"Why, I want to see Major Perdue. You know we have had trouble in our settlement."
"And you want to see Tomlin because you have had trouble; but why is it, Mr. Sanders, that your people never think of me when you have trouble? Am I losing caste in your community?"
"Well, you know, Colonel, you haven't been over sence the year one; an' then the Major is kinder kin to one of the chaps that's been took off."
"Exactly; but did it ever occur to you that whoever is kin to Tomlin is a little kin to me," remarked the Colonel. "Tomlin is my brother-in-law—But where are you going now?"
"Well, I thought I would go to the tavern, have my hoss put up an' fed, git a snack of somethin' to eat, an' then call on the Major."
"You hadn't heard, I reckon, that the tavern is closed, and the livery-stable broke up," said the Colonel, by way of giving the visitor some useful information.
At that moment a negro came out on the veranda of the hotel—only the older people called it a tavern—and rang the bell that meant breakfast in half an hour.
"What's that?" inquired Mr. Sanders, though he knew well enough.
"It's pure habit," replied the Colonel. "That nigger has been ringing the bell so long that he can't quit it. Anyhow, you can't go to the tavern, and you can't go to Tomlin's. He's got a mighty big family to support, Tomlin has. He's fixin' up to have a son-in-law, and he's already got a daughter, and old Minervy Ann, who brags that she can eat as much as she can cook. No, you can't impose on Tomlin."
"Then, what in the world will I do?" Mr. Sanders asked with a laugh. He was perfectly familiar with the tactics of the Colonel.