He remarked that it was a fine day, though bad for the wheat crop, which wanted rain; and then he hoped that Mrs. Force and the young ladies felt rested after their journey.
Mrs. Force thanked him, and replied that the whole family were quite recovered from any little fatigue they might have felt.
The rector, to help the bashful young fellow out, inquired how he had enjoyed his trip to Washington, and what he thought of the city.
Young Sam was not to be “improved” in that way. He made a characteristic reply. Ignoring every object of interest within the city’s bounds, he answered that he thought the land about Washington very poor indeed, and very badly farmed, and crops looked very unpromising. He thought the soil had been too hard worked, and too little manured, and that it wanted rest and food, so to speak.
“But the city, my dear boy, the city! What do you think of the city, the great capital of a great nation?” persisted the minister.
“The city!” Well, Mr. Sam Grandiere didn’t think much of the city. There didn’t seem to be much downright, solid, earnest business going on there, like there was in Baltimore; and, for his part, he didn’t see how the people lived, except such as were in the service of the government. No, bad as the country was round about Washington, the city was even worse—even less productive.
The rector took up cudgels in defense of the national seat of government; spoke of the public buildings—the capitol, the departments, the patent office, the navy yard—and so on.
But Mr. Sam Grandiere could not see any profit or “produce” in any of them.
So the rector gave him over to a reprobate spirit.
Presently Mrs. Ingle—having left both her babies asleep upstairs, with Elva lovingly watching over them—came down into the drawing room and greeted the minister and his wife, and also Mr. Force, whom she had not earlier seen.