Minton
On the same day that his father successfully prosecuted the Holloway company Minton who had been ill for a few days fell into a high fever delirium brought on by a languid midsummer rain. When the bodies of the principal witnesses and their families were found in the bayou his father talked of going into hiding but before he could muster up courage enough to move them to a place of safety he went missing. Bloodhounds scrambled through the reeds and mud of the bayou for weeks without the least result. Heartbroken his mother died of palpitations and hysterics while the child lay listlessly complaining on the horsehair sofa in the back parlor. Holloway assassins uneasy after finding her already dead overlooked the boy during their hasty search of the residence. Worn out from diarrhœa and confused by all the footsteps in the hall he stopped mumbling right as they passed the parlor door. A soft breeze tenderly fluttered the white curtain in the open window some pigeons cooed the air tasted faintly of lilies. A bumblebee became entangled in the billowing curtain making a fuss until the wind launched it into the room. It was Saturday the maid wasn’t due back till Friday. Minton dozed on through the vacant afternoon caught up in dreams of appalling butchery only occasionally disturbed by the lackadaisical buzzing of the bee as it roamed around the parlor bumping into things. The sycamore out in the yard either purposely or accidentally shed some damp leaves and twigs onto the croquet lawn and a rabbit quietly hopped into the garden with bold intentions. Forty acres of sugar cane flourished beyond the confines of the yard growing unchallenged all the way to the river. Minton awoke blubbering like a turnspit dog.
Dusk was bringing a coolness to the air as the sky was gradually being deprived of sunlight and the feverish boy was soon shivering his tears quite forgotten.
Mother! Mother I would like some broth and a muffin with raspberry jam. Mother?
After a little while he got up from the sofa opened the door and went into the kitchen. He didn’t notice how quiet the house was until he had satisfied his appetite. The old clock ticking in his father’s study sounded unusually loud and shadows were deepening in every room so he lit a candle and returned a bit unsteadily to the sofa in the parlor figuring that his mother had gone into town. He knew that she still desperately hoped for good news. Shutting the window he thought about his father a stout man with a certain briskness of manner that did not invite intimacy. He had toiled on the Holloway case for years often working through the night at his office in town. He always wore a white cotton shirt and a silk necktie even on the rare occasions when they went fishing for trout in the river. Picking up [cough] where he had left off Minton settled down to read more of Dandy Deane and the Troglodytes of London.
