The Secretary’s face flushed, and a vein throbbed at his temple.
“You forget,” he said evenly after a moment, “or perhaps you do not know, that Frederick Douglass was Secretary of President Grant’s Santo Domingo Commission; and Douglass had no part in its failure.”
“Whatever the reasons, what interests me is that the United States didn’t get Samoná Bay.” The shipowner’s voice rasped. “I never trust those—those people. It’s bad enough to have to do business with them in the islands. Well”—he made a gesture of resignation—“I didn’t come here to quarrel. You’ll simply have to handle this fellow.”
The Secretary picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. He was wondering how well he or anybody else could “handle” Frederick Douglass.
“I’ve already dictated a letter to him in which I express the hope that he will accept President Harrison’s appointment—”
The shipowner interrupted with something like a sneer.
“You’re certainly going out of your way to be cordial.”
“Ignorant calf!” was the Secretary’s unspoken thought. Aloud he continued as if he had not heard. “—because his influence as minister,” he said steadily, “is the most potent force we can send to the Caribbean for the peace, welfare and prosperity of those weary and unhappy people.”
“Um—um.” The idea was penetrating. “Not bad, not bad at all.”
“It can be late fall before he arrives.” They regarded each other across the flat-topped desk. “Meanwhile—”