A Gentleman Vagabond and Some Others | Page 9

minutes were seated in a country stage. Ten more, and we backed up to
an old-fashioned colonial porch, with sloping roof and dormer windows
supported by high white columns. Leaning over the broken railing of
the porch was a half-grown negro boy, hatless and bare-footed; inside
the door, looking furtively out, half concealing her face with her apron,
stood an old negro woman, her head bound with a bandana kerchief,
while peeping from behind an outbuilding was a group of children in
sun-bonnets and straw hats,--"the farmer's boys and girls," the major
said, waving his hand, as we drove up, his eyes brightening. Then there
was the usual collection of farm-yard fowl, beside two great hounds,

who visited each one of us in turn, their noses rubbing our knees.
If the major, now that he was on his native heath, realized in his own
mind any difference between the Eldorado which his eloquence had
conjured up in my own mind, the morning before in Jack's room, and
the hard, cold facts before us, he gave no outward sign. To all
appearances, judging from his perfect ease and good temper, the
paint-scaled pillars were the finest of Carrara marble, the bare floors
were carpeted with the softest fabrics of Turkish looms, and the big,
sparsely furnished rooms were so many salons, where princes trod in
pride, and fair ladies stepped a measure.
The only remark he made was in answer to a look of surprise on my
face when I peered curiously into the bare hall and made a cursory
mental inventory of its contents.
"Yes, colonel; you will find, I regret to say, some slight changes since
the old days. Then, too, my home is in slight confusion owin' to the
spring cleanin', and a good many things have been put away."
I looked to Jack for explanation, but if that thoroughbred knew where
the major had permanently put the last batch of his furniture, he, too,
gave no outward sign.
As for the servants, were there not old Rachel and Sam, chef and valet?
What more could one want? The major's voice, too, had lost none of its
persuasive powers.
"Here, Sam, you black imp, carry yo' Marster Jack's gun and things to
my room, and, Rachel, take the colonel's bag to the sea-room, next to
the dinin'-hall. Breakfast in an hour, gentlemen, as Mrs. Slocomb used
to say."
I found only a bed covered with a quilt, an old table with small drawers,
a wash-stand, two chairs, and a desk on three legs. The walls were bare
except for a fly-stained map yellow with age. As I passed through the
sitting-room, Rachel preceding me with my traps, I caught a glimpse of
traces of better times. There was a plain wooden mantelpiece, a wide

fireplace with big brass andirons, a sideboard with and without brass
handles and a limited number of claw feet,--which if brought under the
spell of the scraper and varnish-pot might once more regain its lost
estate,--a corner-cupboard built into the wall, half full of fragments of
old china, and, to do justice to the major's former statement, there was
also a pair of dull old mahogany doors with glass knobs separating the
room from some undiscovered unknown territory of bareness and
emptiness beyond. These, no doubt, were the doors Anthony threw
open for the bevies of beauties so picturesquely described by the major,
but where were the Chippendale furniture, the George III. silver, the
Italian marble mantels with carved lions' heads, the marquetry floors
and cabinets?
I determined to end my mental suspense. I would ask Rachel and get at
the facts. The old woman was opening the windows, letting in the fresh
breath of a honeysuckle, and framing a view of the sea beyond.
"How long have you lived here, aunty?"
"'Most fo'ty years, sah. Long 'fo' Massa John Talbot died."
"Where's old Anthony?" I said.
"What Anthony? De fust major's body-servant?"
"Yes."
"Go 'long, honey. He's daid dese twenty years. Daid two years 'fo'
Massa Slocomb married Mis' Talbot."
"And Anthony never waited at all on Major Slocomb?"
"How could he wait on him, honey, when he daid 'fo' he see him?"
I pondered for a moment over the picturesque quality of the major's
mendacity.
Was it, then, only another of the major's tributes to his wife,--this
whole story of Anthony and the madeira of '39? How he must have

loved this dear relict of his military predecessor!
An hour later the major strolled into the sitting-room, his arm through
Jack's.
"Grand old place, is it not?" he said, turning to me. "Full of historic
interest. Of co'se the damnable oligarchy has stripped us, but"--
Here Aunt Rachel flopped in--her slippers, I mean; the sound was
distinctly audible.
"Bre'kfus', major."
"All right, Rachel. Come, gentlemen!"