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Updated: May 14, 2025
McBane was tapping the floor impatiently with his foot during this harangue. "I don't see the use," he interrupted, "of so much beating about the bush. We may as well be honest about this thing. We are going to put the niggers down because we want to, and think we can; so why waste our time in mere pretense? I'm no hypocrite myself, if I want a thing I take it, provided I'm strong enough."
'My word! these d -d Quornites shall now see the trick!" Two pairs of antlers surmounted the hearth, mementoes of Mr. Pendyce's deer-forest, Strathbegally, now given up, where, with the assistance of his dear old gillie Angus McBane, he had secured the heads of these monarchs of the glen.
Ill fortune favored him by placing in his way the burly form of Captain George McBane, who was sitting in an armchair alone, smoking a midnight cigar, under the hotel balcony. Upon Delamere's making known his desire for amusement, the captain proposed a small game of poker in his own room. McBane had been waiting for some such convenient opportunity.
The Afro-American Banner will doubtless die about the same time." "And so will the editor!" exclaimed McBane ferociously; "I'll see to that. But I wonder where that nigger is with them cocktails? I'm so thirsty I could swallow blue blazes." "Here's yo' drinks, gin'l," announced Jerry, entering with the glasses on a tray.
"It's death now, if he strikes the right one," interjected McBane, restored to better humor by this mention of a congenial subject. The general smiled a fine smile. He had heard the story of how McBane had lost his other eye. "The local negro paper is quite outspoken, too," continued the general, "if not impudent. We must keep track of that; it may furnish us some good campaign material."
"By the way, major," said the general, who lingered behind McBane as they were leaving, "is Miss Clara's marriage definitely settled upon?" "Well, general, not exactly; but it's the understanding that they will marry when they are old enough." "I was merely thinking," the general went on, "that if I were you I'd speak to Tom about cards and liquor.
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 nigger's name is Barber," replied McBane. "I'd like to have him under me for a month or two; he'd write no more editorials." "Let Barber have all the rope he wants," resumed the general, "and he'll be sure to hang himself.
"Gin'l Belmont an' Cap'n McBane would like ter see you, suh." "Show them in, Jerry." The man who entered first upon this invitation was a dapper little gentleman with light-blue eyes and a Vandyke beard. He wore a frock coat, patent leather shoes, and a Panama hat. There were crow's-feet about his eyes, which twinkled with a hard and, at times, humorous shrewdness.
"There can be no doubt," said Ellis, who had come into the room behind the reporter. "I saw the negro last night, at twelve o'clock, going into Mr. Delamere's yard, with a bundle in his hand." "He is the last negro I should have suspected," said Carteret. "Mr. Delamere had implicit confidence in him." "All niggers are alike," remarked McBane sententiously.
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