"Religious books, sir." "Jake!" exclaimed Mr. Walthall somewhat sharply, so sharply, indeed, that the negro jumped as though he had been shot. "Jake! stand out there. Hold up your head, sir!--Mr. Davies, how many religious books did you sell to that nigger there last night?" "I sold him none, sir; I--" "How many did you _try_ to sell him?" "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 Bass scowled dreadfully; but Mr. Jack Walthall smiled pleasantly, and turned to the negro. "Jake! do you know this man?" "I seed 'im, Marse Jack; I des seed 'im; dat's all I know 'bout 'im." "What were you doing sasshaying 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 nigger 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 God, Marse 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 niggers 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 nigger 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."