with such power that the black chauffeur looked around at us and made
the car to jump even as he and I had done.

"And those mules that it would be your wish to feed to that Mr. Jeff
Whitworth, my Uncle Robert, will you not tell me further about them?
In Paris it is said that they are a very good food when made fat after
being old or wounded in the army. I have--"

"That will do, sir. If you've had to eat mule in Paris don't tell me
about it. My constitution wouldn't stand that, though during our war,
just before Vicksburg, I ate--but we won't go into that either. Now
this is the situation, as much as a lad from the wilds of Paris could
understand it. The French Government wants five thousand mules by the
fall of the year, and there are no such mules in the world as this
State produces. They are sending a man over here to try to make a deal
with the State of Harpeth to purchase the mules from private breeders,
graze them on the government lands and deliver them in a lot for
shipment the first of August at Savannah. There is no authority on the
statute book for the State to make such a deal, but Jeff Whitworth has
fixed up a sort of contract, that wouldn't hold water in the courts,
by which the Governor of the State, Williamson Faulkner, grants the
grazing rights on the State's lands to a private company of which he
is to be a member, which, in a way, guarantees the deal. They've made
him believe it to be a good financial thing for the State and he can't
see that they are going to buy cheap stock, fatten it on a low rate
from the State and hand it over to the French Government at a fancy
rake-off--and then leave him with the bag to hold when the time for
settlement and complaint comes. There is a strong Republican party in
this State and they're keeping quiet, but year after next, when Bill
Faulkner comes up for re-election, downright illegality will be