M'Carstrow is entirely serious, and
willing to comply.
The gentlemen have seated themselves in a triangle, with the "done
over" colonel in the centre.
"Well, niggers will do just as well, provided they are sound, prime,
and put at prices so a feller can turn 'em into tin, quick," says
the gentleman, who elects himself spokesman of the party.
"Keeps my property in tall condition, but won't shove it off under
market quotations, no how!" M'Carstrow interrupts, as the spokesman,
affecting the nonchalance of a newly-elected alderman, places his
feet upon the rich upholstery of a sofa close by. He would enjoy the
extremes of southern comfort. "Colonel, I wish you had a more
convenient place to spit," rejoins the gentleman. He will not
trouble the maid, however-he let's fly the noxious mixture,
promiscuously; it falls from his lips upon the soft hearth-rug. "It
will add another flower to the expensive thing," he says, very
coolly, elongating his figure a little more. He has relieved
himself, wondrously. M'Carstrow calls the servant, points to the
additional wreath on the hearth-rug!
"All your nigger property as good-conditioned as that gal?" enquires
the gentleman, the others laughing at the nicety of his humour.
Rising from his seat very deliberately, he approaches the servant,
lays his hand upon her neck and shoulders.
"Not quite so fast, my friend: d-n it, gentlemen, don't be rude.
That's coming the thing a little too familiar. There is a medium:
please direct your moist appropriations and your improper remarks in
their proper places.
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