Sam's voice suddenly rang out with unusual unction and deliberation. He was imitating Uncle Ben's most eloquent methods.
"Congress-man and Mrs. Rog-er A. Pry-or!"
Mrs. Lee hastened to greet the young editor who had taken high rank in
Congress from the day of his entrance.
Mrs. Pryor was evidently as proud of her young Congressman as he was of her regal beauty.
Colonel Lee joined the group and led the lawmaker into the library for a chat on politics.
The first notes of a violin swept the crowd. The hum of conversation and the ripple of laughter softened into silence. The dusky orchestra is in place on the little platform. Sam, in all his glory, rises and faces the eager youth.
He was dressed in his young master's last year's suit, immaculate blue broadcloth and brass buttons, ruffled shirt and black-braided watch guard hanging from his neck. His eyes sparkled with pride and his rich, sonorous voice rang over the crowd like the deep notes of a flute:
"Choose yo' pardners fur de fust cowtillun!"
Again the quick rustle of silk and tulle, the low hum of excited, young voices and the couples are in place.
A boy cries to the leader: