He alone of the Milburns had lifted himself out of the
forest region of Somerset, and settled in the town, and, by silence,
frugality, hard bargaining, and, finally, by money-lending, had become a
person of unknown means--himself almost unknown. He was, ostensibly, a
merchant or storekeeper, and did deal in various kinds of things,
keeping no clerk or attendant but a negro named Samson, who knew as
little about his mind and affections as the rest of the town. Samson's
business was to clean and produce the mysterious hat, which he knew to
be required every time he saw his master shave.
As soon as the lather-cup and hone were agitated, Samson, without
inquiry, went into a big green chest in the bedroom over the old wooden
store, and drew out of a leather hat-box the steeple-crown, where
Meshach Milburn himself always sacredly replaced it. Then "Samson Hat,"
as the boys called him, exercised his brush vigorously, and put the
queer old head-gear in as formal shape as possible, and he silently
attended to its rehabilitation through the medium of the village hatter,
never leaving the shop until the tile had been repaired, and suffering
none whatever to handle it except the mechanic. In addition to this,
Samson cooked his master's food, and performed rough work around the
store, but had no other known qualification for a confidential servant
except his bodily power.
He was now old, probably sixty, but still a most formidable pugilist;
and he had caught, running afoot, the last wild deer in the county.
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