"Why, Captain Lige," cried the Colonel, without ceremony, "and how do you find yourself to-day, suh? A good trip from Orleans? We did not look for you so soon."
"Tolluble, Colonel, tolluble," said the young man, grasping the Colonel's hand. "Well, Colonel, I just called to say that I got the seventy bales of goods you wanted."
"Ephum" cried the Colonel, diving toward a counter where glasses were set out,—a custom new to Eliphalet,—"Ephum, some of that very particular Colonel Crittenden sent me over from Kentucky last week."
An old darkey, with hair as white as the Colonel's, appeared from behind the partition.
"I 'lowed you'd want it, Marse Comyn, when I seed de Cap'n comin'," said he, with the privilege of an old servant. Indeed, the bottle was beneath his arm.
The Colonel smiled.
"Hope you'se well, Cap'n," said Ephum, as he drew the cork.
"Tolluble, Ephum," replied the Captain. "But, Ephum—say, Ephum!"
"Yes, sah."
"How's my little sweetheart, Ephum?"