"It is sufficient that I will not."

"Mayhap you don't like my sentiment?"

"Right."

"Look you, Mr. Harold Hare, I know you well, and I think we'll take you
down from your high horse before you're many hours older in these parts.
Boys, let's make him drink to South Carolina."

"Who is he, anyhow?"

"He's an abolitionist; just the kind that'll look a darned sight more
natural in a coat of tar and feathers. Cut out his heart and you'll find
John Brown's picture there as large as life."

At the mention of Harold's name, Arthur and Beverly had started up
simultaneously, and throwing open the bar-room door, entered hastily.
Harold had risen from his seat and stood confronting Rawbon with an air
in which anger and contempt were strangely blended. The latter leaned
with awkward carelessness against the counter, sipping a glass of
spirits and water with a malicious smile.

"You are an insolent scoundrel," said Harold, "and I would horsewhip
you, if you were worth the pains."

Rawbon looked around and for a second seemed to study the faces of
those about him. Then lazily reaching over toward Harold, he took him by
the arm and drew him toward the counter.