"Yas suh, Cunnel, you ain't never gwine to see 'em no mo'."
"Except these two, worn by your most admiring constituents." McDonald and Lyttleton bowed low.
Then the Colonel got into a good humor and chuckled. "Zack, did I cuss very strong?"
"Yas suh, Cunnel; when you fust opened up dat box o' buttons, an' I heard what you say, I 'lowed to myself, "Dar now! Cunnel's done gone Democratic agin'."
At a jovial suggestion from McDonald that it was night-cap time Zack vanished into the pantry, and the stirring of ingredients commenced. When Zack returned with brandy and sodas, the white folks were amicably discussing a labor contract to be consummated on the following morning with the King of the Shilluks. McDonald's voice sounded as if he were defending himself. "I hated to do it, 'pon my word. It's sure to raise a deuce of a row amongst our stay-at-home directors."
"Why so?" The Colonel looked inquiringly at Lyttleton, who lighted another cigarette, and half-apologized.
"My dear Colonel, our directors are keen on employing voluntary labor, paying good wages, teaching the natives—all that sort of stuff. They can't see how it works out—or won't work out.
