These things, however, tended to embitter him all the more against
all those persons and events in any manner connected with his
misfortunes. It was in such a mood and under such circumstances,
that word was brought to Mr. Desmit in his private library, that "a
nigger" wanted to see him. The servant did not know his name, what
he wanted, or where he came from. She could only say that he had
ridden there on a "right peart mule" and was a "right smart-looking
boy." She was ordered to bring him in, and Nimbus stood before his
master for the first time since he had been sent down the country
to work on fortifications intended to prevent the realization of
his race's long-delayed vision of freedom. He came with his hat
in his hand, saying respectfully,
"How d'ye, Marse Desmit?"
"Is that you, Nimbus? Get right out of here! I don't want any such
grand rascal nigger in my house."
"But, Marse Desrnit," began the colored man, greatly flurried by
this rude greeting.
"I don't want any 'buts.' Damn you, I've had enough of all such
cattle. What are you here for, anyhow? Why don't you go back to
the Yankees that you ran away to? I suppose you want I should feed
you, clothe you, support you, as I've been doing for your lazy
wife and children ever since the surrender. I shan't do it a day
longer--not a day! D'ye hear? Get off from my land before the sun
goes down to-morrow or I'll have the overseer set his dogs on you.
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