“By gosh, Marse John!” Skeeter squalled. “You mighty nigh skeart de gizzard out of me. I thought a ha’nt was tryin’ to lift dat door!” At the sound of Skeeter’s voice Flournoy laughed. In the many years that Skeeter had been his “pet nigger,” his “favorite insect,” Flournoy had found him in so many unexpected places that he had ceased to be surprised. “What are you doing up on this roof?” Flournoy asked, pushing up the trap-door and looking at Skeeter’s outline in the dark. “I climbed up to look fer fire on de roof, Marse John,” Skeeter said, artfully blocking the door with his foot so that the sheriff could not easily raise it higher. “Dis roof is powerful slick, Marse John. You better not climb out. Dar ain’t no fire up here nohow!” “Come on then; let’s go down,” the sheriff answered, backing down the ladder. Skeeter followed willingly, latching the trap-door securely behind him as he descended. At the foot of the ladder, the sheriff turned his flash-light into Skeeter’s face. “Where’s your shirt, Skeeter?” he asked. “I didn’t take no time to put on no shirt, Marse John,” Skeeter chuckled. “When I heard de kunnel’s house wus on fire, I jes’ nachelly abandoned all de clothes I didn’t need.” “That was right,” Flournoy approved. “You’re a white nigger!” V By the time Flournoy and Skeeter had reached the ground, the volunteer firemen had grown weary and gone home. The engines, hose-wagon, ladder-trucks, automobiles, all had gone home. “I’ll leave you here for the rest of the night, Skeeter,” Flournoy remarked as he turned his flash upon his watch to see the time. “I think Vinegar Atts must have delirium tremens, or something like that.” “He didn’t git ’em at de Hen-Scratch, Marse John,” Skeeter said earnestly. “He buys all his drinks on credick, an’ I holds him down till he’s mighty nigh teetotal prohibitionist.” “You mean that you are the prohibitionist and he is of necessity the almost total abstainer.” “Yes, suh, it’s jes’ as much dat way as it is de way I said it.” Half an hour later Skeeter sneaked up the steps, unlatched the trap-door, and pushed it open. Seven negroes were standing with anxious faces at the opening, and they welcomed Skeeter with exclamations of thanksgiving which sounded like a Shoofly prayer and praise service. One by one they climbed down the ladder, then marched in single file to the kitchen. Skeeter switched on the electric light, and the eight idiots stood about in dejected attitudes, sleepy, winking at the light, worn with excitement and fatigue, depressed by their frightful experiences. Pap Curtain was a man of age and discretion; he had had various legal experiences which had put a special emphasis for him upon the motto: “Safety First.” He looked his seven companions in evil over very searchingly, then turned to them with these words: “You niggers cross yo’ heart an’ body!” They made the sign.