"I'm afraid of these Negroes down here myself," said Wyeth. "A few nights ago, I was standing on a corner in Effingham, when one of them came up the street slapping his wife or woman, or whatever she was, something outrageously. I felt constrained to punch him in the jaw, the brute, especially when she ran around a bunch of us trying to escape the blows he was raining on her face. I didn't, and some time later I was talking with a cop that patrols that beat. I told him of the incident. 'That's nothing,' he said. 'I started to punch him,' I said. 'You'd better not punch any of these Negroes,' he warned. 'They'll shoot you down like a dog. This is Effingham.'" "Well," said Beasely, "I'm going to the game myself to have a hand in the affair, if he starts anything. Wanta go 'long?" Since he had nothing to do, he decided that it would be a good outing and some diversion, so, rising, he followed. As they started, a ragged, dirty Negro rushed up. He wanted Beasely, being unable to locate Smith, to let him have ten dollars to get his brother out of jail, who had gotten into a squabble down in a saloon and got run in. "Let him stay there until tomorrow, and we won't have to get him out but once. If he is gotten out today, he's liable to be in again before the day is spent," replied Beasely carelessly. The other went his way with mutterings. They had not gone far before they came upon another. He had a load, a heavy load. So heavy that he could scarcely make it. However, with a superior effort, he managed to drag his feet along, and join them. "Abe Thomas," remonstrated Beasely. "You are a disgrace to yourself and the human race." The other accepted the rebuke in good nature. He declared, that since it was the fourth, he was entitled by the law of the land to get drunk, and convince the public to that effect. "The fourth do'n' come but once a yeah," he said. "But I'm a good guy all the time 'n' all the time. Fifty years I've been in this world and don't look forty." He didn't, which was an odd thing, thought Wyeth. "Say, Beasely, lend me a dollar!" he exclaimed. Wyeth was again surprised; for Beasely, without a word, but a laugh full of humor, drew forth a silver dollar, and handed it over. As they walked along leisurely, Wyeth remarked about the crops, which did not appear to be doing much good in the highlands. "You know why that is?" said their companion, winking wisely. "That's because all this land about here is undermined, and the water goes on through." Wyeth looked at him. He looked back at Wyeth and winked. "You are philosophical indeed," said he. "How far is it to the mines below?" "Three hundred feet," Beasely replied. "And between that is all kinds of rock, hard pan and shale?" "Oh, sure," replied the other; "but what has that to do with it?"