It was not long before he was known as the De Willoughby claimant, and loiterers were fond of drawing him out on the subject of the "gol' mines." He gathered a large amount of information on the subjects of claims and the rapid methods of working them. He used to come to Tom sometimes, hot and excited with his struggles to comprehend detail. "What all dish yer 'bout Marse Rupert's granpa'n' bein' destructively disloyal? Dar warn't no disloyal 'bout it. Ef dar was a fault to be foun' with the old Judge it was dat he was mos' too loyal. He couldn' hol' in, an' he qu'ol with mos' ev'y gen'elman he talk to. He pass shots with one or two he had a disagreement with. He pass shots with 'em. How's de Guv'ment gwine call a gen'elman 'destructively disloyal' when he ready any minit to pass shots with his bes' fren's, ef dey don' 'gree with his pol'tics--an' his pol'tics is on de side er Marse Ab'am Lincoln an' de Yankees?" The phrase "constructively disloyal" rankled in his soul. He argued about it upon every possible occasion, and felt that if the accusation could be disproved the De Willoughby case would be triumphantly concluded, which was in a large measure true. "I steddies 'bout dat thing day an' night," he said to Sheba. "Seems like dar oughter be someone to tes'ify. Ef I had de money to travel back to Delisleville, I'd go an' try to hunt someone up." He was seated upon the steps of a Government building one afternoon, discussing his favourite subject with some of his coloured friends. He had been unusually eloquent, and had worked himself up to a peroration, when he suddenly ceased speaking and stared straight across the street to the opposite side of the pavement, in such absorption that he forgot to close his mouth. He was gazing at an elderly gentleman with a hook nose and the dashing hat of the broad brim, which was regarded as being almost as much an insignia of the South as the bonnie blue flag itself. Uncle Matt got up and shuffled across the street. He had become unconsciously apish with excitement. His old black face worked and his hands twitched. He was so far out of breath when he reached the stranger's side that he could scarcely make himself heard, as, pulling his hat off, he cried, agitatedly: "Doctah! Doctah Atkinson, sah! Doctah Williams Atkinson!" The stranger did not hear him distinctly, and waved him off, evidently taking him for a beggar. "I've nothing for you, uncle," he said, with condescending good-nature. Uncle Matt found some of his breath, though not enough to steady his voice. But his strenuousness was almost passionate. "Doctah Williams Atkinson," he said, "I ain't beggin', Doctah Atkinson, sah; on'y axin' if I might speak a few words to you, sah!" His shrewd insistance on the name was effective. The elderly gentleman turned and looked at him in surprised questioning. "How do you know me?" he said. "This is the first time I have been in Washington--and I've not been here an hour."