"Unless some mo' direct insult is stated, Colonel, we must agree with yo' friend Mr. Fitzpatrick, and consider yo' action hasty. Now, if you had pressed the gemman, and he had called you a yaller dog or a liar, somethin' might be done. Why didn't you press him?"
"I did, suh. I told him his statements were false and his manners vulgar."
"And he did not talk back?"
"No, suh; on'y laughed."
"Sneeringly, and in a way that sounded like 'Yo' 're another'?"
The colonel could not remember that it was.
Yancey ruminated, and Fitz now took a hand.
"On the contrary, Major Yancey, Mr. Klutchem's laugh was a very jolly laugh; and, under the circumstances, a laugh very creditable to his good nature. You are young and impetuous, but I know my learned friend, Judge Kerfoot, will agree with me"—here Yancey patted his toy balloon complacently, and the judge leaned forward with rapt attention—"when I say that if any apologies are in order they should not come from Mr. Klutchem."
It was delicious to note how easily Fitz fell into the oratorical method of his hearers.
"Here is a man immersed in stocks, and totally ignorant of the boundless resources of your State, who limits the freight of our road to four staples,—peanuts, hogs, sweet potatoes, and niggers. As a further exhibition of his ignorance he estimates the value of a large block of our securities as far below the price set upon a light, tan-colored canine, a very inexpensive animal; or, as he puts it, and perhaps too coarsely,—a yellow dog. For the expression of these financial opinions in an open office during business hours he is set upon, threatened with expulsion, and finally challenged to a mortal duel. I ask you, as chivalric Virginians, is this right?"