The Crisis — Volume 01

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER V

  THE FIRST SPARK PASSES

  "Now, gentlemen," shouted the auctioneer when he had finished his orationupon the girl's attractions, "what 'tin I bid? Eight hundred?"

  Stephen caught his breath. There was a long pause no one cared to startthe bidding.

  "Come, gentlemen, come! There's my friend Alf Jenkins. He knows whatshe's worth to a cent. What'll you give, Alf? Is it eight hundred?"

  Mr. Jenkins winked at the auction joined in the laugh.

  "Three hundred!" he said.

  The auctioneer was mortally offended. Then some one cried:--"Threehundred and fifty!"

  It was young Colfax. He was recognized at once, by name, evidently as aperson of importance.

  "Thank you, Mistah Colfax, suh," said the auctioneer, with a servile waveof the hand in his direction, while the crowd twisted their necks to seehim. He stood very straight, very haughty, as if entirely oblivious tohis conspicuous position.

  "Three seventy-five!"

  "That's better, Mistah Jenkins," said the auctioneer, sarcastically. Heturned to the girl, who might have stood to a sculptor for a figure ofdespair. Her hands were folded in front of her, her head bowed down. Theauctioneer put his hand under her chin and raised it roughly. "Cheer up,my gal," he said, "you ain't got nothing to blubber about now."

  Hester's breast heaved and from her black eyes there shot a magnificentlook of defiance. He laughed. That was the white blood.

  The white blood!

  Clarence Colfax had his bid taken from his lips. Above the heads of thepeople he had a quick vision of a young man with a determined face, whosevoice rang clear and strong,-- "Four hundred!"

  Even the auctioneer, braced two ways, was thrown off his balance by thesudden appearance of this new force. Stephen grew red over the sensationhe made. Apparently the others present had deemed competition with suchas Jenkins and young Colfax the grossest folly. He was treated to muchliberal staring before the oily salesman arranged his wits to grapplewith the third factor.

  Four hundred from--from--from that gentleman. And the chubby index seemedthe finger of scorn.

  "Four hundred and fifty!" said Mr. Colfax, defiantly.

  Whereupon Mr. Jenkins, the New Orleans dealer, lighted a very long cigarand sat down on the coping. The auctioneer paid no attention to thismanoeuvre. But Mr. Brice and Mr. Colfax, being very young, fondlyimagined that they had the field to themselves, to fight to a finish.

  Here wisdom suggested in a mild whisper to Stephen that there was a lastchance to pull out. And let Colfax have the girl? Never. That was pride,and most reprehensible. But second he thought of Mr. Canter and of Nancy,and that was not pride.

  "Four seventy-five!" he cried.

  "Thank you, suh."

  "Now fur it, young uns!" said the wag, and the crowd howled withmerriment.

  "Five hundred!" snapped Mr. Colfax.

  He was growing angry. But Stephen was from New England, and poor, and hethought of the size of his purse. A glance at his adversary showed thathis blood was up. Money was plainly no consideration to him, and youngColfax did not seem to be the kind who would relish returning to a younglady and acknowledge a defeat.

  Stephen raised the bid by ten dollars. The Southerner shot up fifty.Again Stephen raised it ten. He was in full possession of himself now,and proof against the thinly veiled irony of the oily man's remarks infavor of Mr. Colfax. In an incredibly short time the latter's impetuosityhad brought them to eight hundred and ten dollars.

  Then several things happened very quickly.

  Mr. Jenkins got up from the curb and said, "Eight hundred andtwenty-five," with his cigar in his mouth. Scarcely had the hum ofexcitement died when Stephen, glancing at Colfax for the next move, sawthat young gentleman seized from the rear by his uncle, the tall Colonel.And across the street was bliss Virginia Carvel, tapping her foot on thepavement.

  "What are you about, sir?" the Colonel cried. "The wench isn't worth it."

  "Mr. Colfax shook himself free.

  "I've got to buy her now, sir," he cried.

  "I reckon not," said the Colonel. "You come along with me."

  Naturally Mr. Colfax was very angry. He struggled but he went. And so,protesting, he passed Stephen, at whom he did not deign to glance. Thehumiliation of it must have been great for Mr. Colfax. "Jinny wants her;sir," he said, "and I have a right to buy her."

  "Jinny wants everything," was the Colonel's reply. And in a single lookof curiosity and amusement his own gray eyes met Stephen's. They seemedto regret that this young man, too, had not a guardian. Then uncle andnephew recrossed the street, and as they walked off the Colonel was seento laugh. Virginia had her chin in the air, and Clarence's was in hiscollar.

  The crowd, of course, indulged in roars of laughter, and even Stephencould not repress a smile, a smile not without bitterness. Then hewheeled to face Mr. Jerkins. Out of respect for the personages involved,the auctioneer had been considerately silent daring the event. It was Mr.Brice who was now the centre of observation.

  Come, gentlemen, come, this here's a joke--eight twenty-five. She's worthtwo thousand. I've been in the business twenty yea's, and I neve' seenher equal. Give me a bid, Mr.--Mr.--you have the advantage of me, suh."

  "Eight hundred and thirty-five!" said Stephen.

  "Now, Mr. Jerkins, now, suh! we've got twenty me' to sell."

  "Eight fifty!" said Mr. Jerkins.

  "Eight sixty!" said Stephen, and they cheered him.

  Mr. Jenkins took his cigar out of his teeth, and stared.

  "Eight seventy-five!" said he.

  "Eight eighty-five!" said Stephen.

  There was a breathless pause.

  "Nine hundred!" said the trader.

  "Nine hundred and ten!" cried Stephen.

  At that Mr. Jerkins whipped his hat from off his head, and made Stephen aderisive bow.

  "She's youahs, suh," he said. "These here are panic times. I've struck mylimit. I can do bettah in Louisville fo' less. Congratulate you, suh--reckon you want her wuss'n I do."

  At which sally Stephen grew scarlet, and the crowd howled with joy.

  "What!" yelled the auctioneer. "Why, gentlemen, this heah's a joke. Ninehundred and ten dollars, gents, nine hundred and ten. We've just begun,gents. Come, Mr. Jerkins, that's giving her away."

  The trader shook his head, and puffed at his cigar.

  "Well," cried the oily man, "this is a slaughter. Going at nine hundredan' ten--nine ten--going--going--" down came the hammer--"gone at ninehundred and ten to Mr.--Mr.--you have the advantage of me, suh."

  An attendant had seized the girl, who was on the verge of fainting, andwas dragging her back. Stephen did not heed the auctioneer, but thrustforward regardless of stares.

  "Handle her gently, you blackguard," he cried.

  The man took his hands off.

  "Suttinly, sah," he said.

  Hester lifted her eyes, and they were filled with such gratitude andtrust that suddenly he was overcome with embarrassment.

  "Can you walk?" he demanded, somewhat harshly.

  "Yes, massa."

  "Then get up," he said, "and follow me."

  She rose obediently. Then a fat man came out of the Court House, with aquill in his hand, and a merry twinkle in his eye that Stephen resented.

  "This way, please, sah," and he led him to a desk, from the drawer ofwhich he drew forth a blank deed.

  "Name, please!"

  "Stephen Atterbury Brice."

  "Residence, Mr. Brice!"

  Stephen gave the number. But instead of writing it clown, the man merelystared at him, while the fat creases in his face deepened and deepened.Finally he put down his quill, and indulged in a gale of laughter, hugelyto Mr. Brice's discomfiture.

  "Shucks!" said the fat man, as soon as he could.

  "What are you givin' us? That the's a Yankee boa'din' house."

  "And I suppose that that is part of your business, too," said Stephen,acidly.

  The fat man lo
oked at him, pressed his lips, wrote down the number,shaken all the while with a disturbance which promised to lead to anotherexplosion. Finally, after a deal of pantomime, and whispering andlaughter with the notary behind the wire screen, the deed was made out,signed, attested, and delivered. Stephen counted out the money grimly, ingold and Boston drafts.

  Out in the sunlight on Chestnut Street, with the girl by his side, it allseemed a nightmare. The son of Appleton Brice of Boston the owner of abeautiful quadroon girl! And he had bought hex with his last cent.

  Miss Crane herself opened the door in answer to his ring. Her keen eyesinstantly darted over his shoulder and dilated, But Stephen, summoningall his courage, pushed past her to the stairs, and beckoned Hester tofollow.

  "I have brought this--this person to see my mother," he said

  The spinster bowed from the back of her neck. She stood transfixed on agreat rose in the hall carpet until she heard Mrs. Brice's door open andslam, and then she strode up the stairs and into the apartment of Mrs.Abner Reed. As she passed the first landing, the quadroon girl waswaiting in the hall.