requested the Colonel to accord an interview with the writer at the
Colonel's office as soon as he left the court. But it was an engagement
that the Colonel--as devoted to the fair sex as he was to the
"code"--was no less prompt in accepting. He flicked away the dust from
his spotless white trousers and varnished boots with his handkerchief,
and settled his black cravat under his Byron collar as he neared his
office. He was surprised, however, on opening the door of his private
office, to find his visitor already there; he was still more startled to
find her somewhat past middle age and plainly attired. But the Colonel
was brought up in a school of Southern politeness, already antique in
the republic, and his bow of courtesy belonged to the epoch of his
shirt frill and strapped trousers. No one could have detected his
disappointment in his manner, albeit his sentences were short
and incomplete. But the Colonel's colloquial speech was apt to be
fragmentary incoherencies of his larger oratorical utterances.

"A thousand pardons--for--er--having kept a lady waiting--er!
But--er--congratulations of friends--and--er--courtesy due to
them--er--interfered with--though perhaps only heightened--by
procrastination--the pleasure of--ha!" And the Colonel completed his
sentence with a gallant wave of his fat but white and well-kept hand.

"Yes! I came to see you along o' that speech of yours. I was in court.
When I heard you gettin' it off on that jury, I says to myself, 'That's
the kind o' lawyer I want. A man that's flowery and convincin'! Just the
man to take up our case."

"Ah! It's a matter of business, I see," said the Colonel, inwardly
relieved, but externally careless. "And--er--may I ask the nature of the
case?"