led to an old
man in the next room. "Law, I don't know whether he can tell you
anything or not. He's getting pretty feeble. Now five or six years ago
he could have told you lots of things. But now----I don't know."

Into the "front room" hobbled the old fellow. His back was bent, his
eyes dimmed with age. His face was the sort often called "good"--not
good in the sense stupid acquiescence--but rather evidence of an
intelligent, non-preditory meeting of the problems of life.

A quarter, handed the old fellow at the beginning of the interview
remained clutched in his hand throughout the entire conversation.
Because of events during the talk the interviewer reached for her
change purse to find and offer another quarter. It was not in her
purse. Getting up from her chair she looked on the floor about her. It
wasn't there. Mrs. Logan, who had gone back to bed, wanted to know
what the trouble was, and was worried when she found what was missing.
By manner the interviewer put over the idea that she wasn't suspecting
either of the two. But Logan, not having heard the entire conversation
got to his feet and extended his hand--the one holding the quarter,
offering it back to the interviewer.

When he rose, there was the purse as it had slipped down on the seat
of the rocker which the interviewer had almost taken and in which she
had probably carelessly tossed her purse. A second quarter, added to
his first, brought a beaming smile from the old man. But for the rest
of the afternoon there was a lump in the interviewer's throat. Here
was a man, evidently terribly in need of money, ready, without even a
tiny protest, to return a gift of cash which must have meant so much
to him--on the barest notion in his mind that the interviewer wanted
it back.

"Be patient with me ma'am," Logan began, "I can't remember so good.
And I want to get it all right. I don't want to spoil my record now. I
been honest all my life, always stood up and told the truth, done what
was right. I don't want to spoil things and lie in my mouth now. Give
me time to think.

I was born, on----December----December 15. It was in 1848----I think.
I was born in the house of Mrs. Cozine. She was living on Third Street
in Little Rock. It was near the old Catholic Church. Was only a little
ways from the State House. Mrs. Cozine, she was my first mistress.
Then she sold me, me and my mother and a couple of brothers.

It was Governor Roane she sold me to. Don't know j