On the following day Frank and I were to resume our journey; and, in the morning, I suggested that we should visit Colonel Dawsey, with whom, though he had for many years been a correspondent of the house in which I was a partner, I had no personal acquaintance.
His plantation adjoined Preston's, and his house was only a short half mile from my friend's. After breakfast, we set out for it through the woods. The day was cold for the season, with a sharp, nipping air, and our overcoats were not at all uncomfortable.
As we walked along I said to Preston:
'Dawsey's 'account' is a good one. He never draws against shipments, but holds on, and sells sight drafts, thus making the exchange.'
'Yes, I know; he's a close calculator.'
'Does he continue to manage his negroes as formerly?'
'In much the same way, I reckon.'
'Then he can't stand remarkably well with his neighbors.'
'Oh! people round here don't mind such things. Many of them do as badly as he. Besides, Dawsey is a gentleman of good family. He inherited his plantation and two hundred hands.'
'Indeed! How, then, did he become reduced to his present number?'