“Well, I reckon they wasn't down thar to attend a Sunday-school convention, Jeff. They didn't have that look to me. But I was so worried fer fear I mought be doin' a woman injustice in my mind, that, after they left me, to make sure, I went in the office o' the hotel. The clerk was standin' thar doin' nothin', an' so I axed 'im who that young couple was that had jest gone out, an' he laughed an' said they was a newly married pair from up in the mountains--'Mr. an' Mrs. Sam Buncombe,' an' he showed me whar Thad had writ the names in his scrawlin' hand-write on the book. The clerk said that fer a freshly linked couple they headed off any he'd ever had in his bridal-chamber. He said they was orderin' some sort o' drink every minute in the day, an' that they made so much racket overhead that he had to stop 'em several times. He said they danced jigs an' sung nigger songs. He said he'd never married hisse'f--that he'd always been afeard to make the riffle, but that ef he could be shore matrimony was like that, that he'd find him a consort 'fore sundown or break his neck tryin'.” Suddenly Wade put out his hand and laid it heavily on Pole's shoulder. “Looky' here, Baker,” he said, “if you are lying to me, I--” “Hold on, _hold on_, Jeff Wade!” Pole broke in sternly. “When you use words like them don't you look serious! So fur, this has been a friendly talk, man to man, as I see it; but you begin to intimate that I'm a liar, an' I'll try my best to make you chaw the statement. You're excited, but you must watch whar yore a-walkin'.” “Well, I want the truth, by God, _I want the truth!_” “Well, you are a-gittin' it, with the measure runnin' over,” Pole said, “an' that ought to satisfy any reasonable man.” “So you think, then, that Nelson Floyd never done any--any o' the things folks says he did--that trip to the circus at Darley, when Minnie said she was stayin' all night with the Halsey gals over the mountains--that was just report?” “Well, I ain't here to say that, _nuther_,” said Pole, most diplomatically. “Nelson Floyd ain't any more'n human, Jeff. His wings hain't sprouted--at least, they ain't big enough to show through his clothes. He's like you used to be before you married an' quit the turf, only--ef I'm any judge--you was a hundred times wuss. Ef all the men concerned in this county was after you like you are after Nelson Floyd, they'd be on yore track wuss'n a pack o' yelpin' wolves.” “Oh, hell! let up on me an' what I've done! I kin take care o' myself,” Wade snarled.