Eight-sixty-one Jessamine Street was a decayed mansion. Thirty yards back from the street it stood, outmerged in a splendid grove of trees and untrimmed shrubbery. A row of box bushes overflowed and almost hid the paling fence from sight; the gate was kept closed by a rope noose that encircled the gate post and the first paling of the gate. But when you got inside you saw that 861 was a shell, a shadow, a ghost of former grandeur and excellence. But in the story, I have not yet got inside. When the hack had ceased from rattling and the weary quadrupeds came to a rest I handed my jehu his fifty cents with an additional quarter, feeling a glow of conscious generosity, as I did so. He refused it. “It’s two dollars, suh,” he said. “How’s that?” I asked. “I plainly heard you call out at the hotel: ‘Fifty cents to any part of the town.’” “It’s two dollars, suh,” he repeated obstinately. “It’s a long ways from the hotel.” “It is within the city limits and well within them.” I argued. “Don’t think that you have picked up a greenhorn Yankee. Do you see those hills over there?” I went on, pointing toward the east (I could not see them, myself, for the drizzle); “well, I was born and raised on their other side. You old fool nigger, can’t you tell people from other people when you see ’em?” The grim face of King Cettiwayo softened. “Is you from the South, suh? I reckon it was them shoes of yourn fooled me. They is somethin’ sharp in the toes for a Southern gen’l’man to wear.” “Then the charge is fifty cents, I suppose?” said I inexorably. His former expression, a mingling of cupidity and hostility, returned, remained ten seconds, and vanished. “Boss,” he said, “fifty cents is right; but I _needs_ two dollars, suh; I’m _obleeged_ to have two dollars. I ain’t _demandin’_ it now, suh; after I know whar you’s from; I’m jus’ sayin’ that I _has_ to have two dollars to-night, and business is mighty po’.” Peace and confidence settled upon his heavy features. He had been luckier than he had hoped. Instead of having picked up a greenhorn, ignorant of rates, he had come upon an inheritance. “You confounded old rascal,” I said, reaching down to my pocket, “you ought to be turned over to the police.” For the first time I saw him smile. He knew; _he knew_. HE KNEW. I gave him two one-dollar bills. As I handed them over I noticed that one of them had seen parlous times. Its upper right-hand corner was missing, and it had been torn through the middle, but joined again. A strip of blue tissue paper, pasted over the split, preserved its negotiability. Enough of the African bandit for the present: I left him happy, lifted the rope and opened a creaky gate.