It was now eight-forty. In ten minutes court would begin. But still others came, and came, and came. Women and men, boys and girls--even children. And eighty per cent of them were Negroes, his people. Would they never quit coming? What manner of business did these people conduct that brought so many into court? And at last came the judge. He was, in all appearance, a young man. Evidently he was not, because Sidney had been told that he had been on that bench for twenty-five years. Court was then opened. Inside a fencing, many white people sat in chairs. Who they were, or what part of the proceeding they represented, he could not tell. Prisoners were then being arraigned. From somewhere, he did not see, but it was not from the detention room where the "_great_" herd was, a young Negro of striking appearance was led forward. He was tall and slender, and what caught the attention of Sidney Wyeth was, that there was nothing criminal in his appearance. He was about twenty-five years of age, and wore shackles about his ankles, as well as upon his wrists. He made a pathetic picture. Sidney listened carefully, as he stood before the judge, while talking in an undertone. He could not hear what was said, but, presently, the prisoner was led outside and away. He never learned what charge was made against this young man, although he would have liked to know. On a table that stood to one side of the bench, behind which the judge and clerk sat, were several cases of liquor. Evidence against some poor devil was strong, thought Wyeth. The gavel fell. The first prisoner brought forward and placed before the judge, was a Negro of medium size and height, and about middle age. He did not possess the look of a criminal either. In fact, not all of these people, or any great part of them, appeared to be criminal, if Sidney Wyeth had observed criminology correctly. Yet there was a charge, himself for instance. This one was charged with having been drunk and making a big noise. He admitted the charge. "Where did you get it," demanded Judge Loyal. "On Dalton street." "Who from?" "A nigga." "Who was he?" "A nigga." "I don't mean that. What was his name?" "Dunno." "You don't know, yet you purchased enough liquor of him to get drunk, whoop it up and disturb the peace of the populace." "Yassar." "Did you ever see him before?" "Nawsar." "Was it corn whiskey or rye?" "Niedda." "Well--what was it?" "Gin." "Oh! Gin...." "Sparrow Gin." "Ten dollars and cost. Next!" There was some delay before the next ones were brought forward. When they came, there was some anxiety. They were white men from one of the suburbs. As to how they happened to be in this court was a matter for conjecture; but the charge was fighting. A witness mounted the stand by request. "Your name is?--" "Bill Sykes." "William Sykes. Very well, William Sykes, what do you know about this affair? Tell it to the court."