The Hearts Kingdom | Page 5

to
"nap the steam cars outen my bones."
I fell asleep with the continued strains of "Drink to me only" in my ears,
and wondering if I ought to put it down as insult added to injury, and I
awoke several hours later to find Letitia Cockrell, one of the dear
friends whom many generations had bestowed upon me, sitting on the
foot of my bed consuming the last of the box of marrons with which
Nickols had provisioned my journey down from New York. I was glad
I had tucked the note that came in the box under my pillow the night
before. I trust Letitia and she is entirely sophisticated, but she has never
had a lover who lives in Greenwich Village, New York, America.
"Is this the open season for two-day hangovers, in New York?" she
demanded as she sniffed me suspiciously at the same time she dimpled
and smiled at me.
"No, this is not a metropolitan hangover. It was acquired at breakfast,
Letitia," I answered her as I sat up and stretched out my bare arms to

give her a good shake and a hug. "'You may break, you may shatter the
glass if you will, but the scent of the julep will hang 'round you still,'" I
misquoted as I drew my knees up into my embrace and took the last
remaining marron.
"Why, Mammy said Mr. Goodloe had breakfast with you. Did you
sneak it from the judge's pitcher?" demanded Letitia, as she likewise
drew her knees up into her arms and settled herself against one of the
posts of my bed for the many hours' résumé of our individual
existences in which we always indulged upon being reunited after
separation.
"I did not," I answered. "I drank it before his eyes, and then I don't
remember what happened and I don't care."
"What?"
"Just that. I never have been drunk because I never could drink enough.
I've always felt that there isn't enough liquid in the world to faze me,
and I don't like it anyway, but Dabney was so impressed by His
Worship that he poured it double for me before I had had breakfast. I
hope I staggered or swore but I don't think I did. The Reverend
Goodloe can tell you better than I. Ask him."
"Gregory Goodloe? Oh, Charlotte!"
"That's the point I was coming to, Letitia: Just who is this Reverend
Goodloe that I shouldn't drink a quart of mint julep before him if I want
to? I had well over a pint of champagne with a Mr. Justice two nights
before I left New York and I stopped then out of courtesy to one of the
generals whom we expect to defend us from the Kaiser. Who is your
Gregory Goodloe? Tell we all about him, unexpurgated and unafraid."
"Didn't you know about him--and the chapel before you came?" Letitia
queried cautiously, as if fearing the explosion she felt was sure to
result.
"I did not," I answered. "I met him and his chapel and the mint julep all

in the same five minutes, and is it any wonder I went down? Go on.
Tell me the worst or the best. I'm ready." And as I spoke I settled my
pillows comfortably, getting a little thrill from the crumpled letter
underneath the bottom one.
CHAPTER II
THE HARPETH JAGUAR
"It is beautifully romantic, but I don't know what we are going to do
about it," answered Letitia with genuine trouble, puckering her brow
under one of her smooth waves of seal-brown hair. Letitia is one of the
wonderful variety of women who patch out life, piece by piece, in a
beautiful symmetrical pattern and who do not have imagination enough
to admire anything about a riotous crazy quilt. She is in love with
Clifton Gray, has been since she wound her brown braids about her
head, and is piecing strips of him into her life-fabric by the very sanest
love--courtship--marriage design.
"We just can't go on as we have been doing lately," she continued. "We
all decided that you would know what to do about him, and would do it
when you came home. We suspected Judge Powers hadn't written you
all the facts when you didn't come and the building went on up. You
will be able to do something about him, won't you?"
"I think it is likely," I answered, with the brittle sugar in my voice that
Letitia only half knows the flavor of. "But don't try to sketch things,
Letitia. Begin at the beginning and go straight to the end; I'll pick up
the pieces."
"Well, of course you remember the Bishop Goodloe romance, don't
you?" asked Letitia, hopeful that she could get a small start ahead on
her chronicle.
"I don't remember anything