Duncan waited for the speaker to resume, but the aspect of the case was so disheartening that Gill declined to say more about it. He simply hitched one of his heels up on the last rung of his chair and began to fan himself vigorously. “I did as you wanted me to,” said Duncan, wiping his brow and combing his long, damp hair with his fingers. “I went round an’ axed the opinion o’ several good citizens, an’ it is the general belief ef you don’t take the nigger you won’t never git back a cent o’ yore loan. But the funniest part o’ the business is the way Big Joe acts about it.” Dun can met his wife’s glance and laughed out impulsively. “You see, Gill, in the Whitney break-up, all the other niggers has been sold to rich families, an’ the truth is, Big Joe feels his dignity tuck down a good many pegs by bein’ put off on you-uns, that never owned a slave to yore name. The other darkies has been a-teasin’ of ’im all day, an’ he’s sick an’ tired of it. The Whitneys has spiled ’im bad. They l’arnt ’im to read an’ always let ’im stan’ dressed up in his long coat in the big front hall to invite quality folks in the house. They say he had his eye on a yaller gal, an’ that he’s been obliged to give her up, fer she’s gone with one of the Staffords in Fannin’ County.” Gill’s knee, which was thrust out in front of him by the sharp bend of his leg, was quivering. “Big Joe might do a sight wuss ’n to belong to me,” he said, warmly. “I don’t know as we-uns ’ll have any big hall for ’im to cavort about in, nur anybody any wuss ’n yore sort to come to see us, but we pay our debts an’ have a plenty t’eat.” Mrs. Gill was listening to this ebullition, her red nose slightly elevated, and she made no effort to suppress a chuckle of satisfaction over her husband’s subtle allusion to the status of their guests. “I want you two jest to come heer one minute,” she burst out suddenly, and with a dignity that seemed to cool the air about her, she rose and moved toward the little shed room at the end of the cabin. Duncan and his wife followed, an expression of half-fearful curiosity in their tawny visages. Reaching the door of the room, Mrs. Gill pushed it open and coolly signaled them to enter, and when they had done so, and stood mutely looking about them, she followed. “When I made up my mind we’d be obliged to take Big Joe,” she explained, “I fixed up fer ’im a little. Look at that bedstead!” (Her hand was extended toward it as steadily as the limb of an oak.) “Ann Duncan, you are at liberty to try to find a better one in this neighborhood. You ‘n Andrew sleep on one made out ’n poles with the bark on ‘em. Then jest feel o’ them thar feathers in this new tick an’ pillows, an’ them’s bran-new store-bought sheets.”