Bartleby the Scrivener: A Tale of Wall Street

BENITO CERENO 129
The lunch was a frugal one. Some of Captain Delano's
fresh fish and pumpkins, biscuit and salt beef, the
reserved bottle of cider, and the San Dominick's last
bottle of Canary.
As they entered, Francesco, with two or three coloured
aids, was hovering over the table giving the last adjustments.
Upon perceiving their master they withdrew,
Francesco making a smiling conge, and the Spaniard,
without condescending to notice it, fastidiously remark-
ing to his companion that he relished not superfluous
attendance.
Without companions, host and guest sat down, like
a childless married couple, at opposite ends of the table,
Don Benito waving Captain Delano to his place, and,
weak as he was, insisting upon that gentleman being
seated before himself.
The negro placed a rug under Don Benito's feet, and
a cushion behind his back, and then stood behind, not
his master's chair, but Captain Delano's. At first, this
a little surprised the latter. But it was soon evident
that, in taking his position, the black was still true to
his master since ; by facing him he could the more
readily anticipate his slightest want.
'
This is an uncommonly intelligent fellow of yours,
Don Benito,' whispered Captain Delano across the
table.
'
You say true, serior.'
During the repast, the^gjjesL agajn_ reverted to parts
of Don Benito's story, begging further particulars here
and tEere. He inquired how it was that the scurvy and
fever should have committed such wholesale havoc upon
the whites, while destroying less than half of the blacks.
As if this question reproduced the whole scene of plague
before the Spaniard's eyes, miserably reminding him of
his solitude in a cabin where before he had had so