“I am glad you think so, colonel. I see I speak to one who has the old Virginia feeling. You respect family.”
“Who does not? There are those who profess to care naught for it, but it is because they are new-comers.”
“Yes,” was the journalist’s reply, “mushrooms—and very dirty ones!”
I laughed at the speaker’s grimace.
“For my own part,” I said, “I do not pretend to be indifferent whether or not my father was a gentleman. I bow as politely to the new-comer as if it were the Conqueror he came over with; but still I am glad my father was a gentleman. I hope no one will quarrel with that.”
“You are mistaken. They will hate you for it.”
“You are right—but I interrupted you.”
“I am glad the interruption came, colonel, for it gave you an opportunity of showing me that my views and your own are in exact accord on this subject. I will proceed, therefore, without ceremony, to tell you what I design doing some day.”
I listened with attention. It is always interesting to look into the recesses of a remarkable man’s character. This human being was notable in an epoch filled with notabilities; and chance was about to give me an insight into his secret thoughts.
He twirled a paper-cutter in his fingers, reflected a moment, and said:—