“And I’ll be hanged if I know, Mr. Atkins,” replied the sailor, with another thump on his knees. “All I know is, that when we were three days out we unbattened one of the hatches to get an axe that had been left in there accidentally, and there was the black beast, almost dead. Lord, how he smelt! It was horrid. And he looked like the very devil himself. Had an iron collar on his neck, with the name of Lafitte Brothers engraved on it. He escaped from the Red River, lived in a swamp with the snakes and alligators, got down the river somehow, and had a horrid time all round. Didn’t seem to know, or else he wouldn’t tell, how he got aboard the brig. Fact is, the black pig’s not more than half-witted now, with all he’s gone through.” “Badly treated?” inquired Mr. Atkins, placidly. “Oh, yes, treated bad enough,” carelessly replied the sailor. “Lafitte’s a high-binder with his niggers, I reckon. This chap’s all covered with scars and marks, and accordin’ to his story, and that’s true enough, I don’t doubt, there’s not a worse treated nigger in the whole South than he was. He wouldn’t have run off, I guess, if he hadn’t been desperate with bad usage. I expect Lafitte’ll be the death of him when he gets him again.” “That’s his lookout,” said the merchant, calmly. “If Lafitte chooses to maltreat his own property, there’s no one the loser by it but himself.” At this moment Michael appeared at the library door with the announcement that dinner was served. The merchant rose, and Bangham took his straw hat from the table and rose also. “I’ll see you to-morrow, captain,” said Mr. Atkins. “In the meantime, keep that fellow in limbo, and we’ll arrange for his return.” “All right, Mr. Atkins,” returned the sailor, lounging out of the room, with a relieved mind. Mr. Atkins followed him down-stairs to the hall-door, and then turned into the drawing-room, with a smiling countenance. “Now, Mr. Lafitte,” said this manly, humane, high-souled, law-abiding, patriotic American Christian and flower of mercantile morality, addressing the gallant and chivalrous son of the sunny South, “now, if you please, we will go out to dinner.” “Shall I have the honor?” said Mr. Lafitte, rising and offering his arm, with a bow, to the hostess. She took the offered arm, and they swept out together, the brave and the fair. Bouquet de Caroline streamed in their wake, as Miss Atkins, leaning on the arm of her highly respectable papa, wafted on after them. Millefleurs and pomatum lent their sweetness to the desert air of the drawing-room, as the gallant Horatio escorted out the lovely Julia. Following up the rear, in martial state, and redolent of musk and marrowfat, came haughty Thomas, caressing the whiskerage of Lord Charles Chawles, and sniffing the rich odor of the dinner from afar.