A Gentleman Vagabond and Some Others by F. Hopkinson Smith

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A GENTLEMAN VAGABOND
AND SOME OTHERS

BY

F. HOPKINSON SMITH

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

1895

_INTRODUCTORY NOTE_

_There are gentlemen vagabonds and vagabond gentlemen. Here and there one
finds a vagabond pure and simple, and once in a lifetime one meets a
gentleman simple and pure._

_Without premeditated intent or mental bias, I have unconsciously to
myself selected some one of these several types,--entangling them in the
threads of the stories between these covers._

_Each of my readers can group them to suit his own experience._

F.H.S. NEW YORK, 150 E. 34TH ST.

CONTENTS

PAGE
A GENTLEMAN VAGABOND 1
A KNIGHT OF THE LEGION OF HONOR 36
JOHN SANDERS, LABORER 67
BAeADER 82
THE LADY OF LUCERNE 102
JONATHAN 126
ALONG THE BRONX 141
ANOTHER DOG 147
BROCKWAY'S HULK 160

A GENTLEMAN VAGABOND

I

I found the major standing in front of Delmonico's, interviewing a large,
bare-headed personage in brown cloth spotted with brass buttons. The major
was in search of his very particular friend, Mr. John Hardy of Madison
Square, and the personage in brown and brass was rather languidly
indicating, by a limp and indecisive forefinger, a route through a section
of the city which, correctly followed, would have landed the major in the
East River.

I knew him by the peculiar slant of his slouch hat, the rosy glow of his
face, and the way in which his trousers clung to the curves of his
well-developed legs, and ended in a sprawl that half covered his shoes. I
recognized, too, a carpet-bag, a ninety-nine-cent affair, an "occasion,"
with galvanized iron clasps and paper-leather sides,--the kind opened with
your thumb.

The major--or, to be more definite, Major Tom Slocomb of Pocomoke--was
from one of the lower counties of the Chesapeake. He was supposed to own,
as a gift from his dead wife, all that remained unmortgaged of a vast
colonial estate on Crab Island in the bay, consisting of several thousand
acres of land and water,--mostly water,--a manor house, once painted
white, and a number of outbuildings in various stages of dilapidation and
decay.

In his early penniless life he had migrated from his more northern native
State, settled in the county, and, shortly after his arrival, had married
the relict of the late lamented Major John Talbot of Pocomoke. This had
been greatly to the surprise of many eminent Pocomokians, who boasted of
the purity and antiquity of the Talbot blood, and who could not look on in
silence, and see it degraded and diluted by an alliance with a "harf
strainer or worse." As one possible Talbot heir put it, "a picayune,
low-down corncracker, suh, without blood or breedin'."

The objections were well taken. So far as the ancestry of the Slocomb
family was concerned, it was a trifle indefinite. It really could not be
traced back farther than the day of the major's arrival at Pocomoke,
notwithstanding the major's several claims that his ancestors came over
in the Mayflower, that his grandfather fought with General Washington, and
that his own early life had been spent on the James River. These
statements, to thoughtful Pocomokians, seemed so conflicting and
improbable, that his neighbors and acquaintances ascribed them either to
that total disregard for salient facts which characterized the major's
speech, or to the vagaries of that rich and vivid imagination which had
made his conquest of the widow so easy and complete.

Gradually, however, through the influence of his wife, and because of his
own unruffled good-humor, the antipathy had worn away. As years sped on,
no one, except the proudest and loftiest Pocomokian, would have cared to
trace the Slocomb blood farther back than its graft upon the Talbot tree.
Neither would the major. In fact, the brief honeymoon of five years left
so profound an impression upon his after life, that, to use his own words,
his birth and marriage had occurred at the identical moment,--he had never
lived until then.

There was no question in the minds of his neighbors as to whether the
major maintained his new social position on Crab Island with more than
ordinary liberality. Like all new vigorous grafts on an old stock, he not
only blossomed out with extraordinary richness, but sucked the sap of the
primeval family tree quite dry in the process. In fact, it was universally
admitted that could the constant drain of his hospitality have been
brought clearly to the attention of the original proprietor of the estate,
its draft-power would have raised that distinguished military gentleman
out of his grave. "My dear friends," Major Slocomb would say, when, after
his wife's death, some new extravagance was commented upon, "I felt I owed
the additional slight expenditure to the memory of that queen among women,
suh--Major Talbot's widow."

He had espoused, too, with all the ardor of the new settler, the several
articles of political faith of his neighbors,--loyalty to the State,
belief in the justice and humanity of slavery and the omnipotent rights of
man,--white, of course,--and he had, strange to say, fallen into the
peculiar pronunciation of his Southern friends, dropping his final _g_'s,
and slurring his _r_'s, thus acquiring that soft cadence of speech which
makes their dialect so delicious.

As to his title of "Major," no one in or out of the county could tell
where it originated. He had belonged to no company of militia, neither
had he won his laurels on either side during the war; nor yet had the
shifting politics of his State ever honored him with a staff appointment
of like grade. When pressed, he would tell you confidentially that he had
really inherited the title from his wife, whose first husband, as was well
known, had earned and borne that military distinction; adding tenderly,
that she had been so long accustomed to the honor that he had continued it
after her death simply out of respect to her memory.

But the major was still interviewing Delmonico's flunky, oblivious of
everything but the purpose in view, when I touched his shoulder, and
extended my hand.

"God bless me! Not you? Well, by gravy! Here, now, colonel, you can tell
me where Jack Hardy lives. I've been for half an hour walkin' round this
garden lookin' for him. I lost the letter with the number in it, so I came
over here to Delmonico's--Jack dines here often, I know, 'cause he told me
so. I was at his quarters once myself, but 't was in the night. I am
completely bamboozled. Left home yesterday--brought up a couple of
thoroughbred dogs that the owner wouldn't trust with anybody but me, and
then, too, I wanted to see Jack."

I am not a colonel, of course, but promotions are easy with the major.

"Certainly; Jack lives right opposite. Give me your bag."

He refused, and rattled on, upbraiding me for not coming down to Crab
Island last spring with the "boys" when the ducks were flying, punctuating
his remarks here and there with his delight at seeing me looking so well,
his joy at being near enough to Jack to shake the dear fellow by the hand,
and the inexpressible ecstasy of being once more in New York, the centre
of fashion and wealth, "with mo' comfo't to the square inch than any other
spot on this terrestrial ball."

The "boys" referred to were members of a certain "Ducking Club" situated
within rifle-shot of the major's house on the island, of which club Jack
Hardy was president. They all delighted in the major's society, really
loving him for many qualities known only to his intimates.

Hardy, I knew, was not at home. This, however, never prevented his colored
servant, Jefferson, from being always ready at a moment's notice to
welcome the unexpected friend. In another instant I had rung Hardy's
bell,--third on right,--and Jefferson, in faultless evening attire, was
carrying the major's "carpet-bag" to the suite of apartments on the third
floor front.

Jefferson needs a word of comment. Although born and bred a slave, he is
the product of a newer and higher civilization. There is hardly a trace of
the old South left in him,--hardly a mark of the pit of slavery from which
he was digged. His speech is as faultless as his dress. He is clean,
close-shaven, immaculate, well-groomed, silent,--reminding me always of a
mahogany-colored Greek professor, even to his eye-glasses. He keeps his
rooms in admirable order, and his household accounts with absolute
accuracy; never spilled a drop of claret, mixed a warm cocktail, or served
a cold plate in his life; is devoted to Hardy, and so punctiliously polite
to his master's friends and guests that it is a pleasure to have him serve
you.

Strange to say, this punctilious politeness had never extended to the
major, and since an occurrence connected with this very bag, to be related
shortly, it had ceased altogether. Whether it was that Jefferson had
always seen through the peculiar varnish that made bright the major's
veneer, or whether in an unguarded moment, on a previous visit, the major
gave way to some such outburst as he would have inflicted upon the
domestics of his own establishment, forgetting for the time the superior
position to which Jefferson's breeding and education entitled him, I
cannot say, but certain it is that while to all outward appearances
Jefferson served the major with every indication of attention and
humility, I could see under it all a quiet reserve which marked the line
of unqualified disapproval. This was evident even in the way he carried
the major's bag,--holding it out by the straps, not as became the handling
of a receptacle containing a gentleman's wardrobe, but by the neck, so to
speak,--as a dog to be dropped in the gutter.

It was this bag, or rather its contents, or to be more exact its lack of
contents, that dulled the fine edge of Jefferson's politeness. He unpacked
it, of course, with the same perfunctory care that he would have bestowed
on the contents of a Bond Street Gladstone, indulging in a prolonged
chuckle when he found no trace of a most important part of a gentleman's
wardrobe,--none of any pattern. It was, therefore, with a certain grim
humor that, when he showed the major to his room the night of his
arrival, he led gradually up to a question which the unpacking a few hours
before had rendered inevitable.

"Mr. Hardy's orders are that I should inform every gentleman when he
retires that there's plenty of whiskey and cigars on the sideboard, and
that"--here Jefferson glanced at the bag--"and that if any gentleman came
unprepared there was a night shirt and a pair of pajams in the closet."

"I never wore one of 'em in my life, Jefferson; but you can put the
whiskey and the cigars on the chair by my bed, in case I wake in the
night."

When Jefferson, in answer to my inquiries as to how the major had passed
the night, related this incident to me the following morning, I could
detect, under all his deference and respect toward his master's guest, a
certain manner and air plainly implying that, so far as the major and
himself were concerned, every other but the most diplomatic of relations
had been suspended.

The major, by this time, was in full possession of my friend's home. The
only change in his dress was in the appearance of his shoes, polished by
Jefferson to a point verging on patent leather, and the adoption of a
black alpaca coat, which, although it wrinkled at the seams with a
certain home-made air, still fitted his fat shoulders very well. To this
were added a fresh shirt and collar, a white tie, nankeen vest, and the
same tight-fitting, splay-footed trousers, enriched by a crease of
Jefferson's own making.

As he lay sprawled out on Hardy's divan, with his round, rosy,
clean-shaven face, good-humored mouth, and white teeth, the whole
enlivened by a pair of twinkling eyes, you forgot for the moment that he
was not really the sole owner of the establishment. Further intercourse
thoroughly convinced you of a similar lapse of memory on the major's part.

"My dear colonel, let me welcome you to my New York home!" he exclaimed,
without rising from the divan. "Draw up a chair; have a mouthful of mocha?
Jefferson makes it delicious. Or shall I call him to broil another
po'ter-house steak? No? Then let me ring for some cigars," and he touched
the bell.

To lie on a divan, reach out one arm, and, with the expenditure of less
energy than would open a match-box, to press a button summoning an
attendant with all the unlimited comforts of life,--juleps, cigars,
coffee, cocktails, morning papers, fans, matches out of arm's reach,
everything that soul could covet and heart long for; to see all these
several commodities and luxuries develop, take shape, and materialize
while he lay flat on his back,--this to the major was civilization.

"But, colonel, befo' you sit down, fling yo' eye over that garden in the
square. Nature in her springtime, suh!"

I agreed with the major, and was about to take in the view over the
treetops, when he tucked another cushion under his head, elongated his
left leg until it reached the window-sill, thus completely monopolizing
it,-and continued without drawing a breath:--

"And I am so comfo'table here. I had a po'ter-house steak this
mornin'--you're sure you won't have one?" I shook my head. "A po'ter-house
steak, suh, that'll haunt my memory for days. We, of co'se, have at home
every variety of fish, plenty of soft-shell crabs, and 'casionally a
canvasback, when Hardy or some of my friends are lucky enough to hit one,
but no meat that is wo'th the cookin'. By the bye, I've come to take Jack
home with me; the early strawberries are in their prime, now. You will
join us, of course?"

Before I could reply, Jefferson entered the room, laid a tray of cigars
and cigarettes with a small silver alcohol lamp at my elbow, and, with a
certain inquiring and, I thought, slightly surprised glance at the major's
sprawling attitude, noiselessly withdrew. The major must have caught the
expression on Jefferson's face, for he dropped his telescope leg, and
straightened up his back, with the sudden awkward movement of a similarly
placed lounger surprised by a lady in a hotel parlor. The episode seemed
to knock the enthusiasm out of him, for after a moment he exclaimed in
rather a subdued tone:--

"Rather remarkable nigger, this servant of Jack's. I s'pose it is the
influence of yo' New York ways, but I am not accustomed to his kind."

I began to defend Jefferson, but he raised both hands in protest.

"Yes, I know--education and thirty dollars a month. All very fine, but
give me the old house-servants of the South--the old Anthonys, and
Keziahs, and Rachels. They never went about rigged up like a stick of
black sealing-wax in a suit of black co't-plaster. They were easy-goin'
and comfortable. Yo' interest was their interest; they bore yo' name,
looked after yo' children, and could look after yo' house, too. Now see
this nigger of Jack's; he's better dressed than I am, tips round as solemn
on his toes as a marsh-crane, and yet I'll bet a dollar he's as slick and
cold-hearted as a high-water clam. That's what education has done for
_him_.

"You never knew Anthony, my old butler? Well, I want to tell you, he _was_
a servant, as _was_ a servant. During Mrs. Slocomb's life"--here the major
assumed a reminiscent air, pinching his fat chin with his thumb and
forefinger--"we had, of co'se, a lot of niggers; but this man Anthony! By
gravy! when he filled yo' glass with some of the old madeira that had
rusted away in my cellar for half a century,"--here the major now slipped
his thumb into the armhole of his vest,--"it tasted like the nectar of the
gods, just from the way Anthony poured it out.

"But you ought to have seen him move round the table when dinner was over!
He'd draw himself up like a drum-major, and throw back the mahogany doors
for the ladies to retire, with an air that was captivatin'." The major was
now on his feet--his reminiscent mood was one of his best. "That's been a
good many years ago, colonel, but I can see him now just as plain as if he
stood before me, with his white cotton gloves, white vest, and green coat
with brass buttons, standin' behind Mrs. Slocomb's chair. I can see the
old sidebo'd, suh, covered with George III. silver, heirlooms of a
century,"--this with a trance-like movement of his hand across his eyes.
"I can see the great Italian marble mantels suppo'ted on lions' heads, the
inlaid floor and wainscotin'."--Here the major sank upon the divan again,
shutting both eyes reverently, as if these memories of the past were a
sort of religion with him.

"And the way those niggers loved us! And the many holes they helped us out
of. Sit down there, and let me tell you what Anthony did for me once." I
obeyed cheerfully. "Some years ago I received a telegram from a very
intimate friend of mine, a distinguished Baltimorean,--the Nestor of the
Maryland bar, suh,--informin' me that he was on his way South, and that he
would make my house his home on the followin' night." The major's eyes
were still shut. He had passed out of his reverential mood, but the effort
to be absolutely exact demanded concentration.

"I immediately called up Anthony, and told him that Judge Spofford of the
Supreme Co't of Maryland would arrive the next day, and that I wanted the
best dinner that could be served in the county, and the best bottle of
wine in my cellar." The facts having been correctly stated, the major
assumed his normal facial expression and opened his eyes.

"What I'm tellin' you occurred after the war, remember, when putty near
everybody down our way was busted. Most of our niggers had run away,--all
'cept our old house-servants, who never forgot our family pride and our
noble struggle to keep up appearances. Well, suh, when Spofford arrived
Anthony carried his bag to his room, and when dinner was announced, if it
_was_ my own table, I must say that it cert'ly did fa'rly groan with the
delicacies of the season. After the crabs had been taken off,--we were
alone, Mrs. Slocomb havin' gone to Baltimo',--I said to the judge: 'Yo'
Honor, I am now about to delight yo' palate with the very best bottle of
old madeira that ever passed yo' lips. A wine that will warm yo' heart,
and unbutton the top button of yo' vest. It is part of a special
importation presented to Mrs. Slocomb's father by the captain of one of
his ships.--Anthony, go down into the wine-cellar, the inner cellar,
Anthony, and bring me a bottle of that old madeira of '37--stop, Anthony;
make it '39. I think, judge, it is a little dryer.' Well, Anthony bowed,
and left the room, and in a few moments he came back, set a lighted candle
on the mantel, and, leanin' over my chair, said in a loud whisper: 'De
cellar am locked, suh, and I'm 'feard Mis' Slocomb dun tuk de key.'

"'Well, s'pose she has,' I said; 'put yo' knee against it, and fo'ce the
do'.' I knew my man, suh. Anthony never moved a muscle.

"Here the judge called out, 'Why, major, I couldn't think of'--

"'Now, yo' Honor,' said I, 'please don't say a word. This is my affair.
The lock is not of the slightest consequence.'

"In a few minutes back comes Anthony, solemn as an owl. 'Major,' said he,
'I done did all I c'u'd, an' dere ain't no way 'cept breakin' down de do'.
Las' time I done dat, Mis' Slocomb neber forgib me fer a week.'

"The judge jumped up. 'Major, I won't have you breakin' yo' locks and
annoyin' Mrs. Slocomb.'

"'Yo' Honor,' I said, 'please take yo' seat. I'm d----d if you shan't
taste that wine, if I have to blow out the cellar walls.'

"'I tell you, major,' replied the judge in a very emphatic tone and with
some slight anger I thought, 'I ought not to drink yo' high-flavored
madeira; my doctor told me only last week I must stop that kind of thing.
If yo' servant will go upstairs and get a bottle of whiskey out of my bag,
it's just what I ought to drink.'

"Now I want to tell you, colonel, that at that time I hadn't had a bottle
of any kind of wine in my cellar for five years." Here the major closed
one eye, and laid his forefinger against his nose.

"'Of co'se, yo' Honor,' I said, 'when you put it on a matter of yo' health
I am helpless; that paralyzes my hospitality; I have not a word to say.
Anthony, go upstairs and get the bottle.' And we drank the judge's
whiskey! Now see the devotion and loyalty of that old negro servant, see
his shrewdness! Do you think this marsh-crane of Jack's"--

Here Jefferson threw open the door, ushering in half a dozen gentlemen,
and among them the rightful host, just returned after a week's
absence,--cutting off the major's outburst, and producing another equally
explosive:--

"Why, Jack!"

Before the two men grasp hands I must, in all justice to the major, say
that he not only had a sincere admiration for Jack's surroundings, but
also for Jack himself, and that while he had not the slightest
compunction in sharing or, for that matter, monopolizing his hospitality,
he would have been equally generous in return had it been possible for him
to revive the old days, and to afford a menage equally lavish.

It is needless for me to make a like statement for Jack. One half the
major's age, trained to practical business life from boyhood, frank,
spontaneous, every inch a man, kindly natured, and, for one so young, a
deep student, of men as well as of books, it was not to be wondered at
that not only the major but that every one else who knew him loved him.
The major really interested him enormously. He represented a type which
was new to him, and which it delighted him to study. The major's
heartiness, his magnificent disregard for _meum_ and _tuum_, his unique
and picturesque mendacity, his grandiloquent manners at times, studied, as
he knew, from some example of the old regime, whom he either consciously
or unconsciously imitated, his peculiar devotion to the memory of his late
wife,--all appealed to Jack's sense of humor, and to his enjoyment of
anything out of the common. Under all this he saw, too, away down in the
major's heart, beneath these several layers, a substratum of true
kindness and tenderness.

This kindness, I know, pleased Jack best of all.

So when the major sprang up in delight, calling out, "Why, Jack!" it was
with very genuine, although quite opposite individual, sympathies, that
the two men shook hands. It was beautiful, too, to see the major welcome
Jack to his own apartments, dragging up the most comfortable chair in the
room, forcing him into it, and tucking a cushion under his head, or
ringing up Jefferson every few moments for some new luxury. These he would
catch away from that perfectly trained servant's tray, serving them
himself, rattling on all the time as to how sorry he was that he did not
know the exact hour at which Jack would arrive, that he might have had
breakfast on the table--how hot had it been on the road--how well he was
looking, etc.

It was specially interesting, besides, after the proper introductions had
been made, to note the way in which Jack's friends, inoculated with the
contagion of the major's mood, and carried away by his breezy, buoyant
enthusiasm, encouraged the major to flow on, interjecting little asides
about his horses and farm stock, agreeing to a man that the two-year old
colt--a pure creation on the moment of the major--would certainly beat the
record and make the major's fortune, and inquiring with great solicitude
whether the major felt quite sure that the addition to the stables which
he contemplated would be large enough to accommodate his stud, with other
similar inquiries which, while indefinite and tentative, were, so to
speak, but flies thrown out on the stream of talk,--the major rising
continuously, seizing the bait, and rushing headlong over sunken rocks and
through tangled weeds of the improbable in a way that would have done
credit to a Munchausen of older date. As for Jack, he let him run on. One
plank in the platform of his hospitality was to give every guest a free
rein.

Before the men separated for the day, the major had invited each
individual person to make Crab Island his home for the balance of his
life, regretting that no woman now graced his table since Mrs. Slocomb's
death,--"Major Talbot's widow--Major John Talbot of Pocomoke, suh," this
impressively and with sudden gravity of tone,--placing his stables, his
cellar, and his servants at their disposal, and arranging for everybody
to meet everybody else the following day in Baltimore, the major starting
that night, and Jack and his friends the next day. The whole party would
then take passage on board one of the Chesapeake Bay boats, arriving off
Crab Island at daylight the succeeding morning.

This was said with a spring and joyousness of manner, and a certain
quickness of movement, that would surprise those unfamiliar with some of
the peculiarities of Widow Talbot's second husband. For with that true
spirit of vagabondage which saturated him, next to the exquisite luxury of
lying sprawled on a lounge with a noiseless servant attached to the other
end of an electric wire, nothing delighted the major so much as an outing,
and no member of any such junketing party, be it said, was more popular
every hour of the journey. He could be host, servant, cook, chambermaid,
errand-boy, and _grand seigneur_ again in the same hour, adapting himself
to every emergency that arose. His good-humor was perennial, unceasing,
one constant flow, and never checked. He took care of the dogs, unpacked
the bags, laid out everybody's linen, saw that the sheets were dry,
received all callers so that the boys might sleep in the afternoon, did
all the disagreeable and uncomfortable things himself, and let everybody
else have all the fun. He did all this unconsciously, graciously, and
simply because he could not help it. When the outing ended, you parted
from him with all the regret that you would from some chum of your college
days. As for him, he never wanted it to end. There was no office, nor law
case, nor sick patient, nor ugly partner, nor complication of any kind,
commercial, social, or professional, which could affect the major. For him
life was one prolonged drift: so long as the last man remained he could
stay. When he left, if there was enough in the larder to last over, the
major always made another day of it.

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