"All your nigger property as good-conditioned as that gal?" enquires the gentleman, the others laughing at the nicety of his humour. Rising from his seat very deliberately, he approaches the servant, lays his hand upon her neck and shoulders.
"Not quite so fast, my friend: d-n it, gentlemen, don't be rude. That's coming the thing a little too familiar. There is a medium: please direct your moist appropriations and your improper remarks in their proper places." The girl, cringing beneath the ruffian's hand, places the necessary receptacle at his feet.
The gentleman is offended,—very much offended. He thinks it beneath the expansion of his mind-to be standing on aristocratic nonsense! "Spit boxes and nigger property ain't the thing to stand on about haristocrats; just put down the dimes. Three bright niggers 'll do: turn 'em out."
"Three of my best niggers!" ejaculates the Colonel.
"Nothin' shorter, Colonel."
"Remember, gentlemen, the market price of such property. The demand for cotton has made niggers worth their weight in gold, for any purpose. Take the prosperity of our country into consideration, gentlemen; remember the worth of prime men. The tip men of the market are worth 1200 dollars."
"Might as well lay that kind a' financerin aside, Colonel. What's the use of living in a free country, where every man has a right to make a penny when he can, and talk so? Now, 'pears to me t'aint no use a' mincing the matter; we might a' leaked ye in for as many thousands as hundreds. Seein' how ye was a good customer, we saved ye on a small shot. Better put the niggers out: ownin' such a lot, ye won't feel it! Give us three prime chaps; none a' yer old sawbones what ye puts up at auction when ther' worked down to nothin'."
M'Carstrow's powers of reasoning are quite limited; and, finding himself in one of those strange situations southern gentlemen so often get into, and which not unfrequently prove as perplexing as the workings of the peculiar institution itself, he seeks relief by giving an order for three prime fellows. They will be delivered up, at the plantation, on the following day, when the merchandise will be duly made over, as per invoice. Everything is according to style and honour; the gentlemen pledge their faith to be gentlemen, to leave no dishonourable loop-hole for creeping out. And now, having settled the little matter, they make M'Carstrow the very best of bows, desire to be remembered to his woman, bid him good morning, and leave. They will claim their property-three prime men-by the justice of a "free-born democracy."
M'Carstrow watches them from the house, moralising over his folly. They have gone! He turns from the sight, ascends the stairs, and repairs to meet his Franconia.