d his horse while he went into the hotel
after Harriet. That, too, was considered quite the proper thing--a
custom which had come down from slavery days--and as there was a
scarcity of black boys in the village, Bates had brought his all the
way from his father's plantation. The boy was expected to walk back
home after the couple got started, but Bates intended to give him
something for his trouble, and the distinction of holding Mr. Bates's
horse in town was something the boy never expected to forget.

Bates had been a common farm-boy before he studied law, and the handles
of ploughs, axes, and grubbing-hoes had enlarged the joints of his
fingers and hardened his palms. He had studied at night, earned a
reputation as an off-hand speaker hard to be downed in debating
societies, made a few speeches on the stump for willing gubernatorial
candidates, and was now looked upon as a possible Democratic nominee
for the Legislature. Most young lawyers in that part of the State were
called "Colonel," and Bates had been addressed by the title once or
twice.

Westerfelt pretended not to see him as he passed, but he urged Jake to
hurry up and get out his horse and buggy. He had a strange idea that
it would humiliate him in Harriet's eyes to be seen by her as she
passed with a man he now regarded as a rival. He would have given much
to have had any sort of companion with him. Jake had some difficulty
in backing the horse into the shafts, and before Westerfelt could get
started, he saw Harriet come out on the veranda and follow Bates to his
buggy. However, Westerfelt managed to get started before they did, and
drove on without looking back. Knowing that Bates was fond of fast
driving, and fearing that he might overtake him, Westerfelt drove
rapidly. The fires of jealousy were raging within him. He told
himself that it would be a long time before he would ask her again to
go with him anywhere, and during that drive he almost convinced himself
that he could give her up without much regret. He was sure Bates
wanted to marry her. Such a stolid, matter-of-fact man would never
visit a girl with less serious intentions. Bates, of course, was
ignorant of the girl's early love for Wambush. He wondered if she
would ever confess to the lawyer as she had to him. He thought it
unlikely; for he had found it out and mentioned it to her first, and,
besides, her experience with him had taught her discretion. Westerfelt
would have be