“But they hump like bunnies!” said Calvin. In his drunken state, this was indescribably funny. He laughed until he wheezed. Then he puked into the pan of stirred-up.

«Is this part of the recipe?» asked Honor‚. «The pi‚ce de r‚sistance?»

“It wasn't the stirred-up made me splash,” said Calvin. “It was that vinegar you made us drink.”

“I promise you it was the best wine in the house.”

“That's cause fellows don't go there for wine. Corn likker is more what they specialize in.”

«I would rather regurgitate than let the corn alcohol make me blind,» said Honor‚. «Those seem to have been the two choices.»

“It was the only saloon open on the waterfront.”

“The only one that hadn't already thrown us out, you mean.”

“Are you getting fussy now? I thought you liked adventure.”

“I do. But I believe I have now gathered all the material I need about the lowest dregs of American society.”

“Then go home, you frog-eating stump-licker.”

«Stump-licker?» asked Honor‚.

“What about it?”

“You are very, very drunk.”

“At least my coat isn't on fire.”

Honor‚ slowly looked down at his coattail, which was indeed smoldering at the edge of the stove fire. He carefully lifted the fabric for closer inspection. «I don't think this can be laundered out.»

“Wait till I'm awake,” said Calvin. “I can fix it.” He giggled. “I'm a Maker.”

“If I throw up, will I feel as good as you?”

“I feel like hammered horse pucky,” said Calvin.

«That is exactly the improvement I want.» Honor‚ retched, but he missed the pan. His vomit sizzled on the stovetop.

«Behold the man of education and refinement,» said Honor‚.

“That's kind of an unattractive smell,” said Calvin.

«I need to go to bed,» said Honor‚. «I don't feel well.»

They made it to the bushes along the garden wall before they realized that they weren't heading for the house. Giggling, they collapsed under the greenery and in moments they were both asleep.

The sun was shining brightly and Calvin was a mass of sweat when he finally came to. He could feel bugs crawling on him and his first impulse was to leap to his feet and brush them off. But his body did not respond at all. He just lay there. He couldn't even open his eyes.

A faint breeze stirred the air. The bugs moved again on his face. Oh. Not bugs at all. Leaves. He was lying in shrubbery.

“Sometimes I just wish we could build a wall around the Crown Colonies and keep all those meddlesome foreigners out.”

A woman's voice. Footsteps on the brick sidewalk.

“Did you hear that the Queen is going to grant an audience to that busybody bluestocking abolitionist schoolteacher?”

“No, that's too much to believe.”

“I agree, but with Lady Ashworth as her sponsor–”

“Lady Ashworth!”

The ladies stopped their ambulation only a few steps away from where Calvin lay.

“To think that Lady Ashworth won't even invite you to her soirees–”

“I beg your pardon, but I have declined her invitations.”

“And yet she'll present this Peggy person–”

“I thought her name was Margaret–”

“But her people call her Peggy, as if she were a horse.”

“And where is her husband? If she has one.”

“Oh, she has one. Tried and acquitted of slave-stealing, but we all know a slaveholder can't get justice in those abolitionist courts.”

“How do you find out these things?”

“Do you think the King's agents don't investigate foreigners who come here to stir up trouble?”

“Instead of investigating, why don't they just keep them out?”

“Oh!”

The exclamation of surprise told Calvin that he had just been spotted. Even though some control was returning, he decided that keeping his eyes closed and lying very still was the better part of valor. Besides, with his face covered by leaves, he would not be recognizable later; if he moved, they might see his face.

“My laws, this boardinghouse should be closed down. It brings entirely the wrong element into a respectable part of town.”

“Look. He has fouled his trousers.”

“This is intolerable. I'm going to have to complain to the magistrate.”

“How can you?”

“How can I not?”

“But your testimony before the court– how could you possibly describe this wretched man's condition, while remaining a lady?”

“Dear me.”

“No, we simply did not see him.”

“Oh!”

The second exclamation told Calvin that they had found Honor‚ de Balzac. It was comforting to know he was not alone in his humiliation.

“Worse and worse.”

“Clearly he is no gentleman. But to be out-of-doors without trousers at all!”

“Can you… can you see his…”

Calvin felt that this had gone far enough. Without opening his eyes, he spoke in a thick Spanish accent, imitating the slavers he had heard on the docks. «Se¤oritas, this tiny White man is nothing compared to the naked Black men in my warehouse on the Spanish dock!»

Shrieking softly, the ladies bustled away. Calvin lay there shaking with silent laughter.

Honor‚'s voice emerged from the bushes not far away. «Shame on you. A writer of novels has a brilliant chance to hear the way women really talk to each other, and you scare them away.»

Calvin didn't care. Honor‚ could pretend to be a writer, but Calvin didn't believe he would ever write anything. «How did you lose your pants?»

“I took them off when I got up to void my bladder, and then I couldn't find them.”

“Were we drunk last night?”

«I hope so,» said Honor‚. «It is the only honorable way I can think of for us to end up sleeping together under a hedge.»

By now they had both rolled out from under the bushes. Squinting, Honor‚ was staggering here and there, searching for his trousers. He paused to look Calvin up and down. «I may be a little bit nude, but at least I did not wet my trousers.»

Calvin found them, hanging on the hedge, wet and stained. Calvin pointed and laughed. “You took them off and then you peed on them!”

Honor‚ looked at his trousers mournfully. «It was dark.»

Holding his dirty laundry in front of him, Honor‚ followed Calvin toward the house. As they passed the kitchen shed, they caught a glare from the tiny old Black woman who supervised the cooking. But that was as much of a rebuke as they would ever hear from a slave. They went in through the ground floor, where Honor‚ handed his wet trousers to the laundress. «I'll need these tonight before dinner,» he said.

Keeping her head averted, the slave woman murmured her assent and started to move away.

«Wait!» cried Honor‚. «Calvin's got some just as bad off as mine.»

“She can come up and get them later,” said Calvin.

«Take them off now,» said Honor‚. «She will not look at your hairy white legs.»

Calvin turned his back, stripped off his pants, and handed them to her. She scurried away.

«You are so silly to be shy,» said Honor‚. «It does not matter what servants see. It is like being naked in front of trees or cats.»

“I just don't like going up to our room without trousers.”

“In trousers wet with urine, you will be disgusting. But if we are both naked, everyone will pretend not to have seen us. We are invisible.”

“Does that mean you plan to use the front stairs?”

«Of course not,» said Honor‚. «And I must lead the way, for if I have to climb three flights of stairs looking at your buttocks I will lose the ability to write of beauty for at least a month.»

“Why do you think the cook glared at us?” asked Calvin.

«I have no idea, my friend,» said Honor‚. «But does she need a reason? Of course all the Black people in this place hate all the White people.»

“But usually they don't show it,” said Calvin.

«Usually the White men wear trousers,» said Honor‚. «I am quite certain that the slaves all knew we were asleep under the hedge long before we woke up. But they did not cover us or waken us– that is how they show their hatred. By not doing things that no one commanded them to do.»