Row with Blankman.
McCook has got married to her moon-faced
admirer. His name is Morrison and he reaches
to her shoulder. She left the house two weeks ago.
30. Thursday. Tribune editorializing.
Returning from down town to our 6 o�clock dinner,
I found Blankman rampant as usual, talking
his usual beastly, rowdy rot about �niggers,� �white-
niggers� and a �abolitionists� at his end of the table.
I bore it as long as possible, then cut in and speak-
ing to Sanford, a decentish fellow, who was telling
an anecdote how four Irishmen had outrageously
insulted two unoffending negroes in a city car �
said that he might be sure that every blackguard
and ruffian would behave so. This remark
caused a sensation. Blankman muttered some-
thing. Presently he began again in the old style
� said you never found an American gentleman
who � �Do you call yourself an American
gentleman?� I asked. He did, he said. �I
consider you a bully and a blackguard,� I ans-
wered, adding that there�d been enough of that
sort of thing going on and that I was going to try
to put a stop to it. So I rose up, slipping off my
coat with the same motion and invited him to step
out into the passage. Up got old Jewitt who sat
next to me and Mrs Boley, imploring peace. �Don�t
doctor!� �He wasn�t speaking to you Mr Gunn!�
and similar exclamations. In the meantime