The Man in Gray - Jr. Thomas Dixon

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your things for the best price you can get and I'll loan you the balance of the money you'll need."

      "Will you, sir?" the woman gasped.

      "I ain't got no security for ye, Colonel—" Doyle protested.

      "You are my friend and neighbor, Mr. Doyle. You're in distress. You don't need security. I'll take your note, sir, without endorsement."

      "Glory to God!" the mother cried with face uplifted in a prayer of thanksgiving.

      Doyle couldn't speak for a moment. He looked out over the roadway and got control of his feelings before trying. There was a lump in his throat which made his speech thick when at last he managed to grasp Lee's hand.

      "I dunno how to thank you, sir."

      "It will be all right, Mr. Doyle. Look after the sale of your things and

       I'll find out the best way for you to get there and let you know."

      He mounted his horse and rode away into the fading sunset as they watched him through dimmed eyes.

       Table of Contents

      Lee had promised Edmund Ruffin his answer early in the week. Ruffin had just ridden up the hill and dismounted.

      Mrs. Marshall, the Colonel's sister, on a visit from Baltimore, fled at his approach.

      "Excuse me, Mary," she cried to Mrs. Lee. "I just can't stand these ranting fire-eating politicians. They make me ill. I'll go to my room."

      She hurried up the stairway and left the frail mistress of the house to meet her formidable guest.

      Ruffin was the product of the fierce Abolition Crusade. Hot-tempered, impulsive, intemperate in his emotions and their expression, he was the perfect counterpart of the men who were working night and day in the North to create a condition of mob feeling out of which a civil conflict might grow. Uncle Tom's Cabin had set him on fire with new hatreds. His vocabulary of profanity had been enlarged by the addition of every name in the novel. He had been compelled to invent new expressions to fit these characters. He damned them individually and collectively. He cursed each trait of each character, good and bad. He cursed the good points with equal unction and equal emphasis. In fact the good traits in Mrs. Stowe's people seemed to carry him to greater heights of wrath and profanity than the bad ones. He dissected each part of each character's anatomy, damned each part, put the parts together and damned the collection. And then he damned the whole story, characters, plot and scenes to the lowest pit and cursed the devil for not building a lower one to which he might consign it. And in a final burst of passion he always ended by damning himself for his utter inability to express anything which he really felt.

      With all his ugly language, which he reserved for conversation with men, he was the soul of consideration for a woman. Mrs. Lee had no fear of any rude expression from his lips. She didn't like him because she felt in his personality the touch of mob insanity which the Slavery question had kindled. She dreaded this appeal to blind instinct and belief. With a woman's intuition she felt the tragic possibility of such leadership North and South.

      She saw his leonine head and shaggy hair silhouetted against the red glow of the west with a shiver at its symbolism, but met him with the cordial greeting which every Southern woman gave instinctively to the friend of her husband.

      "Come in, Mr. Ruffin," she welcomed.

      He bowed over her hand and spoke in the soft drawl of the Southern planter.

      "Thank you, Madame. I'm greatly honored in having you greet me at the door."

      "Colonel Lee is expecting you."

      The planter drew himself up with a touch of pride and importance.

      "Yes'm. I sent him word I would be here at three. I was detained in Washington. But I succeeded in convincing the editor of The Daily Globe that my mission was one of grave importance. I not only desire to wish Colonel Lee God-speed on his journey to West Point and congratulate him on the honor conferred on Virginia by his appointment to the command of our Cadets—but—"

      He paused, smiled and glanced toward the portico, as if he were holding back an important secret.

      Mrs. Lee hastened to put him at his ease.

      "You can trust my discretion in any little surprise you may have for the

       Colonel."

      Ruffin bowed.

      "I'm sure I can, Madame. I'm sure I can."

      He dropped his voice.

      "You know perhaps that I sent him a few days ago a scurrilous attack on the South by a Yankee woman—a new novel?"

      "He received it."

      "Has he read it?"

      "Carefully. He has read it twice."

      "Good!"

      The planter breathed deeply, squared his shoulders and paced the floor with a single quick turn. He stopped before Mrs. Lee and spoke in sharp emphasis.

      "I'm going to spring a little surprise on the public, Madame! A sensation that will startle the country, and God knows we need a little shaking just now—"

      He paused and whispered.

      "I'm so sure of what the Colonel will say that I've brought a reporter from the Washington Daily Globe with me—"

      Mrs. Lee lifted her hand in dismay.

      "He is here?"

      "He is seated on the lawn just outside, Madame," Ruffin hastened to reassure her. "I thought at the last moment I'd better have him wait until I received Colonel Lee's consent to the interview."

      "I'm glad you did."

      "Oh, it will be all right, I assure you!"

      "He might not wish to see a reporter—"

      "So I told the young man."

      "I'm afraid—"

      "I'll pave the way, Madame. I'll pave the way. Colonel Lee and I are life-long friends. Will you kindly announce me?"

      "The Colonel has just ridden up to the stables to give some orders about his horses. He'll be here in a moment."

      Lee stepped briskly into the room and extended his hand.

      "It's you, Ruffin. My apologies. I was called out to see a neighbor. I should have been here to receive you."

      "No apologies, Colonel, Mrs. Lee has been most gracious."

      The mistress of the house smiled.

      "Make yourself at home, Mr. Ruffin. I shall hope to see you at dinner."

      Ruffin stood respectfully until Mrs. Lee had disappeared.

      "Pray be seated," Lee invited.

      Ruffin seated himself on the couch and watched his host keenly.

      Lee took a cigar from the mantel and offered it.

      "A cigar, Ruffin?"

      "Thanks."

      "Now make yourself entirely at home, my good friend."

      The planter lighted the cigar, blew a long cloud of smoke and settled in his seat.

      "I'm glad to learn from Mrs. Lee that you have read the book I sent you—the Abolitionist firebrand."

      "Yes."

      Lee quietly walked to the mantel and got the volume.

      "I have it here."

      He turned the leaves thoughtfully.

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