The Trumpeter Swan | Page 9

smiled to a friend or two as the Judge stopped for a moment in the
crush of motors.

George Dalton was on the porch. When he saw Becky he leaned
forward for a good look at her.
"Some girl," he said to Waterman, as the surrey moved on, "the one in
the sailor hat. Who is she?"
Oscar Waterman was a newcomer in Albemarle. He had bought a
thousand acres, with an idea of grafting on to Southern environment his
own ideas of luxurious living. The county families had not called, but
he was not yet aware of his social isolation. He was rich, and most of
the county families were poor--from his point of view the odds were in
his favor--and it was never hard to get guests. He could always motor
up to Washington and New York, and bring a crowd back with him.
His cellars were well stocked, and his hospitality undiscriminating.
"I don't know the girl," he told Dalton, "but the old man is Judge
Bannister. He's one of the natives--no money and oodles of pride."
In calling Judge Bannister a "native," Oscar showed a lack of
proportion. A native, in the sense that he used the word, is a South Sea
Islander, indigenous but negligible. Oscar was fooled, you see, by the
Judge's old-fashioned clothes, and the high surrey, and the horses with
the flowing tails. His ideas of life had to do with motor cars and
mansions, and with everybody very much dressed up. He felt that the
only thing in the world that really counted was money. If you had
enough of it the world was yours!
II
Year after year the Bannisters of Huntersfield had eaten their Horse
Show luncheon under a clump of old oaks beneath which the horses
now stopped. The big trees were dropping golden leaves in the dryness.
From the rise of the hill one looked down on the grandstand and the
crowd as from the seats of an amphitheater.
Judge Bannister remembered when the women of the crowd had worn
hoops and waterfalls. Aunt Claudia's memory went back to bustles and
bonnets. There were deeper memories, too, than of clothes--of old

friends and young faces--there was always a moment of pensive
retrospect when the Bannisters stopped under the old oak on the hill.
Randolph Paine, his mother and Major Prime were to join them at
luncheon. Separate plans had been made by the boarders who had
packed themselves into various cars and carriages, and had their own
boxes and baskets.
"Caroline Paine is always late," the Judge said with some impatience;
"if we don't eat on time, we shall have to hurry. I have never hurried in
my life and I don't want to begin now."
Claudia Beaufort was accustomed to impatience in men, and she was
inflexible as a hostess. "Well, of course, we couldn't begin without
them, could we?" she asked. "There they come now, Father. William,
you'd better help Major Prime."
Randy was driving the fat mare, Rosalind. Nellie Custis, Randolph's
wiry hound, loped along with flapping ears in the rear of the low-seated
carriage. Major Prime was on the back seat with Mrs. Paine.
"My dear Judge," he said, as the old gentleman came to the side of the
carriage, "I can't tell you how honored I am to be included in your party.
This is about the best thing that has happened to me in a long time."
"I wanted you to get the old atmosphere. You can't get it at the Country
Club. We Bannisters have lunched up here for sixty years--older than
you are, eh?"
"Twenty years----"
"We used to call it the races, but now they tack on the Horse Show. It
was different, of course, when all the old places were owned by the old
families. But they can't change the oaks and the sweep of the hills, and
the mettle of the horses, thank God."
"I am sorry I was late," said Caroline Paine, as they settled themselves
under the trees, "but I went to town to have my hair waved."

"I wish you wouldn't, Caroline," Mrs. Beaufort told her, "your hair is
nice enough without it."
Caroline Paine took off her hat. "I couldn't get it up to look like this,
could I?"
The Judge surveyed the undulations critically. "Caroline," he said, "you
are too pretty to need it."
"I want to keep young for Randolph's sake," Mrs. Paine told him, "then
he'll like me better than any other girl."
"You needn't think you have to get your hair curled to make me love
you," said her tall son; "you are ducky enough as you are."
Major Prime, delighting in their lack of self-consciousness, made a
diplomatic contribution. "Why quarrel with such a charming coiffure?"
Mrs. Paine smiled at