THE next afternoon, following a conference with the owner of the cotton-mill, which took place at Tye's shop, Paul returned home. As he was about to ascend the stairs to his room he met Mrs. Tilton in the hall.

“Have you seen Jim?” she inquired; and when he had answered in the negative she added: “He was asking whar you was at. I thought I'd sort o' warn you to look out for him; he ain't in the best of tempers. Some'n's gone crooked somewhar or other. He actually cussed me just now an' slapped little Jack for the first time in over a year. The child was just comin' to git in his lap, an' he's been cryin' as if his heart was broke ever since.”

“Where is Mr. Hoag?” Paul asked.

“He's down at the tannery shippin' some leather.” There were still several minutes to spare before supper-time, and Paul decided to seek his employer at once, so he turned down to the tannery. As he approached the warehouse the rumble of the iron truck-wheels on the heavy floor reached him, and above the din he heard Hoag's gruff voice giving commands to two negro laborers. Stepping upon the platform, Paul saw his employer near the wide sliding door just within the dust-filled room, and he approached him.

“Anything I can do?” he asked, politely.

“Do! Does it look like thar's anything to do?”

Hoag hurled the words at him, his eyes flashing beneath beetling brows, his lip curled and drawn tight across tobacco-stained teeth.

Paul stared at him unflinchingly. “Shipments have always been made in the morning,” he said, calmly. He drew a note-book from his pocket and opened it. “I had this down for the first thing to-morrow.”

“It ain't what you have down, but what I want done, when an' how I like it. I couldn't find you, so I had to do it myself.”

“We won't talk about that at all,” Paul retorted, drawn into anger he was trying hard to control. “I know I earn my salary, and I'll be treated like an intelligent human being while I am at work or I'll quit. Do you understand that? I'll quit!”

“Damn your soul”—Hoag looked about on the floor as if for something with which to strike the speaker to earth—“do you mean to stand thar an' give me any of your jaw?”

“Not any more than you need to make you act like a man.” Paul bent a steady and fearless gaze on him that made him flinch and drop his eyes. But Hoag was not subdued. He blinked sullenly for a moment, swore at a negro who was staggering past under an overloaded truck, followed him to the wagon at the door, where he stood, a mere husk of a man buffeted by fierce inner storms. Presently he came back to Paul; he had unconsciously crushed the order for the leather in his hand and broken the tip of his pencil.

“Thar's no use beatin' about the bush,” he began, in a tone which showed that he was now more sure of his ground. “I'm goin' to give you the truth straight from the shoulder. An' if you don't like it you kin lump it.” Another loaded truck was passing and Hoag stopped it. He made a flurried effort to count the rolls, and failing to do so, he waved his hand impatiently, swore at the man, and the truck was trundled on to the door.

“You needn't waste time getting to it,” Paul began firmly. “I know what's the matter with you. You've made up your mind that slavery is not yet over. You've heard about what I am doing for my mother, and—”

“That's it,” Hoag's dead face flared. “I may as well tell you the truth an' be done with it. Not a dollar—not one dollar of my money shall go to a low-lived, dirt-eatin' skunk like Jeff Warren.”

“Your money? No; not a penny of your money,” Paul laughed, sarcastically.

“Well, haven't you gone an' moved his whole lay-out into Mayburn's new house an' laid in furniture an' supplies an'—an'—”

“Oh, yes, but not at your expense,” Paul continued to smile. “I knew you would want me to quit working for you when I did it; still, I did it, and I'm going to keep it up.”

“You say you are!” Hoag had never had his will more flatly opposed. “Well, listen to me, young man. You are gittin' entirely too big for your pants. I took you up when you come back here under the ban of the law an' couldn't 'a' got a job like this to save your neck. I've been payin' you a hundred a month, but seein' that you are countin' on livin' like a royal prince, an' spendin' your wages on the rag-tag an' bobtail scum of the earth, from now on your pay is cut to seventy-five dollars a month.”

The eyes of the two men met. Hoag's were burning with satanic triumph; Paul's held a certain gleam of pity, and yet they bore down with a steadiness that stirred the slow surprise of his companion.

“If you mean that as final,” Paul said, “I have something vital and positive to say myself.”

“I'll not pay a cent more,” Hoag panted. “I'll see you dead an' buried first. Any young man with the chances you had, to go an' throw 'em all away for a low-lived tramp clodhopper—”

“We'll leave Warren out of the matter,” Paul interrupted, almost fiercely. “My proposition to you is this, Mr. Hoag. I do not want to leave you, because certain things I have got under way in your interests cannot well be carried out by any one else, and it would be wrong for me to cause you to lose. Still, I know my value. If I didn't I'd not have brains enough to manage your affairs as I am managing them. Only this afternoon I have had the offer of the superintendency of the Doran Cotton Mills. The pay is double my present salary—with various chances of promotion.”

“What—what? You say that you—you say that Doran—” But Hoag's utterance had failed him completely. He stood quivering from head to foot, his lip hanging low, his teeth parted, his breath hissing as it passed through them.

“I don't want to quarrel with you,” Paul softened. “It is wrong for two men to quarrel—especially wrong for one who has learned the full evil of it as I have, and we need not do it now. But I have certain human rights which, for reasons of your own, you ignore, and are trying to trample underfoot. It is my right to help my mother, and any one else I see fit to help. I cannot do these things if I work for you for less than my services are worth on the market. I want to remain here, and if you will pay me the price offered by Doran I will do so, otherwise I shall leave you.”

“Pay you—pay you two hundred a month”—Hoag gasped—“pay you double what you now get so that you can spend it on a lazy, good-for-nothin' scamp? Not on your life! I'll see the last one of you dead first, an' laid out stark an' cold.”

“Then it is settled,” Paul answered, calmly. “I told Doran I'd let him have my decision in the morning. I'll leave you on the first of next month.”

“You can go an' be damned,” Hoag swore under his breath, and raised his clenched fist and shook it in Paul's face. “Git out o' my sight.”

And with that ultimatum Hoag stalked out to the platform. Paul looked at him regretfully a moment and then turned away.

He failed to see his employer at the supper-table. He was at work in his room near bedtime when he heard a heavy, dragging step on the stairs. The next moment Hoag leaned in the open doorway. His face was flushed with drink; there was a thwarted glare in his bloodshot eyes.

“I reckon you meant what you said about Doran?” he began, sullenly.

“Yes, I simply stated the facts,” Paul answered.

“You said you'd keep on with me for the price Doran's willin' to pay?”

“Yes,” Paul returned, with dignity. “I meant to put it that way.”

“Well, I reckon”—in blended chagrin and anger—“you are worth as much to me as you are to him. The offer comes through enemies of mine who want to injure me—fellers that stand in with Doran—a gang o' narrow church elders over there, who have got it in for me. You stay on, an' I'll try not to kick any more over your private matters. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“All right, then. That's all I wanted to say.” Hoag turned to the door. He stood there for a moment, then slowly faced Paul again.

“There is one other thing,” he said, half-sheepishly. “I got onto the fact that you went on Henry's note at the bank to git the money for 'im to go into that business on, an' I thought I'd tell you that I don't intend to let you lose it. Good business men think Henry is goin' to make money thar. In fact, I think myself that he may stick to it. I was in his store to-day an' his partner is well pleased with the work Henry is doin'. I expect to pay that note off, but I'll let 'im owe the bank a while. That will be best, I think.” And with that Hoag turned and went down the stairs.