Part 2 (1/2)

He was from the North, and, being much interested in what he saw, was duly inquisitive. Among other things that attracted his attention was a little one-armed man who seemed to be the life of the place. He was here, there, and everywhere; and wherever he went the atmosphere seemed to lighten and brighten. Sometimes he was flying around town in a buggy; at such times he was driven by a sweet-faced lady, whose smiling air of proprietors.h.i.+p proclaimed her to be his wife: but more often he was on foot. His cheerfulness and good humor were infectious. The old men sitting at Perdue's Corner, where they had been gathering for forty years and more, looked up and laughed as he pa.s.sed; the ladies shopping in the streets paused to chat with him; and even the dry-goods clerks and lawyers, playing chess or draughts under the China trees that shaded the sidewalks, were willing to be interrupted long enough to exchange jokes with him.

”Rather a lively chap that,” said the observant commercial traveler.

”Well, I reckon you won't find no livelier in these diggin's,” replied the landlord, to whom the remark was addressed. There was a suggestion of suppressed local pride in his tones. ”He's a little chunk of a man, but he's monst'us peart.”

”A colonel, I guess,” said the stranger, smiling.

”Oh, no,” the other rejoined. ”He ain't no colonel, but he'd 'a' made a prime one. It's mighty curious to me,” he went on, ”that them Yankees up there didn't make him one.”

”The Yankees?” inquired the commercial traveler.

”Why, yes,” said the landlord. ”He's a Yankee; and that lady you seen drivin' him around, she's a Yankee. He courted her here and he married her here. Major Jimmy Ba.s.s wanted him to marry her in his house, but Captain Jack Walthall put his foot down and said the weddin' had to be in _his_ house; and there's where it was, in that big white house over yander with the hip roof. Yes, sir.”

”Oh,” said the commercial traveler, with a cynical smile, ”he stayed down here to keep out of the army. He was a lucky fellow.”

”Well, I reckon he was lucky not to get killed,” said the landlord, laughing. ”He fought with the Yankees, and they do say that Little Compton was a rattler.”

The commercial traveler gave a long, low whistle, expressive of his profound astonishment. And yet, under all the circ.u.mstances, there was nothing to create astonishment. The lively little man had a history.

Among the genial and popular citizens of Hillsborough, in the days before the war, none were more genial or more popular than Little Compton. He was popular with all cla.s.ses, with old and with young, with whites and with blacks. He was sober, discreet, sympathetic, and generous. He was neither handsome nor magnetic. He was awkward and somewhat bashful, but his manners and his conversation had the rare merit of spontaneity. His sallow face was unrelieved by either mustache or whiskers, and his eyes were black and very small, but they glistened with good-humor and sociability. He was somewhat small in stature, and for that reason the young men about Hillsborough had given him the name of Little Compton.

Little Compton's introduction to Hillsborough was not wholly without suggestive incidents. He made his appearance there in 1850, and opened a small grocery store. Thereupon the young men of the town, with nothing better to do than to seek such amus.e.m.e.nt as they could find in so small a community, promptly proceeded to make him the victim of their pranks and practical jokes. Little Compton's forbearance was wonderful. He laughed heartily when he found his modest signboard hanging over an adjacent barroom, and smiled good-humoredly when he found the sidewalk in front of his door barricaded with barrels and dry-goods boxes. An impatient man would have looked on these things as in the nature of indignities, but Little Compton was not an impatient man.

This went on at odd intervals, until at last the fun-loving young men began to appreciate Little Compton's admirable temper; and then for a season they played their jokes on other citizens, leaving Little Compton entirely unmolested. These young men were boisterous, but good-natured, and they had their own ideas of what const.i.tuted fair play. They were ready to fight or to have fun, but in neither case would they willingly take what they considered a mean advantage of a man.

By degrees they warmed to Little Compton. His gentleness won upon them; his patient good-humor attracted them. Without taking account of the matter, the most of them became his friends. This was demonstrated one day when one of the Pulliam boys from Jasper County made some slurring remark about ”the little Yankee.” As Pulliam was somewhat in his cups, no attention was paid to his remark; whereupon he followed it up with others of a more seriously abusive character. Little Compton was waiting on a customer; but Pulliam was standing in front of his door, and he could not fail to hear the abuse. Young Jack Walthall was sitting in a chair near the door, whittling a piece of white pine. He put his knife in his pocket, and, whistling softly, looked at Little Compton curiously. Then he walked to where Pulliam was standing.

”If I were you, Pulliam,” he said, ”and wanted to abuse anybody, I'd pick out a bigger man than that.”

”I don't see anybody,” said Pulliam.

”Well, d---- you!” exclaimed Walthall, ”if you are that blind, I'll open your eyes for you!”

Whereupon he knocked Pulliam down. At this Little Compton ran out excitedly, and it was the impression of the spectators that he intended to attack the man who had been abusing him; but, instead of that, he knelt over the prostrate bully, wiped the blood from his eyes, and finally succeeded in getting him to his feet. Then Little Compton a.s.sisted him into the store, placed him in a chair, and proceeded to bandage his wounded eye. Walthall, looking on with an air of supreme indifference, uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and sauntered carelessly away.

Sauntering back an hour or so afterward, he found that Pulliam was still in Little Compton's store. He would have pa.s.sed on, but Little Compton called to him. He went in prepared to be attacked, for he knew Pulliam to be one of the most dangerous men in that region, and the most revengeful; but, instead of making an attack, Pulliam offered his hand.

”Let's call it square, Jack. Your mother and my father are blood cousins, and I don't want any bad feelings to grow out of this racket.

I've apologized to Mr. Compton here, and now I'm ready to apologize to you.”

Walthall looked at Pulliam and at his proffered hand, and then looked at Little Compton. The latter was smiling pleasantly. This appeared to be satisfactory, and Walthall seized his kinsman's hand, and exclaimed:

”Well, by George, Miles Pulliam! if you've apologized to Little Compton, then it's my turn to apologize to you. Maybe I was too quick with my hands, but that chap there is such a d---- clever little rascal that it works me up to see anybody pester him.”

”Why, Jack,” said Compton, his little eyes glistening, ”I'm not such a sc.r.a.p as you make out. It's just your temper, Jack. Your temper runs clean away with your judgment.”

”My temper! Why, good Lord, man! don't I just sit right down, and let folks run over me whenever they want to? Would I have done anything if Miles Pulliam had abused _me_?”

”Why, the gilded Queen of Sheba!” exclaimed Miles Pulliam, laughing loudly, in spite of his bruises; ”only last sale day you mighty nigh jolted the life out of Bill-Tom Saunders, with the big end of a hickory stick.”

”That's so,” said Walthall reflectively; ”but did I follow him up to do it? Wasn't he d.o.g.g.i.ng after me all day, and strutting around bragging about what he was going to do? Didn't I play the little stray lamb till he rubbed his fist in my face?”