Hot-Foot Hannibal

واضح آرشیو وب فارسی:فان پاتوق: "I hate you and despise you! I wish never to see you or speak to you again!"
"Very well; I will take care that henceforth you have no opportunity to do either."
These words—the first in the passionately vibrant tones of my sister-in-law, and the latter in the deeper and more restrained accents of an angry man—startled me from my nap. I had been dozing in my hammock on the front piazza, behind the honeysuckle vine. I had been faintly aware of a buzz of conversation in the parlor, but had not at all awakened to its import until these sentences fell, or, I might rather say, were hurled upon my ear. I presume the young people had either not seen me lying there,—the Venetian blinds opening from the parlor windows upon the piazza were partly closed on account of the heat,—or else in their excitement they had forgotten my proximity.
I felt somewhat concerned. The young man, I had remarked, was proud, firm, jealous of the point of honor, and, from my observation of him, quite likely to resent to the bitter end what he deemed a slight or an injustice. The girl, I knew, was quite as high-spirited as young Murchison. I feared she was not so just, and hoped she would prove more yielding. I knew that her affections were strong and enduring, but that her temperament was capricious, and her sunniest moods easily overcast by some small cloud of jealousy or pique. I had never imagined, however, that she was capable of such intensity as was revealed by these few words of hers. As I say, I felt concerned. I had learned to like Malcolm Murchison, and had heartily consented to his marriage with my ward; for it was in that capacity that I had stood for a year or two to my wife"s younger sister, Mabel. The match thus rudely broken off had promised to be another link binding me to the kindly Southern people among whom I had not long before taken up my residence.
Young Murchison came out of the door, cleared the piazza in two strides without seeming aware of my presence, and went off down the lane at a furious pace. A few moments later Mabel began playing the piano loudly, with a touch that indicated anger and pride and independence and a dash of exultation, as though she were really glad that she had driven away forever the young man whom the day before she had loved with all the ardor of a first passion.
I hoped that time might heal the breach and bring the two young people together again. I told my wife what I had overheard. In return she gave me Mabel"s version of the affair.
"I do not see how it can ever be settled," my wife said. "It is something more than a mere lovers" quarrel. It began, it is true, because she found fault with him for going to church with that hateful Branson girl. But before it ended there were things said that no woman of any spirit could stand. I am afraid it is all over between them."
I was sorry to hear this. In spite of the very firm attitude taken by my wife and her sister, I still hoped that the quarrel would be made up within a day or two. Nevertheless, when a week had passed with no word from young Murchison, and with no sign of relenting on Mabel"s part, I began to think myself mistaken.
One pleasant afternoon, about ten days after the rupture, old Julius drove the rockaway up to the piazza, and my wife, Mabel, and I took our seats for a drive to a neighbor"s vineyard, over on the Lumberton plank-road.
"Which way shall we go," I asked,—"the short road or the long one?"
"I guess we had better take the short road," answered my wife. "We will get there sooner."
"It"s a mighty fine dribe roun" by de big road, Mis" Annie," observed Julius, "en it doan take much longer to git dere."
"No," said my wife, "I think we will go by the short road. There is a bay-tree in blossom near the mineral spring, and I wish to get some of the flowers."
"I "spec"s you "d fin" some bay-trees "long de big road, ma"m," suggested Julius.
"But I know about the flowers on the short road, and they are the ones I want."
We drove down the lane to the highway, and soon struck into the short road leading past the mineral spring. Our route lay partly through a swamp, and on each side the dark, umbrageous foliage, unbroken by any clearing, lent to the road solemnity, and to the air a refreshing coolness. About half a mile from the house, and about half-way to the mineral spring, we stopped at the tree of which my wife had spoken, and reaching up to the low-hanging boughs, I gathered a dozen of the fragrant white flowers. When I resumed my seat in the rockaway, Julius started the mare. She went on for a few rods, until we had reached the edge of a branch crossing the road, when she stopped short.
"Why did you stop, Julius?" I asked.
"I did n", suh," he replied. ""T wuz de mare stop". G" "long dere, Lucy! Wat you mean by dis foolis"ness?"
Julius jerked the reins and applied the whip lightly, but the mare did not stir.
"Perhaps you had better get down and lead her," I suggested. "If you get her started, you can cross on the log and keep your feet dry."
Julius alighted, took hold of the bridle, and vainly essayed to make the mare move. She planted her feet with even more evident obstinacy.
"I don"t know what to make of this," I said. "I have never known her to balk before. Have you, Julius?"
"No, suh," replied the old man, "I neber has. It"s a cu"ous thing ter me, suh."
"What"s the best way to make her go?"
"I "spec"s, suh, dat ef I"d tu"n her "roun", she"d go de udder way."
"But we want her to go this way."
"Well, suh, I "low ef we des set heah fo" er fibe minutes, she"ll sta"t up by herse"f."
"All right," I rejoined; "it is cooler here than any place I have struck today. We"ll let her stand for a while, and see what she does

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