that now
came from the distance, "Oo-o-oh, Ver-er-ma-an!"

Verman, in his seclusion, did not hear that appeal from his brother;
there were too many walls between them. But he was becoming impatient
for release, though, all in all, he had not found the confinement
intolerable or even very irksome. His character was philosophic, his
imagination calm; no bugaboos came to trouble him. When the boys closed
the door upon him, he made himself comfortable upon the floor and, for
a time, thoughtfully chewed a patent-leather slipper that had come under
his hand. He found the patent leather not unpleasant to his palate,
though he swallowed only a portion of what he detached, not being hungry
at that time. The soul-fabric of Verman was of a fortunate weave; he was
not a seeker and questioner. When it happened to him that he was at
rest in a shady corner, he did not even think about a place in the sun.
Verman took life as it came.

Naturally, he fell asleep. And toward the conclusion of his slumbers, he
had this singular adventure: a lady set her foot down within less than
half an inch of his nose--and neither of them knew it. Verman slept on,
without being wakened by either the closing or the opening of the
door. What did rouse him was something ample and soft falling upon
him--Margaret's cape, which slid from the hook after she had gone.

Enveloped in its folds, Verman sat up, corkscrewing his knuckles
into the corners of his eyes. Slowly he became aware of two important
vacuums--one in time and one in his stomach. Hours had vanished
strangely into nowhere; the game of bonded prisoner was something cloudy
and remote of the long, long ago, and, although Verman knew where
he was, he had partially forgotten how he came there. He perceived,
however, that something had gone wrong, for he was certain that he ought
not to be where he found himself.

WHITE-FOLKS' HOUSE! The fact that Verman could not have pronounced these
words rendered them no less clear in his mind; they began to stir
his apprehension, and nothing becomes more rapidly tumultuous than
apprehension once it is stirred. That he might possibly obtain release
by making a noise was too daring a thought and not even conceived,
much less entertained, by the little and humble Verman. For, with the
bewildering gap of his slumber between him and previous events, he did
not place the responsibility for his being in White-Folks' House upon
the white folks who had put him there. H