Bob Covington. A novel

Front matter

Mr. Archibald Clavering Gunter's NO VELS. MR. BARNES OF NEW YORK. MR. POTTER OF TEXAS. THAT FRENCHMAN ! MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. MISS DIVIDENDS. BARON MONTEZ OF PANAMA AND PARIS. A PRINCESS OF PARIS. THE KING'S STOCKBROKER. THE FIRST OF THE ENGLISH. THE LADIES' JUGGERNAUT. THE LOVE ADVENTURES OF AL MANSUR Edited by A. C. Gunter. HER SENATOR. DON BALASCO OF KEY WEST. A NOVEL BY ARCHIBALD CLAVERING GUNTER AUTHOR OF "MR. BARNES OF NEW YORK" etc., etc. COPYRIGHT LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited Broadway, Ludgate Hill 1897 [Alt Rights Reserved) CONTENTS.

Book I

A LUCKY YOUNG MAN. PAGE Chapter I. — The Race Between States, - 5 II.— The Second Heat, - 19 III.— Blue Grass Girls, - 31 ' IV. — Sunday Morning at the French Market, - - - - 42 V.— The Spectre of the Pelican Ball 51 VI.— "I Do the Romeo Act!" - 63 V. — The Spectre of the Pelican Ball 5 1

Book II

A VERY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG LADY. Chapter VII. — Kitson Jarvis Shakes Hands With Himself, - - - 74 VIII.— The Letter from California, - 86 IX.— Jules Delaborde, the Fire-eater, - - - - 96 X. — Paradise and the Peri, - - 104 XL— The Duel Behind the Cemetery, - - - - - 113 " XII. — Poussin, the Notary, - - 127 XIII.— "This Man Must Be Mad!" - 136 XIV.— "For My Sister's Sake! " -144 " XV.— In Extremis, - - - - 156

Book III. How He Loved Her

Chapter XVI. — "Here's Another of the Happy Family," contents. 4 PAGE Chapter XVII.— "The Rashest Promise Man Ever Made!" - - - *79 " XVIII. — Kitson Jarvis Takes Another Fee, i87 " XIX. — Two Peculiar Advertisements, 201

Book IV. How He Ruled Her

Chapter XX.— " Isn't It Wonderful ? " - -214 " XXI.— "From Him All Things Must Come," - - - - 223 XXII.— What Shall He Do ? - - 236 " XXIII. — "A Little Joke on Monsieur Hector! " - " XXIV.— "The Wrong End of the Cigar," 255

Book V. How He Saved Her

Chapter XXV. — "That Old Man Laughed at Me," 268 " XXVI. — Game-cocks as Watchdogs, - 274 " XXVII.— "Silence, Louise! " - -281 " XXVIIL— "Bob Covington Isn't Built That Way," ... 290 " XXIX.— "Keep Your Promise!" - - 300 Appendix -«'. -■»#.

Chapter I

the race between states. It is a day of battle in New Orleans — not the battle of men, but the battle of horses — this Saturday, this first day of April in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and fifty-four, upon which the Great Inter state Post Stake is to be fought out upon the Metai rie Course, each commonwealth backing its own horse with State pride and local prejudice, and, above all, the good round dollars of Uncle Sam, twenty thousand oS which make the purse, and several millions more, not only in coin, but in corn, cotton, and sugar crops, present and to come, have been wagered on the result. Kentucky is playing its bay colt Lexington with every dollar it can raise on corn, corn-juice, and fast horses; Alabama is piling its bales of cotton on its flyer, Highlander ; Mississippi is going cotton and sugar as well on Lecomte, and Louisiana betting on its pet and pride, the chestnut Arrow, corn, cotton, sugar, rice, and tobacco ; every one of the States throwing in lots of " niggers " besides.

And all this in a country where a man's horse was his friend, companion, and sometimes, on his long journeys over the lone prairies and through the pathless wilder ness, his safety and salvation — a country in which the greatest criminal was the horse-thief — aye, over road agents, bandits, or even assassins. So, under the soft sun of a perfect Louisiana spring day, the breeze from the lake being just enough to temper the heat, have gathered together the beauty, fashion, wealth, and sporting blood of all the Gulf States, even to far-away Texas, and the whole valley of the Mississippi, with New Orleans thrown in — New Orleans in its hey-day — New Orleans in its before the-war splendor when it was the center of all who lived in the land cf the cotton and the cane ; when the Crescent City was supposed to beat the world in everything ; when the salons of the St. Charles and St. Louis showed more feminine beauty and more Parisian furbelows and Brazilian diamonds to the square inch than any other hotels in America; when New Orleans boats were supposed to run faster and blow up slicker than any others on the Mississippi River; when the planter-aristocracy of that region, piling up their bales of cotton and rolling up their hogsheads of sugar, lived like patriarchal princes, sur rounded by hundreds of slaves and dependents; when money flowed like water in the gambling saloons of Canal street and the Rue Royal; when, as Colonel Pike, of Arkansas, remarked, "This is a town that makes you think of hell, but you cotton to it as if it were heaven."

In short, the New Orleans of the great slave States, before their power was broken and their chiv alry went down under the onset of overwhelming odds and the impact of greater resources. In the judges' stand are some of the most dis tinguished men in the South. Ex-President Fillmore, Wade Hampton, Col. Hughes, Bob Evans, and Judge Smith, chosen to represent their several States, entering horses in the contest. On the quarter-stretch and in the betting-ring under the grand stand, are seen all the well-known turfmen of America, wagering their money with the careless ease of ideal sportsmen. But others are betting also. Jammed into a seething mass along the stretch, oystermen from Barataria Lagoons, Italian fruit dealers, Irish butchers, even darky roust abouts from the levee and cotton press, are backing their horses.

On the grand stand, which now looks like a bouquet of beauty — gloves, gowns and other feminine nick-nacks are being risked by lovely and excited girls. The belles of Lexington and Louisville, who have come to bet for Kentucky's glory; the beauties of St. Louis and Memphis, each one of whom has picked out a winner; aristocratic loveliness from South Caro lina and the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, which never sent a finer gathering of beauty than the fair Mobil ians who are here this day to do honor to Highlander, Alabama's horse, by clapping of dainty hands ■ and wagering, with feminine prodigality, gloves in dozens, hats, bonnets, and robes from Madame Olympe on the pride of their State. But, of course, in greater quantity, and therefore more dominant, is that peculiar, soft, tropical loveli ness, that wondrous Creole beauty pertaining to Lou isiana, in whose race have been blended the blood of the Castilian and the blood of the Gaul, productive in its women of a delicate, sensitive, though sometimes sensuous beauty, giving to them the eyes of Castile, the ankles of Seville and the graceful vivacity of Paris, all moulded together and made softer by blossoming under the sun of the tropics.

The horses are coming upon the track. Lexington, ridden by that slight, pale, consumptive white boy, Henry Meichon, Mississippi's Lecomte, bestridden by Black John, Highlander, by Gilpatrick, and Arrow, upon whose saddle sits Mr. Kenner's boy, familiarly known as " Old Abe," a soubriquet he has borne from pickaninnyhood. All these as they leave the paddock are eyed very critically by the crowd of gentlemen who love sport for sport's sake and know ahorse; among them, Bob Covington, a young Kentuckian of bright, fresh, keen face, honest eyes, hearty manner, and off hand, devil-may-care bonhommie. " Bet on any other than Lexington ? Not by Daniel Boone ! " he says, " Gentlemen, I will take Lexington at one to two against the field. Three horses against one poor little Blue Grass colt; but I couldn't go back on corn-fed horses and corn-fed girls."

"Done with you for five hundred ! " remarks Henri La Farge, a young Louisianian, who is considered by Creole ladies the very best parti in New Orleans. " Do it over again ! " says the Kentuckian. "Ihave got a stock farm I'll put against your cotton crop." "Supposing we do it twice over, in thousands?" suggests young La Farge, who raises lots of cotton and any quantity of sugar, and can afford the luxury. "That makes twenty-five hundred," replies Coving ton, " that I wager against your five thousand dollars." "Certainly. I'll do it over again ! " But a detaining hand is laid upon the Kentuckian's shoulder, and old Colonel Dick Talliaferro, of Louis ville, says: " Look here, Bob; don't you think you've done it enough ? " "Can't have enough of a good thing ! Don't you see, the track is heavy with mud from yesterday's rain ?

Was there ever a horse trained in Kentucky that was not a mud-horse ? " whispers the young man to the older one. Then he cries to La Farge: "Do it again! Only the winner is to give a champagne supper." "With pleasure; at the Orleans Club." "Very well. That is five thousand dollars to your ten thousand dollars." About this time, probably thinking that he has put up enough of his goods and chattels even for the honor of his State, the young Blue Grass sportsman permits himself to be led away and introduced to Major Mc- Burney, who har, just been remarking to Talliaferro: "By Davy Crockett! That's a fine specimen of a man you've brought down with you, as well as a fine speci men of a horse." "Yes," whispers the veteran Kentuckian. "His grandfather was an Indian fighter along with Daniel Boone, and the race don't deteriorate."

Looking at him, McBurney thinks it does not. For Bob Covington, as he is familiarly called by his friends, is a great big strapping fellow, just over six feet high, and though not carrying much flesh, has enough of solid muscular tissue about him to give him not only strength but a wiry activity peculiar to so many of the natives of that region — traits that have probably come down from those who had to cultivate them to save their scalps from marauding savages but two gen erations before. As it is, Bob has keen, bluish-gray eyes, a complexion as fresh as that of a girl, a light, hearty, whole-souled laugh, and a soft voice that goes straight to the heart of man, and also — of woman. " Major McBurney, this is my young friend, Robert Boone Covington. I call him 'Bob,' having dandled him on my knee!" remarks Talliaferro. ' ' Ah !

Come down to see Kentucky horseflesh beaten by Louisiana horseflesh, I hope," laughs McBurney, extending a cordial hand. " I am not sure that I ought to be so enthusiastic," returns Covington, "about beating Louisiana. You know I have some Creole blood in me ; my mother came from Assumption Parish in this State. She was Miss Isabelle Tournay." "Ah! Mademoiselle Isabelle, sister of Prosper Tournay! I knew the savant poet well," replies the Louisianian. ' ' I have played poker with your romantic uncle at Duval's, and danced with your mother, young gentleman, in the old Orleans ball-room." "Yes — but please don't talk of my — my mother!" mutters the Kentuckian, and the young man turns away, his eyes growing very sad. Looking at him Talliaferro remarks to the Louisian ian: "Bob's father and mother were carried off by that rush of cholera in 1850.

He hasn't forgotten it yet." But the Metairie race-course this day is not a place for memories of any kind — the present is too dominant. Sauntering across the stretch, Covington suddenly grows a little less interested in the horses than in something else— much more beautiful. A moment after, he steps up to Henri La Farge and says: " Do you see that lady? " "What is the matter ?" remarks his friend. " Le comte just came past in his preliminary canter, and you didn't notice him ! " "No — I — Do you know who that lady is ? — the young one. The one in the barouche there, sitting beside a lady of more certain years." " Oh, the one apparently just out of mourning ? " "Well, I don't know what you call her dress, but it's thundering becoming. The one with the whiteheaded coachman. No, not the four-in-hand — the pair I'm speaking about.

Do you know who she is ? " " Ah ! The one who has just thrown back her veil to get a better view of the course. Parblcu, she is beautiful ! " "Beautiful! I should think so! Do you know who she is? You're acquainted with everybody in New Orleans — by sight any way. Why don't you speak ? " "I'm looking!" "And so am I. Isn't she a leetle thepurtiest thing you ever put your eyes on ? That face is as clean cut as a cameo — but what a soul is in it! And you don't know who she is? You New Orleans gentlemen are not very active and ambitious. If this were an old Ken tucky race-course there'd be more boys playing about that barouche than flies in summer time. Our Blue Grass girls are a sight to make a man open his eyes; but this one is a — a little different." " I don't know who the young. lady is, but I can find out for you, I think, if she lives in Louisiana.

I thought I saw Martineau near her carriage. I will in quire." His friend leaves Bob looking at the young lady in the carriage. And well may he look, for he is gaz ing upon an almost perfect specimen of Creole beauty. Though not a brunette, the girl's eyes are a blue that will shine with excitement, but will grow dark if touched by passion. Her lips, exquisitely cut, are red as blushing poppies, yet tender and full of sentiment, suggesting that a very warm heart is beating in the fair body beneath them. Her hair is wavy and brown, growing very much darker in the shadows, but when tinted by the sun — brown. Her nose, clean cut as a cameo, with a trace of retrousse in it, just enough to make it piquant or haughty, as its owner wishes. The forehead not too high, but broad. The brows cleanly penciled, just strong enough to indicate force, but not severe enough to lessen by an iota the feminine grace that adorns and beautifies every expression of the face and every pose or movement of the rounded contours of the figure.

As Covington looks at her the young lady is in repose, talking carelessly to her companion or chaperone, and the Kentuckian thinks her si haughty. A moment after, she smiles, and it is as tiie sun breaking forth to give joy unto the earth. Just at this moment La Farge stands beside him and says: "I have discovered her name. Though they have a house in New Orleans she does not live here. The young lady has come up to the races, I presume. Her plantation is down on the Atchafalaya. She i 3 Miss Louise Tournay, the daughter of old Prosper Tournay, the savant, who was suddenly killed by tha accidental explosion of his shot gun ibis hunting a year or so back But where are you going ? " "I'm going over to see my cousin," says the Ken tuckian suddenly and proudly, "I'm much obliged to you. I will introduce you afterward."

Then he vaults over the palings into the stretch, runs across, despite a shriek of warning from a track-keeper, swings himself over the other fence, pushes his way through the crowd, and a moment after, to the astonishment of a very beautiful young lady, who is gowned very fashionably and exquisitely in white trimmed with lavender, takes off his hat, makes an old-time bow, and says : "Permit a relative to introduce himself, and ask a thousand pardons for doing so. I am Bob Covington, of Lexington, Kentucky, and you are my first cousin, I believe, Miss Tournay ; my mother was your father's sister, Isabelle." After a second's surprise, the young lady replies, looking earnestly at him: "I am delighted to meet you, for you are the only relative I have in the world, as far as I know, except my sister.

I have heard my father speak of my aunt. She is dead now. I have often wished to see her, but Louisiana is a long way from Kentucky, and " here the young lady bites her lip. "And," remarks Eob, "I believe there was some estrangement. But neither you nor I, Miss Tournay, know anything about it, and as I have not another first cousin in the world, I think wc had better shake hands over the old disagreement. It never grew to a family feud, I believe, it is a thing of which we know nothing — and this generation should become betur friends than the last." His hand is half held out. There is something in the frank, open-hearted, careless, and impulsive, but thoroughly honest method of this young man's speech, address and bearing that Miss Louise, murmuring: "Your face reminds me of my father," extends a daintily gloved, exquisitely small patrician hand.

This is literally smothered in the big digits of the Kentuckian, who has great difficulty in constraining himself from giving it a grip that would have caused its beautiful owner a pang or two. "You will excuse me, I hope, Mrs. Joyce, but this advent of a relative came suddenly. Let me present my cousin, Mr. Robert Covington. You see your name is familiar to me," she adds graciously, while Bob is bowing to a lady of rather prim appearance who is sitting in the barouche beside Miss Tournay. " I am most happy to meet you," says the chaperone, for that is evidently her office. "Since we came down to the Beau Rivage plantation we have led rather a lonely life." "Of course — I understand," murmurs the Kentuck ian, gazing at the girl's half-mourning. "But now I reckon you've just run up from Assumption to bet gloves, bonbons, furbelows, gimeracks, and perhaps a robe or two from Mme. Olympe, on Arrow, your State's horse, and have the beginning of a thundering good time," adds the young gentleman, suggestively.

" No; I believe I have only one little wager — a half dozen pairs of gloves with my family lawyer. I know very few people here. You see, I was educated in the North and have only lately come to Louisiana. Be sides we live about seventy-five miles from New Or leans," answers Miss Louise. "But here comes the gentleman of whom 1 spoke." A moment after, Arvid Martineau, a typical Creole of French descent, of about sixty years of age, with slightly grizzled moustache, slightly silvered hair, the manners of a Parisian, and the dignity of a man practicing at the New Orleans bar, one of the most dis tinguished of the day, strolls up. " Monsieur Martin eau," remarks Miss Louise, "permit me to present my cousin, Mr. Robert Boone Covington, of Lexington, who has come down to see his horse beaten," "I am very glad that I have come down, whether my horse is beaten or not, " returns the Kentuckian, and his voice says he means it.

"I am very much pleased to meet you, Monsieur Martineau " but here a peculiar expression in the face of the lawyer makes this volatile young gentleman pause. The look is not of dislike, but certainly not of cordiality, and perchance almost of consternation. "You — you are not well?" suddenly asks Miss Tournay, for Martineau's face is deathly pale. " No ! I was perfectly well, but the sun — I believe is a little too warm — perhaps the excitement. You know I have backed Arrow rather heavily for a man of professional income," murmurs the attorney. " I'm afraid you've lost your money," remarks Bob, who can't help thinking: "What the deuce in my appearance had such an effect upon this man ? By Daniel Boone ! That Creole looked at me very much as if I were an Indian with a scalping knife in my hand."

Then he suddenly cogitates: "I've hit it! He doubts the genuineness of my relationship. Thinks I'm flying false colors to get acquainted with this pink of perfection who is under his charge." Acting on this idea, Bob suggests: " Miss Tournay, permit me to put your carriage in a little better place, near the judges' stand. I know a good deal about horse-racing, and I can locate you so you will get a good view of the final struggle." " I am very much obliged to you," replies the young lady, and a moment after she finds her barouche, under the experienced guidance of her new-found cousin, placed in the best position to give its fair occupant a first-rate view of the finish of the great four-mile race. Then, with a sudden thought, " I'll show him I am genuine," Bob says to the French lawyer: "Stroll over with me ; I want to introduce you to my Kentucky friends.

Be back in a few moments." Raising his hat the two stride off together. For, euriously enough, Arvid Martineau is anxious to know if this gentleman's name is genuine; if so, he is very well aware that the relationship is genuine also. Of this he gets ample proof in the next two minutes, being introduced by this rapid young gentleman as "the family lawyer of my cousin, the belle cf Louisi ana," to Ten Broeck and Kenyonand Huddleston, and half a dozen more prominent Kentucky turfmen, and they all go under the grand stand to the clubroom of the Metairie Jockey Club and take a drink. "You know there's a change in the betting," remarks Talliaferro, chancing along. " Lexington is coming up in the odds." "Well, I've put all the money I want on our horse, and now I've something pleasanter to look after.

I think I'll walk over and see the race from my cousin's carriage," says Covington. "Won't you come with me, Monsieur Martineau? " "Yes," replies the family liwver suddenly, and they are just in time to cross the tiack before it is cleared for the first heat. While they are walking the lawyer is speaking. " I am very glad," he remarks, looking the young Ken tuckian over, "that you take such an interest in your cousin." "Who would not? " says Covington enthusiastically. "There's no first cousin in the world, in my opinion, up to her in good looks. Gaze over On the grand stand. There sit the prettiest women in America, every girl of them in her best bib and tucker, but hang me if I think there's one of them that quite comes up to my cousin Louise. " "Yes; she is very beautiful." " All I wonder," says the young man, " is that there is not a crowd of bucks and bloods round that car riage.

There would be in Lexington. The boys here seem to me rather slow on the trail. " " There would be here; but your cousin knows no body, or Very few. Miss Tournay has lived on the plantation ever since her return from school. She has only been in New Orleans two days. This is the first time she has been seen at any public festivity. " '• I'm rather delighted to hear that," remarks Mr. Covington '"It saves me trouble." "How?" "Well, I've got a clear course for this afternoon. After that I expect to have to run heats with every dandy in Louisiana. Ah! She sees us! See, my cousin Louise waves her parasol! Look at me! Observe Bob Covington making hay while the sun shines." A few seconds after they stand beside Miss Tournay 's carriage, and the lawyer, gazing on, chews his grizzled moustache grimly, but smiles as he notes that the lady and gentleman seem to become, almost on the instant, very well acquainted.

Miss Tournay is chatting pleasantly and with less constraint than is usual to New Orleans young ladies, especially those of the Creole population, who are brought up very much after the manner of the French. But Louise has been educated at a New York boarding school and has absorbed some of the manners of the Northern metropolis. A moment after Mr. Covington strolls away, to bring the last news from the horses, which are now getting ready for the start. Taking advantage of the young Kentuckian's absence, Monsieur Martineau, getting close to the young lady's pretty ear, remarks: " I have just been over with your cousin, Miss Louise, talking to the magnates of his State. Mr. Bob Covington seems to be about as much the pride of Kentucky as that beautiful horse Lexington who is cantering up the track.

Your cousin is a very gallant representative of the Blue Grass region." "I am delighted to hear that; but who would not have known it by his face," returns the young lady. A moment later she makes Mr. Covington very happy, for as he steps up to the barouche again, she addresses him as "Cousin Bob." " By Heaven! Cousin Louise," exclaims the gallant, taking off his hat, "you've made me happier than if Lexington won the race; and that means the happiest man upon this earth." "Well, you know 'blood is thicker than water,'" returns the young lady. "Since my father's death I have had no relatives except my little sister, who is away from me in a New York boarding school. There fore you come in very opportunely ; don't you, Cousin Bob? " <OB COVINGTON She emphasizes the name by a slightly heightened color in her soft cheeks and a look in her eyes that makes the Kentuckian know Louise Tournay means what she says.

" Let's have a cousinly wager to celebrate the event," laughs Covington, very proud of his new found relative. The young lady, gazing at him, hesitates. The color on her exquisite face, already heightened, is now a burning red. Into her mind has flown, " A cousinly wager may mean, perchance, a cousinly kiss from this young man of rapid action, impulsive bearing, and warm heart." But Bob, catching the big blush, and Miss Louise's embarrassed manner, begins to grow red himself, and blurts out, " I — I didn't mean that ! " Then recover ing himself, goes on, with a gallant mien and very earnest eyes: " Though I shall feel the most honored man on earth, when Cousin Lou considers Cousin Bob worthy of such a mark of kinship." To this he adds quite pathetically: " You know, I have never kissed a cousin in my whole life."

"No?" murmurs Miss Louise, caressing the tip of a very dainty petite hotline with the end of her white parasol. Then she cries suddenly : "Of course not! I am the only cousin you've ever had," blushes once more and bursts out laughing; and this incident seems to do a great deal toward sweeping away any extreme punctilio between Cousin Lou and her just-discovered Cousin Bob. "What I meant was, Miss Louise, to give you a cousin's privilege of naming your own horse or horses and your own odds in gloves, nicknacks or feminine furbelows," remarks Mr. Covington, gazing with ad miring eyes on the pretty picture made by the young lady, who is now a charming melange of blushes, laugh ter, and sparkling eyes. " That means," murmurs Louise, "you want to make a — a cousinly present. " " Not exactly. But x can tell you I'll lose to you with better grace than I would to any other human being..

Let's make-it gloves," continues the young man eagerly. "You name your two horses and num ber of dozens. I will take the nags you reject." " Very well. I select Arrow, our Louisiana horse, and, in compliment to my Kentucky relative, Lexing ton. " Then she laughs. " I think I will only rob you of a dozen pairs of gloves, Cousin Bob." " How I shall enjoy paying this wager ! That's kind of you, that's heartfelt, that's cousinly, betting on our horse, Cousin Lou, " cries Covington, elated. "Be sides, I can tell you, with this muddy track," he whis pers this, " Lexington is sure. You might as well tell me the number of your gloves even now." "Five and three-quarters. But be sure and get Jouvin's, with long fingers," remarks his cousin. Looking at her delicately gloved patrician hands, one of which is lying in easy grace over the edge of the carriage and the other dallying with her parasol, Mr. Covington thinks that if anything, five and three-quarters will be too large for her pretty digits.

While this conversation has been going on Mon sieur Martineau has been chatting with Mrs. Joyce, casting now and then a glance at the beautiful young lady and her cousinly cavalier. The more cordial the young man gets in his manner to the young lady, the happier the family lawyer's face. " Don't you think it a rather quick assumption of relationship on the part of Mr. Covington," whispers the chaperone nervously. "No; there's no doubt of Cousin Bob's standing in his State and with the Kentucky gentlemen who know him. I believe they think of running him for Congress up in the Blue Grass District. There's no doubt of his relationship to Miss Louise. He is a noble, whole-souled fellow and — and I'm very glad of it." This last is said with a curious twitching of the Cre ole's grizzled moustache.