men talk, that I am
compelled to listen everywhere in America to schemes of trade, material
progress, the accumulation of money. These planters go on to ask why
lines should be drawn across the territory of the United States
forbidding slavery north of the line and permitting it south of the
line. This territory had been paid for equally by the treasure and blood
of all the states. Blood for land! Then slavery on the land to raise
cotton! And was not Jefferson prophetic when he wrote that the extension
of this divisional line in 1820 alarmed him like a fire bell at
midnight? It betokened sectional strife: the North against the South.
And about trade! For as the Southern States grew richer they would have
more political power, could dominate the North. Some one must dominate.
There must be a supremacy. And what would this growing hostility lead
to? What would future inventions do to exacerbate it? What of the steam
engine, what of machinery, what of unknown developments?

I could not help but think of the bearing that all of this had on my own
life.

But finally as they paid for their dinner, lighted cigars, and became
less energetic of mood, one asked the other: "Have you ever heard from
the girl?" The reply was: "Not a word. How could I? I didn't leave my
name. It was best to close the matter by leaving no trace of myself."
And the first asked: "Wasn't your name on the draft?" "I had gold, a bag
of gold. I simply turned it over to the new husband and went my way."

I was all ears now, studying, too, the face of the man who was
confessing to the bag of gold. Was there a trace of Zoe in him? I could
not be sure. I seemed to see something about the eyes, but it faded
under my scrutiny. At best this man was only Zoe's grandfather; and my
father's blood was nearer to Zoe than his.

They started to arise from the table. I wished to follow them. But I had
not paid for my meal. I beckoned to a waiter. While he was coming the
two planters strolled leisurely from the cafe arm in arm and in intimate
conversation.

I was hurrying to be away and to follow them--I scarcely knew why. They
were gone when my waiter came. I asked him who the planters were. He
didn't know their names; only knew them as rich planters who often
visited the cafe. I left the cafe and tried to find them, but they had
disappeared. And I stood on the curb watching the iridescent ooze of the
sewage in a runnel of the street seep along like a sick snake.