One Billy, he called himself, most amusing--most
amusing. It seems that my cousin gave him money to pay his poll-tax. The
poor simple fellow bought a fishing-pole and line. He was, I fancy, to
vote for Buchanan. My cousin, I infer, must be like all our people a
sound Democrat."
"I have heard as much," returned Swallow. "I am doing what I can for the
party, but the people here are sadly misled and our own party is slowly
losing ground."
"Indeed! I talked a little with a poor fellow named Lamb, out-of-work and
sick. He assured me that the town was solid for Buchanan, and also the
county."
Swallow laughed heartily. "What! Peter Lamb. He is our prize drunkard,
sir, and would have been in jail long ago but for Penhallow. They are
foster-brothers."
"Indeed!" Mr. Grey felt that his knowledge of character had been sadly
at fault and that he had been wise in not having said more to the man
out-of-work.
"Do you think, Mr. Swallow, that if a master reclaimed a slave in this
county that there would be any trouble in carrying out the law?"
"No, sir," said Swallow. "The county authorities are all Democrats and
would obey the law. Suppose, sir, that you were frankly to put before me
the whole case, relying on my secrecy. Where is the man?"
"Let me then tell you my story.
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