his head down, and gazed at him for some time from under his eyebrows, so
searchingly that the blood flew to Mr. Hopper's fleshy face. He mopped it
with a dark-red handkerchief, stared at everything in the place save the
gentleman in front of him, and wondered whether he had ever in his life
been so uncomfortable. Then he smiled sheepishly, hated himself, and
began to hate the Colonel.

"Ever hear of the Liberator?"

"No, sir," said Mr. Hopper.

"Where do you come from?" This was downright directness, from which there
was no escape.

"Willesden, Massachusetts."

"Umph! And never heard of Mr. Garrison?"

"I've had to work all my life."

"What can you do, sonny?"

"I cal'late to sweep out a store. I have kept books," Mr. Hopper
vouchsafed.

"Would you like work here?" asked the Colonel, kindly. The green eyes
looked up swiftly, and down again.

"What'll you give me?"