Sons and Fathers, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  THE STRANGER ON THE THRESHOLD.

  "I am not in business," said the other. "I am a nephew of John Morgan,of Macon. I suppose you must have known him."

  "Yes, indeed."

  "And am going out to wind up his affairs. I have been abroad and haveonly just returned. The news of his death was quite a surprise to me. Ihad not been informed that he was ill."

  "Then you are the heir of John Morgan?"

  "I am told so. It is but three days now since I reached this country,and I have no information except as contained in a brief notice fromattorneys."

  "How long since you have seen him?"

  "I have never seen him--at least not since I was an infant, if then. Myparents left me to his care. I have spent my life in schools until sixor seven years ago, when, after graduating at Harvard and then atColumbia college in law, I went abroad. Have never seen so much as thepicture of my uncle. I applied to him for one through his New Yorklawyer once, sending a new one of myself, and he replied that he had toomuch respect for art to have his taken."

  "That sounds like him," and Montjoy laughed heartily. "He was a florid,sandy-haired man, with eyes always half-closed against the light, stoutand walked somewhat heavily. He has been a famous criminal lawyer, butfor many years has not seemed to care for practice. He was a heavydrinker, but with all that you could rely implicitly upon what he said.He left a large property, I presume?"

  "So I infer." Edward looked out of the window, but presently resumed theconversation.

  "My uncle stood well in the community, I suppose?"

  "Oh, yes; we have lost a good citizen. Do you expect to make your homewith us?"

  "That depends upon circumstances. Very likely I shall."

  "I see! Well, sir, I trust you will. The Morgan place is a nice one andhas been closed to the young people too long."

  "I am afraid they will not find me very gay." A shadow flitted over hisface, blotting out the faint smile.

  The towns and villages glided away.

  Edward Morgan noticed that there was little paint upon the countryhouses, and that the fences were gone from the neighborhoods. And thenthe sun sank below the black cloud, painting its peaks with gold, andfilling the caverns with yellow light; church spires, tall buildings andelectric-light towers filed by with solemn dignity and then stoodmotionless. The journey was at an end.

  "My home is six miles out," said Montjoy, "and if you will go with me Ishall be glad to have you. It is quite a ride, but anything ispreferable to the hotels."

  Morgan's face lighted up quickly at this unexpected courtesy.

  "Thank you," he said "but I don't mind the hotels. I have never had anyother home, sir, except boarding houses." Through his smile there fellthe little, destroying shadow. Montjoy had not expected him to accept,but he turned now, with his winning manner.

  "Well, then, I insist. We shall find a wagon waiting outside, andto-morrow I am coming in and shall bring you back. We will have to getacquainted some of these days, and there is nothing like making an earlystart." He was already heading for the sidewalk; his company was assunlight and Morgan was tempted to stay in the sunlight.

  "Then I shall go," he said. "You are very kind."

  A four-seated vehicle stood outside and by it a little old negro, wholaughed as Montjoy rapidly approached.

  "Well, Isam," he said, tossing his bag in, "how are all at home?"

  "Dey's all well."

  "By the way, Mr. Morgan, we shall leave your trunks, but I can supplyyou with everything for a 'one-night stand.'"

  "I have a valise that will answer, if there is room."

  "Plenty. Let Isam have the check and he will get it." While Morgan wasfeeling for his bit of brass Isam continued:

  "Miss Annie will be mighty glad to see you. Sent me in here now goin' onfo' times an' gettin' madder----"

  "That's all right; here's the check; hurry up." The negro started offrapidly.

  "Drive by the club, Isam," he said, when the negro had resumed thelines. "I reckon we'll be too late for supper at home; better get it intown."

  "Miss Mary save supper for you, sho', Marse Norton."

  "Save, the mischief! Go ahead!" The single horse moved forward in adignified trot.

  As they entered the club several young men were grouped near a centertable. There was a vista of open doors, a glimmer of cards and the crashof billiards. Montjoy walked up and dropped his hat on the table. Therefollowed a general handshaking. Edward Morgan noticed that they greetedhim with cordiality. Then he saw his manner change and he turned with ashow of formality.

  "Gentlemen, this is my friend, Mr. Morgan, a nephew of Col. JohnMorgan." He rapidly pronounced the names of those present, and eachshook the newcomer's hand. At the same time Morgan felt their suddenscrutiny, but it was brief. Montjoy rang the bell.

  "What are you going to have, gentlemen? John," to the old waiter, "howare you, John?"

  "First rate, Marse Norton; first rate." The old man bowed and smiled.

  "Take these orders, John. Five toddies, one Rhine wine, and hurry, John!Oh, John!" The worthy came back. "There is only one mistake you can makewith mine; take care about the water!"

  "All right, sah, all right! Dare won't be any!"

  Montjoy ordered a tremendous supper, as he called it, and while waitingthe half-hour for its preparation, several of the party repeated theorder for refreshments, it appeared to the stranger, with something likeanxiety. It was as though they feared an opportunity to return thecourtesies they had accepted would not be given. None joined them atsupper, but when the newcomers were seated one of the gentlemen loungednear and dropping into a seat renewed the conversation that had beeninterrupted. Champagne had been added to the supper and this gentlemanyielded at length to Montjoy's demand and joined them.

  The conversation ran upon local politics until Morgan began to feel theisolation. He took to studying the new man and presently felt theslight, inexplicable prejudice that he had formed upon the introduction,wearing away. The man was tall, dark and straightly built, probablythirty years of age, with fine eyes and unchanging countenance. He didbut little talking, and when he spoke it was with great deliberation andpositiveness. If there were an unpleasant shading of character writtenthere it was in the mouth, which, while not ill-formed, seemed topromise a relentless disposition. But the high and noble foreheadredeemed it all. This man was now addressing him:

  "You will remain some time in Macon, Mr. Morgan?"

  The voice possessed but few curves; it grated a trifle upon thestranger.

  "I cannot tell as yet," he said; "I do not know what will be required ofme."

  "Well, I shall be pleased to see you at my place of business wheneveryou find an opportunity of calling. Norton, bring Mr. Morgan down to seeme."

  He laid his card by Edward and bade them good-evening. Looking over hisplate, the latter read H. R. Barksdale, president A. F. & C. railroad.He had not caught the name in the general introduction. "Good fellow,"said Montjoy, between mouthfuls; "talked more to-night than I ever heardhim, and never knew him to pull a card before."

  The night was dark. The road ran over hills, but sometimes was sandyenough to reduce the horse to his slowest gait. "From this point," saidMontjoy, looking back, "you can see the city five miles away, rather agood view in the daytime, but now only the scattered electric lightsshow up."

  "It looks like the south of France," said Morgan. Montjoy revealed thedirection of his thoughts.

  "You will find things at home very different from what they once were,"he put in. "With free labor the plantations have run down, and it isvery hard for the old planters to make anything out of land now. Thenegroes won't work and it hardly pays to plant cotton. I wish often thatfather could do something else, but he can't change at his time oflife."

  "Could not the young men do better with the plantations?"

  "Young men! My dear sir, the young men can't afford to work theplantations; it is as much as they can do to make a living
in town--mostof them."

  "Is there room for all?"

  "No, indeed! They are having a hard time of it, I reckon, and salariesare getting smaller every year."

  "I have heard," said Morgan, slowly, "that labor is the wealth of acountry. It seems to me that if they expect to make anything out ofthis, they must labor in the productive branches. Where does the supportfor all come from?"

  "From the farms--from cotton, mostly."

  "The negro is, then, after all, the productive agent."

  Montjoy thought a moment, then replied:

  "Yes, as a rule. Manufacturing is increasing and there is somedevelopment in mining, but as a matter of fact the negroes and the poorwhites of the country keep the balance up. Somebody has got to sweat itout between the plow handles, but you can bet your bottom dollar thatMontjoy is out. I couldn't make $100 a year on the best plantation inGeorgia, but I can make $5,000 selling clothing."

  The dignified horse had climbed his last hill for the night and was justturning into an avenue, when a dark form came plunging out of the shadowand collided with him violently. Morgan beheld a rider almost unhorsedand heard an oath. For an instant only he saw the man's face, white andmalignant, and then it disappeared in the darkness. To Montjoy'sgreeting, good-naturedly hurled into the night, there came no reply.

  "My wife's cousin," he said, laughing. "I am glad it is not my horse heis riding to-night."

  They came up in front of a large house with Corinthian columns and manylights. There was a sudden movement of chairs upon the long veranda andthen a young woman came slowly down to the gate and lifted her face toMontjoy's kiss. A pretty boy of five climbed into his arms. Morgan stoodsilent, touched by the scene. He started violently as Norton Montjoy,remembering his presence, called his name. The woman extended her hand.

  "I am very glad to see you," she said, accenting the adjective. Morgan,sensitive to fine impressions, did not like the voice, although thecourtesy was perfect.

  They advanced to the porch. An old gentleman was standing at the top ofthe steps. In the light streaming from the hallway Morgan saw that hewas tall and soldierly and with gray hair pressed back in great wavesfrom the temples. He put one arm around his son and the other around hisgrandson, but did not remove his eyes from the guest. While he addressedwords of welcome and chiding to the former, he was slowly extending hisright hand, seeing which the son said gayly:

  "Mr. Morgan, father--a nephew of Col. John Morgan." The light fell uponthe half-turned face of the old gentleman and showed it lighted by amild and benevolent expression and dawning smile.

  "Indeed! Come in, Mr. Morgan, come in; I am glad to see you."

  The words were cordial and tone of voice perfect, but to Edward thereseemed a shading of surprise in the prolonged gaze that rested upon him.

  Norton had passed on to the end of the porch, where an elderly lady satupright, prevented from rising by a little girl asleep in her lap. Therewere sounds of repeated kisses as she embraced her overgrown boy, andthen her voice:

  "The Duchess tried to keep her eyes open for you, but she could not. Whyare you so late?" Her voice was as the winds in the pines, and the handshe gave to Morgan a moment later was as cool as chamois and as soft.

  A young girl had come to the doorway. She was simply dressed in whiteand her abundant hair was twisted into the Grecian knot that makes somewomen appear more womanly. She put her arms about the big brother andgave her little hand to Morgan. For a moment their eyes met, and then,gently disengaging her hand, she went to lean against her father'schair, softly stroking his white hair, while the conversation went'round.

  "Mary," said the older woman, presently, "Mr. Morgan and Norton have hada long ride and must be hungry."

  "No," said the latter, checking the girl's sudden movement, "we have hadsomething to eat in town."

  "You should have waited, my son; it was a needless expense," said themother, gently. "But I am afraid you will never practice economy."Norton laughed and did not dispute the proposition. The young mother andchildren disappeared, and Norton gave a spirited account of thequarantine incident without securing applause.

  "I understand," said the colonel to his guest presently, whenconversation had lulled, "that you are a nephew of John Morgan. I didnot know that he had brothers or sisters----"

  "I am not really a nephew," said Morgan, quietly, "but a distantrelative and always taught to regard him as uncle." Something in hisvoice made the young girl lift her eyes. His figure in the half-lightwhere he sat was immovable. Against the white column beyond, his head,graceful in its outlines, was sharply silhouetted. It was bent slightlyforward; and while they remained upon the porch, ever at the sound ofhis voice she would turn her eyes slowly and let them rest upon thespeaker. But she was silent.