The Little Brown Jug at KildareNicholson, Meredith
General
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare
Nicholson, Meredith
Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Governors -- Fiction; Humorous stories; North Carolina -- Fiction; South Carolina -- Fiction
"But he didn't keep me waiting! I was sick in bed with a sore throat,
and mama wouldn't let me go; but I thought it was very careless and
taking too much for granted for him to think he could come poking along
any time he pleased, so I ended everything."
It would have interested Ardmore to know the total of Miss Dangerfield's
engagements, but the time did not seem propitious for such inquiries;
and, moreover, his awe of her as a young person of great determination
and force of character increased. She spoke of employing the armed
forces of the state as though playing with the militia were a cheerful
pastime, like horseback riding or tennis. His heart sank as he foresaw
the possibility of the gallant Gillingwater coming out of the
Appleweight affair with flying colors, a hero knighted on the field for
valor. The remembrance of Gillingwater receiving the salutes of the
militia and riding off to the wars to the beat of drums had deprived
Ardmore of sleep all night.
"Well, there's the map, and there's that insulting telegram; what are
you going to do about it?" asked Jerry.
She seemed to be honestly inviting suggestions, and the very thought of
this affected him like wine. He deliberated for several minutes, while
she watched him. A delicious country quiet lay upon the old state house;
in the tranquil park outside the birds whistled their high disdain of
law and precedent. It was no small thing to be identified with a great
undertaking like this, with the finest girl in the world; and he could
not help thinking of the joy of telling Griswold, the sober professor
and sedate lawyer, of this adventure when it should be happily
concluded. Never again should Grissy taunt him with his supineness
before the open door of opportunity!
"A governor," he began, "is always a dignified person who doesn't bother
his head about little things like this unless everybody else has gone to
sleep. Now, who's the chief of police in a county like Dilwell--what do
you call him?"
"Do you mean the sheriff, Mr. Ardmore?"
"Certainly. Now, give me those telegraph blanks, and I'll drop him a few
lines to let him know that the government at Raleigh still lives."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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