National Avenue Booth Tarkington (best e reader for academics .txt) š
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- Author: Booth Tarkington
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Mrs. Savageās gray picket fence joined the white picket fence of the overshadowed white cottage and her house was a good sample of foursquare severity, built of brick and painted gray, with two noble old walnut trees in front, one on each side of the brick walk that led from the gate to the small veranda. Here she had lived during little less than half a century;ā āthat is to say, ever since her house had been called āthe finest residence in the city,ā when her husband built it in the decade before the Civil War. Here, too, she āpreferred to die,ā as she said brusquely when her daughter wished her to come and live at the Oliphantsā, after Mr. Savageās death. She was still āfully able to keep houseā for herself, she added, and expected to do so until Smith and Lieven came for her; Smith and Lieven being the undertakers who had conducted all the funerals in her family.
But at ninety-two it is impossible to withhold all concessions; even a lady whose pioneer father whipped her when she was fifteen must bend a little; and although Mrs. Savage still declined to sit in a comfortable chair, she took a daily nap in the afternoon. She had just risen and descended to her parlour, and settled herself by the large front window, when the two young people, coming along the sidewalk, reached the north end of her picket fence.
She did not recognize them at first; for, although her eyes āheld out,ā as she said, they held out not quite well enough for her to see faces except as ivory or pinkish blurs, unless they were close to her. However, the two figures interested her; and because of their slow approach and something intimate in the way they seemed to be communing, she guessed that they might be lovers. To her surprise, they halted at her gate, but, instead of coming in, continued their conversation there for several moments. Then, though they appeared loath to separate, each took both of the otherās hands for a moment, in an impulsive gesture distinctly expressive of emotion, and the womanās figure went down the street, walking hurriedly, while the manās came in at the gate and approached the front door. Mrs. Savage recognized her grandson, but no slightest change in her expression or attitude marked the moment of recognition.
Upon the sound of the bell, the old coloured man who had been her servant for thirty years came softly through the hall, but instead of opening the door to the visitor he presented himself before his mistress in the parlour. He was a thin old man of the darkest brown, neat and erect, with a patient expression, a beautifully considerate manner, and a tremulous tenor voice. In addition, his given name was both romantic and religious: Nimbus.
āYou like to receive callers, Miz Savage?ā he inquired. āDoorbell ring.ā
āI heard it,ā the old lady informed him somewhat crisply. āHave you any reason to suppose I canāt hear my own doorbell?ā
āNoām.ā
āThen why did you see fit to mention that it rang?ā
āI donā know, ām. You hear good as what I do, Miz Savage,ā he returned apologetically. āI dess happen say she ring. Mean nothinā āt all. You like me bring āem in or say aināt home, please?ā
āItās my grandson, Dan.ā
āYesām,ā said Nimbus, turning to the door; āI go git him.ā
He went out into the broad hall and opened the door to the thoughtful young man waiting there, who shook hands with him and greeted him warmly; whereupon Nimbus glowed visibly, expressing great pleasure and cordiality. āMy gooānuss me!ā he said. āHope I be close on hand when you git ready shed them cloāes, Mistā Dan. Youā grammaw certānāy be overjoiceā to see you agāin. She settinā in polluh waitinā fer you, if you kinely leave me rest youā silk hat anā gole-head cane. My, look at all the gole on nat cane!ā
Receiving this emblem of state with murmurous reverence, he solicitously bore it to the marble-topped table as the young man entered the room where his grandmother awaited him. She sat by the broad window, which had been the first plate-glass window in the town, and in her cap with lace lappets and her full, dark gown, she was not unsuggestive, in spite of her great age, of Whistlerās portrait of his mother. Certainly, until her grandson took her hand and sat down beside her, she was as motionless as a portrait.
āGrandma,ā he said remorsefully, āIām afraid you feel mighty hurt with me. I know it looked pretty selfish of me not to come home sooner, so we could go ahead and get grandpaās estate settled up. I expect you think I havenāt been very thoughtful of you, and you certainly have got a right to feel kind of cross with me, but the truth isā āā
āNo,ā she interrupted quietly. āYour father was too busy to attend to the estate himself, and I didnāt want Harlan because I know heād spend all his time criticizing; and besides he didnāt offer to do it in the first place, and you did. But your father hired a lawyer for me, and the workās about finished.ā
āI know what you think of meā āā he began but again she interrupted.
āNo; you behaved
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