Ike paused and looked amiably at him for some moments.
"Good morning, coloured scion," he said pleasantly.
"Mawnin', boss," said the negro, grinning widely.
"Coloured scion," said Ike, "hereafter--to oblige me--would you mind whoopin' it up with yore broom a leetle faster ?" The negro scowled and muttered, and the next moment sprang sprawling forward with a scream.

Ike had shot off the heel of his shoe, in the process not sparing all of the foot.

The negro went ashy pale, and believed himself mortally hurt, but was restored by the icy tones of his visitor, who said, evenly and calmly: "Coloured scion, please go over into that far corner and begin to sweep there, and then come on over the rest of the flo'.

Now, sweep!" The negro swept as he had never swept before.

Twice a bullet cut the floor at his feet; and at last the stick of the broom was shattered in his hand.