THE CRISIS

By Winston Churchill

CONTENTS OF THE ENTIRE SET:

BOOK I

Volume 1. I. Which Deals With OriginsII. The MoleIII. The Unattainable SimplicityIV. Black CattleV. The First Spark PassesVI. Silas WhippleVII. Callers

Volume 2. VIII. BellegardeIX. A Quiet Sunday in Locust StreetX. The Little HouseXI. The InvitationXII. "Miss Jinny"XIII. The Party

BOOK II. 

Volume 3. I. Raw Material. II. Abraham LincolnIII. In Which Stephen Learns SomethingIV. The QuestionV. The CrisisVI. Glencoe

Volume 4. VII. An ExcursionVIII. The Colonel is WarnedIX. Signs of the TimesX. Richter's Scar, XI. How a Prince CameXII. Into Which a Potentate ComesXIII. At Mr. Brinsmade's GateXIV. The Breach becomes Too WideXV. Mutterings

Volume 5. XVI. The Guns of SumterXVII. Camp JacksonXVIII. The Stone that is RejectedXIX. The Tenth of May. XX. In the ArsenalXXI. The StampedeXXII. The Straining of Another FriendshipXXIII. Of Clarence

BOOK III

Volume 6. I. Introducing a CapitalistII. News from ClarenceIII. The Scourge of War, IV. The List of SixtyV. The AuctionVI. Eliphalet Plays his Trumps

Volume 7. VII. With the Armies of the WestVIII. A Strange MeetingIX. Bellegarde Once MoreX. In Judge Whipple's OfficeXI. Lead, Kindly Light

Volume 8. XII. The Last CardXIII. From the Letters of Major Stephen BriceXIV. The Same, ContinuedXV. The Man of SorrowsXVI. Annapolis

THE CRISIS

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

WHICH DEALS WITH ORIGINS

Faithfully to relate how Eliphalet Hopper came try St. Louis is to betrayno secret. Mr. Hopper is wont to tell the story now, when hisdaughter-in-law is not by; and sometimes he tells it in her presence, forhe is a shameless and determined old party who denies the divine right ofBoston, and has taken again to chewing tobacco. 

When Eliphalet came to town, his son's wife, Mrs: Samuel D. (or S. Dwyeras she is beginning to call herself), was not born. Gentlemen of Cavalierand Puritan descent had not yet begun to arrive at the Planters' House, to buy hunting shirts and broad rims, belts and bowies, and departquietly for Kansas, there to indulge in that; most pleasurable ofAnglo-Saxon pastimes, a free fight. Mr. Douglas had not thrown his boneof Local Sovereignty to the sleeping dogs of war. 

To return to Eliphalet's arrival, --a picture which has much that isinteresting in it. Behold the friendless boy he stands in the prow of thegreat steamboat 'Louisiana' of a scorching summer morning, and looks withsomething of a nameless disquiet on the chocolate waters of theMississippi. There have been other sights, since passing Louisville, which might have disgusted a Massachusetts lad more. A certain deck onthe 'Paducah', which took him as far as Cairo, was devoted to cattle--black cattle. Eliphalet possessed a fortunate temperament. The deck wasdark, and the smell of the wretches confined there was worse than itshould have been. And the incessant weeping of some of the women wasannoying, inasmuch as it drowned many of the profane communications ofthe overseer who was showing Eliphalet the sights. Then a fine-linenedplanter from down river had come in during the conversation, and payingno attention to the overseer's salute cursed them all into silence, andleft. 

Eliphalet had ambition, which is not a wholly undesirable quality. Hebegan to wonder how it would feel to own a few of these valuablefellow-creatures. He reached out and touched lightly a young mulattowoman who sat beside him with an infant in her arms. The peculiar dumbexpression on her face was lost on Eliphalet. The overseer had laughedcoarsely. 

"What, skeered on 'em?" said he. And seizing the girl by the cheek, gaveit a cruel twinge that brought a cry out of her. 

Eliphalet had reflected upon this incident after he had bid the overseergood-by at Cairo, and had seen that pitiful coffle piled aboard a steamerfor New Orleans. And the result of his reflections was, that some day hewould like to own slaves. 

A dome of smoke like a mushroom hung over the city, visible from far downthe river, motionless in the summer air. A long line of steamboats--white, patient animals--was tethered along the levee, and the Louisianapresently swung in her bow toward a gap in this line, where a mass ofpeople was awaiting her arrival. Some invisible force lifted Eliphalet'seyes to the upper deck, where they rested, as if by appointment, on thetrim figure of the young man in command of the Louisiana. He was veryyoung for the captain of a large New Orleans packet. When his lips moved, something happened. Once he raised his voice, and a negro stevedorerushed frantically aft, as if he had received the end of alightning-bolt. Admiration burst from the passengers, and one man criedout Captain Brent's age--it was thirty-two. 

Eliphalet snapped his teeth together. He was twenty-seven, and hisambition actually hurt him at such times. After the boat was fast to thelanding stage he remained watching the captain, who was speaking a fewparting words to some passengers of fashion. The body-servants weretaking their luggage to the carriages. Mr. Hopper envied the captain hisfree and vigorous speech, his ready jokes, and his hearty laugh. All therest he knew for his own--in times to come. The carriages, the trainedservants, the obsequiousness of the humbler passengers. For of such isthe Republic. 

Then Eliphalet picked his way across the hot stones of the levee, pushinghither and thither in the rough crowd of river men; dodging the mules onthe heavy drays, or making way for the carriages of the few people ofimportance who arrived on the boat. If any recollections of a cool, whitefarmhouse amongst barren New England hills disturbed his thoughts, thisis not recorded. He gained the mouth of a street between the low houseswhich crowded on the broad river front. The black mud was thick under hisfeet from an overnight shower, and already steaming in the sun. The brickpavement was lumpy from much travel and near as dirty as the street. Here, too, were drays blocking the way, and sweaty negro teamstersswinging cowhides over the mules. The smell of many wares poured throughthe open doors, mingling with the perspiration of the porters. On everyside of him were busy clerks, with their suspenders much in evidence, andEliphalet paused once or twice to listen to their talk. It was tingedwith that dialect he had heard, since leaving Cincinnati. 

Turning a corner, Eliphalet came abruptly upon a prophecy. A great droveof 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 startledwonder 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 somesense of his atomity, where the sight of the pillar of smoke and of theblack cattle had failed. The feeling of a stranger in a strange land wasupon him at last. A strange land, indeed! Could it be one with his nativeNew 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 inBoston journals?

Turning in the doorway, he saw to his astonishment a great store, withhigh ceilings supported by columns. The door was stacked high with balesof dry goods. Beside him was a sign in gold lettering, "Carvel andCompany, Wholesale Dry Goods. " And lastly, looking down upon him with aquizzical expression, was a gentleman. There was no mistaking thegentleman. He was cool, which Eliphalet was not. And the fact is the moreremarkable because the gentleman was attired according to the fashion ofthe day for men of his age, in a black coat with a teal of ruffled shirtshowing, and a heavy black stock around his collar. He had a whitemustache, and a goatee, and white hair under his black felt hat. His facewas long, his nose straight, and the sweetness of its smile had a strangeeffect upon Eliphalet, who stood on one foot. 

"Well, sonny, scared of mules, are you?" The speech is a stately drawlvery different from the nasal twang of Eliphalet's bringing up. "Reckonyou 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 hadnow become a distant roar, like a whirlwind which has swept by. ButEliphalet 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 andwonderful smile came again on the surface. 

"Mornin', Colonel, " said a voice which made Eliphalet jump. And he swungaround to perceive the young captain of the Louisiana. 

"Why, Captain Lige, " cried the Colonel, without ceremony, "and how do youfind yourself to-day, suh? A good trip from Orleans? We did not look foryou so soon. "

"Tolluble, Colonel, tolluble, " said the young man, grasping the Colonel'shand. "Well, Colonel, I just called to say that I got the seventy balesof goods you wanted. "

"Ephum" cried the Colonel, diving toward a counter where glasses were setout, --a custom new to Eliphalet, --"Ephum, some of that very particularColonel Crittenden sent me over from Kentucky last week. "

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

"I 'lowed you'd want it, Marse Comyn, when I seed de Cap'n comin', " saidhe, with the privilege of an old servant. Indeed, the bottle was beneathhis 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, "bressyour soul, sah, Miss Jinny's done gone to Halcyondale, in Kaintuck, tosee 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 aCreole doll from New Orleans, which Madame Claire said was dressed finerthan any one she'd ever seen. All lace and French gewgaws, Colonel. Butyou'll send it to her?"

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

"Bless her pretty face, " cried the Captain. "Her health, Colonel! Here'sa long life to Miss Virginia Carvel, and may she rule forever! How olddid 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 beworthy of her!"

"What an idiot you are about that child, Lige, " said the Colonel, who wasnot 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 padon't ruin her!"

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

"Ephum, " said the Colonel, pulling his goatee thoughtfully, "you're adamned 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 asthe old darkey faded into the darkness of the store, and continued: "DidI ever tell you about Wilson Peale's portrait of my grandmother, DorothyCarvel, 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 handeda cigar to Captain Brent, and lit one himself. "Daniel has a book mygrandfather wrote, mostly about her. Lord, I remember her! She was thequeen-bee of the family while she lived. I wish some of us had herspirit. "

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

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

"He was standing right where you are, sir, " he replied (Captain Ligemoved), "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 littlestart, and put a bullet past his ear, just to let the trash know thesound of it. Then Russell went down and bailed me out. "

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

"By the way, Lige, how's that boy, Tato? Somehow after I let you have himon the 'Louisiana', I thought I'd made a mistake to let him run theriver. Easter's afraid he'll lose the little religion she taught him. "

It was the Captain's turn to be grave. 

"I tell you what, Colonel, " said he; "we have to have hands, of course. But somehow I wish this business of slavery had never been started!"

"Sir, " said the Colonel, with some force, "God made the sons of Ham theservants of Japheth's sons forever and forever. "

"Well, well, we won't quarrel about that, sir, " said Brent, quickly. "Ifthey all treated slaves as you do, there wouldn't be any cry fromBoston-way. And as for me, I need hands. I shall see you again, Colonel. "

"Take supper with me to-night, Lige, " said Mr. Carvel. "I reckon you'llfind it rather lonesome without Jinny. "

"Awful lonesome, " said the Captain. "But you'll show me her letters, won't you?"

He started out, and ran against Eliphalet. 

"Hello!" he cried. "Who's this?"

"A young Yankee you landed here this morning, Lige, " said the Colonel. "What do you think of him?"

"Humph!" exclaimed the Captain. 

"He has no friends in town, and he is looking for employment. Isn't thatso, sonny?" asked the Colonels kindly. 

"Yes. "

"Come, Lige, would you take him?" said Mr. Carvel. 

The young Captain looked into Eliphalet's face. The dart that shot fromhis eyes was of an aggressive honesty; and Mr. Hopper's, after an attemptat defiance, were dropped. 

"No, " said the Captain. 

"Why not, Lige?"

"Well, for one thing, he's been listening, " said Captain Lige, as hedeparted. 

Colonel Carvel began to hum softly to himself:--

 "'One said it was an owl, and the other he said nay, One said it was a church with the steeple torn away, Look a' there now!'

"I reckon you're a rank abolitionist, " said he to Eliphalet, abruptly. 

"I don't see any particular harm in keepin' slaves, " Mr. Hopper replied, shifting to the other foot. 

Whereupon the Colonel stretched his legs apart, seized his goatee, pulledhis head down, and gazed at him for some time from under his eyebrows, sosearchingly that the blood flew to Mr. Hopper's fleshy face. He mopped itwith a dark-red handkerchief, stared at everything in the place save thegentleman in front of him, and wondered whether he had ever in his lifebeen so uncomfortable. Then he smiled sheepishly, hated himself, andbegan to hate the Colonel. 

"Ever hear of the Liberator?"

"No, sir, " said Mr. Hopper. 

"Where do you come from?" This was downright directness, from which therewas no escape. 

"Willesden, Massachusetts. "

"Umph! And never heard of Mr. Garrison?"

"I've had to work all my life. "

"What can you do, sonny?"

"I cal'late to sweep out a store. I have kept books, " Mr. Hoppervouchsafed. 

"Would you like work here?" asked the Colonel, kindly. The green eyeslooked up swiftly, and down again. 

"What'll you give me?"

The good man was surprised. "Well, " said he, "seven dollars a week. "

Many a time in after life had the Colonel reason to think over thisscene. He was a man the singleness of whose motives could not bequestioned. The one and sufficient reason for giving work to a homelessboy, from the hated state of the Liberator, was charity. The Colonel hadhis moods, like many another worthy man. 

The small specks on the horizon sometimes grow into the hugest of thunderclouds. And an act of charity, out of the wisdom of God, may produce onthis earth either good or evil. 

Eliphalet closed with the bargain. Ephum was called and told to lead therecruit to the presence of Mr. Hood, the manager. And he spent theremainder of a hot day checking invoices in the shipping entrance onSecond Street. 

It is not our place here to chronicle Eliphalet's faults. Whatever he mayhave been, he was not lazy. But he was an anomaly to the rest of theyoung men in the store, for those were days when political sentimentsdecided fervent loves or hatreds. In two days was Eliphalet's reputationfor wisdom made. During that period he opened his mouth to speak buttwice. The first was in answer to a pointless question of Mr. Barbo's(aetat 25), to the effect that he, Eliphalet Hopper, was a PierceDemocrat, who looked with complacency on the extension of slavery. Thiswas wholly satisfactory, and saved the owner of these sentiments a brokenhead. The other time Eliphalet spoke was to ask Mr. Barbo to direct himto a boardinghouse. 

"I reckon, " Mr. Barbo reflected, "that you'll want one of themCongregational boarding-houses. We've got a heap of Yankees in the town, and they all flock together and pray together. I reckon you'd ruther goto Miss Crane's nor anywhere. "

Forthwith to Miss Crane's Eliphalet went. And that lady, being a Greekherself, knew a Greek when she saw one. The kind-hearted Barbo lingeredin the gathering darkness to witness the game which ensued, a game dearto all New Englanders, comical to Barbo. The two contestants calculated. Barbo reckoned, and put his money on his new-found fellow-clerk. Eliphalet, indeed, never showed to better advantage. The shyness he hadused with the Colonel, and the taciturnity practised on hisfellow-clerks, he slipped off like coat and waistcoat for the battle. Thescene was in the front yard of the third house in Dorcas Row. Everybodyknows where Dorcas Row was. Miss Crane, tall, with all the severity ofside curls and bombazine, stood like a stone lioness at the gate. In thebackground, by the steps, the boarders sat, an interested group. Eliphalet girded up his loins, and sharpened his nasal twang to cope withhers. The preliminary sparring was an exchange of compliments, anddeceived neither party. It seemed rather to heighten mutual respect. 

"You be from Willesden, eh?" said Crane. "I calculate you know theSalters. "

If the truth were known, this evidence of an apparent omniscience ratherstaggered Eliphalet. But training stood by him, and he showed no dismay. Yes, he knew the Salters, and had drawed many a load out of HiramSalters' wood-lot to help pay for his schooling. 

"Let me see, " said Miss Crane, innocently; "who was it one of themSalters girls married, and lived across the way from the meetin'-house?"

"Spauldin', " was the prompt reply. 

"Wal, I want t' know!" cried the spinster: "not Ezra Spauldin'?"

Eliphalet nodded. That nod was one of infinite shrewdness which commendeditself to Miss Crane. These courtesies, far from making awkward thematerial discussion which followed; did not affect it in the least. 

"So you want me to board you?" said she, as if in consternation. 

Eliphalet calculated, if they could come to terms. And Mr. Barbo keyedhimself to enjoyment. 

"Single gentlemen, " said she, "pay as high as twelve dollars. " And sheadded that they had no cause to complain of her table. 

Eliphalet said he guessed he'd have to go somewhere else. Upon this thelady vouchsafed the explanation that those gentlemen had high positionsand rented her large rooms. Since Mr. Hopper was from Willesden and knewthe Salters, she would be willing to take him for less. Eliphalet saidbluntly he would give three and a half. Barbo gasped. This particularkind of courage was wholly beyond him. 

Half an hour later Eliphalet carried his carpet-bag up three flights andput it down in a tiny bedroom under the eaves, still pulsing with heatwaves. Here he was to live, and eat at Miss Crane's table for theconsideration of four dollars a week. 

Such is the story of the humble beginning of one substantial prop of theAmerican Nation. And what a hackneyed story it is! How many other youngmen from the East have travelled across the mountains and floated downthe rivers to enter those strange cities of the West, the growth of whichwas like Jonah's gourd. 

Two centuries before, when Charles Stuart walked out of a window inWhitehall Palace to die; when the great English race was in the throes ofa Civil War; when the Stern and the Gay slew each other at Naseby andMarston Moor, two currents flowed across the Atlantic to the New World. Then the Stern men found the stern climate, and the Gay found the smilingclimate. 

After many years the streams began to move again, westward, everwestward. Over the ever blue mountains from the wonderland of Virginiainto the greater wonderland of Kentucky. And through the marvels of theInland Seas, and by white conestogas threading flat forests and floatingover wide prairies, until the two tides met in a maelstrom as fierce asany in the great tawny torrent of the strange Father of Waters. A cityfounded by Pierre Laclede, a certain adventurous subject of Louis whodealt in furs, and who knew not Marly or Versailles, was to be the placeof the mingling of the tides. After cycles of separation, Puritan andCavalier united on this clay-bank in the Louisiana Purchase, and sweptwestward together--like the struggle of two great rivers when they meetthe waters for a while were dangerous. 

So Eliphalet was established, among the Puritans, at Miss Crane's. Thedishes were to his taste. Brown bread and beans and pies were plentiful, for it was a land of plenty. All kinds of Puritans were there, and theyattended Mr. Davitt's Congregational Church. And may it be added injustice to Mr. Hopper, that he became not the least devout of theboarders. 

CHAPTER. II

THE MOLE

For some years, while Stephen A. Douglas and Franklin Pierce and othergentlemen of prominence were playing at bowls on the United States ofAmerica; while Kansas was furnishing excitement free of charge to anycitizen who loved sport, Mr. Eliphalet Hopper was at work like theindustrious mole, underground. It is safe to affirm that Colonel Carvelforgot his new hand as soon as he had turned him over to Mr. Hood, themanager. As for Mr. Hopper, he was content. We can ill afford to dissectmotives. Genius is willing to lay the foundations of her structureunobserved. 

At first it was Mr. Barbo alone who perceived Eliphalet's greatness, --Mr. Barbo, whose opinions were so easily had that they counted for nothing. The other clerks, to say the least, found the newcomer uncompanionable. He had no time for skylarking, the heat of the day meant nothing to him, and he was never sleepy. He learned the stock as if by intuition, andsuch was his strict attention to business that Mr. Hood was heard is say, privately, he did not like the looks of it. A young man should have otherinterests. And then, although he would not hold it against him, he hadheard that Mr. Hopper was a teacher in Mr. Davitt's Sunday School. 

Because he did not discuss his ambitions at dinner with the other clerksin the side entry, it must not be thought that Eliphalet was withoutother interests. He was likewise too shrewd to be dragged into politicaldiscussions at the boarding-house table. He listened imperturbably to theoutbursts against the Border Ruffian, and smiled when Mr. Abner Reed, inan angry passion, asked him to declare whether or not he was a friend ofthe Divine Institution. After a while they forgot about him (all saveMiss Crane), which was what Mr. Hopper of all things desired. 

One other friend besides Miss Crane did Eliphalet take unto himself, wherein he showed much discrimination. This friend was none other thanMr. Davitt, minister for many years of the Congregational Church. For Mr. Davitt was a good man, zealous in his work, unpretentious, and kindly. More than once Eliphalet went to his home to tea, and was pressed to talkabout himself and his home life. The minister and his wife wareinvariably astonished, after their guest was gone, at the meagre resultof their inquiries. 

If Love had ever entered such a discreet soul as that into which we areprying, he used a back entrance. Even Mr. Barbo's inquiries failed in thediscovery of any young person with whom Eliphalet "kept company. "Whatever the notions abroad concerning him, he was admittedly a model. There are many kinds of models. With some young ladies at the SundaySchool, indeed, he had a distant bowing acquaintance. They spoke of himas the young man who knew the Bible as thoroughly as Mr. Davitt himself. The only time that Mr. Hopper was discovered showing embarrassment waswhen Mr. Davitt held his hand before them longer than necessary on thechurch steps. Mr. Hopper was not sentimental. 

However fascinating the subject, I do not propose to make a whole bookabout Eliphalet. Yet sidelights on the life of every great man areinteresting. And there are a few incidents in his early career which havenot gotten into the subscription biographical Encyclopaedias. In severalof these volumes, to be sure, we may see steel engravings of him, truelikenesses all. His was the type of face which is the glory of the steelengraving, --square and solid, as a corner-stone should be. The veryclothes he wore were made for the steel engraving, stiff and wiry intexture, with sharp angles at the shoulders, and sombre in hue, as befitsuch grave creations. 

Let us go back to a certain fine morning in the September of the year1857, when Mr. Hopper had arrived, all unnoticed, at the age of two andthirty. Industry had told. He was now the manager's assistant; and, be itsaid in passing, knew more about the stock than Mr. Hood himself. On thisparticular morning, about nine o'clock, he was stacking bolts of woollengoods near that delectable counter where the Colonel was wont to regalehis principal customers, when a vision appeared in the door. Visions wererare at Carvel & Company's. This one was followed by an old negress withleathery wrinkles, whose smile was joy incarnate. They entered the store, paused at the entrance to the Colonel's private office, and surveyed itwith dismay. 

"Clar t' goodness, Miss Jinny, yo' pa ain't heah! An' whah's Ephum, datblack good-fo'-nuthin'!"

Miracle number one, --Mr. Hopper stopped work and stared. The vision wassearching the store with her eyes, and pouting. 

"How mean of Pa!" she exclaimed, "when I took all this trouble tosurprise him, not to be here! Where are they all? Where's Ephum? Where'sMr. Hood?"

The eyes lighted on Eliphalet. His blood was sluggish, but it could bemade to beat faster. The ladies he had met at Miss Crane's were not ofthis description. As he came forward, embarrassment made him shamble, andfor the first time in his life he was angrily conscious of a poor figure. Her first question dashed out the spark of his zeal. 

"Oh, " said she, "are you employed here?"

Thoughtless Virginia! You little know the man you have insulted by yourhaughty drawl. 

"Yes. "

Then find Mr. Carvel, won't you, please? And tell him that his daughterhas come from Kentucky, and is waiting for him. "

"I callate Mr. Carvel won't be here this morning, " said Eliphalet. Hewent back to the pile of dry goods, and began to work. But he was unableto meet the displeasure in her face. 

"What is your name?" Miss Carvel demanded. 

"Hopper. "

"Then, Mr. Hopper, please find Ephum, or Mr. Hood. "

Two more bolts were taken off the truck. Out of the corner of his eye hewatched her, and she seemed very tall, like her father. She was tallerthan he, in fact. 

"I ain't a servant, Miss Carvel, " he said, with a meaning glance at thenegress. 

"Laws, Miss Jinny, " cried she, "I may's 'ell find Ephum. I knows he'sloafin' somewhar hereabouts. An' I ain't seed him dese five month. " Andshe started for the back of the store. 

"Mammy!"

The old woman stopped short. Eliphalet, electrified, looked up andinstantly down again. 

"You say you are employed by Mr. Carvel, and refuse to do what I ask?"

"I ain't a servant, " Mr. Hopper repeated doggedly. He felt that he was inthe right, --and perhaps he was. 

It was at this critical juncture in the proceedings that a young manstepped lightly into the store behind Miss Jinny. Mr. Hopper's eye was onhim, and had taken in the details of his costume before realizing theimport of his presence. He was perhaps twenty, and wore a coat thatsprung in at the waist, and trousers of a light buff-color that gatheredat the ankle and were very copious above. His features were of thestraight type which has been called from time immemorial patrician. Hehad dark hair which escaped in waves from under his hat, and black eyesthat snapped when they perceived Miss Virginia Carvel. At sight of her, indeed, the gold-headed cane stopped in its gyrations in midair. 

"Why, Jinny!" he cried--"Jinny!"

Mr. Hopper would have sold his soul to have been in the young man'spolished boots, to have worn his clothes, and to have been able to cryout to the young lady, "Why, Jinny!"

To Mr. Hopper's surprise, the young lady did not turn around. She stoodperfectly still. But a red flush stole upon her cheek, and laughter wasdancing in her eyes yet she did not move. The young man took a stepforward, and then stood staring at her with such a comical expression ofinjury on his face as was too much for Miss Jinny's serenity. Shelaughed. That laugh also struck minor chords upon Mr. Hopper'sheart-strings. 

But the young gentleman very properly grew angry. 

"You've no right to treat me the way you do, Virginia, " he cried. "Whydidn't you let me know that you were coming home?" His tone was one ofauthority. You didn't come from Kentucky alone!"

"I had plenty of attendance, I assure you, " said Miss Carvel. "Agovernor, and a senator, and two charming young gentlemen from NewOrleans as far as Cairo, where I found Captain Lige's boat. And Mr. Brinsmade brought me here to the store. I wanted to surprise Pa, " shecontinued rapidly, to head off the young gentleman's expostulations. "Howmean of him not to be here!"

"Allow me to escort you home, " said he, with ceremony:

"Allow me to decline the honah, Mr. Colfax, " she cried, imitating him. "Iintend to wait here until Pa comes in. "

Then Eliphalet knew that the young gentleman was Miss Virginia's firstcousin. And it seemed to him that he had heard a rumor, amongst theclerks in the store; that she was to marry him one day. 

"Where is Uncle Comyn?" demanded Mr. Colfax, swinging his cane withimpatience. 

Virgina looked hard at Mr. Hopper. 

"I don't know, " she said. 

"Ephum!" shouted Mr. Colfax. "Ephum! Easters where the deuce is thatgood-for-nothing husband of yours?"

"I dunno, Marse Clarence. 'Spec he whah he oughtn't ter be. "

Mr. Colfax spied the stooping figure of Eliphalet. 

"Do you work here?" he demanded. 

"I callate. "

"What?"

"I callate to, " responded Mr. Hopper again, without rising. 

"Please find Mr. Hood, " directed Mr. Colfax, with a wave of his cane, "and say that Miss Carvel is here--"

Whereupon Miss Carvel seated herself upon the edge of a bale and giggled, which did not have a soothing effect upon either of the young men. Howabominably you were wont to behave in those days, Virginia. 

"Just say that Mr. Colfax sent you, " Clarence continued, with a note ofirritation. "There's a good fellow. "

Virginia laughed outright. Her cousin did not deign to look at her. Histemper was slipping its leash. 

"I wonder whether you hear me, " he remarked. 

No answer. 

"Colonel Carvel hires you, doesn't he? He pays you wages, and the firsttime his daughter comes in here you refuse to do her a favor. By thunder, I'll see that you are dismissed. "

Still Eliphalet gave him no manner of attention, but began marking thetags at the bottom of the pile. 

It was at this unpropitious moment that Colonel Carvel walked into thestore, and his daughter flew into his arms. 

"Well, well, " he said, kissing her, "thought you'd surprise me, eh, Jinny?"

"Oh, Pa, " she cried, looking reproachfully up at his Face. "You knew--how mean of you!"

"I've been down on the Louisiana, where some inconsiderate man told me, or I should not have seen you today. I was off to Alton. But what arethese goings-on?" said the Colonel, staring at young Mr. Colfax, rigid asone of his own gamecocks. He was standing defiantly over the stoopingfigure of the assistant manager. 

"Oh, " said Virginia, indifferently, "it's only Clarence. He's sotiresome. He's always wanting to fight with somebody. "

"What's the matter, Clarence?" asked the Colonel, with the mild unconcernwhich deceived so many of the undiscerning. 

"This person, sir, refused to do a favor for your daughter. She told him, and I told him, to notify Mr. Hood that Miss Carvel was here, and herefused. "

Mr. Hopper continued his occupation, which was absorbing. But he waslistening. 

Colonel Carvel pulled his goatee, and smiled. 

"Clarence, " said he, "I reckon I can run this establishment without anyhelp from you and Jinny. I've been at it now for a good many years. "

If Mr. Barbo had not been constitutionally unlucky, he might haveperceived Mr. Hopper, before dark that evening, in conversation with Mr. Hood about a certain customer who lived up town, and presently leave thestore by the side entrance. He walked as rapidly as his legs would carryhim, for they were a trifle short for his body; and in due time, as thelamps were flickering, he arrived near Colonel Carvel's large doubleresidence, on Tenth and Locust streets. Then he walked slowly alongTenth, his eyes lifted to the tall, curtained windows. Now and anon theyscanned passers-by for a chance acquaintance. 

Mr. Hopper walked around the block, arriving again opposite the Carvelhouse, and beside Mr. Renault's, which was across from it. Eliphalet hadinherited the principle of mathematical chances. It is a fact that thediscreet sometimes take chances. Towards the back of Mr. Renault'sresidence, a wide area was sunk to the depth of a tall man, which wasapparently used for the purpose of getting coal and wood into the cellar. Mr. Hopper swept the neighborhood with a glance. The coast was clear, andhe dropped into the area. 

Although the evening was chill, at first Mr. Hopper perspired veryfreely. He crouched in the area while the steps of pedestrians beat abovehis head, and took no thought but of escape. At last, however, he grewcooler, removed his hat, and peeped over the stone coping. ColonelCarvel's house--her house--was now ablaze with lights, and the shades notyet drawn. There was the dining room, where the negro butler was movingabout the table; and the pantry, where the butler went occasionally; andthe kitchen, with black figures moving about. But upstairs on the twostreets was the sitting room. The straight figure of the Colonel passedacross the light. He held a newspaper in his hand. Suddenly, full in thewindow, he stopped and flung away the paper. A graceful shadow slippedacross the wall. Virginia laid her hands on his shoulders, and he stoopedto kiss her. Now they sat between the curtains, she on the arm of hischair and leaning on him, together looking out of the window. 

How long this lasted Mr. Hopper could not say. Even the wise forgetthemselves. But all at once a wagon backed and bumped against the curb infront of him, and Eliphalet's head dropped as if it had been struck bythe wheel. Above him a sash screamed as it opened, and he heard Mr. Renault's voice say, to some person below:

"Is that you, Capitaine Grant?"

"The same, " was the brief reply. 

"I am charmed that you have brought the wood. I thought that you hadforgotten me. "

"I try to do what I say, Mr. Renault. "

"Attendez--wait!" cried Mr. Renault, and closed the window. 

Now was Eliphalet's chance to bolt. The perspiration had come again, andit was cold. But directly the excitable little man, Renault, had appearedon the pavement above him. He had been running. 

"It is a long voyage from Gravois with a load of wood, Capitaine--I amvery grateful. "

"Business is business, Mr. Renault, " was the self-contained reply. 

"Alphonse!" cried Mr. Renault, "Alphonse!" A door opened in the backwall. "Du vin pour Monsieur le Capitaine. "

"Oui, M'sieu. "

Eliphalet was too frightened to wonder why this taciturn handler of woodwas called Captain, and treated with such respect. 

"Guess I won't take any wine to-night, Mr. Renault, " said he. "You goinside, or you'll take cold. "

Mr. Renault protested, asked about all the residents of Gravois way, andfinally obeyed. Eliphalet's heart was in his mouth. A bolder spirit wouldhave dashed for liberty. Eliphalet did not possess that kind of bravery. He was waiting for the Captain to turn toward his wagon. 

He looked down the area instead, with the light from the street lamp onhis face. Fear etched an ineffaceable portrait of him on Mr. Hopper'smind, so that he knew him instantly when he saw him years afterward. Little did he reckon that the fourth time he was to see him this man wasto be President of the United States. He wore a close-cropped beard, anold blue army overcoat, and his trousers were tucked into a pair of muddycowhide boots. 

Swiftly but silently the man reached down and hauled Eliphalet to thesidewalk by the nape of the neck. 

"What were you doing there?" demanded he of the blue overcoat, sternly. 

Eliphalet did not answer. With one frantic wrench he freed himself, andran down Locust Street. At the corner, turning fearfully, he perceivedthe man in the overcoat calmly preparing to unload his wood. 

CHAPTER III

THE UNATTAINABLE SIMPLICITY

To Mr. Hopper the being caught was the unpardonable crime. And indeed, with many of us, it is humiliation and not conscience which makes thesting. He walked out to the end of the city's growth westward, where thenew houses were going up. He had reflected coolly on consequences, andfound there were none to speak of. Many a moralist, Mr. Davitt included, would have shaken his head at this. Miss Crane's whole Puritan householdwould have raised their hands in horror at such a doctrine. 

Some novelists I know of, who are in reality celebrated surgeons indisguise, would have shown a good part of Mr. Eliphalet Hopper's mentalinsides in as many words as I have taken to chronicle his arrival in St. Louis. They invite us to attend a clinic, and the horrible skill withwhich they wield the scalpel holds us spellbound. For God has made all ofus, rogue and saint, burglar and burgomaster, marvellously alike. We reada patent medicine circular and shudder with seven diseases. We peruse oneof Mr. So and So's intellectual tonics and are sure we are complicatedscandals, fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Alas, I have neither the skill nor the scalpel to show the diseases ofMr. Hopper's mind; if, indeed, he had any. Conscience, when contracted, is just as troublesome as croup. Mr. Hopper was thoroughly healthy. Hehad ambition, as I have said. But he was not morbidly sensitive. He wascalm enough when he got back to the boarding-house, which he found in ashigh a pitch of excitement as New Englanders ever reach. 

And over what?

Over the prospective arrival that evening of the Brices, mother and son, from Boston. Miss Crane had received the message in the morning. Palpitating with the news; she had hurried rustling to Mrs. Abner Reed, with the paper in her hand. 

"I guess you don't mean Mrs. Appleton Brice, " said Mrs. Reed. 

"That's just who I mean, " answered Miss Crane, triumphantly, --nay, aggressively. 

Mrs. Abner shook her curls in a way that made people overwhelm her withproofs. 

"Mirandy, you're cracked, " said she. "Ain't you never been to Boston?"

Miss Crane bridled. This was an uncalled-for insult. 

"I guess I visited down Boston-way oftener than you, Eliza Reed. Younever had any clothes. "

Mrs. Reed's strength was her imperturbability. 

"And you never set eyes on the Brice house, opposite the Common, with theswelled front? I'd like to find out where you were a-visitin'. And you'venever heard tell of the Brice homestead, at Westbury, that was ColonelWilton Brice's, who fought in the Revolution? I'm astonished at you, Mirandy. When I used to be at the Dales', in Mount Vernon Street, inthirty-seven, Mrs. Charles Atterbury Brice used to come there in hercarriage, a-callin'. She was Appleton's mother. Severe! Save us, "exclaimed Mrs. Reed, "but she was stiff as starched crepe. His father wasminister to France. The Brices were in the India trade, and they hadmoney enough to buy the whole of St. Louis. "

Miss Crane rattled the letter in her hand. She brought forth herreserves. 

"Yes, and Appleton Brice lost it all, in the panic. And then he died, andleft the widow and son without a cent. "

Mrs. Reed took off her spectacles. 

"I want to know!" she exclaimed. "The durned fool! Well, Appleton Bricedidn't have the family brains, ands he was kind of soft-hearted. I'veheard Mehitabel Dale say that. " She paused to reflect. "So they're cominghere?" she added. "I wonder why. "

Miss Crane's triumph was not over. 

"Because Silas Whipple was some kin to Appleton Brice, and he has offeredthe boy a place in his law office. "

Miss Reed laid down her knitting. 

"Save us!" she said. "This is a day of wonders, Mirandy. Now Lord helpthe boy if he's gain' to work for the Judge. "

"The Judge has a soft heart, if he is crabbed, " declared the spinster. "I've heard say of a good bit of charity he's done. He's a soft heart. "

"Soft as a green quince!" said Mrs. Abner, scornfully. "How many friendshas he?"

"Those he has are warm enough, " Miss Crane retorted. "Look at ColonelCarvel, who has him to dinner every Sunday. "

"That's plain as your nose, Mirandy Crane. They both like quarrellin'better than anything in this world. "

"Well, " said Miss Crane, "I must go make ready for the Brices. "

Such was the importance of the occasion, however, that she could notresist calling at Mrs. Merrill's room, and she knocked at Mrs. Chandler'sdoor to tell that lady and her daughter. 

No Burke has as yet arisen in this country of ours to write a Peerage. Fame awaits him. Indeed, it was even then awaiting him, at the time ofthe panic of 1857. With what infinite pains were the pedigree andpossessions of the Brice family pieced together that day by the scatteredresidents from Puritan-land in the City of St. Louis. And few buildingswould have borne the wear and tear of many house-cleanings of the kindMiss Crane indulged in throughout the morning and afternoon. 

Mr. Eliphalet Hopper, on his return from business, was met on the stepsand requested to wear his Sunday clothes. Like the good republican thathe was, Mr. Hopper refused. He had ascertained that the golden charmwhich made the Brices worthy of tribute had been lost. Commercialsupremacy, --that was Mr. Hopper's creed. Family is a good thing, but ofwhat use is a crest without the panels on which to paint it? Can adiamond brooch shine on a calico gown? Mr. Hopper deemed church the placefor worship. He likewise had his own idol in his closet. 

Eliphalet at Willesden had heard a great deal of Boston airs and gracesand intellectuality, of the favored few of that city who lived inmysterious houses, and who crossed the sea in ships. He pictured Mrs. Brice asking for a spoon, and young Stephen sniffing at Mrs. Crane'sboarding-house. And he resolved with democratic spirit that he wouldteach Stephen a lesson, if opportunity offered. His own discrepancybetween the real and the imagined was no greater than that of the rest ofhis fellow-boarders. 

Barring Eliphalet, there was a dress parade that evening, --silks andbombazines and broadcloths, and Miss Crane's special preserves on thetea-table. Alas, that most of the deserved honors of this world shouldfall upon barren ground!

The quality which baffled Mr. Hopper, and some other boarders, wassimplicity. None save the truly great possess it (but this is notgenerally known). Mrs. Brice was so natural, that first evening at tea, that all were disappointed. The hero upon the reviewing stand with thehalo of the Unknown behind his head is one thing; the lady of Family whosits beside you at a boarding-house and discusses the weather and thejourney is quite another. They were prepared to hear Mrs. Brice rail atthe dirt of St. Louis and the crudity of the West. They pictured herreferring with sighs to her Connections, and bewailing that Stephen couldnot have finished his course at Harvard. 

She did nothing of the sort. 

The first shock was so great that Mrs. Abner Reed cried in the privacy ofher chamber, and the Widow Crane confessed her disappointment to theconfiding ear of her bosom friend, Mrs. Merrill. Not many years later aman named Grant was to be in Springfield, with a carpet bag, despised asa vagabond. A very homely man named Lincoln went to Cincinnati to try acase before the Supreme Court, and was snubbed by a man named Stanton. 

When we meet the truly great, several things may happen. In the firstplace, we begin to believe in their luck, or fate, or whatever we chooseto call it, and to curse our own. We begin to respect ourselves the more, and to realize that they are merely clay like us, that we are great menwithout Opportunity. Sometimes, if we live long enough near the Great, webegin to have misgivings. Then there is hope for us. 

Mrs. Brice, with her simple black gowns, quiet manner, and serene face, with her interest in others and none in herself, had a wonderful effectupon the boarders. They were nearly all prepared to be humble. They grewarrogant and pretentious. They asked Mrs. Brice if she knew this and thatperson of consequence in Boston, with whom they claimed relationship orintimacy. Her answers were amiable and self-contained. 

But what shall we say of Stephen Brice? Let us confess at once that it ishe who is the hero of this story, and not Eliphalet Hopper. It would beso easy to paint Stephen in shining colors, and to make him a first-classprig (the horror of all novelists), that we must begin with thedrawbacks. First and worst, it must be confessed that Stephen had at thattime what has been called "the Boston manner. " This was not Stephen'sfault, but Boston's. Young Mr. Brice possessed that wonderful power ofexpressing distance in other terms besides ells and furlongs, --and yethe was simple enough with it all. 

Many a furtive stare he drew from the table that evening. There were oneor two of discernment present, and they noted that his were the generousfeatures of a marked man, --if he chose to become marked. He inherited hismother's look; hers was the face of a strong woman, wide of sympathy, broad of experience, showing peace of mind amid troubles--the touch offemininity was there to soften it. 

Her son had the air of the college-bred. In these surroundings he escapedarrogance by the wonderful kindliness of his eye, which lighted when hismother spoke to him. But he was not at home at Miss Crane's table, and hemade no attempt to appear at his ease. 

This was an unexpected pleasure for Mr. Eliphalet Hopper. Let it not bethought that he was the only one at that table to indulge in a littlesecret rejoicing. But it was a peculiar satisfaction to him to reflectthat these people, who had held up their heads for so many generations, were humbled at last. To be humbled meant, in Mr. Hopper's philosophy, tolose one's money. It was thus he gauged the importance of hisacquaintances; it was thus he hoped some day to be gauged. And he trustedand believed that the time would come when he could give his fillip tothe upper rim of fortune's wheel, and send it spinning downward. 

Mr. Hopper was drinking his tea and silently forming an estimate. Heconcluded that young Brice was not the type to acquire the money whichhis father had lost. And he reflected that Stephen must feel as strangein St. Louis as a cod might amongst the cat-fish in the Mississippi. Sothe assistant manager of Carvel & Company resolved to indulge in thepleasure of patronizing the Bostonian. 

"Callatin' to go to work?" he asked him, as the boarders walked into thebest room. 

"Yes, " replied Stephen, taken aback. And it may be said here that, if Mr. Hopper underestimated him, certainly he underestimated Mr. Hopper. 

"It ain't easy to get a job this Fall, " said Eliphalet, "St. Louis houseshave felt the panic. "

"I am sorry to hear that. "

"What business was you callatin' to grapple with?"

"Law, " said Stephen. 

"Gosh!" exclaimed Mr. Hopper, "I want to know. " In reality he was a bitchagrined, having pictured with some pleasure the Boston aristocrat goingfrom store to store for a situation. "You didn't come here figurin' onmakin' a pile, I guess. "

"A what?"

"A pile. "

Stephen looked down and over Mr. Hopper attentively. He took in theblocky shoulders and the square head, and he pictured the little eyes ata vanishing-point in lines of a bargain. Then humor blessed humor--cameto his rescue. He had entered the race in the West, where all startequal. He had come here, like this man who was succeeding, to make hisliving. Would he succeed?

Mr. Hopper drew something out of his pocket, eyed Miss Crane, and bit offa corner. 

"What office was you going into?" he asked genially. Mr. Brice decided toanswer that. 

"Judge Whipple's--unless he has changed his mind. " Eliphalet gave him alook more eloquent than words. 

"Know the Judge?"

Silent laughter. 

"If all the Fourth of Julys we've had was piled into one, " said Mr. Hopper, slowly and with conviction, "they wouldn't be a circumstance toSilas Whipple when he gets mad. My boss, Colonel Carvel, is the only manin town who'll stand up to him. I've seen 'em begin a quarrel in thestore and carry it all the way up the street. I callate you won't staywith him a great while. "

CHAPTER IV

BLACK CATTLE

Later that evening Stephen Brice was sitting by the open windows in hismother's room, looking on the street-lights below. 

"Well, my dear, " asked the lady, at length, "what do you think of itall?"

"They are kind people, " he said. 

"Yes, they are kind, " she assented, with a sigh. "But they are not--theyare not from among our friends, Stephen. "

"I thought that one of our reasons for coming West, mother, " answeredStephen. 

His mother looked pained. 

"Stephen, how can you! We came West in order that you might have morechance for the career to which you are entitled. Our friends in Bostonwere more than good. "

He left the window and came and stood behind her chair, his hands claspedplayfully beneath her chin. 

"Have you the exact date about you, mother?"

"What date, Stephen?"

"When I shall leave St. Louis for the United States Senate. And you mustnot forget that there is a youth limit in our Constitution for senators. "

Then the widow smiled, --a little sadly, perhaps. But still a wonderfullysweet smile. And it made her strong face akin to all that was human andhelpful. 

"I believe that you have the subject of my first speech in that augustassembly. And, by the way, what was it?"

"It was on 'The Status of the Emigrant, '" she responded instantly, thereby proving that she was his mother. 

"And it touched the Rights of Privacy, " he added, laughing, "which do notseem to exist in St. Louis boarding-houses. "

"In the eyes of your misguided profession, statesmen and authors andemigrants and other public charges have no Rights of Privacy, " said she. "Mr. Longfellow told me once that they were to name a brand of flour forhim, and that he had no redress. "

"Have you, too, been up before Miss Crane's Commission?" he asked, withamused interest. 

His mother laughed. 

"Yes, " she said quietly. 

"They have some expert members, " he continued. "This Mrs. Abner Reedcould be a shining light in any bar. I overheard a part of hercross-examination. She--she had evidently studied our case--"

"My dear, " answered Mrs. Brice, "I suppose they know all about us. " Shewas silent a moment, I had so hoped that they wouldn't. They lead thesame narrow life in this house that they did in their little New Englandtowns. They--they pity us, Stephen. "

"Mother!"

"I did not expect to find so many New Englanders here--I wish that Mr. Whipple had directed us elsewhere-"

"He probably thought that we should feel at home among New Englanders. Ihope the Southerners will be more considerate. I believe they will, " headded. 

"They are very proud, " said his mother. "A wonderful people, --bornaristocrats. You don't remember those Randolphs with whom we travelledthrough England. They were with us at Hollingdean, Lord Northwell'splace. You were too small at the time. There was a young girl, EleanorRandolph, a beauty. I shall never forget the way she entered thoseEnglish drawing-rooms. They visited us once in Beacon Street, afterwards. And I have heard that there are a great many good Southern families herein St. Louis. "

"You did not glean that from Judge Whipple's letter, mother, " saidStephen, mischievously. 

"He was very frank in his letter, " sighed Mrs. Brice. 

"I imagine he is always frank, to put it delicately. "

"Your father always spoke in praise of Silas Whipple, my dear. I haveheard him call him one of the ablest lawyers in the country. He won aremarkable case for Appleton here, and he once said that the Judge wouldhave sat on the Supreme Bench if he had not been pursued with suchrelentlessness by rascally politicians. "

"The Judge indulges in a little relentlessness now and then, himself. Heis not precisely what might be termed a mild man, if what we hear iscorrect. "

Mrs. Brice started. 

"What have you heard?" she asked. 

"Well, there was a gentleman on the steamboat who said that it took morecourage to enter the Judge's private office than to fight a BorderRuffian. And another, a young lawyer, who declared that he would ratherface a wild cat than ask Whipple a question on the new code. And yet hesaid that the Judge knew more law than any man in the West. And lastly, there is a polished gentleman named Hopper here from Massachusetts whoenlightened me a little more. "

Stephen paused and bit his tongue. He saw that she was distressed bythese things. Heaven knows that she had borne enough trouble in the lastfew months. 

"Come, mother, " he said gently, "you should know how to take my jokes bythis time. I didn't mean it. I am sure the Judge is a good man, --one ofthose aggressive good men who make enemies. I have but a single piece ofguilt to accuse him of. "

"And what is that?" asked the widow. 

"The cunning forethought which he is showing in wishing to have it saidthat a certain Senator and Judge Brice was trained in his office. "

"Stephen--you goose!" she said. 

Her eye wandered around the room, --Widow Crane's best bedroom. It wasdimly lighted by an extremely ugly lamp. The hideous stuffy bed curtainsand the more hideous imitation marble mantel were the two objects thatheld her glance. There was no change in her calm demeanor. But Stephen, who knew his mother, felt that her little elation over her arrival hadebbed, Neither would confess dejection to the other. 

"I--even I--" said Stephen, tapping his chest, "have at least made theacquaintance of one prominent citizen, Mr. Eliphalet D. Hopper. Accordingto Mr. Dickens, he is a true American gentleman, for he chews tobacco. Hehas been in St. Louis five years, is now assistant manager of the largestdry goods house, and still lives in one of Miss Crane's four-dollarrooms. I think we may safely say that he will be a millionaire before Iam a senator. "

He paused. 

"And mother?"

"Yes, dear. "

He put his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window. 

"I think that it would be better if I did the same thing. "

"What do you mean, my son--"

"If I went to work, --started sweeping out a store, I mean. See here, mother, you've sacrificed enough for me already. After paying father'sdebts, we've come out here with only a few thousand dollars, and the ninehundred I saved out of this year's Law School allowance. What shall we dowhen that is gone? The honorable legal profession, as my friend remindedme to-night, is not the swiftest road to millions. "

With a mother's discernment she guessed the agitation, he was striving tohide; she knew that he had been gathering courage for this moment formonths. And she knew that he was renouncing thus lightly, for her sake anambition he had had from his school days. 

Widow passed her hand over her brow. It was a space before she answeredhim. 

"My son, " she said, let us never speak of this again:

"It was your father's dearest wish that you should become a lawyer and--and his wishes are sacred God will take care of us. "

She rose and kissed him good-night. 

"Remember, my dear, when you go to Judge Whipple in the morning, rememberhis kindness, and--. "

"And keep my temper. I shall, mother. "

A while later he stole gently back into her room again. She was on herknees by the walnut bedstead. 

At nine the next manning Stephen left Miss Crane's, girded for thestruggle with the redoubtable Silas Whipple. He was not afraid, but apoor young man as an applicant to a notorious dragon is not likely to bebandied with velvet, even though the animal had been a friend of hisfather. Dragons as a rule have had a hard rime in their youths, andbelieve in others having a hard time. 

To a young man, who as his father's heir in Boston had been the subjectof marked consideration by his elders, the situation was keenlydistasteful. But it had to be gone through. So presently, after inquiry, he came to the open square where the new Court House stood, the dome ofwhich was indicated by a mass of staging, and one wing still to becompleted. Across from the building, on Market Street, and in the middleof the block, what had once been a golden hand pointed up a narrow dustystairway. 

Here was a sign, "Law office of Silas Whipple. "

Stephen climbed the stairs, and arrived at a ground glass door, on whichthe sign was repeated. Behind that door was the future: so he opened itfearfully, with an impulse to throw his arm above his head. But he wasstruck dumb on beholding, instead of a dragon, a good-natured young manwho smiled a broad welcome. The reaction was as great as though oneentered a dragon's den, armed to the teeth, to find a St. Bernard doingthe honors. 

Stephen's heart went out to this young man, --after that organ had jumpedback into its place. This keeper of the dragon looked the part. Even thelong black coat which custom then decreed could not hide the bone andsinew under it. The young man had a broad forehead, placid Dresden-blueeyes, flaxen hair, and the German coloring. Across one of his highcheek-bones was a great jagged scar which seemed to add distinction tohis appearance. That caught Stephen's eye, and held it. He wonderedwhether it were the result of an encounter with the Judge. 

"You wish to see Mr. Whipple?" he asked, in the accents of an educatedGerman. 

"Yes, " said Stephen, "if he isn't busy. "

"He is out, " said the other, with just a suspicion of a 'd' in the word. "You know he is much occupied now, fighting election frauds. You read thepapers?"

"I am a stranger here, " said Stephen. 

"Ach!" exclaimed the German, "now I know you, Mr. Brice. The young onefrom Boston the Judge spoke of. But you did not tell him of yourarrival. "

"I did not wish to bother him, " Stephen replied, smiling. 

"My name is Richter--Carl Richter, sir. "

The pressure of Mr. Richter's big hands warmed Stephen as nothing elsehad since he had come West. He was moved to return it with a little morefervor than he usually showed. And he felt, whatever the Judge might be, that he had a powerful friend near at hand--Mr. Richter's welcome camenear being an embrace. 

"Sit down, Mr. Brice, " he said; "mild weather for November, eh? The Judgewill be here in an hour. "

Stephen looked around him: at the dusty books on the shelves, and thestill dustier books heaped on Mr. Richter's big table; at the cuspidors;at the engravings of Washington and Webster; at the window in the jogwhich looked out on the court-house square; and finally at anotherground-glass door on which was printed:

 SILAS WHIPPLE

 PRIVATE

This, then, was the den, --the arena in which was to take place amemorable interview. But the thought of waiting an hour for the dragon toappear was disquieting. Stephen remembered that he had something overnine hundred dollars in his pocket (which he had saved out of his lastyear's allowance at the Law School). So he asked Mr. Richter, who wasdusting off a chair, to direct him to the nearest bank. 

"Why, certainly, " said he; "Mr. Brinsmade's bank on Chestnut Street. " Hetook Stephen to the window and pointed across the square. "I am sorry Icannot go with you, " he added, "but the Judge's negro, Shadrach, is out, and I must stay in the office. I will give you a note to Mr. Brinsmade. "

"His negro!" exclaimed Stephen. "Why, I thought that Mr. Whipple was anAbolitionist. "

Mr. Richter laughed. 

"The man is free, " said he. "The Judge pays him wages. "

Stephen thanked his new friend for the note to the bank president, andwent slowly down the stairs. To be keyed up to a battle-pitch, and thento have the battle deferred, is a trial of flesh and spirit. 

As he reached the pavement, he saw people gathering in front of the wideentrance of the Court House opposite, and perched on the copings. Hehesitated, curious. Then he walked slowly toward the place, and buttoninghis coat, pushed through the loafers and passers-by dallying on theoutskirts of the crowd. There, in the bright November sunlight, a sightmet his eyes which turned him sick and dizzy. 

Against the walls and pillars of the building, already grimy with soot, crouched a score of miserable human beings waiting to be sold at auction. Mr. Lynch's slave pen had been disgorged that morning. Old and young, husband and wife, --the moment was come for all and each. How hard thestones and what more pitiless than the gaze of their fellow-creatures inthe crowd below! O friends, we who live in peace and plenty amongst ourfamilies, how little do we realize the terror and the misery and the dumbheart-aches of those days! Stephen thought with agony of seeing his ownmother sold before his eyes, and the building in front of him was liftedfrom its foundation and rocked even as shall the temples on the judgmentday. 

The oily auctioneer was inviting the people to pinch the wares. Men cameforward to feel the creatures and look into their mouths, and one brute, unshaven and with filthy linen, snatched a child from its mother's lapStephen shuddered with the sharpest pain he had ever known. An ocean-widetempest arose in his breast, Samson's strength to break the pillars ofthe temple to slay these men with his bare hands. Seven generations ofstern life and thought had their focus here in him, --from Oliver Cromwellto John Brown. 

Stephen was far from prepared for the storm that raged within him. He hadnot been brought up an Abolitionist--far from it. Nor had his father'sfriends--who were deemed at that time the best people in Boston--beenAbolitionists. Only three years before, when Boston had been aflame overthe delivery of the fugitive Anthony Burns, Stephen had gone out ofcuriosity to the meeting at Faneuil Hall. How well he remembered hisfather's indignation when he confessed it, and in his anger Mr. Brice hadcalled Phillips and Parker "agitators. " But his father, nor his father'sfriends in Boston had never been brought face to face with this hideoustraffic. 

Hark! Was that the sing-song voice of the auctioneer He was selling thecattle. High and low, caressing an menacing, he teased and exhorted themto buy. The were bidding, yes, for the possession of souls, bidding inthe currency of the Great Republic. And between the eager shouts came amoan of sheer despair. What was the attendant doing now? He was tearingtwo of then: from a last embrace. 

Three--four were sold while Stephen was in a dream

Then came a lull, a hitch, and the crowd began to chatter gayly. But themisery in front of him held Stephen in a spell. Figures stood out fromthe group. A white-haired patriarch, with eyes raised to the sky; aflat-breasted woman whose child was gone, whose weakness made hervalueless. Then two girls were pushed forth, one a quadroon of greatbeauty, to be fingered. Stephen turned his face away, --to behold Mr. Eliphalet Hopper looking calmly on. 

"Wal, Mr. Brice, this is an interesting show now, ain't it? Something wedon't have. I generally stop here to take a look when I'm passing. " Andhe spat tobacco juice on the coping. 

Stephen came to his senses. 

"And you are from New England?" he said. 

Mr. Hopper laughed. 

"Tarnation!" said he, "you get used to it. When I came here, I was a sortof an Abolitionist. But after you've lived here awhile you get to knowthat niggers ain't fit for freedom. "

Silence from Stephen. 

"Likely gal, that beauty, " Eliphalet continued unrepressed. "There's awell-known New Orleans dealer named Jenkins after her. I callate she'llgo down river. "

"I reckon you're right, Mistah, " a man with a matted beard chimed in, andadded with a wink: "She'll find it pleasant enough--fer a while. Some ofthose other niggers will go too, and they'd rather go to hell. They dotreat 'em nefarious down thah on the wholesale plantations. Householdniggers! there ain't none better off than them. But seven years in acotton swamp, --seven years it takes, that's all, Mistah. "

Stephen moved away. He felt that to stay near the man was to be temptedto murder. He moved away, and just then the auctioneer yelled, "Attention!"

"Gentlemen, " he cried, "I have heah two sisters, the prope'ty of the lateMistah Robe't Benbow, of St. Louis, as fine a pair of wenches as was everoffe'd to the public from these heah steps--"

"Speak for the handsome gal, " cried a wag. 

"Sell off the cart hoss fust, " said another. 

The auctioneer turned to the darker sister:

"Sal ain't much on looks, gentlemen, " he said, "but she's the best niggerfor work Mistah Benbow had. " He seized her arm and squeezed it, while thegirl flinched and drew back. "She's solid, gentlemen, and sound as adollar, and she kin sew and cook. Twenty-two years old. What am I bid?"

Much to the auctioneer's disgust, Sal was bought in for four hundreddollars, the interest in the beautiful sister having made the crowdimpatient. Stephen, sick at heart, turned to leave. Halfway to the cornerhe met a little elderly man who was the color of a dried gourd. And justas Stephen passed him, this man was overtaken by an old negress, withtears streaming down her face, who seized the threadbare hem of his coat. Stephen paused involuntarily. 

"Well, Nancy, " said the little man, "we had marvellous luck. I was ableto buy your daughter for you with less than the amount of your savings. "

"T'ank you, Mistah Cantah, " wailed the poor woman, "t'ank you, suh. Praised be de name ob de Lawd. He gib me Sal again. Oh, Mistah Cantah"(the agony in that cry), "is you gwineter stan' heah an' see her sisterHester sol' to--to--oh, ma little Chile! De little Chile dat I nussed, dat I raised up in God's 'ligion. Mistah Cantah, save her, suh, f'om datwicked life o' sin. De Lawd Jesus'll rewa'd you, suh. Dis ole woman'llwuk fo' you twell de flesh drops off'n her fingers, suh. "

And had he not held her, she would have gone down on her knees on thestone flagging before him. Her suffering was stamped on the little man'sface--and it seemed to Stephen that this was but one trial more whichadversity had brought to Mr. Canter. 

"Nancy, " he answered (how often, and to how many, must he have had to saythe same thing), "I haven't the money, Nancy. Would to God that I had, Nancy!"

She had sunk down on the bricks. But she had not fainted. It was not somerciful as that. It was Stephen who lifted her, and helped her to thecoping, where she sat with her bandanna awry. 

Stephen was not of a descent to do things upon impulse. But the tale wastold in after days that one of his first actions in St. Louis was of thisnature. The waters stored for ages in the four great lakes, given theopportunity, rush over Niagara Falls into Ontario. 

"Take the woman away, " said Stephen, in a low voice, "and I will buy thegirl, --if I can. "

The little man looked up, dazed. 

"Give me your card, --your address. I will buy the girl, if I can, and sether free. "

He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a dirty piece of pasteboard. Itread: "R. Canter, Second Hand Furniture, 20 Second Street. " And still hestared at Stephen, as one who gazes upon a mystery. A few curiouspedestrians had stopped in front of them. 

"Get her away, if you can, for God's sake, " said Stephen again. And hestrode off toward the people at the auction. He was trembling. In hiseagerness to reach a place of vantage before the girl was sold, he pushedroughly into the crowd. 

But suddenly he was brought up short by the blocky body of Mr. Hopper, who grunted with the force of the impact. 

"Gosh, " said that gentleman, "but you are inters'ted. They ain't begun tosell her yet--he's waitin' for somebody. Callatin' to buy her?" asked Mr. Hopper, with genial humor. 

Stephen took a deep breath. If he knocked Mr. Hopper down, he certainlycould not buy her. And it was a relief to know that the sale had notbegun. 

As for Eliphalet, he was beginning to like young Brice. He approved ofany man from Boston who was not too squeamish to take pleasure in alittle affair of this kind. 

As for Stephen, Mr. Hopper brought him back to earth. He ceasedtrembling, and began to think. 

"Tarnation!" said Eliphalet. "There's my boss, Colonel Carvel across thestreet. Guess I'd better move on. But what d'ye think of him for a realSouthern gentleman?"

"The young dandy is his nephew, Clarence Colfax. He callates to own thistown. " Eliphalet was speaking leisurely, as usual, while preparing tomove. "That's Virginia Carvel, in red. Any gals down Boston-way to beather? Guess you won't find many as proud. "

He departed. And Stephen glanced absently at the group. They were pickingtheir way over the muddy crossing toward him. Was it possible that thesepeople were coming to a slave auction? Surely not. And yet here they wereon the pavement at his very side. 

She wore a long Talma of crimson cashmere, and her face was in that mostseductive of frames, a scoop bonnet of dark green velvet, For a fleetingsecond her eyes met his, and then her lashes fell. But he was aware, whenhe had turned away, that she was looking at him again. He grew uneasy. Hewondered whether his appearance betrayed his purpose, or made a questionof his sanity. 

Sanity! Yes, probably he was insane from her point of view. A suddenanger shook him that she should be there calmly watching such a scene. 

Just then there was a hush among the crowd. The beautiful slave-girl wasseized roughly by the man in charge and thrust forward, half fainting, into view. Stephen winced. But unconsciously he turned, to see the effectupon Virginia Carvel. 

Thank God! There were tears upon her lashes. 

Here was the rasp of the auctioneer's voice:-- "Gentlemen, I reckon thereain't never been offered to bidders such an opportunity as this heah. Look at her well, gentlemen. I ask you, ain't she a splendid creature?"

Colonel Carvel, in annoyance, started to move on. "Come Jinny, " he said, "I had no business to bring you aver. "

But Virginia caught his arm. "Pa, " she cried, "it's Mr. Benbow's Hester. Don't go, dear. Buy her for me You know that I always wanted her. Please!"

The Colonel halted, irresolute, and pulled his goatee Young Colfaxstepped in between them. 

"I'll buy her for you, Jinny. Mother promised you a present, you know, and you shall have her. "

Virginia had calmed. 

"Do buy her, one of you, " was all she said

"You may do the bidding, Clarence, " said the Colonel, "and we'll settlethe ownership afterward. " Taking Virginia's arm, he escorted her acrossthe street. 

Stephen was left in a quandary. Here was a home for the girl, and a goodone. Why should me spend the money which meant so much to him. He saw theman Jenkin elbowing to the front. And yet--suppose Mr. Colfax did not gether? He had promised to buy her if he could, and to set her free:

Stephen had made up his mind: He shouldered his way after Jenkins. 

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST SPARK PASSES

"Now, gentlemen, " shouted the auctioneer when he had finished his orationupon the girl's attractions, "what 'tin I bid? Eight hundred?"

Stephen caught his breath. There was a long pause no one cared to startthe bidding. 

"Come, gentlemen, come! There's my friend Alf Jenkins. He knows whatshe's worth to a cent. What'll you give, Alf? Is it eight hundred?"

Mr. Jenkins winked at the auction joined in the laugh. 

"Three hundred!" he said. 

The auctioneer was mortally offended. Then some one cried:--"Threehundred and fifty!"

It was young Colfax. He was recognized at once, by name, evidently as aperson of importance. 

"Thank you, Mistah Colfax, suh, " said the auctioneer, with a servile waveof the hand in his direction, while the crowd twisted their necks to seehim. He stood very straight, very haughty, as if entirely oblivious tohis conspicuous position. 

"Three seventy-five!"

"That's better, Mistah Jenkins, " said the auctioneer, sarcastically. Heturned to the girl, who might have stood to a sculptor for a figure ofdespair. Her hands were folded in front of her, her head bowed down. Theauctioneer put his hand under her chin and raised it roughly. "Cheer up, my gal, " he said, "you ain't got nothing to blubber about now. "

Hester's breast heaved and from her black eyes there shot a magnificentlook of defiance. He laughed. That was the white blood. 

The white blood!

Clarence Colfax had his bid taken from his lips. Above the heads of thepeople he had a quick vision of a young man with a determined face, whosevoice rang clear and strong, -- "Four hundred!"

Even the auctioneer, braced two ways, was thrown off his balance by thesudden appearance of this new force. Stephen grew red over the sensationhe made. Apparently the others present had deemed competition with suchas Jenkins and young Colfax the grossest folly. He was treated to muchliberal staring before the oily salesman arranged his wits to grapplewith the third factor. 

Four hundred from--from--from that gentleman. And the chubby index seemedthe finger of scorn. 

"Four hundred and fifty!" said Mr. Colfax, defiantly. 

Whereupon Mr. Jenkins, the New Orleans dealer, lighted a very long cigarand sat down on the coping. The auctioneer paid no attention to thismanoeuvre. But Mr. Brice and Mr. Colfax, being very young, fondlyimagined that they had the field to themselves, to fight to a finish. 

Here wisdom suggested in a mild whisper to Stephen that there was a lastchance 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 withmerriment. 

"Five hundred!" snapped Mr. Colfax. 

He was growing angry. But Stephen was from New England, and poor, and hethought of the size of his purse. A glance at his adversary showed thathis blood was up. Money was plainly no consideration to him, and youngColfax did not seem to be the kind who would relish returning to a younglady 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 infavor of Mr. Colfax. In an incredibly short time the latter's impetuosityhad 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 andtwenty-five, " with his cigar in his mouth. Scarcely had the hum ofexcitement died when Stephen, glancing at Colfax for the next move, sawthat young gentleman seized from the rear by his uncle, the tall Colonel. And across the street was bliss Virginia Carvel, tapping her foot on thepavement. 

"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. Thehumiliation 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 lookof curiosity and amusement his own gray eyes met Stephen's. They seemedto regret that this young man, too, had not a guardian. Then uncle andnephew recrossed the street, and as they walked off the Colonel was seento laugh. Virginia had her chin in the air, and Clarence's was in hiscollar. 

The crowd, of course, indulged in roars of laughter, and even Stephencould not repress a smile, a smile not without bitterness. Then hewheeled 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 worthtwo thousand. I've been in the business twenty yea's, and I neve' seenher 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 aderisive bow. 

"She's youahs, suh, " he said. "These here are panic times. I've struck mylimit. 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. Ninehundred 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 hundredan' ten--nine ten--going--going--" down came the hammer--"gone at ninehundred 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, andwas dragging her back. Stephen did not heed the auctioneer, but thrustforward 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 andtrust 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 aquill 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 ofwhich 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 merelystared 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, hugelyto 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 anotherexplosion. Finally, after a deal of pantomime, and whispering andlaughter with the notary behind the wire screen, the deed was made out, signed, attested, and delivered. Stephen counted out the money grimly, ingold and Boston drafts. 

Out in the sunlight on Chestnut Street, with the girl by his side, it allseemed a nightmare. The son of Appleton Brice of Boston the owner of abeautiful quadroon girl! And he had bought hex with his last cent. 

Miss Crane herself opened the door in answer to his ring. Her keen eyesinstantly darted over his shoulder and dilated, But Stephen, summoningall his courage, pushed past her to the stairs, and beckoned Hester tofollow. 

"I have brought this--this person to see my mother, " he said

The spinster bowed from the back of her neck. She stood transfixed on agreat rose in the hall carpet until she heard Mrs. Brice's door open andslam, and then she strode up the stairs and into the apartment of Mrs. Abner Reed. As she passed the first landing, the quadroon girl waswaiting in the hall. 

CHAPTER VI

SILAS WHIPPLE

The trouble with many narratives is that they tell too much. Stephen'sinterview with his mother was a quiet affair, and not historic. MissCrane's boarding-house is not an interesting place, and the tempest inthat teapot is better imagined than described. Out of consideration forMr. Stephen Brice, we shall skip likewise a most affecting scene at Mr. Canter's second-hand furniture store. 

That afternoon Stephen came again to the dirty flight of steps which ledto Judge Whipple's office. He paused a moment to gather courage, andthen, gripping the rail, he ascended. The ascent required courage now, certainly. He halted again before the door at the top. But even as hestood there came to him, in low, rich tones, the notes of a German song. He entered And Mr. Richter rose in shirt-sleeves from his desk to greethim, all smiling. 

"Ach, my friend!" said he, "but you are late. The Judge has been awaitingyou. "

"Has he?" inquired Stephen, with ill-concealed anxiety. 

The big young German patted him on the shoulder. 

Suddenly a voice roared from out the open transom of the private office, like a cyclone through a gap. 

"Mr. Richter!"

"Sir!"

"Who is that?"

"Mr. Brice, sir. "

"Then why in thunder doesn't he come in?"

Mr. Richter opened the private door, and in Stephen walked. The doorclosed again, and there he was in the dragon's dens face to face with thedragon, who was staring him through and through. The first objects thatcaught Stephen's attention were the grizzly gray eye brows, which seemedas so much brush to mark the fire of the deep-set battery of the eyes. And that battery, when in action, must have been truly terrible. 

The Judge was shaven, save for a shaggy fringe of gray beard around hischin, and the size of his nose was apparent even in the full face. 

Stephen felt that no part of him escaped the search of Mr. Whipple'sglance. But it was no code or course of conduct that kept him silent. Norwas it fear entirely. 

"So you are Appleton Brice's son, " said the Judge, at last. His tone wasnot quite so gruff as it might have been. 

"Yes, sir, " said Stephen. 

"Humph!" said the Judge, with a look that scarcely expressed approval. "Iguess you've been patted on the back too much by your father's friends. "He leaned back in his wooden chair. "How I used to detest people whopatted boys on the back and said with a smirk, 'I know your father. ' Inever had a father whom people could say that about. But, sir, " cried theJudge, bringing down his fist on the litter of papers that covered hisdesk, "I made up my mind that one day people should know me. That was myspur. And you'll start fair here, Mr. Brice. They won't know your fatherhere--"

If Stephen thought the Judge brutal, he did not say so. He glanced aroundthe little room, --at the bed in the corner, in which the Judge slept, andwhich during the day did not escape the flood of books and papers; at thewashstand, with a roll of legal cap beside the pitcher. 

"I guess you think this town pretty crude after Boston, Mr. Brice, " Mr. Whipple continued. "From time immemorial it has been the pleasant habitof old communities to be shocked at newer settlements, built by their owncountrymen. Are you shocked, sir?"

Stephen flushed. Fortunately the Judge did not give him time to answer. 

"Why didn't your mother let me know that she was coming?"

"She didn't wish to put you to any trouble, sir. "

"Wasn't I a good friend of your father's? Didn't I ask you to come hereand go into my office?"

"But there was a chance, Mr. Whipple--"

"A chance of what?"

"That you would not like me. And there is still a chance of it, " addedStephen, smiling. 

For a second it looked as if the Judge might smile, too. He rubbed hisnose with a fearful violence. 

"Mr. Richter tells me you were looking for a bank, " said he, presently. 

Stephen quaked. 

"Yes, sir, I was, but--"

But Mr. Whipple merely picked up the 'Counterfeit Bank Note Detector'. 

"Beware of Western State Currency as you would the devil, " said he. "That's one thing we don't equal the East in--yet. And so you want tobecome a lawyer?"

"I intend to become a lawyer, sir. "

"And so you shall, sir, " cried the Judge, bringing down his yellow fistupon the 'Bank Note Detector'. "I'll make you a lawyer, sir. But mymethods ain't Harvard methods, sir. "

"I am ready to do anything, Mr. Whipple. "

The Judge merely grunted. He scratched among his papers, and producedsome legal cap and a bunch of notes. 

"Go out there, " he said, "and take off your coat and copy this brief. Mr. Richter will help you to-day. And tell your mother I shall do myself thehonor to call upon her this evening. "

Stephen did as he was told, without a word. But Mr. Richter was not inthe outer office when he returned to it. He tried to compose himself towrite, although the recollection of each act of the morning hung like acloud over the back of his head. Therefore the first sheet of legal capwas spoiled utterly. But Stephen had a deep sense of failure. He had gonethrough the ground glass door with the firm intention of making a cleanbreast of the ownership of Hester. Now, as he sat still, the trouble grewupon him. He started a new sheet, and ruined that: Once he got as far ashis feet, and sat down again. But at length he had quieted to the extentof deciphering ten lines of Mr. Whipple's handwriting when the creak of adoor shattered his nerves completely. 

He glanced up from his work to behold--none other than Colonel ComynCarvel. 

Glancing at Mr. Richter's chair, and seeing it empty, the Colonel's eyeroved about the room until it found Stephen. There it remained, and theColonel remained in the middle of the floor, his soft hat on the back ofhis head, one hand planted firmly on the gold head of his stick, and theother tugging at his goatee, pulling down his chin to the quizzicalangle. 

"Whoopee!" he cried. 

The effect of this was to make one perspire freely. Stephen perspired. And as there seemed no logical answer, he made none. 

Suddenly Mr. Carvel turned, shaking with a laughter he could not control, and strode into the private office the door slammed behind him. Mr. Brice's impulse was flight. But he controlled himself. 

First of all there was an eloquent silence. Then a ripple of guffaws. Then the scratch-scratch of a quill pen, and finally the Judge's voice. 

"Carvel, what the devil's the matter with you, sir?"

A squall of guffaws blew through the transom, and the Colonel was heardslapping his knee. 

"Judge Whipple, " said he, his voice vibrating from suppressed explosions, "I am happy to see that you have overcome some of your ridiculousprejudices, sir. "

"What prejudices, sir?" the Judge was heard to shout. 

"Toward slavery, Judge, " said Mr. Carvel, seeming to recover his gravity. "You are a broader man than I thought, sir. "

An unintelligible gurgle came from the Judge. Then he said. 

"Carvel, haven't you and I quarrelled enough on that subject?"

"You didn't happen to attend the nigger auction this morning when youwere at the court?" asked the Colonel, blandly. 

"Colonel, " said the Judge, "I've warned you a hundred times against thestuff you lay out on your counter for customers. "

"You weren't at the auction, then, " continued the Colonel, undisturbed. "You missed it, sir. You missed seeing this young man you've justemployed buy the prettiest quadroon wench I ever set eyes on. "

Now indeed was poor Stephen on his feet. But whether to fly in at the oneentrance or out at the other, he was undecided. 

"Colonel, " said Mr. Whipple, "is that true?"

"Sir!""MR. BRICE!"

It did not seem to Stephen as if he was walking when he went toward theground glass door. He opened it. There was Colonel Carvel seated on thebed, his goatee in his hand. And there was the Judge leaning forward fromhis hips, straight as a ramrod. Fire was darting from beneath his bushyeyebrows. "Mr. Brice, " said he, "there is one question I always ask ofthose whom I employ. I omitted it in your case because I have known yourfather and your grandfather before you. What is your opinion, sir, on thesubject of holding human beings in bondage?"

The answer was immediate, --likewise simple. 

"I do not believe in it, Mr. Whipple. "

The Judge shot out of his chair like a long jack-in-the box, and toweredto his full height. 

"Mr. Brice, did you, or did you not, buy a woman at auction to-day?"

"I did, sir. "

Mr. Whipple literally staggered. But Stephen caught a glimpse of theColonel's hand slipping from his chin cover his mouth. 

"Good God, sir!" cried the Judge, and he sat down heavily. "You say thatyou are an Abolitionist?"

"No, sir, I do not say that. But it does not need an Abolitionist tocondemn what I saw this morning. "

"Are you a slave-owner, sir?" said Mr. Whipple. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Then get your coat and hat and leave my office, Mr. Brice. "

Stephen's coat was on his arm. He slipped it on, and turned to go. Hewas, if the truth were told, more amused than angry. It was ColonelCarvel's voice that stopped him. 

"Hold on, Judge, " he drawled, "I reckon you haven't got all the packingout of that case. "

Mr. Whipple locked at him in a sort of stupefaction. Then he glanced atStephen. 

"Come back here, sir, " he cried. "I'll give you hearing. No man shall saythat I am not just. "

Stephen looked gratefully at the Colonel. 

"I did not expect one, sir, " he said. . 

"And you don't deserve one, sir, " cried the Judge. 

"I think I do, " replied Stephen, quietly. 

The Judge suppressed something. 

"What did you do with this person?" he demanded

"I took her to Miss Crane's boarding-house, " said Stephen. 

It was the Colonel's turn to explode. The guffaw which came from hiredrowned every other sound. 

"Good God!" said the Judge, helplessly. Again he looked at the Colonel, and this time something very like mirth shivered his lean frame. "Andwhat do you intend to do with her?" he asked in strange tones. 

"To give her freedom, sir, as soon as I can find somebody to go on herbond. "

Again silence. Mr. Whipple rubbed his nose with more than customaryviolence, and looked very hard at Mr. Carvel, whose face was inscrutable. It was a solemn moment. 

"Mr. Brice, " said the Judge, at length, "take off your coat, sir I willgo her bond. "

It was Stephen's turn to be taken aback. He stood regarding the Judgecuriously, wondering what manner of man he was. He did not know that thisquestion had puzzled many before him. 

"Thank you, sir, " he said. 

His hand was on the knob of the door, when Mr. Whipple called him backabruptly. His voice had lost some of its gruffness. 

"What were your father's ideas about slavery, Mr. Brice?"

The young man thought a moment, as if seeking to be exact. 

"I suppose he would have put slavery among the necessary evils, sir, " hesaid, at length. "But he never could bear to have the liberator mentionedin his presence. He was not at all in sympathy with Phillips, or Parker, or Summer. And such was the general feeling among his friends. "

"Then, " said the Judge, "contrary to popular opinion in the West andSouth, Boston is not all Abolition. "

Stephen smiled. 

"The conservative classes are not at all Abolitionists, sir. "

"The conservative classes!" growled the Judge, "the conservative classes!I am tired of hearing about the conservative classes. Why not come outwith it, sir, and say the moneyed classes, who would rather see soulsheld in bondage than risk their worldly goods in an attempt to liberatethem?"

Stephen flushed. It was not at all clear to him then how he was to getalong with Judge Whipple. But he kept his temper. 

"I am sure that you do them an injustice, sir, " he said, with morefeeling them he had yet shown. "I am not speaking of the rich alone, andI think that if you knew Boston you would not say that the conservativeclass there is wholly composed of wealthy people. Many of may father'sfriends were by no means wealthy. And I know that if he had been poor hewould have held the same views. "

Stephen did not mark the quick look of approval which Colonel Carvel gavehim. Judge Whipple merely rubbed his nose. 

"Well, sir, " he said, "what were his views, then?"

"My father regarded slaves as property, sir. And conservative people"(Stephen stuck to the word) "respect property the world over. My father'sargument was this: If men are deprived by violence of one kind ofproperty which they hold under the law, all other kinds of property willbe endangered. The result will be anarchy. Furthermore, he recognizedthat the economic conditions in the South make slavery necessary toprosperity. And he regarded the covenant made between the states of thetwo sections as sacred. "

There was a brief silence, during which the uncompromising expression ofthe Judge did not change. 

"And do you, sir?" he demanded. 

"I am not sure, sir, after what I saw yesterday. I--I must have time tosee more of it. "

"Good Lord, " said Colonel Carvel, "if the conservative people of theNorth act this way when they see a slave sale, what will theAbolitionists do? Whipple, " he added slowly, but with conviction, "thismeans war. "

Then the Colonel got to his feet, and bowed to Stephen with ceremony. 

"Whatever you believe, sir, " he said, "permit me to shake your hand. Youare a brave man, sir. And although my own belief is that the black raceis held in subjection by a divine decree, I can admire what you havedone, Mr. Brice. It was a noble act, sir, --a right noble act. And I havemore respect for the people of Boston, now, sir, than I ever had before, sir. "

Having delivered himself of this somewhat dubious compliment (which hemeant well), the Colonel departed. 

Judge Whipple said nothing. 

CHAPTER VII

CALLERS

If the Brices had created an excitement upon their arrival, it was asnothing to the mad delirium which raged at Miss Crane's boarding-house. During the second afternoon of their stay. Twenty times was Miss Crane onthe point of requesting Mrs. Brice to leave, and twenty times, by theadvice of Mrs. Abner Deed, she desisted. The culmination came when thenews leaked out that Mr. Stephen Brice had bought the young woman inorder to give her freedom. Like those who have done noble acts since theworld began, Stephen that night was both a hero and a fool. The creamfrom which heroes is made is very apt to turn. 

"Phew!" cried Stephen, when they had reached their room after tea, "wasn't that meal a fearful experience? Let's find a hovel, mother, andgo and live in it. We can't stand it here any longer. "

"Not if you persist in your career of reforming an Institution, my son, "answered the widow, smiling. 

"It was beastly hard luck, " said he, "that I should have been shoulderedwith that experience the first day. But I have tried to think it overcalmly since, and I can see nothing else to have done. " He paused in hispacing up and down, a smile struggling with his serious look. "It wasquite a hot-headed business for one of the staid Brices, wasn't it?"

"The family has never been called impetuous, " replied his mother. "Itmust be the Western air. "

He began his pacing again. His mother had not said one word about themoney. Neither had he. Once more he stopped before her. 

"We are at least a year nearer the poor-house, " he said; "you haven'tscolded me for that. I should feel so much better if you would. "

"Oh, Stephen, don't say that!" she exclaimed. "God has given me nogreater happiness in this life than the sight of the gratitude of thatpoor creature, Nancy. I shall never forget the old woman's joy at thesight of her daughter. It made a palace out of that dingy furniture shop. Hand me my handkerchief, dear. "

Stephen noticed with a pang that the lace of it was frayed and torn atthe corner. 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Come in, " said Mrs. Brice, hastily putting the handkerchief down. 

Hester stood on the threshold, and old Nancy beside her. 

"Evenin', Mis' Brice. De good Lawd bless you, lady, an' Miste' Brice, "said the old negress. 

"Well, Nancy?"

Nancy pressed into the room. "Mis' Brice!"

"Yes?"

"Ain' you gwineter' low Hester an' me to wuk fo' you?"

"Indeed I should be glad to, Nancy. But we are boarding. "

"Yassm, yassm, " said Nancy, and relapsed into awkward silence. Thenagain, "Mis' Brice!"

"Yes, Nancy?"

"Ef you 'lows us t' come heah an' straighten out you' close, an' mend 'em--you dunno how happy you mek me an' Hester--des to do dat much, Mis'Brice. "

The note of appeal was irresistible. Mrs. Brice rose and unlocked thetrunks. 

"You may unpack them, Nancy, " she said. 

With what alacrity did the old woman take off her black bonnet and shawl!"Whaffor you stannin' dere, Hester?" she cried. 

"Hester is tired, " said Mrs. Brice, compassionately, and tears came toher eyes again at the thought of what they had both been through thatday. 

"Tired!" said Nancy, holding up her hands. "No'm, she ain' tired. She deskinder stupefied by you' goodness, Mis' Brice. "

A scene was saved by the appearance of Miss Crane's hired girl. 

"Mr. And Mrs. Cluyme, in the parlor, mum, " she said. 

If Mr. Jacob Cluyme sniffed a little as he was ushered into Miss Crane'sbest parlor, it was perhaps because of she stuffy dampness of that room. Mr. Cluyme was one of those persons the effusiveness of whose greetingdoes not tally with the limpness of their grasp. He was attempting, whenStephen appeared, to get a little heat into his hands by rubbing them, asa man who kindles a stick of wood for a visitor. The gentleman had redchop-whiskers, --to continue to put his worst side foremost, whichdemanded a ruddy face. He welcomed Stephen to St. Louis with neighborlyeffusion; while his wife, a round little woman, bubbled over to Mrs. Brice. 

"My dear sir, " said Mr. Cluyme, "I used often to go to Boston in theforties. In fact--ahem--I may claim to be a New Englander. Alas, no, Inever met your father. But when I heard of the sad circumstances of hisdeath, I felt as if I had lost a personal friend. His probity, sir, andhis religious principles were an honor to the Athens of America. I havelistened to my friend, Mr. Atterbury, --Mr. Samuel Atterbury, --eulogizehim by the hour. "

Stephen was surprised. 

"Why, yes, " said he, "Mr. Atterbury was a friend. "

"Of course, " said Mr. Cluyme, "I knew it. Four years ago, the lastbusiness trip I made to Boston, I met Atterbury on the street. Absencemakes no difference to some men, sir, nor the West, for that matter. Theynever change. Atterbury nearly took me in his arms. 'My dear fellow, ' hecried, 'how long are you to be in town?' I was going the next day. 'SorryI can't ask you to dinner, ' says he, but step into the Tremont House andhave a bite. '--Wasn't that like Atterbury?"

Stephen thought it was. But Mr. Cluyme was evidently expecting no answer. 

"Well, " said he, "what I was going to say was that we heard you were intown; 'Friends of Samuel Atterbury, my dear, ' I said to my wife. We areneighbors, Mr. Brace. You must know the girls. You must come to supper. We live very plainly, sir, very simply. I am afraid that you will missthe luxury of the East, and some of the refinement, Stephen. I hope I maycall you so, my boy. We have a few cultured citizens, Stephen, but allare not so. I miss the atmosphere. I seemed to live again when I got toBoston. But business, sir, --the making of money is a sordid occupation. You will come to supper?"

"I scarcely think that my mother will go out, " said Stephen. 

"Oh, be friends! It will cheer her. Not a dinner-party, my boy, only aplain, comfortable meal, with plenty to eat. Of course she will. Ofcourse she will. Not a Boston social function, you understand. Boston, Stephen, I have always looked upon as the centre of the universe. Ouruniverse, I mean. America for Americans is a motto of mine. Oh, no, " headded quickly, "I don't mean a Know Nothing. Religious freedom, my boy, is part of our great Constitution. By the way, Stephen--Atterbury alwayshad such a respect for your father's opinions--"

"My father was not an Abolitionist, sir, " said Stephen, smiling. 

"Quite right, quite right, " said Mr. Cluyme. 

"But I am not sure, since I have come here, that I have not some sympathyand respect for the Abolitionists. "

Mr. Cluyme gave a perceptible start. He glanced at the heavy hangings onthe windows and then out of the open door into the hall. For a space hiswife's chatter to Mrs. Brace, on Boston fashions, filled the room. 

"My dear Stephen, " said the gentleman, dropping his voice, "that is allvery well in Boston. But take a little advice from one who is old enoughto counsel you. You are young, and you must learn to temper yourself tothe tone of the place which you have made your home. St. Louis is full ofexcellent people, but they are not precisely Abolitionists. We aregathering, it is true, a small party who are for gradual emancipation. But our New England population here is small yet compared to theSoutherners. And they are very violent, sir. "

Stephen could not resist saying, "Judge Whipple does not seem to havetempered himself, sir. "

"Silas Whipple is a fanatic, sir, " cried Mr. Cluyme. 

"His hand is against every man's. He denounces Douglas on the slightestexcuse, and would go to Washington when Congress opens to fight withStephens and Toombs and Davis. But what good does it do him? He mighthave been in the Senate, or on the Supreme Bench, had he not stirred upso much hatred. And yet I can't help liking Whipple. Do you know him?"

A resounding ring of the door-bell cut off Stephen's reply, and Mrs. Cluyme's small talk to Mrs. Brice. In the hall rumbled a familiar voice, and in stalked none other than Judge Whipple himself. Without noticingthe other occupants of the parlor he strode up to Mrs. Brice, looked ather for an instant from under the grizzled brows, and held out his largehand. 

"Pray, ma'am, " he said, "what have you done with your slave?"

Mrs. Cluyme emitted a muffled shriek, like that of a person frightened ina dream. Her husband grasped the curved back of his chair. But Stephensmiled. And his mother smiled a little, too. 

"Are you Mr. Whipple?" she asked. 

"I am, madam, " was the reply. 

"My slave is upstairs, I believe, unpacking my trunks, " said Mrs. Brice. 

Mr. And Mrs. Cluyme exchanged a glance of consternation. Then Mrs. Cluymesat down again, rather heavily, as though her legs had refused to holdher. 

"Well, well, ma'am!" The Judge looked again at Mrs. Brice, and a gleam ofmirth lighted the severity of his face. He was plainly pleased with her--this serene lady in black, whose voice had the sweet ring of women whoare well born and whose manner was so self-contained. To speak truth, theJudge was prepared to dislike her. He had never laid eyes upon her, andas he walked hither from his house he seemed to foresee a helpless littlewoman who, once he had called, would fling her Boston pride to the windsand dump her woes upon him. He looked again, and decidedly approved ofMrs. Brice, and was unaware that his glance embarrassed her. 

"Mr. Whipple, " she said, --"do you know Mr. And Mrs. Cluyme?"

The Judge looked behind him abruptly, nodded ferociously at Mr. Cluyme, and took the hand that fluttered out to him from Mrs. Cluyme. 

"Know the Judge!" exclaimed that lady, "I reckon we do. And my Belle isso fond of him. She thinks there is no one equal to Mr. Whipple. Judge, you must come round to a family supper. Belle will surpass herself. "

"Umph!" said the Judge, "I think I like Edith best of your girls, ma'am. "

"Edith is a good daughter, if I do say it myself, " said Mrs. Cluyme. "Ihave tried to do right by my children. " She was still greatly flustered, and curiosity about the matter of the slave burned upon her face. Neitherthe Judge nor Mrs. Brice were people one could catechise. Stephen, scanning the Judge, was wondering how far he regarded the matter as ajoke. 

"Well, madam, " said Mr. Whipple, as he seated himself on the other end ofthe horsehair sofa, "I'll warrant when you left Boston that you did notexpect to own a slave the day after you arrived in St. Louis. "

"But I do not own her, " said Mrs. Brice. "It is my son who owns her. "

This was too much for Mr. Cluyme. 

"What!" he cried to Stephen. "You own a slave? You, a mere boy, havebought a negress?"

"And what is more, sir, I approve of it, " the Judge put in, severely. "Iam going to take the young man into my office. "

Mr. Cluyme gradually retired into the back of his chair, looking at Mr. Whipple as though he expected him to touch a match to the windowcurtains. But Mr. Cluyme was elastic. 

"Pardon me, Judge, " said he, "but I trust that I may be allowed tocongratulate you upon the abandonment of principles which I haveconsidered a clog to your career. They did you honor, sir, but they wereQuixotic. I, sir, am for saving our glorious Union at any cost. And wehave no right to deprive our brethren of their property of their verymeans of livelihood. "

The Judge grinned diabolically. Mrs. Cluyme was as yet too stunned tospeak. Only Stephen's mother sniffed gunpowder in the air. 

"This, Mr. Cluyme, " said the Judge, mildly, "is an age of shifting winds. It was not long ago, " he added reflectively, "when you and I met in thePlanters' House, and you declared that every drop of Northern bloodspilled in Kansas was in a holy cause. Do you remember it, sir?"

Mr. Cluyme and Mr. Cluyme's wife alone knew whether he trembled. 

"And I repeat that, sir, " he cried, with far too much zeal. "I repeat ithere and now. And yet I was for the Omnibus Bill, and I am with Mr. Douglas in his local sovereignty. I am willing to bury my abhorrence of arelic of barbarism, for the sake of union and peace. "

"Well, sir, I am not, " retorted the Judge, like lightning. He rubbed thered spat on his nose, and pointed a bony finger at Mr. Cluyme. Many acriminal had grovelled before that finger. "I, too, am for the Union. Andthe Union will never be safe until the greatest crime of modern times iswiped out in blood. Mind what I say, Mr. Cluyme, in blood, sir, " hethundered. 

Poor Mrs. Cluyme gasped. 

"But the slave, sir? Did I not understand you to approve of Mr. Brice'sownership?"

"As I never approved of any other. Good night, sir. Good night, madam. "But to Mrs. Brice he crossed over and took her hand. It has been furtherclaimed that he bowed. This is not certain. 

"Good night, madam, " he said. "I shall call again to pay my respects whenyou are not occupied. "