Businessmen -- Virginia -- Fiction; Upper class -- Virginia -- Fiction; Women dancers -- France -- Fiction
“I wish I could do anything so well,” he said in a tone of real regret.
“I couldn’t.”
“Not even a speech to the jury?”
She laughed a little tremulously. Something in Daniel always touched
her. She supposed it was his accident.
“Any one can address a jury,” he replied, “but no one but you could
trim that bonnet, Virginia.”
“If you praise it so much, I shall never take it off.” She laughed
again, but her eyes grew very grave and kind. “Dan, I heard you speak
in court yesterday.”
He was startled.
“Really? Where were you, Virginia?”
“Oh, way back! I was passing the court-house, and I heard two colored
men speak about it. One said: ‘Dan Carter, he’s makin’ a great speech,
yessuh, he sho’ is. ’Pears like he’s got dat jury all bemuzzled!’”
Virginia laughed delightedly. “I went in after that. It was so crowded
I thought I’d have to stand, but Mr. Payson was there near the door,
and he made some one bring a chair. I could just see the back of your
head, Dan, but I heard.”
His face glowed now.
“How strange!” he exclaimed in a low voice. “I knew you were there. No,
I didn’t see you, Virginia. I was speaking, and suddenly--well, I felt
that you were there. I remember I half looked around. I thought you’d
smile at me.”
She gave him a quick, startled look--a look that seemed to express
some new perception of him; but his eyes were averted. He was smiling
absently, as if talking to himself.
“I didn’t smile, Dan,” she said softly. “I was too deeply touched. I
don’t know why we all felt that way, but we did. Yet when I took your
speech to pieces in my mind I found how simple it was. You just told
us that man’s story, but you told it so simply it went straight to our
hearts.”
He smiled.
“That’s all I can do, Virginia. I’m a simple fellow--I can only tell
the simple truth. There’s no cause for all this--this fanfare of
trumpets in the newspapers, I mean--about my speech. Anybody could do
it.”
She shook her head.
“Nobody else could do it. That’s just it. You’re like Lincoln, Dan.
They say he thought nothing of the Gettysburg address. I believe he
wrote it on his way there. I wish you’d tell me when you’re going to
speak again. I want to be there; I want to hear you ‘bemuzzle’ the jury
again.”
His eyes lit up.
“Will you come? Really?”
“Every time--if you’ll tell me. You can phone me, Dan.”
He drew a long breath.
“I shall make great speeches, sure enough, if you’re there! I couldn’t
help it. Only I wish you’d sit where I can see you--will you, Virginia?”
She laughed.
“In which hat, Dan?”
He considered a moment.
“The old one, please! When I have dreams about you I see you in that
hat.”
“I’m afraid it’s given you nightmare! I didn’t know it was as bad as
that!”
She laughed again, a little tremulously. Suddenly she began to see what
she had never quite seen before. Poor Daniel cared for her! She was
afraid that he cared more than she had dreamed. It touched her so much
that her eyes misted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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