The Emancipation of Billy
In the old, old, square-porticoed mansion, with the wry window-shutters and the paint peeling off in discoloured flakes, lived one ofthe last war governors.
The South has forgotten the enmity of the great conflict, but itrefuses to abandon its old traditions and idols. In "Governor"Pemberton, as he was still fondly called, the inhabitants of Elmvillesaw the relic of their state's ancient greatness and glory. In his dayhe had been a man large in the eye of his country. His state hadpressed upon him every honour within its gift. And now when he wasold, and enjoying a richly merited repose outside the swift current ofpublic affairs, his townsmen loved to do him reverence for the sake ofthe past.
The Governor's decaying "mansion" stood upon the main street ofElmville within a few feet of its rickety paling-fence. Every morningthe Governor would descend the steps with extreme care anddeliberation--on account of his rheumatism--and then the click of hisgold-headed cane would be heard as he slowly proceeded up the ruggedbrick sidewalk. He was now nearly seventy-eight, but he had grown oldgracefully and beautifully. His rather long, smooth hair and flowing,parted whiskers were snow-white. His full-skirted frock-croak wasalways buttoned snugly about his tall, spare figure. He wore a high,well-kept silk hat--known as a "plug" in Elmville--and nearly alwaysgloves. His manners were punctilious, and somewhat overcharged withcourtesy.
The Governor's walks up Lee Avenue, the principal street, developed intheir course into a sort of memorial, triumphant procession. Everyonehe met saluted him with profound respect. Many would remove theirhats. Those who were honoured with his personal friendship would pauseto shake hands, and then you would see exemplified the genuine /beauideal/ Southern courtesy.
Upon reaching the corner of the second square from the mansion, theGovernor would pause. Another street crossed the venue there, andtraffic, to the extent of several farmers' wagons and a peddler's cartor two, would rage about the junction. Then the falcon eye of GeneralDeffenbaugh would perceive the situation, and the General wouldhasten, with ponderous solicitude, from his office in the FirstNational Bank building to the assistance of his old friend.
When the two exchanged greetings the decay of modern manners wouldbecome accusingly apparent. The General's bulky and commanding figurewould bend lissomely at a point where you would have regarded itsability to do so with incredulity. The Governor would take theGeneral's arm and be piloted safely between the hay-wagons and thesprinkling-cart to the other side of the street. Proceeding to thepost-office in the care of his friend, the esteemed statesmen wouldthere hold an informal levee among the citizens who were come fortheir morning mail. Here, gathering two or three prominent in law,politics, or family, the pageant would make a stately progress alongthe Avenue, stopping at the Palace Hotel, where, perhaps, would befound upon the register the name of some guest deemed worthy of anintroduction to the state's venerable and illustrious son. If any suchwere found, an hour or two would be spent in recalling the fadedglories of the Governor's long-vanished administration.
On the return march the General would invariably suggest that, HisExcellency being no doubt fatigued, it would be wise to recuperate fora few minutes at the Drug Emporium of Mr. Appleby R. Fentress (anelegant gentleman, sir--one of the Chatham County Fentresses--so manyof our best-blooded families have had to go into trade, sir, since thewar).
Mr. Appleby R. Fentress was a /connoisseur/ in fatigue. Indeed, if hehad not been, his memory alone should have enabled him to prescribe,for the majestic invasion of his pharmacy was a casual happening thathad surprised him almost daily for years. Mr. Fentress knew theformula of, and possessed the skill to compound, a certain potionantagonistic to fatigue, the salient ingredient of which he described(no doubt in pharmaceutical terms) as "genuine old hand-made CloverLeaf '59, Private Stock."
Nor did the ceremony of administering the potion ever vary. Mr.Fentress would first compound two of the celebrated mixtures--one forthe Governor, and the other for the General to "sample." Then theGovernor would make this little speech in his high, piping, quaveringvoice:
"No, sir--not one drop until you have prepared one for yourself andjoin us, Mr. Fentress. Your father, sir, was one of my most valuedsupporters and friends during My Administration, and any mark ofesteem I can confer upon his son is not only a pleasure but a duty,sir."
Blushing with delight at the royal condescension, the druggist wouldobey, and all would drink to the General's toast: "The prosperity ofour grand old state, gentlemen--the memory of her glorious past--thehealth of her Favourite Son."
Some one of the Old Guard was always at hand to escort the Governorhome. Sometimes the General's business duties denied him theprivilege, and then Judge Broomfield or Colonel Titus, or one of theAshford County Slaughters would be on hand to perform the rite.
Such were the observances attendant upon the Governor's morning strollto the post-office. How much more magnificent, impressive, andspectacular, then, was the scene at public functions when the Generalwould lead forth the silver-haired relic of former greatness, likesome rare and fragile waxwork figure, and trumpet his pristineeminence to his fellow citizens!
General Deffenbaugh was the Voice of Elmville. Some said he wasElmville. At any rate, he had no competitor as the Mouthpiece. Heowned enough stock in the /Daily Banner/ to dictate its utterance,enough shares in the First National Bank to be the referee of itsloans, and a war record that left him without a rival for first placeat barbecues, school commencements, and Decoration Days. Besides theseacquirements he was possessed with endowments. His personality wasinspiring and triumphant. Undisputed sway had moulded him to thelikeness of a fatted Roman emperor. The tones of his voice were nototherwise than clarion. To say that the General was public-spiritedwould fall short of doing him justice. He had spirit enough for adozen publics. And as a sure foundation for it all, he had a heartthat was big and stanch. Yes; General Deffenbaugh was Elmville.
One little incident that usually occurred during the Governor'smorning walk has had its chronicling delayed by more importantmatters. The procession was accustomed to halt before a small brickoffice 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: "Hello, Billy, my boy." Theless 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 thetemples would come down the steps and shake hands with each one of theparty. 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. Byoccupation and common consent he was the Son of his Father. This wasthe shadow in which Billy lived, the pit out of which he hadunsuccessfully striven for years to climb and, he had come to believe,the grave in which his ambitions were destined to be buried. Filialrespect and duty he paid beyond the habit of most sons, but he aspiredto be known and appraised by his own deeds and worth.
After many years of tireless labour he had become known in certainquarters far from Elmville as a master of the principles of the law.Twice he had gone to Washington and argued cases before the highesttribunal with such acute logic and learning that the silken gowns onthe bench had rustled from the force of it. His income from hispractice had grown until he was able to support his father, in the oldfamily mansion (which neither of them would have thought ofabandoning, rickety as it was) in the comfort and almost the luxury ofthe 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 gatheringswhere he sometimes spoke, haltingly and prosily, for his talents weretoo serious and deep for extempore brilliancy; thus was he presentedto 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 besacrificed upon the altar of this magnificent but fatal parentalprecedence.
The peculiarity and the saddest thing about Billy's ambition was thatthe only world he thirsted to conquer was Elmville. His nature wasdiffident and unassuming. National or State honours might haveoppressed him. But, above all things, he hungered for the appreciationof the friends among whom he had been born and raised. He would nothave plucked one leaf from the garlands that were so lavishly bestowedupon his father, he merely rebelled against having his own wreatheswoven from those dried and self-same branches. But Elmville "Billied"and "sonned" him to his concealed but lasting chagrin, until at lengthhe grew more reserved and formal and studious than ever.
There came a morning when Billy found among his mail a letter from avery high source, tendering him the appointment to an importantjudicial position in the new island possessions of our country. Thehonour was a distinguished one, for the entire nation had discussedthe probable recipients of these positions, and had agreed that thesituation demanded only men of the highest character, ripe learning,and evenly balanced mind.
Billy could not subdue a certain exultation at this token of thesuccess of his long and arduous labours, but, at the same time, awhimsical smile lingered around his mouth, for he foresaw in whichcolumn Elmville would place the credit. "We congratulate GovernorPemberton upon the mark of appreciation conferred upon his son"--"Elmville rejoices with our honoured citizen, Governor Pemberton, athis son's success"--"Put her there, Billy!"--"Judge Billy Pemberton,sir; son of our State's war hero and the people's pride!"--these werethe phrases, printed and oral, conjured up by Billy's prophetic fancy.Grandson of his State, and stepchild to Elmville--thus had fate fixedhis kinship to the body politic.
Billy lived with his father in the old mansion. The two and an elderlylady--a distant relative--comprised the family. Perhaps, though, oldJeff, the Governor's ancient coloured body-servant, should beincluded. Without doubt, he could have claimed the honour. There wereother servants, but Thomas Jefferson Pemberton, sah, was a member of"de fambly."
Jeff was the one Elmvillian who gave to Billy the gold of approvalunmixed with the alloy of paternalism. To him "Mars William" was thegreatest man in Talbot County. Beaten upon though he was by theshining light that emanates from an ex-war governor, and loyal as heremained 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 hadsuperior opportunities for judging.
Jeff was the first one to whom Bill revealed the news. When he reachedhome for supper Jeff took his "plug" hat and smoothed it beforehanging it upon the hall-rack.
"Dar now!" said the old man: "I knowed it was er comin'. I knowed itwas gwine ter happen. Er Judge, you says, Mars William? Dem Yankeesdone made you er judge? It's high time, sah, dey was doin' somep'n tomake up for dey rascality endurin' de war. I boun' dey holds a confaband says: 'Le's make Mars William Pemberton er judge, and dat'llsettle it.' Does you have to go way down to dem Fillypines, MarsWilliam, 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 theirhabit, the Governor smoking his clay pipe and Billy his cigar, the sondutifully 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 flushedwith satisfaction over the tender that had come to him, unsolicited,in his dingy little office, above the heads of the intriguing, time-serving, clamorous multitude.
At last the Governor spoke; and, though his words were seeminglyirrelevant, they were to the point. His voice had a note of martyrdomrunning through its senile quaver.
"My rheumatism has been growing steadily worse these past months,William."
"I am sorry, father," said Billy, gently.
"And I am nearly seventy-eight. I am getting to be an old man. I canrecall the names of but two or three who were in public life during MyAdministration. What did you say is the nature of this position thatis offered you, William?"
"A Federal Judgeship, father. I believe it is considered to be asomewhat flattering tender. It is outside of politics and wire-pulling, you know."
"No doubt, no doubt. Few of the Pembertons have engaged inprofessional life for nearly a century. None of them have ever heldFederal positions. They have been land-holders, slave-owners, andplanters on a large scale. One of two of the Derwents--your mother'sfamily--were in the law. Have you decided to accept this appointment,William?"
"I am thinking it over," said Billy, slowly, regarding the ash of hiscigar.
"You have been a good son to me," continued the Governor, stirring hispipe with the handle of a penholder.
"I've been your son all my life," said Billy, darkly.
"I am often gratified," piped the Governor, betraying a touch ofcomplacency, "by being congratulated upon having a son with such soundand sterling qualities. Especially in this, our native town, is yourname linked with mine in the talk of our citizens."
"I never knew anyone to forget the vindculum," murmured Billy,unintelligibly.
"Whatever prestige," pursued the parent, "I may be possessed of, byvirtue of my name and services to the state, has been yours to drawupon freely. I have not hesitated to exert it in your behalf wheneveropportunity offered. And you have deserved it, William. You've beenthe best of sons. And now this appointment comes to take you away fromme. I have but a few years left to live. I am almost dependent uponothers now, even in walking and dressing. What would I do without you,my son?"
The Governor's pipe dropped to the floor. A tear trickled from hiseye. His voice had risen, and crumbled to a weakling falsetto, andceased. He was an old, old man about to be bereft of a son thatcherished him.
Billy rose, and laid his hand upon the Governor's shoulder.
"Don't worry, father," he said, cheerfully. "I'm not going to accept.Elmville is good enough for me. I'll write to-night and decline it."
At the next interchange of devoirs between the Governor and GeneralDeffenbaugh on Lee Avenue, His Excellency, with a comfortable air ofself-satisfaction, spoke of the appointment that had been tendered toBilly.
The General whistled.
"That's a plum for Billy," he shouted. "Who'd have thought that Billy--but, confound it, it's been in him all the time. It's a boost forElmville. It'll send real estate up. It's an honour to our state. It'sa compliment to the South. We've all been blind about Billy. When doeshe leave? We must have a reception. Great Gatlings! that job's eightthousand a year! There's been a car-load of lead-pencils worn to stubsfiguring on those appointments. Think of it! Our little, wood-sawing,mealy-mouthed Billy! Angel unawares doesn't begin to express it.Elmville is disgraced forever until she lines up in a hurry forratification and apology."
The venerable Moloch smiled fatuously. He carried the fire with whichto consume all these tributes to Billy, the smoke of which wouldascend as an incense to himself.
"William," said the Governor, with modest pride, "has declined theappointment. He refuses to leave me in my old age. He is a good son."
The General swung round, and laid a large forefinger upon the bosom ofhis friend. Much of the General's success had been due to hisdexterity in establishing swift lines of communication between causeand effect.
"Governor," he said, with a keen look in his big, ox-like eyes,"you've been complaining to Billy about your rheumatism."
"My dear General," replied the Governor, stiffly, "my son is forty-two. He is quite capable of deciding such questions for himself. AndI, as his parent, feel it my duty to state that your remark about--er--rheumatism is a mighty poor shot from a very small bore, sir, aimedat a purely personal and private affliction."
"If you will allow me," retorted the General, "you've afflicted thepublic with it for some time; and 'twas no small bore, at that."
This first tiff between the two old comrades might have grown intosomething more serious, but for the fortunate interruption caused bythe ostentatious approach of Colonel Titus and another one of thecourt retinue from the right county, to whom the General confided thecoddled statesman and went his way.
After Billy had so effectually entombed his ambitions, and taken theveil, so to speak, in a sonnery, he was surprised to discover how muchlighter of heart and happier he felt. He realized what a long,restless struggle he had maintained, and how much he had lost byfailing to cull the simple but wholesome pleasures by the way. Hisheart warmed now to Elmville and the friends who had refused to sethim upon a pedestal. It was better, he began to think, to be "Billy"and his father's son, and to be hailed familiarly by cheery neighboursand grown-up playmates, than to be "Your Honour," and sit amongstrangers, hearing, maybe, through the arguments of learned counsel,that old man's feeble voice crying: "What would I do without you, myson?"
Billy began to surprise his acquaintances by whistling as he walked upthe street; others he astounded by slapping them disrespectfully upontheir backs and raking up old anecdotes he had not had the time torecollect for years. Though he hammered away at his law cases asthoroughly as ever, he found more time for relaxation and the companyof his friends. Some of the younger set were actually after him tojoin the golf club. A striking proof of his abandonment to obscuritywas his adoption of a most undignified, rakish, little soft hat,reserving the "plug" for Sundays and state occasions. Billy wasbeginning to enjoy Elmville, though that irreverent burgh hadneglected to crown him with bay and myrtle.
All the while uneventful peace pervaded Elmville. The Governorcontinued to make his triumphal parades to the post-office with theGeneral as chief marshal, for the slight squall that had rippled theirfriendship had, to all indications, been forgotten by both.
But one day Elmville woke to sudden excitement. The news had come thata touring presidential party would honour Elmville by a twenty-minutestop. The Executive had promised a five-minute address from thebalcony of the Palace Hotel.
Elmville rose as one man--that man being, of course, GeneralDeffenbaugh--to receive becomingly the chieftain of all the clans. Thetrain with the tiny Stars and Stripes fluttering from the engine pilotarrived. Elmville had done her best. There were bands, flowers,carriages, uniforms, banners, and committees without end. High-schoolgirls in white frocks impeded the steps of the party with roses strewnnervously in bunches. The chieftain had seen it all before--scores oftimes. He could have pictured it exactly in advance, from the Blue-and-Gray speech down to the smallest rosebud. Yet his kindly smile ofinterest greeted Elmville's display as if it had been the only andoriginal.
In the upper rotunda of the Palace Hotel the town's most illustriouswere assembled for the honour of being presented to the distinguishedguests previous to the expected address. Outside, Elmville'singlorious but patriotic masses filled the streets.
Here, in the hotel General Deffenbaugh was holding in reserveElmville's trump card. Elmville knew; for the trump was a fixed one,and its lead consecrated by archaic custom.
At the proper moment Governor Pemberton, beautifully venerable,magnificently antique, tall, paramount, stepped forward upon the armof the General.
Elmville watched and harked with bated breath. Never until now--when aNorthern President of the United States should clasp hands with ex-war-Governor Pemberton would the breach be entirely closed--would thecountry be made one and indivisible--no North, not much South, verylittle East, and no West to speak of. So Elmville excitedly scrapedkalsomine from the walls of the Palace Hotel with its Sunday best, andwaited for the Voice to speak.
And Billy! We had nearly forgotten Billy. He was cast for Son, and hewaited patiently for his cue. He carried his "plug" in his hand, andfelt serene. He admired his father's striking air and pose. After all,it was a great deal to be a son of a man who could so gallantly holdthe position of a cynosure for three generations.
General Deffenbaugh cleared his throat. Elmville opened its mouth, andsquirmed. The chieftain with the kindly, fateful face was holding outhis hand, smiling. Ex-war-Governor Pemberton extended his own acrossthe chasm. But what was this the General was saying?
"Mr. President, allow me to present to you one who has the honour tobe the father of our foremost, distinguished citizen, learned andhonoured jurist, beloved townsman, and model Southern gentleman--theHonourable William B. Pemberton."
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