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?"