is fingers and falling to the stone floor, where
they rolled away with musical tinklings, or hid themselves in the
cracks. Finally, when he had succeeded, with laborious care, in
extracting one last dime from the depths of his pocket, he said thickly,
waving his arms with an all-embracing oratorical gesture:

"All you men come here." The troopers moved close, and formed on three
sides of the table. They stepped quietly, some hint of what was to be
having come to them.

"Got somethin' to tell you. You think you are very smart, doncher? You
think you--" he rubbed his forehead reflectively and struggled for
words. What _was_ it he wanted to tell them? Oh, yes; that was it. "You
think you're smart, doncher?" and he leaned forward on the table,
peering around the circle; "but 'cher all damn fools. Me, I'm a smart
man," and he indicated the center button of his blouse with his thumb,
drawing himself up haughtily.

"You thought I cabled to the President, din'cher?" he continued, leaning
forward again, and returning to his confidential tone. "Not on your
life. See, there's the money. What a joke," and he burst into drunken
hilarity, reeling from side to side, while the tears ran down his face.

The quiet in the room was absolute, except for the officer's unholy
mirth, and the steady fall of the rain. At the sound of that laughter,
old Jeremiah, who had sat in his corner unmindful of the officer's
presence, got up and came forward to the opposite end of the table.
There was a dazed look in his face as though he were just waking from a
deep sleep. He glanced around at the other negroes, standing silently
with wide eyes, then at the drunken officer, and finally at the pile of
silver. Then he knew. As soon as Perkins saw the old soldier, he
chuckled with renewed glee.

"Hallo, sergeant, you ole fool. The joke's on you. Yessir, the joke's on
you. You thought I cabled to the President; but I did'n'. Nosir, I
did'n'." And he went off into renewed peals of laughter.

Suddenly he stopped short. He saw that there was no appreciation of his
witticisms; only a blur of blank black faces and white, rolling eyes.

"Why don't you laugh, you damn apes? You damn black idiots, why don't
you laugh? You----you----"

He ceased quickly, for another voice broke the silence. It was old
Sergeant Wilson speaking. No one could tell when he had begun. He stood
slightly crouched, with his hands on the edge of the table. His face was
absolutely blan