"It's our Mr. Hargraves," said Miss Lydia. "It must be his first appearance in what he calls 'the .' I'm so glad for him."  
Not until the second act did Col. Webster Calhoun appear upon the stage. When he made his entry Major Talbot gave an audible , glared at him, and seemed to freeze solid. Miss Lydia uttered a little, ambiguous and her programme in her hand. For Colonel Calhoun was made up as nearly resembling Major Talbot as one pea does another. The long, thin white hair, curly at the ends, the aristocratic of a nose, the crumpled, wide, ravelling shirt front, the string tie, with the bow nearly under one ear, were almost exactly duplicated. And then, to the imitation, he wore the twin to the major's supposed to be unparalleled coat. High-collared, , empire-waisted, ample-skirted, hanging a foot lower in front than behind, the garment could have been designed from no other pattern. From then on, the major and Miss Lydia sat bewitched, and saw the presentment of a Talbot "dragged," as the major expressed it, "through the of a stage."
 
Mr. Hargraves had used his opportunities well. He had caught the major's little idiosyncrasies of speech, accent, and and his courtliness to perfection—exaggerating all to the purposes of the stage. When he performed that marvellous bow that the major fondly imagined to be the pink of all salutations, the audience sent a sudden round of applause.
 
Miss Lydia sat immovable, not daring to glance toward her father. Sometimes her hand next to him would be laid against her cheek, as if to the smile which, in spite of her , she could not suppress.
 
The of Hargraves's audacious imitation took place in the third act. The scene is where Colonel Calhoun entertains a few of the neighbouring planters in his "."
 
at a table in the centre of the stage, with his friends grouped about him, he delivers that inimitable, , character so famous in "A Magnolia Flower," at the same time that he makes juleps for the party.
 
Major Talbot, sitting quietly, but white with indignation, heard his best stories retold, his pet theories and hobbies advanced and expanded, and the dream of the " and Reminiscences" served, exaggerated and . His favourite narrative—that of his with Rathbone Culbertson—was not omitted, and it was delivered with more fire, egotism, and gusto than the major himself put into it.
 
The monologue concluded with a , delicious, little lecture on the art of a julep, by the act. Here Major Talbot's delicate but showy science was reproduced to a hair's breadth—from his dainty handling of the weed—"the one-thousandth part of a grain too much pressure, gentlemen, and you extract the bitterness, instead of the , of this heaven-bestowed plant"—to his selection of the oaten straws.
 
At the close of the scene the audience raised a tumultuous roar of . The of the type was so exact, so sure and thorough, that the leading characters in the play were forgotten. After repeated calls, Hargraves came before the curtain and bowed, his rather boyish face bright and flushed with the knowledge of success.
 
At last Miss Lydia turned and looked at the major. His thin were working like the gills of a fish. He laid both shaking hands upon the arms of his chair to rise.
 
"We will go, Lydia," he said chokingly. "This is an abominable—desecration."
 
Before he could rise, she pulled him back into his seat. "We will stay it out," she declared. "Do you want to advertise the copy by exhibiting the original coat?" So they remained to the end.
 
Hargraves's success must have kept him up late that night, for neither at the breakfast nor at the dinner table did he appear.
 
About three in the afternoon he tapped at the door of Major Talbot's study. The major opened it, and Hargraves walked in with his hands full of the morning papers—too full of his triumph to notice anything unusual in the major's demeanour.
 
"I put it all over 'em last night, major," he began . "I had my inning, and, I think, scored. Here's what the Post says:
 
 
His conception and portrayal of the old-time Southern colonel, with his absurd , his eccentric , his quaint idioms and phrases, his moth-eaten pride of family, and his really kind heart, fastidious sense of honour, and lovable , is the best of a character role on the boards to-day. The coat worn by Colonel Calhoun is itself nothing less than an evolution of genius. Mr. Hargraves has captured his public.
 
 
"How does that sound, major, for a first nighter?"
 
"I had the honour"—the major's voice sounded frigid—"of witnessing your very performance, sir, last night."
 
Hargraves looked disconcerted.
 
"You were there? I didn't know you ever—I didn't know you cared for the theatre. Oh, I say, Major Talbot," he exclaimed , "don't you be offended. I admit I did get a lot of pointers from you that helped me out wonderfully in the part. But it's a type, you know—not individual. The way the audience caught on shows that. Half the patrons of that theatre are Southerners. They recognized it."
 
"Mr. Hargraves," said the major, who had remained standing, "you have put upon me an unpardonable insult. You have my person, grossly betrayed my confidence, and my hospitality. If I thought you the faintest conception of what is the sign manual of a gentleman, or what is due one, I would call you out, sir, old as I am. I will ask you to leave the room, sir."
 
The actor appeared to be slightly bewildered, and seemed hardly to take in the full meaning of the old gentleman's words.
 
"I am truly sorry you took offence," he said regretfully. "Up here we don't look at things just as you people do. I know men who would buy out half the house to have their personality put on the stage so the public would recognize it."
 
"They are not from Alabama, sir," said the major .
 
"Perhaps not. I have a pretty good memory, major; let me quote a few lines from your book. In response to a toast at a banquet given in—Milledgeville, I believe—you uttered, and intend to have printed, these words:
 
 
The Northern man is without sentiment or warmth except in so far as the feelings may be turned to his own commercial profit. He will suffer without any cast upon the honour of himself or his loved ones that does not bear with it the consequence of loss. In his charity, he gives with a liberal hand; but it must be with the and chronicled in .
 
 
"Do you think that picture is fairer than the one you saw of Colonel Calhoun last night?"
 
"The description," said the major frowning, "is—not without grounds. Some exag—latitude must be allowed in public speaking."
 
"And in public acting," replied Hargraves.
 
"That is not the point," persisted the major, unrelenting. "It was a personal caricature. I decline to overlook it, sir."
 
"Major Talbot," said Hargraves, with a winning smile, "I wish you would understand me. I want you to know that I never dreamed of insulting you. In my profession, all life belongs to me. I take what I want, and what I can, and return it over the footlights. Now, if you will, let's let it go at that. I came in to see you about something else. We've been pretty good friends for some months, and I'm going to take the risk of offending you again. I know you are hard up for money—never mind how I found out; a boarding house is no place to keep such matters secret—and I want you to let me help you out of the pinch. I've been there often enough myself. I've been getting a fair salary all the season, and I've saved some money. You're welcome to a couple hundred—or even more—until you get—"
 
"Stop!" commanded the major, with his arm outstretched. "It seems that my book didn't lie, after all. ............