The nearest telegraph office was in the railway station, and as Clod
approached it he found himself involved in the crowd of passengers just
brought in by a newly-arrived train from the North. He dodged here and
there among them, but finally, in escaping a truck-load of baggage, he
stumbled over the chain by which a gentleman was leading a dog, and
plumped full into the arms of a white-headed negro who was close behind
it.
"Scuse me, sah!" began poor Clod, most politely. Then he stared,
stammered, tried to speak, but only choked in the effort, and threw his
arms about the neck of the old negro, laughing and sobbing in the same
breath.
"Doesn't yo' know me, Solom?" he gasped. "Doesn't yo' know yer own
br'er Clod? Doesn't yo' 'member de ole plantashun 'way down in
Lou'siana, befo' de wah, an' Clod?--yo' own br'er Clod?"
Then Solon recognized his only brother, long mourned as dead, and the
two old men embraced, and wept, and held each other off at arm's-length
to get a better look at the other's changed but still familiar face.
The hurrying passengers smiled at this spectacle at once so ridiculous
and so pathetic, but good-naturedly made way for the old men, while
Bim, sharing the general excitement, barked and danced about, until his
chain was entangled with the legs of at least half a dozen persons at
once.
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