Dawson Bobbs, the ponderous constable, went to the trouble to telephone Mr. Cicero Throgmartin, for whom Tump was working, cautioning Throgmartin to make sure that Tump Pack was in the sleeping-shack every night, as he might get wind of the wedding and take a notion to bolt and stop it. "You know, you can't tell what a fool nigger'll do," finished Bobbs. Throgmartin was mildly amused, promised the necessary precautions, and said: "It looks like Peter has put one over on Tump, and maybe a college education does help a nigger some, after all." The constable thought it was just luck. "Well, I dunno," said Throgmartin, who was a philosopher, and inclined to view every matter from various angles. "Peter may of worked this out somehow." "Have you heard what Henry Hooker done to Siner in the land deal?" Throgmartin said he had. "No, I don't mean _that_. I mean Henry's last wrinkle in garnisheeing old Ca'line's estate in his bank for the rest of the purchase money on the Dilihay place." There was a pause. "You don't mean it!" "Damn 'f I don't." The constable's sentence shook with suppressed mirth, and the next moment roars of laughter came over the telephone wire. "Say, ain't he the bird!" "He's the original early bird. I'd like to get a snap-shot of the worm that gets away from him." Both men laughed heartily again. "But, say," objected Throgmartin, who was something of a lawyer himself,--as, indeed, all Southern men are,--"I thought the Sons and Daughters of Benevolence owed Hooker, not Peter Siner, nor Ca'line's estate." "Well, it _is_ the Sons and Daughters, but Ca'line was one of 'em, and they ain't no limited li'bility 'sociation. Henry can jump on anything any of 'em's got. Henry got the Persimmon to bring him a copy of their by-laws." "Well, I swear! Say, if Henry wasn't kind of held back by his religion, he'd use a gun, wouldn't he?" "I dunno. I can say this for Henry's religion: 'It's jest like Henry's wife,--it's the dearest thing to his heart; he'd give his life for it, but it don't do nobody a damn bit of good except jest Henry.'" The constable's little eyes twinkled as he heard Throgmartin roaring with laughter and sputtering appreciative oaths. At that moment a ringing of the bell jarred the ears of both telephonists. A voice asked for Dr. Jallup. It was an ill time to interrupt two gentlemen. The flair of a jest is lost in a pause. The officer stated sharply that he was the constable of Wayne County and was talking business about the county's prisoners. His tone was so charged with consequence that the voice that wanted a doctor apologized hastily and ceased. Came a pause in which neither man found anything to say. Laughter is like that,--a gay bubble that a touch will destroy. Presently Bobbs continued, gravely enough: "Talking about Siner, he's stayin' up at old man Renfrew's now." "'At so?" "Old Rose Hobbett swears he's doin' some sort of writin' up there and livin' in one of the old man's best rooms."