Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
“I fancy it will be some time before men will venture afar on any such
craft,” returned the youth; “but it is a bit curious.”
“Dangerous, I should say,” suggested Mistress Sophia.
“No,” said Walton, “not that, I think. My father has often told me that
Master Franklin predicted to him that men should harness the lightning
before many years. That is even more strange than this.”
“That may all be true,” said Madame Kortright, “but it has not come to
pass yet. It will never be in our time, I fear. But did you hear of the
case of jewels at Maton’s?”
“Has he imported something new?” inquired Eulalie smartly.
“The last ship brought a case of gems for him, I hear,” continued the
hostess. “That should be of interest to you, Master Walton.”
The youth flushed slightly at the implication involved. His attentions
to Mistress Beppie Cruger were becoming a subject of pleasing social
comment.
“So it is,” he said gaily, as he recovered his composure. “I shall look
in upon Maton this very afternoon.”
“And I should like to see what is new in France,” said the ruddy Sophia
seriously. “I have not an earring or a pin in my collection that is not
as old as the hills----”
“Nor any the less valuable, I venture,” answered Walton, with an
impressive air.
“I would give them for new ones, believe me,” returned the girl
quaintly.
Upon this gossiping company the two blacks waited with almost noiseless
accuracy, one serving at each side in answer to silent looks and nods
from the hostess. Walton watched them out of the corner of his eye,
gossiping the while. In his new home, he thought, whenever the fair
lady consented, there should be two such lackeys gracing her more
tender beauty. He could not help thinking how much more effective they
would appear behind her than his present hostess, who, however, was
attractive enough. It made him restless to depart, for certainly this
afternoon he should definitely, if he could, learn his fate. The jewels
would be one excuse. He would take her to look at the jewels before the
evening called them to the theater, and then he would see.
Once he was free of the entertainment provided, he hurried away into
Wall Street, the spire of Trinity already beginning to cast a short
eastward shadow. About the building occupied as the new National
Capitol a few dignitaries from the colonies were to be seen. The new
mixture of stores among the residences was beginning to make lovely
Wall Street less conservative. A bank had opened just below the
Capitol, its entrance reaching out to the very sidewalk and hedging in
the view of the gardens beyond. Soon, if the city kept on growing, all
the fine old gardens would have to go.
He pondered, as he walked, until he came to a certain gateway below
William Street, where he entered. From a window looking out upon a
small balcony above a face disappeared, and now he was greeted by
another pompous servant at the door.
“My compliments,” he said, “to Mistress Cruger, if she pleases, and I
am waiting.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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