gerous factor which, while it appeared to slumber, was so terribly
awake. They decided that he must be appeased, and they visited him.

He was still busy at his news-stand. They talked to him adroitly, while
he sorted papers and kept an impassive face. When they were all done, he
looked up for a moment and replied, "You know, gentlemen, as an
ex-convict I am not in politics."

Some of them had the grace to flush.

"But you can use your influence," they said.

"I am not in politics," was his only reply.

And the spring elections were coming on. Well, they worked hard, and he
showed no sign. He treated with neither one party nor the other.
"Perhaps," thought the managers, "he is out of politics," and they grew
more confident.

It was nearing eleven o'clock on the morning of election when a cloud no
bigger than a man's hand appeared upon the horizon. It came from the
direction of the black district. It grew, and the managers of the party
in power looked at it, fascinated by an ominous dread. Finally it began
to rain Negro voters, and as one man they voted against their former
candidates. Their organisation was perfect. They simply came, voted, and
left, but they overwhelmed everything. Not one of the party that had
damned Robinson Asbury was left in power save old Judge Davis. His
majority was overwhelming.

The generalship that had engineered the thing was perfect. There were
loud threats against the newsdealer. But no one bothered him except a
reporter. The reporter called to see just how it was done. He found
Asbury very busy sorting papers. To the newspaper man's questions he had
only this reply, "I am not in politics, sir."

But Cadgers had learned its lesson.

_Two_

ONE CHRISTMAS AT SHILOH

Martha Maria Mixon was a "widder lady." So she described herself
whenever anyone asked her as to her status in life. To her more intimate
friends she confided that she was not a "weed widder," but one of the
"grass" variety. The story of how her husband, Madison, had never been
"No 'count, even befo' de wah," and of his rapid degeneration
thereafter, was vividly told.

"De fact of de mattah is," Mrs. Mixon was wont to say, "my man, Madison,
was nevah no han' to wo'k. He was de settin'-downest man you evah seed.
Hit wouldn't 'a' been so bad, but Madison was a lakly man, an' his
tongue wah smoothah dan ile; so hit t'wan't no shakes fu' him to fool
ol' Mas' 'bout his wo'k an' git erlong des erbout ez he please