He was passing an open door marked "Direction," when his attention was sharply attracted by a small gathering around it and the sounds of indignant declamation.

It was the voice of a countryman--more than that, it was a familiar voice, that he had not heard for three years--the voice of Colonel Harry Pendleton! "Tell him," said Pendleton, in scathing tones, to some invisible interpreter,--"tell, him, sir, that a more infamous caricature of the blankest caricature that ever maligned a free people, sir, I never before had the honor of witnessing.

Tell him that I, sir--I, Harry Pendleton, of Kentucky, a Southerner, sir--an old slaveholder, sir, declare it to be a tissue of falsehoods unworthy the credence of a Christian civilization like this--unworthy the attention of the distinguished ladies and gentlemen that are gathered here to-night.
Tell him, sir, he has been imposed upon.

Tell him I am responsible--give him my card and address--personally responsible for what I say.

If he wants proofs--blank it all!--tell him you yourself have been a slave--MY slave, sir! Take off your hat, sir! Ask him to look at you--ask him if he thinks you ever looked or could look like that lop-eared, psalm-singing, white-headed hypocrite on the stage! Ask him, sir, if he thinks that blank ringmaster they call St.Clair looks like ME!" At this astounding exordium Paul eagerly pressed forward and entered the bureau.