WELL I hear that Sandy McHugh tuck his whippin' like a little man last night,” Pole remarked to Captain Duncan and Floyd the next morning at the store. “They say he made strong promises to reform, an', gentlemen, I'm here to tell you that I believe them White Caps are doin' a purty good work. The lickin' Sandy got last night from his neighbors an' well-wishers towards him an' his family is a-goin' to work a bigger change in him than a long trial at court at the state's expense.”

“Well, they say he confessed to the stealing,” said the planter. “And a thing like that certainly ought to be punished in some way.”

“I never stold but once in my life,” Baker laughed, reminiscently, “an' I was sorter drawed into that. I was goin' with a Tennessee drover down to Atlanta with a car o' hosses. Old Uncle Abner Daniel was along, an' me'n him always was sorter thick. We come to Big Shanty, whar the conductor told us we'd barely have time to run out to the side o' the road an' buy a snack to eat, an' me'n Uncle Ab made a dash fer the lunch-counter, run by a bald-headed Dutchman with a bay-window on 'im. Thar was a pile o' sandwiches on the counter marked ten cents apiece, an' we bought two. I noticed Uncle Ab sorter twist his face around when he looked in his'n, an' then I seed that the ham inside of 'em both wasn't any thicker'n a piece o' paper.

“'Look here, Pole' said Uncle Ab, 'I bought a sandwich; I didn't agree to pay that fat thief ten cents o' my hard money fer two pieces o' bread that don't even smell o' meat.'

“'Well, what you goin' to do about it?' says I.

“'Do about it?' says he, an' then he sorter winked, an' as the Dutchman had turned to his stove whar he was fryin' some eggs, Uncle Ab stuck out his long fingers an slid a slice o' ham out o' the top sandwich in the stack an' slyly laid it betwixt his bread. I deprived the one under it of all the substance it held, an' me'n Uncle Ab was munchin' away when two passengers, a big man an' a little, sawed-off one, run up jest as the whistle blowed. They throwed down the'r dimes an' grabbed the two top sandwiches, an' we all made a break fer the train an' got in together. The fellers set right behind me'n Uncle Ab, an' when they begun to eat you never heard sech cussin'. 'Damn it, thar hain't a bit o' ham in mine!' the big feller said; an' then the little 'un ripped out an oath, an' reached up an' tried to git at the bell-cord. 'The damn pot-gutted thief didn't even grease mine,' he said, an' they both raised windows an' looked back an' shook the'r fists an' swore they'd kill that Dutchman the next time they seed 'im.

“I thought I'd actually die laughin'. Uncle Ab set thar with the straightest face you ever looked at, but his eyes was twinklin' like stars peepin' through wet clouds.

“Finally he said, 'Pole,' said he, 'this experience ort to teach us a lesson. You cayn't down wrong with wrong. We started in to beat that swindler at his game, an' ended up by robbin' two hungry an' honest wayfarers.'”

Floyd and Captain Duncan laughed. It seemed that there was a disposition on the part of both Pole and the planter not to allude to the unpleasant affair of the preceding day, though Floyd, in his sensitive attitude in regard to it, more than once fancied it was in their minds.

“There is a personal matter, Floyd,” said Duncan, after a silence of several minutes, “that I have been wanting to speak to you about. It is in regard to your parentage. I've heard that you are greatly interested in it and would like to have it cleared up.”

“I confess it, captain,” Floyd said. “I suppose that is a feeling that would be natural to any one placed as I am.”

“Most decidedly,” Duncan agreed. “And it is my opinion that when you do discover what you are looking for, it will all seem so simple and plain that you will wonder how you could have missed it so long. I don't think it is possible for a thing like that to remain hidden always.”

“It certainly has foiled me, captain,” Floyd replied. “I have spent more money and made more effort than you would dream of, but met with disappointment on every hand.”

“Perhaps you didn't look close enough at home,” said Duncan. “I confess the thing has interested me a good deal, and the more I see of you, and observe your pluck and courage, the more I would like to see you discover what you want.”

“Thank you, captain,” Floyd said, earnestly.

“I'm going to confess something else, too,” the planter went on, “now that I see you don't resent my interest. The truth is, I had a talk with Colonel Price about it. You know he understands more about genealogy and family histories than any man in the county. I asked him if he didn't think that your given name, 'Nelson,' might not tend to show that you were, in some way, related to a family by that name. Price agreed with me that it was likely, and then it flashed on me that I knew a man down in Atlanta by the name of Floyd—Henry A. Floyd—whose mother was one of the South Carolina Nelsons.”

“Is it possible?” the young merchant asked, leaning forward in almost breathless interest.

“Yes, and he is a man of good standing, but very unsuccessful financially—a man who was educated for the law, and failed at it, and now, I believe, lives only on the income from a big farm in Bartow County. I knew him quite well when we were both young men; but he never married, and of late years he seems soured against everybody. I met him at the Capitol in Atlanta only last week, and tried to get him interested in your family matter. At first, from his evident surprise that there could be any one bearing both those names up here, I thought he was going to reveal something that would aid you. But after asking me three or four questions about you, he closed up, and that was the end of it. He said he knew nothing of your parentage, but that he was sure you were no kin of his.”

“Say, captain”—Pole Baker broke into the conversation—“would you mind tellin' me right here what you told 'im about Nelson? I've seed the old cuss; I've been on his farm; I once thought about rentin' land from 'im. Did you tell 'im Nelson was a man of high standing here—that he was about the richest young chap in the county an' got more grit than a car-load o' sand-paper?”

“No,” Duncan laughed. “He didn't let me get that far, Baker. In hopes of rousing his sympathy, I reckon I laid a good deal of stress on Floyd's early misfortune. Of course, I was going to tell him all about you, Floyd, but, as I say, he didn't give me a good chance.”

“You were quite right, captain,” Floyd returned. “Pole would have made me appear ridiculous.”

“Huh! I'd a got more out o' the old fossil than Captain Duncan did,” Pole declared, positively, “You knowed how to manage men in the war, captain, an' you are purty good at bossin' an overseer when you are at a hotel in Florida an' he's fillin' a sack in yore corn-crib at home, but I'll bet my hat you didn't tackle that feller right. Knowing that he was down in the mouth, unlucky, an' generally soured agin the world, I'd never a-tried to git 'im interested in pore kin he'd never seed. I'll bet a quart o' rye to two fingers o' spilt cider that he'd 'a' talked out o' t'other side o' his mouth ef I'd a been thar to sorter show 'im the kind o' kin that he mought scrape up ef he turned his hand to it. You let me run agin that old skunk, an' I'll have him settin' up the drinks an' axin' me more questions than a Dutchman l'arnin' to talk our language. Shucks! I'm jest a mountain-scrub, but I know human natur'. Thar comes old Mayhew. He'll order us out—it's treat, trade, or travel with that old skunk.”

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