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Page 34
"And the price?" went on Black-Tie, inexorably.
"Ten thousand dollars," said the lady, sweetly.
"Or--"
"Or the fulfillment of the engagement to marry."
"I think it is time," interrupted Blue-Tie, "for me to be allowed to
say a word or two. You and I, cousin, belong to a family that has
held its head pretty high. You have been brought up in a section of
the country very different from the one where our branch of the family
lived. Yet both of us are Carterets, even if some of our ways and
theories differ. You remember, it is a tradition of the family, that
no Carteret ever failed in chivalry to a lady or failed to keep his
word when it was given."
Then Blue-Tie, with frank decision showing on his countenance, turned
to Miss De Ormond.
"Olivia," said he, "on what date will you marry me?"
Before she could answer, Black-Tie again interposed.
"It is a long journey," said he, "from Plymouth rock to Norfolk Bay.
Between the two points we find the changes that nearly three centuries
have brought. In that time the old order has changed. We no longer
burn witches or torture slaves. And to-day we neither spread our
cloaks on the mud for ladies to walk over nor treat them to the
ducking-stool. It is the age of common sense, adjustment, and
proportion. All of us--ladies, gentlemen, women, men, Northerners,
Southerners, lords, caitiffs, actors, hardware-drummers, senators,
hodcarriers, and politicians--are coming to a better understanding.
Chivalry is one of our words that changes its meaning every day.
Family pride is a thing of many constructions--it may show itself by
maintaining a moth-eaten arrogance in cobwebbed Colonial mansion or by
the prompt paying of one's debts.
"Now, I suppose you've had enough of my monologue. I've learned
something of business and a little of life; and I somehow believe,
cousin, that our great-great-grandfathers, the original Carterets,
would indorse my view of this matter."
Black-Tie wheeled around to his desk, wrote in a check-book and tore
out the check, the sharp rasp of the perforated leaf making the only
sound in the room. He laid the check within easy reach of Miss De
Ormond's hand.
"Business is business," said he. "We live in a business age. There
is my personal check for $10,000. What do you say, Miss De Ormond--
will it he orange blossoms or cash ?"
Miss De Ormond picked up the cheek carelessly, folded it
indifferently, and stuffed it into her glove.
"Oh, this '11 do," she said, calmly. "I just thought I'd call and put
it up to you. I guess you people are all right. But a girl has
feelings, you know. I've heard one of you was a Southerner--I wonder
which one of you it is?"
She arose, smiled sweetly, and walked to the door. There, with a
flash of white teeth and a dip of the heavy plume, she disappeared.
Both of the cousins had forgotten Uncle Jake for the time. But now
they heard the shuffling of his shoes as he came across the rug toward
them from his seat in the corner.
"Young marster," he said, "take yo' watch." And without hesitation he
laid the ancient timepiece in the hand of its rightful owner.
Finch keeps a hats-cleaned-by-electricity-while-you-wait
establishment, nine feet by twelve, in Third Avenue. Once a customer,
you are always his. I do not know his secret process, but every four
days your hat needs to be cleaned again.
Finch is a leathern, sallow, slowfooted man, between twenty and forty.
You would say he had been brought up a bushelman in Essex Street.
When business is slack he likes to talk, so I had my hat cleaned even
oftener than it deserved, hoping Finch might let me into some of the
secrets of the sweatshops.
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