Chapter 18

“That’s what maw said,” returned the young woman, simply, yet with the faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek.

“I mean,” said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, “that this—er—gentleman—is in fact—er—one of my clients.”

“That’s what maw said, too, and of course your knowing him will make it all the easier for you,” said the young woman.

A slight flush crossed the Colonel’s cheek as he returned quickly and a little stiffly, “On the contrary—er—it may make it impossible for me to—er—act in this matter.”

The girl lifted her eyes. The Colonel held his breath as the long lashes were raised to his level. Even to an ordinary observer that sudden revelation of her eyes seemed to transform her face with subtle witchery. They were large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an extraordinary penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an experienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. What else the Colonel saw there Heaven only knows! He felt his inmost secrets plucked from him—his whole soul laid bare—his vanity, belligerency, gallantry—even his medieval chivalry, penetrated, and yet illuminated, in that single glance. And when the eyelids fell again, he felt that a greater part of himself had been swallowed up in them.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, hurriedly. “I mean—this matter may be arranged—er—amicably. My interest with—and as you wisely say—my—er—knowledge of my client—er—Mr. Hotchkiss—may affect—a compromise.”

“And _damages_,” said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if she had never looked up.

The Colonel winced. “And—er—undoubtedly _compensation_—if you do not press a fulfilment of the promise. Unless,” he said, with an attempted return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the recollection of her eyes made difficult, “it is a question of—er—the affections?”

“Which?” said his fair client, softly.

“If you still love him?” explained the Colonel, actually blushing.

Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel’s breath away with eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had _said_, but of what he thought and had not said, and with an added subtle suggestion of what he might have thought. “That’s tellin’,” she said, dropping her long lashes again. The Colonel laughed vacantly. Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he forced an equally weak gravity. “Pardon me—I understand there are no letters; may I know the way in which he formulated his declaration and promises?”

“Hymn-books,” said the girl, briefly.

“I beg your pardon,” said the mystified lawyer.

“Hymn-books—marked words in them with pencil—and passed ’em on to me,” repeated Zaidee. “Like ‘love,’ ‘dear,’ ‘precious,’ ‘sweet,’ and ‘blessed,’” she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol on the carpet. “Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady—and _Solomon’s Song_, you know, and sich.”

“I believe,” said the Colonel, loftily, “that the—er—phrases of sacred psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But in regard to the distinct promise of marriage—was there—er—no _other_ expression?”

“Marriage Service in the prayer-book—lines and words outer that—all marked,” said Zaidee. The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly. “Very good. Were others cognizant of this? Were there any witnesses?”

“Of course not,” said the girl. “Only me and him. It was generally at church-time—or prayer-meeting. Once, in passing the plate, he slipped one o’ them peppermint lozenges with the letters stamped on it ‘I love you’ for me to take.”

The Colonel coughed slightly. “And you have the lozenge?”

“I ate it,” said the girl, simply.

“Ah,” said the Colonel. After a pause he added, delicately: “But were these attentions—er—confined to—er—-sacred precincts? Did he meet you elsewhere?”

“Useter pass our house on the road,” returned the girl, dropping into her monotonous recital, “and useter signal.”

“Ah, signal?” repeated the Colonel, approvingly.

“Yes! He’d say ‘Kerrow,’ and I’d say ‘Kerree.’ Suthing like a bird, you know.”

Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call the Colonel thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least as _she_ gave it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the melodiousness of _his_ utterance. He gravely made her repeat it.

“And after that signal?” he added, suggestively.

“He’d pass on,” said the girl.

The Colonel coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his pen-holder.

“Were there any endearments—er—caresses—er—such as taking your hand—er—clasping your waist?” he suggested, with a gallant yet respectful sweep of his white hand and bowing of his head;—“er— slight pressure of your fingers in the changes of a dance—I mean,” he corrected himself, with an apologetic cough—“in the passing of the plate?”

“No;—he was not what you’d call ’fond,’” returned the girl.

“Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not ’fond’ in the ordinary acceptance of the word,” said the Colonel, with professional gravity.

She lifted her disturbing eyes, and again absorbed his in her own. She also said “Yes,” although her eyes in their mysterious prescience of all he was thinking disclaimed the necessity of any answer at all. He smiled vacantly. There was a long pause. On which she slowly disengaged her parasol from the carpet pattern and stood up.

“I reckon that’s about all,” she said.

“Er—yes—but one moment,” said the Colonel, vaguely. He would have liked to keep her longer, but with her strange premonition of him he felt powerless to detain her, or explain his reason for doing so. He instinctively knew she had told him all; his professional judgment told him that a more hopeless case had never come to his knowledge. Yet he was not daunted, only embarrassed. “No matter,” he said, vaguely. “Of course I shall have to consult with you again.” Her eyes again answered that she expected he would, but she added, simply, “When?”

“In the course of a day or two,” said the Colonel, quickly. “I will send you word.” She turned to go. In his eagerness to open the door for her he upset his chair, and with some confusion, that was actually youthful, he almost impeded her movements in the hall, and knocked his broad-brimmed Panama hat from his bowing hand in a final gallant sweep. Yet as her small, trim, youthful figure, with its simple Leghorn straw hat confined by a blue bow under her round chin, passed away before him, she looked more like a child than ever.

The Colonel spent that afternoon in making diplomatic inquiries. He found his youthful client was the daughter of a widow who had a small ranch on the cross-roads, near the new Free-Will Baptist church—the evident theatre of this pastoral. They led a secluded life; the girl being little known in the town, and her beauty and fascination apparently not yet being a recognized fact. The Colonel felt a pleasurable relief at this, and a general satisfaction he could not account for. His few inquiries concerning Mr. Hotchkiss only confirmed his own impressions of the alleged lover—a serious-minded, practically abstracted man—abstentive of youthful society, and the last man apparently capable of levity of the affections or serious flirtation. The Colonel was mystified—but determined of purpose—whatever that purpose might have been.

The next day he was at his office at the same hour. He was alone—as usual—the Colonel’s office really being his private lodgings, disposed in connecting rooms, a single apartment reserved for consultation. He had no clerk; his papers and briefs being taken by his faithful body-servant and ex-slave “Jim” to another firm who did his office-work since the death of Major Stryker—the Colonel’s only law partner, who fell in a duel some years previous. With a fine constancy the Colonel still retained his partner’s name on his door-plate—and, it was alleged by the superstitious, kept a certain invincibility also through the _manes_ of that lamented and somewhat feared man.

The Colonel consulted his watch, whose heavy gold case still showed the marks of a providential interference with a bullet destined for its owner, and replaced it with some difficulty and shortness of breath in his fob. At the same moment he heard a step in the passage, and the door opened to Adoniram K. Hotchkiss. The Colonel was impressed; he had a duellist’s respect for punctuality.

The man entered with a nod and the expectant, inquiring look of a busy man. As his feet crossed that sacred threshold the Colonel became all courtesy; he placed a chair for his visitor, and took his hat from his half-reluctant hand. He then opened a cupboard and brought out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“A—er—slight refreshment, Mr. Hotchkiss,” he suggested, politely. “I never drink,” replied Hotchkiss, with the severe attitude of a total abstainer. “Ah—er—not the finest bourbon whiskey, selected by a Kentucky friend? No? Pardon me! A cigar, then—the mildest Havana.”

“I do not use tobacco nor alcohol in any form,” repeated Hotchkiss, ascetically. “I have no foolish weaknesses.”

The Colonel’s moist, beady eyes swept silently over his client’s sallow face. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, and half closing his eyes as in dreamy reminiscence, said, slowly: “Your reply, Mr. Hotchkiss, reminds me of—er—sing’lar circumstances that —er—occurred, in point of fact—at the St. Charles Hotel, New Orleans. Pinkey Hornblower—personal friend—invited Senator Doolittle to join him in social glass. Received, sing’larly enough, reply similar to yours. ‘Don’t drink nor smoke?’ said Pinkey. ‘Gad, sir, you must be mighty sweet on the ladies.’ Ha!” The Colonel paused long enough to allow the faint flush to pass from Hotchkiss’s cheek, and went on, half closing his eyes: “‘I allow no man, sir, to discuss my personal habits,’ said Doolittle, over his shirt collar. ‘Then I reckon shootin’ must be one of those habits,’ said Pinkey, coolly. Both men drove out on the Shell Road back of cemetery next morning. Pinkey put bullet at twelve paces through Doolittle’s temple. Poor Doo never spoke again. Left three wives and seven children, they say —two of ’em black.”

“I got a note from you this morning,” said Hotchkiss, with badly concealed impatience. “I suppose in reference to our case. You have taken judgment, I believe.” The Colonel, without replying, slowly filled a glass of whiskey and water. For a moment he held it dreamily before him, as if still engaged in gentle reminiscences called up by the act. Then tossing it off, he wiped his lips with a large white handkerchief, and leaning back comfortably in his chair, said, with a wave of his hand, “The interview I requested, Mr. Hotchkiss, concerns a subject—which I may say is—er—er—at present _not_ of a public or business nature—although _later_ it might become—er—er—both. It is an affair of some—er—delicacy.”

The Colonel paused, and Mr. Hotchkiss regarded him with increased impatience. The Colonel, however, continued, with unchanged deliberation: “It concerns—er—a young lady—a beautiful, high-souled creature, sir, who, apart from her personal loveliness— er—er—I may say is of one of the first families of Missouri, and— er—not—remotely connected by marriage with one of—er—er—my boyhood’s dearest friends. The latter, I grieve to say, was a pure invention of the Colonel’s—an oratorical addition to the scanty information he had obtained the previous day. The young lady,” he continued, blandly, “enjoys the further distinction of being the object of such attention from you as would make this interview— really—a confidential matter—er—er—among friends and—er—er— relations in present and future. I need not say that the lady I refer to is Miss Zaidee Juno Hooker, only daughter of Almira Ann Hooker, relict of Jefferson Brown Hooker, formerly of Boone County, Kentucky, and latterly of—er—Pike County, Missouri.”

The sallow, ascetic hue of Mr. Hotchkiss’s face had passed through a livid and then a greenish shade, and finally settled into a sullen red. “What’s all this about?” he demanded, roughly. The least touch of belligerent fire came into Starbottle’s eye, but his bland courtesy did not change. “I believe,” he said, politely, “I have made myself clear as between—er—gentlemen, though perhaps not as clear as I should to—er—er—jury.”

Mr. Hotchkiss was apparently struck with some significance in the lawyer’s reply. “I don’t know,” he said, in a lower and more cautious voice, “what you mean by what you call ‘my attentions’ to—any one—or how it concerns you. I have not exhausted half a dozen words with—the person you name—have never written her a line—nor even called at her house.” He rose with an assumption of ease, pulled down his waistcoat, buttoned his coat, and took up his hat. The Colonel did not move. “I believe I have already indicated my meaning in what I have called ‘your attentions,’” said the Colonel, blandly, “and given you my ‘concern’ for speaking as—er—er mutual friend. As to _your_ statement of your relations with Miss Hooker, I may state that it is fully corroborated by the statement of the young lady herself in this very office yesterday.”

“Then what does this impertinent nonsense mean? Why am I summoned here?” said Hotchkiss, furiously.

“Because,” said the Colonel, deliberately, “that statement is infamously—yes, damnably to your discredit, sir!”

Mr. Hotchkiss was here seized by one of those important and inconsistent rages which occasionally betray the habitually cautious and timid man. He caught up the Colonel’s stick, which was lying on the table. At the same moment the Colonel, without any apparent effort, grasped it by the handle. To Mr. Hotchkiss’s astonishment, the stick separated in two pieces, leaving the handle and about two feet of narrow glittering steel in the Colonel’s hand. The man recoiled, dropping the useless fragment. The Colonel picked it up, fitting the shining blade in it, clicked the spring, and then rising, with a face of courtesy yet of unmistakably genuine pain, and with even a slight tremor in his voice, said, gravely:

“Mr. Hotchkiss, I owe you a thousand apologies, sir, that—er— a weapon should be drawn by me—even through your own inadvertence— under the sacred protection of my roof, and upon an unarmed man. I beg your pardon, sir, and I even withdraw the expressions which provoked that inadvertence. Nor does this apology prevent you from holding me responsible—personally responsible—_elsewhere_ for an indiscretion committed in behalf of a lady—my—er—client.”

“Your client? Do you mean you have taken her case? You, the counsel for the Ditch Company?” said Mr. Hotchkiss, in trembling indignation.

“Having won _your_ case, sir,” said the Colonel, coolly, “the—er—usages of advocacy do not prevent me from espousing the cause of the weak and unprotected.”

“We shall see, sir,” said Hotchkiss, grasping the handle of the door and backing into the passage. “There are other lawyers who—”

“Permit me to see you out,” interrupted the Colonel, rising politely.

“—will be ready to resist the attacks of blackmail,” continued Hotchkiss, retreating along the passage.

“And then you will be able to repeat your remarks to me _in the street_,” continued the Colonel, bowing, as he persisted in following his visitor to the door.

But here Mr. Hotchkiss quickly slammed it behind him, and hurried away. The Colonel returned to his office, and sitting down, took a sheet of letter paper bearing the inscription “Starbottle and Stryker, Attorneys and Counsellors,” and wrote the following lines:

Hooker _versus_ Hotchkiss.

DEAR MADAM,—Having had a visit from the defendant in above, we should be pleased to have an interview with you at 2 P.M. to-morrow. Your obedient servants,

STARBOTTLE AND STRYKER.

This he sealed and despatched by his trusted servant Jim, and then devoted a few moments to reflection. It was the custom of the Colonel to act first, and justify the action by reason afterwards.

He knew that Hotchkiss would at once lay the matter before rival counsel. He knew that they would advise him that Miss Hooker had “no case”—that she would be nonsuited on her own evidence, and he ought not to compromise, but be ready to stand trial. He believed, however, that Hotchkiss feared that exposure, and although his own instincts had been at first against that remedy, he was now instinctively in favor of it. He remembered his own power with a jury; his vanity and his chivalry alike approved of this heroic method; he was bound by the prosaic facts—he had his own theory of the case, which no mere evidence could gainsay. In fact, Mrs. Hooker’s own words that “he was to tell the story in his own way” actually appeared to him an inspiration and a prophecy.

Perhaps there was something else, due possibly to the lady’s wonderful eyes, of which he had thought much. Yet it was not her simplicity that affected him solely; on the contrary, it was her apparent intelligent reading of the character of her recreant lover—and of his own! Of all the Colonel’s previous “light” or “serious” loves none had ever before flattered him in that way. And it was this, combined with the respect which he had held for their professional relations, that precluded his having a more familiar knowledge of his client, through serious questioning, or playful gallantry. I am not sure it was not part of the charm to have a rustic _femme incomprise_ as a client.

Nothing could exceed the respect with which he greeted her as she entered his office the next day. He even affected not to notice that she had put on her best clothes, and he made no doubt appeared as when she had first attracted the mature yet faithless attentions of Deacon Hotchkiss at church. A white virginal muslin was belted around her slim figure by a blue ribbon, and her Leghorn hat was drawn around her oval cheek by a bow of the same color. She had a Southern girl’s narrow feet, encased in white stockings and kid slippers, which were crossed primly before her as she sat in a chair, supporting her arm by her faithful parasol planted firmly on the floor. A faint odor of southernwood exhaled from her, and, oddly enough, stirred the Colonel with a far-off recollection of a pine-shaded Sunday school on a Georgia hillside and of his first love, aged ten, in a short, starched frock. Possibly it was the same recollection that revived something of the awkwardness he had felt then.

He, however, smiled vaguely and, sitting down, coughed slightly, and placed his fingertips together. “I have had an—er—interview with Mr. Hotchkiss, but—I—er—regret to say there seems to be no prospect of—er—compromise.” He paused, and to his surprise her listless “company” face lit up with an adorable smile. “Of course!—ketch him!” she said. “Was he mad when you told him?” She put her knees comfortably together and leaned forward for a reply.

For all that, wild horses could not have torn from the Colonel a word about Hotchkiss’s anger. “He expressed his intention of employing counsel—and defending a suit,” returned the Colonel, affably basking in her smile. She dragged her chair nearer his desk. “Then you’ll fight him tooth and nail?” she said eagerly; “you’ll show him up? You’ll tell the whole story your own way? You’ll give him fits?—and you’ll make him pay? Sure?” she went on, breathlessly.

“I—er—will,” said the Colonel, almost as breathlessly.

She caught his fat white hand, which was lying on the table, between her own and lifted it to her lips. He felt her soft young fingers even through the lisle-thread gloves that encased them and the warm moisture of her lips upon his skin. He felt himself flushing—but was unable to break the silence or change his position. The next moment she had scuttled back with her chair to her old position.

“I—er—certainly shall do my best,” stammered the Colonel, in an attempt to recover his dignity and composure.

“That’s enough! You’ll _do_ it,” said the girl, enthusiastically. “Lordy! Just you talk for _me_ as ye did for _his_ old Ditch Company, and you’ll fetch it—every time! Why, when you made that jury sit up the other day—when you got that off about the Merrikan flag waving equally over the rights of honest citizens banded together in peaceful commercial pursuits, as well as over the fortress of official proflig—”

“Oligarchy,” murmured the Colonel, courteously.

“Oligarchy,” repeated the girl, quickly, “my breath was just took away. I said to maw, ‘Ain’t he too sweet for anything!’ I did, honest Injin! And when you rolled it all off at the end—never missing a word—(you didn’t need to mark ’em in a lesson-book, but had ’em all ready on your tongue), and walked out—Well! I didn’t know you nor the Ditch Company from Adam, but I could have just run over and kissed you there before the whole court!”

She laughed, with her face glowing, although her strange eyes were cast down. Alack! the Colonel’s face was equally flushed, and his own beady eyes were on his desk. To any other woman he would have voiced the banal gallantry that he should now, himself, look forward to that reward, but the words never reached his lips. He laughed, coughed slightly, and when he looked up again she had fallen into the same attitude as on her first visit, with her parasol point on the floor.

“I must ask you to—er—direct your memory—to—er—another point; the breaking off of the—er—er—er—engagement. Did he—er—give any reason for it? Or show any cause?”

“No; he never said anything,” returned the girl.

“Not in his usual way?—er—no reproaches out of the hymn-book?—or the sacred writings?”

“No; he just _quit_.”

“Er—ceased his attentions,” said the Colonel, gravely. “And naturally you—er—were not conscious of any cause for his doing so.” The girl raised her wonderful eyes so suddenly and so penetratingly without reply in any other way that the Colonel could only hurriedly say: “I see! None, of course!”

At which she rose, the Colonel rising also. “We—shall begin proceedings at once. I must, however, caution you to answer no questions nor say anything about this case to any one until you are in court.”

She answered his request with another intelligent look and a nod. He accompanied her to the door. As he took her proffered hand he raised the lisle-thread fingers to his lips with old-fashioned gallantry. As if that act had condoned for his first omissions and awkwardness, he became his old-fashioned self again, buttoned his coat, pulled out his shirt frill, and strutted back to his desk.