“A lie must fall of its own weight,” said Hamilton.
“But we’ll help push it over,” said the younger Pinkney coming up at this point, “won’t we dad? And we need men like you, Captain Hamilton, to help us. There are abuses that must be corrected. The Negro must be kept in his place. The supremacy of the white man must be maintained. The Constitution of the United States must be upheld. Unwarranted strikes must be prevented. Law and order must prevail.”
It was rather pompous nonsense, Hamilton thought. Certainly, law and order should prevail and unwarranted strikes be prevented and the Constitution upheld. As for the Negro, of course he must remain in his place. But what was his place? Two years ago he would have said that the Negro’s place was on the plantation and in the less skilled classes of labor exclusively. In Paris he had been ready to defend that theory fiercely. Now he was not so sure. He remembered the reception where Williams had been received on even terms with the white guests and he wondered what would happen should Williams suddenly walk into the room. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Margaret approaching with refreshments of some kind.
Neither Chlorabelle nor Chlorine had appeared that evening. Ordinarily they would have distributed the trays. Instead, Mrs. Hamilton, assisted by Margaret, was performing that service. Mammy Chloe and George were the only servants visible and they, from time to time, appeared with plates of sandwiches or cakes or ices or to renew the punch bowl.
Hamilton listened impatiently to Pinkney.
“When I was in Paris,” he began, “I saw something that I suppose would have shocked you all. It was at a reception, one of a number that I attended in the Champs Elysées. The hostess, the Countess Montfort....”
Hamilton went on to describe the reception.
“And who do you think was the center of attraction? Not any Frenchman, nor any of the foreign generals or ambassadors—but a Negro officer!”
Mr. Jarvis puffed out his cheeks.
“Horrible! Horrible!”