_M'Closky._ Stop. _Enter_ Scudder, R. _Scud._ Let her pass. _M'Closky._ Eh? _Scud._ Let her pass! [_Takes out his knife._] [_Exit_ Zoe _to house._ _M'Closky._ Is that you, Mr. Overseer? [_Examines paper._] _Scud._ Yes, I'm here, somewhere, interferin'. _M'Closky._ [_Sitting,_ R. C.] A pretty mess you've got this estate in-- _Scud._ Yes--me and Co.--we done it; but, as you were senior partner in the concern, I reckon you got the big lick. _M'Closky._ What d'ye mean. _Scud._ Let me proceed by illustration. [_Sits,_ R.] Look thar! [_Points with knife off,_ R.] D'ye see that tree?--it's called a live oak, and is a native here; beside it grows a creeper; year after year that creeper twines its long arms round and round the tree--sucking the earth dry all about its roots--living on its life--overrunning its branches, until at last the live oak withers and dies out. Do you know what the niggers round here call that sight? they call it the Yankee hugging the Creole. [_Sits._] _M'Closky._ Mr. Scudder, I've listened to a great many of your insinuations, and now I'd like to come to an understanding what they mean. If you want a quarrel-- _Scudder._ No, I'm the skurriest crittur at a fight you ever see; my legs have been too well brought up to stand and see my body abused; I take good care of myself, I can tell you. _M'Closky._ Because I heard that you had traduced my character. _Scud._ Traduced! Whoever said so lied. I always said you were the darndest thief that ever escaped a white jail to misrepresent the North to the South. _M'Closky._ [_Raises hand to back of his neck._] What! _Scud._ Take your hand down--take it down. [M'Closky _lowers his hand._] Whenever I gets into company like yours, I always start with the advantage on my side. _M'Closky._ What d'ye mean? _Scud._ I mean that before you could draw that bowie-knife, you wear down your back, I'd cut you into shingles. Keep quiet, and let's talk sense. You wanted to come to an understanding, and I'm coming thar as quick as I can. Now, Jacob M'Closky, you despise me because you think I'm a fool; I despise you because I know you to be a knave. Between us we've ruined these Peytons; you fired the judge, and I finished off the widow. Now, I feel bad about my share in the business. I'd give half the balance of my life to wipe out my part of the work. Many a night I've laid awake and thought how to pull them through, till I've cried like a child over the sum I couldn't do; and you know how darned hard 'tis to make a Yankee cry. _M'Closky._ Well, what's that to me? _Scud._ Hold on, Jacob, I'm coming to that--I tell ye, I'm such a fool--I can't bear the feeling, it keeps at me like a skin complaint, and if this family is sold up-- _M'Closky._ What then? _Scud._ [_Rising._] I'd cut my throat--or yours--yours I'd prefer. _M'Closky._ Would you now? why don't you do it?