Never, since the day you were born, have you seen such a jump, or heard such a grunt as old Jonas gave. You would have thought the Ku-Klux had him, for this was the year Eighteen-Hundred-and-under-the-Bushes, with old Raw-Head-and-Bloody-Bones keeping his green eyes wide open. For one brief and fleeting moment, old Jonas's whole body seemed to be wrenched out of socket, as Mr. Sanders said afterward; his hat fell off, and it was as much as he could do to keep his feet. He scowled, and then he tried to smile, but the scowl felt very much at home on his wrinkled countenance, and refused to be ousted by a feeble smile. Even the visitor, whose name was Augustus Tidwell, was startled, and he showed it in his face, but he recovered much sooner than old Jonas did. He was one of the most prominent lawyers in that whole section, where prominent lawyers were plentiful. He was dignified, because he had to live up to his position, but all his dignity was dispersed by Adelaide and her Bishop. Adelaide called Mr. Tidwell her Injun-rubber because he wore his hair long, so that it fell in glistening waves over his coat collar. This gave him a very romantic appearance, and when engaged in the practice of law he always made the most of it; he could tousel his hair and look the picture of rage; he could push it straight back from his wide forehead, and seem to stand for innocence and virtue; and he could ruffle it up on one side, and tell juries how they should find in cases where the interests of his clients were concerned. But dignity and a romantic appearance couldn't stand before Adelaide and her Bishop. Mr. Sanders, with the red silk handkerchief thrown over his head and tied under his chin, was a sight you would have gone far to see. He had such marvellous control of his features that, one moment he had the appearance of an overgrown baby, and the next, he was the living image of an old country granny who had come to town to swap a pound of snow-white butter for a hank or two of spun-truck. The fact is, Adelaide was compelled to roll on the floor and kick, so acute were the paroxysms of laughter. Mr. Sanders laughed, too, but when Adelaide glanced at him he would wipe the smile from his face and look as solemn as a real truly-ann Bishop; and this was worse than laughing, for Adelaide would be compelled to roll over the floor again. Old Jonas didn't have any of the pains that come from laughter. At first he was frightened nearly to death at the manifestations for which Adelaide and her Bishop were responsible; then the reaction was toward hot anger, which finally developed into a feeling of impatient disgust at the spectacle which Mr. Sanders presented. "Sanders," he said, sharply and earnestly, "if I didn't know you I'd be willing to swear you had gone crazy! Why, who under the blue sky ever heard of a grown man indulging in such antics and capers! It's simply scandalous, that's what it is."