The Four Pools Mystery | Page 4

worship.
I knew that Colonel Gaylord, now an old man, was living alone with
Radnor, who I understood had grown into a fine young fellow, all that
his brother had promised. My only remembrance of the Colonel was of
a tall dark man who wore riding boots and carried a heavy trainer's
whip, and of whom I was very much afraid. My only remembrance of
Rad was of a pretty little chap of four, eternally in mischief. It was with
a mingled feeling of eagerness and regret that I looked forward to the
visit--eagerness to see again the scenes which were so pleasantly
associated with my boyhood, and regret that I must renew my
memories under such sadly changed conditions.
As I stepped from the train, a tall broad-shouldered young man of
twenty-three or thereabouts, came forward to meet me. I should have
recognized him for Radnor anywhere, so striking was his resemblance
to the brother I had known. He wore a loose flannel shirt and a
broad-brimmed felt hat cocked on one side, and he looked so exactly
the typical Southern man of the stage that I almost laughed as I greeted
him. His welcome was frank and cordial and I liked him from the first.
He asked after my health with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Nervous
prostration evidently struck him as humorously as it did Terry. Lest I

resent his apparent lack of sympathy however, he added, with a hearty
whack on my shoulder, that I had come to the right place to get cured.
A drive over sweet smelling country roads behind blooded horses was a
new experience to me, fresh from city streets and the rumble of
elevated trains. I leaned back with a sigh of content, feeling already as
if I had got my boyhood back again.
Radnor enlivened the three miles with stories of the houses we passed
and the people who lived in them, and to my law-abiding Northern ears,
the recital indubitably smacked of the South. This old gentleman--so
Rad called him--had kept an illicit still in his cellar for fifteen years,
and it had not been discovered until after his death (of delirium
tremens). The young lady who lived in that house--one of the belles of
the county--had eloped with the best man on the night before the
wedding and the rightful groom had shot himself. The one who lived
here had eloped with her father's overseer, and had rowed across the
river in the only available boat, leaving her outraged parent on the
opposite bank.
I finally burst out laughing.
"Does everyone in the South run away to get married? Don't you ever
have any legitimate weddings with cake and rice and old shoes?" As I
spoke I remembered Nannie and wondered if I had touched on a
delicate subject.
But Radnor returned my laugh.
"We do have a good many elopements," he acknowledged. "Maybe
there are more cruel parents in the South." Then he suddenly sobered.
"I suppose you remember Nan?" he inquired with an air of hesitation.
"A little," I assented.
"Poor girl!" he said. "I'm afraid she had a pretty tough time. You'd best
not mention her to the old gentleman--or Jeff either."

"Does the Colonel still feel hard toward them?"
Radnor frowned slightly.
"He doesn't forgive," he returned.
"What was the trouble with Jeff?" I ventured. "I have never heard any
particulars."
"He and my father didn't agree. I don't remember very much about it
myself; I was only thirteen when it happened. But I know there was the
devil of a row."
"Do you know where he is?" I asked.
Radnor shook his head.
"I sent him some money once or twice, but my father found it out and
shut down on my bank account. I've lost track of him lately--he isn't in
need of money though. The last I heard he was running a gambling
place in Seattle."
"It's a great pity!" I sighed. "He was a fine chap when I knew him."
Radnor echoed my sigh but he did not choose to follow up the subject,
and we passed the rest of the way in silence until we turned into the
lane that led to Four-Pools. After the manner of many Southern places
the house was situated well toward the middle of the large plantation,
and entirely out of sight from the road. The private lane which led to it
was bordered by a hawthorn hedge, and wound for half a mile or so
between pastures and flowering peach orchards. I delightedly breathed
in the fresh spring odors, wondering meanwhile how it was that I had
let that happy Virginia summer of my boyhood slip so entirely from my
mind.
As we rounded a clump of willow trees we came in sight of