"I have called this morning, Governor," the older man began with sharp emphasis, "to advise you to revoke at once your proclamation suspending the writ of habeas corpus. Your act was a blunder—a colossal blunder! We are not living in the Dark Ages, sir—even if you were elected by a negro constituency! Your act is four hundred years out of date in the English-speaking world."
The Scalawag began his answer by wringing his slippery hands:
"I realize, Governor Carteret, the gravity of my act. Yet grave dangers call for grave remedies. You see from the news this morning the condition of turmoil into which reckless men have plunged the state."
The old man rose, crossed the room and confronted the Scalawag, his eyes blazing, his uplifted hand trembling with passion:
"The breed of men with whom you are fooling have not submitted to such an act of tyranny from their rulers for the past three hundred years. Your effort to set the negro up as the ruler of the white race is the act of a madman. Revoke your order to-day or the men who opened that jail last night will hang you——"
The Governor laughed lamely:
"A cheap bluff, sir, a schoolboy's threat!"
The older man drew closer:
"A cheap bluff, eh? Well, when you say your prayers to-night, don't forget to thank your Maker for two things—that He sent a storm yesterday that made Buffalo creek impassable and that I reached its banks in time!"
The little Scalawag paled and his voice was scarcely a whisper: