A Gentleman Vagabond and Some Others | Page 7

and adding that he would have
paid for them himself only a friend had disappointed him.
It was evident that the barkeeper knew his peculiarities, for a tall, black
bottle with a wabbly cork--consisting of a porcelain marble confined in
a miniature bird-cage--was passed to the major before he had opened
his mouth. When he did open it--the mouth--there was no audible
protest as regards the selection. When he closed it again the flow line
had fallen some three fingers. It is, however, fair to the major to say
that only one third of this amount was tucked away under his own
waistcoat.
The trip down the bay was particularly enjoyable, brightened outside
on the water by the most brilliant of sunsets, the afternoon sky a glory
of purple and gold, and made gay and delightful inside the after-cabin
by the charm of the major's talk,--the whole passenger-list entranced as
he skipped from politics and the fine arts to literature, tarrying a
moment in his flight to discuss a yellow-backed book that had just been
published, and coming to a full stop with the remark:--
"And you haven't read that book, Jack,--that scurrilous attack on the
industries of the South? My dear fellow! I'm astounded that a man of
yo' gifts should not--Here--just do me the favor to look through my
baggage on the upper deck, and bring me a couple of books lyin' on top
of my dressin'-case."
"Which trunk, major?" asked Jack, a slight smile playing around his
mouth.
"Why, my sole-leather trunk, of co'se; or perhaps that English
hat-box--no, stop, Jack, come to think, it is in the small valise. Here,
take my keys," said the major, straightening his back, squeezing his fat
hand into the pocket of his skin-tight trousers, and fishing up with his

fore-finger a small bunch of keys. "Right on top, Jack; you can't miss
it."
"Isn't he just too lovely for anything?" said Jack to me, when we
reached the upper deck,--I had followed him out. "He's wearing now
the only decent suit of clothes he owns, and the rest of his wardrobe
you could stuff into a bandbox. English sole-leather trunk! Here, put
your thumb on that catch," and he drew out the major's bag,--the one,
of course, that Jefferson unpacked, with the galvanized-iron clasps and
paper-leather sides.
The bag seemed more rotund, and heavier, and more important looking
than when I handled it that afternoon in front of Delmonico's,
presenting a well-fed, even a bloated, appearance. The clasps, too,
appeared to have all they could do to keep its mouth shut, while the
hinges bulged in an ominous way.
I started one clasp, the other gave way with a burst, and the next instant,
to my horror, the major's wardrobe littered the deck. First the books,
then a package of tobacco, then the one shirt, porcelain-finished collars,
and the other necessaries, including a pair of slippers and a comb. Next,
three bundles loosely wrapped, one containing two wax dolls, the
others some small toys, and a cheap Noah's ark, and last of all, wrapped
up in coarse, yellow butcher's paper, stained and moist, a freshly cut
porter-house steak.
Jack roared with laughter as he replaced the contents. "Yes; toys for the
little children--he never goes back without something for them if it
takes his last dollar; tobacco for his old cook, Rachel; not a thing for
himself, you see--and this steak! Who do you suppose he bought that
for?"
"Did you find it?" called out the major, as we reëntered the cabin.
"Yes; but it wasn't in the English trunk," said Jack, handing back the
keys, grave as a judge, not a smile on his face.
"Of co'se not; didn't I tell you it was in the small bag? Now, gentlemen,

listen!" turning the leaves. "Here is a man who has the impertinence to
say that our industries are paralyzed. It is not our industries; it is our
people. Robbed of their patrimony, their fields laid waste, their estates
confiscated by a system of foreclosure lackin' every vestige of decency
and co'tesy,--Shylocks wantin' their pound of flesh on the very hour and
day,--why shouldn't they be paralyzed?" He laughed heartily. "Jack,
you know Colonel Dorsey Kent, don't you?"
Jack did not, but the owners of several names on the passenger-list did,
and hitched their camp-stools closer.
"Well, Kent was the only man I ever knew who ever held out against
the damnable oligarchy."
Here an old fellow in a butternut suit, with a half-moon of white
whiskers tied under his chin, leaned forward in rapt attention.
The major braced himself, and continued: "Kent, gentlemen, as many
of you know, lived with his maiden sister over on Tinker Neck, on the
same piece of ground where he was bo'n. She had a life