The Gentleman from Indiana | Page 8

to
whisper: "I never thought to see the day you'd have a rival in my
affections. Miss Seliny, but yonder looks like it. I reckon I'll have to go
up to Ben Tinkle's and buy that fancy vest he's had in stock this last
twelve year or more. Will you take me back when she's left the city
again; Miss Seliny?" he drawled. "I expect, maybe, Miss Sherwood is
one of these here summer girls. I've heard of 'em but I never see one
before. You better take warning and watch me--Fisbee won't have no
clear field from now on."
The stranger leaned across to speak to Miss Briscoe and her sleeve
touched the left shoulder of the old man with the patriarchal white
beard. A moment later he put his right hand to that shoulder and gently
moved it up and down with a caressing motion over the shabby black
broadcloth her garment had touched.
"Look at that old Fisbee!" exclaimed Mr. Martin, affecting indignation.
"Never be 'n half as spruced up and wide awake in all his life. He's
prob'ly got her to listen to him on the decorations of Nineveh--it's my
belief he was there when it was destroyed. Well, if I can't cut him out
we'll get our respected young friend of the 'Herald' to do it."
"Sh!" returned Miss Tibbs. "Here he is."
The seats upon the platform were all occupied, except the two foremost
ones in the centre (one on each side of a little table with a lamp, a
pitcher of ice-water, and a glass) reserved for the lecturer and the

gentleman who was to introduce him. Steps were audible in the hall,
and every one turned to watch the door, where the distinguished pair
now made their appearance in a hush of expectation over which the
beating of the fans alone prevailed. The Hon. Kedge Halloway was one
of the gleaners of the flesh-pots, himself, and he marched into the room
unostentatiously mopping his shining expanse of brow with a figured
handkerchief. He was a person of solemn appearance; a fat gold
watch-chain which curved across his ponderous front, adding
mysteriously to his gravity. At his side strolled a very tall, thin, rather
stooping--though broad-shouldered-- rather shabby young man with a
sallow, melancholy face and deep-set eyes that looked tired. When they
were seated, the orator looked over his audience slowly and with an
incomparable calm; then, as is always done, he and the melancholy
young man exchanged whispers for a few moments. After this there
was a pause, at the end of which the latter rose and announced that it
was his pleasure and his privilege to introduce, that evening, a
gentleman who needed no introduction to that assemblage. What
citizen of Carlow needed an introduction, asked the speaker, to the
orator they had applauded in the campaigns of the last twenty years, the
statesman author of the Halloway Bill, the most honored citizen of the
neighboring and flourishing county and city of Amo? And, the speaker
would say, that if there were one thing the citizens of Carlow could be
held to envy the citizens of Amo, it was the Honorable Kedge
Halloway, the thinker, to whose widely-known paper they were about
to have the pleasure and improvement of listening.
The introduction was so vehemently applauded that, had there been
present a person connected with the theatrical profession, he might
have been nervous for fear the introducer had prepared no encore.
"Kedge is too smart to take it all to himself," commented Mr. Martin.
"He knows it's half account of the man that said it."
He was not mistaken. Mr. Halloway had learned a certain
perceptiveness on the stump. Resting one hand upon his unfolded notes
upon the table, he turned toward the melancholy young man (who had
subsided into the small of his back in his chair) and, after clearing his
throat, observed with sudden vehemence that he must thank his gifted

friend for his flattering remarks, but that when he said that Carlow
envied Amo a Halloway, it must be replied that Amo grudged no glory
to her sister county of Carlow, but, if Amo could find envy in her heart
it would be because Carlow possessed a paper so sterling, so upright, so
brilliant, so enterprising as the "Carlow County Herald," and a
journalist so talented, so gifted, so energetic, so fearless, as its editor.
The gentleman referred to showed very faint appreciation of these
ringing compliments. There was a lamp on the table beside him, against
which, to the view of Miss Sherwood of Rouen, his face was
silhouetted, and very rarely had it been her lot to see a man look less
enthusiastic under public and favorable comment of himself. She
wondered if he, also, remembered the