CHAPTER FIFTEEN
_Silas Tomlin Scents Trouble_
One day--it was a warm Saturday, giving promise of a long hot Sunday tofollow--Mr. Sanders was on his way home, feeling very blue indeed. Hehad been to town on no particular business--the day was a half-holidaywith the field-hands--and he had wandered about aimlessly, makingseveral unsuccessful efforts to crack a joke or two with suchacquaintances as he chanced to meet. He had concluded that his liver wasout of order, and he wondered, as he went along, if he would create muchpublic comment and dissatisfaction if he should break his promise to NanDorrington by purchasing a jug of liquor and crawling into the nearestshuck-pen. It was on this warm Saturday, the least promising of alldays, as he thought, that he stumbled upon an adventure which, for aseason, proved to be both interesting and amusing.
He was walking along, as has been said, feeling very blue anduncomfortable, when he heard his name called, and, turning around, saw anegro girl running after him. She came up panting and grinning.
"Miss Ritta say she wish you'd come dar right now," said the girl. "Ibeen runnin' an' hollin atter you tell I wuz fear'd de dogs 'd takeatter me. Miss Ritta say she want to see you right now."
The girl was small and very slim, bare-legged and good-humoured. Mr.Sanders looked at her hard, but failed to recognise her; nor had he thefaintest idea as to the identity of "Miss Ritta." The girl bore hisscrutiny very well, betraying a tendency to dance. As Mr. Sanders triedin vain to place her in his memory, she slapped her hands together, andwhirled quickly on her heel more than once.
"You're a way yander ahead of me," he remarked, after reflecting awhile."I reckon I've slipped a cog some'rs in my machinery. What is yourname?"
"I'm name Larceeny. Don't you know me, Marse Billy? I use ter b'long terde Clopton Cadets, when Miss Nan was de Captain; but I wan't ez big denez I is now. I been knowin' you most sence I was born."
"What is your mammy's name?"
"My mammy name Creecy," replied the girl, grinning broadly. "She cookin'fer Miss Ritta."
Mr. Sanders remembered Creecy very well. She had belonged to the Gaitherfamily before the war. "Where do you stay?" he inquired. He was notdisposed to admit, even indirectly, that he didn't know every humanbeing in the town.
"I stays dar wid Miss Ritta," replied Larceeny. "I goes ter de do', an'waits on Miss Nugeeny."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, with a smile of satisfaction. Here was aclew. Miss Nugeeny must be Eugenia Claiborne, and Miss Ritta wasprobably her mother.
"Miss Ritta say she wanter see you right now," insisted Larceeny. "Whenshe seed you on de street, you wuz so fur, she couldn't holla at you,an' time she call me outer de gyarden, you wuz done gone. I wuz at defur een' er de gyarden, pickin' rasbe'ies, an' I had ter drapever'thing."
"Do you pick raspberries with your mouth?" inquired Mr. Sanders, with avery solemn air.
"Is my mouf dat red?" inquired Larceeny, with an alarmed expression onher face. She seized her gingham apron by the hem, and, using theunderside, proceeded to remove the incriminating stains, remarking, "I'mmighty glad you tol' me, kaze ef ol' Miss Polly had seed dat--well, shedone preach my funer'l once, an' I don't want ter hear it no mo'."
Mr. Sanders, following Larceeny, proceeded to the Gaither Place, and wasushered into the parlour, where, to his surprise, he found JudgeVardeman, of Rockville, one of the most distinguished lawyers of theState. Mr. Sanders knew the Judge very well, and admired him not only onaccount of his great ability as a lawyer, but because of the genialsimplicity of his character. They greeted each other very cordially, andwere beginning to discuss the situation--it was the one topic that nevergrew stale during that sad time--when Mrs. Claiborne came in; she hadevidently been out to attend to some household affairs.
"I'm very glad to see you, Mr. Sanders," she said. "I have sent for youat the suggestion of Judge Vardeman, who is a kinsman of mine bymarriage. He is surprised that you and I are not well acquainted; but Itell him that in such sad times as these, it is a wonder that one knowsone's next-door neighbours."
Mr. Sanders made some fitting response, and as soon as he could do sowithout rudeness, closely studied the countenance of the lady. There wasa vivacity, a gaiety, an archness in her manner that he found verycharming. Her features were not regular, but when she laughed or smiled,her face was beautiful. If she had ever experienced any serious trouble,Mr. Sanders thought, she had been able to bear it bravely, for no marksof it were left on her speaking countenance. "Give me a firm faith and alight heart," says an ancient writer, "and the world may have everythingelse."
"I have sent for you, Mr. Sanders," said the lady, laughing lightly, "toask if you will undertake to be my drummer."
"Your drummer!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders. "Well, I've been told that I havea way of blowin' my own horn, when the weather is fine and the springsap is runnin', but as for drummin', I reely hain't got the knack onit."
"Oh, I only want you to do a little talking here and there, and give outvarious hints and intimations--you know what I mean. I am anxious toeven up matters with a friend of yours, who, I am afraid, isn't anybetter than he should be."
While the lady was talking, Mr. Sanders was staring at a couple ofcrayon portraits on the wall. He rose from his seat, walked across theroom, and attentively studied one of the portraits. It depicted a manbetween twenty-five and thirty-five.
"Well, I'll be jigged!" he exclaimed as he resumed his seat. "Ef thatain't Silas Tomlin I'm a Dutchman!"
"Why, I shouldn't think you would recognise him after all these years,"the lady said, smiling brightly. "Don't you think the portrait flattershim?"
"Quite a considerbul," replied Mr. Sanders; "but Silas has got p'intsabout his countenance that a coat of tar wouldn't hide. Trim hiseyebrows, an' give him a clean, close shave, an' he's e'en about thesame as he was then. An' ef I ain't mighty much mistaken, the pictur' byhis side was intended to be took for you. The feller that took it forgotto put the right kind of a sparkle in the eye, an' he didn't ketch thelaugh that oughter be hov'rin' round the mouth, like a butterfly tryin'to light on a pink rose; but all in all, it's a mighty good likeness."
"Now, don't you think I should thank Mr. Sanders?" said the lady,turning to Judge Vardeman. "It has been many a day since I have had sucha compliment. Actually, I believe I am blushing!" and she was.
"It wasn't much of a compliment to the artist," the Judge suggested.
"Well, when it comes to paintin' a purty 'oman," remarked Mr. Sanders,"it's powerful hard for to git in all the p'ints. A feller could paintour picturs in short order, Judge. A couple of kags of pink paint, awhitewash brush, an' two or three strokes, bold an' free, would do thebusiness."
The Judge's eye twinkled merrily, and Mrs. Claiborne laughinglyexclaimed, "Why, you'd make quite an artist. You certainly have an eyefor colour."
Thereupon Judge Vardeman suggested to Mrs. Claiborne that she begin atthe beginning, and place Mr. Sanders in possession of all the factsnecessary to the successful carrying out of the plan she had in view. Itwas a plan, the Judge went on to say, that he did not wholly indorse,bordering, as it did, on frivolity, but as the lady was determined onit, he would not advise against it, as the results bade fair to beharmless.
It must have been quite a story the lady had to tell Mr. Sanders, forthe sun was nearly down when he came from the house; and it must havebeen somewhat amusing, too, for he came down the steps laughingheartily. When he reached the sidewalk, he paused, looked back at theclosed door, shook his head, and threw up his hands, exclaiming tohimself, "Bless Katy! I'm powerful glad I ain't got no 'oman on mytrail. 'Specially one like her. Be jigged ef she don't shake this oldtown up!"
He heard voices behind him, and turned to see Eugenia Claiborne and PaulTomlin walking slowly along, engaged in a very engrossing conversation.Mr. Sanders looked at the couple long enough to make sure that he wasnot mistaken as to their identity, and then he went on his way.
He had intended to go straight home, but, yielding to a sudden whim orimp
ulse, he went to the tavern instead. This old tavern, at a certainhour of the day, was the resort of all the men, old and young, whodesired to indulge in idle gossip, or hear the latest news that might bebrought by some stray traveller, or commercial agent, or cotton-buyerfrom Malvern. For years, Mr. Woodruff, the proprietor--he had come fromVermont in the forties, as a school-teacher--complained that thehospitality of the citizens was enough to ruin any public-house that hadno gold mine to draw upon. But, after the war, the tide, such as it was,turned in his favour, and by the early part of 1868, he was beginning toprofit by what he called "a pretty good line of custom," and there weredays in the busy season when he was hard put to it to accommodate hisguests in the way he desired.
During the spring and summer months, there was no pleasanter place thanthe long, low veranda of Mr. Woodruff's tavern, and it was very popularwith those who had an idle hour at their disposal. This veranda was muchpatronised by Mr. Silas Tomlin, who, after the death of his wife, had nohome-life worthy of the name. Silas was not socially inclined; he tookno part in the gossip and tittle-tattle that flowed up and down theveranda. The most interesting bit of news never caused him to turn hishead, and the raciest anecdote failed to bring a smile to his face.Nevertheless, nothing seemed to please him better than to draw a chairsome distance away from the group of loungers, yet not out of ear-shot,lean back against one of the supporting pillars, close his eyes andlisten to all that was said, or dream his own dreams, such as they mightbe.
Mr. Sanders was well aware of Silas Tomlin's tavern habits, and thiswas what induced him to turn his feet in that direction. He expected tofind Silas there at this particular hour and he was not disappointed.Silas was sitting aloof from the crowd, his chair leaning against one ofthe columns, his legs crossed, his eyes closed, and his hands folded inhis lap. But for an occasional nervous movement of his thin lips, andthe twitching of his thumbs, he might have served as a model for astatue of Repose. As a matter of fact, all his faculties were alert.
The crowd of loungers was somewhat larger than usual, having beenaugmented during the day by three commercial agents and a couple ofcotton-buyers. Lawyer Tidwell was taking advantage of the occasion toexpound and explain several very delicate and intricate constitutionalproblems. Mr. Tidwell was a very able man in some respects, and he was avery good talker, although he wanted to do all the talking himself. Helowered his voice slightly, as he saw Mr. Sanders, but kept on with hisexposition of our organic law.
"Hello, Mr. Sanders!" said one of the cotton-buyers, taking advantage ofa momentary pause in Mr. Tidwell's monologue; "how are you getting onthese days?"
"Well, I was gittin' on right peart tell to-day, but this mornin' Istruck a job that's made me weak an' w'ary."
"You're looking mighty well, anyhow. What has been the trouble to-day?"
"Why, I'll tell you," responded Mr. Sanders, with a show of animation."I've been gwine round all day tryin' to git up subscriptions for tobuild a flatform for Gus Tidwell. Gus needs a place whar he can standan' explutterate on the Constitution all day, and not be in nobody'sway."
"Well, of course you succeeded," remarked Mr. Tidwell, good-naturedly.
"Middlin' well--middlin' well. A coloured lady flung a dime in the box,an' I put in a quarter. In all, I reckon I've raised a dollar an' ahalf. But I reely believe I could 'a' raised a hunderd dollars ef I'd'a' told 'em whar the flatform was to be built."
"Where is that?" some one inquired.
"In the pine-thicket behind the graveyard," responded Mr. Sanders, soearnestly and promptly that the crowd shouted with laughter. Even Mr.Tidwell, who was "case-hardened," as Mrs. Absalom would say, to Mr.Sanders's jokes, joined in with the rest.
"Gus is a purty good lawyer," said Mr. Sanders, lifting his voice alittle to make sure that Silas Tomlin would hear every syllable of whathe intended to say; "but he'll never be at his best till he finds outthat the Constitution, like the Bible, can be translated to suit theidees of any party or any crank. But I allers brag on Gus because Ibelieve in paternizin' home industries. Howsomever, between us boys an'gals, an' not aimin' for it to go any furder, there's a lawyer in townto-day--an' maybe he'll be here to-morrow--who knows more about the lawin one minnit than Gus could tell you in a day and a half. An' when itcomes to explutterations on p'ints of constitutional law, Gus wouldn'tbe in it."
"Is that so? What is the gentleman's name?" asked Mr. Tidwell.
"Judge Albert Vardeman," replied Mr. Sanders. "Now, when you come totalk about lawyers, you'll be doin' yourself injustice ef you leave outthe name of Albert Vardeman. He ain't got much of a figure--he's shapedsomethin' like a gourdful of water--but I tell you he's got a head onhim."
"Is the Judge really here?" Mr. Tidwell asked. "I'd like very much tohave a talk with him."
"I don't blame you, Gus," remarked Mr. Sanders, "you can git morestraight p'ints from Albert Vardeman than you'll find in the books. He'sbeen at Mrs. Claiborne's all day; I reckon she's gittin' him to ten' tosome law business for her. They's some kinder kinnery betwixt 'em. Hismammy's cat ketched a rat in her gran'mammy's smokehouse, I reckon.We've got more kinfolks in these diggin's, than they has been sence thefirst generation arter Adam."
At the mention of Mrs. Claiborne's name Silas Tomlin opened his eyes anduncrossed his legs. This movement caused him to lose his balance, andhis chair fell from a leaning position with a sharp bang.
"What sort of a dream did you have, Silas?" Mr. Sanders inquired withaffected solicitude. "You'd better watch out; Dock Dorrin'ton says thatwhen a man gits bald-headed, it's a sign that his bones is as brittle asglass. He found that out on one of his furrin trips."
"Don't worry about me, Sanders," replied Silas. He tried to smile.
"Well, I don't reckon you could call it worry, Silas, bekaze when Iketch a case of the worries, it allers sends me to bed wi' the jimmyjon.I can be neighbourly wi'out worryin', I hope."
"For a woman with a grown daughter," remarked Mr. Tidwell, speaking histhoughts aloud, as was his habit, "Mrs. Claiborne is wellpreserved--very well preserved." Mr. Tidwell was a widower, of severalyears' standing.
"Why, she's not only preserved, she's the preserves an' the preserver,"Mr. Sanders declared. "To look in her eye an' watch her thoughtssparklin' like fire, to watch her movements, an' hear her laugh, notonly makes a feller young agin, but makes him glad he's a-livin'. An'that gal of her'n--well, she's a thoroughbred. Did you ever notice theway she holds her head? I never see her an' Nan Dorrington together butwhat I'm sorry I never got married. I'd put up wi' all the tribulationfor to have a gal like arry one on 'em."
Mr. Sanders paused a moment, and then turned to Silas Tomlin. "Silas, Ithink Paul is fixin' for to do you proud. As I come along jest now, himan' Jinny Claiborne was walkin' mighty close together. They must 'a'been swappin' some mighty sweet secrets, bekaze they hardly spoke abovea whisper. An' they didn't look like they was in much of a hurry."
While Mr. Sanders was describing the scene he had witnessed,exaggerating the facts to suit his whimsical humour, Silas Tomlin satbold upright in his chair, his eyes half-shut, and his thin lips workingnervously. "Paul knows which side his bread is buttered on," he snappedout.
"Bread!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, pretending to become tremendouslyexcited; "bread! shorely you must mean poun'-cake, Silas. And whoeverheard of putting butter on poun'-cake?"
When the loungers began to disperse, some of them going home, and othersgoing in to supper in response to the tavern bell, Mr. Silas Tomlincalled to Lawyer Tidwell, and the two walked along together, their homeslying in the same direction.
"Gus," said Silas, somewhat nervously, "I want to put a case to you.It's purely imaginary, and has probably never happened in the history ofthe world."
"You mean what we lawyers call a hypothetical case," remarked Mr.Tidwell, in a tone that suggested a spacious and a tolerant mind.
"Precisely," replied Mr. Silas Tomlin, with some eagerness. "I wasreadin' a tale in an old copy of _Blackwood's Magazine_ the other day,an' th
e whole business turned on just such a case. The sum and substanceof it was about this: A man marries a woman and they get along togetherall right for awhile. Then, all of a sudden she takes a mortal disliketo the man, screams like mad when he goes about her, and kicks upgenerally when his name is mentioned. He, being a man of some spirit,and rather touchy at best, finally leaves her in disgust. Finally herfolks send him word that she is dead. On the strength of thatinformation, he marries again, after so long a time. All goes well foreighteen or twenty years, and then suddenly the first wife turns up.Now what, in law, is the man's status? Where does he stand? Is thiswoman really his wife?"
"Why, certainly," replied Mr. Tidwell. "His second marriage is nomarriage at all. The issue of such a marriage is illegitimate."
"That's just what I thought," commented Silas Tomlin. "But in the tale,when the woman comes back, and puts in her claim, the judge flings hercase out of court."
"That was in England," Mr. Tidwell suggested.
"Or Scotland--I forget which," Silas Tomlin replied.
"Well, it isn't the law over here," Mr. Tidwell declared confidently.They walked on a little way, when the lawyer suddenly turned to Silasand said: "Mr. Tomlin, will you fetch that magazine in to-morrow? I wantto see the ground on which the woman's case was thrown out. It'sinteresting, even if it is all fiction. Perhaps there was sometechnicality."
"All right, Gus; I'll fetch it in to-morrow."
Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction Page 16
