“No,” and the old man smiled mischievously, “I didn't mean nothin' o' the sort. I wonder how on earth you could 'a' got sech a notion in yore head. I'm goin' to see how that black scamp has left my cotton land. I 'll bet he hain't scratched it any deeper'n a old hen would 'a' done lookin' fer worms.” III [Illustration: 0026] HE next morning at breakfast Alfred Bishop announced his intention of going to Atlanta to talk to Perkins, and incidentally to call on his brother William, who was a successful wholesale merchant in that city. “I believe I would,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Maybe William will tell you what to do.” “I'd see Perkins fust,” advised Abner Daniel. “Ef I felt shore Perkins had buncoed me I'd steer cleer o' William. I'd hate to heer 'im let out on that subject. He's made his pile by keepin' a sharp lookout.” “I hain't had no reason to think I have been lied to,” said Bishop, doggedly, as he poured his coffee into his saucer and shook it about to cool. “A body could hear his death-knell rung every minute ef he'd jest listen to old women an'--” “Old bachelors,” interpolated Abner. “I reckon they _are_ alike. The longer a man lives without a woman the more he gits like one. I reckon that's beca'se the man 'at lives with one don't see nothin' wuth copyin' in 'er, an' vice-a-versy.” Mrs. Bishop had never been an appreciative listener to her brother's philosophy. She ignored what he had just said and its accompanying smile, which was always Abner's subtle apology for such observations. “Are you goin' to tell Adele about the railroad?” she asked. “I reckon I won't tell 'er to git up a' excursion over it, 'fore the cross-ties is laid,” retorted Bishop, sharply, and Abner Daniel laughed--that sort of response being in his own vein. “I was goin' to say,” pursued the softly treading wife, “that I wouldn't mention it to 'er, ef--ef--Mr. Perkins ain't to be relied on, beca'se she worries enough already about our pore way o' livin' compared to her uncle's folks. Ef she knowed how I spent last night she'd want to come back. But I ain't a-goin' to let brother Ab skeer me yet. It is jest too awful to think about. What on earth would we do? What would we, I say?” That afternoon Bishop was driven to Darley by a negro boy who was to bring the buggy back home. He first repaired to a barber-shop, where he was shaved, had his hair cut, and his shoes blacked; then he went to the station half an hour before time and impatiently walked up and down the platform till the train arrived. It was six o'clock when he reached Atlanta and made his way through the jostling crowd in the big passenger depot out into the streets. He had his choice of going at once to the residence of his brother, on Peachtree Street, the most fashionable avenue of the city, or looking up Perkins in his office. He decided to unburden his mind by at once calling on the lawyer, whose office was in a tall building quite near at hand.