"Yes!" said Parkington, and laughed. "That is why I never do, unless they inflict themselves upon me. In plain words, Herford, get in a good humor or get away. You intrude on my privacy—and the least you can do is to be pleasant.—Your face, at present, does not harmonize with the landscape—it spoils the picture. Pray, withdraw it!"
The other looked at him, sourly, uncertain for the moment how to take him—then a surly smile overspread his face.
"The picture brightens!" exclaimed Parkington. "Let it grow, let it grow!"
"Damn these black servants!" the Captain broke out.—"Laid out my gray suit instead of the dark blue, as I ordered, and was not around when I got up."
"You have got on the blue, I observe."
"Yes—got it out myself; and he got my riding whip. They are all worthless, sir, damn worthless!"
"I dare say they are—but think of the satisfaction in being able to beat them. You work off your surplus feelings, and at no loss to yourself. A slave dare not leave you."
Herford stared at him. "He is not my slave," he said; "he is one of old Marbury's."
"Oh! and yet you beat him?"