CHAPTER IX
GRADUATION day had arrived, when Florence was to complete her course at the academy. The best women, as though by general agreement, had combined to right the wrong done her. No girl so noble and splendid had ever stood on the platform of the old academy. She was the valedictorian. Her gown was white, her voice music, while her form and face would have delighted a sculptor. That very day she assumed control of The Little Corporal, and began her work, with Dan! Webster Smead as associate editor.
The first issue of the paper under its new management had an editorial to this effect:
Things are going to happen in Griggsby—things that have never happened before in Griggsby or elsewhere. We have a large, distinguished, and growing list of drunkards whose careers thus far have suffered from neglect, concealment, and a general lack of appreciation.
Full many a brawl of purest ray serene
The dark, unfathomed depths of Griggsby bear;
Full many a spree is born to blush unseen
And waste its fragrance on the midnight air.
It shall be so no longer. We propose to fathom the depths. Hereafter the adventures of our merry gentlemen shall be duly chronicled, so that the public may share their joy and give them credit according to their deserts.
We have a number of idlers and gamblers in Griggsby whose exploits have also been shrouded in obscurity. They, too, may rejoice that at last full justice is to be accorded them in this paper, so that their winning and losing shall no longer be a subject of inaccurate knowledge. Some are blamed who ought not to be blamed, and some are not blamed who ought to be blamed, and there is no health in the present situation.
We have a large number of young men who are looking to their elders for an example worthy of emulation. The Little Corporal will let its light shine hereafter upon the example set by the elder generation of Griggsby, to the end that none of it may be lost.
We have seven saloons and three drug stores that have violated the law with notable and unnoted persistence. They, too, may be assured that their achievements will no longer be overlooked.
But the biggest thing we have in Griggsby is a conscience. That, too, may rejoice that its findings are no longer to be unknown and neglected. It shall be busy night and day, and its approval shall be recorded with joy and its condemnations with deep regret in the Corporal. But both shall be duly signalized and set forth.
It is recorded of Napoleon, who was himself known as the Little Corporal, that one night, having found a sentinel asleep at his post, he took the weapon of the latter and stood guard for him until he awoke. That this paper will try to do for the conscience of Griggsby, when it is weary and overworked.
Well, things did begin to happen in Griggsby. The Mutual Adulation Company that had paid its daily dividends in compliments and good wishes at the bar of the Palace Hotel went out of business. The souls of the leading citizens ceased to flow. The babbling brooks of flattery ran dry.
Among other items this appeared in the next number of the Corporal:
Jerry McMann attacked his horse in the street the other day, and without any provocation that the bystanders could observe beat him over the head with the butt of his whip, for which he has had to pay the utterly inadequate fine of five dollars. The Corporal hereby adds to his fine the distinction which his act has won. This beater of a helpless animal is probably the most brutal man in the township, and the most arrant coward.
The Little Corporal passed from hand to hand, and waves of joy and consternation swept over the community. Thoughtful and worried looks gathered under the hats of silk and beaver. Colonel Buckstone smote the bar of the Palace Hotel and roared about the “Magna Charta of our liberties,” as he viewed his image in a mirror among the outlines of a bird drawn in soap.
Now, there lived in the village of Griggsby a certain lawyer of the name of Pike—G. Washington Pike. He was the most magnificent human being in that part of the country. He shone every day in broadcloth, a tall beaver hat, and a stock and collar. He greeted one with a low bow and a sweeping gesture of the right hand, and said “Good morning” as though it were a solemn and eternal verity. His distinguished presence graced every public occasion, and he was made up as the living image of Dan'l Webster. At one time or another many who lived in the village had been nudged by visitors from a distance and asked: “Who is that grand-looking man?” It was a query not so easy to answer. He was a lawyer without visible clients, whose wife was the leading dressmaker of Griggsby.
I was sitting in the office of the Corporal with Smead when the great man entered, bowed low, and cut a scroll in the air with his right hand.
“Good morning, Editor Smead,” said he, oratorically.
“Good morning, Mr. Pike,” was the greeting of Smead.
“On this occasion it is Lawyer Pike, who presents his compliments to Editor Smead, and begs to confer with him on a matter of business,” said the great man.
“Go ahead, Lawyer Pike,” said the editor.
“While Mr. Pike has the highest personal regard for Mr. Smead, Lawyer Pike takes issue with Editor Smead in behalf of his client, Mr. Jeremiah McMann, and demands a retraction of certain words in the Corporal of last week, calculated to injure the reputation of said McMann.”
Then the great Dan'l said:
“Editor Smead refuses the request of Lawyer Pike, and suggests that he and horse-killer McMann should join hands and jump into the air as high as possible.”
And so ended the first bluff in the new life of Griggsby.
A great public meeting was held in the town hall in support of the candidacy of Colonel Buckstone for the post of consul at Hongkong. The merchant princes and Daniel Websters, representing the beauty and fashion of Griggsby, the women, representing its industry and sturdy virtue, were on hand. So were many mill-workers and students from the old academy.
Judge Warner was chosen to preside, and opened the meeting with sober, well-chosen words. Then followed a great and memorable tournament of the D. W.'s. Floods of impassioned eloquence swept over the crowd and out of the open windows, and at every impressive pause we could hear birds chattering as they slipped from their perches in the treetops that overhung the eaves.
The great Bill Smithers was telling of the poor, barefooted boy who came down from the hills long ago and bade fair to rise to the highest pinnacle of statesmanship.
Among other things he said: “Think of this poor boy, who used to feed the chickens and milk the patient cow. Since then he has fed the multitude of his fellow-citizens with political wisdom and milked the great Republic for their benefit.”
He soared and roared in praise of the manly virtues of the Colonel.
A stray cow began to bellow in the streets. Mr. Smithers, who was speaking, paused to inquire if some one would please stop that beast.
A voice in the gallery shouted, “Give the cow a chance.” Another said, “It's the cow that Sile milked.” The crowd began to laugh and the situation was critical; but, fortunately, the emotions of the cow subsided.
The Rev. Sam Shackleford turned himself into a human earthquake, and tears rolled down his face while he told of the great talents and the noble heart of his distinguished fellow-townsman.
In due time Colonel Buckstone rose to acknowledge the kindness of his fellow-citizens.
He spoke of the affairs of his native town, and presently referred to the newspaper, which had always been a power for good in the village. He hoped that it would continue to be so, but had his fears. A certain editorial had already injured the fair fame of Griggsby. There was not a scintilla of evidence in support of its veiled and open charges, not one. He challenged Mr. D. W. Smead to prove that Griggsby was any worse than other communities.
In the name of Heaven, what new assault was to be made upon the Magna Charta of our liberties, secured by the blood of our fathers? He would defend it. He served notice then and there that he would pour out his life's blood, if need be, rather than see the liberties of the citizens of Griggsby abated by one jot or tittle. No, he would rather see his right arm severed from his body.
That dear old Magna Charta was often on his lips. Indeed, the chart of his liberties was so great and so threatening that Moses and the prophets had to get out of its way. Every day he referred to “jots and tittles” of abatement and absent “scintillas of evidence.”
He closed his address with this Websterian peroration:
“When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may they not see him shining on the enslaved citizens of my native town. Rather let their last feeble and lingering glance behold them eating and drinking according to their needs and wishes, and in the full enjoyment of every blessing that the Almighty has showered upon us.”
These sentiments met with noisy approval. How often the eyes of the great man were “turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven”!
There was a call for Dan'l W. Smead. Mr. Smead rose from his seat in the audience, went to the platform, and said:
“I feel like Pompeii after the great eruption of seventy-nine a.d. I am overwhelmed, but I propose to dig myself up and continue in business. First, let me say that I am glad that Colonel Buckstone is likely to enter the missionary field an' show the Christian virtues of New England to the heathen of the Orient. I have long thought that it was a good thing for him to do—a good thing for anybody to do. In my opinion, the Colonel would soon take the conceit out of those foreign heathen. But we need him here. We do not wish him to be plucked from the garden of Griggsby. What, I ask you, what is to become of our own heathen if he is removed from among them? Have not the press an' the pulpit already threatened their sacred liberties? Who would remind us of those jots and tittles of abatement, of those absent scintillas of evidence? It is too bad that the palladium of our oratory is threatened. It must not be. Think of the feelings of the sun in heaven if he were not again to be beheld for the last time in the village of Griggsby! Of course, there are other villages, but let it never be said that we have fallen behind them.
“When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on a bereft an' joyful Griggsby; on citizens who have ceased to weep except for sorrow, whose tears have gone dry because the village pumps of oratory have failed them. God forbid that I should behold him shining upon men of genius in bondage or in exile! Rather let their last feeble and lingering glance see those citizens eating and drinking, according to their needs and wishes, at the Palace Hotel, while their wives are at work, according to their habit, in the kitchen and the laundry.”
For a moment he was silenced by a storm of laughter.
It was a death blow to the Dan'l Websters of Griggsby. Those hardened criminals of the rostrum, who had long been robbing the people of their tears, had themselves been touched. Their consciences were awakened. They tumbled and fell.
Bill Smithers, who had so highly praised his friend the Colonel on the stage, said to a fellow-citizen after he had left the hall, “Well, after all is said and done, what a d———d pirate Buckstone is!”
That shows how sincere, how heartfelt was the loud-sounding oratory of that time.
Next day a stem and sorrowful silence fell upon Colonel Buckstone. It boomed like an empty barrel at the slightest touch. Judge Brooks ventured to ask him what was the matter. He smote the air with his fist, muttered an oath, checked himself, shook his head, and said, in a tone worthy of Edwin Forrest:
“The evil days have come, sir. I tremble for Griggsby.”
Then he sadly strode away.
Now, that morning, Colonel Buckstone had received a letter from the able editor of the Corporal, in circumstances fraught with some peril to myself. The letter ran about as follows:
My dear Colonel,—I have undertaken to improve the morals of Griggsby, and as a first step I shall insist upon your retirement from public life. I inclose the proof of an article, now in type in this office, in which, as you will observe, is a full and accurate review of your career. In my opinion, this justifies my demand that forthwith you resign your seat in Congress. If you fail to do so within one week from date, I shall submit this article to the judgment of the electors of the district; but I should like, if possible, to spare your family the pain of that process. I can only leave you to choose between voluntary and enforced retirement, with some unnecessary disgrace attending the latter. I am sending this by Mr. Havelock, who is instructed to deliver it to you, and only to you.
Yours truly,
Florence Dunbar.
I had gone to work in the office of The Little Corporal, and had delivered the message, of the nature of which I knew nothing. The Colonel tore the envelope, grew hot with rage, struck at me with his cane, and shattered the Ninth Commandment with a cannon shot of profanity.
I wondered what it was all about, and promptly decided that the profession of journalism was too full of peril for me.
“Ha, blackmailer!” he shouted. “Child of iniquity, I will not slay you until you have taken my reply to your mistress, who is a disgrace to the name of woman. Say to her that if she publishes the article, a proof of which I have just read, I shall kill her, so help me God!”
Yes, it was a kind of blackmail, but how noble and how absolutely feminine.
When I returned to the Colonel's office I knew what I was doing. It was with a note which read as follows:
Dear Sir,—This is to advise you, first, that you cannot change my purpose with cheap and vulgar threats; second, that resignation would be an easier means of retirement, and probably less painful, than a shooting-match with me.
Yours truly,
Florence Dunbar.
The old bluff mill of his brain, which had won many lawsuits and jack pots for the Colonel, had failed him for once. Its goods, the quality of which had never been disputed, were now declared cheap and vulgar.
He was comparatively calm until he had finished reading the note, when the storm broke out again, and I fled before it.
Well, next day a note of surprising politeness came from the Colonel. It apologized for the haste and heat of his former message, and requested an interview. Miss Dunbar was quick to grant his request, demanding that the interview occur in her office, and in the presence of a witness of her choosing, who could be trusted to divulge no part of the conversation. The interview took place, and I was the chosen witness.
The Colonel was calm under a look of injured innocence.
“Young woman,” he began, “let us be brief. You have it in your power to ruin me. That I admit, and only that, and ask what you want me to do.”
“Resign,” said she, firmly. “Mademoiselle, I have been foolish,” said the Colonel, “but my follies are those which, unfortunately, are shared by many of my sex. I ask you to consider my family and my long devotion to the interests of this community. If I resign with no apparent reason, what will my constituents say, who are now being asked to sign a petition in favor of my appointment to a consular position? My fondest hopes will be crushed.”
Colonel Buckstone wiped his watery eyes with his handkerchief.
Miss Dunbar spoke out with courage and judgment.
“I don't want to be hard on you,” she said. “There are two conditions which would induce me to modify my demand. The first is that you turn in and help us to improve the morals of this community.”
“I have always labored in that cause,” said the Colonel, with a righteous look.
“But you have succeeded in concealing your efforts,” she said. “You are one of the leading citizens of Griggsby. All eyes are upon you. Your example has a tremendous influence on the young men of this village. Often you have a highly moral pair of lungs in your breast, but your heart does not seem to agree with them. A man is known by his conduct, and not by his words. By your conduct you teach the young men to buy and sell votes, to go on sprees, to drink and gamble in public places, to have little regard for the virtue and good name of woman.”
Then a thing happened which gave me new hope of the Colonel. It was the first time that his jacket had been warmed, and it looked as though the fire of remorse had begun to burn a little.
“Young woman,” he said, very solemnly, “if my humble example has been so misunderstood, if my conduct has so belied the sentiments of my heart as to create such an impression in the mind of the observer, I will do anything in my power to make amends, and I will listen to any suggestions you are good enough to offer.”
The suggestions were offered and accepted, and the sway of Buckstone was at its end.
“There is one other thing,” said Miss Dunbar. “You have cruelly misjudged my character, and there is one thing I shall ask you to do.”
“What is it?”
“That you join Ralph in Europe, and see that he returns all my letters within six weeks from date.”
“It was my plan to join him for a needed rest,” said the Colonel, “and you may be glad to know that I propose to bring him back with me.”
“What you propose to do with him is a matter of no interest to me,” said Florence. “I only demand the letters.”