There were one or two judges before whom he had been tried that he admired and thought to be good men. He did not blame them for the sentences they had given him, but explained to Archie that they had to do this as an incident of their business, and he spoke as if they might have shared his own regret in the cruel necessity. Of all prosecutors, however, he had a hatred; especially of Eades, of whom he seemed to have heard much. He told Archie that as a result of Eades’s severity the thieves some day would "rip" the town. He looked on his own occupation and spoke of it as any man might look on his own occupation; it simply happened that that was his business. He seemed to consider it as honest as, or at least no more dishonest than, any other business. He had certain standards, and these he maintained. On the whole, however, he concluded that his business hardly paid, though it had its compensations in its adventure and in its free life. XVI Archie was loitering along Market Place, not sure of what he would do that evening, but ready for any sensation chance might offer. Men were brushing through the flapping green doors of the small saloons, talking loudly, and swearing, many of them already drunk. Pianos were going, and above all the din he heard the grating of a phonograph grinding out the song some minstrel once had sung to a banjo; the banjo notes were realistic, but the voice of the singer floated above the babel of voices like the mere ghost of a voice, inhuman and not alive, as perhaps the singer might not then have been alive. Archie, wondering where the gang was, suddenly met Mason. The sight gave him real pleasure. "Hello, Joe!" he cried as he seized Mason’s hand. Mason smiled faintly, but Archie’s joy made him happy. "Je’s," said Archie, "I’m glad to see you--it makes me feel better. When ’d you get out?" "This morning," Mason replied. "Which way?" "Oh, anywhere," said Archie. "Where you goin’?" "Up to Gibbs’s. Want to go ’long?" Archie’s heart gave a little start; to go to Danny Gibbs’s under Mason’s patronage would be a distinction. The evening opened all at once with sparkling possibilities. "An old friend o’ mine’s there," Mason explained as they walked along up Kentucky Street. "He’s just got out of a shooting scrape; he croaked that fellow Benny Moon. Remember?" Gibbs’s place was scarcely more than a block away; it displayed no sign; a three-story building of brick, a side door, and a plate-glass window in front; a curtain hiding half the window, a light above--that was all.