When she had finished the New Orleans telegrams she cast the offending newspapers from her; then, recalling herself, summoned the black woman, and returned them to Griswold, the dusky agent expressing the elaborate thanks of her race for his courtesy. The girl had utterly ignored Griswold, and she now pulled down the curtain at her elbow with a snap and turned her face away from him.
Professor Griswold’s eyes wandered repeatedly from his manuscript to the car ceiling, then furtively to the uncompromisingly averted shoulder and head of the young lady, then back to his lecture notes, until he was weary of the process. He wished Ardmore were at hand, for his friend would find here a case that promised much better than the pursuit to which he had addressed himself. The girl in this instance was at least a self-respecting lady, not given to flirtations with chance travellers, and the brown eyes, of which Griswold had caught one or two fleeting glimpses, were clearly not of the winking sort. The attendance of the black mammy distinguished the girl as a person of quality, whose travels were stamped with an austere propriety.
Her silver toilet articles testified to an acquaintance with the comforts if not the luxuries of life. The alligator-hide suit-case thrust under the seat bore the familiar label of a Swiss hotel where Griswold had once spent a week, and spoke of the girl’s acquaintance with an ampler world. When Phœbe had brought it forth, the initials “B. O.” in small black letters suggested Baltimore and Ohio to Griswold’s lazy speculations, whereupon he reflected that while Baltimore was plausible, the black servant eliminated Ohio; and as every Virginian knows every other Virginian, he tried to identify her with Old Dominion family names beginning with O, but without result. He finally concluded that, while her name might be Beatrice or Barbara, it could not be Bessie, and he decided that very likely the suit-case belonged to her brother Benjamin, in whom he felt no interest whatever.
He went out to supper, secured the only remaining table for two, and was giving his order when the young lady appeared. She had donned her hat, and as she stood a moment in the entrance, surveying the line of tables, her distinction was undeniable. There were but two vacant places in the car, one facing Griswold, the other across the aisle at a larger table where three men were engaged in animated discussion. The girl viewed the prospect with evident disappointment as the waiter drew out the vacant chair at Griswold’s table. She carried herself bravely, but wore still a triste air that touched Griswold’s sympathy. He rose, told the waiter that he would sit at the other table, and the girl murmured her thanks with a forlorn little smile as she took his seat.
The appearance of Griswold aroused the Mississippian to a renewal of the discussion of the New Orleans incident. He was in excellent humour, and had carried to the car a quart bottle, which he pushed toward Griswold.
“As the Governor of North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina——”
“No, thank you,” and as he spoke Griswold’s eyes fell upon the girl, and he saw annoyance written fleetingly on her face.
“You needn’t be afraid of that whisky. It’s all right,” the Mississippian protested.
“I’m confident of that; but some other time, thank you.”
“Well, sir,” the Mississippian declared, “after you left us a while ago we got to talking about Dangerfield and his trouble with Osborne. There’s something back of this rumpus. You see, if they lived in the same state you might account for a fierce rivalry between them. Both of ’em, for example, might have the senatorial bee in their bonnets; but either one of ’em could make the senate any time he pleased. I guess they’re the two biggest men in the South right now. They’re too big to be touchy about any small matter; that’s why I reckon there’s something behind this little racket over there at New Orleans. No passing remark would send men off that way, so wild that they wouldn’t travel on the same train together. Why, gentlemen——”