been common talk sence the day he got his first bird-gun, an' his
nigger, Uncle Boaz, found him hidin' in the bushes to shoot old
Fletcher when he came in sight. I tell you, if Bill Fletcher lay
dyin' in the road, Mr. Christopher would sooner ride right over
him than not. You ask some folks, suh, an' they'll tell you a
Blake kin hate twice as long as most men kin love."

"Ah, is it so bad as that?" muttered Carraway.

"Well, he ain't much of a Christian, as the lights go," continued
Sol, "but I ain't sartain, accordin' to my way of thinkin', that
he ain't got a better showin' on his side than a good many of 'em
that gits that befo' the preacher. He's a Blake, skin an' bone,
anyhow, an' you ain't goin' to git this here county to go agin
him--not if he was to turn an' spit at Satan himself. Old Bill
Fletcher stole his house an' his land an' his money, law or no
law--that's how I look at it--but he couldn't steal his name, an'
that's what counts among the niggers, an' the po' whites, too.
Why, I've seen a whole parcel o' darkies stand stock still when
Fletcher drove up to the bars with his spankin' pair of bays, an'
then mos' break tha' necks lettin' 'em down as soon as Mr.
Christopher comes along with his team of oxen. You kin fool the
quality 'bout the quality, but I'll be blamed if you kin fool the
niggers."

Ahead of them there was a scattered group of log cabins,
surrounded by little whitewashed palings, and at their approach a
decrepit old Negro, followed by a slinking black-and-tan
foxhound, came beneath the straggling hopvine over one of the
doors and through the open gate out into the road. His bent old