MR. STILL OFFERS A COMPROMISE, AND A BLUFF

The term approached at which the Red Rock suit was to be tried, and both parties made preparations for it. A number of the prominent members of the Bar had volunteered as Jacquelin’s counsel. They knew the character of the new judge, Bail, and they considered Jacquelin’s cause that of every man in the State. Leech, on his side, had associated with him as counsel for Still several lawyers of well-known ability, if of less recognized integrity; and Major Welch had retained old Mr. Bagby to represent his interest. As the term drew near, Still applied to Mr. Bagby to represent him too. The old lawyer declined. The interest of his client, Major Welch, might in some way conflict, though he could not see how; in a way he already represented Still, since to protect his client he had to look after Still’s title also. “Besides, Still already had lawyers enough to ruin his case,” he said, “and he would charge him a big fee.” But these reasons were not sufficient for Still. He wished Mr. Bagby to represent him. He told him Leech had employed those others; but he wanted a man he knew. “There wasn’t a man in the State could carry a jury like Mr. Bagby, and he did not mind the fee.”

Flattery is a key that fits many locks. So the old lawyer consented, after consulting Major Welch, and notifying Still that if at any time or at any point in the case he found his interest conflicting with Major Welch’s he would give him up. Still grew more anxious and sought so many interviews with the old counsellor that finally his patience wore out, and he gave his new client to understand that he had other business, and if he wanted so much of his time he must increase his fees. Still consented even to this, with the effect of arousing suspicion on the old lawyer’s part that there must be something in his client’s case which he did not understand. “Something in it he has not let out,” reflected the old lawyer. “I must get at it.”

Not very long after this arrangement, Still asked Mr. Bagby to come and see him at his home on business of great importance, alleging as a reason for his not going to see Mr. Bagby that he was too unwell to travel. The note for some reason offended Mr. Bagby. However, as he had to go to Major Welch’s that night, he rode by Red Rock to see Still. He found him in a state of great anxiety and nervousness. Still went over the same ground that he had been over with him already several times; wanted to know what he thought of the bill, and of the Grays’ chances of success. The old lawyer frowned. Up to the time of beginning a suit he was ready to be doubtful, prudent, cautious, even anxious, in advising; but the fight once begun he was in it to the end; doubt disappeared; defeat was not among the possibilities. It was an intellectual contest and he rejoiced in it; put into it every nerve and every power he possessed, and was ready to trample down every adversary from the sheriff who served the writ, to the Supreme Court itself. So now, when Still, almost at the entrance of the term, was whimpering as to his chances, the old lawyer answered him with scant courtesy.

“The bill? I think the same of it I thought when you asked me before; that it is a good bill in certain respects and a poor one in others;—good as to your accounts showing rents and profits, and too general as to the bonds. It’s a good thing you got hold of so much of Gray’s paper. I knew he was a free liver and a careless man; but I had no idea he owed so much money.” He was speaking rather to himself.

“What do you mean?” faltered Still, his face flushing and then growing pale.

“That if they can prove what they allege about the crops in the years just before and after the war, they’ll sweep you for rents and profits, and you’ll need the bonds.” He reflected for a minute, then looked at Still.

“Mr. Still, tell me exactly how you came by that big bond.” He shut his eyes to listen, so did not see the change that came over his client’s face.

“What’d you think of a compromise?” asked Still, suddenly.

“Have they offered one?”

“Well, not exactly,” said Still, who was lying; “but I know they’d like to make one. What’d you think of our kind of broaching the subject?”

“What! You? After that bill aspersing your character!” He looked at Still keenly. “Do as you please! But Major Welch will offer no compromise.” He rose and walked off from Still for a moment, formulating in his mind some sentence that would relieve him from his relation of counsel to him. It was the first time he had been in the house since Still’s occupancy; and as he paced across the hall, the pictures lining the walls arrested his attention, and he began to examine them. He stopped in front of the “Indian-killer,” and gazed at it attentively.

“Astonishingly like him!” he muttered, musingly; and then after another look he asked, “Do you know whether there really was a cabinet behind that picture or not?” Still did not answer, but his face turned a sudden white. The old lawyer had his back to him. He stepped up nearer the picture and began to examine the frame more closely. “I believe there is,” he said, musingly. “Yes, that red paint goes under.” He took out a large pocket-knife. “Those nails are loose. I believe I’ll see.” He inserted the blade of his knife and began to prize at the frame. “My G—d! don’t do that!” exclaimed Still; and, giving a bound, he seized the old lawyer’s arm.

The latter turned on him in blank amazement. Still’s face was as white as death.

“What in the d—l is the matter with you?” demanded Mr. Bagby.

“Don’t! for God’s sake!” stammered Still, and staggered into a chair, the perspiration standing out on his forehead.

“What’s the matter with you, man?” Mr. Bagby poured out a glass of whiskey from a decanter on the table and gave it to him. The liquor revived him, and in a moment he began to talk.

It was nothing, he said, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. He had of late been having a sort of spells; had not been sleeping well—his son was giving him some physic for it; ’twas a sort of nervousness, and he supposed he just had one, and couldn’t help thinking of that story of the picture coming down always meaning bad luck, and the story of the old fellow being seen on horseback at night. Some of the niggers had been saying that he had been seen at night once or twice lately riding around, and he supposed that had got in his mind. But of course he didn’t believe any such lies as that.

“I hope not,” sniffed the old lawyer. He rose and took up his hat and saddle-bags. Still urged him to stay; he had had his horse put in the stable and fed; but Mr. Bagby said he must go, he wished to see Major Welch. He had made up his mind that he would not remain in the case as Still’s counsel. He could not get over the feeling that there was something in Still’s case which Still had not confided to him, or the idea of his wishing to compromise after a charge of fraud; and the rough way in which Still had seized his arm and had spoken to him had offended him. So he would not be his guest. He told Still that he felt that he could not act further as his counsel, in association with his other counsel. Again Still’s face blanched. He offered to throw them all over—except Leech. He was obliged to keep Leech; but the others he would let go. This, however, Mr. Bagby would not hear of.

As it was late, and the servants had retired, Still walked with Mr. Bagby to the stable to get his horse. He continued to urge him to remain in the suit as his counsel. But the old lawyer was firm.

As they approached the stables there came to them from the field over beyond the gardens and toward Major Welch’s the distant neigh of a horse. Still clutched Mr. Bagby’s arm.

“My G—d! did you hear that?”

“What? Yes—one of your horses over in your pasture?”

“No, there ain’t no horses over in that field, or in a field between here and Stamper’s house. It’s all in crop. That’s over toward the grave-yard.”

“Oh! the d—l!” the old man exclaimed, impatiently.

But Still seized him.

“Look! Look yonder!” he gasped. The lawyer looked, and at the moment the outline of a man on horseback was clearly defined against the skyline on the crest of a hill. How far away it was he could not tell; but apparently it was just behind the dark clump of trees where lay the old Gray burying-ground. The next second the moon was shrouded and the horseman faded out.

When Mr. Bagby reached Major Welch’s, the latter came out to meet him: he had sat up for him.

“I thought you had come a half-hour ago. I fancied I heard your horse neigh,” he said.

As he went to call a servant, he picked up from a small side-porch a parcel wrapped around with paper. He took it in to the light. It was a large bunch of jonquils, addressed to Ruth.

“Ah!” thought the old lawyer, with a chuckle, “that is what our ghostly horseman was doing.”

The next morning, when Major Welch and his guest came to breakfast, the table was already decorated with jonquils, which were lighting it up with their golden glow; and one or two of them were pinned on Miss Ruth’s dainty white dress.

Both Major Welch and the guest remarked on the beauty of the flowers, and the Major mentioned his surprise that Ruth should have left them out on the porch overnight. The remark was quite casual, and the Major was not looking at Ruth at the moment; but the old lawyer was looking, and his eyes twinkled as he noticed the deep color that rushed up into the girl’s cheeks. No age is too great to be stirred by the sight of a romance, and the old fellow’s countenance softened as he looked at the young girl.

“Lucky dog,” he thought, “that night rider! I wonder who he is? I’d give my fee in this case to be able to call up that blush. I remember doing that same thing once—forty odd years ago. The flowers faded, and the girl—My dear, will you give me one of those jonquils?” he broke off, suddenly, addressing Ruth. Ruth, with a smile, pinned it on him, and the old man wore it with as proud a mien as he had ever had after a successful verdict.

The apparition was too much for Hiram Still. A few days after his interview with Mr. Bagby, Still, without consulting any of his counsel, took the step on his own account which he had suggested to the lawyer. If it went through, he could put it on the ground of friendship for Jacquelin’s father. He selected his opportunity.

Steve Allen was away that day and Jacquelin Gray was sitting in his office alone, when there was a heavy, slow step outside and, after a moment’s interval, a knock at the door. “Come in,” Jacquelin called; and the door opened slowly and Hiram Still walked half-way in and stopped doubtfully. He was pale, and a simper was on his face. Jacquelin did not stir. His face flushed slightly.

“Good-mornin’, Mr. Jacquelin,” said the visitor, in his most insinuating tone.

“What do you want?” Jacquelin asked, coldly.

“Mr. Jacquelin, I thought I’d come and see you when you was by yourself like, and see if me and you couldn’t come to a understandin’ about our suit.”

Jacquelin was so taken by surprise that he did not try to answer immediately, and Still took it for assent and moved a step farther into the room.

“I don’t want no lawyers between us; we’re old friends. I ain’t got nothin’ against you, and you ain’t got nothin’ against me; and I don’t want no trouble or nothin’. Your father was the best friend I ever had; and I jist thought I’d come like a friend, and see if we couldn’t settle things like old friends—kind of compromise, kind o’——?” He waved his hands expressively.

Jacquelin found his voice.

“Get out,” he said, quietly, with a sudden paling of his face. Still’s jaw dropped. Jacquelin rose to his feet, a gleam in his eyes.

“Get out.” There was a ring in his voice, and he took a step toward Still. But Still did not wait. He turned quickly and rushed out of the room, never stopping until he had got out of the court-green.

He went to the bar of the tavern and ordered two drinks in rapid succession.

“D—n him!” he said, as he drained off his glass the second time. “If he had touched me I’d have shot him.”

“You’re lookin’ sort o’ puny these days. Been sick?” the man at the bar asked.

“Yes—no—I don’ know,” said Still, gruffly. He went up and looked at himself in a small fly-speckled, tin-like mirror on the wall. “I ain’t been so mighty well.”

“Been ridin’ pretty hard lately ’bout your suit, I reckon?” said the bar-keeper.

“I don’ know. I ain’t afeared ’bout it. If they choose to fling away money tryin’ to beat me out o’ my property, I’ve got about as much as they have, I reckon.”

“I reckon you have.” The man’s manner was so dry that Still cut his eye at him. “Why don’t you try him with a compromise?” Still looked at him sharply; but he was washing a glass, and his face was as impassive as a mask.

“D—n him! I wouldn’t compromise with him to save his life,” said Still. “D’ you think I’d compromise with a man as is aspersed my character?”

“I d’n’ know. I hear there’s to be a jury; and I always heard, if there’s one thing the L—d don’ know, it’s how a jury’s goin’ to decide.”

“I ain’t afeared of that jury,” said Still, on whom the whiskey was working. “I’ve got——” He caught a look of sharpness on the man’s face and changed. “I ain’t afeared o’ no jury—that jury or no other. And I ain’t afeared o’ Jacquelin Gray nor Mr. Steve Allen neither. I ain’t afeared o’ no man as walks.”

“How about them as rides?” asked the bar-keeper, dryly.

The effect was electric.

“What d’you know about them as rides?” asked Still, surlily, his face pale.

“Nothin’ but what I hear. I hear they’s been a rider seen roun’ Red Rock of nights, once or twice lately, ain’t nobody caught up with.”

“Some o’ these scoundrels been a tryin’ to skeer me,” said Still, with an affectation of indifference. “But they don’t know me. I’ll try how a bullet’ll act on ’em next time I see one of ’em.”

“I would,” said the bar-keeper. “You’se seen him, then? I heard you had.”

Hiram saw that he had been trapped into an admission. Before he could answer, the man went on:

“They say down this away it means something’s goin’ to happen. How’s that old picture been standing of late?”

Still burst out in a rage, declaring that it had been standing all right, and would continue to stand till every man against him was in the hottest region his imagination could picture. It seemed to him, he said, that everybody in the County was in league against him. The bar-keeper heard him unmoved; but, when his customer left, he closed his door and sauntered over to the office of Allen and Gray.

When Steve returned next day, Jacquelin told him of the interview with Still. Steve’s eyes lit up.

“By Jove! It means there’s something we don’t know! What did you do?”

“Threatened to kick him out of the room.”

“I supposed so. But, do you know, Jack,” he said, after a moment’s reflection, “I am not sure you did right? As a man I feel just as you did; but as a lawyer I think we should try and compromise. The case as it stands is a doubtful one on the law; but what show do we stand before his new judge. You know he is hand in glove with them, and they say was appointed to try this very case. Remember, there is Rupert.”

“I tell you what I will do,” said Jacquelin, “and it is the only compromise I will make. You can go to him and say I will agree to dismiss the case. If he will give Rupert the full half of the place, including the house, and me the grave-yard and Birdwood, with three hundred acres of land, I will dismiss the suit. You can go to him and say so. It will still leave him more than the value of Birdwood.”

“Birdwood! What do you want with Bird——?” asked Steve, in amazement; but at the moment his eye rested on Jacquelin’s face. Jacquelin was blushing. “Oho!” he exclaimed. “I see.”

“Not at all!” said Jacquelin. “I have no hope whatever. Everything has gone wrong with me. I feel as if as soon as I am interested, the very laws of nature become reversed!”

“Nonsense! The laws of nature are never reversed!” exclaimed Steve. “It’s nothing but our infernal stupidity or weakness. Have you ever said anything to her since?”

“No, I am done. She’s an iceberg.”

“Iceberg? When I saw her she was a volcano. Besides, ice melts,” said Steve, sententiously. “I’m engaged in the process myself.”

Jacquelin could not talk lightly of Blair, and he rose and quietly walked out of the office. As his footsteps died away, Steve sat back in his chair and fell into a reverie, induced by Jacquelin’s words and his reply.

Jacquelin had just left the office when there was a step outside, and a knock so timid that Steve felt sure that it must be a woman. He called to the person to come in; the knock, however, was repeated; so Steve called out more loudly. The door opened slowly, and a young colored woman put her head in and surveyed the office carefully. “Is dat you, Marse Steve?” she asked, and inserted her whole body. Then turning her back on Steve, she shut the door.

Steve waited with interest, for his visitor was Martha, Jerry’s wife, who was a maid at Major Welch’s. It was not the first time Martha had consulted him. Now, however, Steve was puzzled, for on former occasions when she came to see him, Jerry had been on a spree; but Steve had seen Jerry only the evening before, and he was sober. Steve motioned the girl to a seat and waited.

She was so embarrassed, however, that all she could do was to tug at something which she held securely tied up in her apron. Steve tried to help her out.

“Jerry drunk again? I thought I had given him a lesson last time that would last him longer.”

“Nor, suh, he ain’ drunk—yit. But I thought I’d come to ’sult you.” Again she paused, and looked timidly around the room.

“Well, what is it? Has he threatened to beat you?” he asked, a shade gathering on his brow. “He knows what he’ll get if he tries that again.”

“Nor, suh,” said Martha, quickly; “I ain’ feared o’ dat. He know better ’n dat now—sence you an’ my gran’mother got hold o’ him; but”—her knot came untied, and suddenly she gained courage—“what I want to ’sult you about is dis: I want to ax you,—is Mr. Spickit—’lowed to write ‘whiskey’ down in my sto’-book?” She clutched her book, and gazed at Steve as if the fate of the universe depended on the answer.

Steve took the book and glanced over it. It was a small, greasy account-book, such as was kept by persons who dealt at the little country-stores about the County. Many of the items were simply “Mdse.,” but on the last two or three pages, the item “Whiskey” appeared with somewhat undue frequency.

“What do you mean?” asked Steve.

“Well, you see, it’s disaway. Jerry, he gits his whiskey at Mr. Spickit’s—some o’ it—an’ he say Mr. Spickit shell write hit down on de book dat way, an——”

“Oh! You don’t want him to have it?” said Steve, a light breaking on him.

“Nor, suh—dat ain’t it. I don’ mine he havin’ de whiskey—I don’ mine he gittin’ all he want—cuz I know he gwine drink it. But I don’ want him to have it put down dat away on de book. I is a member o’ de chutch, and I don’ want whiskey writ all over my book—dat’s hit!”

“Oh!” Steve smiled acquiescingly.

“An’ I done tell Jerry so; an’ I done tell Mr. Spickit so, an’ ax him not to do it.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I wants him to put it down ‘merchandise,’ dat’s all; an’ I come to ax you, can’t you meck Jerry do it dat away.”

“Ah! I see. Why, certainly I can.”

“An’ I want to ax you dis: Jerry say, ef I don’ stop meddlin’ wid he business, he won’ let me have no sto’-book, an’ he gwine lef’ me; dat he’ll meck you git a divo’ce from me—an’ I want to ax you ef he ken lef’ me jes cuz I want him to mark it merchandise? Kin he git a divorce jes for dat?” She was far too serious for Steve to laugh now. Her face was filled with anxiety.

“Of course, he cannot.”

“Well, will you write me dat down, so I ken show it to him?”

Steve gravely wrote a few lines, which, after reading to her, he folded with great solemnity and handed her.

They read as follows:

“LEGAL OPINION.

“I am of opinion that it is not a cause for divorce, either a vinculo matrimonii or a mens et thoro, when a woman insists that the whiskey which her husband drinks, and which she pays for, shall be entered on her account-book as Mdse. Given under my hand this —— day of ——, 18—.

“Stevenson Allen,
“Attorney and Counsellor-at-Law.”

The young woman received the paper with the greatest reverence and relief.

“Thankee, Marse Steve,” she said, with repeated bows and courtesies. “Dis will fix him. I knowed dat if I come to you, you’d tell me de law. Jerry talk like he know all de law in the wull!” Armed with her weapon, her courage was returning. “But I’ll straighten him out wid dis.” She tied her letter up in her apron with elaborate care. Suddenly her face grew grave again.

“‘Spose Jerry say he’ll trick me cuz I come to you?”

“Trick you——!” began Steve, in a tone of contempt.

“Not he himself; but dat he’ll git Doct’ Moses to do it?” Her face had grown quite pale.

“If he says he’ll trick you, tell him I’ll lick him. You come to me.”

“Yes, suh.” She was evidently much relieved, but not wholly so. “I cert’ny is feared o’ him,” she said, plaintively. “He done tricked Jane—Sherrod’s wife—and a whole lot o’ urrs,” she said. Steve knew from her face that the matter was too serious to be laughed at.

“You tell Jerry that if he dares to try it, or even threatens you with it, I’ll lick the life out of him and discharge him. And as for Moses——” His face darkened.

“I don’t want you to do that,” she said, quickly.

“Well, you tell him so, anyhow. And if I get hold of Moses, he won’t trouble you.”

“Yas, suh, I’ll tell him ef he try to trick me. ’Cus I cert’ny is feared o’ dat man.” She was going out, when Steve called her back.

“Ah! Martha? How are they all at Major Welch’s?”

“Dee’s all right well, thankee, suh,” said Martha. “Sept Miss Ruth—she ain been so mighty well lately.” Steve’s face brightened.

“Ah! What is the matter with her?” His voice was divided between solicitude and feigned indifference.

“I don’ know, indeed, suh. She’s jes sort o’ puny—jes heah lately. She don’t eat nuttin’. Dee talk ’bout sen’in’ her ’way.”

“Indeed!” Steve was conscious of a sudden sinking of the heart.

“I think she ride ’bout too much in de hot sun,” explained Martha, with the air of an authority.

“I have no doubt of it,” said Steve.

“She come home tother evenin’ right down sick, and had to go to bed,” continued Martha.

“Ah! when was that? Why don’t they send for a doctor?—Dr. Still?” asked Steve, guilefully.

“Go ’way, Marse Steve, you know dee ain gwine let dat man practus on Miss Ruth. Dat’s what de matter wid her now. He come dyah all de time teckin’ her out ridin’——”

“Why, he’s away from the County,” declared Steve, who appeared to have a surprising knowledge of the young Doctor’s movement.

“Yas, suh; but I talkin’ ’bout b’fo’ he went way. He was wid her dat evenin’. Least, he went way wid her, but he didn’t come back wid her.” Her tone was so significant that again the light came into Captain Allen’s eyes.

“And he hasn’t been back since?”

“Nor, suh, an’ he ain’t comin’ back nurr.”

“And you don’t know where Miss Welch is going, or when?”

“Nor, suh, she ain’ goin’ at all. I heah her say she wa’n’t gwine; but she cert’ny look mighty thin, heah lately.” The conversation had ended. Steve was in a reverie, and Martha moved toward the door.

“Well, good-by, Marse Steve. I cert’ny is obliged to you, an’ I gwine send you some eggs soon as my hens begins to lay again.”

But Captain Allen told her she did not owe him anything.

“Come again, Martha, whenever you want to know about anything—anything at all.”

When Martha went out she heard him singing.

The story of Still’s offer of a compromise to Jacquelin got abroad, and, notwithstanding the wise doctrine of the law that an offer of compromise shall not be taken as evidence in any case, this particular offer was so taken. Still found himself roundly abused by his counsel for being such a fool as to propose it. All sorts of rumors began to fly about. It was said that Mr. Bagby had declined to act as his counsel. To meet these reports it was necessary to do something, and Still’s counsel held a consultation. It was decided that he should give an entertainment.

It would show his indifference to the claims of the Grays to his plantation, and would prove his position in the County. Leech thought that this would be a good thing to do; it would anger the Grays, if it did nothing else. He could invite Judge Bail up to it.

“Make it a fine one when you do have it,” said the counsellor. “I’ve found champagne make its way to a man’s heart when you couldn’t get at it through his pocket.”

Dr. Still also was eager to have such an entertainment. He, too, appreciated the fineness of the stroke that, on the eve of battle, would show their contempt for the other side. Besides which, the young physician had another motive. Soon after his removal from the County to the city Dr. Still had become an admirer of Governor Krafton’s daughter. She was the Governor’s only child, and even the Governor’s bitterest enemies admitted that he was a devoted father; and in the press that was opposed to him, often side by side with the bitterest attacks on the Governor, was some admiring mention of his handsome and accomplished daughter. He would have given her the moon, someone said to General Legaie. “Yes, even if he had to steal it to do so,” said the General. Miss Krafton had had the best education that the country could afford. This she had finished off with a year or two of travel abroad. She had just returned home. She idolized her father, and perhaps the Governor had not been sorry to have her out of the country where half the press was daily filled with the most direct and vehement accusations against him. The Governor’s apologists declared that his most questionable acts were from the desire to build up a fortune for his daughter. It was for her that he had bought the old Haskelton place, one of the handsomest in the city, and, pulling down the fine old colonial mansion, had erected on its site one of the costliest and most bewildering structures in the State.

It is often the case that the very magnitude of the efforts made to accomplish a design frustrates it; and Governor Krafton, with all his eagerness to be very rich, and his absolute indifference as to the means employed, was always involved pecuniarily, while the men with whom he worked appeared to be immensely successful. Until he fell out with Leech and Still, he had gone in with them in their railroad and land schemes; but while everything that they touched appeared to turn to gold (at least, it was so with Still; for there were rumors respecting Leech), the Governor was always hard pushed to meet his expenditures.

Still’s explanation to his son was that he let others climb the trees and do the shaking, and he stayed on the ground and gathered the apples. “Krafton and Leech has both made more money than I have,” he said, shrewdly; “but they have to pay it out to keep their offices, while I——” He completed the sentence by a significant buttoning of his pocket. “They think that because they get a bigger sheer generally than I do, they do better. But—it ain’t the water that falls on the land that makes the crops; it’s what sinks in. This thing’s got to stop some time, my son—ground gets worked out—and when the crops are gathered I know who mine’s for.” He gazed at his son, with mingled shrewdness and affection. The young Doctor also looked pleased. His father’s sharpness at times made up to him for his ignorance and want of education. Dr. Still was not lacking in smartness himself, and had been quick enough to see which way Miss Krafton’s tastes lay. He had discovered that she was both proud and ambitious—Not politically. She said she detested politics; that her father never allowed politics to be talked before her; and when he gave a “political dinner,” she did not even come downstairs. She was ambitious socially. Dr. Still promptly began to play on this chord. He had prevailed on his father to set him up a handsome establishment in the city, and he became deeply literary. He began to talk of his family—the Stills had originally been Steels, he said, and were the same family to which Sir Richard Steel belonged—and to speak of his “old place” and his “old pictures.” He described them with so much eloquence that Miss Krafton said she wished she could see them. This gave Dr. Still an idea, and he forthwith began to plan an entertainment. As it happened, it was at the very time that Leech had suggested the same thing to Hiram Still; and as his son and Leech rarely agreed about anything these days, Still was impressed, and the entertainment was determined on. It was to be the “finest party” that had ever been given at Red Rock. On this all were united. Even Hiram yielded to the general pressure, and admitted that if you were “going to send for a man’s turn of corn it was no good to send a boy to mill after it.”

He entrusted the arrangements to the young Doctor, who laid himself out on them. A florist and a band were to be brought up from the city, and the decorations and supper were to surpass everything that had ever been seen. A large company was invited, including many guests from the city, for whom a special train was furnished, and Still, “to show his good feeling,” extended the invitation to many of his neighbors. Major and Mrs. Welch and Ruth were invited. Still remembered that Major Welch had been to one entertainment in that house, and he wished to show him that he could excel even the Grays. Dr. Still was at first determined that Miss Welch should not come; but it was suggested that it would be a greater triumph to invite her, and more mature reflection decided him that this was so. He would show her Miss Krafton, and this would be a greater victory than to omit her from the list. He could not but believe that she would be jealous.

On the evening of the entertainment Major Welch and Mrs. Welch attended. But Miss Ruth did not accompany them. She was not very well, Mrs. Welch said in reply to Virgy, who, under Dr. Still’s wing, was “receiving” in a stiff, white satin dress, and looking unfeignedly scared as she held her great bouquet, like an explosive that might “go off” at any time. Miss Virgy’s face, however, on seeing Mrs. Welch’s familiar countenance, lit up, and she greeted her with real pleasure, and expressed regret that Ruth had not come, with a sincerity that made Mrs. Welch warm toward her. Mrs. Welch liked her better than she did Miss Krafton, whom she had met casually and thought a handsome and intelligent, but rather conceited girl.

It was a curious company that Major and Mrs. Welch found assembled. The strangers from the city included the judge, who was a dark-looking man with a strong face, a heavy mouth, and a lowering gray eye; a number of people of various conditions, whom Mrs. Welch recognized as men whose names she had heard as connected with Leech; and a number of others whom she had never heard of. But there was not a soul whom she had ever met before socially. Not a member of the St. Ann congregation was present. Both the Stills were in an ill-humor, and Virgy, though she was kind and cordial, looked wretchedly unhappy. Mrs. Welch was glad that, for once, she had not permitted her principles to override her instincts, and had left Ruth at home. As she glanced about her, her gaze rested on her host. Hiram Still was talking to one of his guests, a small, stumpy, red-headed man with a twinkling eye and a bristly red mustache, whom Mrs. Welch recognized as an office-holder who had come down from one of the Northern States.

Still was talking in a high, complaining voice.

“Yes,” he said, evidently in answer to a speech by his guest, “it is a fine party—the finest ever given in this County. It ought to be; I’ve spent enough money on it to buy a plantation, and to show my friendliness I invited my neighbors. Some of ’em I didn’t have no call to invite,—and yet just look around you. I’ve got a lot of folks from the city I don’t know, and some from the County I know too well; but not one of my old neighbors has come—not one gentleman has put his foot here this night.”

His guest glanced round the hall, and ended with a quizzical look up in Still’s face. “Of course, what did you expect? Do you suppose, Still, if I were a gentleman I’d have come to your party? I’d have seen you d—d first. Let’s go and have some more champagne.”

It was the first time the fact had struck Mrs. Welch. It was true—there was not a gentleman there except her husband.

When Mrs. Welch left, shortly afterward, Still and his guest had evidently got more champagne. Still was vowing that it was the finest party ever given in Red Rock, even if there wasn’t a gentleman present; and his guest was laughing and egging him on. As Major and Mrs. Welch waited for their carriage, Leech passed with Miss Krafton on his arm. Mrs. Welch drove home in silence. There were things she did not wholly understand.