The Crisis — Complete. Winston Churchill

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wisdom suggested in a mild whisper to Stephen that there was a last chance to pull out. And let Colfax have the girl? Never. That was pride, and most reprehensible. But second he thought of Mr. Canter and of Nancy, and that was not pride.

      “Four seventy-five!” he cried.

      “Thank you, suh.”

      “Now fur it, young uns!” said the wag, and the crowd howled with merriment.

      “Five hundred!” snapped Mr. Colfax.

      He was growing angry. But Stephen was from New England, and poor, and he thought of the size of his purse. A glance at his adversary showed that his blood was up. Money was plainly no consideration to him, and young Colfax did not seem to be the kind who would relish returning to a young lady and acknowledge a defeat.

      Stephen raised the bid by ten dollars. The Southerner shot up fifty. Again Stephen raised it ten. He was in full possession of himself now, and proof against the thinly veiled irony of the oily man's remarks in favor of Mr. Colfax. In an incredibly short time the latter's impetuosity had brought them to eight hundred and ten dollars.

      Then several things happened very quickly.

      Mr. Jenkins got up from the curb and said, “Eight hundred and twenty-five,” with his cigar in his mouth. Scarcely had the hum of excitement died when Stephen, glancing at Colfax for the next move, saw that young gentleman seized from the rear by his uncle, the tall Colonel. And across the street was bliss Virginia Carvel, tapping her foot on the pavement.

      “What are you about, sir?” the Colonel cried. “The wench isn't worth it.”

      “Mr. Colfax shook himself free.

      “I've got to buy her now, sir,” he cried.

      “I reckon not,” said the Colonel. “You come along with me.”

      Naturally Mr. Colfax was very angry. He struggled but he went. And so, protesting, he passed Stephen, at whom he did not deign to glance. The humiliation of it must have been great for Mr. Colfax. “Jinny wants her; sir,” he said, “and I have a right to buy her.”

      “Jinny wants everything,” was the Colonel's reply. And in a single look of curiosity and amusement his own gray eyes met Stephen's. They seemed to regret that this young man, too, had not a guardian. Then uncle and nephew recrossed the street, and as they walked off the Colonel was seen to laugh. Virginia had her chin in the air, and Clarence's was in his collar.

      The crowd, of course, indulged in roars of laughter, and even Stephen could not repress a smile, a smile not without bitterness. Then he wheeled to face Mr. Jerkins. Out of respect for the personages involved, the auctioneer had been considerately silent daring the event. It was Mr. Brice who was now the centre of observation.

      Come, gentlemen, come, this here's a joke—eight twenty-five. She's worth two thousand. I've been in the business twenty yea's, and I neve' seen her equal. Give me a bid, Mr.—Mr.—you have the advantage of me, suh.”

      “Eight hundred and thirty-five!” said Stephen.

      “Now, Mr. Jerkins, now, suh! we've got twenty me' to sell.”

      “Eight fifty!” said Mr. Jerkins.

      “Eight sixty!” said Stephen, and they cheered him.

      Mr. Jenkins took his cigar out of his teeth, and stared.

      “Eight seventy-five!” said he.

      “Eight eighty-five!” said Stephen.

      There was a breathless pause.

      “Nine hundred!” said the trader.

      “Nine hundred and ten!” cried Stephen.

      At that Mr. Jerkins whipped his hat from off his head, and made Stephen a derisive bow.

      “She's youahs, suh,” he said. “These here are panic times. I've struck my limit. I can do bettah in Louisville fo' less. Congratulate you, suh—reckon you want her wuss'n I do.”

      At which sally Stephen grew scarlet, and the crowd howled with joy.

      “What!” yelled the auctioneer. “Why, gentlemen, this heah's a joke. Nine hundred and ten dollars, gents, nine hundred and ten. We've just begun, gents. Come, Mr. Jerkins, that's giving her away.”

      The trader shook his head, and puffed at his cigar.

      “Well,” cried the oily man, “this is a slaughter. Going at nine hundred an' ten—nine ten—going—going—” down came the hammer—“gone at nine hundred and ten to Mr.—Mr.—you have the advantage of me, suh.”

      An attendant had seized the girl, who was on the verge of fainting, and was dragging her back. Stephen did not heed the auctioneer, but thrust forward regardless of stares.

      “Handle her gently, you blackguard,” he cried.

      The man took his hands off.

      “Suttinly, sah,” he said.

      Hester lifted her eyes, and they were filled with such gratitude and trust that suddenly he was overcome with embarrassment.

      “Can you walk?” he demanded, somewhat harshly.

      “Yes, massa.”

      “Then get up,” he said, “and follow me.”

      She rose obediently. Then a fat man came out of the Court House, with a quill in his hand, and a merry twinkle in his eye that Stephen resented.

      “This way, please, sah,” and he led him to a desk, from the drawer of which he drew forth a blank deed.

      “Name, please!”

      “Stephen Atterbury Brice.”

      “Residence, Mr. Brice!”

      Stephen gave the number. But instead of writing it clown, the man merely stared at him, while the fat creases in his face deepened and deepened. Finally he put down his quill, and indulged in a gale of laughter, hugely to Mr. Brice's discomfiture.

      “Shucks!” said the fat man, as soon as he could.

      “What are you givin' us? That the's a Yankee boa'din' house.”

      “And I suppose that that is part of your business, too,” said Stephen, acidly.

      The fat man looked at him, pressed his lips, wrote down the number, shaken all the while with a disturbance which promised to lead to another explosion. Finally, after a deal of pantomime, and whispering and laughter with the notary behind the wire screen, the deed was made out, signed, attested, and delivered. Stephen counted out the money grimly, in gold and Boston drafts.

      Out in the sunlight on Chestnut Street, with the girl by his side, it all seemed a nightmare. The son of Appleton Brice of Boston the owner of a beautiful quadroon girl! And he had bought СКАЧАТЬ