"Hold on heh', George," argued Moore with the bartender, "you know how I take mine. A half-a-pint 'n' two glasses." The bartender obeyed. Here Wyeth observed, was diplomacy, albeit economy. Moore paid twenty-five cents for the half pint, wherein he and Legs had six sociable drinks, three a-piece; whereas, the same would have totalled sixty cents otherwise. "How's this town for gettin' hold a-something?" inquired Legs of Moore, when John Barleycorn was doing his duty. "Best town in the south to get it, if you're wise," Moore winked. Legs responded with a big wink. "I'm the man that put 'w' in whiskey," he smiled. "I'n get mine when it's in the gettin'." "What's your line?" from Moore, pouring more whiskey. "Anything from heavin' coal to sellin' liquah and operatin' a crap game, and a little 'skin' when the crowd's right." "I see," said the other thoughtfully, then added: "And your friends?" "This lad here is going to school to learn how to get 'his without workin'; while the other boy," pointing to Wyeth, "is already doin' it." "Well, men," began Moore, as he opened a fresh half pint that Legs paid for, "as I said, 'f you're _wise_, Effingham is the best town in the country for pickin's. It is, as you should know, the greatest industrial center in the south." "So I have understood," interposed Wyeth, waiving the bartender's invitation aside; "I am anxious to learn something, everything about the town, and the colored people." "Are they employed in considerable numbers at the mines, steel mills and furnaces about here, of which the city possesses so many?" "Thousands upon thousands," he was informed. "And how are they paid? From a personal standpoint, I'd be glad to know?" went on Wyeth. "All kinds of wages, and at various times. Some receive as low as a dollar and a quarter, while others make as high as seven and eight; but the average wage runs from a dollar fifty, to three dollars." "How's the crap games?" from Legs, with the usual smile. "Nigga's will shoot craps, yu' know," grinned Moore. "I shoot a little myself when the moon's right," he winked. "I want t' find a good game as soon as possible, and win about a hundred," said Legs, beginning to show the effects of liquor. Hatfield and Wyeth left them to their cheerful diversion, which was now, to all appearance, warming to the superlative. The former went toward town, looking for certain friends. Wyeth went back to the place where he was going to stay, and retired. They had called up for their luggage before they went to the saloon. Wyeth was sleeping peacefully, when he was aroused by an argument on the porch. He tried to close his ears, but the same was persistent. It was between the landlady and the expressman, who had arrived with the stuff. "That little trunk is as heavy as lead," he heard that worthy saying.