Each long black hair upon his head hung down as straight as any plummet line; but rumpled tufts were on the arches of his eyes, as if the crow whose foot was deeply printed in the corners had pecked and torn them in a savage recognition of his kindred nature as a bird of prey.
Such was the man whom they now approached, and whom the General saluted by the name of Scadder.
‘Well, Gen’ral,’ he returned, ‘and how are you?’
‘Ac-tive and spry, sir, in my country’s service and the sympathetic cause. Two gentlemen on business, Mr Scadder.’
He shook hands with each of them—nothing is done in America without shaking hands—then went on rocking.
‘I think I know what bis’ness you have brought these strangers here upon, then, Gen’ral?’
‘Well, sir. I expect you may.’
‘You air a tongue-y person, Gen’ral. For you talk too much, and that’s fact,’ said Scadder. ‘You speak a-larming well in public, but you didn’t ought to go ahead so fast in private. Now!’
‘If I can realise your meaning, ride me on a rail!’ returned the General, after pausing for consideration.
‘You know we didn’t wish to sell the lots off right away to any loafer as might bid,’ said Scadder; ‘but had con-cluded to reserve ‘em for Aristocrats of Natur’. Yes!’