"A revised and corrected edition, sir," the old man broke in, still gripping firmly the young fellow's hand. "But a cheaper edition, I fear," the orator said. "Enough, captivating flatterer. Good-night." Old Master strode out, walking hard upon the floor, and Mr. Clem, who with keen amusement had observed this exchange of fine-tempered civility, turned to Bob and said: "By the flint hoofs, you and that old brother of mine will be snatched out of the sixteenth century before very long. Paw me if I didn't expect one of you to say, 'I come not here to talk, you know too well the story of our thralldom.' Bob, the trouble with the South is the fact that it is not really republican in principle. It is a shapeless aristocracy writhing about to find a head. Tell me, do you believe in a democratic form of government?" Bob sat down, leaned back and put his feet on the table, leaving Mr. Clem standing behind him; and he glanced back over his shoulder as he replied: "Do I believe in a democracy? I don't believe in the rule of ignorance; I don't believe in a goldocracy, the most insolent and oppressive of all tyrants. I don't believe it just to give to a plebeian mob the right to snatch a brilliant man from public life simply because he refuses to grovel to a vulgar taste; I don't believe--" "But do you believe in a negro-cracy? Do you believe that the ownership of a hundred slaves should open all doors to a coarse and ignorant man?" "No, I don't. I would not let ignorance own a slave." "Ah, but slaves are bought with money, not with intelligence. Bob, you are an orator, but after all you are but a fledgling. Now, I want to ask you a question. What has made this country great, the gentility of Virginia or the dogged industry of New England? To whom do we owe most, the silver buckled gentleman or the steeple-hatted puritan?" "If you measure greatness by material wealth, Uncle Clem--but there's no use of such an argument. You are too practical for me. You are a Baconian and I would sit at the feet of Socrates. And progress will say that you are right." "And won't you say so, too?" "I am not progressive. I worship the utterances of the past; you glory in the achievements of the present. You honor the North because it is rich, and I love the South because it is poetic. So there we are, and it is of no use to argue." "No, I reckon not. Say, did you notice an old fellow with a white hat, riding a chestnut horse? Didn't get down until you were about half through with your speech, and then he rolled off, turned his horse loose and whooped like an Indian. I kept a weather eye on him, and when the bottom dropped out of the proceedings, I looked him up. Yes, sir, and his horse is out yonder in the stable now, and a glandered nag of mine is missing. The old fellow was so wrought up that he was in no condition to defend himself. So much for oratory. Good-night, lad."