "you know Paul hasn't gone forgood. He'll come back when he gets hungry, and be glad to come."

  "Is you ever seed him do dis away befo' sence he been born?" Rhodypaused and waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. "No, you ain't!no, you ain't! You don't know no mo' 'bout dat chile dan ef he wantyone. But I--me--ol' Rhody--I know 'im. I kin look at 'im sideways an'tell ef he feelin' good er bad er diffunt. What you done done ter datchile? Tell me dat."

  But Silas Tomlin answered never a word. He sat glowering at Rhody in away that would have subdued and frightened a negro unused to his ways.Rhody started toward the kitchen, but at the door leading to thedining-room she paused and turned around. "Oh, you got a heap ter answerfer--a mighty heap; an' de day will come when you'll bar in mind eve'yword I been tellin' you 'bout dat chile fum de time he could wobble'roun' an' call me mammy."

  With that she went out. Silas heard her moving about in the back part ofthe house, but after awhile all was silence. He sat for some timecommuning with himself, and trying in vain to map out some consistentcourse of action. What a blessing it would be, he thought, if Paul wouldmake good his threat, and go away! It would be like tearing his father'sheart-strings out, but better that than that he should remain and be awitness to his own disgrace, and to the bitter humiliation of hisfather.

  Silas had intended to warn his son that he was throwing away his time bygoing with Eugenia Claiborne--that marriage with her was utterlyimpossible. But it was a very delicate subject, and, once embarked init, he would have been unable to give his son any adequate orsatisfactory reason for the interdiction. Many wild and whirlingthoughts passed through the mind of Silas Tomlin, but at the end, heasked himself why he should cross the creek before he came to it?

  The reflection was soothing enough to bring home to his mind the factthat he had had no supper. Unconsciously, and through force of habit, hehad been waiting for Rhody to set the small bell to tinkling, as asignal that the meal was ready, but no sound had come to his ears. Herose to investigate. A solitary candle was flaring on the dining-table.He went to the door leading to the kitchen and called Rhody, but hereceived no answer.

  "Blast your impudent hide!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing out there?Why don't you put supper on the table?"

  He would have had silence for an answer, but for the barking of a nearbyneighbour's dog. He went into the kitchen, and found the fire nearlyout, whereupon he made dire threats against his cook, but, in the end,he was compelled to fish his supper from the pans as best he could.

  When he had finished he looked at the clock, and was surprised to findthat it was only a little after eight. During the course of an hour anda half, he seemed to have lived and suffered a year and a half. Theearly hour gave him an opportunity to display one of his characteristictraits. It had never been his way to run from trouble. When a small boy,if his nurse told him the booger-man was behind a bush, he alwaysinsisted on investigating. The same impulse seized him now. If this Mrs.Claiborne proposed to make any move against him--as he inferred from thehints which the jovial Mr. Sanders had flung at his head--he would beardthe lioness in her den, and find out what she meant, and what shewanted.

  Silas was prompt to act on the impulse, and as soon as he could make thehouse secure, he proceeded to the Gaither Place. His knock, after somedelay, was answered by Eugenia. The girl involuntarily drew back whenshe saw who the visitor was. "What is it you wish?" she inquired.

  "If your mother is at home, please ask her if she will see Silas Tomlinon a matter of business."

  Eugenia left the door open, and in a moment, from one of the rear roomscame the sound of merry, unrestrained laughter, which only ceased whensome one uttered a warning "Sh-h!"

  Eugenia returned almost immediately, and invited the visitor into theparlour, saying, "It is rather late for business, mamma says, but shewill see you."

  Silas seated himself on a sofa, and had time to look about him beforethe lady of the house came in. It was his second visit to Mrs.Claiborne, and he observed many changes had taken place in thedisposition of the furniture and the draperies. He noted, too, with afeeling of helpless exasperation, that his own portrait hung on the wallin close proximity to that of Rita Claiborne. He clenched his hands withinward rage. "What does this she-devil mean?" he asked himself, and atthat moment, the object of his anger swept into the room. There wassomething gracious, as well as graceful, in her movements. She had theair of a victor who is willing to be magnanimous.

  "What is your business with me?" she asked with lifted eyebrows. Therewas just the shadow of a smile hovering around her mouth. Silas caughtit, and looking into a swinging mirror opposite, he saw how impossibleit was for a man with a weazened face and a skull-cap to cope with sucha woman as this. However, he had his indignation, his sense ofpersecution, to fall back upon.

  "I want to know what you intend to do," said Silas. There was a note ofweakness and helplessness in his voice. "I want to know what to expect.I'm tired of leading a dog's life. I hear you have been colloguing withlawyers."

  "Do you remember your first visit here?" inquired Mrs. Claiborne verysweetly. If she was an enemy, she certainly knew how to conceal herfeelings. "Do you remember how wildly you talked--how insulting youwere?"

  "I declare to you on my honour that I never intended to insult you,"Silas exclaimed.

  "Why, all your insinuations were insulting. You gave me to understandthat my coming here was an outrage--as if you had anything to do with mymovements. But you insisted that my coming here was an attack on you andyour son. When and where and how did I ever do you a wrong?"

  "Why didn't you--didn't--" Silas tried hard to formulate his wrongs, butthey were either so many or so few that words failed him.

  "Did I desert you when you were ill and delirious? Did I put faith in ananonymous letter and believe you to be dead?" The lady spoke with acalmness that seemed to be unnatural and unreal.

  For a little while, Silas made no reply, but sat like one dazed, hiseyes fixed on the crayon portrait of himself. "Did you hang that thingup there for Paul to see it and ask questions about it?" he asked,after awhile.

  "I hung it there because I chose to," she replied. "Judge Vardemanthinks it is a very good likeness of you, but I don't agree with him. Doyou think it does you justice?" she asked.

  "And then there's Paul," said Silas, ignoring her question. "Do youpropose to let him go ahead and fall in love with the girl?"

  "Paul is not my son," the lady calmly answered.

  "But the girl is your daughter," Silas insisted.

  "I shall look after her welfare, never fear," said the lady.

  "But suppose they should take a notion to marry; what would you do tostop 'em?"

  "Oh, well, that is a question for the future," replied the lady,serenely. "It will be time enough to discuss that matter when thenecessity arises."

  Her composure, her indifference, caused Silas to writhe and squirm inhis chair, and she, seeing the torture she was inflicting, appeared tobe very well content.

  "I didn't come to argue," said Silas presently. "I came for information;I want to know what you intend to do. I don't ask any favours and Idon't want any; I'm getting my deserts,
I reckon. What I sowed that I'mreaping."

  "Ah!" the lady exclaimed softly, and with an air of satisfaction. "Doyou really feel so?" She leaned forward a little, and there was that inher eyes that denoted something else besides satisfaction; compassionshone there. Her mood had not been a serious one up to this point, butshe was serious now, and Silas could but observe how beautiful she was."Do you really feel that I would be justified if I confirmed thesuspicions you have expressed?"

  "So far as I am concerned, you'd be doing exactly right," said Silasbluntly. "But what about Paul?"

  "Well, what about Paul?" Mrs. Claiborne asked.

  "Well, for one thing, he's never done you any harm. And there's anotherthing," said Silas rising from his seat: "I'd be willing to have my bodypulled to pieces, inch by inch, and my bones broken, piece by piece, tosave that boy one single pang."

  He stood towering over the lady. For once he had been taken clean out ofhimself, and he seemed to be transfigured. Mrs. Claiborne rose also.

  "Paul is a very good young man," she said.

  "Yes, he is!" exclaimed Silas. "He never had a mean thought, and he hasnever been guilty of a mean action. But that would make no difference inmy feelings. It would be all the same to me if he was a thief and ascoundrel or if he was deformed, or if he was everything that he is not.No matter what he was or might be, I would be willing to live in eternaltorment if I could know that he is happy."

  His face was not weazened now. It was illuminated with his love for hisson, the one passion of his life, and he was no longer a contemptiblefigure. The lady refixed her eyes upon him, and wondered how he couldhave changed himself right before her eyes, for certainly, as it seemedto her, this was not the mean and shabby figure she had found in theparlour when she first came in. She sighed as she turned her eyes away.

  "Do you remember what I told you on the occasion of your first visit?"she inquired very seriously. "You were both rude and disagreeable, but Isaid that I'd not trouble you again, so long as you left me alone."

  "Well, haven't I left you alone?" asked Silas.

  "What do you call this?" There was just the shadow of a smile on herface.

  "That's a fact," said Silas after a pause. "But I just couldn't helpmyself. Honestly I'm sorry I came. I'm no match for you. I must bid yougood-night. I hardly know what's come over me. If I've worried you, I'mtruly sorry."

  "One of these days," she said very kindly, as she accompanied him to thedoor, "I'll send for you. At the proper time I'll give you someinteresting news."

  "Well, I hope it will be good news; if so, it will be the first I haveheard in many a long day. Good-night."

  The lady closed the door, and returned to the parlour and sat down."Why, I thought he was a cold-blooded, heartless creature," she said toherself. Then, after some reflection she uttered an exclamation andclasped her hands together. Suppose he were to make way with himself!The bare thought was enough to keep the smiles away from the face ofthis merry-hearted lady for many long minutes. Finally, she caught aglimpse of herself in the swinging mirror. She snapped her fingers ather reflection, saying, "Pooh! I wouldn't give that for your firmness ofpurpose!"