Jabez assigned a different reason:
“It don' do to have your wife live too nigh to you; she 'll want t' know too much about you, an' you can't never git away from her”—a bit of philosophy the soundness of which must be left to married men.
However it was, his reputation did not interfere with his ability to procure a new wife as often as occasion arose. With Jabez the supply was ever equal to the demand.
Mrs. Meriwether, his old mistress, was just telling me of him one day in reply to a question of mine as to what had become of him; for I had known him before the war.
“Oh! he is living still, and he bids fair to outlast the whole colored female sex. He is a perfect Bluebeard. He has had I do not know how many wives and I heard that his last wife was sick. They sent for my son, Douglas, the doctor, not long ago to see her. However, I hope she is better as he has not been sent for again.”
At this moment, by a coincidence, the name of Jabez was brought in by a maid.
“Unc' Jabez, m'm.”
That was all; but the tone and the manner of the maid told that Jabez was a person of note with the messenger; every movement and glance were self-conscious.
“That old—! He is a nuisance! What does he want now? Is his wife worse, or is he after a new one?”
“I d' n' kn', m'm,” said the maid, sheepishly, twisting her body and looking away, to appear unconcerned. “Would n' tell me. He ain' after me!