"Marse Thomas De Willoughby," said Matt, "dish yer niggah man's not gwine to be in no one's way. I come yere to work--dat's what I come yere for. An' work's a thing dat kin be hunted down--en a man ain't needin' no gun to hunt it neder--an' he needn't be no mighty Nimrod." And he made his best bow to both men and shuffled out of the room. To Farquhar his visit was an interesting experience and a novel one. For months he had been feeling that he lived in the whirl of a maelstrom of schemes and jobberies, the inevitable result of the policy of a Government which had promised to recoup those it had involuntarily wronged during a national convulsion. Upon every side there had sprung up claimants--many an honest one, and hordes of those not honest. There were obvious thieves and specious ones, brilliant tricksters and dull ones. Newspaper literature had been incited by the number and variety of claims, and claims--to a jocularity which spread over all the land. Farquhar had seen most of the types--the greenhorn, the astute planner, the man who had a wrong burning in his breast, the man who knew how to approach his subject and the man who did not, the man who buttonholed everybody and was diffuse and hopeful, and the man who was helpless before the task he had undertaken. He had never, however, seen anything like the De Willoughby claimants--big Tom telling his straightforward story with his unsanguine air, the attractive youngster adding detail with simple directness, and the girl, Sheba, her roe's eyes dilated with eager interest hanging upon their every word. "It is one of the best stories I've heard," he said to Rutherford, on their way back. "But it's a big claim--it's a huge claim, and the Government is beginning to get restive." "But don't you think they'll get it through?" exclaimed Judge Rutherford. "Ain't they _bound_ to get it? It's the Lord's truth--every word they speak--the Lord's truth!" "Yes," answered Farquhar, "that's how it struck me; but, as a rule, it isn't the Lord's truth that carries a big claim through." He broke into a short laugh, as if at an inward realisation of the aspect of the situation. "They are as straightforward as a lot of children," he said. "They have nothing to hide, and they wouldn't know how to hide it if they had. It would be rather a joke if----" And he laughed again. "If what?" asked Rutherford. "Ah, well! if that very fact was the thing which carried them through," his laugh ending in a shrewd smile. This carried the ingenuous mind of his companion beyond its depth. "I don't see where the joke would come in," he said, rather ruefully. "I should have thought nothing else would do it for them." Farquhar slapped him on the shoulder. "So you would," he said. "That's why you are the best advocate they could have. You are all woven out of the same cloth. You stand by them--and so will I." Judge Rutherford seized his hand and shook it with affectionately ardent pumpings.