clerk repeatedly touch a
bell and throw back his head and extend his hand to a servant. Curious
to see who the arrivals were, he went to the register. No names were
written there. But there were other carriages at the door, there was a
pile of trunks on the veranda, which he nearly stumbled over, although
his foot struck nothing, and the chairs were full, and people were
strolling up and down the piazza. He noticed particularly one couple
promenading--a slender brunette, with a brilliant complexion; large dark
eyes that made constant play--could it be the belle of Macon?--and
a gentleman of thirty-five, in black frock-coat, unbuttoned, with a
wide-brimmed soft hat-clothes not quite the latest style--who had a good
deal of manner, and walked apart from the young lady, bending towards
her with an air of devotion. Mr. King stood one side and watched the
endless procession up and down, up and down, the strollers, the mincers,
the languid, the nervous steppers; noted the eye-shots, the flashing or
the languishing look that kills, and never can be called to account for
the mischief it does; but not a sound did he hear of the repartee and
the laughter. The place certainly was thronged. The avenue in front was
crowded with vehicles of all sorts; there were groups strolling on the
broad beach-children with their tiny pails and shovels digging pits
close to the advancing tide, nursery-maids in fast colors, boys in
knickerbockers racing on the beach, people lying on the sand, resolute
walkers, whose figures loomed tall in the evening light, doing their
constitutional. People were passing to and fro on the long iron pier
that spider-legged itself out into the sea; the two rooms midway were
filled with sitters taking the evening breeze; and the large ball and
music room at the end, with its spacious outside promenade-yes, there
were dancers there, and the band was playing. Mr. King could see the
fiddlers draw their bows, and the corneters lift up their horns and get
red in the face, and the lean man slide his trombone, and the drummer
flourish his sticks, but not a note of music reached him. It might have
been a performance of ghosts for all the effect at this distance. Mr.
King remarked upon this dumb-show to a gentleman in a blue coat
and white vest and gray hat, leaning against a column near him. The
gentleman made no response. It was most singular. Mr. King stepped back
to be out of the way of some children racing down the piazza