From under a Byron collar, _parfaitement_ starched, peeped
the ends of a pale lilac scarf. A magnificent seal-ring decorated the
third finger of his left hand.
The day being excessively warm, his coat and vest had been laid aside.
The room was plainly furnished. The table was littered with charts and
papers, while on a stand were flowers sent to the prisoner by ladies
of Boston.
With the instinct of a true gentleman, he proceeded to put on his coat
and vest, when the following conversation ensued:
_Rep_. "Pray, captain, keep your coat off."
_Capt. K._ "Thank you, if the same to you?"
_Rep_. "Quite the same, I assure you. My visit is informal." (Handing
him a cigar.)
_Capt. K._ "Thanks: I take things coolly--waive ceremony. You know
that's a habit I acquired at sea. You are a reporter?"
_Rep_. "Yes, for the New York _Herald_. I call to ascertain your views
of the situation. The public are anxious to hear your defence; and, if
proper, I would like to ask you a few questions."
_Capt. K._ "Certainly" (lighting his cigar). "You newspaper men
haven't given me a fair show. There's a heap of lying going on about
me. They are hounding me--that's a fact. I've got the evidence to
prove that I'm an injured man. I have a clear conscience, that's one
comfort.
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