"Is he borrowed a gun fum you?" inquired the minstrel, solemnly. "No-o." Peter looked questioningly at the clown through half-closed eyes. "Huh, now dat's funny." Jim Pink frowned, and pulled down his loose mouth and seemed to study. He drew out a pearl-handled knife, closed his hand over it, blew on his fist, then opened the other hand, and exhibited the knife lying in its palm, with the blade open. He seemed surprised at the change and began cleaning his finger-nails. Jim Pink was the magician at his shows. Peter waited patiently for Jim Pink to impart his information, "Well, what's the idea?" he asked at last. "Don' know. 'Pears lak dat knife won't stay in any one han'." He looked at it, curiously. "I mean about Tump," said Peter, impatiently. "O-o-oh, yeah; you mean 'bout Tump. Well, I thought Tump mus' uv borrowed a gun fum you. He lef' Hobbett's corner wid a great big forty- fo', inquirin' wha you is." Just then he glanced up, looked penetratingly through the dust-cloud, and added, "Why, I b'lieve da' 's Tump now." With a certain tightening of the nerves, Peter followed his glance, but made out nothing through the fogging dust. When he looked around at Jim Pink again, the buffoon's face was a caricature of immense mirth. He shook it sober, abruptly, minstrel fashion. "Maybe I's mistooken," he said solemnly. "Tump did start over heah wid a gun, but Mister Dawson Bobbs done tuk him up fuh ca'yin' concealed squidjulums; so Tump's done los' dat freedom uv motion in de pu'suit uv happiness gua'anteed us niggers an' white folks by the Constitution uv de Newnighted States uv America." Here Jim Pink broke into genuine laughter, which was quite a different thing from his stage grimaces. Peter stared at the fool astonished. "Has he gone to jail?" "Not prezactly." "Well--confound it!--exactly what did happen, Jim Pink?" "He gone to Mr. Cicero Throgmartins'." "What did he go there for?" "Couldn't he'p hisse'f." "Look here, you tell me what's happened." "Mr. Bobbs ca'ied Tump thaiuh. Y' see, Mr. Throgmartin tried to hire Tump to pick cotton. Tump didn't haf to, because he'd jes shot fo' natchels in a crap game. So to-day, when Tump starts over heah wid his gun, Mr. Bobbs 'resses Tump. Mr. Throgmartin bails him out, so now Tump's gone to pick cotton fuh Mr. Throgmartin to pay off'n his fine." Here Jim Pink yelped into honest laughter at Tump's undoing so that dust got into his nose and mouth and set him sneezing and coughing. "How long's he up for?" asked Peter, astonished and immensely relieved at this outcome of Tump's expedition against himself. Jim Pink controlled his coughing long enough to gasp: "Th-thutty days, ef he don' run off," and fell to laughing again.