The trader and Mr. Shelby were seated together in the dining room
afore-named, at a table covered with papers and writing utensils.

Mr. Shelby was busy in counting some bundles of bills, which, as they
were counted, he pushed over to the trader, who counted them likewise.

"All fair," said the trader; "and now for signing these yer."

Mr. Shelby hastily drew the bills of sale towards him, and signed them,
like a man that hurries over some disagreeable business, and then pushed
them over with the money. Haley produced, from a well-worn valise,
a parchment, which, after looking over it a moment, he handed to Mr.
Shelby, who took it with a gesture of suppressed eagerness.

"Wal, now, the thing's _done_!" said the trader, getting up.

"It's _done_!" said Mr. Shelby, in a musing tone; and, fetching a long
breath, he repeated, _"It's done!"_

"Yer don't seem to feel much pleased with it, 'pears to me," said the
trader.

"Haley," said Mr. Shelby, "I hope you'll remember that you promised, on
your honor, you wouldn't sell Tom, without knowing what sort of hands
he's going into."

"Why, you've just done it sir," said the trader.

"Circumstances, you well know, _obliged_ me," said Shelby, haughtily.