“Might just as well settle the matter in the parlour, colonel; t’wont put you out a mite,” the gambler suggests, with a laconic air.  He will not trouble M’Carstrow by waiting for his reply.  No; he leads the way, very coolly, asking no odds of etiquette; and, having entered the apartment, invites his comrades to take seats.  The dignity and coolness with which the manouvre is executed takes “Boss” M’Carstrow by surprise; makes him feel that he is merely a dependent individual, whose presence there is not much need of.  “I tell you what it is, gents, I’ze shaved my accounts at the bank down to the smallest figure, have! but there’s an honourable consideration about this matter; and, honour’s honour, and I want to discharge it somehow—­niggers or cash!” The gentlemen’s feelings have smoothed down amazingly.  M’Carstrow is entirely serious, and willing to comply.

The gentlemen have seated themselves in a triangle, with the “done over” colonel in the centre.

“Well, niggers will do just as well, provided they are sound, prime, and put at prices so a feller can turn ’em into tin, quick,” says the gentleman, who elects himself spokesman of the party.

“Keeps my property in tall condition, but won’t shove it off under market quotations, no how!” M’Carstrow interrupts, as the spokesman, affecting the nonchalance of a newly-elected alderman, places his feet upon the rich upholstery of a sofa close by.  He would enjoy the extremes of southern comfort.  “Colonel, I wish you had a more convenient place to spit,” rejoins the gentleman.  He will not trouble the maid, however-he let’s fly the noxious mixture, promiscuously; it falls from his lips upon the soft hearth-rug.  “It will add another flower to the expensive thing,” he says, very coolly, elongating his figure a little more.  He has relieved himself, wondrously.  M’Carstrow calls the servant, points to the additional wreath on the hearth-rug!

“All your nigger property as good-conditioned as that gal?” enquires the gentleman, the others laughing at the nicety of his humour.  Rising from his seat very deliberately, he approaches the servant, lays his hand upon her neck and shoulders.

“Not quite so fast, my friend:  d-n it, gentlemen, don’t be rude.  That’s coming the thing a little too familiar.  There is a medium:  please direct your moist appropriations and your improper remarks in their proper places.”  The girl, cringing beneath the ruffian’s hand, places the necessary receptacle at his feet.

The gentleman is offended,—­very much offended.  He thinks it beneath the expansion of his mind-to be standing on aristocratic nonsense!  “Spit boxes and nigger property ain’t the thing to stand on about haristocrats; just put down the dimes.  Three bright niggers ’ll do:  turn ’em out.”

“Three of my best niggers!” ejaculates the Colonel.

“Nothin’ shorter, Colonel.”

“Remember, gentlemen, the market price of such property.  The demand for cotton has made niggers worth their weight in gold, for any purpose.  Take the prosperity of our country into consideration, gentlemen; remember the worth of prime men.  The tip men of the market are worth 1200 dollars.”