“I’ve heard that speech a million times, Son,” said the Great Lord God, “and you needn’t go into details. I admit you are right,” and he handed the lightning bolt back to the cherub. “But,” continued the Great Lord God, “I will not let this thing pass.” His brow clouded in anger again. “I am the Great I am,” he roared, “and my commands shall be obeyed.” The kind angel sat meekly and argued no further. “Willie Malone,” commanded the Great Lord God in a tone of thunder. “Yassuh, Great Lord God,” replied Willie, jumping to his feet. “You go right back down yonder and make that speech. He’s sitting in the jail office right now with Captain Archie. Now go and do my commands.” * * * * * Willie lost no time in getting to the jail. As he approached, he noticed a half-dozen Negroes--friends of his--standing in the rain about the big steel door entry to the lower cells. But he hurried by them with only a curt “hy-dy, boys.” The fact that they ignored him stung a little but he had no time to lose. He went straight to the office entrance. The green-eyed man was seated at a table fingering five new ten-dollar bills. The coroner was scratching away with a pen on a big official-looking document. The editor and the two Gibbses were talking in low tones. Cap’m Archie was hunched down in his chair at his desk, looking at the floor. Willie stood a minute respectfully, hoping Cap’m Archie would notice him and inquire what he wanted. But Cap’m Archie did not look toward him and Willie tried a scheme that had worked many times for him. “Cap’m, suh,” he said, “don’ you want dis ole dirty flo’ swep’ up er somethin’?” But Cap’m Archie acted as though he did not hear. Willie cogitated. Maybe he was worrying about forgetting the cigar. But as the thought came to Willie Cap’m Archie slowly reached to his vest pocket and drew out a single long black cigar and studied it intently. “You got the mate to that’n, Sheriff?” Ole Green Eyes quit shuffling the new bills and directed his attention toward the cigar. “Nope,” replied Cap’m Archie, “I ain’t got the mate to this’n.” And he tightened his grip on the cigar until he had broken and crushed it. “And if I did have it,” he added, “I’d damn well keep it.” “No hard feelings, Sheriff,” offered Green Eyes. “I see you ain’t used to it. Cheer up. It’s just another nigger less.” A scraping of feet in the jail hall at the side of the office attracted the attention of both Cap’m Archie and Green Eyes. Willie followed their gaze through the barred hall door and saw six Negroes carrying a long black box toward the big jail door. Behind the box marched Preacher Moore, directing and exhorting as he went. “There he goes now--out of yer jail and out of yer life. It’s all over and yer duty’s done.” Cap’m Archie squeezed the cigar tightly, crumbling it into tiny bits.