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“De pistils is ready, suh,” he said, in a fine voice, which he always employed when he proposed to be peculiarly effective. His self-satisfaction was monumental.

“Where did you get that coat and waistcoat from, sir?” thundered the Major. “Who told you you might have them?”

George Washington was quite taken aback at the unexpectedness of the assault, and he shuffled one foot uneasily.

“Well, you see, suh,” he began, vaguely, “I know you warn’ never gwine to wear ’em no mo’, and seein’ dat dis was a very serious recasion, an’ I wuz rip-ripresentin’ Marse Jeff in a jewel, I thought I ought to repear like a gent’man on dis recasion.”

“You infernal rascal, didn’t I tell you that the next time you took my clothes without asking my permission, I was going to shoot you?”

The Major faced his chair around with a jerk, but George Washington had in the interim recovered himself.

“Yes, suh, I remembers dat,” he said, complacently, “but dat didn’t have no recose to dese solemn recasions when I rip-ripresents a gent’man in de Code.”

“Yes, sir, it did, I had this especially in mind,” declared the Major, unblushingly–“I gave you fair notice, and damn me! if I don’t do it too before I’m done with you–I’d sell you to-morrow morning if it would not be a cheat on the man who was fool enough to buy you. My best coat and waistcoat!”–he looked affectionately at the garments.

George Washington evidently knew the way to soothe him–“Who ever heah de beat of dat!” he said in a tone of mild complaint, partly to the young men and partly to his old master in the ruffles and velvet over the piano, “Marse Nat, you reckon I ain’ got no better manners ‘n to teck you bes’ coat and weskit! Dis heah coat and weskit nuver did you no favor anyways–I hear Miss Marg’ret talkin’ ’bout it de fust time you ever put ’em on. Dat’s de reason I tuck ’em.” Having found an excuse he was as voluble as a river–“I say to myself, I ain’ gwine let my young marster wyar dem things no mo’ roun’ heah wid strange ladies an’ gent’man stayin’ in de house too,–an’ I so consarned about it, I say, ‘George Wash’n’n, you got to git dem things and wyar ’em yo’self to keep him f’om doin’ it, dat’s what you got to do,’ I say, and dat’s de reason I tuk ’em.” He looked the picture of self-sacrifice.

But the Major burst forth on him: “Why, you lying rascal, that’s three different reasons you have given in one breath for taking them.” At which George Washington shook his woolly head with doleful self-abnegation.

“Just look at them!” cried the Major–“My favorite waistcoat! There is not a crack or a brack in them–They look as nice as they did the day they were bought!”

This was too much for George Washington. “Dat’s the favor, suh, of de pussen what has I t ’em on,” he said, bowing grandly; at which the Major, finding his ire giving way to amusement, drove him from the room, swearing that if he did not shoot him that evening he would set him free to-morrow morning.

VI.

As the afternoon had worn away, and whilst the two principals in the affair were arranging their matters, the Major had been taking every precaution to carry out the plan for the meeting. The effect of the approaching duel upon the old gentleman was somewhat remarkable. He was in unusually high spirits; his rosy countenance wore an expression of humorous content; and, from time to time as he bustled about, a smile flitted across his face, or a chuckle sounded from the depths of his satin stock. He fell in with Miss Jemima, and related to her a series of anecdotes respecting duelling and homicide generally, so lurid in their character that she groaned over the depravity of a region where such barbarity was practised; but when he solemnly informed her that he felt satisfied from the signs of the time that some one would be shot in the neighborhood before twenty-four hours were over, the old lady determined to return home next day.