New England -- Fiction; New England -- Politics and government -- Fiction
Her escort did not think much of the house, but it interested him as
the type which Mr. Worthington had built. On that same Gothic porch,
sublimely unconscious of the covert stares and subdued comments of the
passers-by, the first citizen himself and the Honorable Heth Sutton
might be seen. Mr. Worthington, whose hawklike look had become more
pronounced, sat upright, while the Honorable Heth, his legs crossed,
filled every nook and cranny of an arm-chair, and an occasional fragrant
whiff from his cigar floated out to those on the tar sidewalk. Although
the pedestrians were but twenty feet away, what Mr. Worthington said
never reached them; but the Honorable Heth on public days carried his
voice of the Forum around with him.
“Come on,” said Cynthia, in one of those startling little tempers she
was subject to; “don't stand there like an idiot.”
Then the voice of Mr. Sutton boomed toward them.
“As I understand, Worthington,” they heard him say, “you want me to
appoint young Wheelock for the Brampton post-office.” He stuck his
thumb into his vest pocket and recrossed his legs “I guess it can be
arranged.”
When the painter at last overtook Cynthia the jewel paints he had so
often longed to catch upon a canvas were in her eyes. He fell back,
wondering how he could so greatly have offended, when she put her hand
on his sleeve.
“Did you hear what he said about the Brampton postoffice?” she cried.
“The Brampton post-office?” he repeated; dazed.
“Yes,” said Cynthia; “Uncle Jethro has promised it to Cousin Ephraim,
who will starve without it. Did you hear this man say he would give it
to Mr. Wheelock?”
Here was a new Cynthia, aflame with emotions on a question of politics
of which he knew nothing. He did, understand, however, her concern for
Ephraim Prescott, for he knew that she loved the soldier. She turned
from the painter now with a gesture which he took to mean that his
profession debarred him from such vital subjects, and she led the way
to the fair-grounds. There he meekly bought tickets, and they found
themselves hurried along in the eager crowd toward the stand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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