"May I ask who lives there?" I pursued.
Miss Apperthwaite allowed her noticeable lashes to cover her eyes for an
instant, then looked up again.
"A Mr. Beasley," she said.
"Not the Honorable David Beasley!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," she returned, with a certain gravity which I afterward wished had
checked me. "Do you know him?"
"Not in person," I explained. "You see, I've written a good deal about
him. I was with the "Spencerville Journal" until a few days ago, and
even in the country we know who's who in politics over the state.
Beasley's the man that went to Congress and never made a speech--never
made even a motion to adjourn--but got everything his district wanted.
There's talk of him now for Governor."
"Indeed?"
"And so it's the Honorable David Beasley who lives in that splendid
place. How curious that is!"
"Why?" asked Miss Apperthwaite.
"It seems too big for one man," I answered; "and I've always had the
impression Mr. Beasley was a bachelor."
"Yes," she said, rather slowly, "he is."
"But of course he doesn't live there all alone," I supposed, aloud,
"probably he has--"
"No. There's no one else--except a couple of colored servants."
"What a crime!" I exclaimed. "If there ever was a house meant for a
large family, that one is. Can't you almost hear it crying out for heaps
and heaps of romping children? I should think--"
I was interrupted by a loud cough from Mr.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25