ills. They work 'em from twelve to sixteen hours a day
for from fifteen to fifty cents. Them triflin' old pinelanders out
there jus' lay aroun' and raise children for the mills, and then set
down and chaw tobacco an' live on their children's wages. It's a sin
an' a shame, an' there ought to be a law ag'inst it."

The conversation brought out the further fact that vice was rampant
among the millhands.

"An' it ain't surprisin'," said the liveryman, with indignation
tempered by the easy philosophy of hot climates. "Shut up in jail all
day, an' half the night, never breathin' the pyo' air, or baskin' in
God's bright sunshine; with no books to read an' no chance to learn,
who can blame the po'r things if they have a little joy in the only
way they know?"

"Who owns the mill?" asked the colonel.

"It belongs to a company," was the reply, "but Old Bill Fetters owns a
majority of the stock--durn, him!"

The colonel felt a thrill of pleasure--he had met a man after his own
heart.

"You are not one of Fetters's admirers then?" he asked.

"Not by a durn sight," returned the liveryman promptly. "When I look
at them white gals, that ought to be rosy-cheeked an' bright-eyed an'
plump an' hearty an' happy, an' them po' little child'en that never
get a chance to go fishin' or swimmin' or to learn anything, I allow I
wouldn' mind if the durned old mill would catch fire an' burn down.
They work children there from six years old up, an' half of 'em die of
consumption before they're grown. It's a durned outrage, an' if I ever
go to the Legislatur', for which I mean to run, I'll try to have it
stopped."

"I hope you will be elected," said the colonel. "What time does the
train go back to Clarendon?"

"Four o'clock, if she's on time--but it may be five."

"Do you suppose I can get dinner at the hotel?"

"Oh, yes! I sent word up that I 'lowed you might be back, so they'll
be expectin' you."

The proprietor was at the desk when the colonel went in. He wrote his
name on the book, and was served with an execrable dinner. He paid his
bill of half a dollar to the taciturn proprietor, and sat down on the
shady porch to smoke a cigar. The proprietor, having put the money in
his pocket, came out and stepped into his buggy, which was still
standing alongside the piazza. The colonel watched him drive a stone's
throw to a barroom down the street, get down, go in, come out a few
minutes later, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand,