"My old massa told me so,
Best looking nigger in the country, O!
I looked in the glass and I found it so—o—o—O—O."
The crescendo here made the papers flutter, and created a lively breeze in the apartment.
"And now, farewell, divinest Alice, Jim must go to work. Let's see. Oh! I've promised a rip-staving skinner on Tom Brown in that Custom House affair."
"What is that business? What has Brown done? If all is true that is alleged he ought to be turned out of decent society."
"Oh pshaw! you don't understand; its nothing but a dust we're kicking up because its a dry time. Brown's a good fellow enough, I dare say, but you know we want to sell our papers and these folks want hot hash with their breakfast every morning, and somebody has got to be served up. You see the Seven Stars started this story, and sold immensely, and we come in on the wave; the word to our paper is 'pitch in' and so I'm pitching in."
"But, Jim, is it the fair thing to do when you don't know the truth of the story?"
"The truth! well, my dear fellow, who knows or cares anything about truth in our days? We want to sell our papers."
"And to sell your papers you will sell your honor as a man and a gentleman."