"I--do not drink." The banker uncoiled his leg, and put his hat on the
floor.

His father pounded the decanter down on the table. "Simmons!" he
called out; "light the rest of these lamps, you--you freckled nigger!
Gad-a-mercy! niggers have no sense."

Simmons came stumbling in, the whites of his yellow eyes gleaming with
excitement. While he was fumbling over the lamps, his lean brown
fingers all thumbs, Benjamin Wright insisted upon filling Dr.
Lavendar's tumbler with whiskey until it overflowed and had to be
sopped up by the old minister's red bandanna.

As soon as Simmons could get out of the room, Dr. Lavendar settled
himself to the business which had brought them together. He said to
his senior warden, briefly, that his father was concerned about Sam's
attentions to Mrs. Richie; "he thinks it would be an especially good
time to have the boy see a little of the world, if you will consent?
He says it's 'narrowing to live in Old Chester," said Dr. Lavendar,
slyly jocose;--but Samuel refused to smile, and the old minister went
on with determined cheerfulness. "I think, myself, that it would be
good for Sam to travel. You know

'Home-keeping youths
Have ever homely wits.'"

"A boy," said the senior warden, and stopped; his voice cracked badly
and he cleared his throat; "a boy--Dr. Lavendar;--is better at home."