criticize. They went toward the open door of the tavern. Mr.
Slosson's corn whisky had already wrought a marked transformation
in the case of Slosson himself. His usually terse speech was
becoming diffuse and irrelevant, while vacant laughter issued
from his lips. Yancy was apparently unaffected by the good cheer
of which he had partaken, but Murrell's dark face was flushed.
The Scratch Hiller's ability to carry his liquor exceeded
anything he had anticipated.

"You-all run along to bed, Nevvy," said Yancy, as Hannibal
entered the room. "I'll mighty soon follow you."

Eph secured a tin candle-stick with a half-burnt candle in it and
led the way into the passage back of the bar.

"Mas'r Slosson's jus' mo' than layin' back!" he said, as he
closed the door after them.

"I reckon you-all will lay back, too, when you get growed up,"
retorted Hannibal.

"No, sir, I won't. White folks won't let a nigger lay back.
Onliest time a nigger sees co'n whisky's when he's totin' it fo'
some one else."

"I reckon a nigger's fool enough without corn whisky," said
Hannibal. They mounted a flight of stairs and passed down a
narrow hall. This brought them to the back of the building, and
Eph pushed open the door on his right.