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The other day, Judge Swigart's manager, Anthony Cobbens, was swaggering around the barn down here, talking with some of the men about his horses and dogs, and poking a little fun at me on the side. Such things have their effect. I heard one of the men say afterward that Cobbens was as friendly with them as if he were n't rich at all.
"Something had to be done," Cobbens observed modestly, "to maintain the dignity of the city." The moment was epic in its possibilities, to two of the men present. Cobbens might interpret an expression of approval on her part as a sign that she forgave him for humiliating her protégé and had outgrown her fancy, but to Leigh such an expression would mean infinitely more.
It was the triumph of personality over art. The ugly memories of the recent scene faded away; local struggles were forgotten; Emmet and Cobbens receded equally into the background, and only the country's glory and interests filled the minds of the listeners.
The silence of expectancy that had fallen upon the house was pierced by a low hissing sound, for Anthony Cobbens had risen to his feet and advanced to the footlights to make the speech of introduction. As the malignant greeting reached his ears, his face paled and his fingers tightened on the rim of the silk hat which he held awkwardly in the bend of his arm.
He had a vision of that sanctum into which Cobbens could buy his way with his wife's money, and he realised that this was not the first glimpse he had had of a quality in the woman he loved that was not all sweetness. "I feel like one who has interfered in a family quarrel," he returned, good-naturedly.
Emmet's most bitter strictures upon Cobbens and his kind were justified by this incident, and he imagined the mayor's sensations when he found himself out-generalled and humiliated. What would Felicity have felt, had she been present to witness the scene?
She had something to say of the captain who had helped him in his effort, and at many a point in their talk the congeniality of their minds became evident. "You know how Emmet feels about the college, and about colleges in general?" he asked. She nodded understandingly. "Unfortunately," he continued, "St. George's Hall is personified for him in Anthony Cobbens.
Perhaps, had he seen the dapper Cobbens and the lethargic Parr escorting the unsuspicious President to the carriage, and Emmet's expression as he found himself shoved into the third place in the procession, he might have appreciated his companion's sense of the ridiculous. But it was the inward struggle, not the outward aspect, that stirred his emotions.
Now she's dead, and so are her parents, and Cobbens and his mother live in her great house and ride in her carriages. He 's a high roller, right in with the judge and his crew, and there is n't a more corrupt politician in this town. There 's a fine specimen of your college graduate!" "I hope you don't regard him as a typical college graduate," Leigh protested good-naturedly.
The perfection of each thing is worth observing. These local politicians are fools compared with the President, mere blundering tyros in the hands of a master of the craft." His eyes began to gleam with merriment. "And, by the way, that was a noble effort of Mr. Cobbens, 'apples of gold in pitchers of silver." His soliloquy lasted unbroken until they reached the street.
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