behind the counter in the mining town, who served on that jury, the
equal arbiters of justice with that highest legal luminary whom they
were proud to welcome on the bench to-day. The Colonel paused, with a
stately bow to the impassive Judge. It was this, he continued, which
lifted his heart as he approached the building. And yet - he had
entered it with an uncertain - he might almost say - a timid step. And
why? He knew, gentlemen, he was about to confront a profound - aye! a
sacred responsibility! Those hymn-books and holy writings handed to
the jury were _not_, as his Honor surmised, for the purpose of
enabling the jury to indulge in - er - preliminary choral exercise! He
might, indeed, say "alas not!" They were the damning, incontrovertible
proofs of the perfidy of the defendant. And they would prove as
terrible a warning to him as the fatal characters upon Belshazzar's
wall. There was a strong sensation. Hotchkiss turned a sallow green.
His lawyers assumed a careless smile.
It was his duty to tell them that this was not one of those ordinary
"breach-of-promise" cases which were too often the occasion of
ruthless mirth and indecent levity in the courtroom. The jury would
find nothing of that here, There were no love-letters with the
epithets of endearment, nor those mystic crosses and ciphers which, he
had been credibly informed, chastely hid the exchange of those mutual
caresses known as "kisses." There was no cruel tearing of the veil
from those sacred privacies of the human affection - there was no
forensic shouting out of those fond confidences meant only for _one_.
But there was, he was shocked to say, a new sacrilegious intrusion.
The weak pipings of Cupid were mingled with the chorus of the
saints - the sanctity of the temple known as the "meeting-house" was
desecrated by proceedings more in keeping with the shrine of
Venus - and the inspired writings themselves were used as the medium of
amatory and wanton flirtation by the defendant in his sacred capacity
as Deacon.
The Colonel artistically paused after this thunderous denunciation.
The jury turned eagerly to the leaves of the hymn-books, but the
larger gaze of the audience remained fixed upon the speaker and the
girl, who sat in rapt admiration of his periods. After the hush, the
Colonel continued in a lower and sadder voice: "There are, perhaps,
few of us here, gentlemen - with the exception of the defendant - who
can arrogate to themselves the title of regular churchgoers, or to
whom these humbler functions of the prayer-meeting, the Sunday-school,
and the Bible class are habitually familiar. Yet" - more
solemnly - "down in your hearts is the deep conviction of our
short-comings and failings, and a laudable desire that others at least
should profit by the teachings we neglect. Perhaps," he continued,
closing his eyes dreamily, "there is not a man here who does not
recall the happy days of his boyhood, the rustic village spire, the
lessons shared with some artless village maiden, with whom he later
sauntered, hand in hand, through the woods, as the simple rhyme rose
upon their lips,
Always make it a point to have it a rule
Never to be late at the Sabbath-school."
He would recall the strawberry feasts, the welcome annual picnic,
redolent with hunks of gingerbread and sarsaparilla. How would they
feel to know that these sacred recollections were now forever profaned
in their memory by the knowledge that the defendant was capable of
using such occasions to make love to the larger girls and teachers,
whilst his artless companions were innocently - the Court will pardon
me for introducing what I am credibly informed is the local expression
'doing gooseberry'?" The tremulous flicker of a smile passed over the
faces of the listening crowd, and the Colonel slightly winced. But he
recovered himself instantly, and continued:
"My client, the only daughter of a widowed mother - who has for years
stemmed the varying tides of adversity - in the western precincts of
this town - stands before you today invested only in her own innocence.
She wears no - er - rich gifts of her faithless admirer - is panoplied in
no jewels, rings, nor mementoes of affection such as lovers delight to
hang upon the shrine of their affections; hers is not the glory with
which Solomon decorated the Queen of Sheba, though the defendant, as I
shall show later, clothed her in the less expensive flowers of the
king's poetry. No! gentlemen! The defendant exhibited in this affair a
certain frugality of - er - pecuniary investment, which I am willing to
admit may be commendable in his class. His only gift was
characteristic alike of his methods and his economy. There is, I
understand, a certain not unimportant feature of religious exercise
known as 'taking a collection.' The defendant, on this occasion, by
the mute presentation of a tip plate covered with baize, solicited the
pecuniary contributions of the faithful. On approaching the plaintiff,
however, he himself slipped a love-token upon the plate and pushed it
towards her. That love-token was a lozenge - a small disk, I have
reason to believe, concocted of peppermint and sugar, bearing upon its
reverse surface the simple words, 'I love you!' I have since
ascertained that these disks may be bought for five cents a dozen - or
at considerably less than one half-cent for the single lozenge. Yes,
gentlemen, the words 'I love you!' - the oldest legend of all; the
refrain, 'when the morning stars sang together' - were presented to the
plaintiff by a medium so insignificant that there is, happily, no coin
in the republic low enough to represent its value.
"I shall prove to you, gentlemen of the jury," said the Colonel,
solemnly, drawing a _Bible_ from his coat-tail pocket, "that the
defendant, for the last twelve months, conducted an amatory
correspondence with the plaintiff by means of underlined words of
sacred writ and church psalmody, such as 'beloved,' 'precious,' and
'dearest,' occasionally appropriating whole passages which seemed
apposite to his tender passion. I shall call your attention to one of
them. The defendant, while professing to be a total abstainer - a man
who, in my own knowledge, has refused spirituous refreshment as an
inordinate weakness of the flesh, with shameless hypocrisy underscores
with his pencil the following passage and presents it to the
plaintiff. The gentlemen of the jury will find it in the _Song of
Solomon_, page 548, chapter II, verse 5." After a pause, in which the
rapid rustling of leaves was heard in the jury-box, Colonel
Starbottle declaimed in a pleading, stentorian voice, "'Stay me with
- er - _flagons_, comfort me with - er - apples - for I am - er - sick of
love.' Yes, gentlemen! - yes, you may well turn from those accusing
pages and look at the double-faced defendant. He desires - to - er - be
- 'stayed with flagons'! I am not aware, at present, what kind of
liquor is habitually dispensed at these meetings, and for which the
defendant so urgently clamored; but it will be my duty before this
trial is over to discover it, if I have to summon every barkeeper in
this district. For the moment, I will simply call your attention to
the _quantity_. It is not a single drink that the defendant asks for
- not a glass of light and generous wine, to be shared with his
inamorata - but a number of flagons or vessels, each possibly holding
a pint measure - _for himself_!"
The smile of the audience had become a laugh. The Judge looked up
warningly, when his eye caught the fact that the Colonel had again
winced at this mirth. He regarded him seriously. Mr. Hotchkiss's
counsel had joined in the laugh affectedly, but Hotchkiss himself was
ashy pale. There was also a commotion in the jury-box, a hurried
turning over of leaves, and an excited discussion.
"The gentlemen of the jury," said the Judge, with official gravity,
"will please keep order and attend only to the speeches of counsel.
Any discussion _here_ is irregular and premature - and must be reserved
for the jury-room - after they have retired."
The foreman of the jury struggled to his feet. He was a powerful man,
with a good-humored face, and, in spite of his unfelicitous nickname
of "The Bone-Breaker," had a kindly, simple, but somewhat emotional
nature. Nevertheless, it appeared as if he were laboring under some
powerful indignation.
"Can we ask a question, Judge?" he said, respectfully, although his
voice had the unmistakable Western-American ring in it, as of one who
was unconscious that he could be addressing any but his peers.
"Yes," said the Judge, good-humoredly.
"We're finding in this yere piece, out of which the Kernel hes just
bin a-quotin', some language that me and my pardners allow hadn't
orter to be read out afore a young lady in court - and we want to know
of you - ez a fair-minded and impartial man - ef this is the reg'lar
kind o' book given to gals and babies down at the meetin'-house."
"The jury will please follow the counsel's speech, without comment,"
said the Judge, briefly, fully aware that the defendant's counsel
would spring to his feet, as he did promptly. "The Court will allow us
to explain to the gentlemen that the language they seem to object to
has been accepted by the best theologians for the last thousand years
as being purely mystic. As I will explain later, those are merely
symbols of the Church - "
"Of wot?" interrupted the foreman, in deep scorn.
"Of the Church!"
"We ain't askin' any questions o' _you_ - and we ain't takin' any
answers," said the foreman, sitting down promptly.
"I must insist," said the Judge, sternly, "that the plaintiff's
counsel be allowed to continue his opening without interruption. You"
(to defendant's counsel) "will have your opportunity to reply later."
The counsel sank down in his seat with the bitter conviction that the
jury was manifestly against him, and the case as good as lost. But his
face was scarcely as disturbed as his client's, who, in great
agitation, had begun to argue with him wildly, and was apparently
pressing some point against the lawyer's vehement opposal. The
Colonel's murky eyes brightened as he still stood erect with his hand
thrust in his breast.
"It will be put to you, gentlemen, when the counsel on the other side
refrains from mere interruption and confines himself to reply, that my
unfortunate client has no action - no remedy at law - because there were
no spoken words of endearment. But, gentlemen, it will depend upon
_you_ to say what are and what are not articulate expressions of love.
We all know that among the lower animals, with whom you may possibly
be called upon to classify the defendant, there are certain signals
more or less harmonious, as the case may be. The ass brays, the horse
neighs, the sheep bleats - the feathered denizens of the grove call to
their mates in more musical roundelays. These are recognized facts,
gentlemen, which you yourselves, as dwellers among nature in this
beautiful land, are all cognizant of. They are facts that no one would
deny - and we should have a poor opinion of the ass who, at - er - such a
supreme moment, would attempt to suggest that his call was unthinking
and without significance. But, gentlemen, I shall prove to you that
such was the foolish, self-convicting custom of the defendant. With
the greatest reluctance, and the - er - greatest pain, I succeeded in
wresting from the maidenly modesty of my fair client the innocent
confession that the defendant had induced her to correspond with him
in these methods. Picture to yourself, gentlemen, the lonely moonlight
road beside the widow's humble cottage. It is a beautiful night,
sanctified to the affections, and the innocent girl is leaning from
her casement. Presently there appears upon the road a slinking,
stealthy figure - the defendant, on his way to church. True to the
instruction she has received from him, her lips part in the musical
utterance" (the Colonel lowered his voice in a faint falsetto,
presumably in fond imitation of his fair client),"'Kerree!' Instantly
the night became resonant with the impassioned reply" (the Colonel
here lifted his voice in stentorian tones), "'Kerrow.' Again, as he
passes, rises the soft 'Kerree'; again, as his form is lost in the
distance, comes back the deep 'Kerrow.'"
A burst of laughter, long, loud, and irrepressible, struck the whole
courtroom, and before the Judge could lift his half-composed face and
take his handkerchief from his mouth, a faint "Kerree" from some
unrecognized obscurity of the courtroom was followed by a loud
"Kerrow" from some opposite locality. "The sheriff will clear the
court," said the Judge, sternly; but alas, as the embarrassed and
choking officials rushed hither and thither, a soft "Kerree" from the
spectators at the window, _outside_ the courthouse, was answered by a
loud chorus of "Kerrows" from the opposite windows, filled with
onlookers. Again the laughter arose everywhere - even the fair
plaintiff herself sat convulsed behind her handkerchief.
The figure of Colonel Starbottle alone remained erect - white and
rigid. And then the Judge, looking up, saw what no one else in the
court had seen - that the Colonel was sincere and in earnest; that what
he had conceived to be the pleader's most perfect acting, and most
elaborate irony, were the deep, serious, mirthless _convictions_ of a
man without the least sense of humor. There was a touch of this
respect in the Judge's voice as he said to him, gently, "You may
proceed, Colonel Starbottle."
"I thank your Honor," said the Colonel, slowly, "for recognizing and
doing all in your power to prevent an interruption that, during my
thirty years' experience at the bar, I have never yet been subjected
to without the privilege of holding the instigators thereof
responsible - _personally_ responsible. It is possibly my fault that I
have failed, oratorically, to convey to the gentlemen of the jury the
full force and significance of the defendant's signals. I am aware
that my voice is singularly deficient in producing either the dulcet
tones of my fair client or the impassioned vehemence of the
defendant's repose. I will," continued the Colonel, with a fatigued
but blind fatuity that ignored the hurriedly knit brows and warning
eyes of the Judge, "try again. The note uttered by my client"
(lowering his voice to the faintest of falsettos) "was 'Kerree'; the
response was 'Kerrow'" - and the Colonel's voice fairly shook the dome
above him.
Another uproar of laughter followed this apparently audacious
repetition, but was interrupted by an unlooked-for incident. The
defendant rose abruptly, and tearing himself away from the withholding
hand and pleading protestations of his counsel, absolutely fled from
the courtroom, his appearance outside being recognized by a prolonged
"Kerrow" from the bystanders, which again and again followed him in
the distance. In the momentary silence which followed, the Colonel's
voice was heard saying, "We rest here, your Honor," and he sat down.
No less white, but more agitated, was the face of the defendant's
counsel, who instantly rose.
"For some unexplained reason, your Honor, my client desires to suspend
further proceedings, with a view to effect a peaceable compromise with
the plaintiff. As he is a man of wealth and position, he is able and
willing to pay liberally for that privilege. While I, as his counsel,
am still convinced of his legal irresponsibility, as he has chosen,
however, to publicly abandon his rights here, I can only ask your
Honor's permission to suspend further proceedings until I can confer
with Colonel Starbottle."
"As far as I can follow the pleadings," said the Judge, gravely, "the
case seems to be hardly one for litigation, and I approve of the
defendant's course, while I strongly urge the plaintiff to accept it."
Colonel Starbottle bent over his fair client. Presently he rose,
unchanged in look or demeanor. "I yield, your Honor, to the wishes of
my client, and - er - lady. We accept."
Before the court adjourned that day it was known throughout the town
that Adoniram K. Hotchkiss had compromised the suit for four thousand
dollars and costs.
Colonel Starbottle had so far recovered his equanimity as to strut
jauntily towards his office, where he was to meet his fair client. He
was surprised, however, to find her already there, and in company with
a somewhat sheepish-looking young man - a stranger. If the Colonel had
any disappointment in meeting a third party to the interview, his
old-fashioned courtesy did not permit him to show it. He bowed
graciously, and politely motioned them each to a seat.
"I reckoned I'd bring Hiram round with me," said the young lady,
lifting her searching eyes, after a pause, to the Colonel's, "though
he was awful shy, and allowed that you didn't know him from Adam - or
even suspected his existence. But I said, 'That's just where you slip
up, Hiram; a pow'ful man like the Colonel knows everything - and I've
seen it in his eye.' Lordy!" she continued, with a laugh, leaning
forward over her parasol, as her eyes again sought the Colonel's,
"don't you remember when you asked me if I loved that old Hotchkiss,
and I told you 'That's tellin',' and you looked at me, Lordy! I knew
_then_ you suspected there was a Hiram _somewhere_ - as good as if I'd
told you. Now, you, jest get up, Hiram, and give the Colonel a good
handshake. For if it wasn't for _him_ and _his_ searchin' ways, and
_his_ awful power of language, I wouldn't hev got that four thousand
dollars out o' that flirty fool Hotchkiss - enough to buy a farm, so as
you and me could get married! That's what you owe to _him_. Don't
stand there like a stuck fool starin' at him. He won't eat you - though
he's killed many a better man. Come, have _I_ got to do _all_ the
kissin'!"
It is of record that the Colonel bowed so courteously and so
profoundly that he managed not merely to evade the proffered hand of
the shy Hiram, but to only lightly touch the franker and more
impulsive fingertips of the gentle Zaidee. "I - er - offer my sincerest
congratulations - though I think you - er - overestimate - my - er - powers
of penetration. Unfortunately, a pressing engagement, which may oblige
me also to leave town to-night, forbids my saying more. I
have - er - left the - er - business settlement of this - er - case in the
hands of the lawyers who do my office-work, and who will show you
every attention. And now let me wish you a very good afternoon."
Nevertheless, the Colonel returned to his private room, and it was
nearly twilight when the faithful Jim entered, to find him sitting
meditatively before his desk. "'Fo' God! Kernel - I hope dey ain't
nuffin de matter, but you's lookin' mightly solemn! I ain't seen you
look dat way, Kernel, since de day pooh Marse Stryker was fetched home
shot froo de head."
"Hand me down the whiskey, Jim," said the Colonel, rising slowly.
The negro flew to the closet joyfully, and brought out the bottle. The
Colonel poured out a glass of the spirit and drank it with his old
deliberation.
"You're quite right, Jim," he said, putting down his glass, "but
I'm - er - getting old - and - somehow - I am missing poor Stryker
damnably!"
THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES
By O. Henry (1862-1910)
[From _The Junior Munsey_, February, 1902. Republished in the volume,
_Sixes and Sevens_ (1911), by O. Henry; copyright, 1911, by Doubleday,
Page & Co.; reprinted by their permission.]
When Major Pendleton Talbot, of Mobile, sir, and his daughter, Miss
Lydia Talbot, came to Washington to reside, they selected for a
boarding place a house that stood fifty yards back from one of the
quietest avenues. It was an old-fashioned brick building, with a
portico upheld by tall white pillars. The yard was shaded by stately
locusts and elms, and a catalpa tree in season rained its pink and
white blossoms upon the grass. Rows of high box bushes lined the fence
and walks. It was the Southern style and aspect of the place that
pleased the eyes of the Talbots.
In this pleasant private boarding house they engaged rooms, including
a study for Major Talbot, who was adding the finishing chapters to his
book, _Anecdotes and Reminiscences of the Alabama Army, Bench, and
Bar_.
Major Talbot was of the old, old South. The present day had little
interest or excellence in his eyes. His mind lived in that period
before the Civil War when the Talbots owned thousands of acres of fine
cotton land and the slaves to till them; when the family mansion was
the scene of princely hospitality, and drew its guests from the
aristocracy of the South. Out of that period he had brought all its
old pride and scruples of honor, an antiquated and punctilious
politeness, and (you would think) its wardrobe.
Such clothes were surely never made within fifty years. The Major was
tall, but whenever he made that wonderful, archaic genuflexion he
called a bow, the corners of his frock coat swept the floor. That
garment was a surprise even to Washington, which has long ago ceased
to shy at the frocks and broad-brimmed hats of Southern Congressmen.
One of the boarders christened it a "Father Hubbard," and it certainly
was high in the waist and full in the skirt.
But the Major, with all his queer clothes, his immense area of
plaited, raveling shirt bosom, and the little black string tie with
the bow always slipping on one side, both was smiled at and liked in
Mrs. Vardeman's select boarding house. Some of the young department
clerks would often "string him," as they called it, getting him
started upon the subject dearest to him - the traditions and history of
his beloved Southland. During his talks he would quote freely from the
_Anecdotes and Reminiscences_. But they were very careful not to let
him see their designs, for in spite of his sixty-eight years he could
make the boldest of them uncomfortable under the steady regard of his
piercing gray eyes.
Miss Lydia was a plump, little old maid of thirty-five, with smoothly
drawn, tightly twisted hair that made her look still older.
Old-fashioned, too, she was; but antebellum glory did not radiate from
her as it did from the Major. She possessed a thrifty common sense,
and it was she who handled the finances of the family, and met all
comers when there were bills to pay. The Major regarded board bills
and wash bills as contemptible nuisances. They kept coming in so
persistently and so often. Why, the Major wanted to know, could they
not be filed and paid in a lump sum at some convenient period - say
when the _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ had been published and paid
for? Miss Lydia would calmly go on with her sewing and say, "We'll pay
as we go as long as the money lasts, and then perhaps they'll have to
lump it."
Most of Mrs. Vardeman's boarders were away during the day, being
nearly all department clerks and business men; but there was one of
them who was about the house a great deal from morning to night. This
was a young man named Henry Hopkins Hargraves - every one in the house
addressed him by his full name - who was engaged at one of the popular
vaudeville theaters. Vaudeville has risen to such a respectable plane
in the last few years, and Mr. Hargraves was such a modest and
well-mannered person, that Mrs. Vardeman could find no objection to
enrolling him upon her list of boarders.
At the theater Hargraves was known as an all-round dialect comedian,
having a large repertoire of German, Irish, Swede, and black-face
specialties. But Mr. Hargraves was ambitious, and often spoke of his
great desire to succeed in legitimate comedy.
This young man appeared to conceive a strong fancy for Major Talbot.
Whenever that gentleman would begin his Southern reminiscences, or
repeat some of the liveliest of the anecdotes, Hargraves could always
be found, the most attentive among his listeners.
For a time the Major showed an inclination to discourage the advances
of the "play actor," as he privately termed him; but soon the young
man's agreeable manner and indubitable appreciation of the old
gentleman's stories completely won him over.
It was not long before the two were like old chums. The Major set
apart each afternoon to read to him the manuscript of his book. During
the anecdotes Hargraves never failed to laugh at exactly the right
point. The Major was moved to declare to Miss Lydia one day that young
Hargraves possessed remarkable perception and a gratifying respect for
the old régime. And when it came to talking of those old days - if
Major Talbot liked to talk, Mr. Hargraves was entranced to listen.
Like almost all old people who talk of the past, the Major loved to
linger over details. In describing the splendid, almost royal, days of
the old planters, he would hesitate until he had recalled the name of
the negro who held his horse, or the exact date of certain minor
happenings, or the number of bales of cotton raised in such a year;
but Hargraves never grew impatient or lost interest. On the contrary,
he would advance questions on a variety of subjects connected with the
life of that time, and he never failed to extract ready replies.
The fox hunts, the 'possum suppers, the hoe-downs and jubilees in the
negro quarters, the banquets in the plantation-house hall, when
invitations went for fifty miles around; the occasional feuds with the
neighboring gentry; the Major's duel with Rathbone Culbertson about
Kitty Chalmers, who afterward married a Thwaite of South Carolina; and
private yacht races for fabulous sums on Mobile Bay; the quaint
beliefs, improvident habits, and loyal virtues of the old slaves - all
these were subjects that held both the Major and Hargraves absorbed
for hours at a time.
Sometimes, at night, when the young man would be coming upstairs to
his room after his turn at the theater was over, the Major would
appear at the door of his study and beckon archly to him. Going in,
Hargraves would find a little table set with a decanter, sugar bowl,
fruit, and a big bunch of fresh green mint.
"It occurred to me," the Major would begin - he was always
ceremonious - "that perhaps you might have found your duties at the - at
your place of occupation - sufficiently arduous to enable you, Mr.
Hargraves, to appreciate what the poet might well have had in his mind
when he wrote, 'tired Nature's sweet restorer' - one of our Southern
juleps."
It was a fascination to Hargraves to watch him make it. He took rank
among artists when he began, and he never varied the process. With
what delicacy he bruised the mint; with what exquisite nicety he
estimated the ingredients; with what solicitous care he capped the
compound with the scarlet fruit glowing against the dark green fringe!
And then the hospitality and grace with which he offered it, after the
selected oat straws had been plunged into its tinkling depths!
After about four months in Washington, Miss Lydia discovered one
morning that they were almost without money. The _Anecdotes and
Reminiscences_ was completed, but publishers had not jumped at the
collected gems of Alabama sense and wit. The rental of a small house
which they still owned in Mobile was two months in arrears. Their
board money for the month would be due in three days. Miss Lydia
called her father to a consultation.
"No money?" said he with a surprised look. "It is quite annoying to be
called on so frequently for these petty sums, Really, I - "
The Major searched his pockets. He found only a two-dollar bill, which
he returned to his vest pocket.
"I must attend to this at once, Lydia," he said. "Kindly get me my
umbrella and I will go downtown immediately. The congressman from our
district, General Fulghum, assured me some days ago that he would use
his influence to get my book published at an early date. I will go to
his hotel at once and see what arrangement has been made."
With a sad little smile Miss Lydia watched him button his "Father
Hubbard" and depart, pausing at the door, as he always did, to bow
profoundly.
That evening, at dark, he returned. It seemed that Congressman Fulghum
had seen the publisher who had the Major's manuscript for reading.
That person had said that if the anecdotes, etc., were carefully
pruned down about one-half, in order to eliminate the sectional and
class prejudice with which the book was dyed from end to end, he might
consider its publication.
The Major was in a white heat of anger, but regained his equanimity,
according to his code of manners, as soon as he was in Miss Lydia's
presence.
"We must have money," said Miss Lydia, with a little wrinkle above her
nose. "Give me the two dollars, and I will telegraph to Uncle Ralph
for some to-night."
The Major drew a small envelope from his upper vest pocket and tossed
it on the table.
"Perhaps it was injudicious," he said mildly, "but the sum was so
merely nominal that I bought tickets to the theater to-night. It's a
new war drama, Lydia. I thought you would be pleased to witness its
first production in Washington. I am told that the South has very fair
treatment in the play. I confess I should like to see the performance
myself."
Miss Lydia threw up her hands in silent despair.
Still, as the tickets were bought, they might as well be used. So that
evening, as they sat in the theater listening to the lively overture,
even Miss Lydia was minded to relegate their troubles, for the hour,
to second place. The Major, in spotless linen, with his extraordinary
coat showing only where it was closely buttoned, and his white hair
smoothly roached, looked really fine and distinguished. The curtain
went up on the first act of _A Magnolia Flower_, revealing a typical
Southern plantation scene. Major Talbot betrayed some interest.
"Oh, see!" exclaimed Miss Lydia, nudging his arm, and pointing to her
program.
The Major put on his glasses and read the line in the cast of
characters that her fingers indicated.
Col. Webster Calhoun .... Mr. Hopkins Hargraves.
"It's our Mr. Hargraves," said Miss Lydia. "It must be his first
appearance in what he calls 'the legitimate.' I'm so glad for him."
Not until the second act did Col. Webster Calhoun appear upon the
stage. When he made his entry Major Talbot gave an audible sniff,
glared at him, and seemed to freeze solid. Miss Lydia uttered a
little, ambiguous squeak and crumpled her program in her hand. For
Colonel Calhoun was made up as nearly resembling Major Talbot as one
pea does another. The long, thin white hair, curly at the ends, the
aristocratic beak of a nose, the crumpled, wide, raveling shirt front,
the string tie, with the bow nearly under one ear, were almost exactly
duplicated. And then, to clinch the imitation, he wore the twin to the
Major's supposed to be unparalleled coat. High-collared, baggy,
empire-waisted, ample-skirted, hanging a foot lower in front than
behind, the garment could have been designed from no other pattern.
From then on, the Major and Miss Lydia sat bewitched, and saw the
counterfeit presentment of a haughty Talbot "dragged," as the Major
afterward expressed it, "through the slanderous mire of a corrupt
stage."
Mr. Hargraves had used his opportunities well. He had caught the
Major's little idiosyncrasies of speech, accent, and intonation and
his pompous courtliness to perfection - exaggerating all to the purpose
of the stage. When he performed that marvelous bow that the Major
fondly imagined to be the pink of all salutations, the audience sent
forth a sudden round of hearty applause.
Miss Lydia sat immovable, not daring to glance toward her father.
Sometimes her hand next to him would be laid against her cheek, as if
to conceal the smile which, in spite of her disapproval, she could not
entirely suppress.
The culmination of Hargraves audacious imitation took place in the
third act. The scene is where Colonel Calhoun entertains a few of the
neighboring planters in his "den."
Standing at a table in the center of the stage, with his friends
grouped about him, he delivers that inimitable, rambling character
monologue so famous in _A Magnolia Flower_, at the same time that he
deftly makes juleps for the party.
Major Talbot, sitting quietly, but white with indignation, heard his
best stories retold, his pet theories and hobbies advanced and
expanded, and the dream of the _Anecdotes and Reminiscences_ served,
exaggerated and garbled. His favorite narrative - that of his duel with
Rathbone Culbertson - was not omitted, and it was delivered with more
fire, egotism, and gusto than the Major himself put into it.
The monologue concluded with a quaint, delicious, witty little lecture
on the art of concocting a julep, illustrated by the act. Here Major
Talbot's delicate but showy science was reproduced to a hair's
breadth - from his dainty handling of the fragrant weed - "the
one-thousandth part of a grain too much pressure, gentlemen, and you
extract the bitterness, instead of the aroma, of this heaven-bestowed
plant" - to his solicitous selection of the oaten straws.
At the close of the scene the audience raised a tumultuous roar of
appreciation. The portrayal of the type was so exact, so sure and
thorough, that the leading characters in the play were forgotten.
After repeated calls, Hargraves came before the curtain and bowed, his
rather boyish face bright and flushed with the knowledge of success.
At last Miss Lydia turned and looked at the Major. His thin nostrils
were working like the gills of a fish. He laid both shaking hands upon
the arms of his chair to rise.
"We will go, Lydia," he said chokingly. "This is an
abominable - desecration."
Before he could rise, she pulled him back into his seat.
"We will stay it out," she declared. "Do you want to advertise the
copy by exhibiting the original coat?" So they remained to the end.
Hargraves's success must have kept him up late that night, for neither
at the breakfast nor at the dinner table did he appear.
About three in the afternoon he tapped at the door of Major Talbot's
study. The Major opened it, and Hargraves walked in with his hands
full of the morning papers - too full of his triumph to notice anything
unusual in the Major's demeanor.
"I put it all over 'em last night, Major," he began exultantly. "I had
my inning, and, I think, scored. Here's what _The Post_ says:
"'His conception and portrayal of the old-time Southern colonel, with
his absurd grandiloquence, his eccentric garb, his quaint idioms and
phrases, his motheaten pride of family, and his really kind heart,
fastidious sense of honor, and lovable simplicity, is the best
delineation of a character role on the boards to-day. The coat worn by
Colonel Calhoun is itself nothing less than an evolution of genius.
Mr. Hargraves has captured his public.'
"How does that sound, Major, for a first-nighter?"
"I had the honor" - the Major's voice sounded ominously frigid - "of
witnessing your very remarkable performance, sir, last night."
Hargraves looked disconcerted.
"You were there? I didn't know you ever - I didn't know you cared for
the theater. Oh, I say, Major Talbot," he exclaimed frankly, "don't
you be offended. I admit I did get a lot of pointers from you that
helped out wonderfully in the part. But it's a type, you know - not
individual. The way the audience caught on shows that. Half the
patrons of that theater are Southerners. They recognized it."
"Mr. Hargraves," said the Major, who had remained standing, "you have
put upon me an unpardonable insult. You have burlesqued my person,
grossly betrayed my confidence, and misused my hospitality. If I
thought you possessed the faintest conception of what is the sign
manual of a gentleman, or what is due one, I would call you out, sir,
old as I am. I will ask you to leave the room, sir."
The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to
take in the full meaning of the old gentleman's words.
"I am truly sorry you took offense," he said regretfully. "Up here we
don't look at things just as you people do. I know men who would buy
out half the house to have their personality put on the stage so the
public would recognize it."
"They are not from Alabama, sir," said the Major haughtily.
"Perhaps not. I have a pretty good memory, Major; let me quote a few
lines from your book. In response to a toast at a banquet given
in - Milledgeville, I believe - you uttered, and intend to have printed,
these words:
"'The Northern man is utterly without sentiment or warmth except in so
far as the feelings may be turned to his own commercial profit. He
will suffer without resentment any imputation cast upon the honor of
himself or his loved ones that does not bear with it the consequence
of pecuniary loss. In his charity, he gives with a liberal hand; but
it must be heralded with the trumpet and chronicled in brass.'
"Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of Colonel
Calhoun last night?"
"The description," said the Major, frowning, "is - not without grounds.
Some exag - latitude must be allowed in public speaking."
"And in public acting," replied Hargraves.
"That is not the point," persisted the Major, unrelenting. "It was a
personal caricature. I positively decline to overlook it, sir."
"Major Talbot," said Hargraves, with a winning smile, "I wish you
would understand me. I want you to know that I never dreamed of
insulting you. In my profession, all life belongs to me. I take what I
want, and what I can, and return it over the footlights. Now, if you
will, let's let it go at that. I came in to see you about something
else. We've been pretty good friends for some months, and I'm going to
take the risk of offending you again. I know you are hard up for
money - never mind how I found out, a boarding house is no place to
keep such matters secret - and I want you to let me help you out of the
pinch. I've been there often enough myself. I've been getting a fair
salary all the season, and I've saved some money. You're welcome to a
couple hundred - or even more - until you get - - "
"Stop!" commanded the Major, with his arm outstretched. "It seems that
my book didn't lie, after all. You think your money salve will heal
all the hurts of honor. Under no circumstances would I accept a loan
from a casual acquaintance; and as to you, sir, I would starve before
I would consider your insulting offer of a financial adjustment of the
circumstances we have discussed. I beg to repeat my request relative
to your quitting the apartment."
Hargraves took his departure without another word. He also left the
house the same day, moving, as Mrs. Vardeman explained at the supper
table, nearer the vicinity of the downtown theater, where _A Magnolia
Flower_ was booked for a week's run.
Critical was the situation with Major Talbot and Miss Lydia. There was
no one in Washington to whom the Major's scruples allowed him to apply
for a loan. Miss Lydia wrote a letter to Uncle Ralph, but it was
doubtful whether that relative's constricted affairs would permit him
to furnish help. The Major was forced to make an apologetic address to
Mrs. Vardeman regarding the delayed payment for board, referring to
"delinquent rentals" and "delayed remittances" in a rather confused
strain.
Deliverance came from an entirely unexpected source.
Late one afternoon the door maid came up and announced an old colored
man who wanted to see Major Talbot. The Major asked that he be sent up