“What an idiot you are about that child, Lige,” said the Colonel, who was not hiding his pleasure.  The Colonel could hide nothing.  “You ruin her!”

The bluff young Captain put down his glass to laugh.

“Ruin her!” he exclaimed.  “Her pa don’t ruin her I eh, Ephum?  Her pa don’t ruin her!”

“Lawsy, Marse Lige, I reckon he’s wuss’n any.”

“Ephum,” said the Colonel, pulling his goatee thoughtfully, “you’re a damned impertinent nigger.  I vow I’ll sell you South one of these days.  Have you taken that letter to Mr. Renault?” He winked at his friend as the old darkey faded into the darkness of the store, and continued:  “Did I ever tell you about Wilson Peale’s portrait of my grandmother, Dorothy Carvel, that I saw this summer at my brother Daniel’s, in Pennsylvania?  Jinny’s going to look something like her, sir.  Um!  She was a fine woman.  Black hair, though.  Jinny’s is brown, like her Ma’s.”  The Colonel handed a cigar to Captain Brent, and lit one himself.  “Daniel has a book my grandfather wrote, mostly about her.  Lord, I remember her!  She was the queen-bee of the family while she lived.  I wish some of us had her spirit.”

“Colonel,” remarked Captain Lige, “what’s this I heard on the levee just now about your shootin’ at a man named Babcock on the steps here?”

The Colonel became very grave.  His face seemed to grow longer as he pulled his goatee.

“He was standing right where you are, sir,” he replied (Captain Lige moved), “and he proposed that I should buy his influence.”

“What did you do?”

Colonel Carvel laughed quietly at the recollection

“Shucks,” said he, “I just pushed him into the streets gave him a little start, and put a bullet past his ear, just to let the trash know the sound of it.  Then Russell went down and bailed me out.”

The Captain shook with laughter.  But Mr. Eliphalet Hopper’s eyes were glued to the mild-mannered man who told the story, and his hair rose under his hat.

“By the way, Lige, how’s that boy, Tato?  Somehow after I let you have him on the ‘Louisiana’, I thought I’d made a mistake to let him run the river.  Easter’s afraid he’ll lose the little religion she taught him.”

It was the Captain’s turn to be grave.

“I tell you what, Colonel,” said he; “we have to have hands, of course.  But somehow I wish this business of slavery had never been started!”

“Sir,” said the Colonel, with some force, “God made the sons of Ham the servants of Japheth’s sons forever and forever.”

“Well, well, we won’t quarrel about that, sir,” said Brent, quickly.  “If they all treated slaves as you do, there wouldn’t be any cry from Boston-way.  And as for me, I need hands.  I shall see you again, Colonel.”

“Take supper with me to-night, Lige,” said Mr. Carvel.  “I reckon you’ll find it rather lonesome without Jinny.”

“Awful lonesome,” said the Captain.  “But you’ll show me her letters, won’t you?”