"
"Concerned?" cried Benjamin Wright, pounding the table with his
tumbler and chewing orange-skin rapidly. "I'm damned concerned."
"I will ask, sir, that you will not swear in my presence."
Mr. Wright coughed. "I will endeavor to respect the cloth," he said
stiffly.
"If you will respect yourself, it will be sufficient. As for Sam, if
there's anything wrong, his father ought to know it."
"Well then, tell his--_mother_, that there is something wrong."
"What?"
Mr. Wright got up, and clasping his hands behind him, shuffled about
the room. Instantly one of the canaries began to sing. "Stop that!" he
said. The bird quivered with shrill music. "Stop! You! ... There's no
such thing as conversation, with these creatures about," he added in a
proud aside. "Did you ever hear such singing?"
Dr. Lavendar, unable to make himself heard, shook his head.
"If you don't stop," said Mr. Wright, "I'll wring your neck!" and as
the bird continued, he opened the door. "Simmons! You freckled nigger!
Bring me the apron." Then he stamped, and cursed the slowness of
niggers. Simmons, however, came as fast as his old legs could carry
him, bearing a blue gingham apron. This, thrown over the cage,
produced silence.
"There! Now, perhaps, you'll hold your tongue? ... Lavendar, I prefer
not to say what is wrong. Merely tell Sam's--_mother_, that he
had better go. If she is too mean to provide the money, I will.
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