General Boswell was in his office; a comfortable looking place, with plenty of outline maps hanging about the walls and in the windows, and a spectacled man was marking out another one on a long table.  The office was in the principal street.  The General received Washington with a kindly but reserved politeness.  Washington rather liked his looks.  He was about fifty years old, dignified, well preserved and well dressed.  After the Colonel took his leave, the General talked a while with Washington—­his talk consisting chiefly of instructions about the clerical duties of the place.  He seemed satisfied as to Washington’s ability to take care of the books, he was evidently a pretty fair theoretical bookkeeper, and experience would soon harden theory into practice.  By and by dinner-time came, and the two walked to the General’s house; and now Washington noticed an instinct in himself that moved him to keep not in the General’s rear, exactly, but yet not at his side—­somehow the old gentleman’s dignity and reserve did not inspire familiarity.

CHAPTER IX

Washington dreamed his way along the street, his fancy flitting from grain to hogs, from hogs to banks, from banks to eyewater, from eye-water to Tennessee Land, and lingering but a feverish moment upon each of these fascinations.  He was conscious of but one outward thing, to wit, the General, and he was really not vividly conscious of him.

Arrived at the finest dwelling in the town, they entered it and were at home.  Washington was introduced to Mrs. Boswell, and his imagination was on the point of flitting into the vapory realms of speculation again, when a lovely girl of sixteen or seventeen came in.  This vision swept Washington’s mind clear of its chaos of glittering rubbish in an instant.  Beauty had fascinated him before; many times he had been in love even for weeks at a time with the same object but his heart had never suffered so sudden and so fierce an assault as this, within his recollection.

Louise Boswell occupied his mind and drifted among his multiplication tables all the afternoon.  He was constantly catching himself in a reverie—­reveries made up of recalling how she looked when she first burst upon him; how her voice thrilled him when she first spoke; how charmed the very air seemed by her presence.  Blissful as the afternoon was, delivered up to such a revel as this, it seemed an eternity, so impatient was he to see the girl again.  Other afternoons like it followed.  Washington plunged into this love affair as he plunged into everything else—­upon impulse and without reflection.  As the days went by it seemed plain that he was growing in favor with Louise,—­not sweepingly so, but yet perceptibly, he fancied.  His attentions to her troubled her father and mother a little, and they warned Louise, without stating particulars or making allusions to any special person, that a girl was sure to make a mistake who allowed herself to marry anybody but a man who could support her well.