Part 39 (1/2)
She put out her hands blindly before her as she reached the head table and heard them cheering her husband's name-and her own. She felt her way into her place. She glanced down into her husband's surprised face and gave a terrified semblance of a smile. Then the whole room seemed to fuse before her. She has never been able to recollect connectedly the events of that evening.
The dinner began, progressed, and, after the manner of all dinners, at last ended. Sam Hod arose. He clinked on a water-gla.s.s with his knife.
The hallful saw him and gradually grew quiet.
It was a beautiful speech that the editor made. He began with the part Vermont has played in every war in which America has ever engaged. He told the story of the boys who marched away in '61 behind John Farrington. He recounted the story of Captain Farrington's death; the succession of ”Jack Fuller the First” to the place of honor in the Company, the brilliant war-record of the regiment. He told of the home-coming; of the banquet fifty-two years before. He told smoothly of the events leading up to America's entry into the war. His quotation of the President's famous indictments against Germany brought ovation after ovation from the home-folks, who were worked up to hysterical pitch. And when it was over the editor said:
”To-night, before sitting down to this farewell banquet to our sons, many of whom are going away from us never to return-to-night I was the recipient of a strange request. It came from the last survivor of that famous Company of Sixty-two who fifty-two years ago saw Das.h.i.+ng Captain Jack Fuller of glorious memory, raise aloft this receptacle of rare vintage and propose a dramatic thing.
”This was the request: By some strange fate the evening when the last toast was to be given to the ill.u.s.trious dead comes at the terrifically tragic moment when the sons of many of these men are going forward to offer their lives in a new democracy. It has been suggested that nothing could have more approval from Das.h.i.+ng Captain Jack himself-or from all of those one hundred and six brave men who have crossed from the battlefields of earthly life into a blessed reward for their altruism-than that this toast should be given after all-if not by the two survivors, then by the leader of the local heroes who have volunteered to go ”Over There” and by their sacrifice make the earth a finer, fairer, better place in which to dwell. ”The Toast to Forty-five,” famous for fifty-two years, will be given at last amid this a.s.sembly of another quota of the Union's soldiers about to go forth to preserve the same great principle for which their fathers laid their all upon the altar.”
There was silence for a time. Then came another attempt at another ovation. But it died in the excitement of the thing transpiring at that speaker's table.
Sam Hod was opening the famous vintage.
The seal was broken. Out of that gla.s.s retainer came costly sparkling liquor, fifty-two years the prize relic of Farrington Post. Sam reached over. The two gla.s.ses of Uncle Joe Fodder and Captain Jack he filled to the brim. He stepped back-back from between Uncle Joe and Captain Jack-that they might click the rims of their slender goblets together.
”Gentlemen,” cried Uncle Joe in that breathless moment-”The Toast-to-Forty-five!”
Every military man in that room arose to his feet.
Uncle Joe's withered old lips moved in the sunken face. The skinny hand holding the wine-gla.s.s trembled so that the beverage spilled over the edge and splashed on the white table-cloth like a clot of blood.
”Here's to the gallant Forty-five,” he cried in a high-pitched, crackly voice. ”Here's to Captain John Farrington. And here's to the men of Company Sixty-two and their posterity. Here's to-here's to Captain Jack Fuller and _his_ posterity-”
It was an unfortunate sentence at an unfortunate time.
_Jack Fuller's posterity!_
Through the lad's brain must have flashed a picture of a scene in his sitting-room months before when he had paid a fearful price for-something! He had promised- He had promised- He looked around the room. Hundreds of eyes were upon him as he stood there, splendid and erect in olive drab. He glanced around his own table, too. And in that instant he saw-the pale, wan features of his wife!
His arm still holding awkwardly aloft the gla.s.s, Jack looked into the faces of that crowd flanking the tables and walls of that great hall.
Something came to him-the scenes, the a.s.sociations-reincarnation, perhaps-the blood of his forefathers-heredity-in that great instant he was prompted to do a great and dramatic thing for the joy of the spectacular, the call of the dramatic.
Out of Joe Fodder's toothless mouth came voiceless words-
”I've-gone and forgot my speech! You say something, Jack. You say it!”
Sam Hod racked his brain for words to save the situation. All Paris waited. And then-in the silence-came a rich, strong, boyish voice:
”I'll give a toast-to Forty-five!”
It was Captain Jack. Two hundred pairs of eyes were fixed upon him. He knew perfectly that two hundred pairs of eyes were fixed upon him.
This is the thing that he did:
Deliberately into his dirty coffee-cup he poured the blood-red liquid.
As his grandfather would have done, with the same exaggerated flourish the boy took from his pocket a snow-white handkerchief. With that napkin he wiped flawlessly the delicate receptacle which had held the liquor.
Then he leaned over. From a gla.s.s pitcher he poured into that cleansed wine-gla.s.s its fill of pure cold sparkling water. In an instant he held it aloft.