“Well, no, Mister Wull,” Jehoshaphat answered, with simple candor; “not too much.”
“The law will put you in jail for this.”
Constables and jails were like superstitious terrors to Jehoshaphat. He had never set eyes on the brass buttons and stone walls of the law.
“Oh no—no!” he protested. “He wouldn’t! Not in jail!”
“The law,” Wull warned, with grim delight, “will put you in jail.”
“He couldn’t!” Jehoshaphat complained. “As I takes it, the law sees fair play atween men. That’s what he was made for. I ’low he ought t’ put you in jail for raisin’ the price o’ flour t’ eighteen; but not me—not for what I’m bound t’ do, Mister Wull, law or no law, as God lives! ’Twouldn’t be right, sir, if he put me in jail for that.”
“The law will.”
“But,” Jehoshaphat still persisted, doggedly, “’twouldn’t be right!’
“I’m come,” Jehoshaphat reminded him, “for the flour.”