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Updated: June 22, 2025
And there was that story of the De Willoughbys of Delisleville handsome, aristocratic lot, among the biggest bugs in the State the fine old Judge with his thousands of acres lying uncultivated, and he paying his taxes on them through sheer patriarchal pleasure in being a big landowner. For years the Government had benefited by his tax-paying, while he had gained nothing.
When Tom spoke of Barnesville and Judge Rutherford, or Rupert of Delisleville and Matt, their conversation was guided in such manner that business details of the claim were part of what was said. It was Tom who realised this first and spoke of it. "We are talking of our own business as if it was the one subject on earth," he said. "That's the worst of people with a claim.
But Lord, he'll be at it himself in ten years from now. It's in the blood." "Who's that you're talking of?" asked Tom from his end of the table. He had not recovered his colour yet and looked pale as he put the question. "Colonel De Willoughby of Delisleville," answered Mr. Sparkes. "Any kin o' your'n? Name's sorter like. He jest left here this evenin' with his boy an' nigger.
Stamps had said to his friends at the Cross-roads at the time Big Tom had first appeared among them. It was Mr. Stamps who had astutely suggested that the stranger was possibly "kin" to the Delisleville family, and in his discreet pursuit of knowledge he had made divers discoveries.
A band of coloured gentlemen, whose ardour concealed any slight musical discrepancies, assisted the festivities, which to quote the Oriflamme of the next morning "the wealth, beauty, and chivalry of Delisleville combined to render unequalled in their gaiety and elegance, making the evening one of the most successful of the piquant occasions
Ten years later the whole aspect of the place was changing, but at this time it was passing through a period of natural fatigue and poverty, and was not an inspiring spectacle to penniless new-comers. "It reminds me a little of Delisleville, after all," said Rupert.
Tom asked. "I don't know," impetuously; "but I knew I must come to you. It seems a million years ago since that hot morning in the old garden at Delisleville when I had never seen her." "One of the things I have thought about a good deal," said Tom, with quite a practical manner, "has been love.
He put his arm about Sheba and kept his hand on Rupert's shoulder, and walked so, with one on either side, to the house. Between their youthful slimness he moved like a protecting giant. "Where did you come from?" he asked when they sat down. "From Delisleville," Rupert answered. "I did not think of coming here so late to-night, but it seems I must have missed my road.
Delisleville had never been a practical place, and now its day seemed utterly over. Its gentlemanly pretence at business had received blows too heavy to recover from until times had lapsed; in some of the streets tiny tufts of grass began to show themselves between the stones. As he had walked back in the heat, Rupert had observed these tiny tufts of green with a new sense of their meaning.
"Senator Milner, sah," he said, "Doctah Williams Atkinson of Delisleville has had de kindness to say he do me de favior to come yeah, sah, to tes'ify, sah " The large hat was removed by its owner with a fine sweep. "The old fellow thinks I can do his people a service, Senator," explained Dr. Atkinson.
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