military honors do for him? He was sent to the best college in the state, with plenty of spending-money at his command, and is still hanging onto the strap of his daddy’s pocket-book—satisfied like we all were in the good old days when each of us had a little nigger to come and put on our shoes for us and bring hot coffee and waffles to the bed after we’d tripped the merry toe on somebody’s farm all night. Oh, you needn’t frown, Langdon; you know it’s the truth. He’s still a chip off the old block, gentlemen, while his barefoot neighbor, a scion of po’ white stock, cooked his brain before a cabin pine-knot fire in studying, like Abe Lincoln did, and finally went forth to conquer the world, and _is_ conquering it as fast as a dog can trot. It’s enough, gentlemen, to make us all take our boys from school, give ’em a good paddling, and put ’em at hard toil in the field." "Thank you for the implied compliment, Squire," Langdon said, angrily. "You are frank enough about it, anyway." "Now, there, you see," the squire exclaimed, regretfully. "I’ve gone and rubbed him the wrong way, and I meant nothing in the world by it." Langdon bowed and smiled his acceptance of the apology, though a scowl was on his face as he turned to walk down the street. From the conversation he had learned that King was expected up that day to visit his family, and a sickening shock came to him with the thought that it really was to see Virginia that he was coming. Yes, he was now sure that it had been King’s attentions to the girl which had turned her against him—that and the powerful influence of Ann Boyd. These thoughts were too much for him. He went into Asque’s bar, at the hotel, called for whiskey, and remained there for hours. Langdon was in the spacious office of the Johnston House when the evening train from Atlanta came into the old-fashioned brick car-shed at the door, and King alighted. His hand-bag was at once snatched by an admiring negro porter, and the by-standers crowded around him to shake hands. Langdon stood in the office a moment later, his brain benumbed with drink and jealous fury, and saw his rival literally received into the open arms of another eager group. Smothering an oath, the young planter leaned against the cigar-case quite near the register, over which the clerk stood triumphantly calling to King to honor the house by writing the name of the state’s future governor. King had the pen in his hand, when, glancing up, he recognized Langdon, whom he had not seen since his return from the West. "Why, how are you, Chester?" he said, cordially. Langdon stared. His brain seemed pressed downward by some weight. The by-standers saw a strange, half-insane glare in his unsteady eyes, but he said nothing. "Why, surely you remember me," Luke exclaimed, in honest surprise. "King’s my name—Luke King. It’s true I have not met you for several years, but—"