The Quest of the Silver Fleece: A Novel

  _Thirteen_

  MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER

  The Hon. Charles Smith, Miss Sarah's brother, was walking swiftly uptownfrom Mr. Easterly's Wall Street office and his face was pale. At lastthe Cotton Combine was to all appearances an assured fact and he wasslated for the Senate. The price he had paid was high: he was torepresent the interests of the new trust and sundry favorable measureswere already drafted and reposing in the safe of the combine's legaldepartment. Among others was one relating to child labor, another thatwould effect certain changes in the tariff, and a proposed law providingfor a cotton bale of a shape and dimensions different from thecustomary--the last constituting a particularly clever artifice which,under the guise of convenience in handling, would necessitate theinstallation of entirely new gin and compress machinery, to be supplied,of course, by the trust.

  As Mr. Smith drew near Mrs. Grey's Murray Hill residence his face hadmelted to a cynical smile. After all why should he care? He had triedindependence and philanthropy and failed. Why should he not be as othermen? He had seen many others that very day swallow the golden bait andpromise everything. They were gentlemen. Why should he pose as betterthan his fellows? There was young Cresswell. Did his aristocratic airprevent his succumbing to the lure of millions and promising theinfluence of his father and the whole Farmer's League to the newproject? Mr. Smith snapped his fingers and rang the bell. The dooropened softly. The dark woodwork of the old English wainscoting glowedwith the crimson flaming of logs in the wide fireplace. There was justthe touch of early autumn chill in the air without, that made both thefire and the table with its soft linen, gold and silver plate, andtwinkling glasses a warming, satisfying sight.

  Mrs. Grey was a portly woman, inclined to think much of her dinner andher clothes, both of which were always rich and costly. She was notherself a notably intelligent woman; she greatly admired intelligence orwhatever looked to her like intelligence in others. Her money, too, wasto her an ever worrying mystery and surprise, which she found herselfalways scheming to husband shrewdly and spend philanthropically--adifficult combination.

  As she awaited her guests she surveyed the table with both satisfactionand disquietude, for her social functions were few, tonight therewere--she checked them off on her fingers--Sir James Creighton, the richEnglish manufacturer, and Lady Creighton, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderpool, Mr.Harry Cresswell and his sister, John Taylor and his sister, and Mr.Charles Smith, whom the evening papers mentioned as likely to be UnitedStates Senator from New Jersey--a selection of guests that had beendetermined, unknown to the hostess, by the meeting of cotton interestsearlier in the day.

  Mrs. Grey's chef was high-priced and efficient, and her butler was theenvy of many; consequently, she knew the dinner would be good. To herintense satisfaction, it was far more than this. It was a most agreeablecouple of hours; all save perhaps Mr. Smith unbent, the Englishmanespecially, and the Vanderpools were most gracious; but if the generalpleasure was owing to any one person particularly it was to Mr. HarryCresswell. Mrs. Grey had met Southerners before, but not intimately, andshe always had in mind vividly their cruelty to "poor Negroes," asubject she made a point of introducing forthwith. She was thereforemost agreeably surprised to hear Mr. Cresswell express himself socordially as approving of Negro education.

  "Why, I thought," said Mrs. Grey, "that you Southerners ratherdisapproved--or at least--"

  Mr. Cresswell inclined his head courteously.

  "We Southerners, my dear Mrs. Grey, are responsible for a variety ofreputations." And he told an anecdote that set the table laughing."Seriously, though," he continued, "we are not as black as the blackspaint us, although on the whole I _prefer_ that Helen should marry--awhite man."

  They all glanced at Miss Cresswell, who lay softly back in her chairlike a white lily, gleaming and bejewelled, her pale face flushing underthe scrutiny; Mrs. Grey was horrified.

  "Why--why the idea!" she sputtered. "Why, Mr. Cresswell, how can youconceive of anything else--no Northerner dreams--"

  Mr. Cresswell sipped his wine slowly.

  "No--no--I do not think you do _mean_ that--" He paused and theEnglishman bent forward.

  "Really, now, you do not mean to say that there is a danger of--ofamalgamation, do you?" he sang.

  Mr. Cresswell explained. No, of course there was no immediate danger;but when people were suddenly thrust beyond their natural station,filled with wild ideas and impossible ambitions, it meant terribledanger to Southern white women.

  "But you believe in some education?" asked Mary Taylor.

  "I believe in the training of people to their highest capacity." TheEnglishman here heartily seconded him.

  "But," Cresswell added significantly, "capacity differs enormouslybetween races."

  The Vanderpools were sure of this and the Englishman, instancing India,became quite eloquent. Mrs. Grey was mystified, but hardly dared admitit. The general trend of the conversation seemed to be that mostindividuals needed to be submitted to the sharpest scrutiny before beingallowed much education, and as for the "lower races" it was simplycriminal to open such useless opportunities to them.

  "Why, I had a colored servant-girl once," laughed Mrs. Vanderpool by wayof climax, "who spent half her wages in piano lessons."

  Then Mary Taylor, whose conscience was uncomfortable, said:

  "But, Mr. Cresswell, you surely believe in schools like Miss Smith's?"

  "Decidedly," returned Mr. Cresswell, with enthusiasm, "it has done greatgood."

  Mrs. Grey was gratified and murmured something of Miss Smith's"sacrifice."

  "Positively heroic," added Cresswell, avoiding his sister's eyes.

  "Of course," Mary Taylor hastened to encourage this turn of theconversation, "there are many points on which Miss Smith and I disagree,but I think everybody admires her work."

  Mrs. Grey wanted particulars. "What did you disagree about?" she askedbluntly.

  "I may be responsible for some of the disagreement," interrupted Mr.Cresswell, hesitatingly; "I'm afraid Miss Smith does not approve of uswhite Southerners."

  "But you mean to say you can't even advise her?"

  "Oh, no; we can. But--we're not--er--exactly welcomed. In fact," saidCresswell gravely, "the chief criticism I have against your Northerners'schools for Negroes is, that they not only fail to enlist the sympathyand aid of the _best_ Southerners, but even repel it."

  "That is very wrong--very wrong," commented the Englishman warmly, asentiment in which Mrs. Grey hastened to agree.

  "Of course," continued Cresswell, "I am free to confess that I have nopersonal desire to dabble in philanthropy, or conduct schools of anykind; my hands are full of other matters."

  "But it's precisely the advice of such disinterested men thatphilanthropic work needs," Mr. Vanderpool urged.

  "Well, I volunteered advice once in this case and I sha'n't repeat theexperiment soon," said Cresswell laughing. Mrs. Grey wanted to hear theincident, but the young man was politely reluctant. Mary Taylor,however, related the tale of Zora to Mrs. Grey's private ear later.

  "Fortunately," said Mr. Vanderpool, "Northerners and Southerners arearriving at a better mutual understanding on most of these matters."

  "Yes, indeed," Cresswell agreed. "After all, they never were far apart,even in slavery days; both sides were honest and sincere."

  All through the dinner Mr. Smith had been preoccupied and taciturn. Nowhe abruptly shot a glance at Cresswell.

  "I suppose that one was right and one was wrong."

  "No," said Cresswell, "both were right."

  "I thought the only excuse for fighting was a great Right; if Right ison neither side or simultaneously on both, then War is not only Hell butDamnation."

  Mrs. Grey looked shocked and Mrs. Vanderpool smiled.

  "How about fighting for exercise?" she suggested.

  "At any rate," said Cresswell, "we can all agree on helping these poorvictims of our quarrel as far as their limited capacity will allow--andno farther, for that is impossible." br />
  Very soon after dinner Charles Smith excused himself. He was not yetinured to the ways of high finance, and the programme of the cottonbarons, as unfolded that day, lay heavy on his mind, despite all hisphilosophy.

  "I have had a--full day," he explained to Mrs. Grey.