"You've odd notions of beauty," said the Judge, smiling. "That accounts for your being an Abolitionist."
"No, it don't." And I added, in a tone too low for Jack to hear, "It only implies, that, until I saw that darky, I doubted our getting out of Dixie."
The Judge gave a low whistle.
"So you smelt a rat?"
"Yes, a very big one. Tell us, why were you so long behind time?"
"I'll tell you when the war is over. Now I'll take you to Libby and the hospitals, if you'd like to go."
We said we would, and, ordering Jack to follow with the ambulance, the Judge led us down the principal thoroughfare. A few shops were open, a few negro women were passing in and out among them, and a few wounded soldiers were limping along the sidewalks; but scarcely an able-bodied man was to be seen anywhere. A poor soldier, who had lost both legs and a hand, was seated at a street-corner, asking alms of the colored women as they passed. Pointing to him, the Judge said,—
"There is one of our arguments against reunion. If you will walk two squares, I'll show you a thousand."
"All asking alms of black women? That is another indication of what you are coming to."
He made no reply. After a while, scanning our faces as if he would detect our hidden thoughts, he said, in an abrupt, pointed way,—