And now Grigsby was an avowed candidate for governor, in opposition to his old friend, John Chatham, the man who had made him. Two years bring about great changes in politics. Grigsby, in that time, had grown corpulent, had hardened his liver and his heart, and was threatened with Bright's disease.
The attorney-general continued to smoke and pace the floor, and swear. After a while he consulted his watch again, and then gave the old-fashioned brass bell-pull a vigorous jerk. Presently a negro boy came bearing a presumptive pitcher of water, the tinkling of the ice heralding his approach. The attorney-general would have welcomed iced water in the morning, but now he seized it from the black boy's hand, set it down with a splash on his wash-*stand, and shouted:
"Go and tell Jim to mix me a commodore."
Just as the boy reached the door, it opened, and a tall man entered. The tall man seeing the boy, looked at Grigsby.
"What'll you have, Hank?" said the attorney-general.
"A little whisky."
