I went with my young master immediately to his room. He was beginning already to withdraw himself from other studies and to devote all his time to the law; so taking up a sheep-bound book, he began to read aloud. Suddenly he flung the book down and leaned back in his chair. "Law," he said, "is supposed to be common sense, but I have about reached the conclusion that there is no common sense in the human family."

"So soon?" I asked.

"So late, you mean," he replied. "A boy can sometimes see what an old man has failed to discover. Now take that preacher, as good an old fellow as you would find in a day's ride, and note how pinched his mind is."

"In what way, Bob?" I asked.

He stiffened up and looked hard at me, and standing near, I bowed until my head almost touched the table. I had called him Bob, a familiarity that I don't think I had ever before ventured upon, and it fell like a mallet. When I straightened up, he bowed to me and not a word was spoken on the subject of my neglect to put "Mars." before his name.

"You ask in what way is his mind pinched. I might answer by saying in every way, but I'll specify one. He believes that he's serving God when he puts tar and feathers on a man who has ventured to express his opinion."

"But in this respect is he more narrow than others I could mention?" I asked, for I could take issue with him, argue and even quarrel with him without treading upon ground too oozy with familiarity. "He believes that slavery is a God-ordained institution. Don't you?"

I shall never forget the look he gave me. I stood with my arms folded looking down upon his handsome face, his Greek head. A lock of hair had fallen upon his brow, and he slowly put it back, still looking at me, and there was a strange, thrilling music in his voice when he spoke: "Did I teach your mind to eat that it might gulp such food?"

"You gave me the bill of fare and were generous enough to invite me to help myself," was the answer I made.

"But I didn't tell you to eat filth."

"And filth I did not eat, but I swallowed many a mouthful of reason."

"But did any one of those mouthfuls tell you that I considered slavery a God-ordained institution?"

"Not you especially, but you belong to a caste."

"Still I am no fool. Who gave the slaves to Rome? Conquest. What led to conquest? Physical superiority. And wasn't there a grandeur in that? And is not a grandeur almost a sacred thing?"

Now here was an argument and it might have been prolonged, but at that moment there came a tap at the door. Master cried an invitation to come in, and Mr. Clem entered.

"What are you boys talking so loud about?" he inquired, taking a chair and putting his feet upon the table. "Didn't know but you might be trying to swap horses."

"An exchange of night mares," Bob replied, reaching over and moving his inkstand.

"That's all right, but do you make him stand up all the time?" Mr. Clem asked, nodding at me.

Bob laughed. "He can sit down if he wants to."

"Well, then, please do," Mr. Clem said, looking at a chair and motioning toward me. "It makes my legs hurt to see you standing there." I sat down and he continued: "I noticed that our old preacher rode pretty good stock over here."

"You didn't see him when he rode up," said Bob.

"No, but I took a lantern just now and went out to the stable and had one of the boys find his horse for me. Yes, sir, pretty good sorrel horse, fine shoulders, but nostrils rather small. Good bottom, though. I went to his room after I came back and found him in bed, but I got him interested in my nag, and if he ain't walking before three weeks pass he'll ride on a straight line out of my circuit. Does he hold prayers of a morning? Of course he does, though; wouldn't miss an opportunity, you know. Well, I'll join him, and afterwards put in a few petitions of my own. It's not right for a preacher to ride such a horse any way. Ought to walk; for don't the Bible say something about how beautiful are the feet of those that tread the path of righteousness? Strikes me that I've heard something of the sort. Tarred and feathered him, eh? Bob, do you know what would happen if they should dab any of their tar on me?"

"I don't believe you would submit very quietly, Uncle Clem."

"Well, I wot not. Wot's all right there, ain't it? Yes, I guess it is. They might put the stuff on me, but do you know what would happen after they got all through with their fun? There'd be more fun. I'd get one of these old fashioned blunder-busses, load it with nails and scraps of iron and scatter flesh all over this community. By the flint hoofs of the devil I wish they'd smear tar on me. But I musn't argue any more with that preacher. I want his horse."

"You wouldn't cheat him, would you, Uncle Clem?"

There was astonishment in the look Mr. Clem bent upon the young man. "Cheat him? I don't exactly understand. Bob, there's no such thing as cheating in a horse trade. Man tells me that his horse has good eyes. I look at the eyes and see that they are defective. Man is a liar, but hasn't deceived me, therefore I am not cheated. I tell a man that my horse has good eyes. He looks and fails to see a defect and swaps. Afterward finds out horse blind of an eye. Who's fault? His own—error in judgment."

"That is a very comfortable way to put it," said the young man. "But suppose you buy something and the dealer misrepresents it?"

"I hold him accountable," Mr. Clem replied. "Merchandising is one thing and trading horses another. The keeper of a store is a catch-penny figurer upon small or large margins of profit, whichever the case may be. Some little shrewdness is required, but above all, he must be a fawner and a man of dogged patience. He advertises that the world may, with perfect safety, take his word. On the other hand, the horse trader is a sort of adventurer, a knight with sharp judgment for a lance and with strong assertion for a battle-axe. He takes no advantage of man's necessity, but challenges him. He needn't enter the combat—he can say, 'no, thank you,' and ride on."

He took out a large plug of tobacco and with a Barlow knife, cut off a wedge-shaped piece, wiped the blade on his trousers, snapped it shut, returned both knife and tobacco to his pocket, put the wedge into his mouth and turned it about with exceeding satisfaction.

"Yes, sir," he went on, "the horse trader is a man of skill, going about sharpening the wits of society. He stirs the blood of cupidity and then teaches man a lesson, enforcing the moral that the glittering is not always the gold. He is an orator and his subject is horse. Through the horse he reads human nature. He is self-confident, never tells too long a story, and people like to hear him talk. Ladies sometimes sniff at him and say that he is horsey, but when they have been sufficiently bored by the empty prattle of the refined dolt, they return to the horseman to be entertained. Bob," he added, after going to the fire-place to spit, and returning to put his feet upon the table, "there is one type of man that I should like to see hanged—the negro-trader."

"Nearly always a brute," Young Master replied.

"Always, Bob. And society, even in this State, holds him in contempt, yet recognizes the justice, or I should say, fails to recognize the injustice of the institution he serves. D— me if it ain't riling!" he cried, striking the table with his heel. Master moved the ink stand till further away and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Clem continued: "The South is an exotic, living under glass. But one day the glass will be smashed and the cold air will blow in. What could be more disease-breeding than our present state of affairs, one end of the republic heating with degenerate luxury, the other end cool with self-reliant industry?"

"Uncle Clem, they have turned you into a Yankee," said the young man.

"By the hoofs, they have opened my eyes and if to see is to be a Yankee, then I am one."

"But having seen, do you now come to sow eye-opening seeds, in fact, to scatter trouble?"

"I've got as much right in this State as any man that lives in it; I carried a gun into Mexico and I wear the scar of a leaden missile."

"No one questions your right, and I, for one, am warm in welcome of you. But you turned your back upon Kentucky, shifted your citizenship to another State."

Mr. Clem jerked his feet off the table, went to the fire-place, spat out his tobacco, and began to walk up and down the room, with his hands behind him after the manner of Old Master.

"Bob," he said, pointing as he spoke, "there, at the north corner of the lane, where the steps go over the stone fence, I stood in my country's uniform and told a girl good-bye. She clung to me like a sweet vine, and with trembling fingers I loosened the tendrils of her love. Behind a gallant warrior I marched into the City of Mexico, thrilled not with the victory, but with the thought that my face should soon be homeward set. That night I received a letter telling me of her perfidy. She did not write—my brother's hand sent the news. I couldn't believe it—in my breast I called him a liar. But I came home with a quaking heart, to find that she had married a negro-trader. And then, in taking up my small belongings to leave the State, I swore that I would never return so long as she was in it alive. Once that fellow came to Illinois to catch a run-away slave. He caught the fugitive at a town called Princeton. I chanced to be there. A noble-hearted man named Bryant, brother of the poet, heard the negro's pitiful story and then turned upon the trader. 'Sir,' said he, 'the shadow of a black and outrageous law may fall upon your case, but humanity which is above all law, cries out for the protection of this poor creature. Be gone from here.'

"'Not until I have had my say,' I cried. 'Bring a rope and I will hang him.' There was an uneasy stir among the men assembled in the little court-room. The trader looked at me sharply. A grim smile spread over his dastardly face. I had learned more than I have yet told you—He held a mortgage upon the negroes that belonged to the father of that girl and she had married him to save the negroes, to keep them from being taken South and sold to the heartless drivers. This she had written and given to a friend to send to me, but he was tardy in sending it. However, I could not have forgiven her, although there might have been some truth in what she said and some nobility in her act. The fellow leered at me, and turning to the justice of the peace, said to him: This man ought not to have a word to say. He hates me because I married the girl he loved.' This set the idlers to tittering, and I got out of the court-room, frothing at the mouth. Under protection of the law, the rascal was permitted to go away in peace, but he did not take the negro, not then, but got him afterward. Bob, I'm strong enough to confess a weakness, and the man that isn't, isn't game. I'm bold enough to defend a prejudice, for prejudices are sometimes our dearest inheritance."

He resumed his walk, went to the door, halted and came back to the table. "I said that I would never come back to the State so long as that woman was in it alive, and I didn't. She died less than a year ago, and her husband is now a planter in Mississippi, and about all I ask of the Lord is that I may some time meet him—accidentally." He looked at his watch. "It's getting late and I guess you boys are sleepy. Believe I'll take another look at that horse and go to bed. Good night."

I went to bed, leaving master in his chair, settled in a deep consideration. The candle-wick fell into the socket, but the fire-light showed him still musing, his eyes wide open but dreaming. I fell asleep and awoke in the dark, aroused by the sound of the young man's voice. He was making a speech, had sat with it running in his mind while the words of Mr. Clem had fallen upon me like burning coals.