"For my part," resumed Blount, judicially, "I rather lean to a piece
of cut glass, for the green and the crystal look mighty fine
together. I don't always make them with any sugar on top of the mint.
But, you know, just a circle of mint--not crushed--not crushed, mind
you--just a green ring of fragrance, so that you can bury your nose
in it and forget your troubles. Sir, allow me once more to shake your
hand. I think I know a gentleman when I see one."

Oddly enough, this pleasant speech seemed to bring a shade of sadness
to Eddring's face. "A gentleman?" said he, smiling slightly. "Well,
don't shake hands with me yet, sir. I don't know. You see, I'm a
railroad man, and I'm here on business."

"Damn it, sir, if it was only your description of a julep, if it was
only your mention of that old family silver mug, devoted to that
sacred purpose, sir, that would be your certificate of character
here. Forget your business. Come down here and live with me. We'll go
hunting b'ah together. Why, man, I'm mighty glad to make your
acquaintance."

"But wait," said Eddring, "there may be two ways of looking at this."

"Well, there's only one way of looking at a julep," said Blount, "and
that's down the mint. Now, I'll show you how we make them down here
in the Sunflower country."

"But, as I was a-saying--" and here Blount set down the glasses
midway in his compounding, and went on with his interrupted
proposition; "now here was that nigger that lost his wife. Of course
he had a whole flock of children. Now, what do you think that claim