“And he is a real estate agent!” reflected Croyden. “The man who, according to our way of thinking, is the acme of hustle and bustle and business, and schemes to trap the unwary. Truly, the Eastern Shore has much to learn – or we have much to unlearn! Well, I have tried the one – and failed. Now, I’m going to try the other. It seems to promise a quiet life, at least.”
He turned, to find Moses in the doorway, waiting.
“Marster Croyden,” he said, “shall I puts yo satchel an’ things in de Cun’l’s room, seh?”
Croyden nodded. He did not know which was the Colonel’s room, but it was likely to be the best in the house, and, moreover, it was well to follow him wherever he could.
“And see that my luggage is taken there, when the man brings it,” he directed – “and tell Josephine to have luncheon at one and dinner at seven.”
The darky hesitated.
“De Cun’l hed dinner in de middle o’ de day, seh,” he said, as though Croyden had inadvertently erred.
And Croyden appreciating the situation, answered:
“Well, you see, Moses, I’ve been used to the other way and I reckon you will have to change to suit me.”
“Yass, seh! yass, seh! I tell Jose. Lunch is de same as supper, I s’pose, seh?”
Croyden had to think a moment.
“Yes,” he said, “that will answer – like a light supper.”
“There may be an objection, after all, to taking over Colonel Duval’s old servants,” he reflected. “It may be difficult to persuade them that he is no longer the master. I run the chance of being ruled by a dead man.”
Presently his luggage arrived, and he went upstairs to unpack. Moses looked, in wonder, at the wardrobe trunk, with every suit on a separate hanger, the drawers for shirts and linen, the apartments for hats, and collars, and neckties, and the shoes standing neatly in a row below.
“Whar’s de use atak’in de things out t’al, Marster Croyden!” he exclaimed.
“So as to put the trunk away.”
“Sho’! I mo’nt a kno’d hit. Hit’s mons’us strange, seh, whar yo mon’t a’ kno’d ef yo’d only stop to t’ink. F’ instance, I mon’t a kno’d yo’d cum back to Clarendon, seh, some day, cuz yo spends yo money on hit. Heh!”
Then a bell tinkled softly from below.
“Dyar’s dinner – I means lunch, seh,” said Moses. “’Scuse me, seh.”
“And I’m ready for it,” said Croyden, as he went to the iron wash-stand, and then slowly down stairs to the dining-room.
From some place, Moses had resurrected a white coat, yellow with its ten years’ rest, and was waiting to receive him. He drew out Croyden’s chair, as only a family servant of the olden times can do it, and bowed him into his place.
The table was set exactly as in Colonel Duval’s day, and very prettily set, Croyden thought, with napery spotless, and china that was thin and fine. The latter, if he had but known it, was Lowestoft and had served the Duvals, on that very table, for much more than a hundred years.
There was cold ham, and cold chicken, lettuce with mayonnaise, deviled eggs, preserves, with hot corn bread and tea. When Croyden had about finished a leisurely meal, it suddenly occurred to him that however completely stocked Clarendon was with things of the Past, they did not apply to the larder, and these victuals were undoubtedly fresh and particularly good.
“By the way! Moses,” he said, “I’m glad you were thoughtful enough to send out and purchase these things,” with an indicating motion to the table. “They are very satisfactory.”
“Pu’chase!” said the darky, in surprise. “Dese things not pu’chased. No, seh! Dey’s borro’d, seh, from Majah Bo’den’s, yass, seh!”
“Good God!” Croyden exclaimed. “You don’t mean you borrowed my luncheon!”
“Yass, seh! Why not, seh? Jose jes’ went ovah an’ sez to Cassie – she’s de cook, at de Majah’s, seh – sez she, Marster Croyden don’ cum and warns some’n to eat. An’ she got hit, yass, seh!”
“Is it the usual thing, here, to borrow an entire meal from the neighbor’s?” asked Croyden.
“Sut’n’y, seh! We borrows anything we needs from the neighbors, an’ they does de same wid us.”
“Well, I don’t want any borrowing by us, Moses, please remember,” said Croyden, emphatically. “The neighbors can borrow anything we have, and welcome, but we won’t claim the favor from them, you understand?”
“Yass, seh!” said the old darky, wonderingly.
Such a situation as one kitchen not borrowing from another was incomprehensible. It had been done by the servants from time immemorial – and, though Croyden might forbid, yet Josephine would continue to do it, just the same – only, less openly.
“And see that everything is returned not later than to-morrow,” Croyden continued.
“Yass, seh! I tote’s dem back dis minut, seh! – ”
“What?”
“Dese things, heah, whar yo didn’ eat, seh – ”
“Do you mean – Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Croyden.
“Never mind, Moses. I will return them another way. Just forget it.”
“Sut’n’y, seh,” returned the darky. “Dat’s what I wuz gwine do in de fust place.”
Croyden laughed. It was pretty hopeless, he saw. The ways they had, were the ways that would hold them. He might protest, and order otherwise, until doomsday, but it would not avail. For them, it was sufficient if Colonel Duval permitted it, or if it were the custom.
“I think I shall let the servants manage me,” he thought. “They know the ways, down here, and, besides, it’s the line of least resistance.”
He went into the library, and, settling himself in a comfortable chair, lit a cigarette… It was the world turned upside down. Less than twenty-four hours ago it was money and madness, bankruptcy and divorce courts, the automobile pace – the devil’s own. Now, it was quiet and gentility, easy-living and refinement. Had he been in Hampton a little longer, he would have added: gossip and tittle-tattle, small-mindedness and silly vanity.
He smoked cigarette after cigarette and dreamed. He wondered what Elaine Cavendish had done last evening – if she had dined at the Club-house, and what gown she had worn, if she had played golf in the afternoon, or tennis, and with whom; he wondered what she would do this evening – wondered if she thought of him more than casually. He shook it off for a moment. Then he wondered again: who had his old quarters at the Heights? He knew a number who would be jumping for them – who had his old table for breakfast? it, too, would be eagerly sought – who would take his place on the tennis and the golf teams? – what Macloud was doing? Fine chap was Macloud! the only man in Northumberland he would trust, the only man in Northumberland, likely, who would care a rap whether he came back or whether he didn’t, or who would ever give him a second thought. He wondered if Gaspard, his particular waiter, missed him? yes, he would miss the tips, at least;