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Updated: May 9, 2025
"I thought you meant that," she said under her breath. "It is not drunken Sam Fetridge that loves you. I have culture, intelligence, energy. I am a better man at bottom than Dave Cabarreux, and one nearer akin to yourself." "I love him: I do not love you." She said it mechanically, her eyes fixed on his with a frightened, curious look of recognition.
But what's the difference?" he continued after waiting a moment to allow the sensation produced by his words to subside. "This man Boyer, they tell me, has not been heard of for years. He didn't even turn up in the war. Undoubtedly, he's dead." Major Fetridge sank back against the pump with a drunken chuckle: "Dave Cabarreux thinks that he's dead, hey?
I was just saying to Fetridge hyar, 'What is there that fellow hasn't got?" "What's the matter? what have I got?" said Cabarreux. "The major here hes heerd about that fellow Boyer. He's dead." "Is this true?" turning to Fetridge. The major did not answer. "Of course it's true," said the squire. "Sam has the letter in his pocket. Show it to him, Fetridge."
The major's red head and lean little legs moved unsteadily over the square. "Sam Fetridge hes hed enough a'ready," said the squire. "He'll follow the jedge, and that hot foot, ef he don't pull up. D'ye think Dave Cabarreux will come in for all the Scroope proputty, doc?" "I don't know. I don't know," pulling his beard meditatively. "It'll be left in a lump: that much the jedge told me himself.
For God's sake, don't take the chance from me!" "Major Fetridge," she said resolutely, but with a strange quaver in her voice, "I love David Cabarreux. I never can marry you. If there is anything else that I can do " "No, there is nothing you can do," he cried vehemently. "It would have been better you had thought me a drunken brute like the others, and had not recognized me.
"My father is not at home, Major Fetridge: I am sorry," said Isabel, offering him a chair. But he remained standing, leaning airily against a pillar, looking down at her. "I am not sorry, Miss Calhoun. It was you that I came to see," he said pointedly. A nervous smile showed his teeth; his pale blue eyes shone: the little man was, she saw, aflame with some secret exultation as with wine.
It was a pity, they thought, that she had no beauty there was always a lamentation on that point when she was gone and the men agreed that she lacked flesh; but Major Fetridge, who had known something of the world outside of Sevier in his day, used to follow her far off to watch her clear, sparkling face. However drunk he might be, it sobered him.
He went with a swagger, as though he walked on air, down the street. Two days later young Cabarreux, sauntering leisurely, as usual, across the square, met the squire and Sam Fetridge coming out of Grayson's office. Both men were greatly excited, but Sam was silent, while the squire talked volubly. He grasped Dave by the hand: "Cabarreux, I congratulate you! You are a lucky dog!
The poor sot was in earnest more in earnest, it seemed to her, even than Cabarreux had been when he had told her that he loved her to-day. "Miss Calhoun, do you remember one day three or four years ago, when I was knocked down in a drunken fight at Sevier, and lay like a beast on the roadside?" "Major Fetridge " "Hush! I must tell you: I never spoke to you about it before. You passed by.
Why, Fetridge, you're old enough to be her father, you moon-calf!" Sam stiffened his shaky body into a drunken dignity: "Squire, you can talk of me as you choose: every scrag-end of humanity kin take liberties with my name now, and does it. But the pump is no place to mention that lady, nor any lady, sir." "No, it's not: that's a fact, Sam. I beg her pardon.
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