Part 14 (2/2)
”Jeff,” exclaimed Caroline Darrah excitedly, ”how much would it take to have a barbecue and ice-cream and everything good to go with it and a big band of music and fireworks and--”
”Golly, Miss Ca'line, they will be most five hundred of 'em and the 'scription ain't but a little over fifty dollars. I'm counting on the dancing and the gitting-there ter draw 'em.”
”We can't risk it,” said Caroline. ”I will give you two hundred and fifty dollars and you can let it be known that no such celebration ever was as the one his colored friends are going to give in honor of the election of Judge David Kildare--his united colored friends, Jeff, high and low.”
”Miss Ca'line, I'm a-skeered to take it! Mister David, he's jest naterly--”
”Mr. David need never know about it. It is a subscription and you have collected it--advertise that fact. I'm one of his friends and I can subscribe even if I am white. You must take it, and get to work about it.
Only four more days, remember, and we all must work for Mr. David; and too, Jeff, for those poor ignorant people who would commit the crime of letting themselves sell their votes.” There was real concern for the endangered souls of the c.o.o.ns in Caroline's voice, and Jeff was duly impressed.
They both fell to work on the packing of the basket as Temple's voice was heard in the distance, for they knew she would express herself in no uncertain terms if she found the amount of work done unsatisfactory.
But when he departed, Jeff carried in his pocket a slip of paper about which it nearly scared him to death to think, and one of the money-bags of the late Peters Brown was eased by the extraction of a quarter thousand. Caroline was happy from a clear conscience and a virtuous feeling of having saved a crisis for a dependent and ignorant people.
Which goes to show that a woman can put her finger into a political pie and draw it out without even a stain, while to touch that same confection ever so lightly would dye a man's hand blood red.
CHAPTER IX
PURSUING THE POSSUM
And as if in sympathy with the heart of the pursued possum, the thermometer began to fall in the afternoon and by night had established a clear, cold, windless condition of weather. The start for the Cliffs was to be made from the fork of the River Road, where cars, horses, traps and hampers were to be left with the servants, who by half past nine were already in an excited group around a blazing, dry oak fire, over which two score plump birds were ready to be roasted, attended by the autocratic Tempie. Jeff piled high with brush a huge log whose heart was being burned out for the baking of sundry potatoes, while the aroma from the barbecue pit was maddening to even a ten o'clock appet.i.te, and no estimate could be made of what damage would be done after the midnight return from the trail of the wily tree fruit.
David Kildare as usual was M.F.H. and his voice rang out as clearly against the tall pines, while he welcomed the cars and traps full of excited hunters, as if he had not been speaking in a crowded hall for an hour or two.
Mrs. Cherry Lawrence arrived early, accompanied by the distinguished suffragist, who was as alert for sensations new as if she had been one of an exploration party into the heart of darkest Africa. They were attended by Tom and also the suave Hobson, who was all attentions but whose maneuvers in the direction of Caroline Darrah were pitiably fruitless.
He was seconded in his attentions to the stranger by David with his most fascinating manner, and Mrs. Cherry sparkled and glowed at him with subdued witchery, while Tom sulked close at her side.
Polly and young Boston had trailed Mrs. Buchanan's car on horses and Phoebe was intent on pinning up the debutante's habit skirt to a comfortable scramble length. Billy Bob fairly bubbled over with glee and Milly, who had come to a.s.sist Mrs. Matilda in overlooking the preparations for the feast for the returned hunters, was already busy a.s.sembling hampers and cases on a flat rock over behind the largest fire.
Her anxious heart was at rest about her nestlings, for Caroline's maid, Annette, had gone French mad over the babies and had begged the privilege of keeping Mammy Betty company in her watch beside the cots.
”Come here, Caroline, child,” called David from behind the farthest fire, ”let me look at you! Seems to me you are in for a good freezing.” And he drew her into the light of the blaze.
She was kilted and booted and coated and belted in the most beautiful and wholly correct attire for the hunt that could possibly have been contrived; that is, for a sedate cross-country bird stalk or a decorous trap shooting, but for a long night scramble over the frozen ground she was insufficiently clad. The other girls all wore heavy golf skirts and coats and were m.u.f.fled to their eyes; even the big-bug lady wore a knitted comforter high round her throat. Without doubt Caroline would have been in for a cold deal, if David had not been more than equal to any occasion.
”Here, Andy, skin out of that sweater and get into that extra buckskin in my electric,” he said, and forthwith began without ceremony to a.s.sist Andrew Sevier in peeling off a soft, white, high-collared sweater he wore, and in less time than it took to think it he had slipped it over Caroline's protesting head, pulled it down around her slim hips almost to where her kilts met her boots and rolled the collar up under her eyes.
Then he immediately turned his attention to the arrival of the mongrel sleuths, each accompanied by a white-toothed negro of renowned c.o.o.n-fighting, possum-catching proclivities, whom he had a.s.sembled from the Old Harpeth to lead the hunt, thus leaving Caroline and Andrew alone for the moment on the far side of the fire.
”Indeed, I'm not going to have your sweater!” she protested, beginning to divest herself of the borrowed garment, but not knowing exactly how to crawl out of its soft embrace.
”Please, oh, please do!” he exclaimed quickly, and as he spoke he caught her hand away, that had begun to tug at the collar.
”I wouldn't keep it for the world--and have you cold, but--I can't get out,” she answered with a laugh. ”Please show me or call for help.”
And as she pleaded Andrew Sevier towered beside her, tall and slender, while the cold breeze with its pine-laden breath ruffled his white s.h.i.+rt-sleeves across his arms. Caroline Darrah in the embrace of his clinging apparel was a sight that sent the blood through his veins at a rate that warred with the winds, and his eyes drank deeply. The color mounted under her eyes and with the unconsciousness of a child she nestled her chin in the woolly folds about the neck as she turned her face from the firelight.
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