Gilded Needles (Valancourt 20th Century Classics) by Michael McDowell
Authors: Michael McDowell
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Duncan, with raised eyebrows, “don’t you think that’s a bit far to take it?”
“No,” replied Judge Stallworth, “it’s not. This is a good issue and deserves our best attention. I shouldn’t worry about other business just now—Peerce can take up your slack. It would be of considerable help if I could try the cases that came up as a result of this series of articles so you might do very well to confine your researches to the Black Triangle. Remember: west of MacDougal, south of Bleecker, north of Canal. Anyone arrested there will come up before me. You know, now I think on it I can remember: along about the time of the war there was a family there, called I don’t remember what. Husband, wife, wife’s brother, children, and the like—whole family involved in crime up to their blackened teeth. I hanged the husband and shut up the mother at the Island, sent the children away—and was applauded for it in every journal in the city. They lived in the Black Triangle, and I’m certain there are others like them today, ripe for the quashing. Listen to me, Duncan, you be on the lookout—be particularly on the lookout—for a family of criminals. Nothing goes over so well as the destruction of a whole gang—it’s as good as exterminating brigands.”
“This is a good chance for us,” said Duncan mildly.
“Yes, but particularly for you! And remember: this is not the time for half measures. First concentrate on the Black Triangle, paint it blacker than it is. Then find a family, some clan steeped in sin there, and drive ’em into the river. Hold ’em under till they drown! There’ll be a crowd a hundred thousand strong on the shore to sing your praises and crown your brow!”
Duncan scratched Pompey’s head, and though he nodded acquiescence to all that Judge Stallworth had suggested, his thoughts were of the modest brick house on the edge of the Black Triangle where there lived a beautiful young woman with a blue line under her thumbnail and a black fleck in her bright green eye.
Chapter 9
When he returned home that Monday evening, Duncan Phair explained to his wife Judge Stallworth’s plan for the advancement of the entire family, and as he expected she fell excitedly into line with it. Marian was disappointed only that Duncan and the judge had not seen fit to confide in her before, and that the designs had not originated with her.
“Now of course,” said Duncan, “this will necessitate my being frequently absent from home—”
“Oh of course,” exclaimed Marian absently, as if that were the lowest in an entire course of hurdles to be got over. “Now it seems to me,” she went on, “that I might be of some considerable assistance to you and Father in this matter.”
“How?” said Duncan, with some slight misgiving. Marian oftentimes schemed for the interests of the family, but her stratagems were of the meddlesome and impractical variety. It was often a difficulty to explain to Marian why her suggestions were not to be taken up.
“I see no reason that I could not, say, organize a committee of ladies whose husbands are of some social or political importance—perhaps with Helen to assist me—to protest the moral degeneracy of the city. We could accomplish all manner of things. We could distribute tracts to fallen women or provide starving newsboys with apples—whatever came to mind, and could be accomplished with least bother. And of course a letter-writing campaign on the newspapers and religious journals would be worthwhile. And all the letters would be signed, ‘Mrs. Duncan Phair, Chairman of the Such-and-So Committee.’ ”
Duncan, rather to his surprise, was able to approve the idea wholeheartedly and encouraged his wife to begin as quickly as possible. But she already had—and was scribbling on the back of an envelope the names of a dozen women it was imperative she visit the following day.
The next morning, Tuesday, January 3 , 1882 , Marian Phair went early to the manse
“No,” replied Judge Stallworth, “it’s not. This is a good issue and deserves our best attention. I shouldn’t worry about other business just now—Peerce can take up your slack. It would be of considerable help if I could try the cases that came up as a result of this series of articles so you might do very well to confine your researches to the Black Triangle. Remember: west of MacDougal, south of Bleecker, north of Canal. Anyone arrested there will come up before me. You know, now I think on it I can remember: along about the time of the war there was a family there, called I don’t remember what. Husband, wife, wife’s brother, children, and the like—whole family involved in crime up to their blackened teeth. I hanged the husband and shut up the mother at the Island, sent the children away—and was applauded for it in every journal in the city. They lived in the Black Triangle, and I’m certain there are others like them today, ripe for the quashing. Listen to me, Duncan, you be on the lookout—be particularly on the lookout—for a family of criminals. Nothing goes over so well as the destruction of a whole gang—it’s as good as exterminating brigands.”
“This is a good chance for us,” said Duncan mildly.
“Yes, but particularly for you! And remember: this is not the time for half measures. First concentrate on the Black Triangle, paint it blacker than it is. Then find a family, some clan steeped in sin there, and drive ’em into the river. Hold ’em under till they drown! There’ll be a crowd a hundred thousand strong on the shore to sing your praises and crown your brow!”
Duncan scratched Pompey’s head, and though he nodded acquiescence to all that Judge Stallworth had suggested, his thoughts were of the modest brick house on the edge of the Black Triangle where there lived a beautiful young woman with a blue line under her thumbnail and a black fleck in her bright green eye.
Chapter 9
When he returned home that Monday evening, Duncan Phair explained to his wife Judge Stallworth’s plan for the advancement of the entire family, and as he expected she fell excitedly into line with it. Marian was disappointed only that Duncan and the judge had not seen fit to confide in her before, and that the designs had not originated with her.
“Now of course,” said Duncan, “this will necessitate my being frequently absent from home—”
“Oh of course,” exclaimed Marian absently, as if that were the lowest in an entire course of hurdles to be got over. “Now it seems to me,” she went on, “that I might be of some considerable assistance to you and Father in this matter.”
“How?” said Duncan, with some slight misgiving. Marian oftentimes schemed for the interests of the family, but her stratagems were of the meddlesome and impractical variety. It was often a difficulty to explain to Marian why her suggestions were not to be taken up.
“I see no reason that I could not, say, organize a committee of ladies whose husbands are of some social or political importance—perhaps with Helen to assist me—to protest the moral degeneracy of the city. We could accomplish all manner of things. We could distribute tracts to fallen women or provide starving newsboys with apples—whatever came to mind, and could be accomplished with least bother. And of course a letter-writing campaign on the newspapers and religious journals would be worthwhile. And all the letters would be signed, ‘Mrs. Duncan Phair, Chairman of the Such-and-So Committee.’ ”
Duncan, rather to his surprise, was able to approve the idea wholeheartedly and encouraged his wife to begin as quickly as possible. But she already had—and was scribbling on the back of an envelope the names of a dozen women it was imperative she visit the following day.
The next morning, Tuesday, January 3 , 1882 , Marian Phair went early to the manse
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