While Tug is munching away at his supper, Davy remembers how unjust the people are with reference to these same rights; how they say he has none, and never will have, except the right to die as soon as possible. The people say that Tug's wife, the milliner, drove him from her house because he would not work, and because he was ugly in disposition, as well as in face and person; that it was soon found out that he was not so dangerous, after all, when men were talking to him, so they have regarded him as a harmless but eccentric loafer ever since. Some of the people believe that Tug does not appear on the streets during the day for fear of meeting his wife, while others contend that he goes out only at night because he is up to mischief; but neither class care to question him about the matter, for he has a mean tongue in his head, and knows how to defend himself, even though he is compelled to invent facts for the purpose. But Davy knows that Tug can tell a very different story, and tell it well, and he is sure that there will be a genuine sensation when he finally tells it, and comes into his own. "What a voice he has, and what a eye," Mr. Whittle goes on to say, throwing a leg over a chair to be comfortable. "I usually despise a decent man because I am not one myself, but this fellow--damn him, I like him." Silas Davy was the sort of a man who is never surprised at anything. Had he been told on a dark night that it was raining blood on the outside, he would not have disputed it, or investigated it, believing that such storms were common, though they had escaped his observation; therefore he was not surprised that Tug admired Allan Dorris, although he knew he had no reason to. "I have known people to come here and denounce us for a lack of culture who knew nothing about propriety except to eat pie with a fork," Mr. Whittle said again; "but this Dorris,--I'll bet he practises the proprieties instead of preaching them. He don't remind me of the people who come here and call us ignorant cattle because we do not buy their daub paintings at extravagant prices, or take lessons from them; _he_ don't look like the cheap fellows who declare that we lack cultivation because we refuse to patronize their fiddle and pianow concerts, therefore look out for Dorris. He's a man, sure enough; I'll stake every dollar I'm worth and my reputation on it." Although he had neglected to bring butter, the supper Silas had brought was good enough to put Mr. Whittle in a cheerful humor, and he continued,--