He took Dameron’s arm and the two men descended to Jefferson Street, which was crowded with shoppers at this hour. Merriam thrust his hand under his brother-in-law’s arm and they walked along with an appearance of intimacy, just as Merriam had planned they should. People turned to look at them, the erect, handsome old man with his shining silk hat, and his bent companion in the faded brown overcoat and dingy derby.
Merriam was exchanging reminiscences of old Seminary days with Dameron. There was, in the long retrospect, extra-territorial ground where these two men could meet without friction. Ezra Dameron knew well enough that his brother-in-law had deliberately planned this meeting and in his heart he resented being carried down Jefferson Street merely that the public might be advised of the fact that two of its citizens were once more on friendly terms after a long period of enmity. But he was a martyr; he had always been a martyr to the insolence of the arrogant Merriam family, and he found a certain hypocritical satisfaction in being abused.
The two men paused at the corner of Wabash Street, where an old hotel was making way for a new structure, and they watched the workmen for a few minutes, commenting on the changes that had latterly removed many landmarks.
“Well, Ezra, no doubt you’re a busy man, as you always used to be, and anxious to get back to work.”
“I have a few repairs to make on some of my little properties.” The purr in Ezra Dameron’s voice was irritating, but Merriam had succeeded in his undertaking of the morning and wished to end the interview amicably. He had outlined a program for Ezra Dameron’s guidance and advertised a reconciliation. Ezra Dameron bored him immensely, and he now wished to be rid of him.
“Don’t forget those little points that I suggested, Ezra. It may encourage you to know that I have my eye on you. Good morning.”
Dameron struck off at a rapid pace toward the southern end of town, and Merriam retraced his steps in Jefferson Street to High.
“I’m a stranger in my own town,” Merriam reflected.
He mailed a letter at the post-office and walked slowly homeward. The federal building with its fort-like walls was doomed. Already its successor was building farther up-town. Perhaps it was just as well so, for the men who were identified in Rodney Merriam’s mind with the old post-office had gone or were going fast. For years after the great war, the federal office-holders had been veteran soldiers. Even the federal judge,—the judge with the brown eyes and the limp that was due to a rebel bullet,—the judge who narrowly missed being president of the United States,—had been one of Grant’s generals. The marshal of the district, a noble military figure to the end of his days, had been a major-general of distinction; and the pension agent, a sturdy German with a tremendous power of invective, who had learned his English by reading Shakespeare, was remembered as one of “Pap” Thomas’s best brigadiers. And there was the district attorney of the old days,—a gentle and winning spirit, who was something of a poet, too. He had been a major at twenty, with a record for gallantry that would read like a chapter of romance, if it could be put on paper. Even the court crier was no longer a crippled veteran, hobbling to his seat on crutches; and there was now an ex-confederate captain in the marshal’s office! The only outpost held by any of the old military coterie was the post-office itself, where a sturdy veteran of both the Mexican and Civil wars still held his own.
But of Rodney Merriam’s intimates none remained. All were gone, those familiar militant spirits, and Rodney Merriam mourned them as a man who has never known a woman’s love or the touch of children’s hands mourns the men that have meant most to him in his life. He could no longer sit in the deep leather chairs in the grim old building when the afternoon light grew dim in the deep embrasured windows, and gossip of bygone days, for the old rooms were occupied now by men whom Merriam did not know; and so far as he was concerned his friends had no successors.