according to science.  A feller what aint cunnin’, and don’t know the nice work o’ the law, can’t do nothin’ in the way o’ science.  It’s just as you said"-addressing his remarks to Graspum,—­ “Marston’s slackin’ out his conscience because he sees how things are goin’ down hill with him.  If that old hoss cholera don’t clar off the nigger property, I’m no prophet.  It’ll carry ’em into glory; and glory, I reckon, isn’t what you calls good pay, eh, Graspum?  I overheard his intentions:  he sees the black page before him; it troubles the chicken part of his heart.  Feels mighty meek and gentle all at once; and, it’s no lie, he begins to see sin in what he has done; and to make repentance good he’s goin’ to shove off that nabob stock of his, so the creditors can’t lay paws upon it.  Ye got to spring; Marston ’ll get ahead of ye if he don’t, old feller.  This child ‘ll show him how he can’t cum some o’ them things while Squire Hobble and I’m on hand.”  Thus quaintly he speaks, pulling the bill of sale from a side-pocket, throwing it upon the table with an air of satisfaction amounting to exultation.  “Take that ar; put it where ye can put yer finger on’t when the ’mergency comes.”  And he smiles to see how gratefully and anxiously Graspum receives it, reviews it, re-reviews it,—­how it excites the joy of his nature.  He has no soul beyond the love of gold, and the system of his bloody trade.  It was that fatal instrument, great in the atmosphere of ungrateful law, bending some of nature’s noblest beneath its seal of crimes.  “It’s from Silenus to Marston; rather old, but just the thing!  Ah, you’re a valuable fellow, Anthony.”  Mr. Graspum manifests his approbation by certain smiles, grimaces, and shakes of the hand, while word by word he reads it, as if eagerly relishing its worth.  “It’s a little thing for a great purpose; it’ll tell a tale in its time;” and he puts the precious scrip safely in his pocket, and rubbing his hands together, declares “that deserves a bumper!” They fill up at Graspum’s request, drink with social cheers, followed by a song from Nimrod, who pitches his tune to the words, “Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl.”

Nimrod finishes his song:  Romescos takes the floor to tell a story about the old judge what hung the nigger a’cos he didn’t want to spend his patience listening to the testimony, and adjourned the court to go and take a drink at Sal Stiles’s grocery.  His description of the court, its high jurisdiction, the dignity of the squire what sits as judge, how he drinks the three jurymen-freeholders-what are going to try a nigger, how they goes out and takes three drinks when the case gets about half way through, how the nigger winks and blinks when he sees the jury drunk, and hears the judge say there’s only two things he likes to hang,—­niggers and schoolmasters.  But as it’s no harm to kill schoolmasters-speaking in a southern sense-so Romescos thinks the squire who got the jury inebriated afore he sent the “nigger”