"Yassah."
"Your share of the collection?"
The usher eyed him in scorn.
"To be sho," Sam answered confidently. "Yer tuk it up fer de po' black man. I'se black, an' God knows I'se po'."
"You're a poor fool!"
"What ye take hit up fer den?"
"To support John Brown, not to feed lazy, good-for-nothing, free negroes."
Sam turned from the man in disgust. He was about to rise and shamble back to his miserable pallet when a sudden craning of necks and moving of feet drew his eye toward the door.
He saw a man stalking down the aisle. He carried on his left arm a little bundle of filthy rags. He mounted the platform and spoke to the Chairman:
"Mr. Smith, may I say just a word to this meeting?"