Chapter XXVIII: The Events of a Day

Only once had Westover been interrupted during his hours of laborious and futile effort to write his letter to Colonel Conway. Jack Towns, being an ideal guest, had occupied himself with books, strolls, and other silent means of passing the time, so that his host had been in no way reminded of his existence. But the weather had not been so unobtrusive a guest. Considerably before noon there came a squall which for ten or fifteen minutes threatened destruction to everything movable about the place. It unroofed a cellar door at the back of the house. It carried away the shed of a tobacco barn, and curiously enough one of the cook's pigs, which she was bringing up luxuriously on "pot liquor and kitchen stuff," disappeared during the brief hurricane. Whether the obese porker was really blown away, as most of the house servants stoutly contended, or whether it was that some colored person with an appetite had simultaneously seized the opportunity and the pig and got away with both, was a point never accurately determined.

Boyd Westover cared nothing for damages that might be repaired, but he was sorely distressed by the wreckage of a favorite mimosa tree that flourished near one corner of the porch. He even quitted his writing, when the little squall had passed away, and with Jack Towns's very inexpert assistance, attempted some repairs. But when there arose the question of sawing off a broken limb, he abandoned the undertaking, saying:

"We'll leave that till Carley Farnsworth comes. He's due here to-day to see some of my people who are ill. He's a much better horticulturist than either of us, Jack, and besides he's a surgeon and will know better how to give the poor tree a chance to grow into symmetry again."

Then, as he sorrowfully contemplated the torn and broken mimosa, he muttered:

"I shouldn't have cared half so much if the squall had blown away every barn I've got. The ruin of that tree is all that it means to me."

He little dreamed what other and immeasurably greater consequences were to come to him as the result of that brief atmospheric disturbance, but he was destined, after a time, to find out.

When the two friends returned from their ride of a dozen miles or so, bringing with them a pair of wild turkey gobblers shot upon the flush, they found Carley Farnsworth in the hall, as the broad passageway through a Virginia house was called, very busily writing upon small slips of paper, of which he had prepared a considerable number before beginning to write. He was too busy to give more than a scant greeting to his friends, but in lieu of greater cordiality he handed one of his written slips to each, saying:

"Read that, and don't interrupt me, please. I'm expecting a messenger every moment."

On each of the slips was written:

"I am authorized by Colonel Robert Conway to add his name to the list of those who urge Mr. Boyd Westover's election.

"(Signed) Don Carlos Farnsworth."

As Westover and Towns looked wonderingly at each other, after reading the slips, Carley Farnsworth threw down his pen, exclaiming:

"There! that's fifty. Talk will do the rest."

Then, filling and lighting a long-stemmed pipe, he said to the others:

"Something has happened. Don't ask me what it is, for I don't know. Yonder comes Dick Ventress, and the slips are ready for him. He has a pot of gum stick'em in his pocket and he's going to paste those slips to all the nominating placards within twenty miles between now and to-morrow morning. They'll set everybody talking, and talk will do the rest."

When Dick Ventress had received the papers and galloped away, Carley vouchsafed some small and exceedingly unsatisfying explanation.

"Something has happened at The Oaks," he said. "I don't know what it is, but when I got there to-day to attend Miss Margaret's sick people, I found everybody agitated, Miss Betsy in something like collapse, and Colonel Conway littering up the house with the torn fragments of letters he'd been trying to write but couldn't. I gave him something to quiet his nerves, and suggested that in his state of mind perhaps literary endeavors were unadvisable. Presently he exclaimed: 'I'll arrange the whole thing. I'll write a letter to you.'

"With that he set to work and wrote this."

He offered a sheet of paper on which was written:

"Dr. D. C. Farnsworth.

"_My dear Sir_:--

"When you asked me to join you and others in nominating Mr. Boyd Westover for Senator, I felt bound to decline, for reasons which I did not, because I could not, offer. Through very distressing and to me embarrassing circumstances, I now discover that I have been acting under a misapprehension. There are peculiar circumstances which forbid me to explain myself further. I cannot do so without injustice to others. But so far as Mr. Boyd Westover is concerned I earnestly desire to make such atonement as is still possible. To that end I hereby authorize you to add my name to the list of those who urge Mr. Boyd Westover's election. You are free to make this public in any and every way that may seem to you desirable. If it were possible, I should myself announce it from the platform at Fighting Creek to-morrow. As it is I authorize you to do so in my absence. I beg you to use all the influence you can command to spare me the necessity of explanation in this case. I cannot explain. The situation is the most distressing one possible to me. I place it and myself in your hands, and I am always, my dear Dr. Farnsworth,

"Your sincere friend,
"Robert Conway."

"There you have the whole story, so far as I know anything about it," said the Doctor.

"I must say," said Jack Towns, "it is a very manly effort to make reparation under difficulties."

"Yes," answered Westover, "and that is characteristic of Colonel Conway. I'd gladly sacrifice the election in exchange for the privilege of reading that note. He is altogether a man, and I must meet his manliness as a man. I'll write to him at once."

"He does not invite that," said Jack Towns.

"On the contrary he forbids it," added Carley Farnsworth, "and I forbid it in his name. Your impulse is manly and generous, Boyd, but you see he has asked me to use all the influence I can to spare him the necessity of explaining. A note from you would simply compel an explanation at his hands. It was to avoid that that he tore up all the letters he tried to write to you to-day. It is to avoid that that he doesn't mount his horse and ride over here to shake hands with you and tell you about this thing, whatever it is. It is to avoid that that he is going to absent himself from the meeting at Fighting Creek to-morrow, leaving me to announce his change of mind in his stead. What do you think, Jack?"

"Oh, there's only one thing to think. Until Colonel Conway shall see fit to open direct communication with Westover of Wanalah, it will be an extreme and unpardonable impertinence for Westover of Wanalah to address any personal communication to him. Circumstances forbid it. Courtesy forbids it. Consideration, conscience, common sense, convenience, convention, custom,--everything that begins with a 'c' or with any other letter of the alphabet,--forbids it."

"I suppose you two are right," answered Westover, "but to a man of my temperament it seems an ungracious thing not to recognize in some personal way the courtesy Colonel Conway has shown me. My impulse is to write to him and thank him."

"Well, under the circumstances you mustn't," said Carley Farnsworth, "and you're lucky, Boyd, to have sane friends to advise and control you."

"I reckon I am. But really, Carley, what do you suppose has happened over at The Oaks?"

"I am doing no supposing. It may be anything or nothing. We Virginians--all but Jack Towns and me--are so emotional, so sentimental, so chivalric if you prefer the term, that I long ago ceased my efforts to make a diagnosis of things of that sort. I only know that the Colonel is wrought up to a pitch that requires the remedy of going to bed, and that everybody else at The Oaks is correspondingly wrought up. Everybody except that thoroughly admirable Boston girl, Miss Danvers. She has a head, and she keeps it poised above her shoulders. If I hadn't an entirely satisfactory wife of my own in prospect, though not yet in possession, I should be strongly tempted to persuade that girl to stay south of Mason and Dixon's line. As it is, I really think some other fellow ought to do that as a service to Virginia society. Miss Danvers is a true blue, a thoroughbred. She has character, manners, breeding, beauty, simplicity, honesty, sincerity, loyalty, good sense, and all the other qualities that go to make a woman admirable. She is the only person who knows what the ruction over at The Oaks was, and she's the only one there capable of handling the situation sanely. She seems to have everybody there well in hand, and to be controlling all of them wisely. She has a persuasive gift that astonished me when she actually got Colonel Conway to go to bed in the middle of the afternoon, and induced Margaret to do the same thing as a precaution against a nervous breakdown that was clearly threatened. I had ordered both those goings to bed, with all the authority of a medical adviser, but to no purpose. When I spoke to that Boston girl about it, she answered gently but confidently: 'If you think that advisable, Doctor, I will see that it is done,' and by Jove she did the trick so promptly that before I left I saw them both in bed, and gave each of them a sleeping potion that will keep them quiet for many hours to come."

Under ordinary circumstances, Jack Towns would have declared his purpose to go over to The Oaks at once and make love to the Boston girl. For some reason, on this occasion, he shrank from all jesting. He had talked for an hour with Millicent Danvers on the evening before. He wanted now to talk with her for another hour, but, contrary to his custom, he said nothing of his purpose. He went to dinner with the other two, and after the dinner was done he slipped away to the stables, mounted the superb mare that was now his, and rode away to The Oaks.