“Good ernuff fer anybody,” seconded the preacher loudly, happy that he had found some place to enter into the ceremony with the dignity of his calling. “Hit’s de ole time religion, and hit’s good ernuff fer me!” As the party marched up the narrow steps to the gallows, the Negro prisoners on the lower tier of cells caught up the refrain and the brick walls of the little jail reverberated with: “Gimme dat ole time religion, Gimme dat ole time religion, Gimme dat ole time religion, Lawd, Hit’s good ernuff fer me. “Hit will take you home to Glory, Hit will take you home to Glory, Hit will take you home to Glory, Lawd, Hit’s good ernuff fer me.” The climb to the gallows took a remarkably short time and Willie noticed that as soon as they arrived there “Ole Green Eyes” rushed to the rope that was lying handy and began making a loop in the end of it. “Makes me love ev’ybody,” Willie insisted. Everybody seemed nervous. Cap’m Archie couldn’t look at him. The editor was talking with big words to the elder of the Gibbses and said something about “dancing on the air.” Willie didn’t understand it but he knew he wasn’t going to dance on anything. Dancing would send him straight to hell. He had the preacher’s word for it. He edged over toward Cap’m Archie. “When does I make my speech, Cap’m Archie?” he asked. The jailer did not look up. “In a minute,” he replied. “When you are ready to--when they stand you over there.” He pointed to the trapdoor with his foot. “Come over here, nigger.” It was “Ole Green Eyes” again. Willie stood on the trapdoor. “Makes me love ev’ybody,” he kept repeating as the knot was being drawn close to his ear. “Makes me love ev’ybody.” When the knot was finished the little stubby man slipped a black hood over Willie’s head and stepped back. A jaybird on a dead limb of the cottonwood broke out in a scathing chatter of malediction at the crow. A dog howled mournfully in the jail yard below. The katydids in the weed patch opened with a wild symphony of fiddling. “Somethin’ ’bout to happen,” Willie concluded. “I guess I better make my speech.” He threw back his shoulders and raised his chin as though about to address a large congregation. “Folkses,” he began in a clear, strong voice, “I has a few words I wants to say to y’all----” “Too late now, nigger.” It was that stubby little man. And even as the trap gave way under his feet Willie began: “Makes me love ev’ybody.” * * * * *