Colonel Carter of Cartersville | Page 7

success above.
"My fire," he once said to me, "is my friend; and sometimes, my dear
boy, when you are all away and Chad is out, it seems my only friend.
After it talks to me for hours we both get sleepy together, and I cover it
up with its gray blanket of ashes and then go to bed myself. Ah, Major!
when you are gettin' old and have no wife to love you and no children
to make yo' heart glad, a wood fire full of honest old logs, every one of
which is doing its best to please you, is a great comfort."
"Draw closer, Major; vehy cold night, gentlemen. We do not have any
such weather in my State. Fitz, have you thawed out yet?"
Fitz looked up from a pile of documents spread out on his lap, his
round face aglow with the firelight, and compared himself to half a
slice of toast well browned on both sides.
"I am glad of it. I was worried about you when you came in. You were
chilled through."
Then turning to me: "Fact is, Fitz is a little overworked. Enormous
strain, suh, on a man solving the vast commercial problems that he is
called upon to do every day."
After which outburst the colonel crossed the room and finished
unpacking the basket, placing the cheese in one of the empty plates on
the table, and the various other commodities on the sideboard. When he
reached the pass-book he straightened himself up, held it off
admiringly, turned the leaves slowly, his face lighting up at the goodly
number of clean pages still between its covers, and said thoughtfully:--
"Very beautiful custom, this pass-book system, gentlemen, and quite
new to me. One of the most co'teous attentions I have received since I
have taken up my residence Nawth. See how simple it is. I send my
servant to the sto' for my supplies. He returns in haalf an hour with
everything I need, and brings back this book which I keep,--remember,
gentlemen, which I keep,--a mark of confidence which in this
degen'rate age is refreshin'. No vulgar bargaining suh; no disagreeable

remarks about any former unsettled account. It certainly is delightful."
"When are the accounts under this system generally paid, Colonel,"
asked Fitz.
With the exception of a slight tremor around the corners of his mouth
Fitz's face expressed nothing but the idlest interest.
"I have never inquired, suh, and would not hurt the gentleman's feelin's
by doin' so for the world," he replied with dignity. "I presume, when
the book is full."
Whatever might have been Fitz's mental workings, there was no
mistaking the colonel's. He believed every word he said.
"What a dear old trump the colonel is," said Fitz, turning to me, his face
wrinkling all over with suppressed laughter.
All this time Chad was passing in and out, bearing dishes and viands,
and when all was ready and the table candles were lighted, he
announced that fact softly to his master and took his customary place
behind his chair.
The colonel was as delightful as ever, his talk ranging from politics and
family blood to possum hunts and modern literature, while the mutton
and its accessories did full credit to Chad's culinary skill.
In fact the head of the colonel's table was his throne. Nowhere else was
he so charming, and nowhere else did the many sides to his delightful
nature give out such varied hues.
Fitz, practical business man as he was, would listen to his many
schemes by the hour, charmed into silence and attentive appreciation by
the sublime faith that sustained his host, and the perfect honesty and
sincerity underlying everything he did. But it was not until the cheese
had completely lost its geometrical form, the coffee served, and the
pipes lighted, that the subject which of all others absorbed him was
broached. Indeed, it was a rule of the colonel's, never infringed upon,
that, no matter how urgent the business, the dinner-hour was to be kept

sacred.
"Salt yo' food, suh, with humor," he would say. "Season it with wit, and
sprinkle it all over with the charm of good-fellowship, but never poison
it with the cares of yo' life. It is an insult to yo' digestion, besides bein',
suh, a mark of bad breedin'."
"Now, Major," began the colonel, turning to me, loosening the string
around a package of papers, and spreading them out like a game of
solitaire, "draw yo' chair closer. Fitz, hand me the map."
A diligent search revealed the fact that the map had been left at the
office, and so the colonel proceeded without it, appealing now and then
to Fitz, who leaned over his chair, his arm on the table.
"Befo' I touch upon the financial