flock
of children. Now, what do you think that claim agent said he would pay
that nigger for his wife?"

"Well, I--"

"Well, but what do you _reckon_?"

"Why, I reckon about fifteen dollars."

"That's it, that's it!" said Blount, slapping his hand upon the board
until the glasses jingled. "That's just what he did offer; fifteen
dollars! Not a cent more."

"Well, now, Colonel Blount," said Eddring, "you know there's a heap of
mighty trifling niggers loose in this part of the world. You see, that
fellow would marry again in a little while, and he might get a heap
better woman next time. There's a lot of swapping wives among the
niggers at best. Now, here's a man lost his wife decent and respectable,
and there's nothing on earth a nigger likes better than a good funeral,
even if it has to be his own wife. Now, how many nigger funerals are
there that cost fifteen dollars? I'll bet you if that nigger had it to
do over again he'd a heap rather be rid of her and have the fifteen
dollars. Look at it! Fine funeral for one wife and something left over
to get a bonnet for his new wife. I'll bet there isn't a nigger on your
place that wouldn't jump at a chance like that."

Colonel Blount scratched his head. "You understand niggers all right,
I'll admit," said he. "But, now, supposin' it had been a white man?"

"Well, supposing it was?"

"We don't need to suppose. There was the same thing happened to a white
family. Wife got killed--left three children."

"Oh, you mean that accident down at Shelby?"

"Yes, Mrs. Something-or-other, she was. Well, sir, damn me, if that
infernal claim agent didn't have the face to offer fifteen dollars for
her, too."

"Looks almost like he played a fifteen-dollar limit all the time,
doesn't it?" said the visitor.

"It certainly does. It ain't right."

"Well, now, I heard about that woman. She was a tall, thin creature,
with no liver left at all, and her chills came three times a week. She
wouldn't work; she was red-headed and had only one straight eye; and as
for a tongue--well, I only hope, Colonel Blount, that you and I will
never have a chance to meet anything like that. Of course, I know she
was killed. Her husband just hated her before she died, but blame _me_,
just as soon as she was _dead_, he loved her more than if she was his
sweetheart all over again. Now, that's how it goes. Say, I want to tell
you, Colonel Blount, this road is plumb beneficent, if only for the fact
that it