Then the Reverend Campbell re-began his abject bowing, while his magpie wife smirked and giggled sociably.
It had been long since I met folk who more repelled me. For the sake of his cloth, however, and the real respect I bore it, I required myself to assume a manner of cordiality. I asked the purpose of the visit.
“It was my privilege,” responded the Reverend Campbell, with a meeting-house snuffle that certain divines adopt as a professional manner of articulation, “I may say it was my inestimable privilege some years back, to behold in the body of the church, during many of my preachments, that mighty man of war, our coming president, and his sweet lady; although she—for flesh is as grass—has since perished and passed over to dwell among the blest.”
“Mrs. Jackson was my nearest, dearest friend,” simpered the awful magpie wife, interrupting. “It was when General Jackson had a seat in the senate. We were like loving sisters, Mrs. Jackson and I.”
This last I distrusted, but I did not say so.
“You are the General's old preacher?” I said; the Reverend Campbell meanwhile seesawing and bowing, and locking and unlocking his warty fingers. “Have you been in to meet the General?”
“Not yet, good sir, not yet,” replied the Reverend Campbell. “That shall be in good time. Since you abide on terms of intimacy with our coming president, I deemed it prudent to first make myself known to you. Knowing David, I would know Jonathan. There is a business—a piece of sinful, worldly business—I would inquire of, a boon I would ask, and ere I went to the transaction thereof, I held it sapient to call upon you who will be so strong to bind or loose—so potent, as one might say, in the coming dispensation of preferments.”
The Reverend Campbell—who should have been a mandarin for his repulsiveness and talents to bow—kept up his bending, while the magpie wife in vacuous vanity, beamed on like a tarnished sun. To put a stop to the bowing, which began to grow on me nervously, I bade the pair be seated. They would remain the longer, but I would save myself with less of irritation.
“I do not come for myself,” observed the Reverend Campbell, snuffling, and balancing uneasily on his chair's edge. His wife had taken her seat with more of confidence; spreading her skirts to advantage, and leaning back as one certain of results. “No, it is by request of a beloved brother in Christ, the Reverend Doctor Ely of Philadelphia. Our great Chief Magistrate knows him and loves him well.”
Then the Reverend Campbell went on in pulpit tones to elaborate his mission. It soon declared itself to be the old Duff Green errand of office angling. Also, it was a coincidence something strange, I thought, when the Reverend Campbell, following in the very footprints of the wine colored Duff, spoke of the Florida Governorship, and named the same wealthy zany for its occupation.