Читать книгу The Triumph of Virginia Dale - John MacCunn Francis - Страница 10

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Obadiah Dale gave unusual thought to his daughter during a period following the minstrel parade. This attention was due primarily to the appearance of Virginia as a seeming part of the pageant. It was due secondarily, and consequently in ever increasing force as the minutes passed, to the girl’s unexplained delay in returning home to lunch.

Immediately upon his arrival, Obadiah had attempted to elicit from Serena all information in her possession concerning orphans and minstrels. His approach to the subject was craftily obscured.

“I don’t see the car. Virginia not home, yet?”

“Yas’r. She orter bin back er long time ergo.” From Serena’s appearance one would have judged her deeply aggrieved.

“Where is she?”

“She tek er li’l ride. Ain’t she bin at yo’all’s office?”

Serena was conscious that her speed regulations, literally interpreted and conscientiously obeyed by Ike, might be responsible for the delayed return of the absent ones. She was aware, that regardless of the real reason, Ike, constitutionally, would not be adverse to transferring all blame to her. She deemed it advantageous, therefore, to submit her defence before the arrival of the complainant and thus win the sympathetic support of the court.

“Ah tole dat Ike to drive mo’e cafful. Ah ain’ wantin’ Miss Virginy broke up ’count o’ his foolishness.”

“They were safe enough when I saw them down town. As far as I could make out they had been following a minstrel band about,” Obadiah informed her.

“Minst’el band!” Serena lifted up her voice loudly. “Dat’s Ike. Wot inte’est dat chil’ got in er ole minst’el band. It sure is dat fool Ike.”

“They had a negro woman and a lot of negro children in the back of the car.”

“Black woman an’ chillun,” shouted the old negress. “Howcum dey in dat caah? Ah axes you dat?” Serena’s temper was rising. “Dat fool boy Ike done fill up dat caah wid trash. Yas’r. Whar was dey?”

“Following that band down the middle of Main Street.”

“On Main Street, wid all de high tone folks er lookin’ at ma po’ li’l honey chil’ er packed in wid er bunch o’ trash er laughin’ an’ er hollerin’ at er minst’el band.” Serena became almost inarticulate in her anger.

Obadiah kicked angrily at the rug in front of him. Again he remembered the smiles of the crowd. Gruffly dismissing the servant, he watched her depart, every line of her body quivering with indignation and muttering dire threats at Ike.

The manufacturer dropped into a chair and attempted to read a newspaper but he could not keep his mind from the episode of the morning. It had been an absurd affair. His sense of personal dignity rebelled at his daughter being entangled in such a thing. The thought came that Virginia was only a child who had become involved in an escapade of Ike’s which every one had already forgotten.

He settled himself more comfortably but the picture of the parade would not depart from his thoughts. Obadiah could not stand ridicule and those laughing faces danced before him. That child argument was unsatisfactory, too. Virginia had appeared quite proud of the load of colored children when he had talked to her. She didn’t look the child part, either. To the contrary she seemed quite mature–almost a woman. With a start, he remembered his daughter’s age. “Confound it,” he muttered, “she is a woman. She should behave as one. She must learn to have some regard for my dignity and to uphold my position in this town.”

He arose, looked at his watch, and, striding out upon the porch, gazed anxiously down the street. As he watched, there came a distant honk of familiar note and in a few moments his car turned in through the gate.

“What made you so late?” roared Obadiah before the machine stopped.

Virginia leaped out as the car paused and running up the steps threw her arms about her father. “Oh Daddy,” she responded, “I have been so frightened.” Laying her head against his arm, she shuddered.

“What happened?” Obadiah’s voice was cutting, sharp.

“We almost killed a man. We broke his legs and ribs and gave him a terrible headache. We had to take him to the hospital where he is suffering dreadfully.”

“Dat man done knock er big dent in dis yere caah wid his haid,” proclaimed Ike. “Ran slap bang into me.”

At the sound of the chauffeur’s well remembered voice, Serena, as a privileged member of the household, returned to the porch. Approaching Virginia who had drawn an arm of her father about herself, the old negress patted the girl reassuringly upon the shoulder and pledged revenge. “Nev’ mine, honey chil’, nev’ mind, ah gwine ’tend to dat fool, Ike, presen’ly.” Hurrying to the end of the porch she glared down at the chauffeur as if he were the root of all evil in that vicinity. “Wot you mean er takin’ er woman an’ ’er fambly in dat caah wid ma honey chil’ an’ er runnin’ ovah er ban’ an’ er killin’ er minst’el man? ’Splain youse’f, boy.”

Ike was puzzled to identify the victim of his alleged manslaughter under the conditions named. “Wot minst’el man? Ah ain’ kill no minst’el man a tall.”

“Who dat done dent yo’all’s caah?” cried the accusing voice.

“How ah gwine tell if dat man wot bre’k hisse’f up on ma caah is er minst’el man? Ah ain’ ax ’im. Ah ain’ kill no man.”

“Who dat woman an’ her fambly you ’vite into dat caah? Wot mar’ied woman is yo’all makin’ up to? Wot’s de name o’ dat frien’, wid chillun?”

Ike had to suffer much that morning. He writhed under this new inquisition which displayed a tendency to besmirch his reputation. No love light glowed in the porcupine’s eyes but hatred, intense and eternal, flashed from them, and he bristled as he made forceful denial. “Dat female sco’pion ain’ no frien’ o’ mine.”

Before such dislike, who could suspect? Where dwelt such frankness? Who could doubt? Yet, Serena, conjecturing that a more complete understanding of the case might insure some interesting developments, excused him with words of warning, “You ain’ nevah kep’ nothin’ f’on me, no time.”

After Obadiah had heard his daughter’s story of the accident, his mind reverted to the minstrel parade. “You seem to have had a very strenuous morning, Virginia,” he remarked. “When we met, you had quite a load of passengers with you. Tell me about them.” He wanted to know how those orphans got into the car.

Virginia was in the midst of her description of the morning’s events when her father interrupted,

“Why should you take those negro children for a ride? What made you do it?”

“Can’t you understand, Daddy? Those poor little darkies were frightened almost out of their wits by our car. They cried, and they looked so forlorn. The walk is their big pleasure each week. We spoiled it in a way, today, and I tried to make up for it.” She was lost in thought for a moment and then went on. “Think of it! Those children are shut up within the walls of that institution every minute of the time except for that weekly walk.”

“What’s the matter with that? Where else would you keep them? They can’t run loose upon the streets.” Obadiah wished to bring his daughter to a reasonable and sensible view of the situation.

“Of course, Daddy, the orphans can’t be allowed to run wild. That would never do. But that makes it no less hard for them to be shut up in that yard year after year with only a walk now and then for a change.” She looked appealingly at him. “How would you like to be shut up in a yard all of the time, Daddy?”

Obadiah almost shuddered. The thought of being confined in an inclosure was repulsive to him. It savored of the penalties prescribed in certain anti-trust laws of which he had an uncomfortable knowledge. He would have gladly eliminated the question of restraint, but not being able to, asked, “How can you help it?”

Virginia gleefully clinched her argument. “Take the orphans out oftener and take them riding so that they can go farther than their little legs can carry them. I did the last thing, Daddy, don’t you see?”

Obadiah saw, and, admitting the strength of his daughter’s argument to himself, recognized that it had logical strength as a plea for a series of rides. He dropped the matter promptly and in this was assisted by the gong calling them to a belated luncheon.

Virginia, because of the excitement of the morning, had little appetite. She watched her father for a time and then her eyes took on a deeper blue as, without averting her gaze, she drifted away into one of those mysterious musings of girlhood.

He gulped his food hastily as if he had a train to catch. “I should be back,” he fretted. “My time is worth money. You must learn to be considerate of others, Virginia.”

The shadow of unhappiness veiled the face of dreams as the girl started at his words. “I am very thoughtless, I am afraid, Daddy,” she answered. “I shall try to be more careful.” And then in a whisper so low that he could not hear it, she continued, “It would make mother unhappy to know that I was that way.”

“You should overcome your faults, particularly your thoughtlessness in regard to others,” he grumbled, and immediately changed the subject. “Do you know the name of the fellow who ran into you?”

“No, Daddy.”

He considered a moment. “Don’t you bother about it.” He gave her a smile and the traces of her unhappiness faded before it. “I will have some one call up the hospital. I must take the matter up with Wilkins.”

“Honey, chil’, ain’ yo’all gwine res’ you’se’f dis afternoon?” Serena demanded, as they arose from the table.

“In a minute, Serena, I want to ask Daddy something.”

She hurried after him. There was almost a trace of embarrassment in her voice, as she asked, “Daddy, may I go to the hospital tomorrow and visit that man?”

“What?” Obadiah was surprised. “Why on earth should you want to do that?”

“I think I should. I told Ike to hurry, as I explained to you. If I hadn’t done that the man would not have been hurt.” She gave a woeful little sigh. “I helped to take him to the hospital and so I feel acquainted with him.”

A shrewd, calculating look swept over Obadiah’s face. “That’s a most informal introduction, I am thinking. However, it will do no harm to get on friendly terms with that fellow. I suppose that it will mean a suit, anyway, but I won’t oppose your going.”

Virginia’s face lighted with happiness and pride. “Daddy dear, you have the kindest and most thoughtful heart. You are always trying to do something nice,” she laughed, softly. “You’ve made a mistake this time, and you will have to think of something else. The man in the hospital doesn’t need clothes. I noticed that his were not hurt in the accident.”

“Clothes,” cried Obadiah, much perplexed by the tribute to himself and the subsequent explanation. “Who said anything about clothes?” Suddenly, understanding came to him. “I’ll swear–” promised the astounded manufacturer.

Virginia quickly kissed him squarely upon the mouth.

“No, you won’t,” she said, her eyes tender with love and pride, “you are much too good and generous and noble to do that.”

For an instant, Obadiah appeared about to contradict his daughter, but, changing his mind, he hurried out to his waiting car and pressed the button on the horn.

At the signal, Ike appeared, coming hurriedly from the kitchen. As he advanced, he deposited in his mouth the remains of a slice of pie. Because of the unfortunate events of the morning, the procurement of this pastry partook of the nature of a diplomatic triumph. Ike had but little pride in this. His mind was upon weightier matters. As he approached his employer, he bolted the remnants in a manner conducive neither to his present dignity nor future health.

Obadiah endeavored to fix the shifting glance of his chauffeur with a piercing eye. “Ike,” he demanded, roughly, “how did that accident occur?”

“Yas’r, dat man come er speedin’ down Secon’ Street an’ ran smack bang into dis yere caah. He dent it wid his haid,” the chauffeur testified glibly.

“Show me the dent!”

Ike promptly indicated a slight depression in the body of the car above a rear fender.

“You did that when you ran into a coal truck and smashed the fender.”

Ike was greatly astonished but admitted erroneous conclusions. “Ah mek er mistake. Dat man mus’ er landed on de wheel den.”

“Don’t make any more mistakes about this accident,” the manufacturer rapped. “Virginia tells me that you were coming out Forest Avenue and that this fellow was going down Second Street.”

Ike considered this with care, that deception be eliminated. “Yas’r, Miss Virginny ain’ mek no mistake, neither.”

Obadiah glared at his humble retainer. “He was on your right hand then?” he suggested.

“Ah dis’remembers jes whar dat man cum f’om, Misto Dale. He cum so fas’ it plum slip ma mind.” Ike scratched his head thoughtfully. “It done gone f’om me.”

“He was going down Second Street towards the Court House and you were coming out home, weren’t you?”

“Yas’r, dat’s jes de way o’ it.”

“Then, he approached you on your right hand. He had the right of way.”

“Misto Dale, dat man done took all de way.”

“You know he had the right of way under the law,” bawled Obadiah, provoked by the stupidity of his servitor.

“Yas’r, dat’s de law.” A most flattering note of admiration for his employer’s legal acumen crept into Ike’s voice. “Misto Dale, yo’all sutinly knows de law.”

“Never mind what I know,” roared Obadiah, thrusting compliments rudely aside. “If that fellow hit my car you must have been in his way.”

“No, sar, Ah was er gwine to hit ’im, ’ceptin’ he dodge. He done cum so quick ah ain’ seen ’im ’till he whar der. Yas’r.”

Puzzled at what he had unearthed, Obadiah sought illumination along other lines. “How fast was that fellow running, Ike, when he hit you?”

The chauffeur lifted his eyes heavenward as if seeking inspiration. A crow winged its way slowly across the sky. He followed it critically as if using its speed as a measure for the estimate sought. “ ’Bout seventy seven mile er hour,” he ventured.

Obadiah boiled. “Seventy seven miles an hour on Second Street is absurd,” he blurted. “It’s too rough. A man would have to fly to do it.”

“Yas’r dat’s hit. He was er flyin’. Jest er hittin’ de high places.”

Obadiah scorched his menial with a look which should have reduced him to a cinder.

Ike shifted uneasily under the unkind gaze of his indignant employer as he waited further interrogation.

“How fast were you running?” Obadiah’s tone was as warm as his aspect.

Ike deemed it advisable at this point to make his statements general. “Ah drives cafful. Safety furst, dat’s ma motta.”

“I have heard that nonsense of yours before. What I want to know,” Obadiah bleated in a high falsetto, “is, how fast were you going?”

Again, Ike turned to the skies. Suddenly came a change. His doubtful demeanor disappeared. He met the stern countenance of his employer with a glad smile of confidence and assurance. To him, in the hour of need, had been vouchsafed a solution of his problem. “Miss Sereny,” he explained, with great satisfaction, “she done tell me not to drive no fas’er den er hoss an’ ker’idge kin go. Dat’s jes how fas’ ah goes.”

Obadiah leaped into his car and slammed the door. “Take me to my office,” he blazed.

Ike obeyed him, running, it may be noted, at a speed well above that usually attained by the horses and carriages of Serena’s fond remembrance.

Obadiah entered his office yet much irritated by the recent examination of his chauffeur. “Jones,” he shouted peevishly.

“At your service, Sir,” responded the ever courteous private secretary, ceasing his social plannings for the House of Dale, hurriedly, and leaving the bookkeeper sorely embarrassed in his labors, through the loss of the voucher from which he was working snatched away by Mr. Jones, and borne into the manufacturer’s presence, as proof that his absence was due to zealous watchfulness of his employer’s interests, rather than to personal motives.

“Tell Mr. Wilkins that I want to see him.”

“Immediately, sir.” Obadiah’s voice demanded speed and Mr. Jones sped, bearing the bookkeeper’s work away with him.

In a moment the expeditious private secretary returned followed by Hezekiah Wilkins who passed on into Obadiah’s room and closed the door.

Obadiah was waiting behind a large desk in the center, and motioning to his legal adviser to be seated, made known his business in these words. “An embarrassing personal matter has occurred, Hezekiah, in which I must ask your assistance.” The manufacturer chose his words with care. Diplomacy is necessary when asking corporation lawyers to attend to the minor concerns of life. “It is so small a matter, I hesitate to ask your advice.”

Mr. Wilkins was short and fat. His head was bald and his face intellectual. There was a glint of humor in his eyes which was very noticeable when he removed his nose glasses for purposes of gesticulation. His defective sight did not prevent him from casting a keen glance at his employer, meanwhile tapping upon his front teeth with the gold frame of his glasses. “Don’t hesitate on my account, Obadiah.” There was a shadow of a smile on the attorney’s face. “I’ve done everything for you, but–” he intended to suggest as a pleasantry–“bail you out of jail,” but after a second’s consideration of his employer’s grim countenance, he continued, “buy you a marriage license,” as being less likely to affront a sensitive soul.

Now, Obadiah Dale had never given a moment’s consideration to a second marriage, and the thought that his attorney harbored inner suspicions of matrimonial designs upon his part interfered with the thread of his remarks. “What put that into your head?” he demanded, testily.

“Put what?” The fat face of the lawyer reflected great innocence.

“Marriage licenses,” retorted Obadiah.

“Oh,” chuckled the attorney, and quite frankly for one of his profession, he confessed, “It just slipped out, I suppose.”

The mill owner gave Hezekiah a severe glance as if to warn him of the grave danger of slips of the tongue to one in his profession.

This attention was lost, because the lawyer seemed greatly interested in the erection of a sign over the way.

Finding looks unavailing, Obadiah reverted to his business. “A fellow on a motorcycle ran into my car this morning. He broke a leg and they took him to the hospital where he is now, I believe.”

“Who was to blame?” asked the attorney.

“I can’t tell,” Obadiah replied crossly, as he remembered Ike’s testimony. “I can’t get a thing out of that fool chauffeur of mine. His story is absurd.”

“Were there witnesses?”

“One, I think, besides my daughter.”

“What does she say?” Hezekiah tickled his chin with his glasses and examined the picture moulding as if it were something unique in that line.

“I have not asked her, directly. I thought it inadvisable. I gather that she believes herself to blame because she told the chauffeur to hurry home.”

“Ahem,” said the lawyer, resuming his dental tattoo with great spirit. “Who had the right of way?”

“The motorcycle was approaching from the right,” admitted Obadiah grudgingly.

Hezekiah arose to his feet and moved around until he stood opposite to his employer. “Keep out of court, Obadiah,” he warned him. “A jury will soak you in this kind of case. How far can I go in a compromise?” he concluded, perfunctorily.

“I won’t pay a cent,” roared Obadiah, flying into a rage. “They can’t bleed me.”

Hezekiah understood the manufacturer’s mood. He paused for a minute and then continued very calmly. “How about a couple of hundred dollars and hospital expenses?”

“No.”

“The fellow’s hospital expenses?” There was a persuasive note in the lawyer’s voice.

“No!” Obadiah’s face was flushed and set in its obstinacy.

“The man may be poor. He may have dependents who will be deprived of the actual necessities of life. It could easily be that suffering and want would arise from this little case.” There was a pleading note in Hezekiah’s voice and almost a look of entreaty upon his kindly face.

“I don’t give a hang,” snarled Obadiah. “That’s their bad luck, not mine.”

Yet, the attorney waited, silently watching the angry manufacturer thrust papers from side to side of his desk.

Finally he glanced up. His temper had worn itself out. “Fix it up for twenty-five dollars,” he snapped. “That’s my limit.”

Hezekiah shrugged his shoulders in frank disgust at the smallness of the sum named, nodded his head in recognition of his instructions and left the room.