I went with my young master immediately to his room. He was beginning already to withdraw himself from other studies and to devote all his time to the law; so taking up a sheep-bound book, he began to read aloud. Suddenly he flung the book down and leaned back in his chair. "Law," he said, "is supposed to be common sense, but I have about reached the conclusion that there is no common sense in the human family."  
"So soon?" I asked.
 
"So late, you mean," he replied. "A boy can sometimes see what an old man has failed to discover. Now take that preacher, as good an old fellow as you would find in a day's ride, and note how pinched his mind is."
 
"In what way, Bob?" I asked.
 
He stiffened up and looked hard at me, and standing near, I bowed until my head almost touched the table. I had called him Bob, a familiarity that I don't think I had ever before ventured upon, and it fell[Pg 137] like a mallet. When I straightened up, he bowed to me and not a word was spoken on the subject of my neglect to put "Mars." before his name.
 
"You ask in what way is his mind pinched. I might answer by saying in every way, but I'll specify one. He believes that he's serving God when he puts tar and feathers on a man who has ventured to express his opinion."
 
"But in this respect is he more narrow than others I could mention?" I asked, for I could take issue with him, argue and even quarrel with him without treading upon ground too oozy with familiarity. "He believes that slavery is a God-ordained institution. Don't you?"
 
I shall never forget the look he gave me. I stood with my arms folded looking down upon his handsome face, his Greek head. A lock of hair had fallen upon his brow, and he slowly put it back, still looking at me, and there was a strange, thrilling music in his voice when he spoke: "Did I teach your mind to eat that it might gulp such food?"
 
"You gave me the bill of fare and were generous enough to invite me to help myself," was the answer I made.
 
"But I didn't tell you to eat filth."
 
[Pg 138]
 
"And filth I did not eat, but I swallowed many a mouthful of reason."
 
"But did any one of those mouthfuls tell you that I considered slavery a God-ordained institution?"
 
"Not you especially, but you belong to a caste."
 
"Still I am no fool. Who gave the slaves to Rome? Conquest. What led to conquest? Physical superiority. And wasn't there a grandeur in that? And is not a grandeur almost a sacred thing?"
 
Now here was an argument and it might have been prolonged, but at that moment there came a tap at the door. Master cried an invitation to come in, and Mr. Clem entered.
 
"What are you boys talking so loud about?" he inquired, taking a chair and putting his feet upon the table. "Didn't know but you might be trying to swap horses."
 
"An exchange of night mares," Bob replied, reaching over and moving his inkstand.
 
"That's all right, but do you make him stand up all the time?" Mr. Clem asked, nodding at me.
 
Bob laughed. "He can sit down if he wants to."
 
"Well, then, please do," Mr. Clem said, looking at a chair and motioning toward me. "It makes my legs hurt to see you standing there." I sat down and he[Pg 139] continued: "I noticed that our old preacher rode pretty good stock over here."
 
"You didn't see him when he rode up," said Bob.
 
"No, but I took a lantern just now and went out to the stable and had one of the boys find his horse for me. Yes, sir, pretty good sorrel horse, fine shoulders, but nostrils rather small. Good bottom, though. I went to his room after I came back and found him in bed, but I got him interested in my nag, and if he ain't walking before three weeks pass he'll ride on a straight line out of my circuit. Does he hold prayers of a morning? Of course he does, though; wouldn't miss an opportunity, you know. Well, I'll join him, and afterwards put in a few petitions of my own. It's not right for a preacher to ride such a horse any way. Ought to walk; for don't the Bible say something about how beautiful are the feet of those that tread the path of righteousness? Strikes me that I've heard something of the sort. Tarred and feathered him, eh? Bob, do you know what would happen if they should dab any of their tar on me?"
 
"I don't believe you would submit very quietly, Uncle Clem."
 
"Well, I wot not. Wot's all right there, ain't it? Yes, I guess it is. They might put the stuff on me,[Pg 140] but do you know what would happen after they got all through with their fun? There'd be more fun. I'd get one of these old fashioned blunder-busses, load it with nails and scraps of iron and scatter flesh all over this community. By the flint hoofs of the devil I wish they'd smear tar on me. But I musn't argue any more with that preacher. I want his horse."
 
"You wouldn't cheat him, would you, Uncle Clem?"
 
There was astonishment in the look Mr. Clem bent upon the young man. "Cheat him? I don't exactly understand. Bob, there's no such thing as cheating in a horse trade. Man tells me that his horse has good eyes. I look at the eyes and see that they are defective. Man is a liar, but hasn't deceived me, therefore I am not cheated. I tell a man that my horse has good eyes. He looks and fails to see a defect and swaps. Afterward finds out horse blind of an eye. Who's fault? His own—error in judgment."
 
"That is a very comfortable way to put it," said the young man. "But suppose you buy something and the dealer misrepresents it?"
 
"I hold him accountable," Mr. Clem replied. "Merchandising is one thing and trading horses another. The keeper of a store is a catch-penny figurer upon small or large margins of profit, [Pg 141]whichever the case may be. Some little shrewdness is required, but above all, he must be a fawner and a man of dogged patience. He advertises that the world may, with perfect safety, take his word. ............