"Then I'm g—g—g—glad I c—c—come. Never had as m—m—much p—p—pound cake as I co—could eat b—b—but once, an' then I staid all night with a feller w—w—w—when his mammy w—w—wan't at home."
"Am I to be locked up?" the old man asked.
"Yes, Mr. Starbuck."
The old fellow groaned and in the dusk shrank down, little in his humiliation.
"Sometimes," he said, "folks have to stay in there a good while before they air fotch to trial. Do you think you kin fix it so they kin have it over with my case as soon as possible?"
"Yes, we'll try to rush you through."
"Through to where—to where?" the old man muttered to himself.
They passed a theatre as the audience was pouring out, from under the Hamlet spell of Booth, and Laz remarked: "Feller that preached in thar to-night must be as long-winded as our man Fetterson; but I'll bet Old Fetter could outswop him in a hoss trade."
"That's a theatre," Foster informed him, and after musing for a time he said:
"Place whar they swollow knives, I reckon. Seed a feller do that at a school-house one night, an' I thought he'd killed hisse'f, but he spit it out jest like a stick of molasses candy. Wall, suh, I never seed as many lanterns hung up befo'. An' I want to tell you they've got good roads through this place. What's that feller doin' over thar with that crowd about him?"