"Mr. Bartram, you're a very smart man, an' I'm a very stupid one. If
there's a stupider man in town the Democratic local committee has never
yet been able to find him. You want to know what bein' converted means?
You'd better go to Deacon Quickset, or the minister of some one of the
churches hereabouts. I can't explain anythin', I don't know anythin'
but what I feel myself, an' the more I feel it the more I don't know
how to talk about it. Deacon Quickset says it don't 'mount to much. I
s'pose it don't--to him, he bein' so much smarter than me. But, so far
as it goes, I can't be paid for talkin' about it, for it didn't cost me
nothin'."

This was not what the visitor had expected; nevertheless, it is a
lawyer's business to know more than one way of putting a thing.

"See here, Sam; I need a new pair of shoes,--soft leather, thin soles,
good cut; do you suppose you know how to measure me for them?"

"Well, I guess I've found out that much, Mr. Bartram."

"Go ahead, then; don't let me interfere with the measurement; but I
want to ask you some questions; tell me what you can as you go along.
You've been converted, they say, and you say so too."

"Yes, sir," said Sam, dropping the tape-line for a moment; "what other
people say I'm not responsible for, but I say it myself that I'm a
different man. That's all I can say, Mr. Bartram; an', as I said
before, if you want to know more, you'd better ask somebody that's been
in that sort o' life longer than I have."