CHAPTER II




J. Cuyler Mitchell got out of his landau in the _porte cochere_ of his
stately residence on Peachtree Street, and, aided by his gold-headed
ebony cane, ascended the steps of the wide veranda, where he stood
fanning his face with his Panama hat. Larkin, the negro driver,
glanced over his shoulder after him.

"Anything mo', Marse John?" he inquired.

"No, I'm through with the horses for to-day," the old man returned.
"Put them up, and rub them down well."

As the landau moved along the curving drive to the stables in the rear
Mitchell sauntered around to the shaded part of the veranda and went
in at the front door. He was tall, seventy-five years of age, slender
and erect, had iron-gray hair and a mustache and pointed goatee of the
same shade. He was hanging his hat on the carved mahogany rack in the
hall when Jincy, a young colored maid, came from the main drawing-room
on the right. She had a feather duster in her hand and wore a turban-
like head-cloth, a neat black dress, and a clean white apron.