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Title: The Romance of a Plain Man

Author: Ellen Glasgow

Release Date: October 20, 2009 [EBook

#30299]

Language: English

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THE ROMANCE

OF A PLAIN

MAN

BY ELLEN

GLASGOW

AUTHOR OF "THE DELIVERANCE," "THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE,"

ETC.

New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1909

All rights reserved

September, twice, October,

Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

CHAPTER XI In which I enter Societyand get a Fall

CHAPTER XII I walk into the Countryand meet with an Adventure

CHAPTER XIII In which I run againstTraditions

CHAPTER XIV In which I test myStrength

CHAPTER XV A Meeting in theEnchanted Garden

CHAPTER XVI In which Sally speaksher Mind

CHAPTER XVII In which my FortunesRise

CHAPTER XVIII The Principles of MissMatoaca

CHAPTER XIX Shows the Triumph ofLove

CHAPTER XX In which Society receives

CHAPTER XXIV In which I go DownCHAPTER XXV We face the Facts andEach Other

CHAPTER XXVI The Red Flag at theGate

CHAPTER XXVII We close the Doorbehind Us

CHAPTER XXVIII In which Sally StoopsCHAPTER XXIX In which we receiveVisitors

CHAPTER XXX In which Sally PlansCHAPTER XXXI The Deepest ShadowCHAPTER XXXII I come to the Surface

CHAPTER XXXIII The GrowingDistance

CHAPTER XXXIV The Blow that ClearsCHAPTER XXXV The Ultimate Choice

Mr JAMES LANE ALLEN'S NOVELS

Mr F MARION CRAWFORD'SNOVELS

THE ROMANCE OF

A PLAIN MAN

in front of the fire, and reached for hispipe which he had laid, still smoking, onthe floor under his chair.

"It's as true as the Bible, Benjy," he said,

"that on the day you were born yo' brotherPresident traded off my huntin' breechesfor a yaller pup."

My knuckles went to my eyes, while thesmart of my mother's slap faded from thecheek I had turned to the fire

"What's become o' th' p-p-up-p?" Idemanded, as I stared up at him with mymouth held half open in readiness to breakout again

"Dead," responded my father solemnly,and I wept aloud

It was an October evening in mychildhood, and so vivid has my latermemory of it become that I can still see

the sheets of water that rolled from thelead pipe on our roof, and can still hearthe splash! splash! with which they fellinto the gutter below For three days theclouds had hung in a grey curtain over thecity, and at dawn a high wind, blowing upfrom the river, had driven the dead leavesfrom the churchyard like flocks of startledswallows into our little street Sincemorning I had watched them across mymother's "prize" red geranium upon ourwindow-sill—now whipped into deepswirls and eddies over the sunken brickpavement, now rising in sighing swarmsagainst the closed doors of the houses,now soaring aloft until they flew almost ashigh as the living swallows in the belfry

of old Saint John's Then as the dusk fell,and the street lamps glimmered like

blurred stars through the rain, I drew backinto our little sitting-room, which glowedbright as an ember against the fierceweather outside.

Half an hour earlier my father had come

up from the marble yard, where he spenthis days cutting lambs and doves andelaborate ivy wreaths in stone, and thesmell from his great rubber coat, whichhung drying before the kitchen stove,floated with the aroma of coffee throughthe half-open door When I closed an eyeand peeped through the crack, I could see

my mother's tall shadow, shifting, notflitting, on the whitewashed wall of thekitchen, as she passed back and forth fromthe stove to the wooden cradle in which

my little sister Jessy lay asleep, with the

head of her rag doll in her mouth.

Outside the splash! splash! of the rain stillsounded on the brick pavement, and as Iglanced through the window, I saw an oldblind negro beggar groping under thestreet lamp at the corner The muffled beat

of his stick in the drenched leaves passedour doorstep, and I heard it growgradually fainter as he turned in thedirection of the negro hovels that borderedour end of the town Across the street, and

on either side of us, there were rows ofsmall boxlike frame houses built withnarrow doorways, which opened from thesidewalk into funny little kitchens, wherewomen, in soiled calico dresses,appeared to iron all day long It was thepoorer quarter of what is known in

Richmond as "Church Hill," a portion ofthe city which had been left behind in theearlier fashionable progress westward.Between us and modern Richmond therewere several high hills, up which the poordripping horses panted on summer days, arailroad station, and a broad slum-likebottom vaguely described as the "OldMarket." Our prosperity, with ourtraditions, had crumbled around us, yetthere were still left the ancient church,with its shady graveyard, and an imposingmansion or two inherited from theforgotten splendour of former days Theother Richmond—that "up-town" I heardsometimes mentioned—I had never seen,for my early horizon was bounded by thegreen hill, by the crawling salmon-coloured James River at its foot, and by

the quaint white belfry of the parish of old

St John's Beneath that belfry I had mademiniature graves on summer afternoons,and as I sat now opposite to my father,with the bright fire between us, thememory of those crumbling vaults made

me hug myself in the warmth, while Iedged nearer the great black kettle singingbefore the flames

"Pa," I asked presently, with an effort toresume the conversation along cheerfullines, "was it a he or a she pup?"

My father turned his bright blue eyes fromthe fire, while his hand wandered, with anhabitual gesture, to his coarse straw-coloured hair which stood, like mine,straight up from the forehead

"Wall, I'll be blessed if I can recollect,Benjy," he replied, and added after amoment, in which I knew that his slowwits were working over a fresh attempt atdistraction, "but speaking of dawgs, itwouldn't surprise me if yo' ma was to letyou have a b'iled egg for yo' supper."Again the storm was averted He was sohandsome, so soft, so eager to makeeverybody happy, that although he did notdeceive even my infant mind for a minute,

I felt obliged by sheer force of sympathy

to step into the amiable snare he laid

"Hard or soft?" I demanded

"Now that's a matter of ch'ice, ain't it?" herejoined, wrinkling his forehead as ifawed by the gravity of the decision; "but

bein' a plain man with a taste for solids,I'd say 'hard' every time."

"Hard, ma," I repeated gravely through thecrack of the door to the shifting shape onthe kitchen wall Then, while he stoopedover in the firelight to prod fresh tobaccointo his pipe, I began again my insatiablequest for knowledge which had brought

me punishment at the hand of my mother anhour before

"Pa, who named me?"

"Yo' ma."

"Did ma name you, too?"

He shook his head, doubtfully, notnegatively Above his short growth ofbeard his cheeks had warmed to a clear

pink, and his foolish blue eyes were assoft as the eyes of a baby.

"Wall, I can't say she did that—exactly."

"Then who did name you?"

"I don't recollect My ma, I reckon."

"Did ma name me Ben Starr, or just Ben?"

"Just Ben You were born Starr."

"Was she born Starr, too?"

"Good Lord, no, she was born Savage."

"Then why warn't I born Savage?"

"Because she married me an' I was bornStarr."

I gave it up with a sigh "Who had themost to do with my comin' here, God orma?" I asked after a minute.

My father hesitated as if afraid ofcommitting himself to an hereticalutterance "I ain't so sure," he replied atlast, and added immediately in a loudertone, "Yo' ma, I s'pose."

"Then why don't I say my prayers to mainstead of to God?"

"I wouldn't begin to worry over that at myage, if I were you," replied my father, withangelic patience, "seein' as it's nearsupper time an' the kettle's a-bilin'."

"But I want to know, pa, why it was that Icame to be named just Ben?"

"To be named just Ben?" he repeatedslowly, as if the fact had been brought forthe first time to his attention "Wall, Ireckon 'twas because we'd hadconsiderable trouble over the namin' ofthe first, which was yo' brother President.That bein' the turn of the man of the family,

I calculated that as a plain Americancitizen, I couldn't do better than show Ihadn't any ill feelin' agin the Government

I don't recollect just what the name of thegentleman at the head of the Nation was,seein' 'twas goin' on sixteen years ago, butI'd made up my mind to call the infant inthe cradle arter him, if he'd ever answered

my letter—which he never did It was thenyo' ma an' I had words because she didn'twant a child of hers named arter such abad-mannered, stuck-up, ornary sort,

President or no President She raised aterrible squall, but I held out against her,"

he went on, dropping his voice, "an' Istood up for it that as long as 'twas theoffice an' not the man I was complimentin',I'd name him arter the office, which I did

on the spot When 'twas over an' done thenotion got into my head an' kind of tickled

me, an' when you came at last, arter thefour others in between, that died befo' theytook breath, I was a'ready to name you'Governor' if yo' ma had been agreeable.But 'twas her turn, so she called you arterher Uncle Benjamin—"

"What's become o' Uncle Benjamin?" Iinterrupted

"Dead," responded my father, and for thethird time I wept

"I declar' that child's been goin' on likethat for the last hour," remarked mymother, appearing upon the threshold.

"Thar, thar, Benjy boy, stop cryin' an' I'lllet you go to old Mr Cudlip's burial to-morrow."

"May I go, too, ma?" enquired President,who had come in with a lighted lamp inhis hand He was a big, heavy, overgrownboy, and his head was already on a levelwith his father's

"Not if I know it," responded my mothertartly, for her temper was rising and shelooked tired and anxious "I'll take Benjyalong because he can crowd in an'nobody'll mind."

She moved a step nearer while her

shadow loomed to gigantic proportions onthe whitewashed wall Her thin brownhair, partially streaked with grey, wasbrushed closely over her scalp, and thisgave her profile an angularity that becamepositively grotesque in the shape behindher Across her forehead there were threedeep frowning wrinkles, which did notdisappear even when she smiled, and hersad, flint-coloured eyes held a perplexedand anxious look, as if she were tryingalways to remember something which wasvery important and which she had halfforgotten I had never seen her, exceptwhen she went to funerals, dressedotherwise than in a faded grey calico with

a faded grey shawl crossed tightly overher bosom and drawn to the back of herwaist, where it was secured by a safety

pin of an enormous size Beside her myfather looked so young and so amiable that

I had a confused impression that he hadshrunk to my own age and importance.Then my mother retreated into the kitchenand he resumed immediately his naturalproportions After thirty years, when Ithink now of that ugly little room, with itspainted pine furniture, with its colouredglass vases, filled with dried cat-tails,upon the mantelpiece, with its crude redand yellow print of a miniature Davidattacking a colossal Goliath, with itsnarrow window-panes, where beyond the

"prize" red geranium the wind drove thefallen leaves over the brick pavement,with its staring whitewashed walls, andits hideous rag carpet—when I think ofthese vulgar details it is to find that they

are softened in my memory by a sense ofpeace, of shelter, and of warm firelightshadows.

My mother had just laid the supper table,over which I had watched her smooth theclean red and white cloth with her twistedfingers; President was proudly holdingaloft a savoury dish of broiled herrings,and my father had pinned on my bib anddrawn back the green-painted chair inwhich I sat for my meals—when a hurriedknock at the door arrested each one of us

in his separate attitude as if he had beeninstantly petrified by the sound

There was a second's pause, and thenbefore my father could reach it, the dooropened and shut violently, and a woman,

in a dripping cloak, holding a little girl by

the hand, came from the storm outside, andran straight to the fire, where she stoodshaking the child's wet clothes before theflames As the light fell over them, I sawthat the woman was young and delicateand richly dressed, with a quantity of palebrown hair which the rain and wind hadbeaten flat against her small frightenedface At the time she was doubtless anunusually pretty creature to a grown-uppair of eyes, but my gaze, burning withcuriosity, passed quickly over her to restupon the little girl, who possessed for methe attraction of my own age and size Shewore red shoes, I saw at my first glance,and a white cloak, which I took to be offur, though it was probably made of somesoft, fuzzy cloth I had never seen Therewas a white cap on her head, held by an

elastic band under her square little chin,and about her shoulders her hair lay in aprofuse, drenched mass of brown, whichreminded me in the firelight of the colour

of wet November leaves She was soakedthrough, and yet as she stood there, withher teeth chattering in the warmth, I wasstruck by the courage, almost the defiance,with which she returned my gaze Babythat she was, I felt that she would scorn tocry while my glance was upon her, thoughthere were fresh tear marks on her flushedcheeks, and around her solemn grey eyesthat were made more luminous by herbroad, heavily arched black eyebrows,which gave her an intense and questioninglook The memory of this look, which wasstrange in so young a child, remained with

me after the colour of her hair and every

charming feature in her face wereforgotten Years afterwards I think I couldhave recognised her in a crowded street

by the mingling of light with darkness, ofintense black with clear grey, in hersparkling glance

"I followed the wrong turn," said the palelittle woman, breathing hard with apitiable, frightened sound, while mymother took her dripping cloak from hershoulders, "and I could not keep onbecause of the rain which came up soheavily If I could only reach the foot ofthe hill I might find a carriage to take meup-town."

My father had sprung forward as sheentered, and was vigorously stirring thefire, which blazed and crackled merrily in

the open grate She accepted thankfully mymother's efforts to relieve her of her wetwraps, but the little girl drew backhaughtily when she was approached, andrefused obstinately to slip out of hercloak, from which the water ran in streams

to the floor

"I don't like it here, mamma, it is acommon place," she said, in a clearchildish voice, and though I hardlygrasped the meaning of her words, hertone brought to me for the first time afeeling of shame for my humblesurroundings

"Hush, Sally," replied her mother, "youmust dry yourself These people are verykind."

"But I thought we were going tograndmama's?"

"Grandmama lives up-town, and we aregoing as soon as the storm has blownover There, be a good girl and let thelittle boy take your wet cap."

"I don't want him to take my cap He is acommon boy."

In spite of the fact that she seemed to me

to be the most disagreeable little girl I hadever met, the word she had used waslodged unalterably in my memory In thatpuzzled instant, I think, began my struggle

to rise out of the class in which I belonged

by birth; and I remember that I repeatedthe word "common" in a whisper tomyself, while I resolved that I would learn

its meaning in order that I might cease to

be the unknown thing that it implied

My mother, who had gone into the kitchenwith the dripping cloak in her arms,returned a moment later with a cup ofsteaming coffee in one hand and a mug ofhot milk in the other

"It's a mercy if you haven't caught yourdeath with an inner chill," she observed in

a brisk, kindly tone "'Twas the way old

Mr Cudlip, whose funeral I'm going to morrow, came to his end, and he was ashale, red-faced a body as you ever laideyes on."

to-The woman received the cup gratefully,and I could see her poor thin handstremble as she raised it to her lips

"Drink the warm milk, dear," she saidpleadingly to the disagreeable little girl,who shook her head and drew back with astiff childish gesture.

"I'm not hungry, thank you," she replied to

my mother in her sweet, clear treble Toall further entreaties she returned the sameanswer, standing there a haughty, thoughdrenched and battered infant, in her soiledwhite cloak and her red shoes, holding hermop of a muff tightly in both hands

"I'm not hungry, thank you," she repeated,adding presently in a manner of chillpoliteness, "give it to the boy."

But the boy was not hungry either, andwhen my mother, finally taking her at herword, turned, in exasperation, and offered

the mug to me, I declined it, also, andstood nervously shifting from one foot tothe other, while my hands caught andtwisted the fringe of the table-cloth at myback The big grey eyes of the little girllooked straight into mine, but there was nohint in them that she was aware of myexistence Though her teeth werechattering, and she knew I heard them, shedid not relax for an instant from herscornful attitude.

"We were just about to take a mouthful ofsupper, mum, an' we'd be proud if you an'the little gal would jine us," remarked myfather, with an eager hospitality

"I thank you," replied the woman in herpretty, grateful manner, "but the coffee hasrestored my strength, and if you will direct

me to the hill, I shall be quite able to go

on again."

A step passed close to the door on thepavement outside, and I saw her start andclutch the child to her bosom withtrembling hands As she stood there in hershaking terror, I remembered a whitekitten I had once seen chased by boys intothe area of a deserted house

"If—if anyone should come to enquireafter me, will you be so good as to saynothing of my having been here?" sheasked

"To be sure I will, with all the pleasure inlife," responded my father, who, it wasevident even to me, had become a victim

to her distressed loveliness

Emboldened by the effusive politeness of

my parent, I went up to the little girl andshyly offered her a blossom from mymother's geranium upon the window-sill

A scrap of a hand, as cold as ice when ittouched mine, closed over the stem of theflower, and without looking at me, shestood, very erect, with the scarletgeranium grasped stiffly between herfingers

"I'll take you to the bottom of the hillmyself," protested my father, "but I wishyou could persuade yourself to try a bite

of food befo' you set out in the rain."

"It is important that I should lose no time,"answered the woman, drawing her breathquickly through her small white teeth, "but

I fear that I am taking you away from your