"There is where you are going to be hanged, John. Cheer up. Don't be uneasy. Die game."
"Hanged! hanged! what in the name of God are you going to hang me for? Do you hang a fellow for a little midnight fun?" asked Christian, thoroughly aroused and terrified.
"John, that is why you are going to be hanged. You looked upon murder as a matter of fun."
The picture of the Negro tramp whose murder he had caused for political purposes, crowded before his gaze. He shook tremblingly and began to stagger. "Say," he gasped, "who told on me?"
"Why, you told on yourself, John."
"I was a blamed fool for telling it. I must have been drunk. But say," he continued, "are they going to mob a white man for killing a nigger tramp?"
"You mean, are they going to mob a nigger tramp for killing a white man."
"I am no Negro; I am a white man" exclaimed Christian.
"That's enough. Come on." They were now at the foot of the gallows, and Christian was the very embodiment of abject terror. He attempted to cling to the railing on the steps leading up to the platform of the gallows. He was whining piteously, saying, "I am a white man, I killed a nigger; I am a white man, I killed a nigger."
His complete breakdown filled the people with disgust, and they howled in derision.