Salem and its witchcraft; there is the south and its lynching. When
the blind frenzy of a people condemn a man as soon as he is accused,
his enemies need not look far for a pretext!"

THE FINDING OF ZACH

The rooms of the "Banner" Club--an organization of social intent, but
with political streaks--were a blaze of light that Christmas Eve
night. On the lower floor some one was strumming on the piano, and
upstairs, where the "ladies" sat, and where the Sunday smokers were
held, a man was singing one of the latest coon songs. The "Banner"
always got them first, mainly because the composers went there, and
often the air of the piece itself had been picked out or patched
together, with the help of the "Banner's" piano, before the song was
taken out for somebody to set the "'companiment" to it.

The proprietor himself had just gone into the parlor to see that the
Christmas decorations were all that he intended them to be when a door
opened and an old man entered the room. In one hand he carried an
ancient carpetbag, which he deposited on the floor, while he stared
around at the grandeur of the place. He was a typical old uncle of the
South, from the soles of his heavy brogans to the shiny top of his
bald pate, with its fringe of white wool. It was plain to be seen that
he was not a denizen of the town, or of that particular quarter. They
do not grow old in the Tenderloin. He paused long enough to take in
the appointments of the place, then, suddenly remembering his manners,
he doffed his hat and bowed with old-fashioned courtesy to the
splendid proprietor.

"Why, how'do, uncle!" said the genial Mr. Turner, extending his hand.
"Where did you stray from?"

"Howdy, son, howdy," returned the old man gravely. "I hails f'om
Miss'ippi myse'f, a mighty long ways f'om hyeah."

His voice and old-time intonation were good to listen to, and Mr.
Turner's thoughts went back to an earlier day in his own life. He was
from Maryland himself. He drew up a chair for the old man and took one
himself. A few other men passed into the room and stopped to look with
respectful amusement at the visitor. He was such a perfect bit of old
plantation life and so obviously out of place in a Tenderloin club
room.

"Well, uncle, are you looking for a place to stay?" pursued Turner.

"Not 'zackly, honey; not 'zackly. I come up hyeah a-lookin' fu' a son
o' mine dat been away f'om home nigh on to five years. He live hyeah
in Noo Yo'k, an' dey t