We all three walked down Franklin Street together until Miss Mildred, who was going to see some friends on Grace Street, had to turn. After the two had just turned the corner I heard the general say:
He slipped back, put his hand in his pocket, and took out a thin roll of bills, a very thin roll.
“Mrs. Grey,” he said, “here is all the money I have in the world, ten dollars in greenbacks. Take half of it--I wish you would--it wouldn’t inconvenience me at all. I will make some more soon, and then I will divide with you again until Dan comes home.”
I could hardly speak for tears. At that moment I was richer than my general. I had at home in gold and greenbacks more money than General Lee.
“God bless you, general!” I managed to say. “But really I don’t need it. If I do really and truly I will come to you for it.”
Franklin Street wasn’t a good place to cry in, so I hurried home.
Still the days that passed did not bring me Dan. I became thoroughly miserable. I sat in my window and watched and was cross if anybody spoke to me.
“Er gent’man in de parlor to see yer, missy.”
“What sort of a ‘gent’man’ is it?” I asked tartly. There was but one man in the world I wanted to see or hear about just then.
“He ain’t lak our people, missy. He’s furrin--French or suppin nuther. He say how he usen ter know yer in Petersburg. An’ how you lent ’im some--er--music--er suppin lak dat. An’ he got--er--errah--suppin--I clar fo’ de Lord, missy, I dunno what ’tis--but he got suppin----”
“Oh, I know,” I said. “He’s that old French music-teacher, and he’s brought back that old music I lent him in the year one. Go tell him that I don’t want it; he can have it.”
Jake departed only to return in a more perplexed frame of mind and state of speech.
“He say how ’tain’t no music he’s got fur yer. He say--he do say, missy--but de Lord knows I dunno what he say!--but anyway be bleeged to see yer.”
I got up and went down to the parlor in desperation.
Sure enough, it was the little French music-teacher, and he began apologies, acknowledgments and what not in his dreadful English.
“Madame, I haf no mooseek to you--not at all. I haf one message of you to ze majaire. If you not b’lief me,” he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a dirty bit of paper, “look at ze cart--vat sail I call him? ze lettaire. If madame vill look--I beg ze pardon of madame----”