The Story of Jack Ballister's Fortunes. Говард Пайл
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– I forget his name – who was a prisoner at Malplaquet. Indeed it must have been mightily hard upon him after his father died to find that all the estate, except the Dunmore Plantation, was left to his brother.”
Just then Mr. Parker approached the group and the talk ceased. He nodded to Oliver and then passed by and stood at a little distance looking about him. Presently Harry Oliver edged over toward him. “How d’ ye do, Parker,” said he.
Mr. Parker turned his eyes toward the young man with an answering “How d’ ye do, Oliver.”
There was a moment’s pause. “That’s a prodigious handsome piece of lace you’ve got there, Parker,” said the young man, looking at Mr. Parker’s cravat.
“‘T is good enough,” said Mr. Parker briefly.
“Is it Flemish?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t come across any such lace as that here in Virginia,” said the young man.
“Don’t you?”
Oliver stood for a while in silence. Almost unconsciously he assumed somewhat of the older man’s manner, standing with his hands behind him and looking indifferently around the room. “Tell me, Parker,” said he, “do you go down to Parrot’s to-morrow?”
Again Mr. Parker looked slowly toward him. “To Parrot’s?” said he. “What d’ ye mean?”
“Why, have you not heard?” exclaimed the young man eagerly, glad to have found something that promised to interest the other. “Why, to-morrow there’s to be fought seven as fine mains as ever were pitted in Virginia. There are to be six mains fought between the Gentlemen of Surry and the Gentlemen of Prince George’s. Will Costigan yonder hath brought his red cock over from t’ other side of the Bay. The bird hath been all the talk for six months past. He offers to pit it against the winner of all the mains. I heard say, too, that Ned Williamson purposes to bring down a three-year horse that he hath broke, and will run it in the afternoon, perhaps, against Tom Lawson’s Duke of Norfolk.”
Mr. Parker listened impassively. “I had not heard anything about it,” said he; “I only came down yesterday. What time do you go down to Parrot’s?” he asked presently.
“To-morrow morning. I’m going to stay at my uncle Tom’s over night. Will you go along?”
“Why,” said Mr. Parker, “I hadn’t thought of it before. Maybe I will go.”
“I start in the morning,” said Oliver, eagerly; “I’ll come over for you if you’ll go.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Parker, “you can come over, and if I find I can, I’ll go with you. Is not that Mistress Denham and her daughter coming into the room?”
Then Mr. Parker moved away across the room to speak to the two Maryland ladies.
It was early twilight of the next evening when Mr. Richard Parker and Harry Oliver rode up to Parrot’s house. The house itself was the largest of a cluster of unpainted frame buildings that stood just beyond a clearing, overlooking the bay from a low, sandy bluff. A number of outbuildings and sheds surrounded it to the rear. Three pine trees stood not far from the low porch that sheltered the doorway, and a dozen or more horses stood clustered around the shaggy resinous trunks. Near by them lounged a group of men, black and white, talking together with now and then the break of a laugh. They fell silent, and some of them took off their hats as Mr. Parker and Mr. Oliver rode up to the door and alighted. Mr. Oliver nodded in reply, but Mr. Parker paid no attention to any one. “Where is Parrot?” asked the younger man.
“He’s inside, Mr. Oliver,” answered one of the group. “They were at cards awhile ago, sir, and I reckon they be at it yet.”
The two gentlemen went directly into the house. Tom Parrot’s wife met them in the hallway, where was a scattered heap of hats and riding coats. From the room to one side came the deep sound of men talking, and then a sudden outburst of voices. “I be mortal proud to see ye, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Parrot, dropping them a courtesy. “Indeed, Mr. Parker, you do honor us in coming. You’ll find Tom and the gentlemen in yonder.”
“You go ahead, Oliver,” said Mr. Parker.
Another loud burst of voices greeted the two as they entered the room, so dense with tobacco smoke that at first they could see nothing at all. The room was full of the smell of rum. A great bowl of punch stood on the side-table, and there was a continual tinkle and jingle of glasses. Tom Parrot pushed back his chair noisily and rose to meet the new comers. He was a little stout man with a red face. It was redder than ever now, and bedewed with drops of sweat. He had laid aside his wig, and his bald head glistened with moisture. He wore no coat, his waistcoat was opened, and his breeches loosened at the waistband. He wiped his face and head with his shirt sleeve as he spoke. “Why, Mr. Parker,” said he, “who’d a-thought to see you! You be mighty welcome, Mr. Parker. Won’t you take a hand at the game, sir? Tim (to the negro), push up that there chair for Mr. Parker. Fetch a clean glass and fill it with punch. You know all the gentlemen here, don’t you, Mr. Parker?” And then he stopped abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought.
Mr. Richard Parker looked briefly around the table. He did know, at least by sight, all who were there but one. That one was a stranger to him; a tall man with a long, thick, perfectly black beard tied into a knot with a piece of string. His thick, black hair was parted in the middle and brushed smoothly down upon either side of his head, and was trimmed squarely all around his neck. The locks at his temple were plaited into long strings, that hung down in front of his ears, in which twinkled a pair of gold ear-rings. His face was tanned by exposure to a leathery russet, but deepened to a bricky red in his cheeks. At the name of Parker the stranger had looked up sharply for an instant, and then had looked down again at the cards he was in the act of shuffling. A sudden hush as of expectancy had fallen upon the room. Everybody was looking attentively at Mr. Parker and at the stranger.
“Who is your friend yonder, Parrot?” asked Mr. Parker, “I don’t know him.”
“Him?” said Parrot, “why, he’s no more a friend of mine than he is a friend of all the rest of us, Mr. Parker.”
Seeing the other’s hesitation, the stranger spoke up boldly and loudly. “My name is Teach,” said he, “Captain Teach, and I hail from North Carolina. It’s like enough you’ve heard of me before, as I’ve heard of you, sir. Well, then, I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Parker.” He reached a brown, hairy hand across the table toward Mr. Richard Parker, looking up at him as he did so with the most impudent coolness and steadiness. Mr. Richard Parker made no sign of having recognized the stranger’s name. He and the pirate seemed to be the only self-possessed men in the room. He calmly ignored the proffered hand, but said in a perfectly equal voice: “Why, then, I am obliged to you for telling me who you are,” and then coolly and composedly took his seat. “What game do you play, Parrot?” said he.
“Why, Mr. Parker,” said Parrot eagerly, “’tis lanterloo, and Captain Teach is holding the bank just now. Will you take a hand, sir?”
By midnight the bowl of punch had been emptied and filled, and emptied again, and at times the uproar was stunning. Mr. Richard Parker had laid aside his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. His shirt was opened at his handsome, round throat, and the sweat trickled down his smooth red neck. “Harkee now, Captain Teach,” he called across the table in a loud, rather hoarse, voice, “I know very well who you are, you bloody villain! You’re a bloody pirate, d’ ye hear?”
The other glowered with tipsy truculence back at him for a moment or two in silence. “You can’t prove me pirate, Mr. Dick Parker,” said he at last, “and no man can prove me pirate now. Maybe I am a pirate and maybe I’m none, but how can you prove I’m a pirate?”
Mr. Parker’s flaming face did not change a shade in the heavy haughtiness of its expression. “A pirate you are,” said he, “and what’s more, you’re at your tricks again. I’ve heard all about you, and I know all about you, d’ ye see? Well, you’ve been losing at your cards all night, Mr. Pirate. You may do well enough in your villainy afloat, stabbing poor coasting