The finding of the Bible on my person created a speechless pause.
Then—
"Good Gawd! A bum with a Bible!"
Awe and respect held the crowd for a moment.
The march began.
"Where are you taking us to?"
"To the calaboose."
Down a long stretch of peaceful, Sunday street we went—small boys following in a curious horde, and Sunday worshippers with their women's gloved hands tucked in timidly under their arms as we passed by. They gave us prim, askance glances, as if we belonged to a different species of the animal kingdom.
Buck negroes with their women stepped out into the street, while, as is customary there,—the white men passed, taking us two tramps to jail. We came to a high, newly white-washed board fence. Within it stood a two-story building of red brick. On the fence was painted, in big black letters the facetious warning, "Keep out if you can." A passage in through the gate, and McAndrews first knocked at, then kicked against the door.