"I am going to Eunice's. Vast wealth has been found upon her premises, and she needs me. Deny me to all smaller clients until further notice."
Then, assuming his Sunday attire and stiffest stock, he set pompously forth down the tree-bordered street, caning a stray dog here, there reprimanding a boy who might be playing "hookey,"—though was not,—and shaking his fist at old Whitey, taking her accustomed stroll in and out of inviting dooryards. Yet when he came to the wider yard before the stone house something of his complaisance left him. "He and Eunice Maitland had never hitched." She was always perfectly courteous, and never failed to attend the sewing-meetings of the church when they were held at his house, and she had even been heard to say that she had "a great respect for Mrs. Pettijohn." She might have put a peculiar emphasis upon the "Mrs.," but then, everybody has his or her tricks of speech which mean nothing.
There was no door-bell at The Maples, but a polished brass knocker announced the arrival of any visitor; and it seemed to the worried Widow Sprigg as if that "plaguey knocker had done nothin' but whack the hull endurin' time sence Moses got hurt. I wonder who 'tis this time!"
Consequently, the door was opened with more impatience than courtesy as it now heralded the arrival of the Squire, who was for passing at once into the hall had not something in Susanna's manner caused him to hesitate.
"Miss Maitland. Is she at home? Will you present my card to her and say that I have called in person—in person—"
"Don't see how you could have called any other way," answered the greatly tried housekeeper, remembering him rather as "little Jimmy Pettijohn," whom her own mother had used to feed and befriend, than as the important personage he had since become.
"Ah, Susanna, my good woman, you were always facetious! I would like to see your mistress. Please announce me to her and conduct me to the drawing-room."
It was a mistaken tone and the widow hesitated at no rudeness which would protect the beloved "friend" with whom she dwelt, and whom it was her privilege to openly call by the familiar title of "Eunice," which this "Jimmy" dared not do save behind the lady's back.
"We hain't got no drawin'-room here, an' Eunice ain't seein' no more folks to-day, not if I can help it. I'm sure she won't see no men folks, anyway. We've been overrun with them, a'ready, just 'cause Moses has broke his leg and a few his ribs. Accidents happen to anybody if they're keerless, an' he admits he was. But he's as comfortable as can be expected, thank ye, and good day."
"But, Susanna, not so fast. I came to offer my services in regard to this—er—gold mine which the little Baltimore girl has discovered."