“I don't doubt it--I don't doubt it for a minute,” Hoag agreed, “and this is what I want to consult you about. I want your opinion. You know I've got that tannery, and I sometimes tan bigger quantities of hides, Uncle Si, than I am willin' to let go at the average price offered in Atlanta by the jobbers. So you see, in turnin' it over in my mind, it struck me all at once that I might put up a little factory on my place for makin' plain shoes by machinery, an' in that way work off surplus stock, increase my output of leather, and make the middleman's profit. If you will look out on the Square any day you'll see it perfectly black with idle niggers, an' I could put some of 'em to work, an'--” The shoemaker glanced up and smiled faintly. “I reckon you won't see many in sight this momin',” he sighed, as he resumed his work. “The pore devils are scared out o' their senses by that thing last night. It's awful, awful!” There was a pause. Hoag's eyelashes fluttered. “Yes, yes, I reckon so,” he said. “I was goin' on to say--” But some sound in the street had caught Tye's attention and, forgetful of his customer, he rose and stood at the door and looked out. The wrinkles on his brow and about his kindly eyes were drawn and deepened as he peered over the brass rims of his glasses. Hoag heard him sigh again, and saw him rubbing the sole of the shoe absent-mindedly. “What's goin' on?” the tanner asked, without moving from his chair. “It's that poor nigger Pete Watson's wife an' daughters,” was the answer. “They've come to claim the body--Dick Morgan is showin' 'em which way to go. Lord, Lord, they do look pitiful! They ain't even cryin'--niggers seldom do at sech a time. Looks like they won't shed tears before the whites for fear it will make 'em mad. They learnt who the'r masters was before the war, an' they ain't over it. I knowed Pete Watson--I've mended shoes for 'im. He was always a civil nigger, an' clever enough. I've had talks with 'im, an' I've been astonished to hear what sensible ideas he had. He appeared to me to be a Christian--a Christian that understood what the Lord really meant when he was here on earth, an' that's rare even among the whites.” Silas came back to his bench and slowly sat down. “Lord, Lord, what a pity, what a pity!” he continued to mutter. “They say he was undoubtedly guilty.” Hoag felt his anger rising, and yet he realized that he must restrain himself. “That is the current report, anyway,” he said. “It always _is_ the report,” Silas said. “Even if a mistake was made the public would never know it. The gang that did the work would see to that.” “We are gittin' away from what we was talkin' about,” Hoag said. “I was asking you what you thought about me startin' a little shoe-plant?”