Part 26 (1/2)

General Deffenbaugh was the Voice of Elmville. Some said he was Elmville. At any rate, he had no compet.i.tor as the Mouthpiece. He owned enough stock in the _Daily Banner_ to dictate its utterance, enough shares in the First National Bank to be the referee of its loans, and a war record that left him without a rival for first place at barbecues, school commencements, and Decoration Days.

Besides these acquirements he was possessed with endowments. His personality was inspiring and triumphant. Undisputed sway had moulded him to the likeness of a fatted Roman emperor. The tones of his voice were not otherwise than clarion. To say that the General was public-spirited would fall short of doing him justice. He had spirit enough for a dozen publics. And as a sure foundation for it all, he had a heart that was big and stanch. Yes; General Deffenbaugh was Elmville.

One little incident that usually occurred during the Governor's morning walk has had its chronicling delayed by more important matters. The procession was accustomed to halt before a small brick office on the Avenue, fronted by a short flight of steep wooden steps. A modest tin sign over the door bore the words: ”Wm. B.

Pemberton: Attorney-at-Law.”

Looking inside, the General would roar: ”h.e.l.lo, Billy, my boy.” The less distinguished members of the escort would call: ”Morning, Billy.” The Governor would pipe: ”Good morning, William.”

Then a patient-looking little man with hair turning gray along the temples would come down the steps and shake hands with each one of the party. All Elmville shook hands when it met.

The formalities concluded, the little man would go back to his table, heaped with law books and papers, while the procession would proceed.

Billy Pemberton was, as his sign declared, a lawyer by profession.

By occupation and common consent he was the Son of his Father.

This was the shadow in which Billy lived, the pit out of which he had unsuccessfully striven for years to climb and, he had come to believe, the grave in which his ambitions were destined to be buried. Filial respect and duty he paid beyond the habit of most sons, but he aspired to be known and appraised by his own deeds and worth.

After many years of tireless labour he had become known in certain quarters far from Elmville as a master of the principles of the law.

Twice he had gone to Was.h.i.+ngton and argued cases before the highest tribunal with such acute logic and learning that the silken gowns on the bench had rustled from the force of it. His income from his practice had grown until he was able to support his father, in the old family mansion (which neither of them would have thought of abandoning, rickety as it was) in the comfort and almost the luxury of the old extravagant days. Yet, he remained to Elmville as only ”Billy” Pemberton, the son of our distinguished and honoured fellow-townsman, ”ex-Governor Pemberton.” Thus was he introduced at public gatherings where he sometimes spoke, haltingly and prosily, for his talents were too serious and deep for extempore brilliancy; thus was he presented to strangers and to the lawyers who made the circuit of the courts; and so the _Daily Banner_ referred to him in print. To be ”the son of” was his doom. What ever he should accomplish would have to be sacrificed upon the altar of this magnificent but fatal parental precedence.

The peculiarity and the saddest thing about Billy's ambition was that the only world he thirsted to conquer was Elmville. His nature was diffident and una.s.suming. National or State honours might have oppressed him. But, above all things, he hungered for the appreciation of the friends among whom he had been born and raised.

He would not have plucked one leaf from the garlands that were so lavishly bestowed upon his father, he merely rebelled against having his own wreathes woven from those dried and self-same branches. But Elmville ”Billied” and ”sonned” him to his concealed but lasting chagrin, until at length he grew more reserved and formal and studious than ever.

There came a morning when Billy found among his mail a letter from a very high source, tendering him the appointment to an important judicial position in the new island possessions of our country. The honour was a distinguished one, for the entire nation had discussed the probable recipients of these positions, and had agreed that the situation demanded only men of the highest character, ripe learning, and evenly balanced mind.

Billy could not subdue a certain exultation at this token of the success of his long and arduous labours, but, at the same time, a whimsical smile lingered around his mouth, for he foresaw in which column Elmville would place the credit. ”We congratulate Governor Pemberton upon the mark of appreciation conferred upon his son”--”Elmville rejoices with our honoured citizen, Governor Pemberton, at his son's success”--”Put her there, Billy!”--”Judge Billy Pemberton, sir; son of our State's war hero and the people's pride!”--these were the phrases, printed and oral, conjured up by Billy's prophetic fancy. Grandson of his State, and stepchild to Elmville--thus had fate fixed his kins.h.i.+p to the body politic.

Billy lived with his father in the old mansion. The two and an elderly lady--a distant relative--comprised the family. Perhaps, though, old Jeff, the Governor's ancient coloured body-servant, should be included. Without doubt, he could have claimed the honour.

There were other servants, but Thomas Jefferson Pemberton, sah, was a member of ”de fambly.”

Jeff was the one Elmvillian who gave to Billy the gold of approval unmixed with the alloy of paternalism. To him ”Mars William” was the greatest man in Talbot County. Beaten upon though he was by the s.h.i.+ning light that emanates from an ex-war governor, and loyal as he remained to the old _regime_, his faith and admiration were Billy's.

As valet to a hero, and a member of the family, he may have had superior opportunities for judging.

Jeff was the first one to whom Bill revealed the news. When he reached home for supper Jeff took his ”plug” hat and smoothed it before hanging it upon the hall-rack.

”Dar now!” said the old man: ”I knowed it was er comin'. I knowed it was gwine ter happen. Er Judge, you says, Mars William? Dem Yankees done made you er judge? It's high time, sah, dey was doin' somep'n to make up for dey rascality endurin' de war. I boun' dey holds a confab and says: 'Le's make Mars William Pemberton er judge, and dat'll settle it.' Does you have to go way down to dem Fillypines, Mars William, or kin you judge 'em from here?”

”I'd have to live there most of the time, of course,” said Billy.

”I wonder what de Gubnor gwine say 'bout dat,” speculated Jeff.

Billy wondered too.

After supper, when the two sat in the library, according to their habit, the Governor smoking his clay pipe and Billy his cigar, the son dutifully confessed to having been tendered the appointment.

For a long time the Governor sat, smoking, without making any comment. Billy reclined in his favourite rocker, waiting, perhaps still flushed with satisfaction over the tender that had come to him, unsolicited, in his dingy little office, above the heads of the intriguing, time-serving, clamorous mult.i.tude.

At last the Governor spoke; and, though his words were seemingly irrelevant, they were to the point. His voice had a note of martyrdom running through its senile quaver.