and a gentle survey, ending in a call for a boy to show the gentlemen to number thirteen.
After an hour's delay, we procured water, and were about to enjoy very necessary ablutions, when we observed that the door of our room was partly of uncurtained glass. A shirt was pinned to this, and ceremonies were about beginning, when a step came down the passage, and a gentleman put his hand through a broken pane, and lifted the obstruction, wishing "to see what was going on so damn'd secret in number thirteen." When I walked toward him hurriedly, in puris naturalibus, he drew hastily and entered the next room.
On the gallery of the hotel, after dinner, a fine-looking man—who was on the best of terms with every one—familiar with the judge—and who had been particularly polite to me, at the dinner-table, said to another:
"I hear you were very unlucky with that girl you bought of me, last year?"
"Yes, I was; very unlucky. She died with her first child, and the child died, too."
"Well, that was right hard for you. She was a fine girl. I don't reckon you lost less than five thousand dollars, when she died."
"No, sir, not a dollar less."
"Well, it came right hard upon you—just beginning so."
"Yes, I was foolish, I suppose, to risk so much on the life of a single woman; but I've got a good start again now, for all that. I've got two right likely girls; one of them's got a fine boy, four months old, and the other's with child—and old Pine Knot's as hearty as ever."
"Is he? Hasn't been sick at all, eh?"
"Yes; he was sick very soon after I bought him of you; but he got well soon."
"That's right. I'd rather a nigger would be sick early,
