“H.M.  Brown, M.C. 
 Washington, D.C.”

Mr. Clayton’s feelings at this discovery can better be imagined than described.  He hastily left the waiting-room, before the black gentleman, who was looking the other way, was even aware of his presence, and, walking rapidly up and down the platform, communed with himself upon what course of action the situation demanded.  He had invited to his house, had come down to meet, had made elaborate preparations to entertain on the following evening, a light-colored man,—­a white man by his theory, an acceptable guest, a possible husband for his daughter, an avowed suitor for her hand.  If the Congressman had turned out to be brown, even dark brown, with fairly good hair, though he might not have desired him as a son-in-law, yet he could have welcomed him as a guest.  But even this softening of the blow was denied him, for the man in the waiting-room was palpably, aggressively black, with pronounced African features and woolly hair, without apparently a single drop of redeeming white blood.  Could he, in the face of his well-known principles, his lifelong rule of conduct, take this negro into his home and introduce him to his friends?  Could he subject his wife and daughter to the rude shock of such a disappointment?  It would be bad enough for them to learn of the ghastly mistake, but to have him in the house would be twisting the arrow in the wound.

Mr. Clayton had the instincts of a gentleman, and realized the delicacy of the situation.  But to get out of his difficulty without wounding the feelings of the Congressman required not only diplomacy but dispatch.  Whatever he did must be done promptly; for if he waited many minutes the Congressman would probably take a carriage and be driven to Mr. Clayton’s residence.

A ray of hope came for a moment to illumine the gloom of the situation.  Perhaps the black man was merely sitting there, and not the owner of the valise!  For there were two valises, one on each side of the supposed Congressman.  For obvious reasons he did not care to make the inquiry himself, so he looked around for his companion, who came up a moment later.

“Jack,” he exclaimed excitedly, “I ’m afraid we ’re in the worst kind of a hole, unless there ’s some mistake!  Run down to the men’s waiting-room and you ’ll see a man and a valise, and you ’ll understand what I mean.  Ask that darkey if he is the Honorable Mr. Brown, Congressman from South Carolina.  If he says yes, come back right away and let me know, without giving him time to ask any questions, and put your wits to work to help me out of the scrape.”

“I wonder what ’s the matter?” said Jack to himself, but did as he was told.  In a moment he came running back.

“Yes, sir,” he announced; “he says he ’s the man.”

“Jack,” said Mr. Clayton desperately, “if you want to show your appreciation of what I ’ve done for you, you must suggest some way out of this.  I ’d never dare to take that negro to my house, and yet I ’m obliged to treat him like a gentleman.”