At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern. Reed Myrtle
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in thunder – ” began Harlan.
“Our first company,” interrupted Dorothy, with her hand over his mouth. “The very first person who has called on us since we were married!”
“Except Claudius Tiberius,” amended Harlan. “Isn’t a cat anybody?”
“Claudius is. I beg his imperial pardon for forgetting him.”
The rusty bell-wire creaked, then a timid ring came from the rear depths of the house. “You let him in,” said Dorothy, “and I’ll go and fix my hair.”
“Am I right,” queried the old gentleman, when Harlan opened the door, “in presuming that I am so fortunate as to address Mr. James Harlan Carr?”
“My name is Carr,” answered Harlan, politely. “Will you come in?”
“Thank you,” answered the visitor, in high staccato, oblivious of the fact that Claudius Tiberius had scooted in between his feet; “it will be my pleasure to claim your hospitality for a few brief moments.
“I had hoped,” he went on, as Harlan ushered him into the parlour, “to be able to make your acquaintance before this, but my multitudinous duties – ”
He fumbled in his pocket and produced a card, cut somewhat irregularly from a sheet of white cardboard, and bearing in tremulous autographic script: “Jeremiah Bradford, Counsellor at Law.”
“Oh,” said Harlan, “it was you who wrote me the letter. I should have hunted you up when I first came, shouldn’t I?”
“Not at all,” returned Mr. Bradford. “It is I who have been remiss. It is etiquette that the old residents should call first upon the newcomers. Many and varied duties in connection with the practice of my profession have hitherto – ” His eyes sought the portrait over the mantel. “A most excellent likeness of your worthy uncle,” he continued, irrelevantly, “a gentleman with whom, as I understand, you never had the pleasure and privilege of becoming acquainted.”
“I never met Uncle Ebeneezer,” rejoined Harlan, “but mother told me a great deal about him and we had one or two pictures – daguerreotypes, I believe they were.”
“Undoubtedly, my dear sir. This portrait was painted from his very last daguerreotype by an artist of renown. It is a wonderful likeness. He was my Colonel – I served under him in the war. It was my desire to possess a portrait of him in uniform, but he would never consent, and would not allow anyone save myself to address him as Colonel. An eccentric, but very estimable gentleman.”
“I cannot understand,” said Harlan, “why he should have left the house to me. I had never even seen him.”
“Perhaps,” smiled Mr. Bradford, enigmatically, “that was his reason, or rather, perhaps I should say, if you had known your uncle more intimately and had visited him here, or, if he had had the privilege of knowing you – quite often, as you know, a personal acquaintance proves disappointing, though, of course, in this case – ”
The old gentleman was floundering helplessly when Harlan rescued him. “I want you to meet my wife, Mr. Bradford. If you will excuse me, I will call her.”
Left to himself, the visitor slipped back and forth uneasily upon his haircloth chair, and took occasion to observe Claudius Tiberius, who sat near by and regarded the guest unblinkingly. Hearing approaching footsteps, he took out his worn silk handkerchief, unfolded it, and wiped the cold perspiration from his legal brow. In his heart of hearts, he wished he had not come, but Dorothy’s kindly greeting at once relieved him of all embarrassment.
“We have been wondering,” she said, brightly, “who would be the first to call upon us, and you have come at exactly the right time. New residents are always given two weeks, are they not, in which to get settled?”
“Quite so, my dear madam, quite so, and I trust that you are by this time fully accustomed to your changed environment. Judson Centre, while possessing few metropolitan advantages, has distinct and peculiar recommendations of an individual character which endear the locality to those residing therein.”
“I think I shall like it here,” said Dorothy. “At least I shall try to.”
“A very commendable spirit,” rejoined the old gentleman, warmly, “and rather remarkable in one so young.”
Mrs. Carr graciously acknowledged the compliment, and the guest flushed with pleasure. To perception less fine, there would have been food for unseemly mirth in his attire. Never in all her life before had Dorothy seen rough cow-hide boots, and grey striped trousers worn with a rusty and moth-eaten dress-coat in the middle of the afternoon. An immaculate expanse of shirt-front and a general air of extreme cleanliness went far toward redeeming the unfamiliar costume. The silk hat, with a bell-shaped crown and wide, rolling brim, belonged to a much earlier period, and had been brushed to look like new. Even Harlan noted that the ravelled edges of his linen had been carefully trimmed and the worn binding of the hat brim inked wherever necessary.
His wrinkled old face was kindly, though somewhat sad. His weak blue eyes were sheltered by an enormous pair of spectacles, which he took off and wiped continually. He was smooth-shaven and his scanty hair was as white as the driven snow. Now, as he sat in Uncle Ebeneezer’s parlour, he seemed utterly friendless and forlorn – a complete failure of that pitiful type which never for a moment guesses that it has failed.
“It will be my delight,” the old man was saying, his hollow cheeks faintly flushed, “to see that the elite of Judson Centre pay proper respect to you at an early date. If I were not most unfortunately a single gentleman, my wife would do herself the honour of calling upon you immediately and of tendering you some sort of hospitality approximately commensurate with your worth. As it is – ”
“As it is,” said Harlan, taking up the wandering thread of the discourse, “that particular pleasure must be on our side. We both hope that you will come often, and informally.”
“It would be a solace to me,” rejoined the old gentleman, tremulously, “to find the niece and nephew of my departed friend both congenial and companionable. He was my Colonel – I served under him in the war – and until the last, he allowed me to address him as Colonel – a privilege accorded to no one else. He very seldom left his own estate, but at his request I often spent an evening or a Sunday afternoon in his society, and after his untimely death, I feel the loss of his companionship very keenly. He was my Colonel – I – ”
“I should imagine so,” said Harlan, kindly, “though, as I have told you, I never knew him at all.”
“A much-misunderstood gentleman,” continued Mr. Bradford, carefully wiping his spectacles. “My grief is too recent, at present, to enable me to discourse freely of his many virtues, but at some future time I shall hope to make you acquainted with your benefactor. He was my Colonel, and in serving under him in the war, I had an unusual opportunity to know him as he really was. May I ask, without intruding upon your private affairs, whether or not it is your intention to reside here permanently?”
“We have not made up our minds,” responded Harlan. “We shall stay here this Summer, anyway, as I have some work to do which can be done only in a quiet place.”
“Quiet!” muttered the old gentleman, “quiet place! If I might venture to suggest, I should think you would find any other season more agreeable for prolonged mental effort. In Summer there are distractions – ”
“Yes,” put in Dorothy, “in Summer, one wants to be outdoors, and I am going to keep chickens and a cow, but my husband hopes to have his book finished by September.”
“His book!” repeated Mr. Bradford, in genuine astonishment. “Am I actually addressing an author?”
He beamed upon Harlan in a way which that modest youth found positively disconcerting.
“A would-be author only,” laughed Harlan, the colour mounting to his temples. “I’ve done newspaper work heretofore, and now I’m going to try something else.”
“My dear sir,” said Mr. Bradford, rising, “I must really beg the privilege