"No," I told him. "From the north." And that I wanted employment.
"You are like to get it--at the Plantations!" he answered savagely, taking snuff. I remarked that neither his hands nor his linen were of the cleanest, and that the former were stained with ink. "What are you?" he continued, presently, in the same snappish, churlish tone.
I told him a schoolmaster.
"Exempli gratiâ," he answered quickly, and turning to the nearest stall, he indicated the title-page of a book. "Read me that, Master Schoolmaster."
I did so. He grunted; and then, "You write? Show me your hand."
I said I had no paper or ink there, but that if he would take me----
"Pooh, man, are you a fool?" he cried, impatiently. "Show me your right hand, middle finger, and I will find you scribit or non scribit. So! And you want work?"
"Yes," I said.
"Hard work and little pay?"
I said I wanted to make my living.