The third black had remained seated. He turned his eyes slowly to Lewis.

"I am no slave," he began. "I am of the tribe of Houssa. To my master's
wealth. I added fifteen of my sons. In the great rebellion they fell,
one and all."

"The great rebellion," said Leighton. "He means the last Houssa
uprising. Thirty thousand of 'em, and they fought and fell to a man. The
Government was glad of the chance to wipe 'em out. Ask him how he
escaped."

"Escaped?" The black's eyes gleamed. "Child, I did not escape. My
master's son was a babe in arms. My master bade me bear him to safety.
When I came back, alone I bore my master to the grave. Then it was too
late. They would not kill me. Now the babe is grown. He tells me I am a
free man. It is written on paper."

While Leighton and Lewis watched the crowd, they themselves did not
remain unnoticed. A small group of the leisurely class began to block
the pavement before them. Father and son were a strange pair. Lewis was
still in his leather cow-boy clothes. Alone, he would not have attracted
more notice than a man with a beard and a carpet-bag on Broadway; but
the juxtaposition of pith helmet, a thing unknown in those parts, and
countryman's flat leather hat, and the fact of their wearers usurping
the seats of two black carriers was too much for one native son, dressed
in the latest Paris fashion.

"Thou, porter," he called to Leighton, "an errand for thee. Go fetch my
father. He would not miss this sight."