shook it sober, abruptly, minstrel fashion.

"Maybe I's mistooken," he said solemnly. "Tump did start over heah wid a
gun, but Mister Dawson Bobbs done tuk him up fuh ca'yin' concealed
squidjulums; so Tump's done los' dat freedom uv motion in de pu'suit uv
happiness gua'anteed us niggers an' white folks by the Constitution uv
de Newnighted States uv America." Here Jim Pink broke into genuine
laughter, which was quite a different thing from his stage grimaces.
Peter stared at the fool astonished.

"Has he gone to jail?"

"Not prezactly."

"Well--confound it!--exactly what did happen, Jim Pink?"

"He gone to Mr. Cicero Throgmartins'."

"What did he go there for?"

"Couldn't he'p hisse'f."

"Look here, you tell me what's happened."

"Mr. Bobbs ca'ied Tump thaiuh. Y' see, Mr. Throgmartin tried to hire
Tump to pick cotton. Tump didn't haf to, because he'd jes shot fo'
natchels in a crap game. So to-day, when Tump starts over heah wid his
gun, Mr. Bobbs 'resses Tump. Mr. Throgmartin bails him out, so now
Tump's gone to pick cotton fuh Mr. Throgmartin to pay off'n his fine."
Here Jim Pink yelped into honest laughter at Tump's undoing so that dust