Accepting the invitation, they walked back to the “old man’s” counting-room.  George had given the Captain such an extended account of his father’s business and estates, that the latter had made up his mind to be introduced to an “India Palace’ counting-room.  Judge of his surprise, then, when George led the way into an old, dirty-looking counting-room, very small and dingy, containing two dilapidated high desks, standing against the wall.  They were made of pitch pine, painted and grained, but so scarred and whittled as to have the appearance of long use and abuse.  In one corner was an old-fashioned low desk, provided with an ink-stand, sundry pieces of blotting-paper, the pigeon-holes filled with loose invoices, letters, and bills of lading, very promiscuously huddled together; while hanging suspended on a large nail, driven in the side, and exposed to view, was an enormous dust-brush.  A venerable-looking subject of some foreign country stood writing at one desk, a little boy at the other, and George’s veritable “old man” at the low desk.  Here and there around the floor were baskets and papers containing samples of sea-island and upland cotton.  George introduced the Captain to his father with the suavity of a courtier.  He was a grave-looking man, well dressed, and spoke in a tone that at once enlisted respect.  Unlike George, he was a tall, well-formed man, with bland, yet marked features, and very gray hair.  He received the Captain in a cold, yet dignified manner-inquired about his voyage, and who he had consigned to, and what steps he had taken to proceed with his business,—­all of which the Captain answered according to the circumstances.

“What! then you have consigned already, have you?” said little George, with surprise.

“Oh yes,” returned the Captain, “I have left my business in the hands of the consul, and shall follow his directions.  It’s according to my sailing orders.  But there’s so much difficulty, I shouldn’t wonder if I had to leave the port, yet!”

“Not so, Captain; I’ll take care of that!” said George, giving his father a statement of the Captain’s trouble about Manuel’s imprisonment, and begging that he would bestow his influence in behalf of his friend the Captain.  Although George coupled his request with a seeming sincerity, it was evident that he felt somewhat disappointed at the consignment.  The old gentleman looked very wise upon the subject, lifted his gold-framed spectacles upon his forehead, gratified his olfactory nerves with a pinch of snuff, and then said in a cold, measured tone, “Well, if he’s a nigger, I see no alternative,—­the circumstances may give a coloring of severity to the law; but my opinion has always been, that the construction of the law was right; and the act being founded upon necessity, I see no reason why we should meddle with its prerogative.  I think the interference of the consul unwarrantable, and pressed upon mere technical grounds.  These stories about the bad state of our jail, and the sufferings