“No, I’ll buy it. I—” Hud hesitated, then reached for the money. “That’s thoughtful of you. I’ll meet you at Doc’s.” He went away toward the orange and green lanterns, still holding his shoulders painfully straight.

Near the corner, and with people ambling along in little groups ahead of him, Dan felt a hand on his sleeve. He turned. A fat man had stepped out of the shadow of a big sycamore tree beside the road. “Bale,” he said, “I’ve been wanting to get a word with you.”

Dan asked, “Who is it?” Just a meaty body and a stubborn, round head in the gloom.

“Elmer Quagger. You remember me. I used to work for Bedford Fanning. Foreman of his shoe factory.”

“Yes,” said Bale. “I remember. How are you?”

The tension on his sleeve increased. “Come over here by these bushes a minute.” They moved into the deeper shadow.

Dan asked, “Well?”

“I’ve heard stuff about you, Bale. Wondered if it was—right.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Quagger cleared his throat, and his damp voice had a little more character to it. “There’s folks around here that might like to talk to you. If what I hear tell is—right—” He chewed soundlessly on nothing. “You ain’t in the army. We sort of wondered how you feel about the war, and all. You ain’t the only one, maybe, who is a friend of true liberty.”

Dan said, “I—you mean—” The truth began to convulse itself in his brain. He’s taking me for one of those—those— He asked, “You are talking about Copperheads?”

“That isn’t a word folks like to say, Bale. But if you’re a friend of true liberty—if you believe in freedom and fair play, and the downfall of imperialistic tyranny—”

Bale clenched his fist. “You—God—damn—” His arm kept trembling; he forced it down against his side. “Can’t a man have an idea of his own without being claimed by your gang? If I wanted to fight, I’d fight. North or South. It wouldn’t matter. If I wanted—” The round hulk in front of him was so mute and puddinged, so sickening and quiet. His hand shot forward; he seized the man’s coat collar.

Quagger said, with no fear: “Go easy, mister! If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. But go easy on me. I got a knife here—”

“Don’t you flash it in front of me,” Bale snarled. He hurled Quagger back into the yielding bridal-wreath bushes, then turned and walked away. Behind him he could hear the man thrashing about in the shrubbery. Two small boys advanced, peering, wondering at this commotion. “Go along with you,” Dan ordered. The boys fled down the path out of sight. They sent back derisive hoots from some hidden refuge. Flowers inside Grandma Leen’s fence surrounded the dark world with their poignant spice …