“Hally-loo-yah, tazmun!” burst out Old Sally. “Hally—hally—hally—” She caught her mistress's austere glance. “I knowed it was cornin' so all along,” she concluded, heroically compressing herself to a calm if belated assurance.
“—as the minimum price stipulated,” pursued Mr. Boggs.
“I thank you,” said the Duchess.
“Also,” concluded the agent, “a balance, after deducting all expenses, of two thousand one hundred and fifty-three dollars and twenty cents.”
The Duchess's face never so much as changed. “That is entirely satisfactory,” she observed. “I have to thank you all for your successful efforts in securing a suitable price. My only regret,” the quiet voice faltered a little, “is that circumstances should have forced me to part with an expression of esteem for my beloved father from one who was the greatest military hero of all history.”
“You're in wrong, lady,” caroled Mr. Boggs, his rhetoric suddenly melting in his excitement. “We sold the envelope alone for four thousand dollars pet. There's only three other of them 1846 Alexandria postmaster's stamps in the world today. So here's your Stonewall letter as good as new.”
“My Gawsh!” said old Sally, and fell down upon the floor and rolled and gave praise after the manner of her race, unrebuked this time of her mistress.
That aged and grand dame took back the letter with a hand which, for all that it had been rock-firm when it received MacLachan's revolver, now trembled a little. But her sole comment was: “And yet there are those so obstinate and shortsighted as to deny that the spirits guide us for our own good.”
Once more, finely embossed stationery came pouring in at No. 17, Our Square, proudly edifying the soul of Mr. Boggs. Once more Madam Tallafferr went forth on missions of social splendor, westward and uptown, sometimes in an automobile. Once more the restored Pemberton diamonds glistened in the fine, withered ears, Old Sally having confessed and been duly beaten and forgiven.
Old Sally herself, replete and pompous, trotted to and fro in Our Square, brimful of smiling hints of a great honor that was to come to us. Her young mist'ess, she let it be known, was graciously pleased to be recognizant of the part, useful though humble, which Our Square had played in her reestablished fortunes, and she was about to acknowledge it in a manner worthy of her family and her traditions. In Old Sally's own words, she was going to “mo' dan even it up wif you all.” Curiosity, speculation, and surmise had become almost morbid in Our Square, when one morning there burst upon us, in an effulgence of glory, a mail as splendid as any which had ever brightened Mr. Boggs's worshiping eyes on its passage upward to his top floor. To Mr. Boggs himself it came, to Schepstein, to the Little Red Doctor, to me, to Polyglot Elsa, and to many others, even down the scale as far as Inky Mike, this big white envelope, sealed with a square of black sealing wax and inclosing a most gratifyingly proud and stiff pasteboard card. That card still stands carefully dusted on many a mantel of Our Square, a guerdon and manifesto of social glory. At the top of it is blazoned the crest of the Tallafferrs, standing between the flag of the Confederacy and the coat of arms of Old Virginia. Below runs this legend—in real engraving if you please:—