tired of you niggers running up doctors' bills nobody can collect. You
never have more than the law allows; your wages never get big enough to
garnishee." His voice grew querulous as he related his wrongs. "No, I'm
not going to see Ca'line Siner. If she wants me to visit her, let her
send ten dollars to cover that and back debts, and I'll--" The end of
his sentence was lost in the closing of his door. The light he carried
declined from a beam to a twinkling here and there, and then vanished in
blackness. Dr. Jallup's house became dead again. The little porch light
in its glass box might have been a candle burning before a tomb.

Peter Siner stood at the fence, licking his dry lips, with nerves
vibrating like a struck bell. He pushed himself slowly away from the top
plank and found his legs so weak that he could hardly walk. He moved
slowly, back down the unseen street. The dog he had disturbed gave a few
last growls and settled into silence.

Peter moved along, wetting his dry lips, and stirring feebly among his
dazed thoughts, hunting some other plan of action. There was a tiny
burning spot on the left side of his occiput. It felt like a heated
cambric needle which had been slipped into his scalp. Then he realized
that he must go home, get ten dollars, and bring them back to Dr.
Jallup. He started to run, but almost toppled over on his leaden legs.

He plodded through the darkness, retracing the endless trail to
Niggertown. As he passed a dark mass of shrubbery and trees, he recalled
his mother's advice to ask aid of Captain Renfrew. It was the old
Renfrew place that Peter was passing.

The negro hesitated, then turned in at the gate in the bare hope of
obtaining the ten dollars at once. Inside the gate Peter's feet