his last dollar; tobacco for his old cook, Rachel; not a thing for
himself, you see--and this steak! Who do you suppose he bought that for?"

"Did you find it?" called out the major, as we reëntered the cabin.

"Yes; but it wasn't in the English trunk," said Jack, handing back the
keys, grave as a judge, not a smile on his face.

"Of co'se not; didn't I tell you it was in the small bag? Now, gentlemen,
listen!" turning the leaves. "Here is a man who has the impertinence to
say that our industries are paralyzed. It is not our industries; it is our
people. Robbed of their patrimony, their fields laid waste, their estates
confiscated by a system of foreclosure lackin' every vestige of decency
and co'tesy,--Shylocks wantin' their pound of flesh on the very hour and
day,--why shouldn't they be paralyzed?" He laughed heartily. "Jack, you
know Colonel Dorsey Kent, don't you?"

Jack did not, but the owners of several names on the passenger-list did,
and hitched their camp-stools closer.

"Well, Kent was the only man I ever knew who ever held out against the
damnable oligarchy."

Here an old fellow in a butternut suit, with a half-moon of white whiskers
tied under his chin, leaned forward in rapt attention.

The major braced himself, and continued: "Kent, gentlemen, as many of you
know, lived with his maiden sister over on Tinker Neck, on the same piece
of ground where he was bo'n. She had a life interest in the house and
property, and it was so nominated in the bond. Well, when it got down to