Augustus was an elderly negro, very black as to face and a trifle shabby as to clothes, but with a shadow of his master's gentility, like a reflected luster, pervading his person. He bowed low, departed, and returned dragging a large, old style trunk, and carrying a plump valise.
“Augustus,” said the Major, “you may sit upon the seat with the driver. That is,” he added, courteously, “if Mr.—Mr.—”
“Blount,” prompted the gratified “Redny.”
“If Mr. Blount will be good enough to permit you to do so.”
“Why, sartin. Jump right up. Giddap, you!”
There was but one passenger, besides the Major and Augustus, in the “depot wagon” that morning. This passenger was Mrs. Polena Ginn, who had been to Brockton on a visit. To Mrs. Polena the Major, raising his hat in a manner that no native of East Harniss could acquire by a lifetime of teaching, observed that it was a beautiful morning. The flustered widow replied that it “was so.” This was the beginning of a conversation that lasted until the “Central House” was reached, a conversation that left Polena impressed with the idea that her new acquaintance was as near the pink of perfection as mortal could be.
“It wa'n't his clothes, nuther,” she told her brother, Obed Gott, as they sat at the dinner table. “I don't know what 'twas, but you could jest see that he was a gentleman all over. I wouldn't wonder if he was one of them New York millionaires, like Mr. Williams—but SO different. 'Redny' Blount says he see his name onto the hotel register and 'twas 'Cuthbertson Scott Hardee.' Ain't that a tony name for you? And his darky man called him 'Major.' I never see sech manners on a livin' soul! Obed, I DO wish you'd stop eatin' pie with a knife.”
Under these pleasing circumstances did Major Cuthbertson Scott Hardee make his first appearance in East Harniss, and the reputation spread abroad by Mr. Blount and Mrs. Ginn was confirmed as other prominent citizens met him, and fell under the spell. In two short weeks he was the most popular and respected man in the village. The Methodist minister said, at the Thursday evening sociable, that “Major Hardee is a true type of the old-school gentleman,” whereupon Beriah Higgins, who was running for selectman, and therefore felt obliged to be interested in all educational matters, asked whereabouts that school was located, and who was teaching it now.
It was a treat to see the Major stroll down Main Street to the post office every pleasant spring morning. Coat buttoned tight, silk hat the veriest trifle on one side, one glove on and its mate carried with the cane in the other hand, and the buttonhole bouquet—always the bouquet—as fresh and bright and jaunty as its wearer himself.
It seemed that every housekeeper whose dwelling happened to be situated along that portion of the main road had business in the front yard at the time of the Major's passing. There were steps to be swept, or rugs to be shaken, or doorknobs to be polished just at that particular time. Dialogues like the following interrupted the triumphal progress at three minute intervals: