“Hey, check this weirdo out.” Hi was inspecting a bus on the mantel. “This face is ninety percent eyebrow. What do you wanna bet he owned slaves?”
Scowling to match the carving’s expression, Hi spoke in a gravelly voice. “In my day, we ate the poor people. We had a giant outdoor grill, and cooked up peasant steaks every Sunday.
“That is General Clemmons Brutus Claybourne, you twit,” a voice said dryly. “He commanded two companies during the Revolution, before dying at Yorktown. You might show a little respect.”