VII.
All this was no less the result of Francis Underwood’s desire than of the doctor’s commands. The old practitioner was noted for his skill throughout the region, and after he had talked with Judge Bascom he gave it as his opinion that the only physic necessary in the case was perfect rest and quiet, and that these could be secured only by allowing the old man to remain undisturbed in the belief that he was once more the owner of the Bascom Place.
“He’ll not trouble you for long,” said Dr. Bynum, wiping his spectacles, “and I’ve no doubt that whatever expense may be incurred will be settled by his old friends. Oh, Bascom still has friends here,” exclaimed the doctor, misunderstanding Underwood’s gesture of protest. “He went wrong, badly wrong; but he is a Southerner, sir, to the very core, and in the South we are in the habit of looking after our own. We may differ, sir, but when the pinch comes you’ll find us together.”
The doctor’s lofty air was wholly lost on his companion.
“My dear sir,” said Underwood, laying his hand somewhat heavily on the doctor’s shoulder, “what do you take me for? Do you suppose that I intend to set up a hospital here?”
“Oh, by no means, by no means,” said Dr. Bynum, soothingly. “Not at all; in fact, quite the contrary. As I say, you shall be reimbursed for all”—
“Dr. Bynum,” said Underwood, with some degree of emphasis, “permit me to remind you that Judge Bascom is my guest. There is no question of money except so far as your bill is concerned, and that”—
“Now, now, my dear boy,” exclaimed the old doctor, holding up both hands in a gesture of expostulation, “don’t, don’t fly up! What is the use? I was only explaining matters; I was only trying to let you know how we Southerners feel. You must have noticed that the poor old Judge hasn’t been treated very well since his return here. His best friends have avoided him. I was only trying to tell you that they hold him in high esteem, and that they are willing to do all they can for him.”
“As a Southerner?” inquired Underwood, “or as a man?”
“Tut, tut!” exclaimed Dr. Bynum. “Don’t come running at me with your head down and your horns up. We’ve no time to fall into a dispute. You look after the Judge as a Northerner, and I’ll look after him as a Southerner. His daughter must come here. He is very feeble. He has but one irrational idea, and that is that he owns the old Place. In every other particular his mind is sound, and he will give you no trouble. His idea must be humored, and even then the collapse will come too soon for that poor girl, his daughter—as lovely a creature, sir, as you ever saw.”
This statement was neither information nor news so far as Underwood was concerned. “If I see her,” the old doctor went on, with a somewhat patronizing air, “I’ll try to explain matters; but it is a very delicate undertaking, sir—very delicate.”
“No,” said Underwood; “there will be no need for explanations. My sister will go for Miss Bascom, and whatever explanations may be necessary she will make at the proper time.”
“An admirable arrangement,” said Dr. Bynum with a grunt of satisfaction—“an admirable arrangement indeed. Well, my boy, you must do the best you can, and I know that will be all that is necessary. I am sorry for Bascom, very sorry, and I’m sorrier for his daughter. I’ll call again tonight.”
As Dr. Bynum drove down the avenue, Underwood was much gratified to see Jesse coming through the gate. The negro appeared to be much perplexed. He took off his hat as he approached Underwood, and made a display of politeness somewhat unusual, although he was always polite.
“Is you seed Marse Judge Bascom?” he inquired.
“Yes,” said Underwood. “He is in the house yonder, resting himself. You seem frightened; what is the trouble?”
“Well, suh, I ain’t had no such worriment sence de Sherman army come ’long. I dunner what got inter Marse Judge Bascom. He been gwine on des like yuther folks, settin’ ’roun’ en talkin’ ’long wid hisse’f, en den all of er sudden he break out en shave en dress hisse’f, en go visitin’ whar he ain’t never been visitin’ befo’. I done year ’im say p’intedly dat he ain’t never gwine come yer les’n de Place b’long ter ’im. Do he look downhearted, suh?”
“No,” said Underwood, “I can’t say that he does. He seems to be very well satisfied. He has called several times for Wesley. I have heard you called Jesse, but perhaps the Judge knows you as Wesley. There are several negroes around here who answer to different names.”
“No, suh,” said Jesse, scratching his head. “I ain’t never been call Wesley sence I been bornded inter de worl’. Dey was er nigger name Wesley what use ter go ’long wid Marse Judge Bascom en wait on ’im when I wuz er little boy, but Wesley done been dead too long ago ter talk about. I dunner what make folks’s min’ drop back dat ’a’way. Look like dey er sorter fumblin’ ’roun’ tryin’ fer ter ketch holt er sump’n ne’r what done been pulled up out’n reach.”
“Well,” said Underwood, “the Judge is in the house. See if he wants anything; and if he asks about his daughter, tell him she will be here directly.”
When Jesse went into the house he found the Judge lying on a lounge in the hall. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be dozing; but Jesse’s movements aroused him.
“Ah! is that you, Wesley? Where is your Miss Mildred?”
“She comin’, suh; she comin’ right now.”
“Very well, very well. You must make yourself at home here,” he said to Francis Underwood, who had followed Jesse. “I am somewhat dilapidated myself, but my daughter will entertain you. Wesley, I believe I will go to my room. Lend me your arm.”
“Allow me to assist you,” said Underwood; and so between the two the old man was carried to the room that had been his own when the house was his. It happened to be Underwood’s room, but that made no difference. It belonged once more to the Judge in his disordered fancy, and thither he went.
After a while Miss Sophie came, bringing Mildred. Just how she had explained matters to the poor girl no one ever knew, but it must have been in some specially sympathetic way, for when Francis Underwood assisted the ladies from the carriage Miss Bascom appeared to be the less agitated of the two.
“The Judge is as comfortable as possible,” Underwood said cheerily. “Jesse is with him, and I think he is asleep. His nervousness has passed away.”
“Oh, do you think he is seriously ill?” exclaimed Mildred, clasping her hands together.
“Certainly not, just now,” said Francis Underwood. “The doctor has been here, and he has gone away apparently satisfied. Sister, do you take charge of Miss Bascom, and show her how to be at home here.”
And so Judge Bascom and his beautiful daughter were installed at the old Place. Mildred, under the circumstances, would rather have been elsewhere, but she was practically under orders. It was necessary to the well-being of her father, so the doctor said, that he should remain where he was; it was necessary that he should be humored in the belief that he was the owner of the old Place. It is only fair to say that Miss Sophie Underwood and her brother were more willing and anxious to enter into this scheme than Mildred appeared to be. She failed to comprehend the situation until after she had talked with her father, and then she was in despair. Judge Bascom was the representative of everything substantial and enduring in his daughter’s experience, and when she realized that his mind had been seized by a vagary she received a tremendous shock. But the rough edges of the situation, so to speak, were smoothed and turned by Miss Sophie, who assumed motherly charge of the young girl. Miss Sophie’s methods were so sympathetic and so womanly, and she gave to the situation such a matter-of-fact interpretation, that the grief and dismay of the young girl were not as overwhelming as they otherwise would have been.