"Are you on your way north, Brother Custis, or going home?" the keen, black-eyed Chief-justice asked.
"No, my journey is ended. I came to Dover to be acquainted with Mr. Clayton."
"Aunt Braner. Hyo! Come yer, Aunt Braner!" the host cried loudly, and an old colored woman came in, closely followed by some of her grandchildren, who stood, gazing, at the door. "Take this gentleman and give him the best room in my house. The best ain't good enough for him! Take him right up and give him water and make your son bresh him, and we'll send him the best julep in Kent County. Goy!"
"De bes' room was Miss Sally's, Mr. Clayton," the old woman answered.
A sudden change came over the highly prompt and sanguine face of the host; he hesitated, wandered in the eyes, and caught himself on the words:
"No, give him the Speaker Chew room: that'll suit him best."
As the Judge followed the servant out, the young Senator emptied his mouth of a large piece of tobacco into a monster spittoon that a blind man could hardly miss, and, with a face still long and silent, and much at variance with his previous spontaneity, he absently inquired:
"What can he want? what can he want?"
One of the small negro children had meantime toddled in at the door, and, with large, liquid eyes in its solemn, desirous face, laid hands on the fiddle and looked up at Mr. Clayton.
"Bless the little child!" he suddenly said. "Wants a tune? Well!"