"Ah! ha, ha! into a tight place this time, George," laughs out Mr. Soloman, the accommodation man, as he hastens into the room, seats himself in the box with George, and seizes his hand with the earnestness of a true friend. Mr. Soloman can deport himself on all occasions with becoming good nature. "It's got out, you see."
"What has got out?" interrupts George, maintaining a careless indifference.
"Come now! none of that, old fellow."
"If I understood you—"
"That affair last night," pursues Mr. Soloman, his delicate fingers wandering into his more delicately-combed beard. "It'll go hard with you. He's a stubborn old cove, that Sleepyhorn; administers the law as C‘sar was wont to. Yesterday he sent seven to the whipping-post; to-day he hangs two 'niggers' and a white man. There is a consolation in getting rid of the white. I say this because no one loses a dollar by it."
George, continuing to masticate his bread, says it has nothing to do with him. He may hang the town.
"If I can do you a bit of a good turn, why here's your man. But you must not talk that way—you must not, George, I assure you!" Mr. Soloman assumes great seriousness of countenance, and again, in a friendly way, takes George by the hand. "That poignard, George, was yours. It was picked up by myself when it fell from your hand—"
"My hand! my hand!" George quickly interposes, his countenance paling, and his eyes wandering in excitement.
"Now don't attempt to disguise the matter, you know! Come out on the square-own up! Jealousy plays the devil with one now and then. I know-I have had a touch of it; had many a little love affair in my time—"
George again interrupts by inquiring to what he is coming.