Ariel knew what he meant: she realized the actual thing as it was, and, though possessed by a strange feeling that it must all be medieval and not possibly of to-day, understood that he would have to fight to keep his friend from being killed; that the unhappy creature who had run into the office out of the dark stood in high danger of having his neck broken, unless Joe could help him. He made it clear to her that the State would kill Happy if it could; that it would be a point of pride with certain deliberate men holding office to take the life of the little man; that if they did secure his death it would be set down to their efficiency, and was even competent as campaign material. “I wish to point out,” Joe had heard a candidate for re-election vehemently orate, “that in addition to the other successful convictions I have named, I and my assistants have achieved the sending of three men to the gallows during my term of office!”
“I can’t tell yet,” said Joe, at parting. “It may be hard. I’m so sorry you saw all this. I—”
“Oh no!” she cried. “I want to understand!”
She was still there, at the gate, her elbows resting upon the cross-bar, when, a long time after Joe had gone, there came from the alley behind the big back yard the minor chordings of a quartette of those dark strollers who never seem to go to bed, who play by night and playfully pretend to work by day:
“You know my soul is a-full
o’ them-a-trub-bils,
Ev-ry mawn!
I cain’ a-walk withouten I stum-bils!
Then le’ss go on—
Keep walkin’ on!
These times is sow’owful, an’ I am
pow’owful
Sick an’ fo’lawn!”
She heard a step upon the path behind her, and, turning, saw a white-wrapped figure coming toward her.
“Mamie?” she called.
“Hush!” Mamie lifted a warning hand. “The windows are open,” she whispered. “They might hear you!”