" "Iss, missis," grinned the black. Ireton, was appointed to the office, stood with a hammer in one hand, and a punch in the other, near the great stone block, ready to fulfil his duty. You won't often see white folks. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. Drawing his hanger he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon those most in advance, and made an attempt to seize their leader, in whom he recognised Blueskin. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual.
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