"Dat's a gent'eman, a rale ole-time gent'eman," he said to himself when
he had closed the door. "But dere's somethin' gwine on in dere,--dere
sho' is! 'No nigger damnation!' Dat soun's all right,--I'm sho' dere
ain' no nigger I knows w'at wants damnation, do' dere's lots of 'em w'at
deserves it; but ef dat one-eyed Cap'n McBane got anything ter do wid
it, w'atever it is, it don' mean no good fer de niggers,--damnation'd
be better fer 'em dan dat Cap'n McBane! He looks at a nigger lack he
could jes' eat 'im alive."
"This mixture, gentlemen," observed the general when Jerry had returned
with the glasses, "was originally compounded by no less a person than
the great John C. Calhoun himself, who confided the recipe to my father
over the convivial board. In this nectar of the gods, gentlemen, I drink
with you to 'White Supremacy!'"
"White Supremacy everywhere!" added McBane with fervor.
"Now and forever!" concluded Carteret solemnly.
When the visitors, half an hour later, had taken their departure,
Carteret, inspired by the theme, and in less degree by the famous
mixture of the immortal Calhoun, turned to his desk and finished, at a
white heat, his famous editorial in which he sounded the tocsin of a new
crusade.
At noon, when the editor, having laid down his pen, was leaving the
office, he passed Jerry in the hall without a word or a nod. The major
wore a rapt look, which Jerry observed with a vague uneasiness.
"He looks jes' lack he wuz walkin' in his sleep," muttered Jerry
uneasily.
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