about it in
Washington."

"Forget it, Manysnifters," urged Senator Bull, "forget it. Give the
colored brother a show. He will work out his own salvation."

"At the end of a rope," growled the Colonel.

"Be charitable, sir, be charitable," said Senator Pennypacker
ponderously. "The negro problem lies with the white people of the South.
They will solve it. Give them time. Perhaps they may find

"'With keen, discriminating sight,
Black's not so black,
Nor white's so very white!'"

"Oh, we will solve it all right," said Colonel Manysnifters knowingly,
"trust us for that. Only--you Northern folks keep your hands off. That's
all we ask!"

Mr. Ridley, to soothe the fiery Southerner, poured out a generous
libation, and the dark cloud rolled over.

V

SENATOR BULL'S STORY

When we returned to the observation car Senator Bull was unanimously
called to the chair.

"I shall hark back to my boyhood days," said he, "and relate an incident
in my early life, and its sequel when I attained man's estate. I suppose
all of us have had experiences which have more than once brought home
the weight of that bewhiskered old maxim--'Truth is stronger than
fiction.'

"There were twelve of us--Bert Martin, Joey Scott, Tom Hyland, Georgie
Morris, Jake Milburn, Bob Hardee, Lannie Sudduth, Owen Prouty, Alf Rush,
Ed Ross, Dolph Levy, and myself. The Forestburg Rifles we called
ourselves. Ed Ross was captain, and Lannie Sudduth and Bob Hardee,
lieutenants. There were no other officers, for that would have left too
few privates; but, as it was, our nine men marching single file and wide
apart made a fine showing. Owen Prouty limping bravely along, brought up
the rear. 'That lame Prouty boy' was the gamest fellow in the command
and it nearly broke his heart when we marched away in earnest in
sixty-one, and left him behind--the leader of the home-guard.

"The Rifles were armed with wooden guns, and drilled twice a week in
Bert Martin's barn--drilled with almost the same precision and attention
to the manual as we _had_ to do in later years. Ed Ross was a strict
disciplinarian even then, and awfully in earnest. Indeed, we all were
for that matter. When the notion is strong upon them, young folks beat
their elders all hollow at that sort of thing. Every Saturday afternoon
at three o'clock, weather permitting, we met at our armory, and after
some preliminary maneuvers marched down High Street. Old Cush Woodberry
and the