Jerome, A Poor Man: A NovelFreeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins
General
Jerome, A Poor Man: A Novel
Freeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins
New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Jerome climbed the shining slope of the hill to the house door, which
was opened by Lawyer Means himself; then he followed him into the
sitting-room. A great cloud of tobacco smoke came in his face when
the sitting-room door was thrown open. Through it Jerome could
scarcely see Colonel Jack Lamson, in a shabby old coat, seated before
the blazing hearth-fire, with a tumbler of rum-and-water on a little
table at his right hand.
"Sit down," said Means to Jerome, and pulled another chair forward.
"Quite a sharp night out," he added.
"Yes, sir," replied Jerome, seating himself.
Lawyer Means resumed his own chair and his pipe, at which he puffed
with that jealous comfort which comes after interruption. Colonel
Lamson, when he had given a friendly nod of greeting to the young
man, without removing his pipe from his mouth, leaned back his head
again, stretched his legs more luxuriously, and blew the smoke in
great wreaths around his face. This sitting-room of Lawyer Means's
was a scandal to the few matrons of Upham who had ever penetrated it.
"Don't look as if a woman had ever set foot in it," they said. The
ancient female relative of Lawyer Means who kept his house had not
been a notable house-keeper in her day, and her day was nearly past.
Moreover, she had small control over this particular room.
The great apartment, with the purple clouds of tobacco smoke, which
were settling against its low ceiling and in its far corners,
transfused with golden gleams of candles and rosy flashes of
fire-light, dingy as to wall-paper and carpet, with the dust of
months upon all shiny surfaces, seemed a very fortress of
bachelorhood wherein no woman might enter.
The lawyer's books in the tall cases were arranged in close ranks of
strictest order, as were also the neatly ticketed files of letters
and documents in the pigeon-holes of the great desk; otherwise the
whole room seemed fluttering and protruding out of its shadows with
loose ends of paper and corners of books. All the free lines in the
room were the tangents of irrelevancy and disorder.
The lawyer, puffing at his pipe, with eyes half closed, did not look
at Jerome, but his attitude was expectant.
Jerome stared at the blazing fire with a hesitating frown, then he
turned with sudden resolution to Means. "Can I see you alone a
minute?" he asked.
The Colonel rose, without a word, and lounged out of the room; when
the door had shut behind him, Jerome turned again to the lawyer. "I
want to know if you are willing to sell me two hundred and sixty-five
dollars' worth of your land," said he.
"Which land?"
"Your land on Graystone brook. I want one hundred and thirty-two
dollars and fifty cents' worth on each side."
"Why don't you make it even dollars, and what in thunder do you want
the land on two sides for?" asked the lawyer, in his dry voice,
threaded between his lips and pipe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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