It was all rather high-flown, but youth is dramatic and plays to the gallery of its own eyes and ears. But to one pair of ears there was no ring of anything but tragedy in the grandiloquent sentences. Peter, the personal attendant of Harrison Randolph, stood at the door as his master passed out, and went on before him to hold his stirrup. The young master and his friend and cousin, Dale, started off briskly and in silence, while Pete, with wide eyes and disturbed face, followed on behind. Just as they were turning into the avenue of elms that led to their own house, Randolph wheeled his horse and came riding back to his servant. “Pete,” said he, sternly, “what do you know?” “Nuffin’, Mas’ Ha’ison, nuffin’ ’t all. I do’ know nuffin’.” “I don’t believe you.” The young master’s eyes were shining through the dusk. “You’re always slipping around spying on me.” “Now dah you goes, Mas’ Randolph. I ain’t done a t’ing, and you got to ’mence pickin’ on me—” “I just want you to remember that my business is mine.” “Well, I knows dat.” “And if you do know anything, it will be well for you to begin forgetting right now.” They were at the door now and in the act of dismounting. “Take Bess around and see her attended to. Leave Dale’s horse here, and—I won’t want you any more to-night.” “Now how does you an’ Mas’ Dale ’spect dat you gwine to wait on yo’se’ves to-night?” “I shall not want you again to-night, I tell you.” Pete turned away with an injured expression on his dark face. “Bess,” he said to the spirited black mare as he led her toward the stables, “you jes’ bettah t’ank yo’ Makah dat you ain’t no human-bein’, ’ca’se human-bein’s is cur’ous articles. Now you’s a hoss, ain’t you? An’ dey say you ain’t got no soul, but you got sense, Bess, you got sense. You got blood an’ fiah an’ breedin’ in you too, ain’t you? Co’se you has. But you knows how to answah de rein. You’s a high steppah, too: but you don’ go to work an’ try to brek yo’ naik de fus’ chanst you git. Bess, I ’spect you ’ca’se you got jedgment, an’ you don’ have to have a black man runnin’ ’roun aftah you all de time plannin’ his haid off jes’ to keep you out o’ trouble. Some folks dat’s human-bein’s does. Yet an’ still, Bess, you ain’t nuffin’ but a dumb beas’, so dey says. Now, what I gwine to do? Co’se dey wants to fight. But whah an’ when an’ how I gwine to stop hit? Do’ want me to wait on him to-night, huh! No, dey want to mek dey plans an’ do’ want me ’roun’ to hyeah, dat’s what’s de mattah. Well, I lay I’ll hyeah somep’n’ anyhow.”