An hour later he was making his way to Colonel Pendleton's
lodgings, and half expecting to find the St. Charles Hotel itself
transformed by the eager spirit of improvement. But it was still
there in all its barbaric and provincial incongruity. Public
opinion had evidently recognized that nothing save the absolute
razing of its warped and flimsy walls could effect a change, and
waited for it to collapse suddenly like the house of cards it
resembled. Paul wondered for a moment if it were not ominous of
its lodgers' hopeless inability to accept changed conditions, and
it was with a feeling of doubt that he even now ascended the
creaking staircase. But it was instantly dissipated on the
threshold of the colonel's sitting-room by the appearance of George
and his reception of his master's guest.
The grizzled negro was arrayed in a surprisingly new suit of blue
cloth with a portentous white waistcoat and an enormous crumpled
white cravat, that gave him the appearance of suffering from a
glandular swelling. His manner had, it seemed to Paul, advanced in
exaggeration with his clothes. Dusting a chair and offering it to
the visitor, he remained gracefully posed with his hand on the back
of another.
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