“Sir, that is my ink!”

He knocked the interloping quill in the direction of its owner.

The genial sandy gentleman changed countenance in a way to astonish beholders.

“Have I disputed it, sir?”

“No, sir, but you have dipped into it without asking leave.”

“By God, sir, what is a fip’ny-bit’s worth of ink?”

“But it’s mine, sir!”

“I see, sir; you’re a Yankee, sir!”

“I’m not, sir; I’m English—­the finest race in the world!”

General Jackson looked him up and down as they rose fronting each other, and filled the air with dazzling words.

“I should judge so, sir, by the specimen I see before me!”

Doctor Chantry was like a fighting-cock, and it was plainly his age which kept the other from striking him.  He was beginning our journey well, but I felt bound to intercept whatever fell upon him, and stood between them.  The other men at the table rose with General Jackson.

“Gentlemen,” I pleaded with the best words I could command in the language, “do not forget your dignity, and disturb the peace of this house for a bottle of ink!”

The quarrel was ridiculous, and the Southerners laughed.  General Jackson himself again changed countenance, and gave me, I do not know why, a smile that must have been reflected from the face of a woman he adored.  But my poor master showed the bull-dog; and taking him by the arm and the collar I toddled him away from that table to a dark entry, where I held him without any admonition save a sustained grip.  He became like a child, weeping and trembling, and declaring that everybody was in league against him.  Argument is wasted on people having such infirmity of temper.  When he was well cooled I put him in an arm-chair by a fire in the ladies’ parlor, and he was soon very meek and tractable, watching the creatures he so admired.

“You must go to bed as soon as you have your supper,” I said to him.  “The journey to Saratoga has been a hard one for you.  But Skenedonk is here fortunately, and he can take you home again.”

My master looked at me with the shrewishness of an elephant.  I had not at that time seen an elephant.  When I did see one, however, the shifting of its eyes brought back the memory of Doctor Chantry when I had him at bay by the fire.

“You are not going to get away from me,” he responded.  “If you are tired of it, so am I. Otherwise, we proceed.”

“If you pick quarrels with soldiers and duelists at every step, what are we to do?”

“I picked no quarrel.  It is my luck.  Everyone is against me!” He hung his head in such a dejected manner that I felt ashamed of bringing his temperament to account:  and told him I was certain no harm would come of it.

“I am not genial,” Doctor Chantry owned; “I wish I were.  Now you are genial, Lazarre.  People take to you.  You attract them.  But whatever I am, you are obliged to have my company:  you cannot get along without me.  You have no experience, and no money.  I have experience,—­and a few pounds:—­not enough to retire into the country upon, in England; but enough to buy a little food for the present.”