Colonel Cresswell made a sudden resolve. He sent for the sheriff and
received him at the Oaks, in his most respectable style, filling him
with good food, and warming him with good liquor.
"Colton," he asked, "are you sending any of your white children to the
nigger school yet?"
"What!" yelled Colton.
The Colonel laughed, frankly telling Colton John Taylor's philosophy on
the race problem,--his willingness to let Negroes vote; his threat to
let blacks and whites work together; his contempt for the officials
elected by the people.
"Candidly, Colton," he concluded, "I believe in aristocracy. I can't
think it right or wise to replace the old aristocracy by new and untried
blood." And in a sudden outburst--"But, by God, sir! I'm a white man,
and I place the lowest white man ever created above the highest darkey
ever thought of. This Yankee, Taylor, is a nigger-lover. He's secretly
encouraging and helping them. You saw what he did to me, and I'm warning
you in time."
Colton's glass dropped.
"I thought it was you that was corralling the niggers against us," he
exclaimed.
The Colonel reddened. "I don't count all white men my equals, I admit,"
he returned with dignity, "but I know the difference between a white man
and a nigger."
Colton stretched out his massive hand. "Put it there, sir," said he; "I
misjudged you, Colonel Cresswell.
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