“Well, sir,” said Mr. Shelby, turning sharply round upon him, “what am I to understand by that remark?  If any man calls my honor in question, I have but one answer for him.”

The trader cowered at this, and in a somewhat lower tone said that “it was plaguy hard on a fellow, that had made a fair bargain, to be gulled that way.”

“Mr. Haley,” said Mr. Shelby, “if I did not think you had some cause for disappointment, I should not have borne from you the rude and unceremonious style of your entrance into my parlor this morning.  I say thus much, however, since appearances call for it, that I shall allow of no insinuations cast upon me, as if I were at all partner to any unfairness in this matter.  Moreover, I shall feel bound to give you every assistance, in the use of horses, servants, &c., in the recovery of your property.  So, in short, Haley,” said he, suddenly dropping from the tone of dignified coolness to his ordinary one of easy frankness, “the best way for you is to keep good-natured and eat some breakfast, and we will then see what is to be done.”

Mrs. Shelby now rose, and said her engagements would prevent her being at the breakfast-table that morning; and, deputing a very respectable mulatto woman to attend to the gentlemen’s coffee at the side-board, she left the room.

“Old lady don’t like your humble servant, over and above,” said Haley, with an uneasy effort to be very familiar.

“I am not accustomed to hear my wife spoken of with such freedom,” said Mr. Shelby, dryly.

“Beg pardon; of course, only a joke, you know,” said Haley, forcing a laugh.

“Some jokes are less agreeable than others,” rejoined Shelby.

“Devilish free, now I’ve signed those papers, cuss him!” muttered Haley to himself; “quite grand, since yesterday!”

Never did fall of any prime minister at court occasion wider surges of sensation than the report of Tom’s fate among his compeers on the place.  It was the topic in every mouth, everywhere; and nothing was done in the house or in the field, but to discuss its probable results.  Eliza’s flight—­an unprecedented event on the place—­was also a great accessory in stimulating the general excitement.

Black Sam, as he was commonly called, from his being about three shades blacker than any other son of ebony on the place, was revolving the matter profoundly in all its phases and bearings, with a comprehensiveness of vision and a strict lookout to his own personal well-being, that would have done credit to any white patriot in Washington.

“It’s an ill wind dat blow nowhar,—­dat ar a fact,” said Sam, sententiously, giving an additional hoist to his pantaloons, and adroitly substituting a long nail in place of a missing suspender-button, with which effort of mechanical genius he seemed highly delighted.

“Yes, it’s an ill wind blows nowhar,” he repeated.  “Now, dar, Tom’s down—­wal, course der’s room for some nigger to be up—­and why not dis nigger?—­dat’s de idee.  Tom, a ridin’ round de country—­boots blacked—­pass in his pocket—­all grand as Cuffee—­but who he?  Now, why shouldn’t Sam?—­dat’s what I want to know.”