“Well, you know how I feel about you, Colonel Sellers, and always have felt.  It seems to me that you always know everything about everything.  If that man had known you as I know you he would have taken your judgment at the start, and dropped his dry battery where it was.”

“Did you ring, Marse Sellers?”

“No, Marse Sellers didn’t.”

“Den it was you, Marse Washington.  I’s heah, suh.”

“No, it wasn’t Marse Washington, either.”

“De good lan’! who did ring her, den?”

“Lord Rossmore rang it!”

The old negro flung up his hands and exclaimed: 

“Blame my skin if I hain’t gone en forgit dat name agin!  Come heah, Jinny—­run heah, honey.”

Jinny arrived.

“You take dish-yer order de lord gwine to give you I’s gwine down suller and study dat name tell I git it.”

“I take de order!  Who’s yo’ nigger las’ year?  De bell rung for you.”

“Dat don’t make no diffunce.  When a bell ring for anybody, en old marster tell me to—­”

“Clear out, and settle it in the kitchen!”

The noise of the quarreling presently sank to a murmur in the distance, and the earl added:  “That’s a trouble with old house servants that were your slaves once and have been your personal friends always.”

“Yes, and members of the family.”

“Members of the family is just what they become—­the members of the family, in fact.  And sometimes master and mistress of the household.  These two are mighty good and loving and faithful and honest, but hang it, they do just about as they please, they chip into a conversation whenever they want to, and the plain fact is, they ought to be killed.”

It was a random remark, but it gave him an idea—­however, nothing could happen without that result.

“What I wanted, Hawkins, was to send for the family and break the news to them.”

“O, never mind bothering with the servants, then.  I will go and bring them down.”

While he was gone, the earl worked his idea.

“Yes,” he said to himself, “when I’ve got the materializing down to a certainty, I will get Hawkins to kill them, and after that they will be under better control.  Without doubt a materialized negro could easily be hypnotized into a state resembling silence.  And this could be made permanent—­yes, and also modifiable, at will—­sometimes very silent, sometimes turn on more talk, more action, more emotion, according to what you want.  It’s a prime good idea.  Make it adjustable—­with a screw or something.”

The two ladies entered, now, with Hawkins, and the two negroes followed, uninvited, and fell to brushing and dusting around, for they perceived that there was matter of interest to the fore, and were willing to find out what it was.

Sellers broke the news with stateliness and ceremony, first warning the ladies, with gentle art, that a pang of peculiar sharpness was about to be inflicted upon their hearts—­hearts still sore from a like hurt, still lamenting a like loss—­then he took the paper, and with trembling lips and with tears in his voice he gave them that heroic death-picture.