He raised a bony fist, on which the knuckles were all barked and raw, and gazed at it fondly, as though these were most honourable scars.
“So then, after that, a couple of them other show people they drug him away frum whar he was layin' on the floor a-yellin',” he went on, “and a town policeman come in and taken me off to the calaboose in a hack, with a crowd followin' 'long behind. But when we got there the gentleman that was runnin' the place—he wore blue clothes and I jedge from his costume and deportment he must 'a' been the town marshal—he listened to whut we-all had to say, and he taken a look at that there showman's busted jaw and sort of grinned to hisse'f; then he said that, seein' as all us old soldiers had the freedom of the city for the time bein', he 'lowed he'd let the whole matter drop right whar it was providin' I'd give him my solemn promise not to go projectin' round no more movin'-picture places endurin' of my stay in their midst. Well, ef they're all like the one I seen to-day it's goin' to be a powerful easy promise fur me to keep—I know that! But that's how I come to miss the doin's this evenin'—I missed my dinner too—and that's how I come to be walkin' way out here all by myse'f.”
In the pause that followed Mr. Bloomfield saw his chance. Mr. Bloomfield's voice had a crackling tone in it, like fire running through broom-sedge.
“Lookyhere, my friend!” he demanded crisply. “Ain't you been kind of flyin' in the face of history as well as the movin'-picture industry? Seems to me I recall that you pleg-taked Rebs got a blamed good lickin' about ever' once in so often, or even more frequently than that. If my memory serves me right it seems to me you did indeed!”
Mr. Ezell swung in his chair and the spots in his cheeks spread until his whole face burned a brick-dust red.' Sergeant Jimmy Bagby threw himself into the breach. Figuratively speaking, he had both arms full of heartsease and rosemary.
“In reguards to the major here”—he indicated Mr. Bloomfield with a gracious gesture of amity—“I furgot to tell you that he taken a rather prominent part—on the other side frum us.”
As Mr. Ezell's choler rose his brows came down and lowered.
“Huh!” said Mr. Ezell with deadly slowness. “Whut's a Yankee doin' down here in this country?”
“Doin' fairly well,” answered Mr. Bloomfield. “F'r instance, he's payin' taxes on that there house next door.” He flirted his whiskered chin over his left shoulder. “F'r instance, also, he's runnin' the leadin' tannery and saddle-works of this city, employin' sixteen hands regular. Also, he was elected a justice of the peace a week ago last We'nesday by his fellow citizens, regardless of politics or religion—thanky for askin'!
“Also,” he went on, his freckles now standing out beautifully against a mounting pink background—“Also and furthermore, he remembers distinctly having been present on a number of occasions when he helped to lick you Seceshers good and proper. And if you think, my friend, that I'm goin' to abate one jot or tittle from that statement you're barkin' up the wrong tree, I tell you!”