as he's a mind
to with," said Moses, with a view to drawing Bijah out. But the remark
had exactly the opposite effect, Bijah screwing up his face into an
expression of extraordinary secrecy and cunning.

"How much did you git out of it, Bije?" demanded Chester.

"Hain't looked through my clothes yet," said Bijah, his face screwed up
tighter than ever. "N-never look through my clothes till I git home,
Chester, it hain't safe."

It has become painfully evident that Mr. Bixby is that rare type of man
who can sit down under the enemy's ramparts and smoke him out. It was a
rule of Jethro's code either to make an effective departure or else to
remain and compel the other man to make an ineffective departure. Lem
Hallowell might have coped with him; but the stage was late, and after
some scratching of heads and delving for effectual banter (through which
Mr. Bixby sat genial and unconcerned), Chester's followers took their
leave, each choosing his own pretext.

In the meantime William Wetherell had entered the store by the back
door--unperceived, as he hoped. He had a vehement desire to be left in
peace, and to avoid politics and political discussions forever--vain
desire for the storekeeper of Coniston. Mr. Wetherell entered the store,
and to take his mind from his troubles, he picked up a copy of Byron:
gradually the conversation on the stoop died away, and just as he was
beginning to congratulate himself and enjoy the book, he had an
unpleasant sensation of some one approaching him measuredly. Wetherell
did not move; indeed, he felt that he could not--he was as though charmed
to the spot. He could have cried aloud, but the store was empty, and
there was no one to hear him. Mr. Bixby did not speak until he was within
a foot of his victim's ear. His voice was very nasal, too.

"Wetherell, hain't it?"

The victim nodded helplessly.

"Want to see you a minute."

"What is it?"

"Where can we talk private?" asked Mr. Bixby, looking around.

"There's no one here," Wetherell answered. "What do you wish to say?"

"If the boys was to see me speakin' to you, they might git
suspicious--you understand," he confided, his manner conveying a hint
that they shared some common policy.

"I don't meddle with politics," said Wetherell, desperately.

"Exactly!" answered Bijah, coming even closer. "I knowed you was a
level-headed man, moment I set eyes on you. Made up my mind I'd have a
little talk in private with you--you underst