"They have no right to put this outrage on him before his people," she cried.
"No'm, they haint got no right, but they're goin' ter do it to-morrow mornin' just the same. They're goin' ter take him all the way ter Albany in that suit."
"Who's doing this?" she asked with rising wrath.
"Steve Hoyle, m'am. He's fixin' to have a big gang er niggers and low white trash here in the mornin' ter hoot and yell and make fun of him all the way to the train, an' I thought I'd tell ye."
"Thank you," she answered warmly, her big brown eyes beginning to flash fire.
"Ye know ef I'd step out, that suit o' clothes might be foun' missin'. It ain't mine. I'll swear to that. I don't know anybody that owns it, er wants it."
"I understand. Wrap it up, please. I can't touch it."
Stella shuddered and watched the jailor with wide-staring eyes as he picked up the suit, wrapped it in a piece of brown paper and laid it back on the chair.
"I got to go—there's somebody knockin' at the door—course, I won't know what's become er the d thing."
He left her with a grin, and Stella seized the
