Calling mine host into a little room opening from the bar, he takes him by the arm,—­intimates his desire to have a consultation on the state of his affairs, and the probable whereabouts of his divine:—­“You see, this is all the thanks I get for my kindness (he spreads his hands and shrugs his shoulders.) A northern man may do what he pleases for southern rights, and it’s just the same; he never gets any thanks for it.  These sort o’ fellers isn’t to be sneered at when a body wants to carry a political end,” he adds, touching mine host modestly on the shoulder, and giving him a quizzing look, “but ye can’t make ’um behave mannerly towards respectable people, such as you and me is.  But ’twould’nt do to give ’um edukation, for they’d just spile society-they would!  Ain’t my ideas logical, now, squire?” Mr. M’Fadden’s mind seems soaring away among the generalities of state.

“Well!” returns mine host, prefacing the importance of his opinion with an imprecation, “I’m fixed a’tween two fires; so I can’t say what would be square policy in affairs of state.  One has feelins different on these things:  I depends a deal on what our big folks say in the way of setting examples.  And, too, what can you expect when this sort a ruff-scuff forms the means of raising their political positions; but, they are customers of mine,—­have made my success in tavern-keeping!” he concludes, in an earnest whisper.

“Now, squire!” M’Fadden places his hand in mine host’s arm, and looks at him seriously:  “What ’bout that ar nigger preacher gittin off so?  No way t’ find it out, eh squire?” M’Fadden enquires, with great seriousness.

“Can’t tell how on earth the critter did the thing; looked like peaceable property when he went to be locked up, did!”

“I think somebody’s responsible for him, squire?” interrupts M’Fadden, watching the changes of the other’s countenance:  “seems how I heard ye say ye’d take the risk-”

“No,—­no,—­no!” rejoins the other, quickly; “that never will do.  I never receipt for nigger property, never hold myself responsible to the customers, and never run any risks about their niggers.  You forget, my friend, that whatever shadow of a claim you had on me by law was invalidated by your own act.”

“My own act?” interrupts the disappointed man.  “How by my own act? explain yourself!” suddenly allowing his feelings to become excited.

“Sending for him to come to your bedside and pray for you.  It was when you thought Mr. Jones, the gentleman with the horns, stood over you with a warrant in his hand,” mine host whispers in his ear, shrugging his shoulders, and giving his face a quizzical expression.  “You appreciated the mental of the property then; but now you view it as a decided defect.”

The disappointed gentleman remains silent for a few moments.  He is deeply impressed with the anomaly of his case, but has not the slightest objection to fasten the responsibility on somebody, never for a moment supposing the law would interpose against the exercise of his very best inclinations.  He hopes God will bless him, says it is always his luck; yet he cannot relinquish the idea of somebody being responsible.  He will know more about the preaching rascal’s departure.  Turning to mine host of the inn:  “But, you must have a clue to him, somewhere?” he says, enquiringly.