Old aristocrat rice planters may make a good thing or
two on 'em, because they can make 'em regulate the cummin' o' their
property, and make it understand what the Lord says about minding
their masters." For his-Mr. Lawrence M'Fadden's-own part, he
wouldn't give seven coppers for the thinking part of any property,
having no belief in that fashionable way of improving its value. "My
preacher has been nicely packed up and sent off in advance," he
says, wiping his mouth with his coat sleeve, and smacking his lips,
as he twirls his glass upon the zinc counter, shakes hands with his
friends-they congratulate him upon the good bargain in his
divine-and proceeds to the railroad dep“t. Harry has arrived nearly
two hours in advance,--delivered in good condition, as stated in a
receipt which he holds in his hand, and which purports to be from
the baggage-master. "Ah! here you are," says M'Fadden, taking the
paper from Harry's hand, as he enters the luggage-room. "Take good
care on ye,--I reckon I will!" He looks down upon him with an air of
satisfaction. The poor preacher-the soul-glowing property-is yet
chained, hand and foot. He sits upon the cold floor, those imploring
eyes swelling at the thought that freedom only awaits him in another
world. M'Fadden takes a little flask from his breast pocket, and,
with a motion of kindness, draws the cork, passes it to him. "It's
whiskey!" he says; "take a drop-do ye good, old feller." Quietly the
man passes it to his lips, and moistens his mouth.
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