“On whom neither man nor woman could depend!”
“Neither the one nor the other.”
The exasperation of his tone amused me, as did this
chance importance of what seemed to me at the time
merely a petticoat situation.
“Silk! Mr. Calhoun,” I grinned.
“Still silk and dimity, my faith! And you!”
He seemed a trifle nettled at this. “I
must take men and women and circumstances as I find
them,” he rejoined; “and must use such
agencies as are left me.”
“If we temporarily lack the Baroness von Ritz
to add zest to our game,” I hazarded, “we
still have the Dona Lucrezia and her little jealousies.”
Calhoun turned quickly upon me with a sharp glance,
as though seized by some sudden thought. “By
the Lord Harry! boy, you give me an idea. Wait,
now, for a moment. Do you go on with your copying
there, and excuse me for a time.”
An instant later he passed from the room, his tall
figure bent, his hands clasped behind his back, and
his face wrinkled in a frown, as was his wont when
occupied with some problem.
THE LADY FROM MEXICO
As soon as women are
ours, we are no longer theirs.
—Montaigne.
After a time my chief reentered the office room and
bent over me at my table. I put before him the
draft of the document which he had given me for clerical
care.
“So,” he said, “’tis ready—our
declaration. I wonder what may come of that little
paper!”
“Much will come of it with a strong people back
of it. The trouble is only that what Democrat
does, Whig condemns. And not even all our party
is with Mr. Tyler and yourself in this, Mr. Calhoun.
Look, for instance, at Mr. Polk and his plans.”
To this venture on my part he made no present answer.
“I have no party, that is true,” said
he at last—“none but you and Sam
Ward!” He smiled with one of his rare, illuminating
smiles, different from the cold mirth which often
marked him.
“At least, Mr. Calhoun, you do not take on your
work for the personal glory of it,” said I hotly;
“and one day the world will know it!”
“’Twill matter very little to me then,”
said he bitterly. “But come, now, I want
more news about your trip to Montreal. What have
you done?”
So now, till far towards dawn of the next day, we
sat and talked. I put before him full details
of my doings across the border. He sat silent,
his eye betimes wandering, as though absorbed, again
fixed on me, keen and glittering.
“So! So!” he mused at length, when
I had finished, “England has started a land
party for Oregon! Can they get across next fall,
think you?”
“Hardly possible, sir,” said I. “They
could not go so swiftly as the special fur packets.
Winter would catch them this side of the Rockies.
It will be a year before they can reach Oregon.”
