“And you haven’t read that book, Jack,—­that scurrilous attack on the industries of the South?  My dear fellow!  I’m astounded that a man of yo’ gifts should not—­Here—­just do me the favor to look through my baggage on the upper deck, and bring me a couple of books lyin’ on top of my dressin’-case.”

“Which trunk, major?” asked Jack, a slight smile playing around his mouth.

“Why, my sole-leather trunk, of co’se; or perhaps that English hat-box—­no, stop, Jack, come to think, it is in the small valise.  Here, take my keys,” said the major, straightening his back, squeezing his fat hand into the pocket of his skin-tight trousers, and fishing up with his fore-finger a small bunch of keys.  “Right on top, Jack; you can’t miss it.”

“Isn’t he just too lovely for anything?” said Jack to me, when we reached the upper deck,—­I had followed him out.  “He’s wearing now the only decent suit of clothes he owns, and the rest of his wardrobe you could stuff into a bandbox.  English sole-leather trunk!  Here, put your thumb on that catch,” and he drew out the major’s bag,—­the one, of course, that Jefferson unpacked, with the galvanized-iron clasps and paper-leather sides.

The bag seemed more rotund, and heavier, and more important looking than when I handled it that afternoon in front of Delmonico’s, presenting a well-fed, even a bloated, appearance.  The clasps, too, appeared to have all they could do to keep its mouth shut, while the hinges bulged in an ominous way.

I started one clasp, the other gave way with a burst, and the next instant, to my horror, the major’s wardrobe littered the deck.  First the books, then a package of tobacco, then the one shirt, porcelain-finished collars, and the other necessaries, including a pair of slippers and a comb.  Next, three bundles loosely wrapped, one containing two wax dolls, the others some small toys, and a cheap Noah’s ark, and last of all, wrapped up in coarse, yellow butcher’s paper, stained and moist, a freshly cut porter-house steak.

Jack roared with laughter as he replaced the contents.  “Yes; toys for the little children—­he never goes back without something for them if it takes his last dollar; tobacco for his old cook, Rachel; not a thing for himself, you see—­and this steak!  Who do you suppose he bought that for?”

“Did you find it?” called out the major, as we reentered the cabin.

“Yes; but it wasn’t in the English trunk,” said Jack, handing back the keys, grave as a judge, not a smile on his face.

“Of co’se not; didn’t I tell you it was in the small bag?  Now, gentlemen, listen!” turning the leaves.  “Here is a man who has the impertinence to say that our industries are paralyzed.  It is not our industries; it is our people.  Robbed of their patrimony, their fields laid waste, their estates confiscated by a system of foreclosure lackin’ every vestige of decency and co’tesy,—­Shylocks wantin’ their pound of flesh on the very hour and day,—­why shouldn’t they be paralyzed?” He laughed heartily.  “Jack, you know Colonel Dorsey Kent, don’t you?”