"Heah that John is livenin' things up at the darky school,"
volunteered the postmaster, after a pause.
"What now?" asked the Judge, sharply.
"Oh, nothin' in particulah,--just his almighty air and up-
pish ways. B'lieve I did heah somethin' about his givin' talks
on the French Revolution, equality, and such like. He's what
I call a dangerous Nigger."
"Have you heard him say anything out of the way?"
"Why, no,--but Sally, our girl, told my wife a lot of rot.
Then, too, I don't need to heah: a Nigger what won't say 'sir'
to a white man, or--"
"Who is this John?" interrupted the son.
"Why, it's little black John, Peggy's son,--your old
playfellow."
The young man's face flushed angrily, and then he laughed.
"Oh," said he, "it's the darky that tried to force himself
into a seat beside the lady I was escorting--"
But Judge Henderson waited to hear no more. He had been
nettled all day, and now at this he rose with a half-smothered
oath, took his hat and cane, and walked straight to the
schoolhouse.
For John, it had been a long, hard pull to get things started
in the rickety old shanty that sheltered his school.
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