The sun cast red glows and violet shadows over the pier, and the
pines murmured a soft little vesper hymn among themselves up on
the beach, as the "New Camelia" swung herself in, crabby,
sidewise, like a fat old gentleman going into a small door.
There was the clang of an important bell, the scream of a hoarse
little whistle, and Mandeville rushed to the gang-plank to
welcome the outside world. Juanita put her hand through a
waiting arm, and tripped away with her Mercer, big and blond and
brawny. "Un Americain, pah!" said the little mother of the black
eyes. And Mandeville sighed sadly, and shook its head, and was
sorry for Grandpere Colomes.
This was Saturday, and the big regatta would be Monday. Ah, that
regatta, such a one as Mandeville had never seen! There were to
be boats from Madisonville and Amite, from Lewisburg and
Covington, and even far-away Nott's Point. There was to be a
Class A and Class B and Class C, and the little French girls of
the town flaunted their ribbons down the one oak-shaded,
lake-kissed street, and dared anyone to say theirs were not the
favourite colours.
In Class A was entered, "La Juanita,' captain Mercer Grangeman,
colours pink and gold." Her name, her colours; what impudence!
Of course, not being a Mandevillian, you could not understand the
shame of Grandpere Colomes at this. Was it not bad enough for
his petite Juanita, his Spanish blossom, his hope of a family
that had held itself proudly aloof from "dose Americain" from
time immemorial, to have smiled upon this Mercer, this pale-eyed
youth? Was it not bad enough for her to demean herself by
walking upon the pier with him? But for a boat, his boat, "un
bateau Americain," to be named La Juanita! Oh, the shame of it!
Grandpere Colomes prayed a devout prayer to the Virgin that "La
Juanita" should be capsized.
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