“Ask your pardon for what?”
“For darrin’ to put yer black hand on me, confound yer!”
The mulatto replied with spirit: “You don’t bully this child, Mister. I merely did my duty.”
“Duty be damned! I’ll stick yer, sure, if yer don’t apologize right off, damned lively!” And the tall man unsheathed a monstrous bowie-knife.
Mr. Onslow approached, and mildly interposed with the remark, “It was natural for the waiter to touch you, since he couldn’t make you hear.”
“Who the hell air you, sir?” said the tall man. “I reckon I kn settle with the nigger without no help of yourn.”
“Yes,” said another voice; “if the gentleman demands it, the nigger must ask his pardon.”
Mr. Onslow turned, and to his surprise beheld the stranger with the opera-glass.
“Really, sir,” said Mr. Onslow, “I hope you do not wish to see a man degrade himself merely because he isn’t white like ourselves.”
“The point can’t be argued, sir,” said the stranger, putting his glass in his pocket. Then seizing the mulatto by the throat, he thrust him on his knees. “Down, you black hound, and ask this gentleman’s pardon.”