Historical fiction; Oregon Territory -- History -- Fiction; United States -- History -- 1815-1861 -- Fiction
The exasperation of his tone amused me, as did this chance importance of
what seemed to me at the time merely a petticoat situation.
"Silk! Mr. Calhoun," I grinned. "Still silk and dimity, my faith! And
you!"
He seemed a trifle nettled at this. "I must take men and women and
circumstances as I find them," he rejoined; "and must use such agencies
as are left me."
"If we temporarily lack the Baroness von Ritz to add zest to our game,"
I hazarded, "we still have the Doña Lucrezia and her little jealousies."
Calhoun turned quickly upon me with a sharp glance, as though seized by
some sudden thought. "By the Lord Harry! boy, you give me an idea. Wait,
now, for a moment. Do you go on with your copying there, and excuse me
for a time."
An instant later he passed from the room, his tall figure bent, his
hands clasped behind his back, and his face wrinkled in a frown, as was
his wont when occupied with some problem.
CHAPTER XX
THE LADY FROM MEXICO
As soon as women are ours, we are no longer theirs.
--Montaigne.
After a time my chief reëntered the office room and bent over me at my
table. I put before him the draft of the document which he had given me
for clerical care.
"So," he said, "'tis ready--our declaration. I wonder what may come of
that little paper!"
"Much will come of it with a strong people back of it. The trouble is
only that what Democrat does, Whig condemns. And not even all our party
is with Mr. Tyler and yourself in this, Mr. Calhoun. Look, for instance,
at Mr. Polk and his plans." To this venture on my part he made no
present answer.
"I have no party, that is true," said he at last--"none but you and Sam
Ward!" He smiled with one of his rare, illuminating smiles, different
from the cold mirth which often marked him.
"At least, Mr. Calhoun, you do not take on your work for the personal
glory of it," said I hotly; "and one day the world will know it!"
"'Twill matter very little to me then," said he bitterly. "But come,
now, I want more news about your trip to Montreal. What have you done?"
So now, till far towards dawn of the next day, we sat and talked. I put
before him full details of my doings across the border. He sat silent,
his eye betimes wandering, as though absorbed, again fixed on me, keen
and glittering.
"So! So!" he mused at length, when I had finished, "England has started
a land party for Oregon! Can they get across next fall, think you?"
"Hardly possible, sir," said I. "They could not go so swiftly as the
special fur packets. Winter would catch them this side of the Rockies.
It will be a year before they can reach Oregon."
"Time for a new president and a new policy," mused he.
"The grass is just beginning to sprout on the plains, Mr. Calhoun," I
began eagerly.
"Yes," he nodded. "God! if I were only young!"
"I am young, Mr. Calhoun," said I. "Send _me!_"
"Would you go?" he asked suddenly.
"I was going in any case."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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