“Marse Nat.”
“Sir.”
“Shall I send de overseer to dig de graves, suh?”
Lawrence could not help exclaiming, “Good——!” and then checked himself; and Jeff gave a perceptible start.
“I will attend to that,” said the Major, and George Washington went out with an order from Jeff to take the box to the office.
The Major laid the notes on his desk and devoted himself to a brief eulogy on the beautiful symmetry of “the Code,” illustrating his views by apt references to a number of instances in which its absolute impartiality had been established by the instant death of both parties. He had just suggested that perhaps the two young men might desire to make some final arrangements, when George Washington reappeared, drunker and more imposing than before. In place of his ordinary apparel he had substituted a yellowish velvet waistcoat and a blue coat with brass buttons, both of which were several sizes too large for him, as they had for several years been stretched over the Major’s ample person. He carried a well-worn beaver hat in his hand, which he never donned except on extraordinary occasions.
“De pistils is ready, suh,” he said, in a fine voice, which he always employed when he proposed to be peculiarly effective. His self-satisfaction was monumental.
“Where did you get that coat and waistcoat from, sir?” thundered the Major. “Who told you you might have them?”
George Washington was quite taken aback at the unexpectedness of the assault, and he shuffled one foot uneasily.
“Well, you see, suh,” he began, vaguely, “I know you warn’ never gwine to wear ‘em no mo’, and seein’ dat dis was a very serious recasion, an’ I wuz rip-ripresentin’ Marse Jeff in a jewel, I thought I ought to repear like a gent’man on dis recasion.”