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 "I would give anything if I could, Giles, but it can't be done. One of the conditions of my patron is that there shall be no offices held by white men in the new dynasty. It must be purely a negro empire; my agent, Rosenthal, does not appear in any active way; he is simply a paid servant. It would hurt the Cause with the people if there was a white man in office." His voice grew dejected.

"I see that it would," admitted Giles. "It would look as if you could not handle the thing alone—had to call in outside help … what?"

Dessalines relapsed into his first apathy; Giles's words had presented with renewed force the perplexities of his ambitious undertaking. He brooded, striving painfully to select for consideration the first great problem, and scarce realizing that to do this he must first possess a detailed knowledge of the present political position of his country. His education, reading, theory arose against him; he tried to apply it in the place of his common sense. Giles, mistaking his abstraction, arose.

"I will run along, old chap; you will want to do some solid thinking, I fancy."

Dessalines threw out a detaining arm. "Don't go. Giles … don't!" he implored. Giles, still mistaking his purpose, smiled.

"Really must, old chap. Got some things to attend to. Good luck! And, I say, my best congratulations you know and all that, …" he added bashfully.

Dessalines seized him by the hand. "Thank you, my friend."

After Giles had gone the negro relapsed into a brooding melancholy. He began to think aloud; to tabulate 145