Part 9 (2/2)
THE BRIDGE OF DREAMS
”And then, Major, h.e.l.l broke loose! Dave stood up and--” Tom Cantrell's eyes snapped and he slashed with his crop at the bright andirons that held the flamed logs.
”No, Major, it wasn't h.e.l.l that broke up, it was something inside me. I felt it smash. For a moment I didn't grasp what Taylor was saying. It sounded so like the ravings of an insane phonograph that I was for being amused, but when I found that he was actually advising the mayor to refuse our committee the use of the hay market for a bivouac during the Confederate reunion, I just got up and took his speech and fed it to him raw. I saw red with a touch of purple and I didn't know I was on my feet and--”
”Major,” interrupted Andrew Sevier, his eyes bright as those of Kildare and his quiet voice under perfect control, ”Judge Taylor's exact words were that it seemed inadvisable to turn over property belonging to the city for the use of parties that could in no way be held responsible. He elucidated his excuse by saying that the Confederate soldiers were so old now that they were better off at home than parading the streets and inciting rebellious feelings in the children, throwing the city into confusion by their disorderly conduct and--”
”That's all he said, Major, that's all. I was on my feet then and all that needs to be said and done to him was said and done right there. I said it and Phoebe and Mrs. Peyton Kendrick did it as they walked right past him and out of the chamber of commerce hall of committees while he was trying to answer me. That broke up the meeting and he can't be found this morning. Cap has had Tom looking for him. I think when we find him we will have a few more words of remonstrance with him!” said Dave quietly. And he stood straight and tall before the major, and as he threw back his head he was most commanding. There was an expression of power in the face of David Kildare that the major had never seen there before.
He balanced his gla.s.ses in his hands a moment and looked keenly at the four young men lined up before him. They made a very forceful typification of the new order of things and were rather magnificent in their defense of the old. The major's voice tightened in his throat before he could say what they were waiting to hear.
”Boys,” he said, and his old face lit with one of its rare smiles, ”there were live sparks in these gray ashes--or we could not have bred you. I'm thinking you, yourselves, justify the existence of us old Johnnies and give us a clear t.i.tle to live a little while longer, reunite once a year, sing the old songs, speechify, parade, bivouac a few more times together--and be as disorderly as we d.a.m.n please, in this or any other city's hay market. Tom, telephone Cap to go straight to the bivouac headquarters and have them get ready to get out a special edition of the _Gray Picket_. If reports of this matter are sent out over the South without immediate and drastic refutations there will be a conflagration of thousands of old fire-eaters. They will never live through the strain. Andrew, take David up to your rooms, send for a stenographer and get together as much of that David Kildare speech as you can. Hobson, get hold of the stenographer of the city council and get his report of both Taylor's and Potts' speeches. Choke it out of him for I suspect they have both attempted to have them destroyed.”
”Don't you see, Major, don't you see, he tried to make a play to the ma.s.ses of protecting the city's property and the city's law and order, but he jumped into a hornet's nest? We managed to keep it all out of the morning paper but something is sure to creep in. Hadn't we better have a conference with the editors?” Tom was a solid quant.i.ty to be reckoned with in a stress that called for keenness of judgment rather than emotion.
”Ask them for a conference in the editorial rooms of the _Gray Picket_ at two-thirty, Tom,” answered the major. ”In the meantime I'll draft an editorial for the special edition. We must come out with it in the morning at all odds.”
In a few moments the echo of their steps over the polished floors and the ring of their voices had died away and the major was once more alone in his quiet library. He laid aside his books and drew his chair up to the table and began to make preparations for his editorial utterances. His rampant grizzled forelock stood straight up and his jaws were squared and grim. He paused and was in the act of calling Jeff to summon Phoebe over the wire when the curtains parted and she stood on the threshold. The major never failed to experience a glow of pride when Phoebe appeared before him suddenly. She was a very clear-eyed, alert, poised individuality, with the freshness of the early morning breezes about her.
”My dear,” he said without any kind of preliminary greeting, ”what do you make of the encounter between David Kildare and Julge Taylor? The boys have been here, but I want your account of it before I begin to take action in the matter.”
”It was the most dastardly thing I ever heard, Major,” said Phoebe quietly with a deep note in her voice. ”For one moment I sat stunned. The long line of veterans as I saw them last year at the reunion, old and gray, limping some of them, but glory in their bright faces, some of them singing and laughing, came back to me. I thought my heart would burst at the insult to them and to--us, their children. But when David rose from his chair beside me I drew a long breath. I wish you could have heard him and seen him. He was stately and courteous--and he said it _all_. He voiced the love and the reverence that is in all our hearts for them.
It was a very dignified forceful speech--and _David_ made it!” Phoebe stood close against the table and for a moment veiled her tear-starred eyes from the major's keen glance.
”Phoebe,” he said after a moment's silence, ”I sometimes think the world lacks a standard by which to measure some of her vaster products. Perhaps you and I have just explored the heart of David Kildare so far. But a heart as fine as his isn't going to pump fool blood into any man's brain--eh?”
”Sometimes and about some things, you do me a great injustice, Major,”
answered Phoebe slowly, with a serious look into the keen eyes bent upon hers. ”Of all the 'glad crowd', as David calls us, I am the only woman who comes directly in contact with the struggling, working, hand-to-hand fight of life, and I can't help letting it affect me in my judgment of--of us. I can't forget it when--when I amuse myself or let David amuse me. I seem to belong with them and not in the life he would make for me; yet you know I care--but if you are going to get out that extra edition you must get to work. I will sit here and get up my one o'clock notes for the imp, and if you need me, tell me so.”
The major bestowed a slow quizzical smile upon her and took up his pen.
For an hour they both wrote rapidly with now a quick question from the major and a concise answer from Phoebe, or a short debate over the wording of one of his sentences or paragraphs. The editorial minds of the graybeard and the girl were of much the same quality and they had written together for many years. The major had gone far in the molding of Phoebe's keen wit.
”Why, here you are, Phoebe,” exclaimed Mrs. Buchanan as she hurried into the room just as Phoebe was finis.h.i.+ng some of her last paragraphs, ”Caroline and I have been telephoning everywhere for you. Do come and motor out to the Country Club with us for lunch. David and Andrew left some partridges there yesterday as they came from hunting on Old Harpeth, to be grilled for us to-day. You are going out there to play bridge with Mrs. Shelby's guest from Charleston at three, so please come with us now!”
She was all eagerness and she rested one plump, persuasive little hand on Phoebe's arm. To Mrs. Matilda, any time that Phoebe could be persuaded to frolic was one of undimmed joy.
”Now, Mrs. Matilda,” said the major, as he smiled at her with the expression of delight that her presence always called forth even in times of extreme strenuosity, ”do leave Phoebe with me--I'm really a very lorn old man.”
”Why, are you really lonely dear? Then Caroline and I won't think of going. We'll stay right here to lunch with you. I will go tell her and you put up your books and papers and we will bring our sewing and chat with you and Phoebe. It will be lovely.”
”Matilda,” answered the major hastily with real alarm in his eyes, ”I insist that you unroll my strings to your ap.r.o.n as far as the Country Club this once. I capitulate--no man in the world ever had more attention than I have. Why, Phoebe knows that--”
”Indeed, indeed, he really doesn't want us, Mrs. Matilda. Let's leave him to his Immortals. I will be ready in a half-hour if I can write fast here. Tell Caroline Darrah to hunt me up a fresh veil and phone Mammy Kitty not to expect me home until--until midnight. Now while you dress I will write.”
”Very well,” answered Mrs. Buchanan, ”if you are sure you don't need us, Major,” and with a caress on his rampant lock she hurried away.
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