A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill Part 12

"He does know," announced the Doctor with the finality of one to whom all things have been revealed. "But we must not discuss these things now. Miss Wuster has just been reading me the account of young Dillingham's trial. Perhaps you have been following it?"

"Yes," said Miss Lady without looking up.

"It is a matter of especial interest to me," continued the Doctor; "especial regret I should say. Young Dillingham is engaged to be married to the daughter of my cousin whom I expect to-day, and the other young man involved, Donald Morley, is Mrs. Sequin's brother."

"Well for the life of me," said Miss Wuster, counting st.i.tches between her sentences, "I can't see how they got Mr. Dillingham off, unless it was the way Mr. Gooch said."

"Who is Mr. Gooch?" asked Miss Lady of the Doctor.

"The gentleman who came to see me yesterday. He is a lawyer and has followed the case closely. He does not scruple to affirm that the trial was a farce, one of those legal travesties that sometimes occur when a scion of a rich and influential family happens to transgress the law. It seems that the saloon-keeper, who was at first reasonably sure of what happened, suffered a strange lapse of memory when on the stand. Gooch thinks he was bought up, but Gooch is fallible where human motives are involved. His misanthropy invariably colors his judgment."

"Well, nothing on earth can keep me from thinking that Mr. Dillingham did the shooting!" declared the nurse with violent partizans.h.i.+p. "Look at the way he sneaked home, and left the other young man to get a doctor and help move Sheeley to the hospital. Yes, sir, it's time for your medicine, just wait 'till I finish this spool and I'll go down and heat the water."

"He--he oughtn't to have gone away?" said Miss Lady, looking at the Doctor interrogatively.

"Donald, you mean? Certainly not, it was most ill-advised, probably some quixotic idea about not wanting to testify against his friend. If you knew the boy you would understand what a hot-headed, harum-scarum person he is. He was my pupil at one time and I grew quite fond of him. He has ability, undoubted ability, but he is a s.h.i.+p without a rudder; he has been drifting ever since he was born."

"This acquittal of Mr. Dillingham puts the blame on--on him, doesn't it?"

"Naturally. His absence at the trial was undoubtedly one of the strongest arguments in Dillingham's favor. Mr. Gooch tells me that the counsel for the defense took especial pains to throw suspicion upon Donald. The case has been confusing in the extreme, the absence of witnesses, the failure to establish the owners.h.i.+p of the pistol, the absurd complication about the slot machine and crowbar,--an absolute jumble of contradictory evidence. As for Donald Morley's being guilty, it's absurd! He is not the sort of man who runs away from punishment."

Miss Lady's heart swelled with grat.i.tude. Of course Donald Morley was nothing to her now. She had a.s.sured herself of that so continuously for two months that she was beginning to believe it. She knew that he was wild, reckless and unreliable, that he had failed her in her greatest need, and that she had put him out of her life forever. But it was good of the Doctor to take his part!

"I know now what my father meant when he said you were the justest man he ever knew!" she said timidly, lifting a pair of s.h.i.+ning eyes.

"Unfortunately for Donald the Court does not share my opinion. It is not known even by the family as yet, but Mr. Gooch tells me that Donald has been indicted by the grand jury."

"Indicted!"

"Yes, he can never return to Kentucky without standing his trial. It is a serious affair for him, I fear."

CHAPTER VIII

When in the course of the morning Uncle Jimpson started to the station to meet Mrs. Sequin, he did not have to direct the course of his steed.

Had old John not known the way from experience, the inherited memory of his ancestors would have prompted him to turn twice to the right, once to the left, and pull up at a certain corner of the station platform.

For the honor of being the Ca.r.s.eys' "station horse" had descended to him from his father Luke, whose father Mark had in the days of prosperity traveled in harness with Matthew, fulfilling that same important office. Thus John was, in a way, enjoying the distinction of apostolic succession.

Arrived at the station Uncle Jimpson stepped jauntily around the post-office box and ostentatiously took out the Ca.r.s.eys' mail. It was a small act to take pride in, but in lieu of more important duties it had to serve. For the past six weeks the advent of city people at Thornwood had stirred up old ambitions in him. A new sprightliness was observable in his gait, a briskness in his speech, which Aunt Caroline did not hesitate to characterize as "taking on airs."

The blood of a butler coursed through Uncle Jimpson's veins, a stately, ebony butler who had been wont to stand at the Thornwood door during the old days and hold a silver tray covered with boutonnieres, for the arriving guests. Uncle Jimpson had inherited this tray along with an ambition that was not above b.u.t.tons. Year after year he had descended with the descending Ca.r.s.ey fortunes, pa.s.sing from the house to the horses, then to the field, and finally becoming the man of all work, but never relinquis.h.i.+ng that dream of his youth, to stand in livery in the halls of the rich, and exercise those talents with which Providence had blessed him.

As he pa.s.sed the compliments of the day with two farm hands, who were loading a wagon near by, his eye fell upon a strange object that stood in the door of the dining-room. It looked to Uncle Jimpson like pictures he had seen of lions, only it was small and white and barked remarkably like a dog.

"Dat sure am a curious lookin' animal," he observed. "Hit must b'long to a show."

One of the farm hands laughed and pointed with his thumb to the waiting-room. Uncle Jimpson tiptoed to the window and peered in. All that he could see was the back of a very imposing lady and the top of a large plumed hat.

"Is--is she a-waitin' fer anybody?" he whispered, motioning anxiously with his soft hat.

"Oh! no," said the nearest man; "she ain't waitin'; she's just enjoyin'

the scenery on them railroad posters. She likes to set there, been doin'

it for a half hour."

Uncle Jimpson sc.r.a.ped the mud from his shoes, b.u.t.toned the one b.u.t.ton that was left on his linen coat, and dropping his hat outside the door summoned courage to present himself.

"'Scuse me, mam, but does dis heah happen to be Mrs. Sequm?"

"It is," said the lady, haughtily.

"Yas'm, dat's what I 'lowed. Dat's what I tole Carline--leastwise dat's what I'st gwine tell her. Ise Cunnel Ca.r.s.ey's coachman."

Mrs. Sequin eyed him coldly through a silver lorgnette. "Didn't they understand that I was coming on the eleven train?"

"Yes'm, dat's right. But you allays has to 'low fer dem narrow gauges.

Dey has to run slow to keep from fallin' offen de track. Dat must have been de ten o'clock train you come on."

"Not at all, I left the city at ten minutes of eleven."

"Yas'm, dat was de ten train den. De leben train don't start 'til long about noon."

"Preposterous!" said Mrs. Sequin, sweeping to her feet. "Take me to the carriage. Fanchonette! Where are you?"

Uncle Jimpson apologetically dragged forward his left foot, upon the trouser hem of which the small dog had fastened her sharp little teeth.

"Frightfully obstinate little beast," said Mrs. Sequin, "she won't let go until she gets ready. You needn't be afraid of her biting you. She couldn't be induced to bite a colored person."

Uncle Jimpson, carrying the dog along on his foot, led the way, while Mrs. Sequin, with the cautious tread of a stout person used to the treacheries of oriental rugs on hardwood floors, followed. She was a woman of full figure and imposing presence, whose elaborate coiffure and attention to detail in dress, gave evidence that the world had its claims.

At sight of the shabby, old, mud-covered buggy, and the decrepit apostolic John she paused.

Jimpson all obsequious politeness, put a linen duster over the wheel, and with a gesture worthy of Chesterfield, handed her in.

"I wish the top up," she commanded. "The glare is unspeakable."

Uncle Jimpson, standing by the wheel, shuffled his feet in embarra.s.sment: "Yas'm," he agreed, "I'll put it up effen you want me to.

But it won't stay up. No, mam, it won't stay. Looks lak in de las' two or three years it got a way o' fallin' back. Cunnel 'lowed he was gwine to git it fixed onct or twict, but he ain't done it."

Fanchonette just here became enraged at a bit of paper that was caught in the wheel, and gave vent to such a violent burst of temper that it required the undivided attention of her mistress to calm her.

Uncle Jimpson, occupying the smallest possible portion of the seat, and with one leg hanging outside the buggy, rejoiced in the proximity of so much elegance. It gave him a feeling of prosperity and importance, and made him straighten his back, crook his elbow, and even adopt a more formal manner with old John. He deeply regretted that he had not put on a clean coat and as for the buggy, he was already planning a thorough cleaning of it before driving the stylish guest back in the afternoon.

"Stop a moment!" commanded Mrs. Sequin peremptorily. "What a view! I had no idea there was such scenery anywhere around here!"

"Yas'm, hits about de fines' sceneries in de world! You kin see from dem heights clean down to de bridge. All dis hill used to be our-alls. I 'member hearin' how Mr. Rogers Clark done gib it to de Cunnel's gran'paw fer a lan' grant when de Injuns libed here!"