"Gentlemen," interposed the general, "would you mind suspending the
discussion for a moment, while I mind Jerry across the street? I think I
can then suggest a better plan."
Carteret rang the bell for Jerry, who answered promptly. He had been
expecting such a call ever since the gentlemen had gone in.
"Jerry," said the general, "step across to Brown's and tell him to send
me three Calhoun cocktails. Wait for them,--here's the money."
"Yas, suh," replied Jerry, taking the proffered coin.
"And make has'e, charcoal," added McBane, "for we're gettin' damn dry."
A momentary cloud of annoyance darkened Carteret's brow. McBane had
always grated upon his aristocratic susceptibilities. The captain was an
upstart, a product of the democratic idea operating upon the poor white
man, the descendant of the indentured bondservant and the socially
unfit. He had wealth and energy, however, and it was necessary to make
use of him; but the example of such men was a strong incentive to
Carteret in his campaign against the negro. It was distasteful enough to
rub elbows with an illiterate and vulgar white man of no ancestry,--the
risk of similar contact with negroes was to be avoided at any cost. He
could hardly expect McBane to be a gentleman, but when among men of that
class he might at least try to imitate their manners. A gentleman did
not order his own servants around offensively, to say nothing of
another's.
The general had observed Carteret's annoyance, and remarked pleasantly
while they waited for the servant's return:--
"Jerry, now, is a very good negro.
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