'I reckon! Ben a gwine fur two days.'
My heart sank within me. I was too late!
'Are all the negroes sold?'
'No; them comes on ter morrer. He's got a likely gang.'
I breathed more freely. At this moment a well-dressed gentleman, followed by a good-looking yellow man, entered the room. He wore spurs, and was covered with dust. Approaching the counter, he said:
'Here, you lazy devil—a drink for me and my boy. I'm drier than a parson—Old Bourbon.'
As the bartender poured out the liquor, the new comer's eye fell upon me. His face seemed familiar, but I could not recall it. Scanning me for a moment, he held out his hand in a free, cordial manner, saying:
'Ah! Mr. Kirke, is this you? You don't remember me? my name is Gaston.'
'Mr. Gaston, I'm glad to see you,' I replied, returning his salutation.