And Wyeth came to see for himself. They were crossing the wide street now, and went up another that was as wide, but no cars ran up that way. "This is Basin court," said the other, as they paused outside of a two-story structure, that opened its doors upon the street. A big, fat, brown-skinned man appeared presently, and bade them enter. When they were inside they met another--a woman, and she was fatter still. It was the man's wife, and she appeared to be in charge, from her statements regarding the rental. They were from Alabama, and one glance was sufficient to show they were not creole. Wyeth bought some beer, and the fat man went for it with a pitcher. He returned with as much for a dime, as would have cost twenty-five cents in Effingham. He said so to the other, and then the others laughed and said: "This is the city where they drink it. They drink more here than anywhere else in the world." Wyeth recalled a year before--but then these people had seen only a small part of the world, as their conversation later revealed, and, of course--but it didn't matter. "You genemens goin' to the dance?" said the woman. "To the dance?" Wyeth repeated. "This is Sunday!" They smiled at him now--all of them--and then said: "Sunday is the day of sport in this town. More dances occur on Sunday than any other day." Wyeth whistled. "This is the creole city," and they smiled again. "This gentleman is from a more pious territory," said the porter, appreciatively. He seemed to be very intelligent. "What kind of work do the genemen follow?" asked the hostess. "Books," Wyeth replied. "They don't read much down here," she said, dubiously. "Some do everywhere--more or less!" "They are strongly engaged in the art of having a good time here," remarked the porter, and laughed. "I suppose so," said Wyeth. "And, since practically half of the colored people of the state are illiterate, I am, of course, compelled to agree with you." They talked on other topics now, and Wyeth, not feeling sleepy, suggested venturing out sight seeing. He went alone, and what he saw, he did not soon forget. When the door had closed behind him, and his steps died away in the distance, the fat man winked and the woman smiled; then the pair spoke, in the same breath: "Books--huh! He he! Books--huh! He he!" They regarded the porter with a smile; but he did not, strange to say, share their point of view. But they had their say, nevertheless. "Books--huh!" CHAPTER TWO _At Last She Didn't Care_