Bohemian Days: Three American TalesTownsend, George Alfred
General
Bohemian Days: Three American Tales
Townsend, George Alfred
Fiction; Poetry
At last they resolved to send to Lees' chamber for the roulette-board,
and pass the evening in experiment. They drew Jacks for the party who
should fetch it, and Freckle, always unfortunate, was pronounced the
man. He went cheerfully, thinking it quite an honor to serve the Colony
in any capacity--for Freckle, representing a disaffected State, had
fallen under suspicion of lukewarm loyalty, and was most anxious to
clear up any such imputation.
His head was full of odd remembrances as he crossed the Place St.
Sulpice: his plain old father at the old border home, close and
hard-handed, who went afield with his own negroes, and made his sons
take the plough-handles, and marched them all before him every Sunday to
the plank church, and led the singing himself with an ancient
tuning-fork, and took up the collection in a black velvet bag fastened
to a pole.
He had foreseen the war, and sent his son abroad to avoid it. He had
given Freckle sufficient money to travel for five years, and told him in
the same sentence to guard his farthings and say his prayers. Freckle
could see the old man now, with a tear poised on his tangled eyelashes,
asking a farewell benediction from the front portico, upon himself
departing, while every woolly-head was uncovered, and the whole
assembled "property" had groaned "Amen" together.
That was patriarchal life; what was this? Freckle thought this much
finer and higher. He had not asked himself if it was better. He was
rather ashamed of his father now, and anxious to be a dashing gentleman,
like Plade or Pisgah.
Why did he play whist so badly? How chanced it that, having dwelt
eighteen months in Paris, he could speak no French? His only _grisette_
had both robbed him and been false to him. He knew that the Colony
tolerated him, merely. Was he indeed verdant, as they had said--obtuse,
stupid, lacking wit?
After all, he repeated to himself, what had the Colony done for him? He
had not now twenty francs to his name, and was a thousand francs in
debt; he had essayed to study medicine, but balked at the first lesson.
Yet, though these suggestions, rather than convictions, occurred to him,
they stirred no latent ambition. If he had ever known one high
resolution, the Southern Colony had pulled it up, and sown the place
with salt.
So he reached Master Lees' tenement; it was a long ascent, and toward
the last stages perilous; the stairs had a fashion of curving round
unexpectedly and bending against jambs and blank walls. He was quite out
of breath when he staggered against Lees' door and burst it open.
The light fell almost glaringly upon the bare, contracted chamber; for
this was next to the sky and close up to the clouds, and the window
looked toward the west, where the sun, sinking majestically, was
throwing its brightest smiles upon Paris, as it bade adieu.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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