Mark Overton - "Jack Winters' Gridiron Chums"

J. Henri Fabre - "More Hunting Wasps"

T.S. Arthur - "The Lights and Shadows of Real Life"

James Sheridan Knowles - "The Love Chase"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Man in Gray

T >> Thomas Dixon >> The Man in Gray




She drew her figure a bit higher instinctively. The movement was not
lost on the keen observer of character. He had never noticed before the
distinction of her personality. In a simple calico dress, and forty
years of age, she presented a peculiarly winsome appearance. Her
features were regular, and well rounded, the coloring of cheeks and
neck and hands the deep pink of perfect health. Her eyes were a bright
glowing brown. They were large, soulful eyes that spoke the love of a
mother. She might scold her husband if provoked. But those eyes could
never scold a child. They could only love him into obedience and
helpfulness. They were shining mother eyes.

Lee studied her in a quick glance before speaking. He knew instinctively
that he could trust her word.

"Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Doyle?"

"Oh, I hope so, sir. My man's gone all to pieces to-day. He's
good-hearted and kind if I do have to say it myself. But when the
sheriff come to put us out, he just flopped and quit. And then he got
drunk. I don't blame him much. If I hadn't been a woman and the mother
of three fine boys and two as pretty little gals as the Lord ever give
to a woman, I reckon I'd a got drunk, too."

She stopped, overcome with emotion and Lee hastened to ask:

"How did it happen, Mrs. Doyle?"

"Well, sir, you see, we hadn't quite paid for the place. You know it's
hard with a big family of children on a little farm o' ten acres. It's
hard to make a livin' let alone save money to pay for the land. But we
wuz doin' it. We didn't have but two more payments to make when my man
signed a note for his brother. His brother got sick and couldn't pay
and they come down on us and we're turned out o' house and home. The
sheriff's give us till Wednesday to get out and we've nowhere to go--"

A sob caught her voice.

"Don't say that, Madame. No neighbor of mine will ever be without a home
so long as I have a house with a roof on it."

"Thank you, Colonel Lee," she interrupted, "but you know I can't let my
man be a renter and see my husband and my sons workin' other people's
land like nigger slaves. I got pride. I jus' can't do it. I'd rather
starve."

"I understand, Madame," Lee answered.

The two older boys came awkwardly out into the yard. One of them was
fourteen years old and the other sixteen.

The mother beckoned and they came to her with embarrassed step. Her face
lighted with pride in their stalwart figures and well-shaped, regular
features.

"Here's my oldest boy, William, Colonel Lee."

The Colonel took the outstretched hand with cordial grasp.

"I'm glad to know you, young man."

"And glad to see you, sir," he stammered, blushing.

"My next boy Drury, sir. He ain't but fourteen but he's a grown man."

Drury flushed red but failed to make a sound.

When they had moved away and leaned against the fence watching the scene
out of the corner of an eye, the mother turned to the Colonel and asked:

"Do you blame me if I'm proud of my boys, Colonel?"

"I do not, Madame."

"The Lord made me a mother. All I know is to raise fine children and
love 'em. My little gals is putty as dolls."

John suddenly appeared beside her and pulled her skirt.

"What's the matter?" she whispered.

"Pa's waked up. I told him Colonel Lee's here and he's washed his face
and walks straight. Shall I fetch him out, too?"

"Yes, run tell him to come quick."

The boy darted back into the house.

"Johnnie's father wants to see you, Colonel Lee," the woman apologized.

"I'll be glad to talk to him, Madame."

"He'll be all right now. Your comin' to see us'll sober him. He'll be
awful proud of the honor, sir."

Doyle emerged from the house and walked quickly toward the Colonel.
His head was high. He smiled a welcome to his guest and his step was
straight, light and springing, as if he were not quite sure he could
rest his full weight on one foot and tried to get them both down at the
same time.

Lee's face was a mask of quiet dignity. The tragedy in the woman's heart
made the more pathetic the comedy of the half-drunken husband. Besides,
he was philosopher enough to know that more than half the drunkenness of
the world was the pitiful effort to smother a heartache.

The man's smile was a peculiarly winning one. His face was covered with
a full growth of blond beard cut moderately long. He never shaved. His
wife trimmed his beard in the manner most becoming to the shape of his
head, the poise of his neck and evenly formed shoulders. He wore his
hair full long and it curled about his neck in a deep blond wave. He
might have posed for the model of Hoffman's famous picture of Christ.
His eyes, a clear blue, were the finest feature of his personality. In
spite of his lack of education, in spite of his shabby clothes, in spite
of the smell of liquor he was a personality. His clean, high forehead,
his aquiline nose, his straight eyebrows, his fair skin, his tall figure
spoke the heritage of the great Nordic race of men. The race whose
leaders achieved the civilization of Rome, conquered Europe and finally
dominated civilization.

The difference between this man and the leader who wore the uniform of
a Colonel was not in racial stock. It was purely an accident of the
conditions of birth and training. Behind Lee lay two hundred years of
wealth and culture. The poorer man was his kinsman of the centuries. The
world had not been kind to him. He had lost the way of material success.
Perhaps some kink in his mind, a sense of comedy, a touch of the old
wanderlust of the ages.

Lee wondered what had kept him poor as he looked at the figure
approaching. It was straight and fine in spite of the liquor.

Doyle's brain was just clear enough to realize that he had been highly
honored in a call from the foremost citizen of Virginia. His politeness
was extreme. And it was true. It was instinctive. It leaped from
centuries of racial inheritance.

"We're proud of the honor you've done us, Colonel Lee," he announced.

He grasped the extended hand with a cordial, dignified greeting.

"I only hope I can be of some service to you and your family, Mr.
Doyle."

"I'm sure you can, sir. Won't you come in, Colonel?"

"Thank you, it's so pleasant outside, we'll just sit down by the well,
if you don't mind."

"Yessir. All right, sir."

Lee moved slowly toward the platform of the well with its old oaken
bucket and tall sweep.

His wife threw a warning at her husband under her breath.

"Don't you say nothin' foolish now--"

"I won't."

"Your tongue's too long when it gets to waggin'."

"I'll mind, Ma," he smiled.

The woman called softly to her distinguished guest:

"You'll excuse me, Colonel, while I look after the supper. I'll be back
in a minute."

"Certainly, Madame."

He could not have bowed with graver courtesy to the wife of Stephen A.
Douglas.

"Have a seat here on the well, Colonel," Doyle invited.

Lee took his seat on the weather-beaten oak boards.

Doyle turned his foot on a rounded stone and set down a little
ungracefully in spite of his effort to be fully himself. He saw at once
his misstep and hastened to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, you've caught me with the smell of liquor, sir--"

He paused and looked over his garden in an embarrassed way.

"I know what has happened to you, Mr. Doyle, and you have my deepest
sympathy."

"Thank you, sir."

"I might have done the same thing if I'd been in your position. Though,
of course, liquor won't help things for you."

Doyle smiled around the corners of his blue eyes.

"No, sir, except while it's a swimmin' in the veins. Then for a little
while you're great and rich and you don't care which a way the wind
blows."

"The farm is lost beyond hope?"

"Yessir, clean gone--world without end."

"You had a lawyer?"

"The best in the county, old Jim Randolph. I didn't have no money to pay
him. He said we'd both always voted the Whig ticket and he'd waive his
retainer. I didn't know what he was wavin', but anyhow he tuck my case.
And I will say he put up a nasty fight for me. He made one of the
greatest speeches I ever heared in my life. Hit wuz mighty nigh worth
losin' the farm ter hear him tell how I'd been abused and how fine a
feller I wuz. An' when he los' the case, he cussed the Judge, he cussed
the jury, he cussed the lawyers. He swore they was all fools and didn't
know the first principles er law nohow. I sho enjoyed the fight, ef I
did lose it. I couldn't pay him nothin' yet. But I did manage to get him
a gallon of the best apple brandy I ever tasted."

"What do you think of doing?"

"I ain't had time ter think, sir. I don't think fast nohow and the first
thing I had to do when I come home and tole the ole 'oman and she bust
out cryin'--wuz ter get drunk. Somehow I couldn't stand it."

"You've never learned a trade?"

"No sir--nothin' 'cept farmin'. I said to myself--what's the use? These
damned nigger slaves have learned all the trades. They say in the old
days, they wuz just servants in the house and stables, and field hands.
Now they've learnt _all_ the trades. They're mechanics, blacksmiths,
carpenters, wagon makers and everything. What chance has a poor white
man got agin 'em? They don't have to worry about nothin'. They have
everything they need before they lift their hands to do anything. They
got plenty to eat for themselves and their families, no matter how many
children they have. All they can eat, all they can wear, a warm house
and a big fire in the winter. I have to fight and scratch to keep a roof
over my head, wood in my fireplace, clothes on my back and somethin' to
eat on my table. How can I beat the slave at a trade? Tain't no use to
try. Ef you want to build a house, your own carpenters can do it. And if
you haven't enough slave carpenters of your own, your neighbors have.
They can hire 'em to you cheaper than I can work and live. They're goin'
to _live_ anyhow. That's settled because they're slaves. They're worth
twelve hundred dollars apiece. Their life is precious. Mine don't count.
I got to look after that myself and I got to look after my wife and
children, too. Hit ain't right, Colonel, this Slavery business. You know
that as well as I do. I've heard you say it, too--"

"I agree with you, Mr. Doyle. But if we set them all free to-morrow, and
you had to compete with their labor, you couldn't live down to their
standard of wages, could you?"

"No, I couldn't. They would kill me at that game, too. That's why I hate
a free nigger worse than a slave--"

He paused and his face knotted with fury.

"Damn 'em all--why are they here anyhow?"

"Come, come, my friend," Lee protested. "It doesn't help to swear about
it. They _are_ here. Not by any wish of mine or of yours. We inherited
this curse from the past. We have clung to old delusions while our smart
Yankee friends have shifted the responsibilities on others."

"What _can_ I do, Colonel?" Doyle asked desperately. "I don't know how
to do anything but farm. I can't go into the fields and work with slaves
as a field hand. And I couldn't get such work to do if I'd do it. I'll
die before I'll come down to it. I might rent a little farm alongside of
a free nigger. But he can beat me at that game. He can live on less and
work longer hours than I do. He'll underbid me as a cropper. He can live
and pay the owner four-fifths of the crop. I'd starve. What am I goin'
to do?"

"Had you thought of moving West into one of the new Territories just
opening?"

"Yessir. I'd thought of it. But how am I goin' to get there with a wife
and five children?"

Lee rose and looked about the place thoughtfully.

"How much could you realize from the sale of your things?"

Doyle scratched his head doubtfully.

"I ain't got no idee, sir. I'm afraid not much. Ye see it's just home
stuff. The old 'oman's awful smart. She raises enough chickens and
turkeys and ducks and guineas to eat, and she sells a few eggs and young
chickens and turkeys when they brings anything in the market. I got six
sheep, a cow, a calf, a mule, a couple o' pigs in the pen. But they
won't bring much money. Ye see I never felt so poor ez long ez I had a
_home_ where I can live independent like. That house ain't much, sir.
But you ain't no idea how deep down in my heart it's got."

He paused and looked at it. The Colonel followed his gaze. It was a
small frame structure standing in a yard filled with trees. A one-story
affair with a sharp, gabled attic. Two dormer windows projected from
the high roof and a solid brick chimney at each end gave it dignity. A
narrow porch came straight out from the front door. On either side of
the porch were built wooden benches and behind them on a lattice grew
a luxuriant rambler rose. It was still blooming richly in the warm
September sun.

"Ye see, sir," Doyle went on, "what we've got that's worth havin' can't
be sold. I love the smell o' them roses. I wake up in the night and the
breeze brings it in the window and it puts me to sleep like an old song
my mother used to sing when I was a little shaver--"

He stopped short.

"I didn't mean to snivel, sir."

"I understand, my friend. No apologies are necessary."

"And that big scuppernong grape vine out there in the garden--I couldn't
sell that. I planted it fifteen years ago. Folks told us we was too fur
north here fur it to grow good. But I knowed better. You can see its
covered a place as big ez the house. And you can smell them ripe grapes
a hundred yards before ye get to the gate. I make a little wine outen
'em. We have 'em to eat a whole month. That garden keeps us goin' winter
and summer. You see them five rows of flat turnips and the ruttabaggers
beside 'em? I've cabbage enough banked under them pine tops to make a
fifty-gallon barrel o' kraut and give us cabbage with our bacon all
winter. We've got turnip greens, onions and collards. I've got corn and
wheat in my crib and bacon enough to last me till next year. I raise
the finest watermelons and mushmelons in the county and it ain't much
trouble to live here. I never knowed how well off I wuz till the Sheriff
come and told me I had to go."

"You're in the prime of life. You can go to a new country and begin over
again. Why not?"

"If I could get there. I reckon I could."

He stopped short as his wife appeared by his side. She had heard Colonel
Lee's last question.

"Of course, you can begin over again. Haven't we got three of the finest
boys the Lord ever give a mother? They ain't got no chance here nohow.
My baby boy's one o' the smartest youngsters in the county. Ef old Andy
Jackson wuz a poor boy an' got ter be President, he might do the same
thing ef we give him a chance--"

"Yes, I reckon we could, ef we had a chance," Doyle agreed doubtfully.
"But it would be a hard pull to leave my ole Virginy home. You know that
would pull you, Colonel--now wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would," was the earnest answer.

"You see I wuz born in this country an' me daddy before me. I like it
here. I like the feel of the air in the fall. There's a flock o' ducks
now circlin' over that bend o' the river. The geese are comin'. I heard
'em honk high up in the sky last night. I like my oysters and terrapin.
I like to shoot ducks and geese, rabbits and quail. I like the smell
o' the water. I like the smell o' these fields. I like the way the sun
shines and the winds blow down here. It's in my blood."

"But you'll go if you can get away," his wife interrupted cheerfully.

Two little girls timidly drew near. Their faces were washed clean and
their shining blonde hair gleamed in circles of golden light as the rays
of the setting sun caught it.

Lee smiled, took them both in his arms and kissed them.

A tear softened his eyes as he placed them on the ground.

"You're darling little dolls. No wonder your mother loves you."

"Run back in the house now, honeys," the mother said.

The children slowly obeyed, glancing back at the great man who had
kissed them. They wondered why their daddy hadn't kissed them oftener.

"What do you think we ought to do, Colonel Lee?" the woman asked
eagerly.

"I can tell you what I would do, Madame, in your place--"

"What?"

The husband and wife spoke the word in chorus.

"I'd go West and begin again."

"But how'm I goin' to get away, sir?" the man asked blankly.

"Sell your things for the best price you can get and I'll loan you the
balance of the money you'll need."

"Will you, sir?" the woman gasped.

"I ain't got no security for ye, Colonel--" Doyle protested.

"You are my friend and neighbor, Mr. Doyle. You're in distress. You
don't need security. I'll take your note, sir, without endorsement."

"Glory to God!" the mother cried with face uplifted in a prayer of
thanksgiving.

Doyle couldn't speak for a moment. He looked out over the roadway and
got control of his feelings before trying. There was a lump in his
throat which made his speech thick when at last he managed to grasp
Lee's hand.

"I dunno how to thank you, sir."

"It will be all right, Mr. Doyle. Look after the sale of your things and
I'll find out the best way for you to get there and let you know."

He mounted his horse and rode away into the fading sunset as they
watched him through dimmed eyes.



CHAPTER VIII


Lee had promised Edmund Ruffin his answer early in the week. Ruffin had
just ridden up the hill and dismounted.

Mrs. Marshall, the Colonel's sister, on a visit from Baltimore, fled at
his approach.

"Excuse me, Mary," she cried to Mrs. Lee. "I just can't stand these
ranting fire-eating politicians. They make me ill. I'll go to my room."

She hurried up the stairway and left the frail mistress of the house to
meet her formidable guest.

Ruffin was the product of the fierce Abolition Crusade. Hot-tempered,
impulsive, intemperate in his emotions and their expression, he was the
perfect counterpart of the men who were working night and day in the
North to create a condition of mob feeling out of which a civil conflict
might grow. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had set him on fire with new hatreds.
His vocabulary of profanity had been enlarged by the addition of every
name in the novel. He had been compelled to invent new expressions to
fit these characters. He damned them individually and collectively. He
cursed each trait of each character, good and bad. He cursed the good
points with equal unction and equal emphasis. In fact the good traits in
Mrs. Stowe's people seemed to carry him to greater heights of wrath and
profanity than the bad ones. He dissected each part of each character's
anatomy, damned each part, put the parts together and damned the
collection. And then he damned the whole story, characters, plot and
scenes to the lowest pit and cursed the devil for not building a lower
one to which he might consign it. And in a final burst of passion he
always ended by damning himself for his utter inability to express
_anything_ which he really felt.

With all his ugly language, which he reserved for conversation with men,
he was the soul of consideration for a woman. Mrs. Lee had no fear of
any rude expression from his lips. She didn't like him because she felt
in his personality the touch of mob insanity which the Slavery question
had kindled. She dreaded this appeal to blind instinct and belief. With
a woman's intuition she felt the tragic possibility of such leadership
North and South.

She saw his leonine head and shaggy hair silhouetted against the red
glow of the west with a shiver at its symbolism, but met him with the
cordial greeting which every Southern woman gave instinctively to the
friend of her husband.

"Come in, Mr. Ruffin," she welcomed.

He bowed over her hand and spoke in the soft drawl of the Southern
planter.

"Thank you, Madame. I'm greatly honored in having you greet me at the
door."

"Colonel Lee is expecting you."

The planter drew himself up with a touch of pride and importance.

"Yes'm. I sent him word I would be here at three. I was detained in
Washington. But I succeeded in convincing the editor of _The Daily
Globe_ that my mission was one of grave importance. I not only desire to
wish Colonel Lee God-speed on his journey to West Point and congratulate
him on the honor conferred on Virginia by his appointment to the command
of our Cadets--but--"

He paused, smiled and glanced toward the portico, as if he were holding
back an important secret.

Mrs. Lee hastened to put him at his ease.

"You can trust my discretion in any little surprise you may have for the
Colonel."

Ruffin bowed.

"I'm sure I can, Madame. I'm sure I can."

He dropped his voice.

"You know perhaps that I sent him a few days ago a scurrilous attack on
the South by a Yankee woman--a new novel?"

"He received it."

"Has he read it?"

"Carefully. He has read it twice."

"Good!"

The planter breathed deeply, squared his shoulders and paced the floor
with a single quick turn. He stopped before Mrs. Lee and spoke in sharp
emphasis.

"I'm going to spring a little surprise on the public, Madame! A
sensation that will startle the country, and God knows we need a little
shaking just now--"

He paused and whispered.

"I'm so sure of what the Colonel will say that I've brought a reporter
from the Washington _Daily Globe_ with me--"

Mrs. Lee lifted her hand in dismay.

"He is here?"

"He is seated on the lawn just outside, Madame," Ruffin hastened to
reassure her. "I thought at the last moment I'd better have him wait
until I received Colonel Lee's consent to the interview."

"I'm glad you did."

"Oh, it will be all right, I assure you!"

"He might not wish to see a reporter--"

"So I told the young man."

"I'm afraid--"

"I'll pave the way, Madame. I'll pave the way. Colonel Lee and I are
life-long friends. Will you kindly announce me?"

"The Colonel has just ridden up to the stables to give some orders about
his horses. He'll be here in a moment."

Lee stepped briskly into the room and extended his hand.

"It's you, Ruffin. My apologies. I was called out to see a neighbor. I
should have been here to receive you."

"No apologies, Colonel, Mrs. Lee has been most gracious."

The mistress of the house smiled.

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Ruffin. I shall hope to see you at dinner."

Ruffin stood respectfully until Mrs. Lee had disappeared.

"Pray be seated," Lee invited.

Ruffin seated himself on the couch and watched his host keenly.

Lee took a cigar from the mantel and offered it.

"A cigar, Ruffin?"

"Thanks."

"Now make yourself entirely at home, my good friend."

The planter lighted the cigar, blew a long cloud of smoke and settled in
his seat.

"I'm glad to learn from Mrs. Lee that you have read the book I sent
you--the Abolitionist firebrand."

"Yes."

Lee quietly walked to the mantel and got the volume.

"I have it here."

He turned the leaves thoughtfully.

Ruffin laughed.

"And, what do you think of it?"

The Colonel was silent a moment.

"Well, for those who like that kind of book--it's the kind of book they
will like."

"Exactly!" Ruffin cried, slapping his knee with a blow that bruised it.
"And you're the man in all the South to tell the fool who likes that
sort of book just how big a fool he is!"

Lee opened the volume again and turned the pages slowly.

"Ruffin, I don't read many novels--"

He paused as if in deep study.

"But this one I have read twice."

"I'm glad you did, sir," the planter snapped.

"And I must confess it stunned me."

"Stunned you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"When I finished reading it, I felt like the overgrown boy who stubbed
his toe. It hurt too bad to laugh. And I'm too big to cry."

"You amaze me, sir."

"That's the way I feel, my friend."

He paused, walked to the window, and gazed out at the first lights that
began to flicker in the windows of the Capitol across the river.

"That book," he went on evenly, "is an appeal to the heart of the world
against Slavery. It is purely an appeal to sentiment, to the emotions,
to passion, if you will--the passions of the mob and the men who lead
mobs. And it's terrible. As terrible as an army with banners. I heard
the throb of drums through its pages. It will work the South into a
frenzy. It will make millions of Abolitionists in the North who could
not be reached by the coarser methods of abuse. It will prepare the soil
for a revolution. If the right man appears at the right moment with a
lighted torch--"

"That's just why, sir, as the foremost citizen of Virginia, you must
answer this slander. I have brought a reporter from the _Globe_ with me
for that purpose. Shall I call him,"

"A reporter from a daily paper with a circulation of fifteen thousand?"

"Your word, Colonel Lee, will be heard at this moment to the ends of the
earth, sir!"

"In a newspaper interview?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nonsense."

"It's your character that will count."

"Such an answer would be a straw pitched against a hurricane. I am told
that this book has already reached a circulation of half a million
copies and it has only begun. That means already three million readers.
To answer this book my pen should be better trained than my sword--"

"It is, sir, if you'll only use it."

"The South has only trained swords. And not so many of them as we think.
We have no writers. We have no literature. We have no champions in the
forum of the world's thought. We are being arraigned at the judgment bar
of mankind and we are dumb. It's appalling."