Part 11

Much had been heard of Miss Callena before she had been selected as the guiding genius of the new venture. She had even visited Fox Run, which prided itself greatly on the event. Flattering rumours were afloat in regard to her beauty and brilliancy. She was from Lexington. What further recommendation as to her personal charms did she need? She was to come in on Saturday evening, and as the railroad had not deigned to come nearer to Miltonville than Fox Run station,—another thorn in the side of the Miltonvillians,—Mr. Dunkin, as the important official in the affair, was delegated to go and bring the fair one into her kingdom.

Now, Mr. Dunkin was a man of deliberation. He prided himself upon that. He did nothing in a hurry. Nothing came from him without due forethought. So, in this case, before going for Miss Callena, he visited Mr. Alonzo Taft. Who was Mr. Taft? Of course you have never been to Miltonville or you would never have asked that question. Mr. Alonzo Taft was valet to Major Richardson, who lived in the great house on the hill overlooking the town. He not only held this distinguished position in that aristocratic household, but he was the black beau ideal and social mentor for all the town.

Him, then, did Mr. Dunkin seek, and delivered himself as follows: “Mistah Tat’, you reco’nise de dooty dat is laid upon me by bein’ a membah of de school-boa’d. I has got to go to de depot aftah Miss Callena Johnson to-morrow aftahnoon. Now, Mistah Taf’, I is a delibut man myse’f. I is mighty keerful what I does an’ how I does it. As you know, I ain’t no man fu’ society, an’ conserkently I is not convusant wid some of de manipulations of comp’ny. So I t’ought I’d come an’ ax yo’ advice about sev’al t’ings,—what to waih, an’ which side o’ de wagon to have Miss Callena on, an’ how to he’p huh in, an’ so fofe.”

“Why, of co’se, Mr. Dunkin,” said the elegant Alonzo, “I shell be happy to administah any instructions to you dat lies within my powah.”

Mr. Taft was a perfect second edition of Major Richardson bound in black hide.

“But,” he went on in a tone of dignified banter, “we shell have to keep a eye on you prosp’ous bachelors. You may be castin’ sheep-eyes at Miss Callena.”

“Dat ’u’d be mo’ nachul an’ fittener in a young man lak you,” said Mr. Dunkin, deliberately.

“Oh, I has been located in my affections too long to lif’ anchor now.”

“You don’ say,” said the “prosp’ous bachelor,” casting a quick glance at the speaker.

“Yes, indeed, suh.”

So they chatted on, and in the course of time the deliberate Dunkin got such information as he wished, and departed in the happy consciousness that on the morrow he should do the proper and only the proper thing.

After he was gone, Alonzo Taft rubbed his chin and mused: “I wonder what ol’ man Dunkin’s got in his head. Dey say he’s too slow an’ thinks too long evah to git married. But you watch dem thinkin’ people when dey do make up deir minds.”

On the morrow, when Mr. Dunkin went forth, he outshone Solomon in all his glory. When he came back, the eyes of all the town saw Miss Callena Johnson, beribboned and smiling, sitting on his right and chatting away vivaciously. As to her looks, the half had not been told. As to her manners, those smiles and head-tossings gave promise of unheard-of graces, and the hearts of all Miltonville throbbed as one.

Alonzo Taft was lounging carelessly on the corner as the teacher and her escort passed along. He raised his hat to them with that sweeping, graceful gesture which was known to but two men in that vicinity, himself and Major Richardson. After some hesitation as to which hand should retain the reins, Mr. Dunkin returned the salute.

The next day being Sunday, and universal calling-day in Miltonville, Eli Thompson’s house, where Miss Callena had taken up her abode, was filled with guests. All the beaux in town were there, resplendent in their Sunday best. Many a damsel sat alone that afternoon whose front room no Sunday before had seen untenanted. Mr. Taft was there, and also one who came early and stayed late,—Mr. Dunkin. The younger men thought that he was rather overplaying his rôle of school trustee. He was entirely too conscientious as to his duty to Miss Callena. What the young beaux wanted to know was whether it was entirely in his official position that he sat so long with Miss Callena that first Sabbath.

On Monday morning the school opened with great _éclat_. There were exercises. The trustee was called upon to make a speech, and, as speech-making is the birthright of his race, acquitted himself with credit. The teacher was seen to smile at him as he sat down.

Now, under ordinary circumstances a smile is a small thing. It is given, taken, and forgotten all in a moment. At other times it is the keynote to the tragedy or comedy of a life. Miss Callena’s smile was like an electric spark setting fire to a whole train of combustibles. Those who saw it marvelled and told their neighbours, and their neighbours asked them what it meant. Before night, that smile and all the import it might carry was the town’s talk.

Alonzo Taft had seen it. Unlike the others, he said nothing to his neighbours. He questioned himself only. To him that smile meant familiarity, good-fellowship, and a thorough mutual understanding. He looked into the dark, dancing eyes of Miss Callena, and in spite of his statement of a few days ago that he had been located too long to “lif’ anchor,” he felt a pang at his heart that was like the first stab of jealousy. So he was deeply interested that evening when Maria, his fellow-servant, told him that Mr. Dunkin was waiting to see him. He hurried through with his work, even leaving a speck of lint on the major’s coat,—an unprecedented thing,—and hastened down to his guest.

A look of great seriousness and determination was fixed upon the features of the “prosp’ous bachelor” as his host made his appearance and invited him up to his room.

Mr. Dunkin was well seated and had his pipe going before he began: “Mistah Taf’, I allus has ’lowed dat you was a sensible young man an’ a pu’son of mo’ dan o’dina’y intel’gence.”

“You flattah me, Mistah Dunkin, you flattah me, suh.”

“Now I’s a man, Mistah Taf’, dat don’t do nuffin’ in a hu’y. I don’ mek up my min’ quick ’bout myse’f ner ’bout othah people. But when my min’ is made up, it’s made up. Now I come up hyeah to cornfide in you ’bout somep’n’. I was mighty glad to hyeah you say de othah day dat yo’ ’fections was done sot an’ located, because hit meks me free to talk to you ’bout a mattah, seein’ dat hit’s a mattah of my own ’fections.”

“This is ve’y int’rustin’, Mistah Dunkin; go on.”

“I’s a-cornfidin’ in you because you is a young man of presentment an’ knows jes’ how to pu’sue a co’se of cou’tin’. I unnerstan’ dat you is ingaged to Miss Marfy Madison.”

Mr. Taft smiled with a sudden accession of modesty, either real or assumed.

“Now, I ain’t nevah had no experunce in cou’tin’ ladies, because I nevah ’spected to ma’y. But hit’s nachul dat a man should change his min’, Mistah Taf’, ’specially ’bout sich a mattah as matermony.”

“Nothin’ mo’ nachul in de world.”

“So, when I seed dat it was pos’ble to bring sich a young lady as I hyeahed Miss Callena Johnson was, to Miltonville, by jes’ havin’ a school, I wo’ks to have de school.”

“Oh, dat’s de reason you commence to tek sich a int’rus’, huh!” The expression slipped from Alonzo’s lips.

“Don’ narrow me down, Mistah Taf’, don’ narrow me down! Dat was one o’ de reasons. Howsomevah, we has de school an’ Miss Callena is hyeah. So fa’ my wo’k is good. But I ’low dat no man dat ain’t experunced in cou’tin’ ort to tek de ’sponsibility alone.”

“Of co’se not!” said Alonzo.

“So I t’ought I’d ax you to he’p me by drappin’ roun’ to Miss Callena’s ’casionally an’ puttin’ in a word fu’ me. I unnerstan’ dat women-folks laks to hyeah ’bout de man dat’s cou’tin’ dem, f’om de outside. Now, you kin be of gret suhvice to me, an’ you won’t lose nothin’ by it. Jes’ manage to let Miss Callena know ’bout my propity, an’ ’bout my hogs an’ my hosses an’ my chickens, an’ dat I’s buyin’ mo’ lan’. Drap it kind o’ delikit lak. Don’ mention my name too often. Will you he’p me out dat-away?”

“W’y, co’se I will, Mr. Dunkin. It’ll gi’ me gret pleasuah to he’p you in dis way, an’ I’ll be jes’ as delikit as anybody kin.”

“Dat’s right; dat’s right.”

“I won’t mention yo’ name too much.”

“Dat’s right.”

“I’ll jes’ hint an’ hint an’ hint.”

“Dat’s right. You jes’ got it right ezactly, an’ you sha’n’t lose nothin’ by it, I tell you.”

The “prosp’ous bachelor” rose in great elation, and shook Mr. Taft’s hand vigorously as he departed.

“Miss Marfy, Miss Callena: Miss Callena, Miss Marfy,” repeated Mr. Taft, as he stood musing after his visitor had gone.

It may have been zeal in the cause of his good friend, or it may have been some very natural desire for appreciation of his own merits, that prompted Alonzo Taft to dress with such extreme care for his visit to Miss Callena Johnson on the next night. He did explain his haste to make the call by telling himself that if he was going to do anything for Mr. Dunkin he had better be about it. But this anxiety on his protégé’s account did not explain why he put on his fawn-coloured waistcoat, which he had never once worn when visiting Miss Martha, nor why he needed to be so extraordinarily long in tying his bow tie. His beaver was rubbed and caressed until it shone again. Major Richardson himself had not looked better in that blue Prince Albert coat, when it was a year newer. Thus arrayed, stepping manfully and twirling a tiny cane, did the redoubtable Mr. Taft set out for the conquest of Miss Callena Johnson. It is just possible that it was Alonzo’s absorption in his own magnificence that made him forgetfully walk down the very street on which Miss Martha Madison’s cottage was situated. Miss Martha was at the gate. He looked up and saw her, but too late to retreat.

“La! Mistah Taf’,” said Miss Martha, smiling as she opened the gate for him. “I wasn’t expectin’ you dis evenin’. Walk right in.”

“I—I—I—thank you, Miss Marfy, thank you,” replied the dark beau, a bit confused but stepping through the gateway. “It’s a mighty fine evenin’ we’re havin’.”

“I don’t wunner you taken yo’se’f out fu’ a walk. I was thinkin’ ’bout goin’ out myse’f ontwell I seen you comin’ along. You mus’ ’a’ been mighty tuk up wif de weathah, ’cause you hahdly knowed when you got to de gate. I thought you was a-goin’ to pass on by.”

“Oh, I couldn’t pass dis gate. I’m so used to comin’ hyeah dat I reckon my feet ’u’d jes’ tu’n up de walk of dey own accord.”

“Dey didn’t tu’n up dat walk much Sunday. Whaih was you all day aftah mo’nin’ chu’ch? I ’spected you up in de aft’noon.”

“I—I—would ’a’ been”—Mr. Taft was beginning to writhe upon his chair—“but I had to go out to mek some calls.”

“Oh, yes,” retorted Miss Martha, good-naturedly, “I reckon you was one o’ dem gent’mans dat was settin’ up at de schoolteachah’s house.”

“I fu’ one was callin’ on Miss Callena. Hit’s only propah when a strange lady come to town fu’ de gent’men to call an’ pay deir ’spects.”

“I reckon hit ain’t propah fu’ de gent’mans to tek none o’ de ladies to call.”

“I ain’t ’scussin’ dat,” said Mr. Taft, with some acerbity.

“Of co’se you ain’t. Well, hit ain’t none o’ my bus’ness, to be sho. I ain’t thinkin’ nothin’ ’bout myse’f or none o’ de things you been sayin’ to me. But all I got to say is, you bettah leave Miss Callena, as you call huh, alone, ’cause evahbody say ol’ man Dunkin got his eyes sot on huh, an’ he gwine to win. Dey do say, too, dat he outsot you all, Sunday.”

Nothing could have hurt Alonzo Taft’s pride more than this, or more thoroughly aroused his dignity.

“Ef I wanted Miss Callena Johnson,” he said, “I wouldn’t stan’ back fu’ nobody like ol’ man Dunkin.”

“I reckon you wouldn’t, but you might set in an’ git jes’ nachully sot back;” and Martha laughed maliciously.

“I ain’t boastin’ ’bout what I could do ef I had a min’ to, but I ’low ef I wan’ed to set my cap fu’ any young lady, I wouldn’t be feared o’ no ol’ man dat don’t know nothin’ but hogs an’ chickens.”

“Nevah min’! Dem hogs an’ chickens fetches money, an’ dat’s what yo’ fine city ladies wants, an’ don’t you fu’git it.”

“Money ain’t a-gwine to mek no ol’ man young.”

“De ol’ man wa’n’t too ol’ to outset you all young men anyhow.”

“Dey’s somep’n’ mo’ to cou’tin’ ’sides settin’.”

“Yes, but a long set an’ a long pocket is mighty big evidence.”

“I don’t keer ef it is. Wha—what’s de use of argyin’? I do’ want Miss Callena nohow—I do’ want huh.”

“You stahted de argyment; I didn’t staht it. You ain’t goin’, is you?”

“I got to go,” said Alonzo, with his hand on the door-knob; “I done ovahstayed my time now.”

“Whaih you gwine to?”

“I—I—oh, I’m goin’ down de street. Don’ ax whaih I’m a-goin’ to, Miss Marfy; it ain’t good raisin’.”

“I unnerstan’ you, ’Lonzo Taf’. I unnerstood you when you fus’ come in, all rigged out in yo’ fines’ clothes. You did’n’ ’low to stop hyeah nohow. You gwine down to see dat teachah, dat’s whaih you gwine.”

“Well, s’posin’ I am, s’posin’ I am?”

“Well, s’posin’ you is,” repeated Miss Martha. “Why, go on. But I hope you won’t run acrost ol’ man Dunkin ag’in an’ git outsot.”

“I ain’t afeard o’ runnin’ acrost ol’ man Dunkin,” said Alonzo, as he went out; and he smiled an inscrutable smile.

Martha watched him as he went down the street and faded into the darkness. Then she went in and locked her door.

“I don’t keer,” she said to herself, “I don’t keer a bit. Ef he wants huh, he kin go ’long an’ git huh. I ’low she’ll be glad enough to have him. I ain’t gwine to try an’ hol’ him a bit.” Then, to fortify her resolution, she buried her face in her apron and sobbed out the fulness of her heart.

Mr. Taft’s good-humour and gallantry came back to him as he knocked at Eli Thompson’s door and asked for the teacher. Yes, she was in, and came smiling into the front room to see him. He carefully picked his phrases of greeting, shook her hand gently, and hoped that she was enjoying good health.

Alonzo rather prided himself on the elegance of his conversation. His mind rebelled against the idea of having to talk hogs to this divine creature, and for some one else besides.

“Reely, Miss Callena, I do’ know as de gent’men ought to bothah you by callin’ ’roun’ in de evenin’. Haid wo’k is so hahd dat aftah yo’ dooties endurin’ de day you mus’ be mos’ nigh wo’ out when night comes.”

“Oh, I assure you you are wrong, Mr. Taft. I am not very tired, and if I were there is nothing that rests the mind like agreeable company.” And oh, the ravishing smile as she said this! Alonzo felt his head going.

“I don’t reckon even agreeable company ’u’d res’ me aftah labourin’ wif some o’ de childern you’ve got in yo’ school; I knows ’em.”

“Well, it’s true they’re not all of them saints.”

“No, indeed, they’re not saints. I don’t see how a slendah, delikit lady like yo’se’f kin manage ’em, ’less ’n you jes’ ’spire ’em wif respect.”

“I can see already,” she answered, “that it is going to take something more than inspiration to manage the rising generation of Miltonville.”

Here was Alonzo’s opportunity. He cast his eyes romantically toward the ceiling.

“I c’nfess,” he said, “dat I am one o’ dem dat believes dat yo’ sex ought to be mo’ fu’ o’nament. You ought to have de strong ahms of a man to pertect you an’ manage fu’ you.”

If that was a twinkle which for an instant lightened the dark eyes of Miss Callena, Mr. Taft did not see it, for his own orbs were still feelingly contemplating the ceiling.

“Ah, yes,” sighed the teacher, “the strong arms of man would save poor woman a great deal; but it is always the same difficulty, to find them both strong and willing.”

“Oh, I know ef you was de lady in question, dey’d be plenty dat was willin’ right hyeah in dis town.” Alonzo went on impetuously, “Men dat owns houses an’ lan’ an’ hosses an’ hogs, even dey’d be willin’ ef it was you.”

Miss Callena’s eyes were discreetly cast down.

“Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Taft.”

“Flattah you! No, ma’am. You don’t know lak I do. You have sholy brought new life into dis hyeah town, an’ all Miltonville’ll tek off its hat to you. Dat’s de way we feel to’ds you.”

“I am sure I appreciate these kind words of yours, and I hope that I shall be able to keep the good opinion of Miltonville.”

“Jes’ as Miltonville hopes dat it may be pu’mitted to keep you,” said Alonzo, gallantly. And so the conversation went along merrily.

It was after ten o’clock before the enamoured caller could tear himself away from the soft glance and musical voice of the teacher. Then he told her: “Miss Callena, I sholy have injoyed dis evenin’. It has been one of de most unctious in all my life. I shell nevah fu’git it so long as I am pu’mitted to remain on dis earth.”

In return, she said that the pleasure had been mutual, and it had been so kind of him to come in and take her mind off the cares of the day, and she did so hope that he would call again.

Would he call again! Could he stay away?

He went away walking on air. The beaver was tilted far back on his head, and the cane was more furiously twirled. The blue Prince Albert was thrown wide, showing the fawn-coloured waistcoat in all its glory.

“Miss Callena, Miss Marfy, Mr. Dunkin an’ me!” said Mr. Taft; and he chuckled softly to himself. Then he added: “Well, I did speak ’bout de hosses an’ de hogs an’ de lan’, didn’t I; well, what mo’ could I do? Of co’se, I didn’t say whose dey was; but he didn’t want me to mention no names—jes’ to hint, an’ I did hint. Nobody couldn’t ask no mo’ dan dat.”

Thus does that duplicity which is resident in the hearts of men seek to deceive even itself, making shining virtues of its shadiest acts.

In the days that ensued, Alonzo availed himself of Miss Callena’s invitation to call, and went often. If he was trying or had succeeded in deceiving himself as to his feelings, in the minds of two sagacious women there was yet no doubt about his intentions. The clear eyes of the teacher could do something besides sparkle; they could see. And she wondered and smiled at the beau’s veiled wooing. From the first gorgeous moment of the fawn-coloured waistcoat and the blue Prince Albert, the other woman, Martha, had seen through her recreant lover as by inspiration. She constantly brooded over his infidelity. He had entirely deserted her now, not even making any pretence of caring what she thought of him. For a while the girl went stolidly about her own business, and tried to keep her mind from dwelling on him. But his elegance and grace would come back to her with the memory of their pleasant days of courtship, and fill her heart with sorrow. Did she care for him still? Of course she did. The admission hurt her pride, but fostered in her a strong determination. If she did love him and had dared to confess so much to herself, she had already reached the lowest depths of humiliation. It could be no worse to make an effort to retain her lover. This resolution gave her warrant to accost Mr. Dunkin the next time she saw him pass the house.

“Howdy, Mistah Dunkin?—how you come on?”

“Jes’ tol’able, Miss Marfy. How’s yo’se’f?”

“Mode’t’, thanky, jes’ mode’t’. How de school-house come on?”

“Oh, hit’s p’ogressin’ mos’ salub’ious, thanky, ma’am.”

“I would ax you how de teachah, but hit do seem dat Mistah Taf’ done beat yo’ time so claih dat you wouldn’t know nothin’ ’bout it.”

“Haw, haw, Miss Marfy, you sholy is de beatenes’ one to have yo’ joke.”

“I ’claih to goodness, Mistah Dunkin, I’s s’prised at a man o’ yo’ position lettin’ Mistah Taf’ git de bes’ of him dat way.”

“Nemmine, Miss Marfy, I ’low dat young man o’ yo’n done let out my secut, but you cain’t rig me ’bout hit.”

“I don’t unnerstan’ you. What young man, an’ what secut?”

“Oh, I reckon you an’ Mistah Taf’ ’ll soon be man an’ wife, an’ hit ain’t no hahm fu’ de wife to know what de husban’ know.”

“I do’ know huccome you say dat; Mistah Taf’ don’ have nothin’ to say to me; he cou’tin’ Miss Callena Johnson.”

“Don’ have nothin’ to say to you! Cou’tin’ Miss Callena!”

“Dat’s de reason I wants to know huccome you back out.”

“Back out! Who back out? Me back out? I ain’t nevah backed out: Mistah Taf’ foolin’ you.”

“’Tain’ me he’s a-foolin’. He may be foolin’ some folks, but hit ain’t Marfy Jane Madison. La, Mistah Dunkin, I knows colo’ed folks, I kin shet my eyes an’ put my han’s on ’em in de da’k. Co’se hit ain’t none o’ my business, but I know he ain’t puttin’ on his bes’ clothes, an’ gwine to see dat teachah th’ee times a week, ’less ’n he got notions in his haid. ’Tain’t in human natur, leastways not colo’ed human natur as I knows it. ’Tain’t me he’s a-foolin’.”

“Do he put on his best clothes an’ go th’ee times a week?”

“Dat he do, an’ ca’ies huh flowahs f’om ol’ Major Richardson’s pusservatory besides, an’ you ain’t makin’ a move.”

“Ain’t Mistah Taf’ nevah tol’ you nothin’?”

“Tol’ me nothin’! No, suhree. What he got to tell me?”

“Uh huh!” said Mr. Dunkin, thoughtfully. “Well, good-night, Miss Marfy. I’s glad I seed you; but I mus’ be gittin’ along. I got to delibe’ate ovah dis question.”

“Oh, yes; you go on an’ delibe’ate, dat’s right, an’ while you delibe’atin’, Mistah Taf’ he walk off wid de lady. But ’tain’t none o’ my business, ’tain’t none o’ my business.”