The mulatto took it, aware of a certain flexing of Hooker’s Bend custom, where negroes, unless old or infirm, are not supposed to sit in the presence of whites.

“Do you mean the study, Captain?”

“Yes, the study, the whole place.”

“It’s very pleasant,” replied Peter; “it has the atmosphere of age.”

Captain Renfrew nodded.

“These old places,” pursued Peter, “always give me an impression of statesmanship, somehow.  I always think of grave old gentlemen busy with the cares of public policy.”

The old man seemed gratified.

“You are sensitive to atmosphere.  If I may say it, every Southron of the old regime was a statesman by nature and training.  The complete care of two or three hundred negroes, a regard for their bodily, moral, and spiritual welfare, inevitably led the master into the impersonal attitude of statecraft.  It was a training, sir, in leadership, in social thinking, in, if you please, altruism.”  The old gentleman thumped the arm of his chair with a translucent palm.  “Yes, sir, negro slavery was God’s great lesson to the South in altruism and loving-kindness, sir!  My boy, I do believe with all my heart that the institution of slavery was placed here in God’s country to rear up giants of political leadership, that our nation might weather the revolutions of the world.  Oh, the Yankees are necessary!  I know that!” The old Captain held up a palm at Peter as if repressing an imminent retort.  “I know the Yankees are the Marthas of the nation.  They furnish food and fuel to the ship of state, but, my boy, the reservoir of our country’s spiritual and mental strength, the Mary of our nation, must always be the South.  Virginia is the mother of Presidents!”

The Captain’s oration left him rather breathless.  He paused a moment, then asked: 

“Peter, have you ever thought that we men of the leisure class owe a debt to the world?”

Peter smiled.

“I know the theory of the leisure class, but I’ve had very little practical experience with leisure.”

“Well, that’s a subject close to my heart.  As a scholar and a thinker, I feel that I should give the fruits of my leisure to the world.  Er—­in fact, Peter, that is why I sent for you to come and see me.”

“Why you sent for me?” Peter was surprised at this turn.

“Precisely.  You.”

Here the old gentleman got himself out of his chair, walked across to one of a series of drawers in his bookcases, opened it, and took out a sheaf of papers and a quart bottle.  He brought the papers and the bottle back to the table, made room for them, put the papers in a neat pile, and set the bottle at a certain distance from the heap.

“Now, Peter, please hand me one of those wineglasses in the religious section of my library—­I always keep two or three glasses among my religious works, in memory of the fact that our Lord and Master wrought a miracle at the feast of Cana, especially to bless the cup.  Indeed, Peter, thinking of that miracle at the wedding-feast, I wonder, sir, how the prohibitionists can defend their conduct even to their own consciences, because logically, sir, logically, the miracle of our gracious Lord completely cuts away the ground from beneath their feet!