mr. turpin. the colonel wears a full grain maine of hair -- mane. looks just like the jefferson davis statue they put up in raleigh, and only wants a bit of neatening up once a week. he waxes the tips of his moustache at home. they got the governor, and they got the numbers, says mr. mr. turpin. the way they got it fixed, it'll take a revolution to push 'em out. mr. turpin is thin on top, and hoch is carefully spreading what's left with his comb over the scalp. we must not bow to the tyranny of numbers, says the judge. what if tomorrow the blunt family decide to bring in 5,000 chinamen to bale their cotton? is should we then be ruled by chinamen? i think so. dorsey waves his hand for the judge to stop moving his jaw. humiliation, i tell you, the judge goes on. sold the mountain folk a bill of goods they bought the colored folks with whitemen's positions, and now he means to ruin this city. dorsey crosses to put a couple towels into the steamer. when the judge gets going like this, it's to wait hi