While Jerry stood outside, the conversation within was plainly audible, and some inkling of its purport filtered through his mind.

“Now, gentlemen,” the general was saying, “here’s my plan.  That editorial in the negro newspaper is good campaign matter, but we should reserve it until it will be most effective.  Suppose we just stick it in a pigeon-hole, and let the editor,—­what’s his name?”

“The nigger’s name is Barber,” replied McBane.  “I’d like to have him under me for a month or two; he’d write no more editorials.”

“Let Barber have all the rope he wants,” resumed the general, “and he’ll be sure to hang himself.  In the mean time we will continue to work up public opinion,—­we can use this letter privately for that purpose,—­and when the state campaign opens we’ll print the editorial, with suitable comment, scatter it broadcast throughout the state, fire the Southern heart, organize the white people on the color line, have a little demonstration with red shirts and shotguns, scare the negroes into fits, win the state for white supremacy, and teach our colored fellow citizens that we are tired of negro domination and have put an end to it forever.  The Afro-American Banner will doubtless die about the same time.”

“And so will the editor!” exclaimed McBane ferociously; “I’ll see to that.  But I wonder where that nigger is with them cocktails?  I’m so thirsty I could swallow blue blazes.”

“Here’s yo’ drinks, gin’l,” announced Jerry, entering with the glasses on a tray.

The gentlemen exchanged compliments and imbibed—­McBane at a gulp, Carteret with more deliberation, leaving about half the contents of his glass.

The general drank slowly, with every sign of appreciation.  “If the illustrious statesman,” he observed, “whose name this mixture bears, had done nothing more than invent it, his fame would still deserve to go thundering down the endless ages.”

“It ain’t bad liquor,” assented McBane, smacking his lips.

Jerry received the empty glasses on the tray and left the room.  He had scarcely gained the hall when the general called him back.

“O Lawd!” groaned Jerry, “he’s gwine ter ax me fer de change.  Yas, suh, yas, suh; comin’, gin’l, comin’, suh!”

“You may keep the change, Jerry,” said the general.

Jerry’s face grew radiant at this announcement.  “Yas, suh, gin’l; thank y’, suh; much obleedzed, suh.  I wuz jus’ gwine ter fetch it in, suh, w’en I had put de tray down.  Thank y’, suh, truly, suh!”

Jerry backed and bowed himself out into the hall.

“Dat wuz a close shave,” he muttered, as he swallowed the remaining contents of Major Carteret’s glass.  “I ’lowed dem twenty cents wuz gone dat time,—­an’ whar I wuz gwine ter git de money ter take my gal ter de chu’ch festibal ter-night, de Lawd only knows!—­’less’n I borried it offn Mr. Ellis, an’ I owes him sixty cents a’ready.  But I wonduh w’at