“I really never heard of such a desire existing in any part of the country;” observed Oriel.
“Ah, sir, they live in a wretched state of despotism, and they dare not express their sentiments;” replied the broker. “There cannot be anything like public virtue amongst them—no political honesty—no notion of true liberty. But how did you make the voyage, sir?”
“Admirably!” exclaimed the merchant’s son. “The Albatross is one of the most perfect vessels that was ever launched.”
“Nothing like the African shipping, depend upon it—made of free timber, sir?—beat all vessels at sailing, and last for ever. Skilful captain that Compass, sir—known him long; knew his father—highly respectable. You may place the greatest confidence in him, I assure you.”
During the preceding sentences Zabra kept his eyes fixed upon the face of the speaker, which he observing, turned his own gaze upon the person so earnestly regarding him; but the piercing look that met his quite disconcerted him. His complexion grew more livid; his look became confused; he frowned and smiled by turns; he shifted his position, and evinced by many other signs that he was anything but at ease under the scrutiny to which he was subjected. At last, unable to endure it any longer, he said, in a tone in which anger seemed struggling with indifference. “Who is that person of colour, sir? it is not usual to bring people of that class in company with free Africans.”
“That young gentleman is my most esteemed and intimate friend;” replied Oriel.
“Oh, I beg pardon; but it’s not respectable to have such friends in a free and enlightened country like the African States; and the ‘young gentleman’,” said he, with contemptuous emphasis, “seems to look on me as if he knew me intimately.”
“I do know you intimately, sir;” remarked Zabra, bending on the old man a stern and searching look.
“Well, this assurance beats any thing I ever saw. Why, I never met with your coppery countenance before,” said the broker, indignantly.