"All right, Colonel! just as you please," he replied. "You leave it to
me; I'll fix him." Then, turning to Sam, who stood waiting, demanded,
"Well, have you got it?"
"Yes, massa."
"Fork over,"--and looking at it a moment pronounced "All right! Move
on!" elucidating the remark by a jerk at the coat-collar of the
unsuspecting Sam, which sent him whirling up the road at a fine but
uncomfortable rate of speed.
"Now, sir, what do you want?" addressing the astounded chevalier, who
sat speechlessly observant of this unlooked-for proceeding.
"Want?" cried the irate Virginian, his anger loosening his tongue,
"want? I want to go on, of course; that was my pass."
"Was it now? I want to know! that's singular! Why didn't you offer it
yourself then?"
"Because I thought my nigger a fitter person to parley with a Lincoln
vandal," loftily responded his eminence.
"That's kind of you, I'm sure. Sorry I can't oblige you in
return,--very; but you'll just have to turn tail and drive back again.
That bit of paper says 'Pass the bearer,' and the bearer's already
passed. You can't get two men through this picket on one man's pass, not
if one is a nigger and t'other a skunk; so, sir, face about, march!"
This was an unprepared-for dilemma. Mr. V. looked at the face of the
"Lincoln vandal," but saw there no sign of relenting; then into the
distance whither he was anxiously desirous to tend; glanced reflectively
at the bayonet in the centre and the narrow space on either side the
road; and finally called to his black man to come back.
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