"I'm a sinful man, sir," he said with a smile. "Besides, I prefer to live, on general principles."
"I'll pay you well," urged the old man, "and if you secure the conviction of Ben Cameron, the man we believe to be the head of this Klan, I'll give you ten thousand dollars."
The lawyer was whittling on a piece of pine meditatively.
"That's a big lot of money in these hard times. I'd like to own it, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be good at the bank on the other side. I prefer the green fields of South Carolina to those of Eden. My harp isn't in tune."
Stoneman snorted in disgust:
"Will you ask the Mayor to call to see me at once?"
"We ain't got none," was the laconic answer.
"What do you mean?"
"Haven't you heard what happened to his Honour last night?"
"No."
"The Klan called to see him," went on the lawyer with a quizzical look, "at 3 a. m. Rather early for a visit of state. They gave him forty-nine lashes on his bare back, and persuaded him that the climate of Piedmont didn't agree with him. His Honour, Mayor Bizzel, left this morning with his negro wife and brood of mulatto children for his home, the slums of Cleveland, Ohio. We are deprived of his illustrious example, and he may not be a wiser man than when he came, but he's a much sadder one."
Stoneman dismissed the even-tempered member of the
