Part 3 (2/2)

”I made no attempt to sell him any books; I knew he couldn't read. I merely asked him to give me some information.”

Major Jimmy Ba.s.s scowled dreadfully; but Mr. Jack Walthall smiled pleasantly, and turned to the negro.

”Jake! do you know this man?”

”I seed 'im, Ma.r.s.e Jack; I des seed 'im; dat's all I know 'bout 'im.”

”What were you doing sa.s.shaying around in his room last night?”

Jake scratched his head, dropped his eyes, and shuffled about on the floor with his feet. All eyes were turned on him. He made so long a pause that Alvin Cozart remarked in his drawling tone:

”Jack, hadn't we better take this n.i.g.g.e.r over to the calaboose?”

”Not yet,” said Mr. Walthall pleasantly. ”If I have to take him over there I'll not bring him back in a hurry.”

”I wuz des up in his room kaze he tole me fer ter come back en see 'im.

Name er G.o.d, Ma.r.s.e Jack, w'at ail' you all w'ite folks now?”

”What did he say to you?” asked Mr. Walthall.

”He ax me w'at make de n.i.g.g.e.rs stay in slave'y,” said the frightened negro; ”he ax me w'at de reason dey don't git free deyse'f.”

”He was warm after information,” Mr. Walthall suggested.

”Call it what you please,” said the Vermont colporteur. ”I asked him those questions and more.” He was pale, but he no longer acted like a man troubled with fear.

”Oh, we know that, mister,” said Buck Ransome. ”We know what you come for, and we know what you're goin' away for. We'll excuse you if you'll excuse us, and then there'll be no hard feelin's--that is, not many; none to growl about.--Jake, hand me that bundle there on the barrel, and fetch that tar-bucket.--You've got the makin' of a mighty fine bird in you, mister,” Ransome went on, addressing the colporteur; ”all you lack's the feathers, and we've got oodles of 'em right here. Now, will you shuck them duds?”

For the first time the fact dawned on Little Compton's mind that the young men were about to administer a coat of tar and feathers to the stranger from Vermont; and he immediately began to protest.

”Why, Jack,” said he, ”what has the man done?”

”Well,” replied Mr. Walthall, ”you heard what the n.i.g.g.e.r said. We can't afford to have these abolitionists preaching insurrection right in our back yards. We just can't afford it, that's the long and short of it.

Maybe you don't understand it; maybe you don't feel as we do; but that's the way the matter stands. We are in a sort of a corner, and we are compelled to protect ourselves.”

”I don't believe in no tar and feathers for this chap,” remarked Major Jimmy Ba.s.s, a.s.suming a judicial air. ”He'll just go out here to the town branch and wash 'em off, and then he'll go on through the plantations raising h---- among the n.i.g.g.e.rs. That'll be the upshot of it--now, you mark my words. He ought to be hung.”

”Now, boys,” said Little Compton, still protesting, ”what is the use?

This man hasn't done any real harm. He might preach insurrection around here for a thousand years, and the n.i.g.g.e.rs wouldn't listen to him. Now, you know that yourselves. Turn the poor devil loose, and let him get out of town. Why, haven't you got any confidence in the n.i.g.g.e.rs you've raised yourselves?”

”My dear sir,” said Rowan Wornum, in his most insinuating tone, ”we've got all the confidence in the world in the n.i.g.g.e.rs, but we can't afford to take any risks. Why, my dear sir,” he went on, ”if we let this chap go, it won't be six months before the whole country'll be full of this kind. Look at that Harper's Ferry business.”

”Well,” said Compton somewhat hotly, ”look at it. What harm has been done? Has there been any n.i.g.g.e.r insurrection?”

Jack Walthall laughed good-naturedly. ”Little Compton is a quick talker, boys. Let's give the man the benefit of all the arguments.”

”Great G.o.d! You don't mean to let this d---- rascal go, do you, Jack?”

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