Kennedy Square | Page 5

on the mantel, and a tray
holding an old-fashioned squat decanter and the necessary glasses--in
fact, all the comforts possible and necessary for a man who having at
twenty-five given up all hope of wedded life, found himself at fifty

becoming accustomed to its loss.
St. George seized the nearest dog by the collar, cuffed him into
obedience as an example to the others, ordered the four to the hearth
rug, ran his eye along the mantel to see what letters had arrived in his
absence, and disappeared into his bedroom. From thence he emerged
half an hour later attired in the costume of the day--a jaunty brown
velveteen jacket, loose red scarf, speckled white waistcoat--single-
breasted and of his own pattern and cut--dove-gray trousers, and white
gaiters. No town clothes for St. George as long as his measure was in
London and his friends were good enough to bring him a trunk full
every year or two. "Well-cut garments may not make a gentleman," he
would often say to the youngsters about him, "but slip-shod clothes can
spoil one."
He had drawn up to the table now, Todd in white jacket hovering about
him, bringing relays of waffles, hot coffee, and more particularly the
first of a series of great scallop-shells filled with oysters which he had
placed on the well-brushed hearth to keep hot while his master was
dressing.
Fifty he was by the almanac, and by the old family Bible as well, and
yet he did not look it. Six feet and an inch; straight, ruddy-checked,
broad-shouldered, well-rounded, but with his waist measure still under
control; slightly gray at the temples, with clean-shaven face, laughing
eyes, white teeth, and finely moulded nose, brow, and chin, he was
everything his friends claimed--the perfect embodiment of all that was
best in his class and station, and of all that his blood had bequeathed
him.
And fine old fellows they were if we can believe the historians of the
seventeenth century: "Wearing the falchion and the rapier, the cloth
coat lined with plush and embroidered belt, the gold hat-band and the
feathers, silk stockings and garters, besides signet rings and other
jewels; wainscoting the walls of their principal rooms in black oak and
loading their sideboards with a deal of rich and massive silver plate
upon which was carved the arms of their ancestors;--drinking, too,
strong punch and sack from 'silver sack-cups'--(sack being their

favorite)--and feasting upon oysters and the most delicious of all the
ducks of the world."
And in none of their other distinguishing qualities was their descendant
lacking. In the very lift of his head and brace of his shoulders; in the
grace and ease with which be crossed the room, one could see at a
glance something of the dash and often the repose of the cavalier from
whom he had sprung. And the sympathy, kindness, and courtesy of the
man that showed in every glance of his eye and every movement of his
body--despite his occasional explosive temper--a sympathy that drifted
in to an ungovernable impulse to divide everything he owned into two
parts, and his own half into two once more if the other fellow needed it;
a kindness that made every man his friend, and a courtesy which, even
in a time when men lifted their hats to men, as well as to women, had
gained for him, the town over, the soubriquet of "Gentleman George";
while to every young girl and youth under twenty he was just "dear
Uncle George"--the one man in all Kennedy Square who held their
secrets.
But to our breakfast once more. All four dogs were on their feet now,
their tails wagging expectantly, their noses at each of his knees, where
they were regaled at regular intervals with choice bits from his plate,
the snapping of their solemn jaws expressing their thanks. A second
scallop-shell was next lifted from the hearth with the tongs, and
deposited sizzling hot on a plate beside the master, the aroma of the
oysters filling the room. These having disappeared, as had the former
one, together with the waffles and coffee, and the master's appetite
being now on the wane, general conversation became possible.
"Did Mr. Rutter look ill, Todd?" he continued, picking up the thread of
the talk where he had left it. "He wasn't very well when I left."
"No, sah,--neber see him look better. Been up a li'l' late I
reckon,--Marse Harry mos' gen'ally is a li'l' mite late, sah--" Todd
chuckled. "But dat ain't nuthin' to dese gemmans. But he sho' do wanter
see ye. Maybe he stayed all night at Mister Seymour's. If he did an' he
yered de rumpus dese rapscallions kicked up--yes--dat's you I'm talkin'
to"--and he looked toward the dogs--"he'll be roun' yere 'fo' ye gits