made the subject of offensive
comment. We must make known our disapproval."

"I say lynch the nigger, break up the press, and burn down the newspaper
office," McBane responded promptly.

"Gentlemen," interposed the general, "would you mind suspending the
discussion for a moment, while I mind Jerry across the street? I think I
can then suggest a better plan."

Carteret rang the bell for Jerry, who answered promptly. He had been
expecting such a call ever since the gentlemen had gone in.

"Jerry," said the general, "step across to Brown's and tell him to send
me three Calhoun cocktails. Wait for them,--here's the money."

"Yas, suh," replied Jerry, taking the proffered coin.

"And make has'e, charcoal," added McBane, "for we're gettin' damn dry."

A momentary cloud of annoyance darkened Carteret's brow. McBane had
always grated upon his aristocratic susceptibilities. The captain was an
upstart, a product of the democratic idea operating upon the poor white
man, the descendant of the indentured bondservant and the socially
unfit. He had wealth and energy, however, and it was necessary to make
use of him; but the example of such men was a strong incentive to
Carteret in his campaign against the negro. It was distasteful enough to
rub elbows with an illiterate and vulgar white man of no ancestry,--the
risk of similar contact with negroes was to be avoided at any cost. He
could hardly expect McBane to be a gentleman, but when among men of that
class he might at least try to imitate their manners. A gentleman did
not order his own servants around offensively, to say nothing of
another's.

The general had observed Carteret's annoyance, and remarked pleasantly
while they waited for the servant's return:--

"Jerry, now, is a very good negro. He's not one of your new negroes,
who think themselves as good as white men, and want to run the
government. Jerry knows his place,--he is respectful, humble, obedient,
and content with the face and place assigned to him by nature."

"Yes, he's one of the best of 'em," sneered McBane. "He'll call any man
'master' for a quarter, or 'God' for half a dollar; for a dollar he'll
grovel at your feet, and for a cast-off coat you can buy an option on
his immortal soul,--if he has one! I've handled niggers for ten years,
and I know 'em from the ground up. They're all alike,--they're a scrub
race, an affliction to the country, and the quicker we're rid of 'em
all the better."

Carteret had