It was a sore subject to me, and I was glad when they dropped it. I hardly knew why, but my flesh always began to creep when abolition was ventured upon; there was a shudder in it, a threat of trouble, trial and blood.
Bob had shown no interest in the talk; he had sat in a deep muse, his hands listless in his lap, his eyes turned upward; but how handsome was his face, his expression sweetened with success. That day he had been lifted high and given a glimpse, yes a full sight of the heaven his heart so fondly craved; he was to be great and he knew it as he sat there dreaming. Old Master turned to go, and his son came down from the purple clouds. They looked at each other for a moment.
"Bob."
"Yes, sir."
"You have made me the proudest man in the State; you have done what Patrick Henry fired me with an ambition to do. It was denied me, and now I am rejoiced to see it fulfilled in you. The blood of old Kentucky shook your hand to-night. Now give it to me, sir."
Young master arose and they shook hands with solemn ceremony, Bob turning his eyes away. "Your eye, sir," said the old man, and the young man looked into his father's eyes; and they read each other sternly, and with never a sign of flinching, so completely had each mastered himself.
"Father, if I have ability it is indeed the fulfillment of your own ambition, for I felt it as a child, so strongly apart from my own forces that I knew the current must come from you. I have been told by old men that I am a second edition of yourself and—"
"A revised and corrected edition, sir," the old man broke in, still gripping firmly the young fellow's hand.
"But a cheaper edition, I fear," the orator said.
"Enough, captivating flatterer. Good-night."