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one-thousandth part of a grain too much pressure, gentlemen, and you extract the
bitterness, instead of the aroma, of this heaven-bestowed plant"--to his solicitous
selection of the oaten straws.
At the close of the scene the audience raised a tumultuous roar of appreciation. The
portrayal of the type was so exact, so sure and thorough, that the leading characters in the
play were forgotten. After repeated calls, Hargraves came before the curtain and bowed,
his rather boyish face bright and flushed with the knowledge of success.
At last Miss Lydia turned and looked at the Major. His thin nostrils were working like the
gills of a fish. He laid both shaking hands upon the arms of his chair to rise.
"We will go, Lydia," he said chokingly. "This is an abominable--desecration."
Before he could rise, she pulled him back into his seat.
"We will stay it out," she declared. "Do you want to advertise the copy by exhibiting the
original coat?" So they remained to the end.
Hargraves's success must have kept him up late that night, for neither at the breakfast nor
at the dinner table did he appear.
About three in the afternoon he tapped at the door of Major Talbot's study. The Major
opened it, and Hargraves walked in with his hands full of the morning papers--too full of
his triumph to notice anything unusual in the Major's demeanor.
"I put it all over 'em last night, Major," he began exultantly. "I had my inning, and, I
think, scored. Here's what The Post says:
"'His conception and portrayal of the old-time Southern colonel, with his absurd
grandiloquence, his eccentric garb, his quaint idioms and phrases, his motheaten pride of
family, and his really kind heart, fastidious sense of honor, and lovable simplicity, is the
best delineation of a character role on the boards to-day. The coat worn by Colonel
Calhoun is itself nothing less than an evolution of genius. Mr. Hargraves has captured his
public.'
"How does that sound, Major, for a first-nighter?"
"I had the honor"--the Major's voice sounded ominously frigid--"of witnessing your very
remarkable performance, sir, last night."
Hargraves looked disconcerted.
"You were there? I didn't know you ever--I didn't know you cared for the theater. Oh, I
say, Major Talbot," he exclaimed frankly, "don't you be offended. I admit I did get a lot
of pointers from you that helped out wonderfully in the part. But it's a type, you know--
not individual. The way the audience caught on shows that. Half the patrons of that
theater are Southerners. They recognized it."
"Mr. Hargraves," said the Major, who had remained standing, "you have put upon me an
unpardonable insult. You have burlesqued my person, grossly betrayed my confidence,
and misused my hospitality. If I thought you possessed the faintest conception of what is
the sign manual of a gentleman, or what is due one, I would call you out, sir, old as I am.
I will ask you to leave the room, sir."
The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to take in the full
meaning of the old gentleman's words.
"I am truly sorry you took offense," he said regretfully. "Up here we don't look at things
just as you people do. I know men who would buy out half the house to have their
personality put on the stage so the public would recognize it."
"They are not from Alabama, sir," said the Major haughtily.
"Perhaps not. I have a pretty good memory, Major; let me quote a few lines from your
book. In response to a toast at a banquet given in--Milledgeville, I believe--you uttered,
and intend to have printed, these words:
"'The Northern man is utterly without sentiment or warmth except in so far as the feelings
may be turned to his own commercial profit. He will suffer without resentment any
imputation cast upon the honor of himself or his loved ones that does not bear with it the
consequence of pecuniary loss. In his charity, he gives with a liberal hand; but it must be
heralded with the trumpet and chronicled in brass.'
"Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of Colonel Calhoun last night?"
"The description," said the Major, frowning, "is--not without grounds. Some exag--
latitude must be allowed in public speaking."
"And in public acting," replied Hargraves.
"That is not the point," persisted the Major, unrelenting. "It was a personal caricature. I
positively decline to overlook it, sir."
"Major Talbot," said Hargraves, with a winning smile, "I wish you would understand me.
I want you to know that I never dreamed of insulting you. In my profession, all life
belongs to me. I take what I want, and what I can, and return it over the footlights. Now,
if you will, let's let it go at that. I came in to see you about something else. We've been
pretty good friends for some months, and I'm going to take the risk of offending you
again. I know you are hard up for money--never mind how I found out, a boarding house
is no place to keep such matters secret--and I want you to let me help you out of the
pinch. I've been there often enough myself. I've been getting a fair salary all the season,
and I've saved some money. You're welcome to a couple hundred--or even more--until
you get----"
"Stop!" commanded the Major, with his arm outstretched. "It seems that my book didn't
lie, after all. You think your money salve will heal all the hurts of honor. Under no
circumstances would I accept a loan from a casual acquaintance; and as to you, sir, I
would starve before I would consider your insulting offer of a financial adjustment of the
circumstances we have discussed. I beg to repeat my request relative to your quitting the
apartment."
Hargraves took his departure without another word. He also left the house the same day,
moving, as Mrs. Vardeman explained at the supper table, nearer the vicinity of the
downtown theater, where A Magnolia Flower was booked for a week's run.
Critical was the situation with Major Talbot and Miss Lydia. There was no one in
Washington to whom the Major's scruples allowed him to apply for a loan. Miss Lydia
wrote a letter to Uncle Ralph, but it was doubtful whether that relative's constricted
affairs would permit him to furnish help. The Major was forced to make an apologetic
address to Mrs. Vardeman regarding the delayed payment for board, referring to
"delinquent rentals" and "delayed remittances" in a rather confused strain.
Deliverance came from an entirely unexpected source.
Late one afternoon the door maid came up and announced an old colored man who
wanted to see Major Talbot. The Major asked that he be sent up to his study. Soon an old
darkey appeared in the doorway, with his hat in hand, bowing, and scraping with one
clumsy foot. He was quite decently dressed in a baggy suit of black. His big, coarse shoes
shone with a metallic luster suggestive of stove polish. His bushy wool was gray--almost
white. After middle life, it is difficult to estimate the age of a negro. This one might have
seen as many years as had Major Talbot.
"I be bound you don't know me, Mars' Pendleton," were his first words.
The Major rose and came forward at the old, familiar style of address. It was one of the
old plantation darkeys without a doubt; but they had been widely scattered, and he could
not recall the voice or face.
"I don't believe I do," he said kindly--"unless you will assist my memory."
"Don't you 'member Cindy's Mose, Mars' Pendleton, what 'migrated 'mediately after de
war?"
"Wait a moment," said the Major, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. He
loved to recall everything connected with those beloved days. "Cindy's Mose," he
reflected. "You worked among the horses--breaking the colts. Yes, I remember now. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]