CHAPTER II

MR. JEFFERSON

By ten of the Capitol clock Gideon Rand had sold his tobacco and deposited the price in a well-filled wallet.  “Eighteen shillings the hundred,” he said, with grim satisfaction.  “And the casks I sent by Mocket sold as well!  Good leaf, good leaf!  Tobacco pays, and learning don’t.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Lewis Rand!”

Father and son came out from the cool, dark store, upon the unpaved street, and joined Adam Gaudylock where he lounged beneath a sycamore.  Up and down the street were wooden houses, shops of British merchants, prosperous taverns, and dwelling-houses sunk in shady gardens.  An arrow-flight away brawled the river among bright islands.  The sky above the bronze sycamores was very blue, the air crystal, the sunshine heavenly mild.  The street was not crowded.  A Quaker in a broad-brimmed hat went by, and then a pretty girl, and then a minister talking broad Scotch, and then a future chief justice who had been to market and had a green basket upon his arm.  Gideon drew another breath of satisfaction.  “I’ve been thinking this long time of buying a negro, and now I can do it!  Mocket says there’s a likely man for sale down by the market.  Lewis, you go straight to Mocket now, and tell him I’ll wait for him there!  Are you coming with me, Adam Gaudylock?”

“Why,” said Gaudylock, with candour, “I have business presently in Governor Street, and a man to meet at the Indian Queen.  And I think I’ll go now with Lewis.  Somehow, the woods have spoiled me for seeing men bought and sold.”

“They’re black men,” said Rand indifferently.  “I’ll see you, then, at dinner-time, at the Bird in Hand.  I’m going home to-morrow.—­Lewis, if you want to, you can look around this morning with Tom Mocket!” He glanced at his son’s flushing face, and, being in high good humour, determined to give the colt a little rein.  “Be off, and spend your dollar!  See what sights you can, for we’ll not be in Richmond again for many a day!  They say there’s a brig in from Barbadoes.”

He put up his wallet, and with a nod to Gaudylock strode away in the direction of the market, but presently halted and turned his head.  “Lewis!”

“Yes, father.”

“Don’t you be buying any more books!  You hear me?”

He swung away, and his son stood under the sycamore tree and looked after him with a darkened face.  Gaudylock put a hand upon his shoulder.  “Never mind, Lewis!  Before we part I’m going to talk to Gideon.”  He laughed.  “Do you know what the Cherokees call me?  They call me Golden-Tongue.  Because, you see, I can persuade them to ’most anything,—­always into the war-path, and sometimes out of it!  Gideon may be obstinate, but he can’t be as obstinate as an Indian.  Now let’s go to Mocket’s.”