While Tootler was drawing the check, Cecilia came out with a small basket. She offered it to Bishop.
“I’ve been putting up some jelly for Miss Sally,” she said. “It may tempt her. How is she to-day?”
“The best to be said,” replied Bishop, “is she ain’t gittin’ no wus. The doctor says she ain’t so much sick as down in the mouth. She’s off her feed an’ seems to have got suthin’ on her mind. P’r’aps it’s religion. She wants me to stop swearin’; but I’ll be durned if I kin. I wish you’d come over an’ see her ag’in, ma’am. You’re the only one as does her any good.”
He spoke with evident feeling and sincerity, and Mrs. Tootler promised to go.
A moment later, Mr. Tootler emerged from the house and handed Bishop the check. The black was transferred to Mr. Waddy.
“I’m sorry to part with him,” said Bishop, real regret in his voice; “but you look like you’d treat him well, sir. He ain’t used to the whip. He’s never been struck but once, when that damn Belden talked of buyin’ him. Belden handled him kind er careless an’ then give him a crack. I guess he got dropped easy—the fool! He’s had a spite agin the horse ever since, an’ I’m kind er glad to git him out o’ the way of any mean trick. Belden’s a kind o’ feller not to fergit it when any critter’s been too much fer him—horse or man or woman, either.”
He looked at the horse for a moment, and then walked away, turning to look back once or twice regretfully, but consoling himself by the expensive check, subscribed by a man well known in State Street.
“Don’t you remember Sally Bishop?” asked Tootler of his friend. “A very handsome girl she was—poor thing!—dying now. Seems to me you used to go with Belden to see her.”
“I knew her slightly,” replied Waddy, in a tone the reverse of encouraging. “It’s a bad thing to have intimacies with second-rate women. If you have a saddle,” he continued, “that will fit my horse, I’ll ride him in to town now. By the way, what shall I name him? He’s as black as death—‘mors, pallida mors’—that’s it—Pallid! I’ll call him by rule of contraries. Pal, for short; we shall be pals, eh, old boy?” and he caressed the horse, who responded in kind, instinctively knowing a friend.
Pallid was larger than Cecilia, but her saddle was well enough for the short ride. Tootler was obliged to be in the wool again early. Jefferson Davis not being present to preside over the cavalry, the gardener laid down the shovel and the hoe and took up the curry-comb. Pallid was, of course, resplendent for the sale, as a bride is when her bargain is ratified.