American fiction -- 19th century; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; San Francisco (Calif.) -- Fiction
At the end of two hours George's barber-employer returned to relieve
his assistant, and, on receiving from him an account and a certain
percentage of the afternoon's fees (minus the gift from Paul), was
informed by George that he should pretermit his attendance for a few
days. "Udder private and personal affairs," explained the old negro,
who made no social distinction in his vocabulary, "peroccupyin' dis
niggah's time." The head barber, unwilling to lose a really good
assistant, endeavored to dissuade him by the offer of increased
emolument, but George was firm.
As he entered the sitting-room the colonel detected his step, and
called him in.
"Another time, George, never allow a guest of mine to send away wine.
If he don't care for it, put it on the sideboard."
"Yes, sah; but as yo' didn't like it yo'self, Marse Harry, and de wine
was de most 'xpensive quality ob Glencoe"--
"D--n the expense!" He paused, and gazed searchingly at his old
retainer.
"George," he said suddenly, yet in a gentle voice, "don't lie to me,
or"--in a still kinder voice--"I'll flog the black skin off you!
Listen to me. HAVE you got any money left?"
"'Deed, sah, dere IS," said the negro earnestly. "I'll jist fetch it
wid de accounts."
"Hold on! I've been thinking, lying here, that if the Widow Molloy
can't pay because she sold out, and that tobacconist is ruined, and
we've had to pay the water tax for old Bill Soames, the rent last week
don't amount to much, while there's the month's bill for the restaurant
and that blank druggist's account for lotions and medicines to come out
of it. It strikes me we're pretty near touching bottom. I've
everything I want here, but, by God, sir, if I find YOU skimping
yourself or lying to me or borrowing money"--
"Yes, Marse Harry, but the Widder Molloy done gone and paid up dis
afernoon. I'll bring de books and money to prove it;" and he hurriedly
reentered the sitting-room.
Then with trembling hands he emptied his pockets on the table,
including Paul's gift and the fees he had just received, and opening a
desk-drawer took from it a striped cotton handkerchief, such as negro
women wear on their heads, containing a small quantity of silver tied
up in a hard knot, and a boy's purse. This he emptied on the table
with his own money.
They were the only rents of Colonel Henry Pendleton! They were
contributed by "George Washington Thomson;" his wife, otherwise known
as "Aunt Dinah," washerwoman; and "Scipio Thomson," their son, aged
fourteen, bootblack. It did not amount to much. But in that happy
moisture that dimmed the old man's eyes, God knows it looked large
enough.
CHAPTER III.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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