As soon as Blandford had finished the reading of this, something
happened (as there should happen in stories and must happen on the
stage).

Percival, the office boy, with his air of despising the world's output
of mill supplies and leather belting, came in to announce that a colored
gentleman was outside to see Mr. Blandford Carteret.

"Bring him in," said Blandford, rising.

John Carteret swung around in his chair and said to Percival: "Ask him
to wait a few minutes outside. We'll let you know when to bring him in."

Then he turned to his cousin with one of those broad, slow smiles that
was an inheritance of all the Carterets, and said:

"Bland, I've always had a consuming curiosity to understand the
differences that you haughty Southerners believe to exist between 'you
all' and the people of the North. Of course, I know that you consider
yourselves made out of finer clay and look upon Adam as only a
collateral branch of your ancestry; but I don't know why. I never could
understand the differences between us."

"Well, John," said Blandford, laughing, "what you don't understand about
it is just the difference, of course. I suppose it was the feudal way
in which we lived that gave us our lordly baronial airs and feeling of
superiority."

"But you are not feudal, now," went on John. "Since we licked you
and stole your cotton and mules you've had to go to work just as we