Black people claim to fear God and no other. They don't. The most of them do not understand it in a larger sense. No. But, notwithstanding the fact that, in Dixie they are forever breaking it, they _do_ fear the law--and the white man. They filed now, a row at a time, and a few feet apart, across the street. Under the flaring electric street lamp they passed, some bareheaded, but all downcast, discouraged and remorseful. Oh, this was the law. The law of Effingham declared: "Thou must not game!" In the middle of the street they walked, and a few minutes later, they passed under the light of the lamp at the next intersection, and disappeared in the direction of the station. And it was only then, Wyeth recalled, that among them he had not observed Glenview. He was not there, he was positive; and yet he was at the game. Where was he? Where did he go? He turned his eyes in the direction of the rear, and at that moment Glenview walked into view. "You!" cried many voices, for a curious crowd of crooks had gathered. Good people had long since retired. "Well?" he smiled. "Well...." "I'm _here_. Not _there_!" And his eyes went in the direction of the others, who were now passing under another light, into a bigger light. "Well?" "I saw they were nothing but a pair of snots." "Well?" "The window was open." "The window?" "And the _outside_ air was _very_ inviting. Much more than that _other_." "Oh...." It was becoming clear to all now. The Mis' looked disappointed. Sometimes she had not liked Glenview.... He winked and went to the front of the house. "Well," sighed the Mis', resignedly. "They certainly got a bunch of them," and then laughed, a laugh that Wyeth had heard before and knew. Not a cheerful laugh, but a dry, hard laugh. One that was possible after years of bitterness. By this time, a score or more Negroes, denizens of the night, had gathered and were exchanging opinions, offering theories, and executing objections. "Some low down nigga done turned'm up." This was what a large Negress, with imposing hips, was saying. She sold liquor across the way, and conducted a house for any kind of purpose. "Some doity li'l' stool pigeon," added another, who was more doubtful still. Wyeth regarded them a moment in disgust. They were dressed as they were when they arose that morning or that afternoon, or whenever it was, which was not in the last hour or two. It was Glenview who detailed the raid now at some length. "A big Negro was shooting for three dollars. A little guy, who appeared to be very drunk, kept making a fuss, finally asking to be let out. He went, and when Murphy opened the street door for that purpose, well, in walked the bulls--no, the little snots."