Water is not good for certain
races--except as a beverage."
John laughed, and then decided to nod his head in sober agreement.
Braddock Washington made him uncomfortable.
"All these negroes are descendants of the ones my father brought North
with him. There are about two hundred and fifty now. You notice that
they've lived so long apart from the world that their original dialect
has become an almost indistinguishable patois. We bring a few of them
up to speak English--my secretary and two or three of the house
servants.
"This is the golf course," he continued, as they strolled along the
velvet winter grass. "It's all a green, you see--no fairway, no rough,
no hazards."
He smiled pleasantly at John.
"Many men in the cage, father?" asked Percy suddenly.
Braddock Washington stumbled, and let forth an involuntary curse.
"One less than there should be," he ejaculated darkly--and then added
after a moment, "We've had difficulties."
"Mother was telling me," exclaimed Percy, "that Italian teacher---"
"A ghastly error," said Braddock Washington angrily. "But of course
there's a good chance that we may have got him. Perhaps he fell
somewhere in the woods or stumbled over a cliff. And then there's
always the probability that if he did get away his story wouldn't be
believed. Nevertheless, I've had two dozen men looking for him in
different towns around here.
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