A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL
As Everett rose to respond to the introduction of the newcomer, "Judge Houston," as Suggs explained with a flourish, "a Virginian, living in Mississippi, but still breathing the air of Virginia," he felt intuitively that he was standing before a man it would be an honour to know. In that moment the impression the others had made upon him became cheap and vulgar, for in the quiet strong face of this man who was evidently past sixty there was a benignity and gentleness, an intelligence made up not only of cleverness and book learning, but of a long life's experience in which sorrow and thought and difficulties overcome had brought a result near to perfection. He was a tall man, with broad heavy shoulders that were finally admitting the long struggle in a slight stoop; his face was strong, yet mild; his mouth firm with the stability of largeness and generosity. His head, with its high forehead, heavy eyebrows, and prominence in the region that denotes intelligence, would have conveyed an impression of cold intellectuality, had it not been for the mellowing expression that shone from his clear blue eyes—a look that spoke without effort kindness and sympathy and friendliness toward the world. Beneath the force of his personality one felt something more potent than strength—perhaps it was the strength of sweetness. His carriage was dignified, yet natural; aristocratic yet gentle; and his graciousness softened the somewhat formal manner of the Colonial days which still clung to him. He wore the old fashioned fair top boots and shorts of that elder day, a shirt of fine ruffled linen, a waistcoat of the finest embroidered silk, and his hair, iron grey and thick, was reached back from the noble forehead and hung down in a queue behind, tied with a black silk ribbon—a fashion already passing with the memories of the Revolution. He was close shaven and neat to a nicety, with the exception of some grains of snuff which fell occasionally from the massive gold snuff box that hung from a chain about his collar.
When he had taken his seat at the table, and was mixing with an expression of pleasurable anticipation the toddy the waiter had brought him, he looked at Everett with a curiosity that quickly became flattering interest. The young fellow's eyes fell before the searching gaze of the older man for in them he imagined he saw a faint surprise at the company he had chosen upon his arrival. It was then that he regretted for the first time the wounded pride which had made him descend to the use of the Captain's advice.
The conversation changed from the arguing, tempestuous channel in which it had been running, and with the new influence that was felt by everyone, became more conservative and dignified.
"I suppose you have told them everything," the old man said to Everett when the tavern bell had reminded the group that it was their dinner hour. "Did you ever see fellows so hungry for news?" he added, as Jervais, the last to leave, had moved away. "But you must remember we are a long way off from the world down here."
"I was hardly aware myself that so much had happened until I began to tell them all I knew," Everett answered, happy to find himself alone with Judge Houston. "I believe I told them everything I have read and heard for months, and yet," he stopped suddenly and looked up to see if any of them remained, "do you know, I forgot to tell them that King George was dead and that the Duke of Clarence is now William the Fourth!"
"They will see it in the papers," the old man answered smiling, "I am sure you have told them enough for one day. I am the one who missed it all. Will you do me the honour of going home to dinner with me? It would give me much pleasure to hear all about the world from one who is so recently from the scene of action. Perhaps, too, I can show my appreciation by giving you something better than the corn dodgers and goat meat that you would surely get in this tavern."
Everett kept his eyes on the old man's as he rose from his chair in accepting the invitation. The surprise and pity which people always showed on first noting his deformity had made him morbidly sensitive and watchful, and when he saw no change of expression on the face of this old gentleman of Virginia that gave evidence that he had noticed his lameness, a feeling of great joy, almost love, rushed over him for the other; though, in the slow pace at which they walked and his frequent halts to call attention to some important object along the way, Everett knew that in this lay a veiled consideration.
The street was broad and cool in the shade of overarching trees, and as they strolled along, Judge Houston's arm resting on his, and his deep voice steady and full of the charm of provincial accent, Everett began to feel more and more contented with the call which had brought him to this place.
"That old church—yes—it was built by the Spaniards," the old man leaned against a fence for a moment. "And even I can remember when criminals used it as a place of safety—a sanctuary. I saw a murderer run up those steps and put his finger in the key hole of that same old door and keep his pursuers at bay. A queer old custom—but it has been years ago now. And their old priest, Father Brady, they called him—he was my ideal when I was a boy," he talked on as they resumed their walk. "He had great power over the Indians—used to get out among them and cowhide them into his church. And when it came to hunting he was the best shot in the town, and the best judge of horses and liquor—had a wink and a joke and a blessing and an alms for every one. Oh, I can tell you all the stories you want to know about Natchez; some of them are grewsome and some fantastic—but they are being forgotten now with the changes everywhere. We are getting civilized by degrees down here. Wife said the other day she had no intention of dying till she saw a steam car coming right into our town."