"I'll take your uncle's word for it," returned the other, smiling. "I
think he'll go pretty far."

They had come to the flight of steps which descended to the yard,--and
the visitor, looking down upon the angry crowd, added, "If they don't
kill him!"

Joe himself was anxious concerning no such matter. He shook hands with
Happy at the end of the sitting, bidding him be of good cheer, and,
when the little man had marched away, under a strong guard, began to
gather and sort his papers at a desk inside the bar. This took him
perhaps five minutes, and when he had finished there were only three
people left in the room: a clerk, a negro janitor with a broom, and the
darky friend who always hopefully accompanies a colored man holding
high public office. These two approvingly greeted the young lawyer,
the janitor handing him a note from Norbert Flitcroft, and the friend
mechanically "borrowing" a quarter from him as he opened the envelope.

"I'll be roun' yo' way to git a box o' SE-gahs," laughed the friend,
"soon ez de campaign open up good. Dey all goin' vote yo' way, down on
the levee bank, but dey sho' expecks to git to smoke a little 'fo'
leckshun-day! We knows who's OW frien'!"

Norbert's missive was lengthy and absorbing; Joe went on his way,
perusing it with profound attention; but as he descended the stairway
to the floor below, a loud burst of angry shouting, outside the
building, caused him to hasten toward the big front doors which faced
Main Street. The doors opened upon an imposing vestibule, from which a
handsome flight of stone steps, protected by a marble balustrade, led
to the ground.

Standing at the top of these steps and leaning over the balustrade, he
had a clear view of half the yard. No one was near him; everybody was
running in the opposite direction, toward that corner of the yard
occupied by the jail, the crowd centring upon an agitated whirlpool of
men which moved slowly toward a door in the high wall that enclosed the
building; and Joe saw that Happy Fear's guards, conducting the prisoner
back to his cell, were being jostled and rushed. The distance they had
made was short, but as they reached the door the pressure upon them
increased dangerously. Clubs rose in the air, hats flew, the whirlpool
heaved tumultuously, and the steel door clanged.

Happy Fear was safe inside, but the jostlers were outside--baffled,
ugly, and stirred with the passion that changes a crowd into a mob.

The