CHAPTER XXI
I AM THE WONDER OF THE HOUR
During the first year of my marriage I was already spoken of as the mostsuccessful speculator in the state. The whirlpool of finance had won mefrom the road, and I had sacrificed the single allegiance to the boldermoves of the game. Yet if I could be bold, I was cautious, too,--andthat peculiar quality which the General called "financial genius," andthe world named "the luck of the speculator," had enabled me to actalways between the two dangerous extremes of timidity and rashness. "Toget up when others sat down, and to sit down when others got up," I toldthe General one day, had been the rule by which I had played.
"They were talking of you at the club last night, Ben," he said. "Youwere the only one of us who had sense enough to load up with A. P. & C.stock when it was selling at 80, and now it's jumped up to 150. JimRandolph was fool enough to remark that you'd had the easiest success ofany man he knew."
"Easy? Does he think so?"
"So you call that easy, gentlemen?' I responded. 'Well, I tell you thatboy has sweated for it since he was seven years old. It's the only way,too, I'm sure of it. If you want to succeed, you've got to begin bysweating.'"
"Thank you, General, but I suppose most things look easy until you'vetried them."
"It doesn't look easy to me, Ben, when I've seen you at it all day andhalf the night since you were a boy. What I said to those fellows at theclub is the Gospel truth--there's but one way to get anything in thisworld, and that is by sweating for it."
We were in his study, to which he was confined by an attack of the gout,and at such times he loved to ramble on in his aging, reminiscent habit.
"You know, General," I said, "that they want me to accept the presidencyof the Union Bank in Jennings' place. I've been one of the directors,you see, for the last three or four years."
"You'd be the youngest bank president in the country. It's a good thing,and you'd control enough money to keep you awake at night. But remember,Ben, as my dear old coloured mammy used to say to me, 'to hatch firstain't always to crow last.'"
"Do you call it hatching or crowing to become president of the UnionBank?"
"That depends. If you're shrewd and safe, as I think you are, it mayturn out to be both. It would be a good plan, though, to say to yourselfevery time you come up Franklin Street, 'I've toted potatoes up thishill, and not my own potatoes either.' It's good for you, sir, toremember it, damned good."
"I'm not likely to forget it--they were heavy."
"It was the best thing that ever happened to you--it was the making ofyou. There's nothing I know so good for a man as to be able to rememberthat he toted somebody else's potatoes. Now, look at that George ofmine. He never toted a potato in his life--not even his own. If he had,he might have been a bank president to-day instead of the pleasant,well-dressed club-man he is, with a mustache like wax-work. I've anidea, Ben, but don't let it get any farther, that he never got over nothaving Sally, and that took the spirit out of him. She's well, ain'tshe?"
"Yes, she's very well and more beautiful than ever."
"Hasn't developed any principles yet, eh? I always thought they were inher."
"None that interfere with my comfort at any rate."
"Keep an eye on her and keep her occupied all the time. That's the wayto deal with a woman who has ideas--don't leave her a blessed minute tosit down and hatch 'em out. Pet her, dress her, amuse her, and whenevershe begins to talk about a principle, step out and buy her a present totake her mind off it. Anything no bigger than a thimble will turn awoman's mind in the right direction if you spring it on her like asurprise. Ah, that's the way her Aunt Matoaca ought to have beentreated. Poor Miss Matoaca, she went wrong for the want of a littlesimple management like that. You never saw Miss Matoaca Bland when shewas a girl, Ben?"
"I have heard she was beautiful."
"Beautiful ain't the word, sir! I tell you the first time I ever saw hershe came to church in a white poke bonnet lined with cherry-colouredsilk, and her cheeks exactly a match to her bonnet lining." He got outhis big silk handkerchief, and blew his nose loudly, after which hewiped his eyes, and sat staring moodily at his foot bandaged out of allproportion to its natural size.
"Who'd have thought to look at her then," he pursued, "that she'd gocracked over this Yankee abolition idea before she died."
"Why, I thought they owned slaves up to the end, General."
"Slaves? What have slaves got to do with it? Ain't the abolitionists andthe woman suffragists and the rest of those damned fire-eating Yankeesall the same? What they want to do is to overturn the Constitution, andit makes no difference to 'em whether they overturn it under one name orthe other. I tell you, Ben, as sure's my name's George Bolingbroke,Matoaca Bland couldn't have told me to the day of her death whether shewas an abolitionist or a woman's suffragist. When a woman goes crackedlike that, all she wants is to be a fire-eater, and I doubt if she everknows what she is eating it about. Women ain't like men, my boy, thereisn't an ounce of moderation to the whole sex, sir. Why, look at the waythey're always getting their hearts broken or their heads cracked. Theycan't feel an emotion or think an idea that something inside of 'emdoesn't begin to split. Now, did you ever hear of a man getting hisheart broken or his brain cracked?"
The canker was still there, doing its bitter work. For forty years MissMatoaca had had her revenge, and even in the grave her ghost would notlie quiet and let him rest. In his watery little eyes and hisprotruding, childish lip, I read the story of fruitless excesses and ofvain retaliations.
When I reached home, I found Sally in her upstairs sitting-room withJessy, who was trying on an elaborate ball gown of white lace. Since thetwo years of mourning were over, the little sister had come to stay withus, and Sally was filled with generous plans for the girl's pleasure.Jessy, herself, received it all with her reserved, indifferent manner,turning her beautiful profile upon us with an expression of saintlyserenity. It amused me sometimes to wonder what was behind the brilliantred and white of her complexion--what thoughts? what desires? whatimpulses? She went so placidly on her way, gaining what she wanted,executing what she planned, accepting what was offered to her, thatthere were moments when I felt tempted to arouse her by a burst ofanger--to discover if a single natural instinct survived the shiningpolish of her exterior. Sally had worked a miracle in her manner, herspeech, her dress; and yet in all that time I had never seen the rippleof an impulse cross the exquisite vacancy of her face. Did she feel? Didshe think? Did she care? I demanded. Once or twice I had spoken ofPresident, trying to excite a look of gratitude, if not of affection;but even then no change had come in the mirror-like surface of her blueeyes. President, I was aware, had sacrificed himself to her while I wasstill a child, had slaved and toiled and denied himself that he mightmake her a lady. Yet when I asked her if she ever wrote to him, shesmiled quietly and shook her head.
"Why don't you write to him, Jessy? He was always fond of you."
"He writes such dreadful letters--just like a working-man's--that I hateto get them," she answered, turning to catch the effect of her train inthe long mirror.
"He is a working-man, Jessy, and so am I."
She accepted the statement without demur, as she acceptedeverything--neither denying nor disputing, but apparently indifferent toits truth or falseness. My eyes met Sally's in the glass, and they heldme in a long, compassionate gaze.
"All men are working-men, Jessy, if they are worth anything," she said,"and any work is good work if it is well done."
"He is a miner," responded Jessy.
"If he is, it is because he prefers to do the work he knows to beingidle," I answered sharply. "What you must remember is that when he hadlittle, and I had nothing, he gave you freely all that he had."
She did not answer, and for a moment I thought I had convinced her.
"Will you write to President to-night?" I asked.
"But we are having a dinner party. How can I?"
"To-morrow, then?"
"I am
going to the theatre with Mrs. Blansford. Mr. Cottrel has taken abox for her. He is one of the richest men in the West, isn't he?"
"There are a great many rich men in the West. How can it concern you?"
"Oh, it's beautiful to be rich," she returned, in the most enthusiasticphrase I had ever heard her utter; and gathering her white lace trainover her arm she went into her bedroom to remove the dress.
"What is she made of, Sally?" I asked, in sheer desperation; "flesh andblood, do you think?"
"I don't know, Ben, not your flesh and blood, certainly."
"But for President--why wasn't my father hanged before he gave him sucha name!--she would have remained ignorant and common with all herbeauty. He almost starved himself in order to send her to a good schooland give her pretty clothes."
"I know, I know, it seems terribly ungrateful--but perhaps she's excitedover her first dinner."
That evening we were to give our first formal dinner, and when I camedownstairs a little before eight o'clock, I found the rooms a bower ofazaleas, over which the pink-shaded lamps shed a light that touchedJessy's lace gown with pale rose.
"It's like fairyland, isn't it?" she said, "and the table is sobeautiful. Come and see the table."
She led me into the dining-room and we stood gazing down on thedecorations, while we waited for Sally.
"Who is coming, Jessy?"
"Twelve in all. General Bolingbroke and Mr. Bolingbroke, Mrs. Fitzhugh,Governor Blenner, Miss Page," she went on reading the cards, "Mr. Mason,Miss Watson, Colonel Henry, Mrs. Preston, Mrs. Tyler--"
"That will do. I'll know them when I see them. Do you like it, Jessy?"
"Yes, I like it. Isn't my dress lovely?"
"Very, but don't get spoiled. You see Sally has had this all her life,and she isn't spoiled."
"I don't believe she could be," she responded, for her admiration forSally was the most human thing I had ever discovered about her, "andshe's so beautiful--more beautiful, I think, than Bonny Page, though ofcourse nobody would agree with me."
"Well, she's perfect, and she always was and always will be," Ireturned.
"You're a great man, aren't you?" she asked suddenly, turning away fromthe table.
"Why, no. What in the world put that into your head?"
"Well, the General told Mr. Cottrel you were a genius, and Mr. Cottrelsaid you were the first genius he had ever heard of who measured sixfeet two in his stockings."
"Of course I'm not a genius. They were joking."
"You're rich anyway, and that's just as good."
I was about to make some sharp rejoinder, irritated by her insistence onthe distinction of wealth, when the sound of Sally's step fell on myears, and a moment later she came down the brilliantly lightedstaircase, her long black lace train rippling behind her. As she movedamong the lamps and azaleas, I thought I had never seen her moreradiant--not even on the night of her first party when she wore thewhite rose in her wreath of plaits. Her hair was arranged to-night inthe same simple fashion, her mouth was as vivid, her grey eyes held thesame mingling of light with darkness. But there was a deeper serenity inher face, brought there by the untroubled happiness of her marriage, andher figure had grown fuller and nobler, as if it had moulded itself tothe larger and finer purposes of life.
"The house is charming, Jessy is lovely, and you, Ben, are magnificent,"she said, her eyebrows arching merrily as she slipped her hand in myarm. "And it's a good dinner, too," she went on; "the terrapin isperfect. I sent into the country for the game, and the man fromWashington came down with the decorations and the ices. Best of all, Imade the salad myself, so be sure to eat it. We'll begin to be gay now,shan't we? Are you sure we have money enough for a ball?"
"We've money enough for anything that you want, Sally."
"Then I'll spend it--but oh! Ben, promise me you won't mention stocksto-night until the women have left the table."
"I'll promise you, and keep it, too. I don't believe I ever introduced asubject in my life to any woman but you."
"I'm glad, at least, there's one subject you didn't introduce to anyother."
Then the door-bell rang, and we hurried into the drawing-room in time toreceive Governor Blenner and the General, who arrived together.
"I almost got a fall on your pavement, Ben," said the General, "it'sbeginning to sleet. You'd better have some sawdust down."
It took me a few minutes to order the sawdust, and when I returned, theother guests were already in the room, and Sally was waiting to go in todinner on the arm of Governor Blenner, a slim, nervous-looking man, witha long iron-grey mustache. I took in Mrs. Tyler, a handsome widow, witha young face and snow-white hair, and we were no sooner seated than shebegan to tell me a story she had heard about me that morning.
"Carry James told me she gave her little boy a penny and asked him whathe meant to do with it. 'Ath Mithter Starr to thurn it into, aquarther,' he replied."
"Oh, he thinks that easy now, but he'll find out differently some day,"I returned.
She nodded brightly, with the interested, animated manner of a woman whorealises that the burden of conversation lies, not on the man'sshoulders, but on hers. While she ate her soup I knew that her alertmind was working over the subject which she intended to introduce withthe next course. From the other end of the table Sally's eyes wereraised to mine over the basket of roses and lilies. Jessy was listeningto George Bolingbroke, who was telling a story about the races, whilehis eyes rested on Sally, with a dumb, pained look that made me suddenlyfeel very sorry for him. I knew that he still loved her, but until I sawthat look in his eyes I had never understood what the loss of her musthave meant in his life. Suppose I had lost her, and he had won, and Ihad sat and stared at her across her own dinner table with my secretwritten in my eyes for her husband to read. A fierce sense of possessionswept over me, and I felt angered because his longing gaze was on herflushed cheeks and bare shoulders.
"No, no wine. I've drunk my last glass of wine unless I may hope for itin heaven," I heard the General say; "a little Scotch whiskey now andthen will see me safely to my grave."
"From champagne to Scotch whiskey was a flat fall, General," observedMrs. Tyler, my sprightly neighbour.
"It's not so flat as the fall to Lithia water, though," retorted theGeneral.
I was about to join vacantly in the laugh, when a sound in the doorwaycaused me to lift my eyes from my plate, and the next instant I satparalysed by the figure that towered there over the palms and azaleas.
"Why, Benjy boy!" cried a voice, in a tone of joyous surprise, and whileevery head turned instantly in the direction of the words, the candlesand the roses swam in a blur of colour before my eyes. Standing on thethreshold, between two flowering azaleas, with a palm branch wavingabove his head, was President, my brother, who was a miner. Twenty yearsago I had last seen him, and though he was rougher and older and greyernow, he had the same honest blue eyes and the same kind, sheepish face.The clothes he wore were evidently those in which he dressed himself forchurch on Sunday, and they made him ten times more awkward, ten timesmore ill at ease, than he would have looked in his suit of jeans.
"Why, Benjy boy!" he burst out again; "and little Jessy!"
I sprang to my feet, while a hot wave swept over me at the thought thatfor a single dreadful instant I had been ashamed of my brother. AlreadyI had pushed back my chair, but before I could move from my place, Sallyhad walked the length of the table, and stood, tall and queenly, betweenthe flowering azaleas, with her hand outstretched. There was no shame inher face, no embarrassment, no hesitation. Before I could speak she hadturned and come back to us, with her arm through President's, and neverin my eyes had she appeared so noble, so high-bred, so thoroughly aBland and a Fairfax as she did at that moment.
"Governor, this is my brother, Mr. Starr," she said in her low, clearvoice. "Ben has not seen him for twenty years, so if you will pardonhim, he will go upstairs with him to his room."
As I went toward her my glance swept the table for Jes
sy, and I saw thatshe was sitting perfectly still and colourless, crumbling a small pieceof bread, while her eyes clung to the basket of roses and lilies.
"Well, Benjy boy!" exclaimed President, too full for speech, "and littleJessy!"
In spite of his awkwardness and his Sunday clothes, he looked so happy,so uplifted by the sincerity of his affection above any false feeling ofshame, that the tears sprang to my eyes as I clasped his hand.
The governor had risen to speak to him, the General had done likewise.By their side Sally stood with a smile on her face and her hand on thetable. She was a Bland, after all, and the racial instinct within herhad risen to meet the crisis. They recognised it, I saw, and they, whoseblood was as blue as hers, responded generously to the call. Not one hadfailed her! Then my eyes fell on Jessy, sitting cold and silent, whileshe crumbled her bit of bread.