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A striped awning led from the curb up to a spreading gray stone house, from inside which issued the low drummy whine of expensive jazz. He recognized the Howard Tate house. "Sure," he said emphatically; "'at's it! Tate's party to-night. Sure, everybody's goin'." "Say," said the individual anxiously after another look at the awning, "you sure these people ain't gonna romp on me for comin' here?"
News of the capture of Davis and Stephens had fired these men with desire to overhaul the great champion of secession. A Federal major, commanding a force of men, put up at Tate's residence, just opposite the hermit's island. While there, a negro from the LeSeur place informed the officer that some prominent man was at the house. "If it ain't Jeff Davis, it is just as big a man," said he.
I've often heard my mother say a smart woman had a hard time in life." "I wonder why Miss Gibbie did not marry." Mrs. Burnham was looking at Mrs. Moon. "If she had so many beaux it is strange she did not marry." "Now who on earth could think of Miss Gibbie Gault being married!" The cushion dropped from the top of Mrs. Tate's head and she stooped to pick it up.
A critic who found "no nice discriminations of character in Macbeth," and defended Tate's "happy family" ending of Lear, was not unnaturally dismissed or ignored by those who had sat at the feet of Coleridge or Lamb. There is still one other thing which told against him. No one influenced the course of English literature in the nineteenth century so much as Wordsworth.
It seemed that he had set about his task without delay, and if London were still unmindful of its sins, the fault was not to lie at Mr Tate's door. How did they differ from their betters, unless it were that their price was not so high, and in what, save audacity, were they behind Eleanor Gwyn?
Then followed a dispute as to who was guardian of young Bokenham, and of whom Tate's land was held, and who was the true heir. A pleasant little brief there for a rising barrister to hold. A complication of much the same kind arose at Croxton.
"If readers can swallow so many proprietary automobiles," I said to myself, "they ought not to strain at one of Tate's Compound Magic Chuchula Bronchial Lozenges." And so if you see this story in print you will understand that business is business, and that if Art gets very far ahead of Commerce, she will have to get up and hustle.
Hoche himself expected this even in Tate's case; but experience proved the expectation to be baseless.
There were others as famous in their way the Zinkand, where, at one time, every one went after the theatre, and Tate's, which has lately bitten into that trade; the Palace Grill, much like the grills of Eastern hotels, except for the price; Delmonico's, which ran the Poodle Dog neck and neck to its own line; and many others, humbler but great at the price. Listen!
This ain't no time and place maybe, but Tate's going to have his senses onter any job that takes his possessions for granted. Give me that flannel boot." "Tate I can't." "Can't, hey?" "Well then" and the declaration of independence rang out "I won't!" "What!" Brown Betty leaped under the lash. "It don't belong to me." "Do you know who owns it?" "I can guess." "Guess then, by thunder!"
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