ore glad. The set of old Richard's head and the
tilt of his nose were enough to face. An old and pampered hound in the
presence of a pack of puppies could not have been more disdainful.

The preacher he had mentioned, Mr. J. Quincy Plume, was one of the
youngest members of the party and one of the most striking--certainly
one of the most convivial and least abashed. Mr. Plume had, to use his
own expression, "plucked a feather from many wings, and bathed his
glistening pinions in the iridescent light of many orbs." He had been
"something of a doctor"; then had become a preacher--to quote him again,
"not exactly of the gospel as it was understood by mossbacked
theologians, of 'a creed outworn,'" but rather the "gospel of the new
dispensation, of the new brotherhood--the gospel of liberty, equality,
fraternity." Now he had found his true vocation, that of statesmanship,
where he could practise what he had preached; could "bask in the light
of the effulgent sun of progress, and, shod with the sandals of Mercury,
soar into a higher empyrean than he had yet attained." All of which,
being translated, meant that Mr. Plume, having failed in several
professions, was bent now on elevating himself by the votes of the
ignorant followers whom he was cajoling into taking him as a leader.

Mr. Wickersham had had some dealing with him and had found him capable
and ready for any job. When he had been in the house an hour Mr.
Wickersham was delighted with him, and mentally decided to secure him
for his agent. When he had been there a day Mr. Wickersham mentally
questioned whether he had not better drop him out of his schemes
altogether.

One curious thing was that each guest secretly warned him against all
the others.

The prices were much higher than Mr. Wickersham had expected. But they
were subject to scaling.

"Well, Richard, what do you think of the gentlemen?" asked Mr.
Wickersham of the old servant, much amused at his disdain.

"What gent'mens?"

"Why, our guests." He used the possessive that the General used.

"Does you call dem 'gent'mens?'" demanded the old servant, fixing his
eyes on him.

"Well, no; I don't think I do--all of them."

"Nor, suh; dee ain't gent'mens; dee's scalawags!" said Richard, with
contempt. "I been livin' heah 'bout sixty years, I reckon, an' I never
seen nobody like dem eat at de table an' sleep in de beds in dis
house befo'."

When the statesmen were gone and General Keith had returned, old