“And now,” said I, seeking to focus complaint, “and now, what have I done or said to hurt?”
Peg drew away from my shoulder. I could not see her face, but I felt her spirit changing from cool to hot in the furnace of some thought. There was silence for a moment.
“What have you done to hurt?” cried Peg, suddenly, breaking into a wondrous wrath. “Oh, I could die with such a dullard! What have you done? What is this just-now complaint you conceive against my husband? He does not understand me, forsooth! You should consider yourself! What have you done to hurt? You place me too high! You put me out of reach! Oh, I know of no more dreadful fate than to be forever mistaken for an angel!” That last came like the cry of a heart in torture. The next moment Peg was gone and I left gasping.
Of what avail to think? As she had said, I was a blundering blind-wit, and, by me at least, Peg would not be made out. I had declared how Eaton owned a footless fancy which could not raise itself to realize a goddess. And now, in my own high superiority, I had come bravely off! I had been properly paid as one who is churl enough to give a woman a compliment at the expense of her husband. Was I to suppose my goddess would accept flattery at the cost of her self-respect? The goddess from her furious pedestal had denounced me as one who planned for her dishonor.
Congress was now come down upon us like a high wind. The town began to rub its eyes free of those cobwebs of vacation slumbers; the taverns took on a buzzing life, while the streets, lately so still and lonesome, showed thickly sown of folk going here and there, for this reason of legislation or that hunger of office, and with faces gay or sombre as success was given or denied.
Noah was one to be denied. He had come to town somewhat in advance of Congress. The General brought him quickly to the White House and made him unpack his budget of gossip. How was Burr? How was Swartout? How fared Hoyt? Thus ran off the General's curiosity.
“All well, all prosperous,” responded Noah, “and the town itself growing up to weeds of riches. The New York cry is, Money! They revise your friend Crockett, and, for an aphorism, say, 'Be sure you're rich, then go ahead.'”
The General would have it that Noah must take an office—a collectorship or some such gear.
“The Senate would defeat my confirmation,” said Noah; “first for that I'm a Jew; and next because of Catron.”
“And even so,” returned the General; “it is still worth while to discover who would do that.”