CHAPTER V.

When the lawyer's note, by anticipation, announced the arrest described in the last chapter, Aunt Fanny, like an old spirit of the turf, began to groom for that other match. I declare it was not an unlovely sight to see the two women, youth and its affectation, wrapping arms about each other in joyous mood over this double victory.

The dowager took occasion to praise her nephew's gallantry, the chivalry that prompted him to take up an old woman's quarrel, with hints that the other party, even if his rhymes had been unintentional, betrayed a rudeness that ill became the Vere de Vere. Perhaps this part, as it included little Sue, had as well have been left out, but Aunt Fanny had her points to make, and always played a bold, high game.

As the two sang pæans of victory another note came from the lawyer, which quite altered the complexion of things. That ready gamester, Lind Mason, had played again and completely turned the tables on Aunt Fanny, using her own weapons to wrench victory from her:

"DEAR MRS. BROWN: I regret to say your nephew and his accomplice Levison have played us a scoundrelly trick. Levison came to me and proposed to bail your nephew. Not knowing the parties were in collusion, and satisfied that your nephew was in the sheriff's custody, I tried to put Levison off. But he told me coolly that he knew my object was to detain Captain Mason--that if I had taken up his first note for fifty dollars, he might have let this other one for two hundred and fifty alone; but he must take care of himself. He intended to bail every writ until his claim was taken up. If I chose to assume all the captain's liabilities first, very well, but it was in my discretion to secure him first. No one else would try the same bold game. Under your instructions, which were peremptory, I had no choice but to accept the offer; which I did. There was necessarily a minute's interval in preparing the new writ on Levison's claim, which I sued out at once, Captain Mason and the sheriff being in the room, and your nephew acquiescing in the arrangement, as I thought. But he stepped out: the sheriff went instantly in pursuit by my directions, but with unexampled effrontery Captain Mason demanded by what authority he was detained. Of course, as, technically speaking, the writ of arrest was not yet served, the sheriff could do nothing, and Mason taking the streetcar, the minute's interval of returning for the writ allowed him to get off. The sheriff has gone to the ferry and put officers at the bridge and elsewhere, but it is impossible yet to know the result.

"We must now seize the other party. I have heard of one Joe Skinner, who could testify certainly to the contemplated breach of the peace by Mr. Nettles. If there was any way to detain that gentleman an hour, until the lawyer could get his hands on Skinner!"

* * * * *

"Humph! detain Mr. Nettles!" said the dowager, glancing from the lawyer's note to the pale, pretty face before her. "You look pale, child: a drive will help you.--Memmie, have the double racing-buggy and the trotter Marmette brought to the door."

"Oh no, aunty," said Sue, shrinking: "it would be wrong while--" While her lover was going to his death, Sue thought.

"Pshaw, child!" said the dowager, writing. "We'll see.--Ma'amselle, dress Miss Sue for a drive; and a touch of rouge, Hortense: she is too pale."

While the yielding child, ignorant of her aunt's scheme, was being dressed like a victim for sacrifice, Bob Nettles read the tinted note:

"DEAR MR. NETTLES: My niece, Susie Brown, tells me you have an engagement to drive with her this afternoon. Being unwilling to trust the dear child in a vehicle at livery, permit an old lady to put one of her buggies and fast trotters at your service."

If Bob Nettles had one dearer wish than another, it was to see his little playmate once more, and make up that dispute before facing her cousin's pistol. Aunt Fanny's plan of detaining him was likely to thrive.

Sudie came down, pale and tremulous as a little white withering rosebud--very pretty and timid and tender. There was a forced smile at meeting, and but few words. He had intended to say how sorry he was to have offended her, but he did not. He saw or felt that there was nothing to forgive between them now. His was but a shallow, practical mind, and she was only a timid, silly little girl; yet they knew of that unspoken love between them, and that there was a great trouble, without words.

The mare stooped to her work and shook herself into a trot, the spokes whirling into feathery fans down the silvery-dusted pike cityward, and then, skirting its southern flanks, on golden-cushioned country roads, rolling smoother and lighter, and the swift wheels growing more wing-like at top speed; under silver-leafed poplars and lombardies tapering like road-side steeples; by thoroughfare and farm-gate; under beech and maple copses and broad oaks on the park-like common; by scarp and counterscarp and over the smooth glacis of earthworks, memorials of the late war; by woodlands of ash and beech, and over low fallow of redeemed marsh, right into the golden eyelashes of the sun. The great summer city lay northward under its nebulous canopy of dust, a soft hazy picture, dimpled with domes and spires. By surburban villas; by farmsteads overflowed by the swelling city; by log churches in cool nooks, contradicting the pretentious architecture about them; by happy evening lovers, and wives waiting at the gate for their home-coming husbands; by noisy German gardens, and revellers in quaint picturesque costumes; by rival coaches, and racing-buggies of the sporting gentry that tried to pass them, but soon gave out under the black mare's long, tireless stride; about the great city till the broad river lay all ablush before them with sunset. And then curving back into town, the soft dazzle melting into umber; through streets breaking into brilliants of parallel burners that end in a star, to the utter confusion of geometric definition; through streets of home-going multitudes, and by open summer windows showing the spread cloth and tableware; over the hoarse drum-beat of the bridge, and by the marble palaces of the dead looking cool and tranquil in the rising moon; winding the shell drive between Osage orange hedges; and then the half-aërial flight of those wing-like wheels is over for ever and for ever.

Then Sudie spoke. She felt she must say something, utter some protest of her womanhood against that wicked, wicked business: "Mr. Nettles, do you not think it wrong to fight a duel?"

"Yes, Miss Sue," said he gravely, "it is a very wicked thing."

She looked for some equivocation, some excuse or palliation of the wrong, which she would have to controvert--poor little logician of love!--and show him how bad it was; and then he would not do it. She hardly knew what to say to that speech.

"I don't think I could love any one that fights duels," was the next effort, still, poor child! offering her coin, her woman's affections, in that cruel, heedless market of men.

He said nothing: he felt it was right she should say that, and that he should bear it in silence.

At the door he stopped to part with her for ever. She could not bear it. She was deathly white, the touch of rouge starting out like a blood-spot.

"Cannot you help it?" she asked.

"No, Miss Sue," he said simply, "I can't."

She said nothing: just put up her lips and kissed him, and fled up stairs swiftly and softly, poor weeping, breaking little heart, crushed under the iron wheels of that cruel code!

"Come in, Mr. Nettles," said the dowager: "there is some one waiting here to see you."

He entered and found Mr. Winnett, a short, stout, dark-eyed gentleman, who shook hands with him laughingly as he said, "We have heard of this business, Mr. Nettles, and mean to stop it: it involves Mrs. Brown's name, you see. But she will send you with the officer in her carriage to avoid any exposure."

"Has Captain Mason been arrested?" asked Bob.

"No, but--"

He could say no more. Bob laid a hand on the broad sill of the open window, and crashed down among the running roses.

"Stop him!" cried Mr. Winnett.

"Here, my little feller!" said Policeman X----.

Bob was not short-stop for nothing. The man's heels went up as Bob leaped into the buggy and drove off, the policeman following.

"The man's a fool," said Aunt Fanny.

"You mean Nettles?"

"The man who tries to beat my trotter," said she. "Well, we have played and lost."

Yes, lost; for that artful gamester, Mason, after his arrest had taken Levison aside and put it to that bold operator that his aunt's object was to break up the duel, and that she would pay any claim to do it, but if he was detained by the writs of Levi and Walker the opportunity was lost. He agreed to give Levison a pre-dated note for two hundred and fifty dollars for one hundred and twenty-five dollars cash if he (Levison) would release him from the present arrest. We know the result. Instead of stopping her nephew, Aunt Fanny had lent him wings to fly. While the lawyer explained this the bell rang and a card--Deane Lee, to see Captain Nettles--was brought in.

"Who is Deane Lee?" she asked.

"How fortunate!" said the lawyer. "It is Mr. Nettles's second."

"We can appeal to his feelings," said the dowager.

"Do," said he. "I will remain outside, and use an appeal men of his sort understand better."

"Pray be seated, Captain Lee," said the dowager.

"This," thought Lee, "is the lady who made the duel: she looks game to carry it through;" but he only bowed.

"I may be the first to inform you," said she, "that my nephew will necessarily require a postponement of his affair with your friend. We hope to have your help, sir."

Deane fingered his cap and bowed again.

"To be entirely frank," said she graciously, "Captain Mason lacks means. He applied to me, but of course I cannot furnish it for such a purpose."

"Certainly not," said Lee: "the matter has been too much talked of already; but not by our side, ma'am."

"Yes," said she. "You will, I trust, give us your assistance."

"Certainly--yes'm," said Lee: "it shall be done accordin' to Hoyle. Beg pardon, but give yourself no trouble about it."

"What a burden you remove!" said the dowager. "Such a delicate matter, and my nephew feels that his honor is involved. Oh, you men! you men! But I am so fortunate to have met you!"

The dowager was really impressed and pleased with his prompt acquiescence in the postponement.

"Yes'm," continued Deane, "I'll see to it at once. Nettles needn't know a word."

"Thank you," said the dowager, sunning him with a royal grace of manner--"so delicate and considerate in you! Yes, I should prefer that." She evidently thought he referred to her nephew's impecuniosity; and he did, but not as she supposed.

"Not a word," continued Deane, thinking she must be a right jolly old girl, after all. "Of course, ma'am, you couldn't advance the money to Captain Mason: it 'ud look ugly for a lady. But the boys shall have their fun: I'll lend him the shads myself."

"Sir!" shrieked the dowager.

"I beg, ma'am, you'll take no trouble," said Deane, anxiously polite. "It's no inconvenience whatever--in fact, to my advantage. I've got two or three little bets out the thing'll come off; so I'm bound to come out even."

The dowager flashed up, and rang the bell violently, her whole face convulsed with passion: "Show this man out! show him off the place!"

Lee walked out gravely, fingering his cap. At the door he turned to the mulatto and said sympathetically, "Does she have 'em often?"

"What, young marsta?"

"Fits," said Lee sententiously, and walked off.

But he was not through yet. The lawyer waited under the gaslight, and as the soldier, pondering the late interview curiously, approached, he addressed him: "Captain Lee, I believe?"

"Them's my initials," said Deane. "What about it?"

"A shrewd young fellow like you might make something out of this duel."

"As how?" asked Deane.

"The old lady would pay handsomely to have it postponed," said the lawyer.

"Whe-ew-ew!" whistled Lee, a light breaking on him. "What a mule's head I've been!"

"You see the chance, eh?" asked the lawyer.

"Lookee here," said Deane, taking him confidentially by the arm: "I don't mind letting you into a secret if you'll keep dark."

The lawyer nodded gravely.

"_You_ can make a pot of money out of it," continued Deane.

It was not exactly the line of suggestion anticipated, and it was Mr. Winnett's turn to ask "How?"

"I've strictly private and confidential information, you know--"

"Of course, of course," acquiesced the lawyer.

"That the other side is devilish hard up," said Deane in an emphatic whisper. "See 'em privately on that p'int. It's no use talking to us: we're flush."

With that he strode abruptly into the dark, leaving Mr. Winnett to puzzle out whether he had just heard a serious proposition or had been subjected to the hoax of a solemn wag.

That ended the efforts to stop the duel, and night with its grief and penitence came on all interested in the parties to it. On the dowager in her cushioned chair, with a finger in the prayer-book, seeing the portrait of her only son brought home stricken to death by his own gun thirty years ago, as it changed from the long curls and blue eyes of childhood to a handsome but weak bearded face of a man, dreadfully like that other face as she saw it on the bed under the white seals of death. On a homely old mother lying in the back room of a village store, and a short, square man walking up and down and saying, "Don't take on so, old gal: you'll hurt yourself. It's just them newspaper lies. Our Bob wouldn't fight no dule." And the woman's sob: "Lost, body and soul! soul and body!--our boy Bob, John! our boy Bob!" On poor little Sue with her headache as she answers her mother's inquiry that she's "Better, mamma;" but as her father asks the same question she puts up her arms about his neck, and says, "Oh, papa! oh, papa!" and the shrewd, worldly man kneels down and prays with her for the life of that alien sinner yonder as he has not prayed since he was a man. On Bob himself at the hotel quietly reading to the listening major, "I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live," as if every comforting word was a denunciation.