"Judge Pleasants," he said, "I'm terribly mixed up, and I'll have to ask you to unmix me."
The squire cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and straightened himself in his chair. The title of Judge, and the easy air of deference with which it was bestowed, gave him an entirely new idea of his own importance. He frowned judicially as he laid his hand upon the papers.
"Well, sir," said he, "I'm gittin' ole, an' I reckon I ain't much nohow; I'm sorter like the grey colt that tried to climb in the shuck-pen—I'm weak, but willin'. Ef you'll jest whirl in an' make indication whar'in I can he'p, I'll do the best I kin."
"I've come up here to look after a lot of land," said Woodward. "It is described here as lot No. 18, 376th district, Georgia Militia, part of land lot No. 11, in Tugaloo, formerly Towaliga County. Here is a plat of Hog Mountain, but somehow I can't locate the lot."
The squire took the papers and began to examine them with painful particularity.
"That 'ar lot," said Teague Poteet, after a while, "is the ole Mathis lot. The line runs right acrost my simblin' patch, an' backs up ag'in' my hoss-stable."
"Tooby shore—tooby shore!" exclaimed the squire. "Tut-tut! What am I doin'? My mind is drappin' loose like seed-ticks from a shumake bush. Tooby shore, it's the Mathis lot. Mr. Wooderd, Mr. Poteet—Mr. Poteet, Mr. Wooderd; lem me make you interduced, gents."
Mr. Woodward shook hands gracefully and cordially—Poteet awkwardly and a trifle suspiciously.
"It seems to me, Mr. Poteet," said Woodward, "that I have teen your name in the papers somewhere."
"Likely," replied Poteet; "they uv bin a mighty sight er printin' gwino on sence the war, so I've heern tell. Ef you'd a drappod in at Atlanty, you mought er seed my name mixt up in a warrant."