Part 9 (2/2)

Even then he did not wheel precipitately, under the urge of his anxiety to be gone, but paused with a forced deliberation, and, as he tarried, little Anne Masters stepped impulsively forward.

Anne had reigned with a captivating absolutism from her cradle on. Swift impulses and ready sympathies governed much of her conduct, and they governed her now.

”This is _my_ party,” she declared. ”Uncle Tom told me so at dinner, and I specially invite you to come in.” She spoke with the haste of one wis.h.i.+ng to forestall the possible thwarting of elderly objection, and ended with a dancing-school curtsey before the boy in hodden gray. Then the music started up again, and she added, ”If you like, I'll give you this waltz.”

But Boone Wellver only s.h.i.+fted from one uneasy foot to the other, fingering his hat brim and blinking owlishly. ”I'm obleeged ter ye,” he stammered with a sudden access of awkwardness, ”but I hain't never run a set in my life. My folks don't hold hit ter be G.o.dly. I jest came ter kinderly look on.”

”Anne, dear,” translated Basil Prince, ”in the mountains they know only the square dances. Isn't that correct?” The boy nodded his head.

”Thet's what I aimed ter say,” he corroborated. ”An' I'm beholden ter ye, little gal, none-the-less.”

”And now, come with me, Boone,” suggested the old soldier, diplomatically steering the unbidden guest across the hall and into the library where over their cigars and their politics sat the circle of devoted veterans.

Colonel Tom Wallifarro was standing before the fire with his hands clasped at his back. ”I had hoped against hope,” he was indignantly a.s.serting, ”that when the man's own hand-made triumvirate denied him endors.e.m.e.nt, he would end his reign of terror and acknowledge defeat.”

”A knowledge of the candidate should have sufficed to refute that idea,”

came the musical voice of a gentleman, whose snow-white hair was like a shock of spun silver.

”I was in Frankfort some days ago when Mr. Goebel sat there in conference with his favoured lieutenants. It was reported that he declared himself indifferent as to the outcome, but that he would abide by the decision of his party whips. The reporters were besieging those closed doors, and at the end you all know what verdict went over the wires: 'Being a loyal Democrat I shall obey the mandate of my party--and make a contest before the legislature for the office of governor, to which I was legally elected.'”

Just then Basil Prince came forward, leading his protege. Possibly a wink pa.s.sed over Boone Wellver's head. At all events the circle of gentlemen rose and shook hands as sedately as though they had been awaiting him--and Boone, hearing the t.i.tles, colonel, senator, governor, was enthralled beyond measure.

A half hour later, Morgan Wallifarro burst tempestuously in, carrying a large package, and wearing an expression of excited enthusiasm.

”General,” he exclaimed, ”I have disobeyed orders and opened one Christmas gift before tomorrow. I suspected what it was, sir--and I couldn't wait.”

Forgetful of the pretty girls in the rooms beyond, he ripped open the parcel and laid on the centre table a pair of beautifully chased and engraved fencing foils, and the masks that went with them.

”I simply had to come in and thank you at once, sir,” he added delightedly. ”Father, bend that blade and feel the temper! Look at the engraving too! My monogram is on the guard.”

While his elders looked indulgently on, the lad made a pa.s.s or two at an imagined adversary, and then he laughed again.

”By George, I wish I had one of the fencing-cla.s.s fellows here now.”

Boone bent forward in his chair, his eyes eagerly fixed on the glittering beauty of the slender, rubber-tipped blades. His lips parted to speak, but closed again without sound, while Morgan lunged and parried at nothing on the hearth-rug. ”'We're the cadets of Gascogny,'”

the son of the house quoted lightly. ”'At the envoy's end I touch.'”

Then regretfully he added, ”I wish there was some one to have a go with.

Are there any challengers, gentlemen?”

The boy in hodden-gray slipped from his chair.

”I reckon ef ye're honin' fer a little sward-fightin' I'll aim ter convenience ye,” he quietly invited.

For an instant Morgan gazed at him in silence. Without discourtesy, it was difficult to reply to such an absurd invitation, and even the older men felt their reserve of dignity taxed with the repression of mirth as they contemplated the volunteer.

”I'm sorry,” apologized Morgan, when the silence had become oppressive, ”but these foils are delicate things. For all their temper, they snap like gla.s.s in hands that aren't accustomed to them. It takes a bit of practice, you see.”

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