“There is much reason in what you have advanced, Mrs. Clifton. Yet, among all the negroes on the place, there is none but Jack who seems fit for the duty, the others are all too young or too old, or too hopelessly stupid and lumbering.”
“There is Dandy, a handsome, likely mulatto, strong and intelligent, dressy and enterprising, the very man for an officer’s servant; he would be very proud and glad to attend you.”
“Oh! ay! I know that he is anxious to go; but he is your carriage-driver and waiter, Catherine, and I cannot think of depriving you of him.”
“There are other careful drivers on the place. Please take him with you.”
“Yes—but those other careful drivers are awkward, ill-looking, farm-laborers, accustomed to driving and hallooing after ox-teams.”
“Have I been so long used to a carriage, as to be choice in my coachman, then? Please do not think of that.”
“And then he is your waiter and messenger.”
“Oh, believe me, I do not need him. Pray take him with you. He is so active, intelligent and faithful, that he will be of inestimable value to you in the campaign.”
“It is precisely because he is so active, intelligent and faithful, that I am unwilling to deprive you of his services, Catherine—I beg your pardon—Mrs. Clifton,” he corrected himself, suddenly changing his involuntarily relenting manner into the old sarcasm and scorn.
“Oh, call me Catherine, please call me Catherine,” she said, losing half her reserve.