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“Now, I ain’ gwine to do dat!” exclaimed the old woman.

At this moment Graeme softly opened the door. The mammy was standing with her back to him, and in one chair, tilted back with his feet in another chair, was a large and unctuous-looking negro of middle age, in all the glory of a black broadcloth coat and a white tie. He was engaged at the moment in blowing small wreaths, while little Ben stood by and gazed at him with open-eyed wonder and delight.

At sight of Mr. Graeme, the preacher with a gulp, which sadly disturbed his last effort, rose to his feet. An expression of fear flitted across his face, then gave way to a crafty, half-insolent look.

“Good evening, sir,” he began, with an insinuating smile, not wholly free from uneasiness.

“Good evening, Amos. Mammy, will you kindly go to your mistress. Take the boy with you. Run along, son.”

The old woman with a half-scared air led the child out, and Mr. Graeme closed the door and turned back to the visitor, who looked much embarrassed.

“Take my cigars out of your pocket.”

The preacher’s hand went involuntarily to his breast-pocket, and then came down.

“What! Your cigars out of my pocket? I have no cigars of yours, sir.” He spoke with slightly rising severity, as Mr. Graeme remained so calm.

“Oh, yes, you have. But no matter for the present. You had just as well leave them there for a moment. What are you doing, coming here all the time?”

“What am I doing?–Coming here? I am a minister of the Gawspel, sir, and I have a member of my congregation here, and I come to look after her welfare.”

“And to see that she gets recognition?”

“Suh?”–with a wince.

“And incidentally to rob me of my cigars, and her of her small savings”–pursued Mr. Graeme, calmly.

“Suh? Nor, suh, I has not done dat I will take my oath to it on the word of Almighty God.”

The veneer of his fine speech had all been dropped, and the Rev. Johnson was talking naturally enough now.

“What did you do with that money you took from her?”

“What did I do wid–? What money?”

Mr. Graeme showed impatience for the first time.

“The four hundred and fifty-five dollars you got from her. Was there more than that?”

At this point Mam’ Lyddy opened the door and came in. She looked somewhat mystified and rather disturbed, but she said nothing. She only took her stand, and with arms folded waited silent and observant.

The negro saw that Mr. Graeme knew of the fact and answered promptly.

“Oh! You are mistaken, sir. I have taken no money of her. You can ax her. She had a sum of money which I as a favor to her invested for her. You can ask the sister there. I suppose you refer to that!”

“Invested! In what?”

“Ah–ur–in–ur–the Afro-American Sister’s Loan and Trust Association. I have promised to invest it in that for her.”

He stammered a good deal at the start, but was glib enough when he brought out the name. “Didn’t I, sister!”

“Yes, sir.” The old woman was manifestly impressed. The preacher’s cunning face brightened.

“You see what she says?”

“With its chief office at the Race-course out here,” said Graeme, with a toss of his head. “Look here, I want you to get that money.”

The negro shot a glance at Mam’ Lyddy and decided that she would stand by him. He suddenly stiffened up and resumed his affected manner.

“Well, sir, I do not know by what right you interfere with my affairs–or this lady’s.”

“You don ‘t? Well, that’s what I am going to show you now. My right is that she is a member of my family, whom I am going to protect from just such scoundrels and thieves as you, Amos Brown.”

The preacher received the name like a blow.

At the words the old mammy jumped as if she were shot. She leaned forward, moving up slowly.

“What’s dat?–‘Amos Brown‘? What’s dat you said, Marse Cabell? ‘Amos Brown‘?”