Kennedy Square | Page 3

family
rent-roll that an equally disastrous effect had been produced on the
mansion itself (one of the few pieces of property, by the way, that the
father had left to his only son and heir unencumbered, with the
exception of a suit in chancery from which nobody ever expected a
penny), the only dry spots in St. George's finances being the few
ground rents remaining from his grandmother's legacy and the little he
could pick up at the law.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that certain changes and
deteriorations had taken place inside and out of the historic
building--changes which never in the slightest degree affected the
even-tempered St. George, who had retained his own private
apartments regardless of the rest of the house--but changes which, in all
justice to the irascible old spendthrift, would have lifted that gentleman
out of his grave could he have realized their effect and extent. What a
shock, for instance, would the most punctilious man of his time have
received when he found his front basement rented for a law office, to
say nothing of a disreputable tin sign nailed to a shutter--where in the
olden time he and his cronies had toasted their shins before blazing logs,
the toddies kept hot on the hearth! And what a row would he have

raised had he known that the rose-garden was entirely neglected and
given over to the dogs and their kennels; the library in the second story
stripped of its books and turned into a guest-chamber, and the books
themselves consigned to the basement; the oak-panelled dining-room
transformed into a bedchamber for St. George, and the white-and-gold
drawing-room fronting the street reduced to a mere living-room where
his son and heir made merry with his friends! And then the shrinkages
all about! When a room could be dispensed with, it was locked up.
When a shingle broke loose, it stayed loose; and so did the bricks
capping the chimneys, and the leaky rain-spouts that spattered the
dingy bricks, as well as the cracks and crannies that marred the ceilings
and walls.
And yet so great was Todd's care over the outside fittings of the
house--details which were necessarily in evidence, and which
determined at a glance the quality of the folks inside--that these several
crumblings, shake-downs, and shrinkages were seldom noticed by the
passer-by. The old adage that a well-brushed hat, a clean collar,
polished shoes, and immaculate gloves--all terminal details--make the
well-dressed man, no matter how shabby or how ill-fitting his
intermediate apparel, applied, according to Todd's standards, to houses
as well as Brummels. He it was who soused the windows of purple
glass, polished the brass knobs, rubbed bright the brass knocker and
brass balls at the top and bottom of the delightful iron railings, to say
nothing of the white marble steps, which he attacked with a slab of
sandstone and cake of fuller's-earth, bringing them to so high a state of
perfection that one wanted to apologize for stepping on them. Thus it
was that the weather-beaten rainspouts, stained bricks, sagging roof,
and blistered window-sashes were no longer in evidence. Indeed, their
very shabbiness so enhanced the brilliancy of Todd's handiwork that
the most casual passers-by were convinced at a glance that gentlefolk
lived within.
On this particular morning, then, Todd had spent most of the time since
daylight--it was now eight o'clock--in the effort to descry his master
making his way along the street, either afoot or by some conveyance,
his eyes dancing, his ears alert as a rabbit's, his restless feet marking the

limit of his eagerness. In his impatience he had practised every step
known to darkydom in single and double shuffle; had patted juba on
one and both knees, keeping time with his heels to the rhythm; had slid
down and climbed up the railings a dozen times, his eyes on the turn in
the street, and had otherwise conducted himself as would any other boy,
black or white, who was at his wits' end to know what to do with the
next second of his time.
Aunt Jemima had listened to the racket until she had lost all patience,
and at last threw up the basement window:
"Go in an' shet dat do'--'fo' I come up dar an' smack ye--'nough ter
make a body deef ter hear ye," she called, her black shining face
dividing the curtains. "How you know he's a-comin'?"
Todd leaned over the railing and peered down: "Mister Harry Rutter
done tol' me--said dey all 's a-comin'--de jedge an' Doctor Teackle an'
Marse George an' de hull kit an' bilin'. Dey's been gone mos' two weeks
now,--dey's a-comin' I tell ye--be yere any minute."
"I b'liebe dat when I sees it. Fool nigger like you b'liebe anything. You
better go inside