treat, but he’ll lend a little money, provided he knows where you goin’ with it. If he ain’t open-hearted, he ain’t precisely mean!”

“You’re right, Bee!” (General expression.)

“Further on, it may be said that the framers of the gov’ment never intended all the patronage to go to one side. Mr. Jeff’son put that on the steelyard principle: the long beam here, the big weight of being in the minority there. Mr. Jackson only threw it considabul more on one side, but even he, gentlemen, didn’t take the whole patronage from the Outs; he always left ’em enough to keep up the courtesy of the thing, and we can’t go behind him. Not and be true to our traditions. Do I put it right?”

“Bee,” said the youthful Lowndes Cleburn, extending his hand, “you put it with the lucidity and spirituality of Kulhoon himself!”

“Thanks, Cleburn,” said Bee; “this is a compliment not likely to be forgotten, coming from you. Then it is agreed, as the Chayman of yo’ Committee, that I accede to the request of Mr. Reybold, of Pennsylvania?”

“Aye!” from everybody.

“And now,” said Mr. Bee, “as we wair all up late at the club last night, I propose we take a second julep, and as Reybold is coming in he will jine us.”

“I won’t give you a farthing!” cried Reybold at the door, speaking to some one. “Chips, indeed! What shall I give you money to gamble away for? A gambling beggar is worse than an imposter! No, sir! Emphatically no!”

“A dollar for four chips for brave old Beau!” said the other voice. “I’ve struck ’em all but you. By the State Arms! I’ve got rights in this distreek! Everybody pays toll to brave old Beau! Come down!”

The Northern Congressman retreated before this pertinacious mendicant into his committee-room, and his pesterer followed him closely, nothing abashed, even into the privileged cloisters of the committee. The Southern members enjoyed the situation.

“Chips, Right Honourable! Chips for old Beau. Nobody this ten-year has run as long as you. I’ve laid for you, and now I’ve fell on you. Judge Bee, the fust business befo’ yo’ committee this mornin’ is a assessment for old Beau, who’s ’way down! Rheumatiz, bettin’ on the black, failure of remittances from Fauqueeah, and other casualties by wind an’ flood, have put ole Beau away down. He’s a institution of his country and must be sustained!”

The laughter was general and cordial among the Southerners, while the intruder pressed hard upon Mr. Reybold. He was a singular object; tall, grim, half-comical, with a leer of low familiarity in his eyes, but his waxed moustache of military proportions, his patch of goatee just above the chin, his elaborately oiled hair and flaming necktie set off his faded face with an odd gear of finery and impressiveness. His skin was that of an old roué’s, patched up and chalked, but the features were those of a once handsome man of style and carriage.

He wore what appeared to be a cast-off spring overcoat, out of season and colour on this blustering winter day, a rich buff waistcoat of an embossed pattern, such as few persons would care to assume, save, perhaps, a gambler, negro-buyer, or fine “buck” barber. The assumption of a large and flashy pin stood in his frilled shirt-bosom. He wore watch-seals without the accompanying watch, and his pantaloons, though faded and threadbare, were once of a fine material and cut in a style of extravagant elegance, and they covered his long, shrunken, but aristocratic limbs, and were strapped beneath his boots to keep them shapely. The boots themselves had been once of varnished kid or fine calf, but they were cracked and cut, partly by use, partly for comfort; for it was plain that their wearer had the gout, by his aristocratic hobble upon a gold-mounted cane, which was not the least inconsistent garniture of mendicancy.