The Way of a Man | Page 7

horse-riding parson speaking in a Virginia pulpit where only the gospel
was known, and that from exponents worth the name?
"You are from Washington?" I said at length.
He nodded.
"The country is going into deep water one way or the other," said I.
"Virginia is going to divide on slavery. It is not for me, nor for any of
us, to hasten that time. Trouble will come fast enough without our
help."
"I infer you did not wholly approve of my little effort the other evening.
I was simply looking at the matter from a logical standpoint. It is
perfectly clear that the old world must have cotton, that the Southern
States must supply that cotton, and that slavery alone makes cotton
possible for the world. It is a question of geography rather than of
politics; yet your Northern men make it a question of politics. Your
Congress is full of rotten tariff legislation, which will make a few of
your Northern men rich--and which will bring on this war quite as
much as anything the South may do. Moreover, this tariff disgusts
England, very naturally. Where will England side when the break
comes? And what will be the result when the South, plus England,
fights these tariff makers over here? I have no doubt that you, sir, know
the complexion of all these neighborhood families in these matters. I
should be most happy if you could find it possible for me to meet your
father and his neighbors, for in truth I am interested in these matters,
merely as a student. And I have heard much of the kindness of this
country toward strangers."
It was not our way in Virginia to allow persons of any breeding to put

up at public taverns. We took them to our homes. I have seen a hundred
horses around my father's barns during the Quarterly Meetings of the
Society of Friends. Perhaps we did not scrutinize all our guests
over-closely, but that was the way of the place. I had no hesitation in
saying to Mr. Orme that we should be glad to entertain him at Cowles'
Farms. He was just beginning to thank me for this when we were
suddenly interrupted.
We were sitting some paces from the room where landlord Sanderson
kept his bar, so that we heard only occasionally the sound of loud talk
which came through the windows. But now came footsteps and
confused words in voices, one of which I seemed to know. There
staggered through the door a friend of mine, Harry Singleton, a young
planter of our neighborhood, who had not taken my father's advice, but
continued to divide his favor between farming, hunting and drinking.
He stood there leaning against the wall, his face more flushed than one
likes to see a friend's face before midday.
"Hullo, ol' fel," he croaked at me. "Hurrah for C'fedrate States of
America!"
"Very well," I said to him, "suppose we do hurrah for the Confederate
States of America. But let us wait until there is such a thing."
He glowered at me. "Also," he said, solemnly, "Hurrah for Miss Grace
Sheraton, the pretties' girl in whole C'federate States America!"
"Harry," I cried, "stop! You're drunk, man. Come on, I'll take you
home."
He waved at me an uncertain hand. "Go 'way, slight man!" he muttered.
"Grace Sheraton pretties' girl in whole C'federate States America."
According to our creed it was not permissible for a gentleman, drunk or
sober, to mention a lady's name in a place like that. I rose and put my
hand across Harry's mouth, unwilling that a stranger should hear a girl's
name mentioned in the place. No doubt I should have done quite as
much for any girl of our country whose name came up in that way. But

to my surprise Harry Singleton was just sufficiently intoxicated to
resent the act of his best friend. With no word of warning he drew back
his hand and struck me in the face with all his force, the blow making a
smart crack which brought all the others running from within. Still, I
reflected, that this was not the act of Harry Singleton, but only that of a
drunken man who to-morrow would not remember what had been done.
"That will be quite enough, Harry," said I. "Come, now, I'll take you
home. Sanderson, go get his horse or wagon, or whatever brought him
here."
"Not home!" cried Harry. "First inflict punishment on you for denyin'
Miss Gracie Sheraton pretties' girl whole C'fedrate States America.
Girls like John Cowles too much! Must mash John Cowles! Must mash
John Cowles sake of Gracie Sheraton, pretties' girl in whole wide
worl'!"
He came toward me as best he might, his hands clenched. I caught him
by the