When the two men settled down to pipe or cigar at the library fire, John, who had felt the role of host rather difficult, was eager to get a look at the Tribune which lay invitingly on the table, and presently caught the eye of Mr. Grey.

“I see you have the Tribune” he said.  “A mischief-making paper—­devilish.  I presume Penhallow takes it to see what the other side has to say.  Very wise, sir, that.”

Rivers, unwilling to announce his friend’s political opinions, said, smiling, “I must leave Mr. Penhallow to account for that wicked journal.”

Grey sat up with something like the alert look of a suddenly awakened terrier on his thin face.  “I presume the captain (he spoke of him usually as the captain) must be able to control a good many votes in the village and at the iron-works.”

“I rather fancy,” said Rivers, “that he has taken no active part in the coming election.”

“Unnecessary, perhaps.  It is, I suppose, like my own county.  We haven’t a dozen free-soil voters.  ‘Bleeding Kansas’ is a dead issue with us.  It is bled to death, politically dead, sir, and buried.”

“Not here,” said John imprudently.  “Uncle James says Buchanan will carry the State by a small majority, but he may not carry this county.”

“Then he should see to it,” said Grey.  “Elect Fremont, my boy, and the Union will go to pieces.  Does the North suppose we will endure a sectional President?  No, sir, it would mean secession—­the death-knell of the Union.  Sir, we may be driven to more practical arguments by the scurrilous speeches of the abolitionists.  It is an attack on property, on the ownership of the inferior race by the supremely superior.  That is the vital question.”

He spoke with excitement and gesticulated as if at a political meeting.  Mark Rivers, annoyed, felt a strong inclination to box John’s ears.  He took advantage of the pause to say, “Would you like a little more rye, Mr. Grey?”

“Why, yes, sir.  I confess to being a trifle dry.  But to resume our discussion—­”

“Pardon me.  John, ask for the whisky.”

To John this was interesting and astonishing.  He had never heard talk as wild.  The annoyance on Rivers’s face was such as to be easily read by the least observant.  Elsewhere Mr. Rivers would have had a ready answer, but as Grey sat still a little while enjoying his own eloquence, the fire and the whisky, Rivers’s slight negative hint informed John that he was to hold his tongue.

As the clergyman turned to speak to Grey, the latter said, “I wish to add a word more, sir.  You will find that the men at the South cling to State rights; if these do not preserve for me and others my property and the right, sir, to take my body-servant to Boston or Kansas, sure that he will be as secure as my—­my—­shirt-studs, State rights are of no practical use.”

“You make it very plain,” said Rivers, feeling at last that he must defend his own opinions.  “I have myself a few words to say—­but, is that all?”