But the President was motioning the other candidate forward. The old man stood hesitating, and then began shakily:
"It 'ud be mighty kin', mehm, ef yo' could get Till an' me de same place."
"The same place!" echoed the President, sharply.
"Y—yes, mehm," faltered the old man, backing timidly; "or anyways places close togedder, mehm, please, mehm."
"That's seldom possible."
The little quadroon wept audibly. The old man patted her arm feebly.
"I—I disremember it myself, but Till, yere, she says I tol' 'er down Georgy dat up yere in Bosting dey didn't nebber make de chilluns go one way an' de ole folks anudder."
"We'll do what we can."
"Thank yo', mehm."