"Why didn't you put it on the front-door here?"
"You see, it's 'E. Gano.' There was no 'E. Gano' then," she said, with shadowed face.
"But there is now—I'm here."
"To be sure," she answered, smiling. "As your grandfather said, 'It's necessary to have an Ethan in every generation to avoid re-marking things.' We'll have the knocker put up, if you like. Venie will polish it."
"Shall I ask her please to come to you as soon as she's done her work?" he said, hesitatingly, for an interview with these black women was not yet lightly to be faced.
"Tell her I want her at once," said his grandmother, a little brusquely.
He was struck with her peremptoriness.
"Sha'n't I say 'please'?" he inquired.
"Certainly not. It's not as my servants please, but as I please. Tell her to come."
Ethan knew now that his manner to Aunt Jerusha and her daughter must have appeared abject according to Gano standards. He secretly determined to adopt a loftier demeanor. Vain ambition! Never once in his life did he find the accent, let alone the conviction, of the superior, except with persons of his own station. Of servants he asked service unwillingly, and, to the end of his days, with an uneasy sense that somebody was being abased—he inclined to think it was himself. The wages question never in his estimation touched the heart of the obligation. Any underlining of the relation of master and servant was as irksome to him as if he had come of generations of communists, instead of a race of tyrannous slave-holders.