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"Well, let's go over to the parsonage and tell Goodloe all about it," father suggested, and the other men followed him out into the garden path that led through the Eden of my foremothers straight into that little Methodist chapel. Only Nickols remained with me upon the wide high vine-shadowed porch.
"The picture is almost perfect," I said, and glanced at Miss Goodloe. "Virginia, dear " prompted Mrs. Dillon. "As a thou I always strive to please," drawled that blue-eyed young person. Oh, that I had been warned by her words! Our purring flight to Louisville, when the day was done, became a triumph that mocked the dead Caesars. Of this the old negro on the front seat missed little.
Goodloe left her. "I goes over to the little house the clerk points out, 'n' knocks. A right fat nigger woman, with her sleeves rolled up, comes to the door. "'What you want? she says. "'I want to see Miss Goodloe, I says. "'You cyant see her. She ain' seein' nobody, says the nigger woman, 'n' starts to shut the door. "'Wait a minute, aunty," I says.
Goodloe, as he picked up, one of those rosy apples from the box Jacob keeps out on the sidewalk to blind the Last Chance. "'I knows when to run and not be caught, Jacob answered, as he put another apple in the parson's pocket and went back into the grocery door." "Do you ever see Martha?" I asked with a kind of impatience.
I demanded of her, goaded to the last point of endurance. "The dedication services of the chapel will be next Sunday. Come, bring Nickols and your father, and let the Town and Settlement see your respect for Mr. Goodloe and for his church," she demanded, as she rose to go, with patient defeat but a lingering hope in her voice and manner. "Endorse something that means nothing to me?"
'Can you tell me if they have sold the mare, Mary Goodloe, yet? she says to me when the nigger woman's gone. "'Yes'm, she was sold, I says. "She flinches like I'd hit her 'n' I see her chin begin to quiver, but she bites her lip 'n' I looks off down the road to give her a chance. Pretty soon she's back fur more. I'm feelin' like a hound. "'Do you know who bought her? she says.
"I wait till they lead the colt out in front of the stand, 'n' put the floral horseshoe round his neck, then I takes Miss Goodloe down to shake hands with the jock. "'How do you like him? she says to the jock. "'Well, ma'am, he says, 'I've ridden all the good ones, but he's the best hoss I ever has under me! "'What's the record fur this race? I yells across the track to the timer.
I had never drunk a julep before breakfast in my life, only tasted around the frosty edges of father's, but I held my ground, and held out my glass to Dabney, who falteringly, almost in terror, took the frosted silver pitcher from the sideboard and poured me an unusually large draft of the family beverage. "Will you have yours now, Mr. Goodloe?"
It's all just a substitute for love, dear. Mother Spurlock fell back on it when she lost her husband. The little Burns woman wouldn't have it any more than Nell has if Mike Burns was like Mark Morgan. And Goodloe would lose it in a week if if he could get you in his arms." As Nickols spoke, his arms about me trembled and strained me to him. "No!" I exclaimed as if I had heard blasphemy uttered.
"'Fifty! says some one else. "'Hole on dah, sings out the ole nigger. 'I'se just 'bliged to tell you folks I'se pu'chasin' dis hyar mare fo' Miss Sally Goodloe! "The auctioneer looks at the guy who bids fifty. "'I withdraw that bid, says the guy. "'Sold to you for twenty dollars, Uncle Jake, says the auctioneer. 'Bring on number twelve!
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