The Crisis — Complete. Winston Churchill

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СКАЧАТЬ much in evidence, and Eliphalet paused once or twice to listen to their talk. It was tinged with that dialect he had heard, since leaving Cincinnati.

      Turning a corner, Eliphalet came abruptly upon a prophecy. A great drove of mules was charging down the gorge of the street, and straight at him. He dived into an entrance, and stood looking at the animals in startled wonder as they thundered by, flinging the mud over the pavements. A cursing lot of drovers on ragged horses made the rear guard.

      Eliphalet mopped his brow. The mules seemed to have aroused in him some sense of his atomity, where the sight of the pillar of smoke and of the black cattle had failed. The feeling of a stranger in a strange land was upon him at last. A strange land, indeed! Could it be one with his native New England? Did Congress assemble from the Antipodes? Wasn't the great, ugly river and dirty city at the end of the earth, to be written about in Boston journals?

      Turning in the doorway, he saw to his astonishment a great store, with high ceilings supported by columns. The door was stacked high with bales of dry goods. Beside him was a sign in gold lettering, “Carvel and Company, Wholesale Dry Goods.” And lastly, looking down upon him with a quizzical expression, was a gentleman. There was no mistaking the gentleman. He was cool, which Eliphalet was not. And the fact is the more remarkable because the gentleman was attired according to the fashion of the day for men of his age, in a black coat with a teal of ruffled shirt showing, and a heavy black stock around his collar. He had a white mustache, and a goatee, and white hair under his black felt hat. His face was long, his nose straight, and the sweetness of its smile had a strange effect upon Eliphalet, who stood on one foot.

      “Well, sonny, scared of mules, are you?” The speech is a stately drawl very different from the nasal twang of Eliphalet's bringing up. “Reckon you don't come from anywhere round here?”

      “No, sir,” said Eliphalet. “From Willesden, Massachusetts.”

      “Come in on the 'Louisiana'?”

      “Yes, sir.” But why this politeness?

      The elderly gentleman lighted a cigar. The noise of the rushing mules had now become a distant roar, like a whirlwind which has swept by. But Eliphalet did not stir.

      “Friends in town?” inquired the gentleman at length.

      “No, sir,” sighed Mr. Hopper.

      At this point of the conversation a crisp step sounded from behind and wonderful smile came again on the surface.

      “Mornin', Colonel,” said a voice which made Eliphalet jump. And he swung around to perceive the young captain of the Louisiana.

      “Why, Captain Lige,” cried the Colonel, without ceremony, “and how do you find yourself to-day, suh? A good trip from Orleans? We did not look for you so soon.”

      “Tolluble, Colonel, tolluble,” said the young man, grasping the Colonel's hand. “Well, Colonel, I just called to say that I got the seventy bales of goods you wanted.”

      “Ephum” cried the Colonel, diving toward a counter where glasses were set out—a custom new to Eliphalet—“Ephum, some of that very particular Colonel Crittenden sent me over from Kentucky last week.”

      An old darkey, with hair as white as the Colonel's, appeared from behind the partition.

      “I 'lowed you'd want it, Marse Comyn, when I seed de Cap'n comin',” said he, with the privilege of an old servant. Indeed, the bottle was beneath his arm.

      The Colonel smiled.

      “Hope you'se well, Cap'n,” said Ephum, as he drew the cork.

      “Tolluble, Ephum,” replied the Captain. “But, Ephum—say, Ephum!”

      “Yes, sah.”

      “How's my little sweetheart, Ephum?”

      “Bress your soul, sah,” said Ephum, his face falling perceptibly, “bress your soul, sah, Miss Jinny's done gone to Halcyondale, in Kaintuck, to see her grandma. Ole Ephum ain't de same nigger when she's away.”

      The young Captain's face showed as much disappointment as the darkey's.

      “Cuss it!” said he, strongly, “if that ain't too bad! I brought her a Creole doll from New Orleans, which Madame Claire said was dressed finer than any one she'd ever seen. All lace and French gewgaws, Colonel. But you'll send it to her?”

      “That I will, Lige,” said the Colonel, heartily. “And she shall write you the prettiest note of thanks you ever got.”

      “Bless her pretty face,” cried the Captain. “Her health, Colonel! Here's a long life to Miss Virginia Carvel, and may she rule forever! How old did you say this was?” he asked, looking into the glass.

      “Over half a century,” said Colonel Carvel.

      “If it came from the ruins of Pompeii,” cried Captain Brent, “it might be worthy of her!”

      “What an idiot you are about that child, Lige,” said the Colonel, who was not hiding his pleasure. The Colonel could hide nothing. “You ruin her!”

      The bluff young Captain put down his glass to laugh.

      “Ruin her!” he exclaimed. “Her pa don't ruin her I eh, Ephum? Her pa don't ruin her!”

      “Lawsy, Marse Lige, I reckon he's wuss'n any.”

      “Ephum,” said the Colonel, pulling his goatee thoughtfully, “you're a damned impertinent nigger. I vow I'll sell you South one of these days. Have you taken that letter to Mr. Renault?” He winked at his friend as the old darkey faded into the darkness of the store, and continued: “Did I ever tell you about Wilson Peale's portrait of my grandmother, Dorothy Carvel, that I saw this summer at my brother Daniel's, in Pennsylvania? Jinny's going to look something like her, sir. Um! She was a fine woman. Black hair, though. Jinny's is brown, like her Ma's.” The Colonel handed a cigar to Captain Brent, and lit one himself. “Daniel has a book my grandfather wrote, mostly about her. Lord, I remember her! She was the queen-bee of the family while she lived. I wish some of us had her spirit.”

      “Colonel,” remarked Captain Lige, “what's this I heard on the levee just now about your shootin' at a man named Babcock on the steps here?”

      The Colonel became very grave. His face seemed to grow longer as he pulled his goatee.

      “He was standing right where you are, sir,” he replied (Captain Lige moved), “and he proposed that I should buy his influence.”

      “What did you do?”

      Colonel Carvel laughed quietly at the recollection

      “Shucks,” said he, “I just pushed him into the streets gave him a little start, and put a bullet past his ear, just to let the trash know the sound of it. Then Russell went down and bailed me out.”

      The Captain shook with laughter. But Mr. Eliphalet Hopper's eyes were glued to the mild-mannered man who told the story, and his hair rose under his hat.

      “By the way, Lige, how's that boy, Tato? Somehow after I let you have him on the 'Louisiana', СКАЧАТЬ