"What do I care what you want? I was about to say, this cigar is the--" "Throw it away, then." Mavering unfolded his legs and mounted, grumbling. "You're the blankedest, most egotistic anchorite that ever petted his soul, not to say dosed it allopathically with wars and red rebellions. One question: Is there any copy in this?" "Not a word." "Just what I thought. Wherever a man goes he finds selfishness." They turned into the northern road, clattered past the cornfield and the church. Gard continued: "One of those Dunker farmers lives up here half a mile. I want his clothes, his expression, and his language, and his theology--the whole outfit." "Going to steal his most intimate properties. Blanked immoral thing to do. All right, go on." "About copy. Anything that goes south of the Potomac will be apt to mean a rope for me, and New York papers go south of the Potomac." "Egotistic still, but perspicuous. I see." "It's between me and you and the Dunker." "And that's a pretty combination!" "Not a sign, Jack." "Not a misplaced comma, not an agitated phrase shall betray the mystery of this night. Now, then. Why?" "Oh, you! You'll have to make me up." "And the Dunker?" "They're all anti-slavery and non-combatant. Besides, I picked an acquaintance with this one yesterday." The small, plain, whitewashed house, with its whitewashed barn, stood close to the road and shining in the moonlit dusk. An elderly man, with smooth, gray hair falling to his collar, shaven lips, and spade-shaped beard, came to the door and stood there, mild, quiet, round-shouldered. "Can we put up our horses here and pass the night?" He nodded and turned back into the room without speaking, but left the door open. They spent the evening talking with him, studying the while his outward make-up, his manner and language, critically. He had a certain gentle suggestiveness of his own, and before they parted for the night brought out a pair of saddle-bags and a large bundle of printed sheets. "De is tracts," he said, gently, "of religion." "Good," said Mavering. "An ungodly army, no doubt. Oh, I beg pardon!" "De is not of de doctrine of the bruderen only. De is Christian." "Oh, well, Captain Windham was bred a Catholic. He'll distribute them, and read some himself." The quiet elder seemed to have taken a shy liking for Gard. He touched him softly on the back of the hand. "I hope you are a good man. I hope you are not to die in what you do."