"That has nothing to do with it," from the landlady. "They left fifty cents here to pay for it, and you must have agreed to that amount, or they would have left more." "Seventy-five cents, seventy-five cents. That little trunk is like something filled with bricks." "My trunk," mumbled Wyeth, coming to himself, and listening to the argument. "And that sucker is trying to work her. The dirty cur!" he now cried, angry for two reasons. One for being disturbed when he was sleeping so peacefully, and another for being worked, or trying to be. With a bound he was on the floor, and in a jiffy he was in his trousers and upon the porch. "Well, 'f' y' ain' go'n pay it, I'll haf t' take th' stuff back," the expressman said, as Wyeth came up. The other did not see him until he mounted the porch. Then he looked into his eyes which were fighting, and recoiled. "What's this you are going to do!" he demanded, filling the doorway, and bestowing upon the other, a look that corresponded with his feelings. "Well, stuff I brung down heah's mor'n I thought 't'was, so I'll haf t' have a quarter mo'!" "What kind of a proposition did we make with you in regard to hauling it at the depot awhile ago?" "You said yu'd give me a haf a-dollah fo' haulin' it, but I didn't say I'd do it fo' a haf," he sulked, evasively. Wyeth glared at him, but the other refused to meet his eye. "Then," he began, "when you took hold of it and loaded it into your wagon, you subsequently agreed to my offer, and now I want to see you get more." "I'll haf t' take the stuff," argued the other, shifting about, but keeping at a safe distance. Something in the eye of the other did not offer welcome. "Give him a quater more," called Legs, who had returned in the meantime, and had been trying to catch a little sleep. "I don't intend to pay him one little dime more!" exclaimed Wyeth stubbornly. "Then I'll haf t' see 'n' officer," bluffed the other, and turning, he started briskly down the street. Wyeth learned later, he was sure he could not have found one. He was not looking for any, but the landlady and Legs made up the quarter, and calling him back, paid him. "Books is stubborn when he thinks he's been worked. M-m," said Legs, going back to bed. "Yeh, comes down to a show, believe he'd fight." CHAPTER TWO "_These Negroes in Effingham Are Nigga's Proper_" The next day dawned calm and beautiful, and Sidney made preparations to begin his canvassing. In one city in Ohio, and which was also a great industrial center, he had found much success in selling his book to the multitude of workers employed there. Therefore, with what Moore had already told him, he was anxious to get his work under way.