"That's what I say," agreed my mother; "we may just as well go on—it'll be better anyhow," she added significantly.
"What?" said my Uncle Henry, turning round and looking at us.
"We were just saying we wouldn't wait dinner any longer," was the explanation, "and anyhow, 'twould be better to go on—ourselves. Considering everything, you know," and my Aunt Agnes sighed.
Uncle stopped still and straightened himself up. "There'll be no dinner till he comes," he said firmly, "if it's an hour. I hope I don't forget what's due to a guest," as he looked gravely round the circle, "and especially a stranger in a strange land." This was said with the air of a king and a very noble king at that.
"Call Lyn," he said suddenly to me.
I did so. "Where are those niggers anyhow?" he asked impatiently as he waited for her to appear. "I reckon they've all been watching the procession," jerking his thumb towards the river. "Oh, here she is," as the sable attendant pattered onto the porch. "Lyn, make me a mint-julep—make it good."
"Yes, sah!" said the vanishing servant.
"Lyn! Oh, Lyn," he called again in an instant.
"Yes, sah; heah I is, sah!"
"Make two mint-juleps—and make them both good."