“I had the honour”—­the major’s voice sounded ominously frigid—­“of witnessing your very remarkable performance, sir, last night.”

Hargraves looked disconcerted.

“You were there?  I didn’t know you ever—­I didn’t know you cared for the theatre.  Oh, I say, Major Talbot,” he exclaimed frankly, “don’t you be offended.  I admit I did get a lot of pointers from you that helped me out wonderfully in the part.  But it’s a type, you know—­not individual.  The way the audience caught on shows that.  Half the patrons of that theatre are Southerners.  They recognized it.”

“Mr. Hargraves,” said the major, who had remained standing, “you have put upon me an unpardonable insult.  You have burlesqued my person, grossly betrayed my confidence, and misused my hospitality.  If I thought you possessed the faintest conception of what is the sign manual of a gentleman, or what is due one, I would call you out, sir, old as I am.  I will ask you to leave the room, sir.”

The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to take in the full meaning of the old gentleman’s words.

“I am truly sorry you took offence,” he said regretfully.  “Up here we don’t look at things just as you people do.  I know men who would buy out half the house to have their personality put on the stage so the public would recognize it.”

“They are not from Alabama, sir,” said the major haughtily.

“Perhaps not.  I have a pretty good memory, major; let me quote a few lines from your book.  In response to a toast at a banquet given in—­Milledgeville, I believe—­you uttered, and intend to have printed, these words: 

The Northern man is utterly without sentiment or warmth except in so far as the feelings may be turned to his own commercial profit.  He will suffer without resentment any imputation cast upon the honour of himself or his loved ones that does not bear with it the consequence of pecuniary loss.  In his charity, he gives with a liberal hand; but it must be heralded with the trumpet and chronicled in brass.

“Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of Colonel Calhoun last night?”

“The description,” said the major frowning, “is—­not without grounds.  Some exag—­latitude must be allowed in public speaking.”

“And in public acting,” replied Hargraves.

“That is not the point,” persisted the major, unrelenting.  “It was a personal caricature.  I positively decline to overlook it, sir.”

“Major Talbot,” said Hargraves, with a winning smile, “I wish you would understand me.  I want you to know that I never dreamed of insulting you.  In my profession, all life belongs to me.  I take what I want, and what I can, and return it over the footlights.  Now, if you will, let’s let it go at that.  I came in to see you about something else.  We’ve been pretty good friends for some months, and I’m going to take the risk of offending you again.  I know