firmly on the ground of equal rights and opportunity to all men; long
traditions and business instincts told him when in Rome to act as a
Roman. Altogether his position was a delicate one, and I gave him
credit for the skill he displayed in maintaining it. The young
professor was apologetic. He had had the same views as the G.A.R. man;
but a year in the South had opened his eyes, and he had to confess
that the problem could hardly be handled any better than it was being
handled by the Southern whites. To which the G.A.R. man responded
somewhat rudely that he had spent ten times as many years in the South
as his young friend and that he could easily understand how holding a
position in a State institution in Alabama would bring about a change
of views. The professor turned very red and had very little more to
say. The Texan was fierce, eloquent, and profane in his argument, and,
in a lower sense, there was a direct logic in what he said, which was
convincing; it was only by taking higher ground, by dealing in what
Southerners call "theories," that he could be combated. Occasionally
some one of the several other men in the "smoker" would throw in a
remark to reinforce what he said, but he really didn't need any help;
he was sufficient in himself.

In the course of a short time the controversy narrowed itself down
to an argument between the old soldier and the Texan. The latter
maintained hotly that the Civil War was a criminal mistake on the part
of the North and that the humiliation which the South suffered during
Reconstruction could never be forgotten. The Union man retorted just
as hotly that the South was responsible for the war and that the
spirit of unforgetfulness on its part was the greatest cause of
present friction; that it seemed to be the one great aim of the South
to convince the North that the latter made a mistake in fighting to
preserve the Union and liberate the slaves. "Can you imagine," he went