"He was always a 'dandy nigger,'" returned Pendleton, his face
slightly relaxing as he glanced after his grizzled henchman, "but
his exaggeration of courtesy is a blank sight more natural and
manly than the exaggeration of discourtesy which your superior
civilized 'helps' think is self-respect. The excuse of servitude
of any kind is its spontaneity and affection. When you know a man
hates you and serves you from interest, you know he's a cur and
you're a tyrant. It's your blank progress that's made menial
service degrading by teaching men to avoid it. Why, sir, when I
first arrived here, Jack Hammersley and myself took turns as cook
to the party. I didn't consider myself any the worse master for
it. But enough of this." He paused, and, raising himself on his
elbow, gazed for some seconds half cautiously, half doubtfully,
upon his companion. "I've got something to tell you, Hathaway," he
said, slowly. "You've had an easy time with this Trust; your share
of the work hasn't worried you, kept you awake nights, or
interfered with your career. I understand perfectly," he
continued, in reply to Hathaway's deprecating gesture. "I accepted
to act as your proxy, and I HAVE. I'm not complaining. But it is
time that you should know what I've done, and what you may still
have to do. Here is the record. On the day after that interview
in the Mayor's office, the El Dorado Bank, of which I was, and
still am, president, received seventy-five thousand dollars in
trust from Mrs. Howard. Two years afterwards, on that same day,
the bank had, by lucky speculations, increased that sum to the
credit of the trust one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, or
double the original capital. In the following year the bank
suspended payment."