The snicker grew to a laugh--a laugh with a thread of grim menace in it, and a tinge of mounting man-hysteria. Even to these men, whose eyes were used to resting on ungainly and awkward old men, the figure of Judge Priest, standing in their way alone, had a grotesque emphasis. The judge's broad stomach stuck far out in front and was balanced by the rearward bulge of his umbrella. His white chin-beard was streaked with tobacco stains. The legs of his white linen trousers were caught up on his shins and bagged dropsically at the knees. His righthand pocket of his black alpaca coat was sagged away down by some heavy unseen weight. None of the men in the front rank joined in the snickering however; they only looked at the judge with a sort of respectful obstinacy. There was nothing said for maybe twenty seconds. “Jedge Priest,” said a spokesman, a tall, spare, bony man with a sandy drooping mustache and a nose that beaked over like a butcherbird's bill--“Jedge Priest, we've come after a nigger boy that's locked up in that jail yonder and we're goin' to have him! Speaking personally, most of us here know you and we all like you, suh; but I'll have to ask you to stand aside and let us go ahead about our business.” “Gentlemen,” said Judge Priest, without altering his tone, “the law of this state provides a proper----” “The law provides--eh?” mimicked the man who had laughed first. “The law provides, does it?” “----provides a fittin' and an orderly way of attendin' to these matters,” went on the judge. “In the absence of the other sworn officials of this county I represent in my own humble person the majesty of the law, and I say to you----” “Jedge Priest,” cut in the beaky-nosed man, “you are an old man and you stand mighty high in this community--none higher. We don't none of us want to do nothin' or say nothin' to you that mout be regretted afterward; but we air goin' to have that nigger out of that jail and stretch his neck for him. He's one nigger that's lived too long already. You'd better step back!” he went on. “You're just wastin' your time and ourn.” A growling assent to this sentiment ran through the mob. It was a growl that carried a snarl. There was a surging forward movement from the rear and a restless rustle of limbs. “Wait a minute, boys!” said the leader. “Wait a minute. There's no hurry--we'll git him! Jedge Priest,” he went on, changing his tone to one of regardful admonition, “you've got a race on for reëlection and you'll need every vote you kin git. I hope you ain't goin' to do nothin' that'll maybe hurt your chances among us Massac Creekers.” “That's the second time that's been throwed up to me inside of five minutes,” said Judge Priest. “My chances for election have nothin' to do with the matter now in hand--remember that!”