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BERTRAND SMITH
ACRES OF BOOKS
240 Long Beach Blvd.
long Beach, Calif.


low-
1427





J. Case Of 7/l. 11|agate








“Then, on our wedding night,” said Mrs. Wingate after a pause,
“he broke down and made a shocking confession!”



THIECASE OF
cº-º-º-.
WINGATE
OSCAR MICHEAUX
Author of
“THE WIND FROM NOWHERE”
S
BOOK SUPPLY COMPANY
Publishers
40 MORNINGSIDE AVENUE
NEW YORK


Univ. Library, Univ. Calif., Santo Cruz.
Copyright, 1945 By
OSCAR MICHEAUX
Set up and Electrotyped
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without
the permission of the author.
7th Edition
Other Books by Oscar Micheaux
“THE MASQUERADE”
A powerful historical novel, based in part on a boy's (Johnny North-
cross), peculiar reaction to the bar sinister, and the monstrous Dred
Scott Decision, most infamous document ever conceived by the mind of
man; of his beautiful quadroon sister, Rena: the men who fell in love
with her—and the strange and unusual circumstances that were the
result of it!
Illustrated, over 400 pages, $3.00
“THE STORY OF DOROTHY STANFIELD’”
Based on a great insurance swindle—and a woman! A stirring novel of
strange adventure, love and absorbing human interest, as intense, sus-
penseful and dynamic as an atomic bomb! Don’t fail to read this exciting
novel. -
Illustrated, 416 pages, $3.00
“THE WIND FROM NOWHERE”
A truly great novel of contemporary Negro life. The unforgettable
story of Martin Eden, young Negro builder of an agricultural empire
in the Dakota wilderness, wherein he alone was black, and a beautiful
and mysterious girl, to make this the strangest love story ever told.
Tremendous is the word for it!
Illustrated, 400 pages, $2.75. Postage, 8 cents extra each book.
Printed in the United States of America


3ry, Univ. Calif., Santa Cruk
Copyright, 1945 By
Set up and Electrotyped
All rights reserved
of this book may be reproduced in any form without
the permission of the author.
7th Edition
Other Books by Oscar Micheaux
“THE MASQUERADE”
al novel, based in part on a boy's (Johnny North-
historic
he monstrous Dred
r reaction to the bar sinister, and t
, most infamous document ever conceived by the mind of
autiful quadroon sister, Rena: the men who fell in love
the strange and unusual circum” that were the
Illustrated, over 400 pages, $3.00
HE STORY OF DOROTHY STANFIELD”
man! A stirring novº of
interest, as intense, *
fail to read this exciting
reat insurance swindle—and a wo
ure, love and absorbing human
namic as an atomic bomb! Don't
Illustrated, 416 pag”, $3.00
OM NOWHERE”
o life. The unforgettable
f an agricultural empire
and a beautiful
r told.
“THE WIND FR
temporary Nº
Negro builder 0
he alone Was black,
e strangest love */ eve
it novel of con
1 Eden, young
wilderness, wherein
girl, to make this th
he word for it!
,400 pages, $275. Postage. 8 cents extra each book.
printed in the United States of America
To
ALICE B.
º
14%
(6)
ſº


LEADING CHARACTERS
IN THE ORDER OF APPEARANCE
HEINRICH SCHULTZ
A Negro Nazi spy, sent by Adolf Hitler to the U.S.A. to
report on American activities from the Negro ſections.
KERMIT EARLY
Aſsisting him from the inside. A highly educated but mys,
terious Negro, who is dissatisfied with the way his race at .
treated in America.
FLORENCE WINGATE
Wife of a millionaire textile magnate, who becomes strange.
ly involved with Kermit Early, and is the cause of his pe.
culiar silence.
SIDNEY WYETH - -
A Motion Picture Producer and Author, who refuses to
make a “hate” picture Kermit Early has written, and around
whom much of the story revolves.
MARIE COLEMAN
His aſsiſtant.
EDRINA WINSON -
A stage-struck actress, who didn't mean Sidney Wyeth any
good.
BERTHA SCHULTZ
Heinrich's sister. Sent to America to assist her brother, who
fell in love, and changed her view point.
HANS SCHILLER
A German secret agent, in charge of subversive activisies
in America.
DR, GUSTAVE VON BARWIG
A ruthless and heartless Nazi who, angered by Bertha's
falling in love with an American, orders her to commit .
diabolical act.
TIME: 1939 through 1944.
PLACE: AMERICA.


RACTERS
OF APPEARANCE
LTZ
ºri ſpy ent by Adolf Hitler to the U.S.A, ſo
ſmerican activitieſ from the Negro ſections.
ºn from the inside. A highly educated but ſº
ro, who iſ intified with the way his “*
America.
(GATE
who becomeſ ſha'8°
milionaire textile magmaté,
ańh Kermit Early, and is the cause of hiſ ſº
'ſt’,
I * *
Picture Producer and Author, who refuſeſ hº
tº picture Kermit Early has writté", and around
of the ſtory revolveſ.
N
iſ.
º actreſſ, , , in mº" Sidney Wyeth any
ſca fo aſſif her brother, who
TZ sent to 4”
iter. Sen! () - *
und changed her piet” point.
J. Case O/ 7//... lºngate





CHAPTER |
HE EUROPA, Transatlantic Luxury Liner was three days
out of New York, Bremen, Germany, bound. This was, of
course, prior to September 3, 1939.
It was a beautiful morning in the late summer of a year the world
was soon not to forget. The sea was both calm and smooth, as smooth
as glass, hardly a ripple other than that stirred by the forward driv-
ing of the huge liner, visible on the surface of the water. Every
stateroom on the liner was not only taken but filled, upper and
lower, to the port holes. Passengers had been informed on arrival
at the pier in New York that they would have to share their quarters
with others, reasons for which became obvious a few days later.
The people of the world were in a state of apprehension. Every
newspaper in America, England and the world over was blazing in
conspicuous headlines that negotiations regarding the fifteen mile
corridor to Danzig through Poland, had been suspended, and that
Adolf Hitler was preparing to invade Poland. England and France
had clarified their positions: that they were through with appeasing
Hitler, and that if he invaded Poland, there would be war. His
answer was to continue the preparations he was making.
Aboard the liner, Germans returning to the fatherland, said that
the Jews were the cause of it, that in some strange and peculiar
way, they were directly and indirectly responsible for every war that
had swept Europe since before Napoleon. In the debates going on
all over the ship, those of German sympathies declared that among
those involved with the Jews in the threatened outbreak was no
other than Franklin D. Roosevelt, president of the United States.
They argued that Poland would have let Hitler have the corridor
that he was demanding, if England and France hadn't urged Poland
not to grant it, that they would back up and protect her, but that
England and France would never have taken the stand they did if
9


10 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Roosevelt had not assured them that America stood solidly behind
them and not to appease Hitler any further.
But our story is not a history of the outbreak of World War
number two, but about some of the circumstances that was the result
of it.
Among the passengers returning to Germany aboard the liner
on this final trip across the seas was one Baron Otto Von Mueller
and his wife, the Baroness Ernestine. Baron Otto was an important
figure and high up in the affairs of the National Socialist party in
Germany. He was one of the few aristocrats of the old school, active
in Hitler's set-up, who still retained his titles and estates, which
were near Potsdam.
Baron Otto and his fraulein at the moment were standing by the
rail of the steamer, gazing out across the sea when they were
attracted by footsteps and a shadow, which crossed behind them,
as a man walked up to the rail a few feet away and leaned his el-
bows thereon. They turned slightly and gazed across at him, then
turned to each other, exchanging expressions of curiosity. As if by
instinct, they turned their faces again toward the stranger, studied
him a moment, then turned to each other again in curiosity.
“I wonder who that young man is,” mused the Baron idly, and
turned again to glance over his shoulder at him. The steamer was
in high speed, doing about thirty knots an hour and the spray from
below sprinkled their faces with salt water, from which they did not
turn because, combined with the soft morning air, it was rather
pleasant.
“A Negro, too,” replied the Baroness, after another glance at him.
“Yes, I've been wondering who he could be.”
“He doesn't look exactly like the colored people we saw in America,
yet he must be one of them,” ventured the Baron.
“Maybe he's an actor or a musician. We often see them in Ger-
many.” The Baron turned and glanced at the Negro again, then
shook his head. -
“No. He is neither. Doesn’t have that kind of appearance. And
I'm not even sure if he is an American Negro.” The Baron was
thoughtful a moment, as if trying to recall something. Then, con-
tinued.
“Now that I remember, I heard him giving an order in the salon
k


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 11
this morning, and in perfect German.”
“Then he is not an American Negro,” she said. “It's possible that
he could be a German after all. We do have a few, especially in the
Rhineland since the last war.”
“But he couldn't be,” said the Baron. “He is obviously older than
any of them.”
Again they surveyed the object of their curiosity, who seemed
completely unconcerned and as completely oblivious of their pres-
ence as well as curiosity. Instead, he drew away on a cigarette,
flecked the ashes from the end of it and gazed out over the waters.
The Baron turned to his wife, his eyebrows puckered.
“The more I look at him,” he said, “the more I seem to recall
having seen him before somewhere. Must have been a long time
ago, but there is something familiar about his face. I have a peculiar
feeling, away in the back of my head, that I've seen him some-
where.”
“Maybe you saw him in America after all. Maybe in Washington.
We saw lots of nice looking, highly educated colored people down
there. Maybe he is one of the professors of that big colored school
we drove by one day, the one on the hill, above Washington. Many
of them might speak German. Many—” the Baron again cut her
off by a shake of his head, his eyebrows contracted.
“No. He is, I’d wager, not a professor, either. And if he was, he
would have spoken German slowly, picking each word and he would
have had an accent. This man spoke it as well as I do, without any
hesitation whatsoever. No. It must have been in Germany and some
years ago, for had it been lately, I would remember it.”
“Then, if so, whereabouts in Germany?” his wife insisted.
“I can't recall, Ernestine, I can't recall.”
“Well,” she said, with a sort of sigh, “since we're both so curious
regarding him, why not try to find out who he is? It should prove
somewhat of a diversion. I've been rather bored during the whole
trip. Almost nobody we know to talk to. So do some thinking and
some planning and find a way to get information about this curiosity,”
she finished blandly.
“That's a poor way to put it, Ernestine,” he said, in disapproval.
“I understand, Otto,” she exclaimed apologetically. “I’m bored
and I'd appreciate something to lift me out of the dumps, as they


12 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
say in America. Out of the dumps,” and she laughed lightly to
herself.
At that moment dinner was announced and turning, they made
their way across the deck toward the dining room, turning as they
reached it, to see the colored man heading the same way.
It was some time before they were seated at a table and their
order taken. Then, and what to them seemed an unusual coincidence,
when they looked up from the menu, it was right into the face of the
colored stranger. All started, exchanged glances, then turned to him
and bowed respectfully. He returned the bow and they had a chance
in that glance to study him more closely.
He was obviously handsome. He possessed a strong chin, eyes full
set but determined. Closer to him, they could see that he was German
all right. He possessed all the characteristics, even though one of
his parents was obviously a Negro. He wore his hair, which was
curly, in an attractive pompadour. He was obviously tall, though they
could not tell how tall he was since he was seated.
It was not until they were leaving the dining salon and had
bumped into him as they were coming through the door, that the
Baron got his opportunity to speak to him without just “butting” in.
“Oh, pardon me, please,” cried the Baron, smiling.
“As much my fault as yours, Baron. I accept your apology, and in
turn, offer you mine,” said the Negro. The Baron started, then
smiled relieved. The Baroness smiled too.
“Oh, you know me?” said the Baron in surprise, drawing his wife
to one side to be out of the way of people, going in and out of the
salon.
“Yes, I know you, Baron Von Mueller,” he said, easily, and
smiled. “I can see that you've forgotten me, however.”
“Indeed, but this is a pleasure.” He paused to turn to the Baroness.
“He knows me, Ernestine. Now I'm sure that I’ve seen him before.”
“He’s been insisting that he had,” she said.
“Oh, pardon me again, my fellow,” cried the Baron hastily. “This
is my wife, the Baroness Ernestine Von Mueller, Mr. or is it Herr?”
“Just plain Heinrich Schultz, Baron Otto, of Berlin, thank you,”
he said. Turning to the Baroness, he removed his hat and acknowl-
edged the introduction. The Baroness extended her hand.
“Now let us find seats,” cried the Baron, “before they're all taken.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 13
A frightful crowd aboard this liner. I’ve never been surrounded
by so many people in all the trips I have made on it.”
“Lots of people,” said Schultz. They started across the deck, the
Baron leading, but nervously glancing at the Negro.
“I’m anxious to get seated somewhere and comfortably and hear
you tell where it was you met me. Now—”
“By the way, Baron,” suggested Schultz, “we can perhaps find
seats at the lower end of the ship. It's shaded down there at this
hour and might be more comfortable.”
“A brilliant idea, my good fellow,” cried the Baron, gratefully,
“A brilliant idea indeed!”
They turned now and a few minutes later were seated comforta-
bly at the rear of the liner, where they could see the water as it
was being churned by the propellers, driving the great ship forward,
homeward bound to Germany.
“Now,” said the Baron, removing his hat and relaxing. “I want
to tell you at the outset that the Baroness and I were very curious
about you.” -
“We’ve been wondering who you were ever since leaving New
York. So now if you won't mind telling us, we'll be very pleased,”
said the Baroness, anxious to get into the conversation.
“Now, Herr Schultz, where did you know me and how long ago
was it?”
“And how do you, a-colored man,” interjected the Baroness,
before Schultz could answer, “happen to speak such perfect Ger-
man?”
“Well,” said Schultz. “I should. I was born in Germany.”
The Baron and his lady started, exchanged expressions, then
looked again at Schultz.
“You—were—born in-Germany?” exclaimed the Baron, a bit
incredulously. Turned to look at the Baroness, then turned his eyes
back to Schultz.
“I was born in Germany,” Schultz nodded. “My mother is living
there now, also some sisters and brothers.”
“And was it there—in Germany, I mean,” said the Baron, “that
you—knew me?”
Schultz nodded and smiled.
“Born in Germany,” mused the Baroness, as if to herself. “You, a


14 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
colored man, born in Germany?”
“Oh, there are quite a number of colored people in the Reich
who were born there, especially since a portion of the Rhineland
was garrisoned by colored troops after the last war,” said Schultz.
“So you got started after the occupation,” said the Baron.
“No, I was born shortly after the war started. The occupation was
after it was over.”
“Naturally,” said the Baron hastily.
“Now as regards to where I knew you,” said Schultz. “Do you
remember a colored boy who used to shine your shoes in the lobby
of the foreign office in Berlin 2 They called him Henry "
Gazing quickly at him, the Baron's eyes flashed in recognition.
“Little Henry ! Well—” he exclaimed. “Do you mean to tell me
that you are—that lad?”
“That lad grown up, Baron. I am little Henry.”
“Well, I declare ſ” the Baron exclaimed and reaching out, grasped
Schultz's hand and holding it tightly, looked across at the Baroness.
“Do you remember, Ernestine that I used to tell you about the
little colored boy who shined my shoes, who seemed so ambitious and
always on the job? Well,” he said, relaxing but still holding onto
Schultz's hand, “This is that little boy, grown into a fine, big man!”
“Hold on, Otto,” the Baroness spoke up quickly, her eyes flashing
somewhat triumphantly. “I happen to have known him also when he
was still that active little shoe-shine boy, as you call him.” The Baron
turned to her in surprise.
“You?” he repeated.
“Yes Otto. The times I met you at the foreign office I noticed him
shining shoes and on several occasions I had him shine mine, too.”
“This is indeed a pleasure,” said the Baron, finally relaxing his
grip on Schultz's hand. “A pleasure that is most interesting.” He
turned again, more calm now, to look Schultz up and down. “Grown
into a fine, tall, handsome young man.”
“And is he handsome!” cried the Baroness, admiringly. Both
paused to look at Schultz anew. They seemed to admire him.
“Well, tell me, my lad,” said the Baron. “What has been happen-
ing since? You seemed to have gone places. In fact, you must have
gone places, returning to Germany—like this,” and the Baron pointed
at him.


THE CASE OF MIrS. WINGAte 15
“I’m returning to Germany, Baron. It is still my home, although
I’ve been in America on—on business for the past few months.”
“Indeed! Do you mind telling us something about yourself? We
are interested.”
“We are very interested,” added the Baroness.
“Shipboard, you understand, Herr Schultz, is a good place to make
acquaintances; it is a still better one to resume old ones,” and the
Baron and his wife laughed lightly.
The Baron paused and glanced skyward. The sun was now
shining straight down on them.
“The sun,” said he, glancing up at it with a frown, “seems to have
caught up with us, and it is a bit warm.”
“Very warm,” added the Baroness. “It is uncomfortable.”
“Why can't we retire to our stateroom? It will be pleasant down
there now with a port hole open,” suggested the Baron.
“Why not?” said the Baroness, rising to her feet. The others
followed. The Baron took Schultz's arm, bowing somewhat astutely.
“Do you mind going with us?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Just a minute, Otto,” said Baroness Ernestine, as they started
away. “Perhaps the young man has some one—”
“I’m all alone, Baroness Ernestine,” said Schultz quickly.
“So we continue as we started,” said the Baron, as they proceeded
to their cabin.
A few minutes later they were seated comfortably in the Baron's
stateroom, where they resumed their conversation.
“Now, my good fellow, time is on our hands and we're in the
mood to hear your story.”
“I’m sure it must be interesting,” smiled the Baroness.
“It's got to be interesting. From a shoe shine boy to a-what?”
“Not so fast, Baron Otto,” laughed Schultz. “Not so fast. It might
be From shoe-shine boy to a gangster, and, since I'm traveling as
you see me, to a ‘big-time gangster.” “Big shots,' they call them in
America.”
Both paused uncertainly and glanced at each other. Schultz quickly
patted the Baron on the arm as if to reassure him, which caused
the Baron to smile again.
“Nothing like that, I assure you.”


16 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
“Start with when you left your job in the foreign office lobby.”
suggested the Baron.
“No, Otto. I want to hear the story of his birth; about his father
and mother, and how he happened to be—in Germany.”
“Sure,” cried the Baron, enthusiastically. “That's the place to
start.”
“Who was your mother, your father. Which one was colored,” in-
quired the Baroness. “Start from the beginning—tell us your whole
story.”
“There's nothing so interesting about it as all that, I assure you,”
smiled Schultz, modestly. “But since you insist, I'll try to tell it.
When you've been bored enough, I'll try to understand and finish
before you begin to sigh.” And then he laughed deprecatingly.
“We will not sigh, because we will not be bored.”
“Just like going to an exciting motion picture and listening to
interesting dialogue. That never bores anybody,” assured the Baroness.
“My mother was, or is, for she is still living, and as I think I re-
marked, in Germany.” -
“See,” said the Baron, thoughtfully. “Then—it is your father who
is colored P”
“My father was colored; an American Negro who got into Germany
shortly before the last war. He was a cook.”
“Pardon me for again interrupting,” said the Baroness, leaning
forward. “But in reference to your father. You say 'was'?”
“Was, because—he is dead. But before he died, he took up residence
in Germany—just stayed there. Meanwhile, he met my mother who
was a waitress in the hotel, where he cooked, they soon learned
to like each other. She taught him to speak German and in due time,
married him. A year later, I made my appearance,” he paused now
to smile at the humor of it, in which they joined.
“And still two years later a sister came. They had two children,
then, a boy and a girl and were very happy. Then the war broke out!
The call of the sea got into my father's blood again and he finally
shipped out aboard the Emden.”
“The Emden l’” the others exclaimed, awed.
“The famous raider!” echoed the Baron, ominously. They were
beginning to understand now why Schultz's father was dead. They
looked at Schultz, whose head was bowed. He reached over and


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 17
patted his wrist kindly, and shook his head sadly.
“The greatest Raider the world ever knew,” said the Baron, rem-
iniscently. “The Emden did her part for the Fatherland.”
“As you perhaps recall, Baron,” Schültz was saying. “The British
finally caught up with her.”
“Yes, I remember all about it, my boy. Caught up with her and
sent her to the bottom off the coast of South America.”
“Well,” said Schultz, sighing. “That was the end of the Emden,
and —”
“—all of those aboard her. Both my wife and I recall the whole,
tragic story.”
“We never saw him again,” said Schultz.
“War is a terrible thing. And we are on the verge of another. If I
had my way, which is not as the Fuehrer sees it, there wouldn't be
any. We should wait—at least a year, as I see it, before invading
Poland. But—” and the Baron shrugged his shoulders, helplessly,
throwing out his hands as he did so.
“Let Herr Schultz go ahead with his story, Otto. We won't get into
another war, at least until the Feuhrer invades Poland.”
“When the war was over, my mother took my sister and moved
down into the Rhineland. Maybe you recall that they had stationed
some colored soldiers from America there?”
“We remember all about it, my lad,” said the Baron.
“She met another colored man down there. A very fine fellow.
They started going together and later he married her. When the
troops were withdrawn and returned to America, my mother went
with him and took us children. -
“We had started grade school before leaving Germany, so we
continued after reaching America. My mother spoke English very
well and had taught us as best she could, but our stepfather was well-
educated and in America, where we heard nothing but English, except
from our mother at home, we went right through grade school and
entered High School in the fall when our step-father died. As quickly
as my mother could adjust matters, she moved back to Germany.
Her husband had left some $10,000 worth of compensation insurance,
which was sent to my mother in installments by the United States
Government and that was a great help to her in sending us through
school back in Germany. That was during the time I shined shoes


18 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
to help out, and when I used to see you at the foreign office.”
“Now we are up to when you left your work in the lobby of the
foreign office.” -
“I left there to go to college.”
“To college?” said the Baroness. “That was nice. Where?”
“Heidelberg.”
“Oh,” cried the Baron. “To Heidelberg 2 Great school!”
“After we finished Heidelberg, our mother wanted us to know
French. I wanted to take a course in diplomacy. My sister refused to
let me go alone. So she sent us both to the Sorbonne in Paris.”
“Now we're getting somewheres,” said the Baroness. “After the
Sorbonne, what?”
“A job back in the foreign office.”
“But not shining shoes any longer,” she said and they all smiled.
“No,” said Schultz. “In an office. I was interested in America
from the German standpoint. I felt I could be of service to the Reich
by returning to America to study the conditions, treatment and
reactions regarding the Negro there.”
“Being of Negro extraction, I can see your point,” said the Baron.
“Thank you,” replied Schultz. “I don't like the way America
treats Negroes. They continually play them down, down, down, until
most of them are in a way, discouraged and do not know it. It is
deplorable that so many people, 13,000,000 of them, should be
treated so.”
“Yet President Roosevelt has been fomenting a war because of
the way he feels we are treating the Jews,” said the Baron.
“When and if war comes, we shall always blame the Jews and
President Roosevelt for it,” cried the Baroness, vehemently.
“What did you learn about the Jewish situation, if anything, in
particular, in America?” inquired the Baron, evenly.
“They are the leading tradesmen there as elsewhere. As regards
the Negro, he runs almost everything in their neighborhoods.”
“And exploits them unmercifully,” said the Baron.
“Unmercifully isn't half of it. In a way they enslave them,” said
Schultz.
“What is the Negro's reaction?”
“My people,” said Schultz, after a brief pause, “seem by nature
to be lackadaisical, care-free and easy-going.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 19
“An African characteristic, descended down through hundreds of
years.”
“But they should be growing away from that by this time,” said the
Baroness. “I observed that many seemed to be very well educated.”
“But education alone has failed to free them,” said Schultz,
seriously. “Theirs is about the most involved problem I know of. I
am deeply interested in it. I have thrown myself into it and have been
studying it very closely. While there, among other things, I made a
very fine contact. This contact, in particular, happens to be one
of the highest educated Negroes in America. He has also made the
race question there, his life's study. It is such an involved situation
and it cannot be solved in a hurry if ever at all. Yet, as I see it,
I can be of great help to the Reich by returning there, going into it
heart and soul and keep Germany informed regarding that angle.”
“In the event of war, you can, as I see it,” said the Baron, “be of
great help in that capacity to the Reich. If war fails to result from
the Fuehrer's invasion of Poland, the information you can stock in
our foreign office will be indispensable and well worth your research.”
“That's the way I see it,” said Schultz, obviously deeply moved.
“Being of Negro extraction, in case of war, I can operate almost
without restriction or restraint. Having such a low opinion of the
Negro, playing him down at every turn and insisting on confining
him to the rôle, I might say of—clown, comedian and idiot, they won't
be expecting any of them to be gathering information and reporting
on what's going on.”
“Man,” cried the Baron. “I begin to see your angle. If war comes,
they'll be watching every German in America.”
“But being of Negro extraction, and living among the colored
people, they won't be watching me—unless, of course, I become
very careless.”
“That is the finest plan I’ve heard for a long time,” cried the
Baroness, enthusiastically.
“I think this should be brought to the attention of the Fuehrer
himself. You are going to meet him at Berchtesgaden soon after
our return, Otto. Why—”
Laying a hand on her wrist and patting it the Baron said, “I’d
decided to do so, Ernestine, and I will. Meanwhile, go on, please.”
“I’m glad you see and appreciate the logic of it, Baron Otto,” said


20 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
Schultz, warmly. “I am returning to Germany to take the matter
up with Von Ribbentrop, whom I feel sure will agree to my returning
to America soon for the purpose I've just explained.”
“And you say you've developed satisfactory contact already?”
“Very satisfactory, Baron. This man knows the Negro situation
from every angle. He is naturally resentful, as all sensitive and in-
telligent Negroes are as regards it. So he is willing to work with me.
In fact, he is already working with a group of Germans in Chicago
and Milwaukee who are financing his efforts thus far and they have
the ground work laid in a big way to start things as quickly as we
decide to begin.
“Roosevelt is too busy sponsoring the Jewish cause and trying to
kick Hitler in the shins, because of having put the Jews in their
place in Germany, and letting them fill him full of sympathy—for
them and the way Germany is supposed to be treating them, to give
much thought to the Negro situation.”
“America has been so misinformed regarding the true Jewish
situation in Germany, that they simply do not know what it is all
about,” said Baroness Ernestine, impatiently. Turning to Schultz
suddenly, she added. “Do they really love the Jews that much in
America?”
Schultz laughed.
“Oh, it's not that bad, Baroness Ernestine,” he said, “Nobody
pretends to love the Jews, and to the credit of the Jews, I'll admit
that they do not want anybody saying and pretending that they do. All
the Jew is interested in back there, is making money, and to do so
he must cheat, at least does cheat, steal, exploit, lie and do about
everything but commit murder. He is the same the world over. In
a way, it is their religion, inherent and traditional, and as far as
I’m concerned, I just take them as they are and try not to think so
much about it.”
“A sensible way to look at it, too, Herr Schultz,” commented the
Baron. Then, after a moment's thought, he turned to Schultz with
a new thought.
“Speaking of America's disregard of what the Negro population
thinks, and of the tendency to play them down, that's their English
tradition. England originated it; that contemptible disregard for the
thought, ambition and views of darker peoples, I observed this


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 21
tendency you speak of while in America, unless they have an emo-
tional interest in some group, like the Chinese at the moment, for
instance. Being proud of your country, I presume that you, as most
Germans, are given to reading a great deal, Herr Schultz?” queried
the Baron.
“Yes, Baron Otto, a very great deal, some of it, current works of
fiction and the more serious magazines and books.”
“Then do a bit of reflecting. Although Japan is obviously one of
the great nations of the earth, you rarely observed any books in
America translated from the Japanese. Now did you?”
After a brief reflection, Schultz shook his head in the negative.
“No, I did not.”
“I know you didn't because it wasn't there. Yet, you don't have to
think very hard to recall a number of books, translated from the
Chinese, do you?”
“A long list of titles,” said Schultz. Turning to the Baroness and
nodding his head vigorously, then back to Schultz.
“Just picture how stupid! It confirms what we are talking about.
Only when they are emotionally inclined, do they evidence an interest
in the darker peoples.”
“That's what I found right there in America, Baron. People, who
were born there, been living there since the country was settled,
almost. And as you say, the same thing obtains also in England, but
they are more diplomatic and cunning as regards it.”
“Well, for your benefit, Herr Schultz, if you don't already know
it, some day America is going to awake, or be awakened to a sudden
realization that they're making a serious mistake as regards Japan.
Instead of meddling with the way we are supposed to be treating the
poor, persecuted Jew in Germany, America had better begin to
read some Japanese books and acquaint themselves with what Japan
may be thinking, planning, and doing. If they do, they might get a
shock,” insisted the Baron, shaking his head, sagely.
“It has never crossed their minds. The rich Jewish politicians with
their money and their propaganda are completely in the spotlight
over there. Nobody seems to be concerned about what Japan is
thinking or may be planning to do,” said Schultz. “But that isn't
America half as much as it is Roosevelt. In truth, the masses of
Americans are resenting it. They don't care any more about the


22 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Jews in America than we do in Germany. I found a great under-
current of resentment and hatred back there which someday will
break out suddenly.”
“He has managed to hoodwink the American people for the time
being, but in due time there'll come a day of reckoning.”
“And when it does, watch things begin to happen,” and Herr
Schultz laughed ironically.
“You’ve been over there several months, how is he able to do it,
Herr Schultz?” inquired the Baron, crossing a leg and lighting a
cigarette. Passing them around, he looked at Schultz and waited
for him to answer.
“It began in the election of 1932. In the throes of a great depres-
sion and impatience, they voted Hoover out, because they charged
him with the country's condition, although he wasn't responsible for it
any more than you or I. But they were impatient and promptly voted
against him at the election in 1932. They were not at the time, voting
half as much for Roosevelt, as they were against Hoover. Anybody
on the democratic ticket would have been elected. It happened to be
Roosevelt who was running. Elected he immediately began to spend.
“First, since there are more labor votes than there are in any
other group, he led labor to feel that they would be allowed to take
over industry and run it, which meant, according to their philosophy,
shorter hours and more pay. They got it, with five days work a
week, six days pay, forced by sit down strikes.
“The Jewish votes meant something: their money to help finance
the campaign, more. To get this, he began the fight on Hitler which
may plunge the whole world, indirectly into war before it's all over.
He implied that if they would vote for him and help carry New York
where their greatest power is concentrated, he'd kick Hitler on the
shins and make him behave himself.”
The Baron and his wife laughed.
“We come down now to the poor people and the Negroes, the dis-
organized elements, but who comprise the greatest number of votes
of all. Relief checks got them. They labored under the impression that
“he was taking it away from the rich, the dirty, cruel rich people, and
giving it to the poor, which, as they put it, was the way it ought to
be. So he got their votes almost in toto.”
Again the Baroness and the Baron laughed heartily. Schultz himself


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 23
THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
many. I found a great under-
r do in Ge -
ºrica than we ck there which someday will
sentment and hatred ba
† to hoodwink the American people for the time
- s day of reckoning'
time there'll come a dº yy Herr
º does, watch things begin to happen, and He
ed ironically.
en over there several months, 3.
2” inquired the Baron, crossing Schu
º them around hº looked at
swer. . In the throes
, the election of ºº out, because tº charged
ihle for it
tence, º: although he wasn't º: ºd
ountry's cond * were impatient and prºn.
yºn, wereº.".
the election.”’’...re against Hºº. to be
elt, as they been elected. " happened
he immediately began to
- there
, was running abor votes than owed to take
how is he able tº do it,
leg and lighting *
itz and waited
of a great depres-
was compelled to laugh.
“Well, it's too long a story for me to tell. I wouldn't finish by the
time we reach Bremen, so I'm going to lay off now,” and he took his
handkerchief and dried his forehead.
“You have certaintly acquainted yourself with the conditions in
America, all right, Herr Schultz,” said the Baron.
“And how !” cried the Baroness, “as they say in America. You
know the answers, and Baron Otto, I assure you, will talk the whole
matter over with the Fuehrer when we meet him at Berchtesgaden
in a fortnight.”
All rose to their feet and prepared to go on deck again. It was late
afternoon, and was delightful on the broad decks. Smiling, a few
minutes later they were strolling together there, looking out over the
sea, which was beginning to get rough. The sky had become overcast
and there was a suggestion of rain that might develop into a storm
before morning,


currº II
E PROCEED now to introduce the second important charac-
W. Herr Heinrich Schultz, of Berlin, being the first, in the de-
velopment of our story. So let us now meet Mr. Kermit Early,
A.B. of Atlanta University, M.A. of the University of Chicago, and
finally the crowning degree, Ph.D. of Harvard. Kermit Early was
the contact Schultz referred to in his conversation with the Baron
and Baroness Von Mueller, and was considered one of the most highly
educated Negroes in America.
Tall and brown, growing a bit ponderous around the waistline with
age, Kermit was not exactly what colored women referred to as a
“pretty” man, but he was handsome. His hair was soft and curly,
threatening at this period of his rather strange and unusual life, of
growing thin just above the forehead. It was Early's eyes, however,
that attracted one's attention more than anything else. He had pretty
eyes, noticeable the moment one met him.
His thorough academic training was reflected in his appearance.
No one could meet him the second time without concluding that he
was anything but a man of great mental training. Nevertheless,
Kermit Early had been embarrassed as almost every intelligent and
dignified Negro has been, at one time or another, in his career by
having some white man snap his finger at him and call: “hey, boy,”
and offer him a quarter to carry his luggage or do some other menial
task.
A portion—the greater portion, in fact, of the training he had
acquired had been during the past six years and since he had been
graduated from high school back there in Wakefield, Georgia, where
it had all begun.
Early represented a strange and peculiar position in American
society. To begin with, for the past several years he seemed to have
gone out of circulation, as it were. Before that time and shortly after
24


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 25
finishing school and getting his final degree, he had been very pop-
ular, although during his entire career nobody had learned or knew
very much about him. He was too highly educated to talk to and
mix carelessly with the current run of Negroes, or to have much in
common with them. He persisted, however, in the statement that he
was a “race” man, which about every Negro claims to be, educated
or otherwise.
But as we started to explain, nobody, however, knew much about
Kermit Early, with all his literary training. In due time you will
understand why they did not. Like a great many educated Negroes in
America, Early was dissatisfied. With all his training, he had not,
as most Negroes, learned much if anything about the art of making
money. Early insisted that nobody in America seemed to know how
to do that but Jews. So it's little wonder how and why he had be-
come allied, with a subversive group, operating out of Chicago and
Milwaukee, and had come to hate Jews as others did, blamed them and
America for any adverse condition that existed anywhere and when
and where it did not exist, by their conduct, debate and discussion,
they built it up and made it adverse.
The pro-Germans whom he had long since been operating with as
an associate, were agreeable to blaming America for the way the
Negro was treated, and which, of course, was due to their contact
with Kermit, who had not, we repeat, and as most Negroes, learned
the art of making money. Rarely did they blame themselves for it.
It was far easier to charge it up to race prejudice, on the part of the
white man and to hate him as most educated Negroes do, regardless.
Since all subversive groups realized that it was unpopular to
preach their philosophy from the housetops, or to talk with anybody
but those known to share their views, it is clear that few if any
Negroes, therefore, knew much about Kermit Early.
He didn't even fraternize with women, which so many had tried to
encourage him to do. Some wondered if he cared for women, for if
he didn't, he must be a fairy, but none ever got well enough acquainted
with him, except a few years back when he had taken a part in the
promotion of Negro fairs, pagentries and the like and as far as they
knew, he wasn't a fairy or a pie face, nor was he charged with
going into the bushes, various Negro terms for perversion.
Almost immediately after securing his Doctorate from Harvard,


26. THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Early became affiliated as co-editor of a so-called socialist publica-
tion, the other editor being A. Phillip Merivale. It was during this
short-lived period as co-editor that Kermit Early reached his greatest
popularity.
Up until the depression, Negroes placed a greater value and more
importance on education than they did after, since the depression
rather let them down in being just educated. It didn't buy food, pay
rent or purchase clothing, so a great many, a very great many, were
forced onto the WPA. Not Kermit Early. As we shall presently see,
at no time in his career, was he ever in any financial danger.
The publication hook-up did not last long, although A. Phillip
Merivale and Kermit Early became two of the leading and most
popular Negroes in America during the time it did exist. They
seemed to represent a new philosophy on Negro life.
Neither was a Republican, or a Democrat, so could not be “bought
out” to often sell their race “down the river”, by a good job, a
scholarship or an award. Nobody knew if either was offered such,
but on general principles it was considered that they must have had
many offers, for they were welding great influence toward helping
or inspiring the Negro to become more militant. It had long since
become a custom that when anybody wanted to get rid of a trouble-
some Negro, who threatened with his big mouth to make matters
unpleasant, the best way to shut his mouth was to give him a good
job, good only from a Negro standpoint.
After that he invariably launched on a career of “keeping Negroes
quiet,” by going about the country making speeches and advising
those who persisted in insisting that “something ought to be
done,” in reminding them that “the time wasn't right” for that and
that and so and so. In such instances, the time never became right
and after the first or second burst of steam,on the part of the persistent
Negro, the matter usually died and most soon forgot what they were
“persisting about.” We have, let us pause to explain, digressed so
completely from the story we started out to tell, that we must apolo-
gize. We will now try to return to it, by discussing Kermit Early, and
what had transpired in his life before leaving Wakefield.
It was late afternoon around the same time Heinrich Schultz and
Baron Von Mueller were returning to Germany. Early entered an
apartment building, crossed from the elevator, turned a corner, went


TEIE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 27
a few steps, then turned into an alcove at the end of which was a
door. It was one of those deluxe Apartment buildings on the south
side of Chicago which Negroes had run white people out of when
they invaded the section a few years before. This building was one
of the finest on the south side, and accordingly, one of the most
expensive.
Inserting his key, Early opened the door, glanced at several parcels
of mail, mostly advertising, on the floor, including a few letters,
stepped across the threshold, closed the door, stopped, picked up the
letters and what nots, sorted through them as he crossed the room
and entered a comfortable living room. As he did so, his eyes fell on
one letter, post-marked Atlanta, and sent via air mail the day before.
He smiled indulgently at it as he recognized the handwriting. He
was always pleased to receive letters with that handwriting. The
writer was his one great pleasure, diversion and sole interest in life.
He decided to make himself comfortable before breaking the seal.
So laying everything on the table where he paused, he crossed the
room, removed his coat and hat, and took a comfortable robe from
a hanger, and which the writer of the letter referred to, had made him
a present of the Christmas before. He then walked into his bedroom,
removed his shoes, carrying the robe with him, loosened his tie,
unbuttoned his collar, exchange his shoes for comfortable house
slippers, left his bedroom, crossed into the bathroom where he re-
mained a few minutes, and returned to the sitting room. There he
picked up the particular letter, sat down, adjusted himself com-
fortably, broke the seal, withdrew the contents, spread the sheets out
before him and started to read. A moment later he recoiled violently.
“What's this,” he cried aloud, sitting erect and gazing excitedly
into its contents, which began as follows:
Atlanta, Georgia
Thursday, P. M.
My darling Kermit: -
Arrived safe, a week ago, stopping over in Nashville to
visit with some friends on my way home. Guess you received
my wire in which I explained my delay in reaching home.
I would have written sooner, but I have delayed doing
So due to a very important reason. By that, Kermit, dearest,
I mean that what I have been praying for is a reality. In
short, Kermit, I am pregnant; I’m going to have a baby.


28 THE CASE of MRS. WINGATE
It was this which brought such a shock to the quiet and unas-
suming Kermit Early. He rose and standing, looked again at the
letter.
“What does she mean — going to have a baby?” he exclaimed out
loud. “Has she gone crazy? She can't have a baby, - she can't dare
to t” He strolled across the room and then turning, came back, paused,
and gazed excitedly into space.
“But Florence, you can’t do this! Don't you understand? You
can't go having a baby! It will spoil everything — everything!” He
turned and walked the floor again, trying to understand if he was
awake, or asleep. -
True, she had wanted a baby ever since it all started, but both
understood too well why it was insane to even think about it and
they had not talked about it much lately except during their moments
of sexual excitement, when she always cried, “I want a baby, I want
a baby, Kermit, I want a baby!”
He sat back down and began to read the paragraph again, hoping
that he had been mistaken. But it read the same way the second time,
so he went on further into it, hoping that she might be joking.
“I failed to come around again, which is the second
month I’ve missed, so it is obvious that I am in family way,
and can look forward in due time to becoming a happy
mother as I have so long wanted to.”
He rose again from his seat, paralyzed with excitement. “Has she
gone cragy, blind and completely insane,” he said half to himself,
and beat himself with the fist, in which he held the letter.
It is obvious by his actions that the writer was not Kermit Early's
wife—! That would be enough under ordinary circumstance to upset
a man and annoy him when he realized as Kermit Early did, that
the forthcoming blessed event was his. -
The writer was not only not Kermit Early's wife, she was a white
zwoman! And not only a white woman, but a wealthy and aristocratic
white woman, scion of one of the oldest families in the south—and the
wife of a wealthy white man! the owner of a string of textile mills,
stretching from Virginia across both Carolina's to Northern Georgia.
Several times a millionaire!
All of which sounds too fantastic to even think of — until we
relate how it started, and how it developed. To understand it more


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 29
fully, let us go back a few years, while Kermit Early was still in high
school and Florence Wingate, the writer's name, née, Adair, were
both in Wakefield. If you were now back to those days and had lived
in Wakefield, you would have heard Florence Adair, as beautiful .
as a Goddess, referred to as the “prettiest girl in Wakefield” the
most shapely, and by those closest to her, but by those only, as the
most passionate! Her parents were descended from one of those
families you meet so often when you travel South, who “had been
wealthy — before the civil war,” when they owned anywhere from a
hundred to a thousand slaves. -
It seems that every white person you meet with any ancestral
pride and heredity, from the South, has descended from a family
who “owned many slaves,” during the days of slavery. But Florence
Adair's great-grand parents had owned many slaves and had been
wealthy during that period. They had gradually lost everything until
all that was left was a memory and a position of respect among the
leading white people of Wakefield. Her father was cashier of one
of the two banks, earning enough, by being careful, to maintain their
position, to keep the younger children in school and send the girls
away to a boarding school, two Negro servants at $2.00 each per week,
the balance in food and old clothes. And so we meet the Adairs.
Florence had spent two years at a girl's school in Virginia from
where the lady dean had written her mother to “be very careful
with Florence, always. A lovely girl, kind and good,” and as we
know, beautiful, - but so passionate until it was difficult for her
since she was twelve to control it!
“Try to get her married off to some young man as quickly as pos-
sible,” the dean went on to say in her letter to Florence's mother
just before graduation. “Otherwise,” she continued, “you might be
sorry — and she's too nice a girl for anything sordid to happen to her.”
As to Kermit Early, his father was a barber, and so was his father's
father. He conducted a barbershop for white trade in Wakefield, now
in the third generation of its existence and ownership, so Kermit
possessed, as far as Negroes went, tradition of a kind. All his forebears
had been educated. His father had shaved and knew most all of the
“best white people” in and around Wakefield and had been doing
so for years. They were highly respected by these white people. His
brothers and sisters had all been to school in Atlanta; some had gone


30 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
north. His sisters had all married and at no time had any played the
role of concubine to white men. Though all were pretty, shapely and
attractive, they had escaped this blight and scourge. So Kermit's
mother and father, then in the afternoon of their lives, were happy
and contented with no plans to go north and get away from the mean
white people of Georgia.
Kermit finished high school at sixteen and it was around this time
when Florence Adair, who knew him and started, in passing the bar-
ber shop, by hitting him lightly without letting on and would call,
“Hello, Kermit,” in reply to which he always smiled and replied,
“How do, Miss Florence” and nobody thought anything about it.
It was shortly after Florence returned from the boarding school in
Virginia when passing by the barbershop, which was located in the
heart of the town's small business section, that she had paused, caught
his hand for a brief and fleeting moment, squeezed it and when he
looked up in surprise, stuck her tongue out at him and made a mis-
chievous face.
Leonard Warner, his boy friend who worked at the drug store two
doors away, had happened by chance, to be looking out the window
and saw it. He strolled along a few minutes later, paused, leaned
toward him and buzzed:
“Saw that Adair gal squeeze your hand and make a face at you
awhile ago. Better be careful, Kermit, that gal's dynamite.”
“What do you mean, dynamite?’
“She's as hot as hell. Needs a man, plenty of him, but she's too
sensible to play around with white boys carelessly. Her mother
watches her like a hawk. She don't want nothing to happen.”
“Whew l’ cried Kermit. “It wouldn't be hard to go for her—and I
don't mean maybe.”
“I agree with you, but we're down South. Negroes are not supposed
to even know pretty white girls like her, and she's the prettiest one in
town.”
“You’re telling me! But take it easy, boy. I ain't thinking about
acting a fool.”
“If you do, it won't take 'em long to have you dangling from
a limb.”
“And it's me that knows it. I ain't thinking about Florence Adair.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 31
“But she is about you. I've seen her giving you the goo, goo two
or three times.”
“Quit your kiddin'.”
“I ain't kiddin'. That gal's hot, as hot as fire and I’d be willin'
to bet that she would go with a niggah if she had half a chance.”
“Not this niggah, 'cause I ain't givin' her no chance to get me
lynched.”
“Every white boy in town would give half his life to just feel
her, but she's got plenty sense. She ain't going to let any of them
fool around and set her up.”
“Wonder if any has ever got next to her?” said Kermit.
The other shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“Why P”
“As hot as she is she's got sense enough to realize that if she
started playing around, she'd be having every white boy in town.
“That right,” said Kermit. “She couldn't control herself.”
“But if she could steal into a back room somewhere, she'd take a
chance on some nice looking, educated colored boy like you to play
with.”
“Not me, nevuh.” cried Kermit, and laughing, went into the barber
shop.
It was around this time when short skirts became very popular
for the second time in a decade. Florence shocked Wakefield by
coming out in one that barely reached her knees. With beautiful,
rounded and shapely calves like she possessed and slender ankles to
add to it, with a wealth of heavy, golden hair, which covered her
shoulders, when she went through the streets, almost everybody
turned to look at her, especially her beautiful conspicuously dis-
played calves.
A few weeks went by and it was getting along towards the end of
the summer. Kermit was looking forward to entering Atlanta Uni-
versity that fall, so was trying to make a little money so as to have
some spare change to spend when he went up to the big city, as
Atlanta was referred to in Wakefield. He had, therefore, had his shoe
shine chair repainted and made more attractive; a cushion to make
it more comfortable when they sat on it, and parked it on the
sidewalk every day and solicited shines from every white person who
came by whose shoes seemed to need it. Occasionally, a white woman


32 THE CASE OF MFS. WINGATE .
got a shine, but he was careful never to speak to her unless she
first spoke to him.
One day, about the middle of the afternoon when everything was
quiet, he was sitting by his chair, reading a magazine and did not
notice or seem to hear a pair of footsteps come up to him and stop.
Conscious after a moment that some one was near, he raised his eyes,
and the first thing that met his gaze was the beautiful legs of
Florence Adair. /
“Kermit,” she said, at which he was on his feet and bowing,
solicitously.
“Yes, Miss Florence. What can I do for you?”
“Can I–get a shine?” she said, evenly.
“Why, of course, Miss Florence. I’ll be glad to shine your shoes,
and I'll give you a good one, too, I sure will.”
“Thank you, Kermit,” she said and held out her hand for him to
help her upon the chair. He took it and was thrilled by the softness
of it. He lifted her and she seated herself in the chair, rather care-
fully, he thought.
“Do you mind, Kermit,” she said, after she was seated and had
adjusted herself, he recalled later, rather carefully, “letting me see
your magazine while you shine my shoes?”
“Of course not, Miss Florence,” he cried, reaching and picking it
up. He was in the act of handing it to her, when his eyes, on the way
up, fell on an object, where they halted, lingered a moment, during
which he almost lost his balance. A fleeting second, and he recovered
sufficiently to complete what he had started to do, hand her the maga-
zine, to find her looking at him out of half-closed and subtle eyes.
His breath came short and he was so nervous that he fumbled
among the polishes. He dared raise his eyes again—and there it was,
still exposed to his gaze! Never since the day he was born had he been
so tempted | So tempted to-commit suicide! After fumbling the
polishes again, he dared steal another look, then breathed an unheard
sigh of relief to see that she had closed her limbs, ending the agony.
He was perspiring all over: his brain was in a whirl. As explained,
Kermit Early's people were the best colored folks in Wakefield. His
sisters had never worked in the white folks kitchen. The family had
lots of pride, had raised their children well, to control their passions,
among other things, and not be common like most Negroes.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 33
So Kermit did not run around; he had never been intimate with a
girl and hadn't ever really thought much about it. Now the picture
he had seen, which she had deliberately exposed to his view, had him
almost insane. He managed to shine her shoes, which didn't need it
at all when he looked at them. So he knew that she had come for it
to purposely show him what he saw He thought about his con-
versation with Leonard. Then Florence Adair was playing him. Flor-
ence Adair he realized now, would be willing to make a date with
him if he'd let her. -
Well, he didn't intend to let her do anything of the kind. He was
ambitious; he had visualized a future, the first part of which was to
complete his education, to go places thereafter — and he couldn't
realize any of these living things by letting a passionate and designing
white girl, get him hanged to the limb of a tree!
When she got down off the chair, she held a coin toward him and
in taking it, which was a quarter, she said, softly, “keep the change”
and Squeezed his hand again, then turning, left him, to pause when
a few steps away to smile back at him over her shoulder.
Two doors away, Leonard was standing, watching all that had hap-
pened through the window of the drug store. As soon as convenient
and he could slip away, he strolled across to Kermit, who was sitting
beside his shoe shine stand, still trembling as he was seeing over and
over again, the picture she had brought, and posed it full into his face.
“’Lo, Kermit,” said Leonard.
Kermit started, and looking up saw that it was Leonard, sighed.
“Hello, yourself, Len.”
“I saw it,” he said, easily.
Kermit looked up, quickly. “You saw what?”
“Don’t try to kid me, Kermit. You know what I saw.”
“Yeah?” -
“Yeh. That Adair gal. She's going to get you lynched yet.”
“Not me.”
“If she keeps on coming by here, making a play for you like she
did just a while ago, some dirty old white boy who'd like to get next
to her himself is going to see it and then—a dead nigger.”
“It was all her. I did nothing.”
“I know you didn't, but if somebody decides to start accusing you,
nothing you could say about what you didn't do would mean a thing.”


34 - THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“I know it. I wish she'd let me alone.”
“If she don't, you ain't going to live very long, I can tell you that.”
“If she'll only let me alone for a few weeks, she won't have a chance
to bother me thereafter. I'm going away to school in Atlanta in
September.”
“Better go now and be sure to keep on living.”
“I wish I could. But there's a few things I’ve just got to do before
I leave. In the meantime, don't you go telling anybody what you saw,
or that this little gal is making passes at me.”
“I’m too good a friend of yours and of any other niggah, to do that.
But take a fool's advice, get out of Wakefield before she gets you in
trouble.” And with that, Leonard turned and went back to the drug-
St0re.
Kermit Early kept thinking about what he saw, and became
conscious for the first time in his young life that women had some-
thing to fire a man's imagination, a man's desire — and unhappiness!
Almost every waking hour from that day on was a disturbing hour.
He had always pictured that men and women should meet each other
intimately only after they had married. Now he was conscious of a
change. What Florence Adair had showed him was giving him a new
slant on life. He tried to shake it off. It was annoying, yet he couldn't.
Still he knew that he must; that he had to. If he was going up to
Atlanta to enter college and put in four years of hard study, he had no
time to go indulging in lurid dreams, fantasies and all that went with it.
Yet the dreams went on and the fantasies joined in and the calm peace
and boyhood he had enjoyed was all changing.
Still Kermit Early had lots of will power, and by sheer force of will
he put the tempting picture out of his mind and forced himself to be
again like he was before it happened. Florence Adair continued to pass
the shop as she had been since he had known her; but she could
never catch his eye. He was always looking elsewhere when she made
an appearance. But this peace was not to continue. Florence Adair
was passionate, and she was designing and impelled by her maddening
passion, she planned a new way to force her attention on the colored
boy she had by now begun to admire beyond just sexual desire.
The Sunday before Kermit was to leave for Atlanta, was one
of his best days for shines. Cotton and tobacco were being marketed,
money was in circulation, and the men were free with it and he had


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 35
made nearly five dollars when he dragged his chair back into the
shop from the sidewalk where he had made so many shines and so
much money. He was very happy.
Inside, he was cleaning up, preparing to go home to get dressed
then to go down on Railroad Avenue, the Negro Broadway, and spend
his last Sunday for a long time in Wakefield, having a good time.
Suddenly he heard a light knock on the front door. He was not sure
so paused and listened, more closely. Presently he heard it again,
this time a trifle louder. He was in the rear of the shop. He wondered
who it could be. He peered through the large glass windows, with
drawn blinds, and could see an outline shadow of someone. So thinking
it was, perhaps, Leonard, he went forward and opened the door. Some
one slipped in and by him so quickly he hardly saw who it was until
he closed the door and turned — and lo and behold, it was Florence
Adair! Fright seized him.
“Oh, Kermit,” she cried facing him excitedly. “I—”
“Miss Florence!” he managed to gasp, and then choked before he
could say more. Cold fear running down his back, he began to tremble
from the effects.
“I know, I know,” she cried, hurriedly and in subdued voice, laying
a consoling hand on him. “But take it easy, Kermit. I'm not going
to stay long.”
“Please go now, Miss Florence, quick before some white person
sees you." Please go, for God’s sake, Miss Florence, please go!”
he cried, beseechingly, almost in tears. He reached to open the door
but she grabbed his hand and held it tightly.
“Please, Kermit,” she cried, trembling all over with amorous
anxiety. “I’m lonesome, Kermit, so lonesome, I want to talk to you.
I won't take long. Please listen,” and she drew him closer to her.
He resisted but in her excitement she seemed stronger than he, and
before he knew it she had drawn him so close until her hot breath was
in his face, as he cried:
“What on earth do you want to talk to me about?” He was so
frightened by now that tears were running down his cheeks; his teeth
chattered. She looked at him oddly.
“You — you know what you saw when I came for the shine?
I—I want you to-to put your arms around me now Kermit. Put your
arms around me and hug me. Squeeze me tight, Kermit.” She tried


36. - THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
to draw his hand around her waist.
“Please go, Miss Florence. I didn't see anything. Please in heaven's
name go, leave the shop before the white poeple find out and come and
lynch me. Please go, Miss Florence,” he whined, pitifully. Still she
persisted — more now than ever.
“Yes, you did, Kermit,” she whispered. “I arranged my clothes
so that you would; so you couldn't help seeing it. I saw you start, so
I know you saw it. So please hug me now, Kermit. I want you to,”
she said, holding his right hand as in a vise. He beat his side with
his free hand.
“Oh, Miss Florence, why do you want me to die. I ain’t never done
nothing to you; I haven't ever done anything to anybody. Please go,
now, that's all I ask you to do, please go – quick.”
“Take it easy, Kermit. I'll go quickly after you do what I ask you to;
as quickly as you do what I want you to.” she said, holding onto
his hand as for dear life and trying to force it around her waist.
“I’ve been planning to have you do so for a long time, Kermit. I
was watching from across the street and rushed over as quickly as the
people all got out of sight.”
He was weeping by now without restraint, like a helpless child.
She tried to shake some sense into him, but failing, she became
thoughtful, her eyes closed as if with a new purpose. She loosed his
hand and glaring at him through half-closed eyes, she whispered:
“Listen, Kermit and be sensible. I let you see everything I had and
now I want you to — do what I ask. I don't care anything about the
white people in this town or anywhere else. I’m burning up with pas-
sion and I’ve got to have some satisfaction. I can't afford to fool with
any white man, but nobody will suspect that I would with you. We're
all alone here in the shop. There's a cot in the back room. I know it's
there for I’ve seen it when I’ve been here to get my hair trimmed. I
want you to go into the back room with me for a few minutes. I don't
want to get you hurt, but you'll either go back there and do what I
want you to, or I'll — open the door and screamſ scream as loud as
I can, do you hear?”
“Oh, Miss Florence, you want to get me lynched, you want to get
me lynched God help me and let me pray.” He started to his knees,
but she jerked him so hard that he had to stand erect.
“Quit the whining and come with me to the back room, do you


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE - 37
hear?” Again she shook him. He trembled all over and his teeth chat-
tered. “Will you go, or shall I open the door and scream?”
“I’ll — I'll go, Miss Florence. It won't do any good because I'm
too scared to think, much less do what you're asking me to. Oh, God,
forgive me.” Without further words, she half-lead and half-dragged
him towards the rear, with him still crying, tears flowing now all
over him.
Back there she sat down on the cot and tried to drag him down,
but he managed to stand. She tore his trousers open and—just then
somebody shook the door. Both gasped. She rose quickly to her feet
and glared excitedly in that direction. Again the door was shaken.
She now looked around quickly. There was a back door. She rushed
across to it. It was locked but the key was in the lock. She turned it,
slipped out, closed the door softly and a moment later he heard her
footsteps rush away toward the alley in the rear. He sighed bewilder-
ingly. Then somebody shook the door again. He heard talking outside.
Somebody else had come up. It was the mob, he was sure, gathering
to lynch him.
“They've come for me,” he cried to himself. Then looking down,
he buttoned his trousers. Then after he had dried the tear marks, he
walked toward the door, his heart in his mouth, but rubbing his eyes
to pretend that he'd been asleep. Opening the door, he got another
shock! There stood Dump Oakes, the town policeman. He was talk-
ing with two other white men, all three of whom turned to look at
him. His eyes opened wide with fear, but Oakes smiled broadly,
as he cried:
“Hello, Kermit. Don't be afraid. I'm not here to arrest you,” and he
laughed good-naturedly. The other men turned and walked away.
“I was asleep in the back room, Mr. Oakes. You woke me up.”
“That's what I thought, Kermit. How you niggers can sleep, too!”
Kermit laughed like a “nigger.” Never had he been so glad to play
the good darky as he played it now.
“My wife told me to get my shoes shined before I came home to
dinner. She's going to have company this afternoon, and said she didn't
want me looking like a bum. But I forgot all about it all morning.
Then when I came, I saw you'd moved your stand off the sidewalk.
So I decided to take a chance and rattled the door. I’d decided you'd
gone home, so was about to turn away when I heard you shuffling


38 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
this way,” and he laughed again, good naturedly.
“All right Mr. Oakes,” he cried, so happy that Oakes had come in
the nick of time. “I’ll be glad to fix you up. I'm going to give you
a shine that will make your company look at your shoes. I sure will.
Get right up on the stand, Mr. Oakes, please,” he said. Laughingly
Oakes obeyed.
“You saved my life, boy. I sure am glad you decided to take a nap
before going home.” He pushed his big feet hard down against the
holders so that Kermit could do a good job, took off his cap, wiped
his big, red face and relaxed against the back of the chair while Kermit
went after his shoes as he had never shined a pair before.
Sitting there in his apartment in Chicago, Kermit Early stirred,
having lived through the first episode of his acquaintance with Florence
Adair. He shifted comfortably, got up and found himself a drink
of ice water, set the silver pitcher, after taking a big drink, where
he could take another later, let his mind drift back again into his
yesteryears.
It was near the close of his second year at Atlanta University. In
Atlanta he had, out of the sight of Florence Adair, got himself
under control again, and had put in two strenuous years of study
and was hopeful of being able to finish and get his A.B. six months in
advance of the usual four year period. While his parents paid his tui-
tion, he tried to make his board and room rent by working after
school hours at a cleaning and pressing shop.
He often thought of Florence Adair, wondered if she had gotten
married and often sighed, happy in the thought that he had escaped
from the worst temptation he ever experienced. He knew he would
never forget the fear that he lived through in the few minutes she
had tried to force him to risk his life.
All this fear had left him by now. Atlanta was large enough and
cosmopolitan enough in its reactions to pay little attention to what
anybody did. He had met and knew colored men since coming there
who boasted freely of having white women and met them frequently
at private houses, where they talked about it and nobody paid any
attention to it. Colored men were frequently even caught with white
women and arrested. Good lawyers invariably got them off at the
most with a fine, The greatest danger, and one that couples were care-


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 39
ful to avoid, was the police. If the officer decided to shoot a Negro,
caught with a white woman, the Negro was just dead, and most times
that was the end of it.
So Kermit liked Atlanta. When he finished Atlanta University,
his plans were to go north to Chicago and secure his M.A. degree
there. He was happy. All Negroes are happy when they can have
freedom. And Atlanta was easily one of the freest towns in the
South for a Negro.
He had been to deliver some clothes to a house in Peachtree Circle
and was on the way to his room when he heard a squealing of brakes,
and somebody vigorously blowing a horn. He kept on, not thinking it
was to attract his attention, so the horn was blown again, louder and
longer. He paused and looked in that direction. Somebody stepped
from a fine Cadillac Coach, waved their hand and called:
“Kermit, oh, Kermit! Come here!” He looked at who was calling
more closely, then smiled when he recognized Florence Adair. He
crossed to where she stood, waiting for him. She was smiling all over
and reached out her hand which he didn't hesitate to take, when he
came up.
“Kermit Early, you,” she exclaimed and seemed very pleased.
“And you, Miss Florence. I’m surprised, but glad to see you again.”
“And I’m more than glad to see you, Kermit,” she said, looking
him up and down. “You’re looking fine.”
“Thank you, Miss Florence, and so are you.”
“Thank you, Kermit. I feel fine. How are you anyhow?”
“Oh just fine, Miss Florence, just fine.”
“You look it. How are you getting along in school?”
“I expect to graduate six months ahead of schedule.”
“Wonderful,” she cried and beamed. “I’m so glad to hear it.”
“Thank you, Miss Florence. Meanwhile, how is Wakefield?”
She started. -
“Oh, Wakefield,” she repeated, a little absently, “All right, the last
time I was down there.”
He expressed surprise by a flash of his eyes.
“The last time you were there?” -
“Yes, I'm living here now, you know.”
“Oh, you're living in Atlanta?
“Yes, Kermit, Been living here since I married.”


40 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Since you married And so you're married? That's fine, Mrs. — ”
“—Wingate is my name now. I married a man by the name of
Wingate.”
“Oh, you did? Wingate?” he murmured, thoughtfully. Then raising
his eyes, “He wouldn't happen to be related to the Textile Wingate,
I suppose?”
“He is the Textile Wingate.”
“Oh,” cried Kermit. “A very rich man!”
Her reaction didn't seem enthusiastic. Instead, she merely shrugged
her shoulders lightly.
“I’ve been married a little over a year,” she said.
“Isn't that fine,” he exclaimed. “Well, I'm not surprised. You're
a very pretty lady, Mrs. Wingate. You were entitled to marry some
rich man.” Again she shrugged her shoulders lightly, and still failed
to register any enthusiasm. Instead, she seemed at the moment more
interested in him. -
“What are you doing, Kermit, other than going to school?”
“I’ve got a little job in a pressing shop, working after school,
Saturdays and holidays.”
“I see. Do you like it?” tº
He shrugged his shoulders carelessly.
“It’s just a job, Mrs. Wingate. I get almost enough to eat on and
pay my room rent:
“Wouldn't you like a - better job?”
“Anything that is better than what you have is just that much
better.” -
She was thoughtful a moment, then raised her eyes.
“Step into the car,” she said, swinging the large door wide. He
stepped inside. She moved over under the wheel to give him room
to sit down beside her.
“How'd you like to come and work for us, Kermit? For — me?”
He turned to look at her, not making reply at once for no reason
that he could understand. As he caught her eyes, she lowered them
momentarily. Both were thinking of what happened back in Wakefield.
He pushed it away and started to reply, a reply which she seemed
to be expecting, and, as we shall see, was prepared to counter even
before he began to make it.
“I’m very thankful for the offer, Mrs. Wingate—”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 41
She raised her hand before he could get the “but” out.
“Now, now. No ‘buts', Kermit,” she said, chidingly. She shifted,
and went ahead more firmly. “The fact is, Kermit, I’ve been wanting
to get in touch with you for sometime. I even wrote to friends back in
Wakefield to advise me where I could reach you. They weren't suc-
cessful and I was much disappointed. Now that coincidence has
favored me, I want to at least have a long talk with you.” Then to
herself, I have to be careful or I'll frighten him away. Feel my way,
get him interested. Meanwhile, Kermit felt he might get out of it
by explaining about his school hours.
“You understand that I’m going to school, Mrs. Wingate; about
to graduate from college and that requires lots of study. I don't really
have so much time. I — ”
“I’ve considered all that, Kermit. I want to see you complete your
education. I admire you for your ambitions and always have. We can
arrange the work you are to do at your convenience. We — I can
offer you a better job, bigger pay. I know you aren't getting much
where you're working now. You said almost enough to buy your
meals, pay for your room. That's not enough, Kermit. You need more
spending money so that you can go see a movie now and then, gad
around a bit. I’ll — see that you get enough to do so.”. She paused
and sought for words. She was thinking fast, she wanted to get in her
part before he made his decision. He was listening to her.
“By the way. Why not drive me out to the house where we can
talk the matter over in detail? I live straight out Peachtree, in Buck-
head. You know where that is, sorta out in the suburbs.” He knew
where it was and that only the rich and aristocratic lived there.
Wingate. One of the richest men in Atlanta. He turned to look at her.
He was thinking that her husband must be much older than she. It was
usually the way. Rich man married to a young and pretty girl. That
was white people's way. They got all the breaks. Then suddenly for
no reason that he could understand, he turned and smiled his consent.
“I’m glad,” she cried, happily.
“Thank you. Which way and where do you want to go?”
“I’ll show you.” -
He got out then and went around the car and opened the door on
the driver's side. She smiled at him sweetly, and moved over. He
got in and took the wheel.


42 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
He was strangely relieved. She was the little girl he knew back in
Wakefield again. Of a sudden the events there jumped back into his
mind and paraded again before him. But they were in Atlanta now, big
and free Atlanta and he wasn't afraid any longer. If Mrs. Wingate
wanted to play with him, he wouldn't be afraid. Atlanta was too
big and too busy for anybody to care what went on, or what some-
body else wanted to do. Oh, what a feeling, just to be free, not afraid
and he wasn't afraid any longer.
“Now turn at the next corner,” she said, pointing her finger in that
direction, “to the right into Peachtree Street and just drive straight
out that street until after we go under a Railroad. That's the Southern.
We live about five blocks on the other side of it.”
He obeyed her and both became strangely silent and formal, like
Mistress and servant. This continued all the way to the mansion she
pointed out for him to turn into. He drove the car up to the steps where
he stopped it and looked at her.
“Now,” she said, “tell me what time you can come to see me
tomorrow P” -
“Classes are over at 2:30. I’ll go to the shop and make my deliveries
which may take until five o'clock. Then I could, if you wish me to,
come directly here.”
“Supposing that we make it say, at between five and six?”
“That'll be all right, Mrs. Wingate. Often there aren't so many
deliveries to make and I get through earlier.”
“That'll be fine, Kermit. I’ll be expecting you at between five
and six tomorrow.” She paused and he got out quickly and ran
around the car and opened the door on her side, took her hand, which
was still as soft as it was back in Wakefield, and assisted her to the
steps, leading up to the house, where she turned thanking him
again, went inside. He went to the street where he would catch a
Peachtree Street car which would drop him off at Peachtree, and
Whitehall, near five points, from where he planned to go down on
Auburn Avenue.
In spite of the many Negroes, the noise, and the excitement he
found on Auburn avenue, he couldn't put Mrs. Wingate out of his
mind. He kept seeing the picture she had pushed into his face in
Wakefield over again; her visit to the shop and her effort to get him to
make a fool of himself. He recalled her saying so many times, so


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 43
many more than he thought necessary, during their conversation. “I
want to talk to you . . . I want to have a long talk with you . . .
We'll talk matters over.” What could she mean by all that? She was
Mrs. Wingate now, married to a rich man, no longer Florence Adair,
who didn't want to fool around with any white boy and get talked,
about, become disgraced. Wakefield was too small to get careless in.
He realized that there was nothing to do but wait and hear what
she had to say on the morrow. She had done all the talking, and made
all the movements back in Wakefield. She did most of the talking and
made all the arrangements about his calling to see her that afternoon.
However he felt, he knew he would let her continue to do all the
talking, the next day and the next and as long as he worked for her.
That was the sensible thing to do. Let white people offer to shake
your hand; let white people speak first, let white people take the
initiative in everything when it came to dealing with Negroes. Then
you wouldn't ever get in trouble. Atlanta was big, and it was free,
but it was still down South.
Then he thought about her husband, whose name was often in
the papers. She was married now and she was no doubt, he conjec-
tured, being satisfied. Maybe she had put all she tried to have him
do, of what she showed him, out of her mind. She'd ought to have,
but had she? Well, he’d soon see.
Until he completed his deliveries just before five the next day
he had lived through a maze of imaginary events, anxiety. It seemed
the time would never pass, but as time does, it always passes. During
those waiting hours he thought of about everything. He even re-
called how white men had colored women back in Wakefield. So
common. With the exception of his sisters, the town had few pretty
colored girls that white men had not had or did not at one time or
other, play with. He recalled how they'd put pretty ones who let
themselves get careless, drunk and finally get locked up; and while
they were in the hoosegow, white deputies, constables, and arresting
officers would slip into the cells and demand sexual intercourse on a
bargaining basis with the poor unfortunate girls. Sometimes they
were kept there several days while three or four of the officers satis-
fied their lust before they would let them out.
“White people can be so dirty, crackers especially,” could always
be heard in the Negro Section, “A jig ain't got no chance.” Most


44 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
pretty colored girls had to go north to keep from being forced to be
intimate with white men. Even when they married, they had to often
submit, and very often come up with white babies when their hus-
bands were black men. Most Negroes, therefore, had a grudge
against white people, and if they were educated and sensitive, they
hated them. So during the night Early began to develop a desire
to get even. If he could have a pretty white woman, he could feel
that he was getting even in a small way for some of the wrongs white
men forced on colored women since the South began.
In a conversation with a friend on his way to his room that night,
he listened with strange interest to what the other seeſhed anxious
to talk about.
“Plenty niggahs got white gals in Atlanta,” said the other.
“Really?”
“Sho.”
“Whores.” -
“Naw. White gals from these small towns. When they get to
Atlanta and up no'th, the first thing they wants is a niggah. I’ve heard
'um say: ‘white men always layin' 'round with niggah women. I'm
going to have all the niggah men I can stand up under, the first chance
I get” and he laughed.
Shortly after five P. M. the next day, he knocked on the back door
of the Wingate home in Buckhead, and waited. Not for long, for she
had been waiting for him and opened the door.
“Kermit. You're on time. Come in.”
He entered. “Why didn't you come to the front door? I was looking
for you there. When I saw you going around to the back, I had to
run all the way back here to let you in.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wingate.”
Oh, it's all right, except we've got to walk all the way back to the
front now to get upstairs where I’ve arranged to talk to you. Follow
me, please,” and smiling, she led the way toward the front.
Early followed her out of the kitchen, into and through a large,
attractive dining room, which opened into a large, wide hallway.
Out of this whirled a winding stairway to the second floor. She
mounted the steps as he came up, paused to smile at him like
she had back in Wakefield. He hesitated.
“Why don't you smile, Kermit,” she said, looking at him. “This


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 45
is Atlanta. People are too busy here to pay any attention to their
neighbors or anybody else. So relax, take it easy. Be real.” She smiled
upon him again, sweetly. -
“Now come and walk beside me, not behind me, always behind like
an old cow's tail,” and she laughed again. He grinned. “That's bet-
ter,” she said. “Now come on. You and I are going to have a long
talk.” She turned now and he dared walk beside her to the top of the
stairway, where she paused, and affected tiredness.
“Some steps, eh, Kermit?” He looked down.
“They're pretty. The whole house is pretty.”
“Yes, the house is pretty” she said with a peculiar emphasis on the
house. He became conscious that in some way she was acting a bit
peculiar. He wondered why.
“Now we start back to the rear again,” she said, turning and reach-
ing, took his hand and dropped it after they had started. There was a
long hall up there, too, but not as wide. They passed bedrooms, all
gorgeously furnished, on the way back. Then, just before reaching
the end of the hall, which opened on a porch, she turned sharply
to the left and bumped into him. She was closer to him now than
ever, and he found himself looking straight into her eyes. He caught
his breath, for in hers was the same thing he had seen when she
looked at him in the barber shop that day.
“I should have told you that we would turn.” The collision had
brought them to a stop. She took his hand again and this time held
onto it, loosening it only when they reached a door, where she paused
and took some keys and unlocked it. He didn't know what to do. She
opened the door, walked in, turned.
“Come in,” she said, smiling. He entered. She turned and latched
the door after he entered.
“This is your room, Kermit.”
“My room?” he repeated in surprise.
“Of course. I want you to stay here.”
“Oh,” he echoed, and looked around the room a bit curiously.
“I’ll show it to you.” She walked ahead; to one side was another
door which when opened, displayed a large closet.
“Your closet. Don't you think it's nice and roomy? It'll keep your
clothes nice and clean.”
“Sure is nice, Mrs, Wingate.”


46 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“When we're in the room alone, Kermit, call me Florence. I’ll like
that better.”
“I could never get used to addressing you like that, Mrs. Wingate.”
“Try it. You will — after a while.” She led him a few steps and
opened another door.
“Your bath,” she said, going inside. He followed. It was nice. With
a large tub and shower. He never thought he would ever get to live
in such a room. There was a whole rack of towels, soap, everything
clean, immaculate. She turned to face him and smiled again.
“Like it?” -
“Yes, maam, but — ”
“No buts. Now I'll show you the rest of it.” She left the bathroom
then, he following. There was a fine bed, with a light over it, a table
on one side.
“So you can check through your studies in bed and at leizure. I
fixed all this myself — after you left yesterday.” He didn't know what
to say, so said nothing. But he did like it.
She led the way now around the bed to the other side of the room,
where she opened another door. Another closet. He looked in.
“Two closets. One for your trunk, so it won't spoil the looks of
the room, by setting around in the way.”
“My,” he managed to say.
She smiled at him, then led the way now to a door at the rear,
opened it. It led to the back porch and a few feet away a pair of
stairs led downward to the floor of the porch below.
“A back entrance so you won't have to come through the house when
you return to the room at night.”
He smiled appreciatively. She stuck her thumb in his side playfully
as she led the way back into the room, and paused over near the bed.
“Two large windows, so that you can open them and get cool air
at night.”
“It’s too fine a room for a – servant, Mrs. Wingate.”
“Not for you, Kermit. You're an educated servant. You have imag-
ination, you need a chance to develop it, I want to help you develop
yourself.”
“You’re very kind, Mrs. Wingate.”
“You can’t say ‘Florence?’”
“Oh, Mrs. Wingate, no. I — ”


THE case of Mrs. wingate 47
“Oh, all right. Yet, I’m going to teach you how before it's all over.”
There was a large, overstuffed chair; and an occasional one, with
a small low table between.
“Sit down,” she said, pointing to the overstuffed chair. He obeyed.
She sat on the occasional chair, moving it a bit closer to his before
doing so.
“Now we'll have that talk,” she said.
About what, he thought. Why was Mrs. Wingate doing all this for
him? He was to soon see. He tried to push his chair away a little.
“Oh, don't Kermit. Quit being afraid. I don't like you being
afraid of me.” -
He grinned, sheepishly. What was all this leading up to, he won-
dered. It was what he'd thought he'd like a few hours before. He had
dreamed and visualized such a situation. Now that it was upon him,
he was plainly frightened. She looked at him and understood, so
smiled reassuringly.
“Remember what I said. We're in Atlanta now, not Wakefield
where it was sensible for you to be scared. Don't be that way any
longer. Nobody is going to know, nor pay any attention to what you
and I do up here,” so saying she slid her chair closer to him again.
He sighed and looked bewildered.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wingate,” he said. She sighed, so he didn't finish
what he started to say.
“I want to tell you what's on my mind and what I’ve been planning
to do after meeting you yesterday, if you'd quit looking so fright-
ened. Won't you just try to act like you — know me, so that I can *
He sighed and tried to perk up. -
“I’ll try to, Mrs. Wingate.” She moved her chair up against his
now and seemed to be trying to decide just where and how to start.
She reached over and unfolded his hands, took the right and laid
hers on it. She stroked his hand then.
“Now remember, Kermit, anything that happens between us, you
and me, understand, it's me that did it. I want you to feel comfortable
and safe at all times. You'll be all right after you get that fright out
of yourself. You see, you're educated. That always makes a difference.
You know how far to go, and I — trust you. What you must do from
now on is trust me. Let us try to be mutual. In public it is one way
here in this room, it will be, I hope, as we want to make it, I want to


48 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
make it.” She was so nice, he was thinking now.
She reached over with her free hand, placed it under his, and
stroked the top of his hand with her other. He sat there completely
helpless, leaving everything to her.
“But your husband, Mrs. Wingate. Your husband, so rich, so — ”
She jerked her hands away and flashed her eyes, impatiently, rising
to her feet. She stood over him and seemed to go through some
strange transition. He looked up frightened, a fright that she did not
see, for she was looking over his head into space, as if some terrible
revolution was going on within her. He stood up.
“I’m sorry if I — I said something you didn't like, Mrs. Wingate.”
She looked at him oddly, then relaxing, smiled, turned and sat
back down and motioned for him to do likewise. He obeyed her. She
took his hand again and stroked it. He looked on vaguely.
“You spoke about my husband. That's what I want to tell you
about, all about, and then — perhaps you'll undestand.” She dropped
his hand and covered her face with hers. A moment later she lowered
them and turned to him.
“It’s hard to talk about it and you will be the first person that I
have. I — I don't see how I can tell anybody else — not even my own
mother.”
Again she paused, covered her face with her hands again and wept
this time. She took out a kerchief and dobbed her nose and her eyes,
shook her head and turned again to him.
“You could never understand, Kermit, nobody can unless I tell
them. It isn't anything that I want to advertise. But I'm going to
tell you, Kermit, tell you because I know you can be trusted to keep
a secret as I have done since the first night I married him.”
“You mean, Miss Florence, your — wedding night?” He had a
strange suspicion now and was beginning to understand.
“My wedding night!” she exclaimed, and in a moment became a
wild-eyed tigress. “My wedding night! I had no wedding night —
I've never had one; I never will have a wedding night.” Eyes flashing
fire, she gazed into space, a hopeless something. He looked hard at
her, and managed to say:
“Why, Miss Florence — what — do you mean?” Again she re-
laxed.
She seemed so unhappy that he was almost tempted to lay a con-


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 49
soling hand on her. In fact, he started to, then paused, hesitated and
drew it back. She raised her eyes, tears flowing down her cheeks, in
time to see it. His eyes were soft with sympathy.
“Just what I said, Kermit, I've never had a wedding night; I never
will,” and again she fell to weeping. Face down, she sobbed the words.
“Everybody envies me, thinks I married so well when they should be
pitying me, pitying me,” and she wept.
“Miss Florence, please. I'm so sorry to see you so — unhappy.
Why, all this? You have a fine home, a husband, a rich husband.
Isn't he good to you?”
Face still down, eyes hidden, she nodded her head up and down.
“Yes, Kermit, he's good to me, just as good as he can be.”
“Then, why — ” She sat up, proceeded to wipe her tears away.
“My husband, Kermit, is not a - normal man.”
He recoiled, eyes wide.
“Not a - what l” he cried.
She looked at him out of sad, pitiful eyes, nodding her head as
she did so.
“Not a normal man, Kermit, if you know what that means.”
“Oh,” he echoed, and didn't know what else to say. His mind then
went back to an incident, an incident that all the world had followed a
few years before. A murder trial. It happened in Georgia, so she would
remember it; she would know all about it.
“I’m a passionate woman, you know that, Kermit. You know as
no one else does, how my passion lead me — almost to desperate
measures. Still I never did cross the border. Except when I tried to
make you play with me, I never made an advance to a man before
or since. But all my life I’d dreamed of that night, my wedding
night when I could relax into all the excitement that only wedding
night can give a girl. So imagine when that night came, here in this
house where he brought me, he broke down and made a shocking
confession, instead. All the future, children, sweet babies that every
healthy girl longs for and expects, never to be mine.” She fell to
weeping again at the thought of it. He stared at her and thought again
about the trial of a man who was not normal and the terrible tragedy
that was the result of it.
“But he can't help it. He was born that way. And, strange as it may
seem, and as disappointed as I am, I don't hate him for it. I feel


50 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
sorry for him. He is so much older than I, and I didn't want to marry
him from the beginning. But my people were poor but proud, es-
pecially my mother. My father was getting old and the bank was plan-
ning to retire him. My sisters and brothers were in school. We hated
to take them out — it would have been a tragedy, a calamity with my
family struggling so hard to keep their chins up. So — I — consented
to marry him. I felt that a sacrifice on my part would save my people
— and it did. And now — I’m paying the price.” She shook her
head sadly, hopelessly.
“Do you mean when you say that your husband is not a normal
man, that he was, perhaps, like — like Leo M. Frank?”
She sat quickly erect, eyes wide.
“Leo M. Frank!” she exclaimed. “How'd you happen to think
of him?"
“They said that he – was not a normal man.”
Now let us go back a few years; to the trial of Leo M. Frank.
Frank had been sent to Atlanta from Brooklyn, to manage
a pencil factory. He was charged with killing Mary Phagan, a young
Irish girl, employed at the factory, a few years before. He was
charged with luring her to the factory where he planned to have an
unnatural relation with her.
The trial was more sensational than usual because Frank was con-
victed on the testimony of a simple, ignorant Negro. Because of this
fact, a powerful New York daily paper, came to his assistance,
employed the great William J. Burns, himself, imported him
into Atlanta, and with unlimited money to fight the case, suc-
ceeded in throwing everything out of gear and a governor, who later
was retired from public life for a commutation he granted, changing
the Jury verdict which had convicted Frank and sentenced him to be
hanged.
In the Negro's testimony, he related how Frank practiced unnat-
ural relations with certain women who satisfied him for pay. But Frank
wanted nicer women, in this case a girl, who was innocent. In his
passionate state, the Negro testified, that he'd act like he was crazy.
He went on to relate how Frank arranged with him to be on hand
on this particular day, and that he'd fooled Mary Phagan into coming
to the factory so that he could be alone with her. He proceeded then
to arrange matters to fit into the scheme of things, by having the Negro


THE CASE OF MErS. WINGATE 51
take up his watch at the foot of the stair, after the girl came and went
up stairs to get her pay. “So I,” the Negro testified, “took up my
watch at the foot of the stairs and waited.” He went on to say how
he overheard Frank talking to the girl; of him making an advance
and of her refusing. “You see,” the Negro testified Frank said, “I’m
not built like other men.” When asked what he meant by that, the
Negro said that Frank went down on women. -
The Judge at this point called a recess and when court resumed
the next morning, only men were permitted in the court room to hear
the testimony of the Negro who went on to explain what he meant by
“going down”. -
He testified that when the little girl refused, Frank was so impas-
sioned and desperate that he attempted to make her. This brought
on a struggle. She got her fingers in his face and scratched him so
until he had to strike her to make her turn him loose.
“I wanted to be with the little girl but she refused me,” the Negro
said he told him. “Then we got to struggling and she got her fingers in
my face and scratched me something awful. I had to strike her to
make her turn loose, but I guess I struck her too hard. She fell and hit
her head against something and then she lay there still like she was
dead.”
The part that created so much excitement and made everybody,
who heard the testimony, want to kill Frank, was when the Negro told
that while the little girl lay on the floor, unconscious and helpless,
Frank committed the unspeakable act. Examination of the girl's vagi-
na afterward revealed that she was a virgin, had been tampered with,
but there was no fluid to reveal that it had been in the natural way.
Through, his passion cooled and picturing the girl rising from
the floor when she came to and staggering into the street in her con-
dition to make Atlanta ring from end to end with what she would tell
and show was too much for Frank. Crazed, he found a cord, tied
it around her neck and strangled her to death. He then called the
Negro from the stool and had him help try to dispose of the body.
They took it to the basement where Frank ordered the Negro to put
it in the furnace and burn it. At this the Negro balked and refused.
Frank pictured then that if he could get him intoxicated, he would
while in that condition, do it. So he gave the Negro money which he
took and went to a boot-legging joint nearby, as prohibition was in


52 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
effect in Atlanta. The Negro went there and got so drunk until he
became sleepy and went home to have a nap and when he woke up, it
was too late. Frank, in the meantime, wrote murder notes and put
them around the body in the hope of throwing suspicion on the
Negro. And since Georgia was notorious for lynching Negroes, it was
Frank's hope that with suspicion cast toward the Negro, a mob would
gather and lynch him so quick, that suspicion would be diverted from
him. He reckoned wrong, for they did not lynch the Negro but a
year or two later, when the governor was persuaded to commute his
death sentence to life imprisonment, Frank was taken from the
prison by twenty determined men from Marrietta, Georgia, home of
the girl, who stormed the prison farm hospital where Frank was
recovering from a wound a fellow prisoner had made, trying to cut
his throat. They carried him 100 miles to the town where the little
girl had lived and hanged him to the limb of a gum tree.
“Leo M. Frank,” Florence was saying after a pause. “Yes, my
husband is like Frank. So now, Kermit, you understand. Just like
Frank,” she repeated and looked at him helplessly. “Oh, it's too awful
to think about. My life here in this big empty house, is a life — of
hell!” Again she wept in self pity and again he felt sorry for her.
“Some day, and I think of it so much until I imagine at times it is
about to happen, I feel I'll go crazy. Oh, I can't stand it longer,
Kermit. I just can't go on putting up with it!” She rose to her feet
and walked the floor. He sat there and just looked at her and felt sorry
for her. Her life he could now understand, must be terribly unhappy.
She had, on the one hand, everything, on the other, nothing. She
returned to the chair after a time and sat down again.
“In spite of imposing myself on you back there in Wakefield the
way I did, I've been a nice girl. I’m still a virgin insofar as any
sexual actions are concerned, but I have to put up with so much
punishment, in a way, to satisfy him until I'm worse off always than
I was before. I've still got to go on being careful. I dreamed of a man,
a fine young man since I. was twelve years old. I wanted to be
embraced, hugged and kissed, but was afraid to let any white boys
do all this back there. It was then that I began to notice you. I kept
looking at you; I kept thinking about you. Then I would look at you
again, and I noticed that you had pretty eyes, such beautiful eyes.”
She leaned over to look into his more directly. He was forced to


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 53
smile. She smiled too, the first time, it seemed, for a long time.
“You have got pretty eyes, Kermit, beautiful eyes. Hasn't anybody
ever told you that you have before?” He was forced to smile again,
but said nothing.
“Have they?” she repeated.
“I don't know,” he lied modestly.
“You’re telling a story,” she said and reached out and took his
hand again. “I think you have,” she said, cuddling them. “Did you
think I was a-bad girl, the way I acted? I mean, in Wakefield?”
“Oh, Miss Florence,” he cried. “You mustn't talk to me like that.
It won’t ever do, ever.”
“Why won't it?” she cried, and bouncing up, sat quickly down
on his lap.
“You know, Kermit,” she said, with him really frightened in
earnest now. “There are white girls, many white girls, who'd like to
be nice to some colored man. In fact, there are many who'd like to
have a colored fellow if they had a chance.”
“I wish you'd get up, Miss Florence. This isn't right at all.”
“It is,” she pouted. “And I won't get up. I want to sit here and
I want you to want me to.” -
“I don't want you to,” he said.
“You do, but you're just scared. When are you going to get over it?”
“Never.”
“Oh, Kermit. Why don't you be nice to me?”
“I have no right to. This 3 still down South, even if we are in
Atlanta.” -
“If we were up North, say in Chicago, for instance, wouldn't you—
like to —then?”
“We’re not up north. I wish you'd get up.”
“I’m trying to be nice to you but you keep on being scared, a
fraidie cat.” She looked at him now, deep into his eyes, and smiled,
sweetly. “Such pretty eyes,” and she shook her head with admiration.
“Let me kiss them,” and leaning forward she kissed his brow, then
kissed his lips. -
“Oh, my, so soft, so sweet. Do you know, Kermit?” He was silent.
“I like you.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “I’ve always liked
you.” and leaning forward, kissed him again. “I’m always going to
like you, even if you won't kiss me back, I'm mad,” she said, poutingly,


54 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
and rose to her feet. Paused, and looked down at him at a sort of
profile from where she was standing. She sighed deeply, took a turn
around the room. She came back and sat down on the chair, then
turned to him, now seriously.
“I’m interested in your education, Kermit.”
“Thank you, Miss Florence.”
“I like being called Miss Florence better than Mrs. Wingate, I
don't feel that I am a mistress. But getting back to what I started to
say. I am interested in your future. I don't want you to think that I
am only interested in — but we haven't got to that. I'm interested
in your getting your education, and from now on, I'm going to help
you — if you'll let me.”
“That's very kind of you Miss Florence.” -
“I’m all alone in this big old house, except for mammy, who does
the cooking and I bring in another woman twice a week to do the
cleaning.
“Now, you see, by you being here in this room, you'll be lots of
company. You don't know how lonesome I get, so lonesome I don't
know what to do. So after I met you yesterday, I came and fixed this
room up so that it would be so nice and comfortable until after you've
stayed in it a while, you won't want to leave.”
“That is very kind of you.”
“If you can have a nice place to study and prepare any writings,
you can get along so much better.”
“I’m terribly grateful to you for that.”
“Are you, really, Kermit?”
“I would be most ungrateful if I was not.”
“Thank you. That encourages me.” She got up and crossing, sat
down on his lap again.
“Do you like me, Kermit?”
“I don't know, Miss Florence. I’m all confused, my brain's in a
whirl.”
“Still Scared.”
He sighed.
“Well, I'll just have to be patient and give you time.”
“Don’t you think I ought to be going?” he said, stirring.
She glanced at her wrist watch, and with a light sigh, got up. He .
followed. They were close and he towered over her. She looked up at


THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE 5J
him and smiled. He was forced to smile too.
“You’re tall. I like tall men. I like to look up to a man.”
He Smiled now, indulgently, but said nothing.
“When are you going to move in?” she said.
He crossed toward the door, thinking as he went and she followed.
At the door, he paused and turned to face her.
“Whenever you say.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“Okey by me,” said he.
“Then I'll look for you tomorrow night, around ten o'clock. Does
that suit you?”
“Yes, maam.” He turned now and placed a hand on the knob. She
came closer.
“Wait a minute.” She came up and looking up into his eyes, placed
her arms about his neck and kissed him three times. Relaxing, she
smiled up into his face. He opened the door and she called.
“Good night, Kermit.”
“Good night, Miss Florence.”
He went down the steps which were but a few feet away as he
heard her close the door and was gone.
Kermit Early came back to himself again, sitting there in his com-
fortable parlor, from his reminiscences, and looked around him, down
at the letter which had started him out on it. He sighed pleasantly,
for in truth, he had begun to enjoy it. This strange drama of his
own life and the woman whose letter to him had set him out upon it.
He glanced down at it, read another paragraph, but found his rem-
iniscence more interesting at the moment, so slumped right back
to where he left off.
He hadn't acquired very many clothes, only enough to change
about twice and present a neat appearance daily at class. There were
many nice girls of his own race in his class, some of whom smiled
at him and by doing so, invited him to be more friendly. He was
friendly to them, but was too engrossed in his studies to go any
further. They sighed and would look at him a bit oddly, then sigh
again and usually let him alone after that.
When he got up the next morning, and before hurrying off to class,


56 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
he began packing the most of what he had into two large suit cases,
planning to finish doing so when he returned from making his de-
liveries that afternoon. -
His studies at the school that day were more strenuous than usual,
which served to make him forget Florence Wingate and he was
relieved, for he had grown strangely anxious for that night to come,
and the exacting studies that day made the time seem to go quicker.
When he got to the shop, he was given piles of suits and dresses
to deliver, and the use of the side car to do so in, whereas he usually
made most of his deliveries by foot. By the time he had finished,
returned to his room, completed his packing, being able to get all he
possessed into two suit cases, the time was drawing near. He had
taken the books which he kept in the room, some volumes of reference
and research to school, where he planned to carry them to Mrs.
Wingate's when he was fully settled.
He went to the landlady's room when he had completed his packing,
knocked on her door and paid her, telling her that he had secured
a better job, but one that required him to stay on the place. She was
sorry to see him go, but glad he was able to pay her in full, and not
resort to the usual alibi, which always ended in never paying. She
wished him God speed, promised to “pray” for him, and around nine
o'clock he left with his belongings.
He had to transfer to the Peachtree car at five points, which car
put him off almost in front of her home in Buckhead.
Remembering the back stairway, he went around the big house and
found his way up the backstairs, and then as he set his suit cases
down and started to find a key to admit him to his room, was cha-
grinned to realize all of a sudden that he had forgotten to ask her for it.
He bit his lips in vexation, then reached out to just try the door as a
matter of course, and started when it opened. He breathed a deep
sigh of relief, stepped inside, felt around the wall beside the door,
found a switch, turned the lights on, went back to the porch, picked
up his belongings, and returning with them inside, set them in the
middle of the room and going back, closed the door and paused to take
a survey of his new surroundings.
He crossed the room and opened the door that led to the inside
of the house and paused to listen. All was silent and he wondered if
Mrs. Wingate was in or had gone out, or retired. He heard a ticking


THE CASE OF MErS. WINGATE 57
and turned and found upon looking that she had placed a handsome
clock on the table near his bedside, which he could look directly into
the face of while in bed. He smiled his thanks and closing the door,
removed his hat and coat, rolled up his sleeves and put in the next half
hour, unpacking and arranging his possessions in and about the room.
Through, he sat down at the table, over which a subdued light pro-
truded, which he switched on, got up, went back to the door and
switched off the one that lit the entire room, returned to the table and
checked through his studies, to come up in class the next day for
another thirty minutes, at the end of which time he was conscious
of a drowsiness, so got up, removed his clothing, found his pajamas,
and switched on the light over the bed.
He turned the covers back after switching off the table light,
pressed up and down on the middle of the bed with his hand, was
relieved and pleased that it was soft and springy, then got into it
and was more pleased still.
What a wonderful set-up, he thought. Never had he been even near
so much complete comfort. He could surely study hard and go right
on through his class until the end of the session, living in such a per-
fectly, delightful and comfortable environment.
Far away from noisy Negroes, where he would never be disturbed
by police sirens, arresting some fool Negroes who'd got into trouble
by drinking and fighting which so often ended in the police Station on
Decatur street. Not even a Grady hospital siren, buzzing through the
streets to haul a Negro to the hospital who'd been shot or had gotten
into a stabbing fray.
Just solid comfort and peace. He sighed happily, reached up,
switched off the light, and a few minutes later was entering slum-
berland when he heard a slight knock on the door and slowly opened
his eyes. He was not sure, so listened more closely until it was re-
peated. He sat up in bed, turned on the bed light, and looking
toward the door, called: “Yes.”
Some one tried the door, and it was only then he remembered that
he had forgotten to lock it and was annoyed. The door was opened
softly — and he started up in great surprise, for, wearing a striking
silk negligee, over which was a dark robe, with her hair down over
her shoulders, stood Mrs. Wingate. He uttered some sound, and looked


58 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
around. His robe was across the foot of the bed, and she had entered
the room and he could not get it without exposing himself, so sud-
denly slid downward, drawing the covers up around his throat.
She turned and locked the door behind her this time and also latched
it, then turning, came across the room to the bed and sat down
on the side of it and looked at him. He was really frightened this time
and she, observing it, smiled at him and reaching out, patted his cheek.
“Will you ever get over being frightened — dear,” she said and
leaning forward, kissed him. He closed his eyes and groaned.
“Oh, Kermit, please. Please don't act like that. I’m really not going
to — hurt you.” He opened his eyes and looked at her, blank like. As
he did so and she smiled down upon him sweetly, he caught a faint
odor of rich perfume.
“We, you and I, Kermit, are all alone here. Nobody is in this big
house but us. Mr. Wingate is in New York, where he'll remain for a
week or ten days longer. Got a wire from him to that effect this after-
noon. So please loosen up, relax, unbend and begin to try to be nice to
me.” She slapped his shoulder, hard, then coming closer, kissed him
again, once, twice, three times, then sitting up, looked down into his
face.
“Now,” she said, patting his cheek, “doesn't that show that I mean
all right by you?” and she smiled down at him again, stood up, re-
moved her robe, crossed to a clothes tree across the room, in her
negligee, with him staring at her back. She hung the robe up, turned,
posed as if for his benefit, then returned to the bed, stood over him
to smile down at him again in her negligee, under which she had on a
fine silk nightie. As she stood there he could see the outline of her
body, silhouetted through both. She turned now and sat down again
on the side of the bed and smiled at him. He still gazed at her
blankly and said nothing.
“This is some affair, isn't it?” she said, and laughed lightly.
He shook his head dumbly but managed to smile, “I don't know.”
“You don't know? Why, Kermit, use your imagination. You have
plenty, with all the education you have. Must I make all the over-
tures? All the advances? Just picture now, a - a beautiful, white
girl, married to an old man, an old man who has never, because
nature created him in the image of Sodom or Gomorrah, I don't know
which. Maybe both, but he has gotten himself married to a pretty,


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 59
passionate young girl, who has been waiting practically all her life
for a wedding night. Then, wedding night and all this beautiful girl's
expectations. In her bedroom, dressed like she is now, waiting,
waiting. Then to her he comes, falls on his knees and weeps. She's
surprised, she doesn't know what about, but is afraid, listens. He
confesses to her through his tears, that he is not a normal man.
He should have used Leo M. Frank's words, but guess he didn't
think of them. ‘You see, I'm not built like other men.” The young
girl was not much more than a child, a tender virgin that authors
since the beginning of time have been writing about, will go on
writing about. She's young but at last understands and falls weeping.
Pours her whole heart into her tears. He tries to explain it away; tries
to show her his way, which frightens her more. She had heard of such
ways and knew then and there, and would keep on knowing, that she
wanted none of it. He begs, he pleads, he cries, but she drives him
from the room and locks the door behind him, returns and tries to die.
“But the pretty young girl does not die. She lives on to suffer and
die over and over again, a living death. Then out of somewhere comes
a stranger dark and handsome, with pretty eyes. He is afraid of her,
speaks no words, makes no overtures. Just sits and listens to her, but
listens so beautifully. This stranger happens to be a - colored boy,
therefore love between him and the princess, the Southern Princess,
is a forbidden thing. He knows it and she knows it. He doesn't
propose try to override this tradition, but she doesn't care. She is
hungry, hungry for affection, and she likes this dark and handsome
young man, even if to love him is forbidden. Maybe that makes her
love for him sweeter. Anyway, she doesn't care anything about the old
tradition. She has but one life to live, it is her life and she proposes
to get something out of it — even if she has to impose herself upon
the handsome, dark-eyed and shy young man.
“She casts aside everything, and on a night when he returns to
the room she has prepared for him with her own dainty hands; a
room in which she thought only of how comfortable she could make it,
all for him. He likes the room. That is what he thinks as he arranges
his clothes and papers and what-nots about it. Then retiring happy and
contented, he falls into a peaceful sleep. But the fairy princess, who
is real flesh and blood and passion was not asleep. She had been
waiting and watching, knew when he arrived, for she heard his


60 The case of Mrs. wingate
footsteps go around to the rear, come up the back stairway, pause at
the door and could feel his annoyance when he realized he had forgot-
ten to ask her for the key. Then he tries the door — and to his surprise,
relief and delight, it was not locked at all and opened when he turned
it. The Princess had thought of all that as she had of everything else
and had arranged it.
“So the dark Lochinvar enters the room, turns on the light, looks
around. Is pleased. More pleased than he had ever been regarding
a place to live. He then arranges his things around the room she had
prepared so thoughtfully. He finds a table where it ought to be where
he could spread his studies upon; a light over the table where it ought
to be. He sits a while and goes through and prepares his studies
for the next day's classes. Finally, conscious of drowsiness, the fine
young man of ancient extraction, rises, removes his clothing, gets
into his pajamas, tries the bed with his hand and happy to find it
comfortable, gets into the bed, and is more pleased still. He sighs and
says to himself. “Solid comfort, how good.’ Then, after a time he
drops off to sleep, to be awakened, soon by a knock on his door. He
becomes frightened, suspicious that it is the princess. And it is, for
she had been waiting all this while, waiting for him to finish his day's
activities and retire, and then she comes in.
“And now Kermit, I am back to reality. I’ve told you my story.
You understand that the man I'm married to is a husband in name
only. You know enough about me by now, and I want you to feel
sorry for me. I need your pity, I need your sympathy. I have grown so
strangely fond of you until you've become a peculiar part of my
life, and you will always remain so. The fact that you're afraid is no
more, under the circumstances, than can be expected. So I am taking
over, making all the advances, all the overtures. Now — just one more
thing. Switch off the light, please.”
He obeyed her. It was light enough in the room to note a shadowy
movement only, but bright enough for him to see her take off her
negligee, heard her kick off her slippers, and before he was aware
of what she was doing, she had pulled the covers back and crawled
into bed beside him!
And that was how it all started. Kermit sighed and rising to his
feet in his apartment in Chicago, poured himself another drink of


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 61
ice water, swallowed it, let himself enjoy its cooling effect for a moment
and then strolled over by the window and looked out into South Park-
way, stretching wide and busy below.
“And now she's going to have that baby she's been wanting since
it all started,” he sighed. “A wealthy and aristocratic woman, married
to a tycoon, in family way by a Negro. What a situation!” He turned
and walked back across the room, paused at the table, beat his hands
thereon, and feeling helpless and unable to turn any way to try think
Some way out, he sat down and gave himself up again to reminiscences.
That never-to-be-forgotten night in Atlanta was how it started,
or how it had gotten off to its start, but only the start of it. It had
soon developed into a perfectly mutual relation. He soon began
to like Mrs. Wingate, who insisted from that night on that she was
in love with him and didn't care who knew it. She told him that he had
brought happiness into her life when she had despaired of ever being
happy. Every night, when Mr. Wingate was away, and which was
often, was a wedding night for them. They never seemed to grow
tired, always seemed to be new to each other. They never disagreed,
got angry or quarreled. Never had two people so widely separated
from a social point of view become so completely suited to each other.
Yet their entire relation was based on sexual intercourse, which,
as we understand had to seem clandestine. In fact it wasn't, but by
the nature of it, it had to seem that way. It was mutual, nothing
more, nothing less.
As we know, Kermit was poor as are most Negroes. Mrs. Wingate
was rich. Under the circumstances, it was not like a woman in this
condition, to let a man who meant much to her, go wanting. So she
soon bought Kermit all the clothes he needed. Yet he never asked her
for anything. He found it hanging there in his room when he returned.
Circumstances favored their relations. Mammy was too old to know
or suspect what was going on, for at no time did Kermit Early, by
nature careful and conservative, get careless. The woman who came
twice a week to clean never observed anything. The Wingates had a
country home and farm, mostly as a diversion, which served hand-
somely. Mrs. Wingate liked to go out there, and Kermit always
had to drive her. And every time almost, they went out there, he had
to serve her in the way she wanted to be served. It seemed to appeal


62 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
to and please both. Always shortly after they arrived, and again
before they left. All mutual, all agreeable, all pleasant.
“I love you, Kermit,” it seemed to please her to say, and she
repeated it as often as she had a chance. “As I look back on it, I guess
I must have fallen in love with you back there in Wakefield. But
I’m ashamed now when I recall how bold I was as regards you. I will
never forget your fear, your fright, and how I had to add to it that
Sunday. My darling,” and she would then nestle her beautiful head
on his shoulder and he would comfort her. He had long since
begun calling her by her first name, which always pleased her.
In due time he graduated from the University, and together they
discussed and agreed on his next move. It was to be to the University
of Chicago, where he decided to major in administrative management.
So Kermit went to Chicago and Mrs. Wingate followed him there a
few days later. He stopped at a colored hotel on the South side,
while she checked in at the Palmer house. He could go there to see
her for they have always permitted Negroes to stop at the Palmer
House without restriction. So there they would have dinner together,
go to shows, be completely sociable in every way like two free people.
She helped him select the apartment where we met him, opened
an account in his name at one of the big downtown banks with a
substantial deposit and gave him the pass book and a supply of check
books, large enough to last him for a full year.
“When the bank returns your cancelled vouchers at the end of
each month, dear,” she told him, “please send me the yellow sheet,”
which meant that she would see that his balance was always ample.
- Kermit Early was not an extravagant man and she liked that, not
because he was by disposition conservative, but it showed that he
was not out to exploit her. So she was forever urging and insisting that
he spend more, use more for his needs. When she came to Chicago
even afterwards to visit him, she checked in at the Palmer House,
but spent most of her time at the apartment on the South side.
She had always liked to cook, and he liked to do marketing, so they
enjoyed life in the apartment, where she insisted on preparing the
food. Even while living at her house in Atlanta, she would do this,
bring it up to his room, and there eat and drink with him.
“You should, Kermit, dear,” she said, during one of her many
visits to the windy city, “plan to take about two more years after you


| THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 63
get your Masters at the university here, go in for a Doctorate.”
“Oh, Florence,” he cried, “I think I have enough. I’m planning
to quit after getting my master and find something to do, go to work.”
“That's fine of you, but ten years hence, the two years you spend
now, won't be missed, during which time you wouldn't go far enough
for it to mean anything, anything at all.”
“But I’ve been — on you so long, Florence. It's –
“I understand, sweetheart,” she said softly, “and I like you better
for feeling as you do about it,” and she paused then and kissed him
twice. “But your destiny will begin more quickly if you continue your
studies and get your Doctorate. I’ll like it better, too, but of course
you've got to do the deciding.”
“We've always agreed, haven't we, dear?”
“Sure have — in everything.” He had sat down now and she
crossed and sat on his lap, something she'd never gotten tired of
doing, and something he never got tired of having her do. He placed
an arm about her waist, she an arm around his neck.
“We’re so happy, aren't we, Kermit?”
“So happy, Florence. You've certainly proved a real companion.
Stood shoulder to shoulder with me through thick and thin.”
“Where would you like to take your Doctorate? Had you con-
sidered where?”
“No, dear, because I was planning to call it finis when I get my
master. I should go to work.” -
“But if we finally decide that you should have a Ph.D, what school
would you like to go to get it?”
“Where would you rather I go?”
“To Harvard,” said she.
“Harvard | Whew I’”
“I want you to get it from a school that'll give you the most pres-
tige.”
“Well, Harvard's that place.”
“Then it's to Harvard you go.”
“So expensive, dear.”
“Not much more, if any, than the University of Chicago.”
He was silent. “Let’s not think about the expense. I won't be
satisfied until I see that Ph.D. behind your name, and a Harvard
sheepskin on the wall.”
> y


t;4 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“You’re so sweet, Florence and so good.” -
For this she kissed him again. “I won't ever, it seems, get entirely
used to you.” - - -
She looked at him and frowned, pouted a bit.
“Oh, Kermit, why?”
“I don't know,” he sighed thoughtfully, gazing at nothing. “Every
time I kiss you, it always seems like the first time.”
“Funny,” she said, playing with his tie. “I feel the same way about
you. Everything we do and every time we do it, always seems like
the first time.” For answer he drew her closer. She put her face beside
his, cheek to cheek and sighed happily. “Isn't it wonderful, Kermit?
I mean, just you and I? How little did we think when I used to pass
and strike you playfully, back there in Wakefield, and stuck my tongue
out at you, and — ”
“— made mischievous faces,” he cut her off to say and laughed.
“ — that it was going to come to —all this.”
“To all this, dear.” She relaxed a bit now, was thoughtful a moment,
then turning her face to him.
“If you say the word, I’ll divorce Mr. Wingate, and — ”
“ — marry me?”
“Yes, Kermit, divorce him and marry you.”
“I wish we could be married. As happy as we are, if we could
only feel that we were man and wife — well, I'm sure we would both
feel better about it.”
“If you say the word, I’ll go to Atlanta, tell him frankly that I'm
in love with you and ask him to give me a divorce.”
“You can’t afford to do that, Florence.”
“And why not?” she said, turning to face him.
“For so many reasons, I don't want to start enumerating them.”
“Well, enumerate a few, for instance.” -
“Your people for one thing.” ſov
“That's the least to keep me from doing it.”
“It would be considered an eternal disgrace by every white per ºn
you know.”
“All the white people in the world don't mean half as much to
me as you do, Kermit, and I mean that.” -
“I believe you.”
“You’ve brought me more happiness than I thought I would ever
~


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 65
know, compelled to take it as we are, too, like this.”
“We'll have to keep on taking it this way.”
“If we were man and wife, I could have—that baby I want so badly.”
“I wish you could.”
“If you let me divorce him, we could start getting one, two, three—
a gang, maybe,” and she laughed. “Right away.” He patted her
cheek fondly.
“No, dear,” he sighed. “We'll have to be satisfied taking our hap-
piness this way. If your husband — died, for instance, then it — ”
Turning to him playfully, yet with a sudden and strange something
in her eyes. “Maybe I should kill him,” she said and laughed, but there
was still that peculiar look in her eyes.
“Like Ruth Snyder,” he suggested, humorously, “and go to the
Electric chair for your trouble.”
The peculiar expression had left her eyes by now and she
relaxed.
“The only reason I haven't divorced him of my own accord is
because he is so good to me, and I feel sorry for him. He can't help
his condition — ”
“And since matters are going along as well as they are, why upset
them?” said he. “Getting a divorce from him to marry a poor, strug-
gling student, doesn't look like the sensible thing to do, even if you
do love the poor struggling student, a colored man, whose future
success is as indefinite as judgment day. No, darling,” he went on
seriously. “Let’s postpone and forget the idea. I think you're very
fortunate that he does not interfere with you.”
“It is rather unusual, isn't it, but he never has. He is a very busy
man, spends half his time at his New York Office, but he never has
advanced one word of criticism. I have a feeling that he knows there
is somebody else, and because he is — like he is, he feels that —
il, that's the way it is and — ”
“ — the way it is going to stay,” said Kermit with finality and
emphasis.
“But the baby, Kermit,” she continued, and was again emotional.
He looked at her. “If I don't have a baby before — it's too late, I'll
feel that I have lived in vain.”
“Well,” he sighed, “I’d like one, too, but — oh, dear,” and his tone
was somewhat hopeless, “How can you and I go to having a baby —


66 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
under the circumstances?”
“As for me, I'm willing to forego and forget the circumstances,”
Florence said, “and just have it, let the future take care of itself.
Once I have a baby I don't care what happens after.”
Again he looked at her. And then he sighed again.
“I’m tempted so often to — leave the rubber off during the tender
period. If and when I do, I'd be pregnant in thirty days,” she went
on, boldly. He started, and his eyes were curious as he looked at her.
She returned his gaze quietly.
“But — but, dear!” he began.
“I won't for a while, until you've finished your education at least.”
His sigh this time was one of relief. She smiled into his face now
and kissed him. He returned it profusely. She stretched her mouth
open now and looked drowsy. He looked at her and smiled tenderly.
“Getting sleepy, sweetheart?”
“M-m.”
“Want me to put you to bed?” She nodded and looked cute. He
kissed her for it.
“I want a bath. Will you come in and scrub my back?”
“Like I always do?”
“Like you always do. I miss you so much when I'm away.”
“Do you?”
“I do, so much, darling.”
“I’ll try to make up for that every time I massage you while you're
here.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
“I’ll go in now and turn on the water.” He lifted her bodily,
got up, set her down in a chair, turned to pat her cheek, then went
to the bath and a few seconds later, she heard the water pouring into
the tub. When he came out he was carrying her robe. She stood up
and let him take her clothes off. She liked at such times to play helpless.
Disrobed, completely, he put her robe on and she went to the bath-
room, followed by him.
He tested the temperature of the water, while she removed the robe,
stuck her toe in the water and pulled it back, quickly.
“Too hot, honey?”
“Too hot, darling,” she said.
“I’ll fix it,” and he increased the flow of cold water. As she stood


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 67
there waiting beside him, he glanced around at her and was reminded
of a Goddess as the artists paint them. A Goddess on a September
In Orn.
“Now try it,” he said, getting up. She stuck her toe in it again
and relaxing, let her foot settle to the bottom of the tub and smiled
as she put the other foot in and sat down.
“Oh, my,” she cried. “This feels so good.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said as he prepared the sponge and brushes
nd leaning over, soaped her body, thoroughly, then began the massag-
1g by rubbing her shoulders and back, down to her hips.
“Oh, Kermit, that sure feels good. If you knew how much I enjoy
the comfort you give me, you wouldn't ever want to let me go away.”
“I miss you as much, perhaps more than you do me.”
“That's impossible, but we won't quarrel about it,” she said, holding
1p first one arm and then the other, to let him massage them. He had
once worked as a masseur, so knew something about it.
“Now stand up,” he said when he had massaged her upper body
:ompletely. She did and he massaged her hips and lower limbs, which
eemed to satisfy her even more. Through, he let the water out and
with a heavy towel, proceeded to dry her body, while she relaxed
and continued to enjoy as fully as she had the bath. Through, and after
he put her robe about her, she left the bathroom and strolled back
into the bedroom.
Outside, she crossed to the bed, removed the robe so that her
body could air, thoroughly, and which she also enjoyed, and then sort
of aired her hair with a large comb she kept beside the bed so that it
dried more thoroughly. Coming out of the bath, he glanced across at
her, and was reminded of the Mona Lisa painting, she looked so beau-
tiful. He found her nightie and stood over her while she worked a bit
longer at her hair, then laying the comb down, looked up at him
smilingly, and he dropped it over her shoulders, helping to fit it
around her, turned back the covers, adjusted the pillow, then turning,
lifted her and laid her down. Adjusting the pillow beneath her head,
he took the comb and spread her hair about over the pillow so that
it could continue to dry, while she closed her eyes and seemed to
enjoy the little things he liked to do to make her comfortable.
Through, he turned the bed light out over her head and crossing
the room, sat down at a table and proceeded to work through his


68 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
studies for the next day's classes.
Again Kermit Early came back from his reminiscing during which
he seemed to have dropped off to sleep and when he sat up and looked
around, he rather half-way expected to find her. Instead, he glanced
down at the letter which was still in his hand, and sighing, started
to read it again.
“It just happened this time, darling. I didn't do what I've
so often threatened to, and wanted to. This time it got by
me somehow and I had nothing to do with letting it. I am
happier nevertheless, because it has, since I cannot, at
least, feel that I’ve been indiscreet.
“I know this news will upset you, perhaps very much, but
I am too happy to let it annoy me. I won't have to say any-
thing about it to him for five or six months yet, during which
time please leave it to me to decide how and what best to do.
I think you know that I’ve always been able to face and deal
with any situation that involves you and me and instead of
being upset and frightened with the realization, I feel
strangely relieved and more happy over it than upset. With
our baby on the way I am forced to reckon with something
that we have avoided all these years. After it has been dealt
with, as I shall deal with it, have no fear, then I can come to
you and we can be married and the father of my child will be
my own, good, lawful husband as I have so wanted you to be
all these years.
“So write me a long, sweet letter, Kermit, dear, and try
to be as happy about it as I am. -
Lovingly,
“F L OR E N C E "
Kermit Early sat there for a long time, just gazing into space. He
did no further reminiscing. After graduating from the University
of Chicago, he had gone on that fall to Harvard, where he entered
for his final course. She joined him and together they took an apart-
ment in Boston, where she visited him as regularly as she had while
living in Chicago, provided for his needs, kept him amply supplied
with funds, opening an account for him at one of the branches of the
First National Bank there, and so Kermit Early finished, secured
his Ph.D, which was what she wanted. He then set out in life to do
things, and as we know, hadn't done so much, but his close friendship
with Mrs. Wingate had continued without interruption through the


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 69
years and they were as much devoted to each other at this time as
they had been from the beginning. -
He had returned to Chicago and made it his home again, and had
for some time past refused to accept anything from her, though she
watched over him and was ever ready to advance assistance. Then
he met the leaders of the subversive group with whom he had become
finally allied. They paid him well for his activities, and he found him-
self, as far as finances were concerned, quite independent.
It was through the subversive group who were plotting against
America for the benefit of the Third Reich, that he met Heinrich
Schultz. Being of the same race, although Schultz was a Nazi, their
interest became mutual at once because both resented vigorously the
way the Negro was played down and treated in America. Both being
highly educated, these facts became more exaggerated with time than
might have otherwise been the case. After a brief association, both had
agreed to fight it to the bitter end at whatever cost. And so they
had developed their interest in common, and since the white men
they were allied with provided ample funds with which to back up
any activities they felt inspired to propagate, Kermit had been busier
than ever before, working out a plan which he had laid before them
and Schultz just before he started back to Germany.
Among the people Kermit knew and had in a measure become
friendly with, was one Sidney Wyeth, of New York, for years
America's only Negro motion picture producer. During the summer
he met and had long talks with Wyeth, who was in Chicago, writing
a novel he had set up a company and published some months
before. Wyeth had been forced to suspend the production of pictures
for lack of funds, and they had talked about it. Wyeth told him that
he was writing the novel and planning to sell it to make a living since
he was a good salesman. Early had thought about it and hinted
to Wyeth that he might be able to help him get back into pictures.
Naturally, Wyeth was interested, but Early had formulated no plans
as to how he would proceed before Wyeth finished his novel and
returned to New York to publish it.
It was just before Schultz sailed for Germany that a plan became
sufficiently fixed in Kermit's mind. The group he was allied with — a
branch of the National Socialist party of Germany, and the leaders
were very much interested in his plans. They also of course, hated


70 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Jews and were desirous of reducing their influence wherever they
could.
Actually a failure, Kermit Early was not unlike many Negroes
who thought they could succeed by just getting a great amount of
education and acquiring more degrees. They continued in School until
many became old men, were prone to blame somebody for their
failure, never admitting even to themselves that they were failures.
So blaming the white man and hating him with it, per see, Kermit
had included the Jew, and because the philosophy of Nazism was
Anti-Semitic, his associates readily approved his suggestion when
he laid it before them about going to New York, persuading Sidney
Wyeth to produce a motion picture, the purpose of which would be to
expose the Jew, and make Negroes hate them, by showing in the
picture how the Jew was unmercifully cheating and exploiting
Negroes.
“Great, Kermit! That's the best plan you could have thought of.
But in the meantime, have you taken it up with this man?”
“No, because I hadn't thought it out that far when he was here.”
“Then you aren't sure that he will do so?”
“Not until he consents.”
“If he should refuse?”
“He needs money and wants to get back into making pictures. Every
man who ever made pictures, always wants to go on making them.
The Jews thought he was making a lot of money and that there
was big money in making colored pictures because when they hap-
pened at a theatre where one of Wyeth's was playing there was
always a crowd. If he talked with the owner of the theatre which in
most cases was a Jew, also, they were told that Negroes liked colored
pictures and ‘gang' pictures and urged them to get into it and make
SO1116.
“The one thing he did not tell them and what neither thought of
but if they did, it would have been the same, was that Wyeth wrote
his own stories, directed them, and that Wyeth understood Negro
philosophy and what pleased them only as a Negro could understand.
“Feeling that they knew it all, these Jews finally jumped into
making colored pictures, with more money to spend on them at their
command than Wyeth had or could perhaps get. They hired white
scenario writers in Hollywood, those struggling ones, to do the
*


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 71
stories. These men, of course, would try to do anything to make
a little money and they were not paid much by these producers, but
just to do a story that they could actually see later on the screen, fully
produced, was enough to make these struggling writers do it cheap.
“So they started out to write stories about Negroes, with as much
knowledge regarding the innerlife of the Negro, as they had about the
inner life of Chinese in Chungking. These producers hired certain
Negroes, educated ones, too, but yes-men, to advise them, who gave
them the wrong kind because the ones they hired didn't know any
better. Well, they jumped into making Negro pictures with a big fan-
fare. They had the support of the Negro Newspapers who gave them
plenty of printers ink. Nobody had sense enough to realize that while
Negroes might like Negro pictures and gang pictures, as advised,
they did not picture the Negro as the gangster. So when they
came forth with pictures showing Negroes putting other Negroes ‘on
the spot' and forcing them to pay off through the usual protective
association the Negroes laughed at them.
“But the Jewish theatre owners were behind them — at the start.
Promised bigger rentals than they'd ever divided with Wyeth on the
assumption that these better made pictures from the coast would draw
better, until after two or three, which not only failed to draw better, but
soon drew so badly that many theatres quit playing them. Wyeth,
alone, with no money and trying to get along, was forced out while the
Jewish producers lost their bankrolls, went broke and the entire mak-
ing of colored pictures, due to their interference, collapsed, and Wyeth
had to quit and turn back to writing novels to make a livng.”
“Interesting. Then — ”
“As I view it,” said Kermit, “if you folks will advance Wyeth
some money to resume the production of some Negro pictures, of
his own, I'm sure I can persuade him to make one or more, for us
that will expose the Jews and the way they cheat and exploit us.”
“Great! If you can just get Wyeth to do it. In the event that he
will not, however, isn't there somebody else?”
Early shook his head in the negative.
“He is the only Negro in America that has ever made a motion
picture. Wyeth has an uncanny insight into Negro life. If he makes
the kind of picture we have in mind, it'll serve our purpose. It'll make
the Negroes sensitive to the way he is being cheated and exploited and


72 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
he's liable to break loose any time and anywhere and tear Jewish
business in the Negro neighborhoods to pieces.”
“Okey, We're behind you. As we understand it, we're to finance
all the pictures, including your exposee picture, for Wyeth.”
“That's it. By offering to finance his own pictures, Wyeth is to
direct and produce ours, which I have already written.”
“We've read it and it has our O.K. It should inspire lots of Negro
riots against Jews all over the country. Now what?”
“I want to go to New York and see Wyeth, where I may remain
until Schultz gets back from Germany.”
So it was decided upon and agreed, and a few days later Kermit
Early left for New York.


charter III
ARIE COLEMAN, stenographer, office girl, bookkeeper and
M. assistant to Sidney Wyeth, pushed open his office
door on this particular morning, as she had been doing for
years, and entered. Across the door of the office was written, WYETH
PICTURES CORPORATION.
After removing her hat and coat and hanging them in their usual
place, the first thing she did as she had been doing for years, was to
pick the mail up off the floor, where it had been pushed through
the door by the postman, sort through it, open, examine all letters,
telegrams and etc., then get busy answering them.
During the past year or so, the picture business had been slowly
dying. Their pictures had all been “played out”, and Wyeth, as we
already know, had been pushed out of making pictures by Jewish
interests from the Pacific coast, and other Jewish interests in the east,
who felt it could be made very profitable. After two or three years
of making pictures, spending money and exploiting them, this was
found not to be so, so as quickly almost as they had entered the
limited industry, which for twenty years theatre owners in the Negro
sections of the country had considered as Wyeth's because he had
made the first full length all colored cast one, and so many of the
ones that had been produced since until it was considered his line
and nobody had sought to interfere seriously.
Everybody connected with it, including the few hundred theatre
owners the country over in Colored neighborhoods understood that
colored people wanted to see themselves pictured on the screen as
they were, and not as white people were prone to visualize them,
mostly as clowns, comedians, idiots, and as the Negroes put it, “just
plain fools.” ... "
So Sidney Wyeth, called the pioneer Negro Motion Picture pro-
ducer, more than twenty years before, had started making the kind
73


74 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
of colored pictures that pleased them, starting off with one from a very
popular novel he had written. It was a “silent” and had achieved
immediate success. Since, he had made no end of the same kind, from
the standpoint of theme. And it was some fifteen years before, when
as a pretty young girl, just graduated from High School, that Marie
Coleman had come to work for him and had continued to do so ever
since.
So Marie sorted through the letters, amongst them this morning,
being a telegram. She looked at it a moment. Neither the company
nor Wyeth received many telegrams any more, for they had been de-
pendent almost entirely for more than a year on the sale of the book
that Wyeth had written, set up a company to publish and was fortunate
enough to get it to going before they went entirely broke as picture
producers, and the company had been able to keep Marie on in her
job.
So most of ber work was recording orders for books, wrapping
them and mailing them. Rarely did they receive a telegram any more,
whereas during their picture days it was mostly telegrams, often more,
than a dozen daily and an equal amount sent out. So when her eyes
fell on the telegram, she crossed to her desk with the handful of
letters, found her letter opener and opening the telegram, unfolded it,
looking first at the sender's name. It was a night letter, addressed to her
boss. She smiled after reading it and shook her head a bit amusingly,
turned, crossed into Wyeth's private office and laid it on his desk,
where it would look him directly in the face when he came and
sat down.
She returned to her desk in the outer office then, and with the letter
opener, proceeded to open letters, take out money orders, some cash,
which they advertised could be sent as a deposit on books ordered, an
occasional check, all of which she would pile together, write the name
and address from whom received, and was going along nicely when
she heard a knock on the door, lightly, timidly. She looked up and
called:
“Come in.”
The door was slowly and timidly pushed open as if by a child, so
she paused and looked up curiously. A dark face finally made its
appearance and she looked up to see that it belonged to a man. Being
dark, the man, of course, had to be a Negro, By this time he had
.


THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE 75
gotten far enough to look around the office, scared-like
“Please come all the way in, Mister. It is a business office, open
to anybody that has any business to attend.”
After sweeping his eyes about the room, and ducking his head,
slightly but which movement reminded her of a rabbit, before ven-
turing from a hiding place. Presently he turned his eyes towards her
and peered at her a moment, oddly, -
“Yes?” she said.
- He looked at her more closely now, and ducked his head in that pe-
cular but amusing way again.
“’Scuse me, Miss,” he began, then paused to look around the office
again as if to make sure. “But is dis de Wyeth’ Pichuh Co. Office?”
“Yes, this is the Wyeth Pictures Corporation office?” Marie rose to
her feet then and moved toward the door, which he had managed with
caution and a measure of stealth to get through and close behind him.
“Can we serve you?”
Again he looked around, ducked his head in that slight way this
time to remind her of a chicken that had been frightened out of its
wits to realize when it was over that he was still living and safe.
Presently turning to her again, he looked her up and down. She was
inclined to be impatient but as he looked her up and down as tho’
she was a statue or some oddity, she showed amusement. “This Negro
is funny,” she thought.
“Yessum,” he said. Relaxing a bit now and removing his hat which
he seemed to have forgotten. “My name is Jackson, Miss.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson,” she said and bowed slightly.
“Fountain Jackson. Fountain iz my udder name.”
“So I'm presuming, Mr. Jackson.”
“Well, Miss, I has a story.”
“You have a story?”
“I has a story.”
“That's interesting,” she said, looking him over now. She didn't
see anything, so was wondering where it was, but he was talking
again.
“It’ll make a fine pitchuh, Madam. Ah knows hit will.”
“Indeed!” she exclaimed, elevating her eyebrows and struggling
hard to keep from bursting into laughter. Instead, she tried to be
respectful, courteous and patient.


76 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“So you have a story, a good story and feel that it will make a fine
picture?” She looked him up and down for the sign of a script more
seriously this time. “Well,” she said, going on. “Where is it?” Then
holding out her hand, “May I see it, please?” -
Looking at her oddly, after again ducking his head in that funn
way, he didn't seem to understand what she meant.
“I asked you,” she said, “to let me see your story, don't you
understand P” -
He looked more puzzled now than ever and shook his head in the
negative, slowly. Marie was vexed.
“I asked you,” she said again now, “to let me see your story.” Al-
most in pain from trying to understand what she meant, as simple
as it was, he managed to turn, look at her, and ask:
“You — you mean?” and pointed at her a bit, helplessly.
“I mean where is your story?” she cried more emphatically, “where's
the manuscript?” - -
“Aw,” he cried, trying to show some intelligence. “You means de –
de — mannerscripf”
Helpless, she nodded her head kindly toward him.
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. That's what I mean. The script.”
Whereupon he started, and she sighed, for she saw she would have
to go all over it again, she couldn't guess, how many times. “Oh, our
dumb people,” she sighed, but not aloud, and to herself. Jackson was
more helpless now than ever, so all he could do was to utter, help-
lessly: -
“AW.”
“Oh,” she said, quickly. “Oh, what?” Then seeing she was getting
nowhere, she made a final try. “Haven't you a - script? You say you
have a story. Then if you have a story, you must have written it out
on paper in words, and that would be, then, your script. Now where
is that? Let me see it please,” and she reached out her hand again
and made an impatient gesture with it. \
“Uh, scrip,” he repeated, still not understanding but trying to. “A
scrip,” he muttered more to himself than to her. Then looking up at
her with a bold effort: -
“No, maam, I ain't got no scrip. I has a story, but I ain't got no –
scrip.’ -
“Then what are you talking about, anyhow 2°


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 77
“I has a story awright, but no scrip as you call hit.” She looked
at him with pity in her eyes and sort of nodded to make him feel
more comfortable. He went on now with more confidence, warming
up.
“Yessum, I has a story awright. Hit's a story ob mah life. It'll make
a lub pitchuh. Ah comes heah to tell you all about hit.”
She sighed, helplessly, hopelessly.
“It stahts out lak dis.” He adjusted himself to tell it to her, when
she raised her hand.
“Just a minute, please.” She smiled, and turning, went to a cabinet,
where she found an old scenario, large and voluminous, for Sidney
Wyeth when he wrote, always had a story to tell. She returned to
where he was standing, walked up beside him and displayed the script
under his eyes. She then opened it and went on to explain:
“Now this, my dear sir,” she began, “Is a scenario, or script, as we
call them to avoid long words.”
“Um-m,” he mumbled, glancing down at it, and up at her and
bowing agreeably. “This is what we make the picture from.”
He um-m'd again, then pointing, interjected, his eyes, brightening.
“Ah fugot to tell yuh, Miss, that I is a actuh, too, an' I c'n play
de he-man lead in dis story. Also, I has a gal who wants to play de
swee' ha’t, you understans' de female lead, ah du leadin’ lady.” He
smiled up at her now, satisfied that at last he was getting somewhere.
“Thank you,” she said, “but just a moment, please, and let me ex-
plain.” -
“Yessum,” said Fountain, respectfully.
“Before we can do any casting, or let you do any, the story must be
written first, and then put into continuity form,” at which his face
went dark. She was obviously — anything she said — too deep for
him. She handed him the script then, which he took a bit gingerly, an
looked at it oddly. w
“If you feel at all serious about what you’ve tried to tell me, then
. I suggest that you take this,” she said, pointing to the scenario, “Set
down over there in that chair,” pointing to it, “examine this and try
to get some idea of what it's all about, see?” He didn't, but he nodded
his head, agreeably. So he obeyed her. She lead him across the room
to a chair and seated him on it, with the script.
“Now when you feel that you have some idea of what this is all


78 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
about, I'll be glad to talk with you again,” bowing and smiling upon
him sweetly, turned and went back to her work.
She didn't get to sit down again before she heard footsteps coming
down the hall, familiar footsteps, which moved quickly and she knew
that they belonged to Sidney Wyeth.
She turned to meet him with a smile and the usual word of wel-
come as he entered and closed the door. He glanced at Jackson as
he passed by and went on into his office, followed by her, with the
letters that came that morning in her hand. She took his hat and coat
as he removed them and hung them in the proper place, and after
he had become seated, laid the letters before him and picking up the
telegram, began: -
“Now before going into the business of the day, Mr. Wyeth, here
is a telegram from our boy,” and she smiled down at him as he looked
up in impatient surprise. “You know who I mean, of course,” and she
spread out the wire before him. “He is, as you see, in Baltimore.”
He glanced up at her, then taking the wire, did as she had, read the
signature first, then turning to Marie,
“I didn't know he was in Baltimore.”
“He left here Saturday night for Baltimore, at least, that is where
he said he was going, and since the telegram is from Baltimore, it
is obvious that he did go there — but read the wire and you'll un-
derstand what happened.”
Wyeth read the heading without interest, and then the message
aloud:
“I fell downstairs here Sunday night and fractured my
hip. Had to be carried upstairs after the accident, as I
couldn't walk. Don't know how badly I am injured until they
take me to the hospital for an X-ray this Monday. Will send
you the details, special, after I’ve been examined.
“Carter Thompson”
“And so he fell downstairs and broke his hip, eh? Too bad it wasn't
his head | That old dumb, round pretty head, filled with nothing but
frog eggs and rain water,” said Wyeth disgustingly and impatiently.
“Why Mr. Wyeth,” cried Marie, affecting a shock. “How can you
be so unkind l’”
He looked up at her quickly.
“Oh, excuse me, Marie. Of course I’m sorry.” Then after a


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 79
moment's thought, looked back up at Marie.
“What was he doing in Baltimore, anyhow?” he cried, impatiently.
“You should know,” Smiled Marie.
“I should know? What do you mean, anyhow?”
“He met her at one of the schools where you were reviewing your
book . . . .” Marie was tantalizing that morning.
“At one of the schools where I was reviewing my book?”
“And while you were doing it, so was Carter doing his usual, too,”
and she laughed, amusingly.
“You mean — ”
“Making love, of course.”
“Oh, of course.” -
“And it wasn't in a hotel this time, Mr. Wyeth.”
“Then where was it?”
“Can't you guess?”
“Oh, I haven't the time to think about where that crazy, good-
looking Negro met any girl, for all he did and has ever done is to goo
goo with first one and then the other.”
“But he told me you were with him when he met her.”
“Me P” -
“Yes, Mr. Wyeth, you. He told me you were with him when he
met her; when it all started.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks, Marie. Let's forget that simp and get down to
business.” He looked at the mail. “How was the mail this morning P’
“Monday's mail is always good,” she said, picking up the letters.
He smiled as he saw several checks, money orders and one dollar bills,
then thinking, turned to her, jerking his finger over his shoulder.
“Who's the glook outside? What does he want?”
“Oh, yes, him,” said Marie, as if just remembering Fountain. The
office was quiet as both listened a second. Then motioning for silence,
Marie tip-toed across to the door, peeped out and smiled. She turned
to Wyeth and beckoned. He got up and came over by her, peeped out.
Across the reception room, Jackson with his legs sprawled apart, was
fast asleep. As they looked at him and smiled, the script on his lap
fell to the floor and woke him up. He jumped to his feet quickly and
Marie opened the door and crossed over to him.
“Well,” she said, taking the scenario he had picked up and handed
back to her. “What do you think of the idea by now, Mr. Jackson?”


80 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Oh, de story was fine, Miss. Yes, mam, jes' fine.” He placed hat
on his head and turned as she said:
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson.” -
“Tankey, Miss.” Then, shuffling. “Well,” he said, sort of saluting
her. “Ah’ll be seein’ yuh.” Finishing the salute, he turned and left
the office.
Marie was smiling when she returned to Mr. Wyeth.
“So you got rid of another,” said he with a laugh.
“Why, Mr. Wyeth !” exclaimed Marie.
“They come in with a big idea about a story, with themselves
invariably cast in the leading role, their friends in the other ones.
You show them a big script, which is about the most involved looking
something you ever saw when you don't know what its all about. You
set them down over in that chair, they look at it, get a headache, go to
sleep and when they awaken, they've forgotten what they came to
the office for,” and he laughed, heartily. She joined with him and
when it was over, they both turned to their work for the day.
f


CHAPTER I V -
DOLF HITLER sat down as the air around him resounded with
thunderous applause, mixed with salutes of “Heil Hitler! Heil
Hitler!” He had been speaking, his greatest and longest ad-
dress since he became chancellor, the greatest chancellor since Bis-
mark, it was freely said. He had spoken for two hours and twenty
minutes. It was his last speech before invading Poland, one week later.
Into that speech Adolf Hitler had put everything. He reviewed his ac-
tivities since becoming chancellor, and Germany long before becoming
so. As he had been doing since his rise to power, he attacked and tore to
pieces the treaty of Versailles which he exhorted, sought to enslave
Germany, took away territory, which incidentally he had succeeded in
restoring and intimated strongly that more would be taken. Austria and
Czechoslovakia as we know, and as all who heard him knew, had never
been German territory. Austria, since the dismemberment of the old
Dual Empire, he argued, perhaps truthfully, desired to become a part of
the Reich. The people of Czechoslovakia as the world knew, however,
had no desire to become any part of the Reich, and had been “sold
down the river” a year before, to appease the Fuehrer, but was not
enough to do so — and now Poland, which as the world knew, had
declared against any further appeasement.
Every German leader from over all the Reich was present in person
at Berchtesgaden to hear the Fuehrer on this Sunday, which before
it was all over, was to be called a fatal day, and his speech, short
waved throughout the entire world, was to be later remembered as a
fatal speech. In one week, at the head of his legions, the most
powerful army the world had ever seen, Adolf Hitler had planned and
prepared to invade Poland, wipe this government off the map — and
begin what was in the years to come, his ignoble end.
In his long speech, all can surmise that the Jew had by no means
been left out. He was charged with about everything that had gone
81


82 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
wrong with Germany during the last war, causing her of course to
lose that war. “International Jewery,” he argued, “will, if we are not
careful, destroy Europe in due time as it was about to destroy Germany
and was the greatest contribution toward our losing the last war. If
war comes again, which we pray will not, it will be due to the Jew
and his effort to exploit the world, culture, art and everything that
has made us a great people, the master race, for profit.
“And no man has given him half as much encouragement and
assistance in again disturbing the peace of the world than Franklin
Delano Roosevelt, President of the United States,” he declared, loudly,
pointing his finger in the direction of America.
“All of you know,” he went on, “that we want no quarrel with
America and there is no quarrel between the people of Germany and
the people of America. It is all the result of Roosevelt playing politics
at the expense of the good relations existing between the two countries.
This danger, and I say that it is a grave danger, is being agitated
and propagated and instigated entirely by the influence of the rich
Jews in America. Why was our Ambassador virtually sent home and
relations between our two countries practically broken off long before
all this started?” he asked. “The Jews. I stopped their exploiting
Germany, drove them out of the high places where they were able to
do so much damage, so much harm, but I did not, nor has Germany
in any way, begun to even think of doing to them, what America is
doing to 10 percent of her population, right there in America. In this
I refer to the Negro population over there. Germany has never
lynched a Jew and perhaps never will. Yet in America, which Roose-
velt represents, lynching Negroes is a national pastime. They pay no
attention to it. It has been going on since Abraham Lincoln freed
the Negro, before that a slave. It has gone on and from all reports will
continue unabated, while Roosevelt fumes and frets and points his
finger across the ocean to Germany and cries: ‘How dare you treat
the Jew as you are doing? I want you to stop it, stop it now, once
and for all, else I’ll, kick you on the shins, Adolf Hitler.” He reminds
me so much of a spoiled baby. Fretting and fuming and playing up to
the lordship in England, endangering the peace of the world, all
because of International Jewery, determined to go on exploiting the
world and all its people for gain so that he may feel safe. As you know
we have operated on and successfully cured the disease of Jewery


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 83
in Germany. And never again in our time will it be allowed to develop
to the proportions it had and endangered our national existence.
“I have just been given a full and complete report on America,
among other things, of the treatment of the Negro there, of the failure
and neglect regarding him, his views and condition. Remember, there
are 13,000,000 colored people in America, constituting 10% of the
entire population, against 4,000,000 Jews, or about 3%. -
“Yet these four million Jews have more influence with the present
administration over there than forty million Catholics who are mostly
white people and the entire Negro population. Why is that? They
are non-christians. They did not help to build America like the
Germans did. It was the Germans who went into the middle states
years ago when it was a wild prairie, a wilderness, where nothing
but the buffalo, the wolves and Indians lived. It was the hardy German
settlers who blazed this wilderness and turned it into the fine agri-
cultural Empire, with beautiful and prosperous cities and communities,
it is today. Did the Jew go from the shores of persecuted Europe, as he
claims, and make conquest of anything? No! He waited safely here
in Europe where there were plenty of people to steal from, cheat and
exploit, until after 1880 when America had grown to its present pro-
portions before he went there in any great numbers. He never did go
into any wilderness and develop it for the benefit of civilization. Oh
no, he found cheating and bargaining and exploiting so profitable
right in New York, where almost half of them still live, that he didn't
need to go and expose himself to the rigors of conquest as our hardy
Germans did. Of the 50% not in New York, 90% of the balance are
scattered in and around the larger cities, where now he is combined
and organized and is wielding a greater influence on the foreign policy
of America than all the other forces over there combined.
“If the world should ever again be plunged into war which God
forbid, rest assured that it will be the Jew who will be the cause of it.”
Among those present and who had closely listened, to every word
Adolf Hitler said, was the Japanese Ambassador. Smiling occasionally,
he would turn to a companion and whisper something in Japanese and
then both would nod in agreement, turn back and listen to more.
It was when Hitler referred to America's disregard of what the
Negro thought that they seemed most interested. They had been re-
ceiving reports for a long time from their spies in America, that


84 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
America had developed a disregard for Japanese culture to the point
where the race was being held almost in contempt by the political
administration there, all of which was resented, but nothing Japan
could do, they claimed, could get America to take Japan's position, as
they viewed it, seriously.
It was Hitler's criticism regarding the way America treated the
Negro and his emphasis on lynching, compared with the fact that
Germany had never lynched a Jew, that gave them something to
justify the veiled criticism and growing dislike developing among the
Japanese for America.
“Some day and not many months away,” whispered the Ambassador
to his companion, “we’ll knock that smirk and American contempt
into a cocked hat; we'll shock them and that high hat from stem to
stern.” He did not smile when saying these words, but his face was
dark with a smoldering hatred.
While waiting for the day Hitler was to make the speech he had
just finished, Baron Von Mueller had been admitted to an audience
with Hitler, at which Von Ribbentrop was present.
“He is, I venture to guess, about the most informed man on
American affairs in general, and most especially as regards the badly
treated Negro, over there, in our service,” said the Baron.
“You mean this young Schultz,” said Von Ribbentrop with interest.
“Exactly who I mean.” The Baron went on then to relate his
meeting with Schultz aboard the Europa. Hitler showed interest, so
the Baron proceeded to repeat Schultz' plan to return to America and
report on conditions relating to the Negroes position there in detail.
“In the event we are ultimately forced into war with America, this
man ought to be of great value to the Reich,” said Hitler.
“Of uncalculable value, Adolf,” said the Baron.
“The fact that America does not take the Negro seriously, and is
not likely to because of tradition, Schultz would be able, living as he
will be and does, among the Negroes, to gather valuable information
and keep us informed as to any moves that may be of value to us,”
said Von Ribbentrop.
“He has all the intelligence which having been born and raised in
Germany only could give him. During the years he lived in Amer-
ica, he learned to speak the best of English, so he fits into our scheme
of things perfectly. He told me, and which interested me more than


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE - 85
anything else,” the Baron said, “that through the Negro servants
sailing on ships down into the Caribbean he plans to find out, if and
when war should come between America and Germany, the sailing
time of most of the coast-wise vessels to the West Indies and South
America, and to keep our submarine commanders informed as to
when they sail ... " - -
“A splendid idea!” cried Hitler, striking the table loudly with
his fist as his eyes flashed. “I can see and understand this
kind of leak regarding information to come from the Negro
By all means send him back to America, promptly, provide him with
ample funds to carry on his work and,” turning to Von Ribbentrop,
“keep in touch with him and let me know at intervals, just how he is
succeeding.”
In due time, therefore, Heinrich Schultz received a call to see Von
Ribbentrop at the foreign office, where he met the Baron again, and
for more than an hour he was questioned, which questions he was able
to answer to their entire satisfaction. In the end he was pro-
vided with ample funds and assured full and complete support and co-
operation, and a few weeks later, taking his sister Bertha, with whom
we will become better acquainted in due time, Schultz again set sail
for America, via Italy, since England and France had declared war
on Germany and the blockade had gone into effect. So they traveled
South to Genoa and set sail for America aboard the Italian Luxury
Liner, Conte De Savoia.


CHAPTER V
IDNEY WYETH sat in his office, struggling betwen trying
S to keep awake and reading a magazine, not having much
success with either. Marie had left for the day, so it was after
office hours and he was alone. Nodding away and fighting to keep
awake, for he really couldn't sleep in comfort except when he was in
bed, he was presently aroused by a knock on the outer door. Sitting
erect and not feeling sure if he heard a knock, he waited and listened.
It was repeated the second time and louder. The door was not
locked, so rising, he crossed through his office and pausing in the
doorway, called across the reception room:
“Come in.” The door was pushed open and a tall, brown-skinned
man with pretty eyes, which one had a way of noticing the moment
he looked at the owner, stood on the threshold.
“Kermit Early—of all people!” exclaimed Wyeth, and crossed
the reception room to meet him with outstretched hand, as Early
stepped forward with his hand extended.
“Sidney Wyeth,” cried Early, as they grasped each other's hand.
“My old friend and my good friend!”
“Well, well,” said Wyeth, beaming on the other, “The first time
I recall seeing you in New York since you were co-editing the So-
cialist magazine, a long, long time ago,” at which both laughed.
Turning now, with a swing of the hand.
“Come in the office,” said Wyeth, and closing the outside door,
followed Early into his private sanctuary, pointed to a comfortable
seat and crossing around and behind his desk, sat down, and turned
to smile on the visitor.
“Where did you come from, anyhow 2 The last time I saw you
was in Chicago,”
“While you were writing your book,” Kermit reminded him.
“That's right. I returned to New York shortly after, published it
86 -


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 87
and have been engaged in the business of selling it ever since to
make a living.”
“That's interesting,” said Kermit, and was thoughtful a moment,
presently raising his eyes to Wyeth and studying him a moment.
If Wyeth was down from making pictures to selling his book to
make a living, he ought to be able to interest him in what he had
come to New York to get him to do.
“I came from Chicago,” he said, simply, answering Wyeth's
question.
“You’ve been around Chicago for quite a while now.”
“It's home. The only one I know,” explained Kermit.
“I like Chicago,” said Wyeth. “Like it better than I do New York.
Have always liked it, although New York is a freer city for Negroes
to live in now.” -
“You think so?” queried Early.
“I know so. I live in New York but spend lots of time in Chicago.
See you out there, so am pretty well acquainted with both towns.
The Southerners are able to wield more influence in Chicago than
they can here.”
“Well, I don't know,” said Early, not entirely convinced.
“But I do know, Kermit. And it's a strange thing how it all came
about.” -
“What do you mean?”
“How the Negro happens to be freer here than in any other city
in America, barring Boston.”
“I’d like to hear how,” said Kermit, relaxing, lighting a cigarette
and crossing his legs, preparatory to listening.
“The Jews did it,” said Wyeth.
Early started, sat straight, eyebrows contracted.
“What do you mean, the Jews did it?”
“It isn't easy to explain and is a long story,” said Wyeth. “Still
it is true. There's a Negro detective here, been on the force a long
time, and he was the first one to explain all about it to me fifteen
years ago when I met him in Atlanta, down there with Wm. J. Burns
on the Frank Case.”
“The Frank Case,” repeated Early. “Do you know about that?”
“Down there when they tried and convicted him.” -
“Is that so,” mused Early, his mind going back to that night with


88 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGAte
Florence Wingate, at her home on Peachtree, a long time ago. He
brushed it away, because Wyeth was talking. -
“According to this detective, there was plenty of prejudice and
discrimination going on in New York until the Jew began, through
larger numbers, to enter and wield a greater influence in politics.
They were out to set him in his place along with the Negro, but
the Jew had too much power and too much money to back it up to
let them get away with that. So he found that if he expected to be
free, he'd have to carry the Negro and other minority groups along
with him. They decided that everybody living in New York should
be free, so he had to drag the Negro into the campaign, along with
himself, so as to reduce discrimination to a minimum, and that's how
the Negro happens to be freer in New York than in Chicago, although
they'll refuse a Negro in a few places in both towns yet—at least try
to when they get a chance.”
“I agree with you on most you say, but I'm not convinced on all
you say, especially about the Jew being the cause of this freedom.”
“It wasn’t because of any particular love for the Negro that the
Jew did this. He's too busy making money, and finding other ways of
how to make more, to think much about the Negro, but freedom for
everybody in New York was the only way he could be assured of
freedom for himself. We just happened to be in the way and have
been benefitted because of it.” -
Since Kermit, as we know, was in New York to get Sidney Wyeth
to direct a hate picture, purporting to expose the Jews exploitation of
the Negro, and had been thinking about it and planning it for so
long, it is obvious that he couldn't permit the Jew to be made a hero
and not find some objection. Realizing like the educated and sensible
man he was that he could get into a big argument, that might inter-
fere with the purpose for which he was in New York, he decided,
for the moment at least, to by-pass the subject and turn to something
else. So lighting a new cigarette, drew away at it and blew a cloud of
smoke into the air, then relaxed comfortably, and went on.
“Well, how’re you making out with your book?” he inquired,
laconically.
Wyeth shrugged his shoulders.
“Not bad, Early,” he said, simply.
Kermit glanced around the office.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 89
“You haven't made any pictures lately.”
“Not for over two years,” said Wyeth, and Early detected a sort
of sigh, a regrettable sigh. “A few years ago I was saying that I
was wedded to making pictures and would continue to make them
until I died—or at least was forced by old age, perhaps, into retire-
ment. And now, at middle age, still living—and haven't made a
picture for over two years. I guess I may as well call it quits.”
“There's no reason why you should quit,” said Kermit, sympathet-
ically. “You’ve developed maturity from the standpoint of character-
ization; you possess from long experience, that insight into human
emotions so essential to the telling of a story. Why should you
think about quitting or even retiring?”
Again Wyeth sighed.
“But it costs money to make motion pictures, Kermit,” he said.
Inwardly Kermit smiled and felt encouraged. He waited and listened
while Wyeth went on to explain. -
“Yes, it takes a lot of money, even to make a colored picture. I'm
not sure if I ever want to fool around with it again.”
“Meaning what?” asked Kermit.
“That there's hardly money enough in it to justify the cost and
effort.” - -
“You mean that the actors—”
“No, no. That is the least of the effort. It's the Unions that
they put on you. Force you to hire a dozen men and pay them a lot
of money for a few hours work when you don't need but six. It's not
the Negro actor who gives you the headaches. They are so anxious to
get into a picture and to later see themselves reflected on the screen
until many, not real actors, of course, would be willing to work for
nothing, which I never did let them do for me. Then, since the crowd
on the coast butted in and got white boys to write Negro stories that
soon died right before the Negroes' eyes, and got the owners of the
400 odd theatres that we play disgusted, they cut down so on the
rentals I was getting for a picture, that it became a tragedy. That's
what I mean. In short, it developed too many headaches and I got
tired of it.”
“These producers whom you say butted into your little set-up,
what became of them? Where are they? Aren't they still making
pictures?”


90 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Hell, naw!” exclaimed Wyeth. “They quit as quickly as I was
forced to. No, they’ve all gone with the wind to God knows where!”
“Then you have the field again, all to yourself f. I’m sure it
wouldn't take long for you to get our group back to appreciating the
kind of pictures you know how to make again.”
“I suppose not, but I haven't that kind of money and I don't feel
like taking a chance of upsetting my little book business, which I am
developing very satisfactorily and in truth, getting along better in it
than I ever did in pictures, where, of course, I handled more money.”
“I understand,” said Kermit, agreeably.
“I don't feel like going out here begging a lot of Jews to put up
money to make pictures with any more. Just don't feel like it. I
know, I’ve done it before and I could do so again, perhaps, if I had
to, but, as stated I just don't feel like running the risk of spoiling
the business I’m in to go out chasing somebody elses cash when I
am setting here in perfect peace and making a good living in the
book business.”
“Yes but you're due to do bigger things, Wyeth. You're a man
with vision and imagination.” -
“I can employ that more effectively, perhaps, writing novels, I'm
sure. If I have half as much as you say I have, I can express it
more effectively in telling stories on printed pages. It doesn't take
much money to do that, just a lot of hard work, a lot of thinking
and I like to think.” - -
“That's where you're unlike the most of us,” said Early and
laughed, Wyeth laughed, too- . º
“But the book has got to be published.”
“I can do that myself, too I published the one I'm selling now.”
“I mean in a bigger way.” -
“Publishing a book is simple a simple procedure compared with
making pictures. If I make a picture it's got to be well and expensively
enough made to be appreciated by at least Negroes when it reaches
the screen. But regardless how well and in the case of a Negro
picture, expensively made, it couldn't get beyond being shown in
about 500 theatres catering almost exclusively to Negroes. The major
picture business has long ago been taken over by Wall Street. It is
a huge and gigantic industry and trust, operated through about a
half dozen or more what you call ‘major film companies, who own
*-


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 91
or control all the best theatres not only in this country, but in Europe,
especially England and South America. These big film Companies
reciprocate their pictures with each other. ‘I’ll play your pictures, in
the theatres we control’ they say in effect to each other, “If you'll play
ours in those you control.' And so it goes. If I spent a million dollars
to make a colored picture and if it was as good as the best picture
ever made, I couldn't play it anywhere except in what they call Negro
theatres, unless I could persuade one of the major companies to
release it, and they're not interested that much in Negroes and what
Negroes are either thinking or trying to do.
“Now, for the sake of argument,” Wyeth went on. “If I write a
book, or anybody else for that matter, and the book is interesting, so
interesting until it absorbs and compels you to read it through to
see how it comes out, there's nothing to keep me from selling it to
white people, and they will read it just as quickly if a Negro wrote
it as anybody else, depending on how interesting and exciting the
story is, no more, no less.” - -
“Then why aren't you doing that with regards to this book? I
read it and I think it is damn good.”
“That's what everybody who reads it says,” agreed Wyeth. “I
find that white people like it as well as Negroes and say so, for
the interest is human; but I didn't know when I wrote it like I’ve
learned since, that if I hope to interest the white people who review
books for the big Metropolitan dailies, that I’ve got to write a
shocker.”
“A shocker, what do you mean?” queried Kermit.
“Just what I say,” insisted Wyeth. “You see, Kermit, and this is
some of the many things I’ve found out since writing my book, which
is a novel narrative of contemporary Negro life. Currently, white
reviewers are not interested in a novel of modern, intelligent, Negro
life. At least they don't think they are original and as to my present
book, for that reason, I don't think they read it when it was sent to
them. I didn't send it to but a few and getting no response, I saved
the books and sold them and didn't try to secure reviews very hard.
“Now, to begin with, most of them have a fixed idea as to how the
Negro should be. First, they'd prefer him to be funny, to continue
funny and stay that way until the end of the story which would make
them laugh a-plenty. If anybody would or could write that kind of


92 THE CASE of MRs. wingATE
story, and I can write it, if I wanted to, his book would be far more
popular with the reviewers than the kind I've written. I'm not going
to use up my energy writing that kind, however. I’m too concerned
with the mental, moral, social and economical development of this
awful race of ours, to go into a seance and write a whole novel
about a fool. We're fools enough, I'll admit, but our condition and
our future, is too serious for me at least, to treat it in the light of
plain and simple comedy.
“Happily, hardly anybody else has been able to write that kind of
story to their satisfaction for so long until they've had to read some-
thing else; something about the Negro in the form of a novel that
nobody happens to write, perhaps more than about once every five
years. We've had one novel by a Negro author that seemed to please
them for a while at least.”
“Nature's Child is the one you refer to, I suppose,” suggested
Kermit.
“Yes,” agreed Wyeth, “and another, and an entirely different
kind, but one that leaves the Negro stranded, as usual, but which they
are buying as no Negroes at least have ever bought. I’ve heard no
reader say that they liked it, but they are buying it and reading it,
and that is all that matters from the publisher's point of view—and
the author happens to be a Southern white woman.”
“You mean Passion,” said Early.
“Just that.” -
“But both these books let the Negro down. They pick him up in
the dog house, as it were, and leave him right where they found
him, in the end.” -
“Nature's Child sent us to the electric chair, so in that respect,
you're mistaken,” and both laughed heartily. “Passion takes us to the
graveyard of despair and hopelessness—and leaves us as you say,
right there. All of which supports my contention. They have grown
to look at us through distorted eyes. We're not supposed to have a
contemporary life like other Americans. I don't suppose that any
of them are actually aware of it, but I am. I know that if I ever write
a book that the critics are going to open and read through to the end
and then write reams about, I’ve got to develop the Negro and carry
him through a peculiar maze of events, and these events must be real
and as he reads them, remember that what I say is true, though


THE CASE OF MRS. wingATE 93
seemingly fantastic. If I hope to arouse their interest at all,
I've got to, in short, shock him to his vitals.
“I’ve been thinking how I could write such a book. Any book that I
write has got to, however, treat the Negro as he is, and leave him
in the end, decent and respectable. I'm sure it can be done, but it's
up to me or some other Negro that knows how, to do it. If not, he
will continue to be distorted all out of proportion, and played down,
which seems to be the popular current way to treat him in fiction. But
I have talked clear away from the subject. I don't think I finished
asking you what I started out to from the beginning.” Kermit smiled.
“What you've talked about, I assure you, is more interesting than
whatever you started to ask me about. In the meantime, and before
getting down to what I'm here to see you about, for I have come to
New York, especially to see you.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Wyeth, his eyebrows raised. “This is an
honor.” -
“Not an honor, but coldblooded, down-to-the-earth-business. But
before we go into that, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Fire away,” declared Wyeth. “I guess I can answer. I’ll try to
anyhow.”
“They are intimate questions, direct and to the point, but questions
you might feel are a bit—impertinent.”
“My mind is as wide open as the Dakota prairies from where I
came,” laughed Wyeth. “So fire away, ask me anything you like.
Get it off your chest and your mind.”
“How do you feel about the Jewish situation, the Jews themselves,
I mean?” inquired Early.
Wyeth paused, his smile vanished; he turned to look curiously at
Rermit.
“How do I feel about the Jews?” he repeated. “Why about the
Jew? Why not at the same time and as well, about the Italian, the
Greek, the Chinaman—about anybody? I don't understand you.”
“You’re covering too much territory,” said Early. “After the
second generation all other nationalities, except the China: an and us,
of course, become more or less molded into one group. White Amer-
icans. Only the Jew remains outside the realm, he never changes.
He may claim to be an American if he's born here, but—”
“—he is, The same as everybody else who's born here, including us.”


94 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“I don't mean it just that way. What I meant to say is that in his
dealing, association and otherwise, he remains always a Jew.”
“I agree with you in that respect. And for the Jew's own benefit,
that is unfortunate, for after all is said and done he is a white man,
just as white from the standpoint of pigment, as any other white
person.”
“Now you're getting somewhere,” said Kermit. “I suppose my
asking such a question appears a bit odd, far fetched as it were,
for currently we have only a passing interest in the Jew. We meet him
only when we go into his store to buy something. Beyond a business
transaction like the purchase of clothing, or food or otherwise, we
have no interest in common with him. But I had a very good reason
for asking the question I did as you will, if not presently, ultimately
see and understand.”
At the moment Wyeth, by his expression, did not understand.
“Now, while you were writing on your book in Chicago, you told
me that the Jews were responsible for your being forced to suspend
making pictures. I happen to know, personally, that you have gone
along in the making of colored pictures very successfully for a
number of years. Yet within two years after they combined and be-
came a competitor, you've been forced to suspend, and after you
were forced out, they folded up and disappeared as competitors,
also. Why?”
“Well, regarding the statement about saying that Jews had forced
me to suspend, I didn't mean it literally. I want to explain that I just
have a way when I refer to certain people by emphasizing their race.
If we talk long, you'll hear me say those Negroes or we Negroes or
us Negroes or those Italians or that Greek and so on down. When I
speak that way, due to having grown more emphatic than necessary,
for I should just say those persons, or something else. Well, to cut a
long story or explanation short, I didn't mean anything in particular
by it.”
“Still you did say the Jews had put you out of business,” argued
Kermit. -
“Any competition in the matter of making motion pictures is
Jewish competition, for the show business and the picture business,
especially is greatly monopolized by them. Anyway, answering your
first question, ‘what do I think of the Jews'? I still don't know what


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE - 95
you mean. But I have no particular opinion regarding them any more
that I have an opinion about any other group,” said Wyeth.
Kermit shrugged his shoulders. -
“I simply asked how you felt about them.”
“You must have had a reason. A man of your training, education
and contact, wouldn't just ask such a question without a reason. Out
with it?” Kermit looked at him as if he didn't care to go any further
at the moment, but suddenly said: -
“Then you like Jews, maybe? Is it possible that you consider him
a friend of the Negro; of ours?”
“I don't consider him anything of the kind. He's as good a friend
of the Negro as he is of anybody else, but being a friend of anybody's
isn't exactly his forte. He's too involved in trade and commerce,
cold business and profit. Why should he lose any time or thought
being a friend of ours? As I said it isn't worth his time or thought.”
“Well, I suppose not. But—” and then he broke off, and didn't
finish what he started to say.
Wyeth was curious by now, so he made a gesture and went on:
“Now, Early. Lay your cards on the table. Why have you asked me
such a question, anyhow?”
Turning to him more frankly than before, Kermit looked straight
at him and replied:
“Because, Wyeth, I’m in a position to do you some good; to pos-
sibly help restore you to making pictures. Yes, that's it. To help you.”
“That's very fine of you, I'm sure. I don't know just how you can
help me. Meanwhile, if you are in such a position, and you may be.
You're not a man to make such a statement unless you know whereof
you speak. Still, there is, perhaps, a string tied to this help you speak
of, yes or no?”
“Maybe,” replied Kermit with a little shrug of the shoulders.
“Once a man has made pictures, the desire to continue is, I think,
forever with him. I made almost fifty full length feature photoplays,
and I would make more if I had the money. Before I quit two years
ago, I had prepared three very fine stories, broke them down and
had two rehearsed and ready to produce—then I was let down by
somebody who had every reason to have financed the making of
them; somebody who would have profited even more than I.”
“Still they let you down.” -


96 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“They let me down.”
“Bet he was a Jew.”
Wyeth looked up and smiled. -
“I can get you the money, all you need, more than you've ever had
to make pictures with before,” said Kermit, evenly. “If you're willing
to do a little—compromising.” -
“You’re a bit vague and indefinite on the one hand, while you
hold a beautiful picture up before me with the other. Just what kind
of a compromise? You've got me curious now.”
Kermit suddenly glanced at his watch, then looked up at Wyeth.
“It'll require quite some time to lay the plan before you in detail,
and I don't care to go into it just now. In fact, I've an appointment
elsewhere, and am over due now.” He rose to his feet, Wyeth fol-
lowed, an expression of disappointment on his face. Kermit extended
his hand in a perfunctory manner, which Wyeth took.
“I’ll get in touch with you maybe tomorrow, or within a very short
time. We'll take our time and go to the bottom of the matter. I
believe you'll come with me when you understand fully what it's all
about. Meantime, so long and goodby until you hear from me.”
Grasping Wyeth's hand, he shook it and turning, left the office
and went to meet Mrs. Wingate, who was coming up from Atlanta
to meet him.


CHAPTER V I -
at a small restaurant on the first floor, then returned to the
office and went to work on a new book sales campaign plan.
He was therefore very much interested in being alone, especially
after Early ran out on giving him any more information as regards
that strange, vague plan to secure him funds to resume the produc-
tion of pictures. - -
He had been at work an hour or more and had about completed the
first draft of the plan in long hand and was about to move into the
outer office and type it when there was a knock on the outside door,
so soft and low that he was not sure about it. With a frown of im-
patience on his face, he listened and presently it was repeated, a
bit louder. -
Getting up, he crossed to the outer door and called: “Who is it?”
There was no answer and this annoyed him, so striding across the
reception room, he took hold of the knob, jerked the door open im-
patiently—and then started, perceptibly, his mouth agape as he did so.
For there before him stood a very beautiful girl, attractively dressed
and smiling up into his, a moment before, very impatient face.
“Oh,” he sort of breathed, and swallowed like a guilty boy. “Miss
Vinson.”
“Yes, Mr. Wyeth, me. I hope I'm not disturbing you. You looked
so impatient when you jerked the door open, you frightened me. I'm
a bit afraid now and feel that I should run away,” and she started
to turn, but reaching out quickly, he caught her arm and led her
into the room, closing the door behind her.
“By no means, Miss Vinson. I—I-”
“—what,” she said, looking up at him coquettishly.
“Well, I wasn't expecting anyone, and I thought you were some
person calling to apply for work in the pictures. We are not making
A FTER EARLY left, Wyeth went downstairs, ate his dinner
97


98 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
any just now and I was busy and—”
“Didn't want to be annoyed? Well,” and she turned as if to go
out the door, and again he caught her arm and went on profusely.
“Please no, I didn't mean you. Not you at all. I’m glad you came.
It is a pleasant surprise and I welcome you. So let me take you right
into my little private sanctuary and make you comfortable.”
She made eyes at him, but permitted him to lead her into his office,
close the door, and find her a comfortable seat.
He had met the girl, whose first name was Edrina less than a week
before on Seventh Avenue. He was on his way to the office, while
she was in company with a song writer by the name of Donald
Howard, a hang-around-the-show-man, whom he had known for a
long time. She impressed him very much. About 28 years of age,
she was tall, but not too tall and she was slender, still not too slender.
Sort of a keen looking, light brown skinned girl with beautiful dark
hair, dark eyes and pretty teeth, which showed when she smiled.
She looked keen and very intelligent and interested him then and
there. They had talked about a star of his, whom she admired and
it was during this conversation on the sidewalk that he invited her
to call at his office sometime. And now before him she sat, looking
as Sweet, he thought, as sugar, smiling across at him.
She wore a cute little hat that permitted her beautiful dark hair
to stand out conspicuously from under, with a feather on the top,
reaching above it, and a little veil, that crossed her nose about half-
way, that set off her appearance, and he was greatly flattered as he
gazed across at her.
Howard told him that she had been on Irvin C. Mantan's show
the season before, doing a turn and a couple of songs, and that she
might be interested in working in pictures before the show went
out again, and told her to call and see him about it.
“Well, Edrina,” he started, looking at her with unrestrained ad-
miration, “if I may call you that.”
“You may, of course,” she said sweetly, and smiled back at him
and seemed more beautiful than ever. He was conscious that his
heart was now beating faster. -
“Thanks,” he said, and seemed much pleased. “Since you've been
so nice as to call, in response to my invitation, I want you to relax,
take it easy and I hope we can become better acquainted.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 99
“Thank you, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, bowing her head a bit. She
had a soft, pleasant voice. -
“And, incidentally, when you get to know me better, my first name
is Sidney. You won't need to be so formal. Sidney is only one word,
while Mr. Wyeth requires two,” and they both laughed and felt
more comfortable. -
“I’ll start calling you Sidney now,” she said, elevating her eye-
brows, beautifully. “That is—if you want me to.” -
“I want you to, Edrina,” he said seriously.
“Do you really,” she said, leaning forward slightly, also anxiously.
“Yes I do, Edrina, seriously.”
She relaxed against the back of the chair and seemed to sigh her
next words more than just say them.
“You said that so beautifully, until I'm almost tempted to believe
you; to believe that you really meant it.”
“I was never more sincere in my life, Edrina,” he said, leaning
toward her, his face more serious than it had been for a long time.
His smile was gone and he seemed deeply in earnest. “You must feel
that I do mean it, Edrina,” and shoving his chair forward, drew
closer and laid his hand on hers. She waved at him with her free one,
deprecatingly, as if to say, “go on. You're kidding.” He read that in
her eyes and grasping her hand a bit, cried:
“You know, Edrina, and this has been on my mind since I met
you. That with a little encouragement I could become very much
interested in you.”
She pretended to pout and looked at him out of the corner of her
eyes, then shook her head.
“Now, now, Mr. Wyeth and excuse me for being formal again,
but I'm afraid you're turning out like all the rest. When I had begun
to hope—even believe that—you were different.”
He paused and relaxed, and then she suddenly grew anxious. She
was not sure if he understood that she was only joking. He was
speaking.
“I don't claim to be so different from other men, if any, even. But
I do know that I have a great many responsibilities, so many until
it does not interest me to jive or to try to jive a girl, as they say.
I’m sure that I have more to keep me occupied than the average run
of our men, I mean, colored men.”


100 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“If you're responsible at all, and obviously you must be, you're
more than most colored men, I admit. Responsibility is something
that few even pretend to have, or assume, at all.” -
“From the moment I met you last week, there was something
about you that appealed to me,” he now said.
“There you go again, dear Sidney. Trying to kid me,” she made
the usual deprecating sound with her tongue between her teeth and
shook her pretty head teasingly. -
“Please Edrina,” he went on, holding her hand between his two.
“I ask you to believe me—you must believe me,” he pleaded, sincerely.
He was close to her now, and she became more serious as she looked
at him.
“Do you want me to, Sidney?”
“I do, Edrina, seriously.” She seemed at a loss for a moment how
to proceed, what to say. Lowered her eyes to think, then looked
up at him: “And, if I do?”
“I will never let you down,” he insisted, earnestly. Pausing, like one
cornered, and not knowing where to go, for there was no escape,
she presently sighed. -
“Well, I don't know. I’d like to believe you Sidney—in fact, I even
want to believe you. But a girl gets let down so badly and so often
these days until she doesn't know whom to trust, who to believe.”
He looked at her closely, thoughtfully for a moment and the grip
he had on her hand was relaxed. His look at her now she thought,
was a bit hard. -
“Who’s been fooling you?” He asked rather bluntly.
Immediately she became a show girl, in other words, a bit tough.
“Who, me?” she threw back at him coldly.
“Yes, you,” he said, his expression by now was tempered with a
oit of amusement, which she didn’t catch and understand at once.
“I haven't let any man fool me, Sidney—and I don't intend to.—”
“—let me,” he assisted, cutting her off and pointing at himself.
Now he was himself again. He smiled on her, kind and tenderly, so
much so until she could no longer doubt him. He squeezed her hand.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Edrina. I didn’t intend to be unkind, or to
anger you.”
She laid a hand on his, and looked tenderly up into his eyes.
“Keep on talking and acting like that, Sidney. I'm sorry if I hurt


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 101
you. I didn't intend to; I don't want to.” She smiled upon him re-
assuringly. Then, squeezed his arm: “I–I do like you, too—a little,
and that's why I came here to see you tonight—alone.” Feeling that
she'd said enough, she lowered her eyes and affected sadness. After
a pause, she raised them again. “Now will you—believe me?”
“I believe you, Edrina. So let's agree on that at least. Let's believe
each one is interested in the other and get fully acquainted. What do
you say?”
She smiled up at him now, happily, and stuck out her free hand:
“Shake, partner,” she cried, enthusiastically. “It’s a dealſ” And
they grasped hands like two pals. Then laughing, they both auto-
matically rose to their feet.
“Now, where do we go from here, partner?” said Edrina, and
waited for him to make the next move, a smile spreading over her
face.
“Well,” said he, cheerfully. “I’m free, single, disengaged and
hungry again, although I ate only three hours ago. Do you happen to
feel the same way?”
“Have you ever met a show girl in Harlem that wasn't?”
Both laughed heartily at this, and moved toward the door, paused
again and faced each other.
“In that regard, Mr. Wyeth, I don't claim to be any different from
the rest of us up here. We're always hungry, so hungry in fact, that
we seem to stay that way to avoid getting hungry,” and they laughed
so much at that until they leaned against each other and felt closer
as a result. They moved into the reception room now, still laughing.
Pausing after a time, he turned to face her.
“I’ve always said that if a man made any money at all, he could
hardly go bankrupt, eating. And I don't mind feeding a hungry girl
at the same time. So everything is mutual. Where do you want to go?”
She reached up and adjusted his tie, which made both feel more
intimate, as she replied: “It’s your money that we're going to eat and
drink on, Sidney, dear. You choose the place,” and looked up at him.
He tickled her chin with his fingers, and she smiled as though
it pleased her.
“No, no, dear Eddie. There must be some place you'd like to go
better than just any place. I want to please you, understand?”
She nodded her head and found something to fix at on his coat,


102 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
vest, tie or shirt. She was silent. He went on.
“So you name the place, dear girl, and it is there we will go.”
She looked up into his eyes now kindly, trustingly.
“You are a nice fellow after all,” she said, softly. “Frank, plain,
honest and big-hearted like I’d hoped you were, and, I'm afraid,” she
sighed, “I’m going to learn to like you, maybe a lot, if you keep on
being nice like that, before it's over.” She paused to look up at him
coquettishly. He could no longer resist her appeal, and then he dared.
He leaned down and her eyes opened like she was a bit frightened, but
wishing to please him as he'd said he wanted to please her, she met
him half way, and they kissed.
Each underwent a sudden thrill. The kiss had been so tender, so
soft, and so sweet until both were lifted up, by the contact, as it were,
to strange and dizzy heights. Impelled by an irresistible force, which
neither understood or could longer resist, he kissed her again, and
then he placed an arm about her waist and kissed her again and again.
Then holding her close, so close they could feel each other's heart
beat, he sighed and relaxed and was forced to turn his eyes away.
“Oh, me. You—you—overwhelm me, Sidney. Overwhelm me so
until I've forgotten where I am, what I’m doing. You asked me
something before it started. I can't remember now what it was.”
“I asked, dear Edrina,” he said, looking down into her eyes, his
arm still about her waist. “Where you wanted to go?” * .
“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” she said hastily. “Pardon me for for-
getting so quickly.”
“I fear that I could go on forgetting in exchange for such moments
as have just passed, beautiful, exhilarating, never-to-be-forgotten
moments.” -
“Oh, Sidney. You can even be—romantic, when you try. I’ve
always viewed you as cold, distant, and domineering.”
“Great goodness,” he cried, affecting fright.
She giggled.
“Well, I have.” she said, protestingly. “I met you only last week,
but I’ve known you for a long, long time.”
“Really?” - -
“Who doesn't know Sidney Wyeth? You're the only one of our
group to make pictures. I’ve seen your pictures, many, many of them.
I liked them, too. They say you make the best of all the colored pic-


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 103
tures, and I know they draw great crowds. They say, the theatre
owners, that when they have a Wyeth picture, every day is a holiday.”
“Thank you.”
“You haven't made any for quite some time now. At least I haven't
seen any?”
“No, I haven't.”
“Why?”
“Oh, dear, that's a long story—too long for us to go into now.
I'd rather talk about you—and me.”
She smiled up at him sweetly, and he kissed her again, quickly. She
shook her head at him and pointed an accusing finger.
“Never would I have believed anybody if they'd told me you were
like this,” she accused him, tantalizingly.
“Neither would I. I'm surprised at myself, but I'm sure there's
a reason.” -
“What reason, may I ask?” He looked at her.
“I'm looking at the reason. Easily and plainly, you.”
“Oh, dear, dear,” she cried, and leaned on him. He squeezed her
close. She relaxed and looked up. “Before I forget again, I'd like to
go to the—Bamboo Inn.” - -
“To the Bamboo Inn.” He repeated after her. “Then,” and draw-
ing her close, kissed her once more.
“It's to the Bamboo Inn, we go!” laughing, happily, he turned, his
arm sº around her waist. He switched off the light with his free
hand, turned the night lock, swung the door wide open, and relaxing
his hold around her waist, waved her into the hall before him, fol-
lowed, turned, closed the door, rattled it from the outside to see that
it was locked, and together they left the building for the Bamboo Inn.


carris VII
YETH AND MARIE were hard at work in their little office
in Harlem the next morning when a messenger with a spe-
cial delivery letter entered the office. Marie signed for the
letter, looked at the postmark, smiled, knocked on Wyeth's door and
entered. Wyeth looked up with a slight frown, then relaxed it when he
saw her face and the Smile and the letter, which she opened as she
talked. - - -
“Well, the special is here from our boy.” Wyeth looked at the letter,
then with an impatient wave of the hand told her.
“Go ahead and read it. I don't decipher many of his words very
easily.” Thompson was not related to either. Referring to him as
“our boy” was a joke.
“Dear Mr. Wyeth,” Marie read. -
“Supplementing my telegram of recent date, I was going from the
bathroom to my room at Miss Gentry's home here when I slipped
and before I could regain my balance, fell to the floor, rolled down the
stairway to the bottom. They had to carry me upstairs as I couldn't
walk. In addition to fracturing my hip, my face was badly bruised
also. Today an ambulance came and took me to a hospital where I
was X-rayed three times, then brought back to Miss Gertry's.
“The Doctor told me to stay in bed for a week, then move around
on crutches for two or three weeks longer. By this you can understand
why I've decided to stay in Baltimore indefinitely. Besides, I’ve been
offered three jobs already, so this is to ask you to please get my
laundry alld belongings from the room at Mrs. Morgan's and send
them to ſne.”
Marie paused and looked down at him.
“Well, what do you think of it?” she ventured. He looked up at
her a bit absently. His mind seeming to be on something else. He
shrugged his shoulders.
“What am I supposed to think,” said he. “The letter speaks for it-
self.” - -
104


THE CASE of MRs. WINGATE 105
“Of course,” said Marie, “with your mind on your business and so
much planning, you would hardly understand. But when Thompson
fell downstairs at Miss Gentry's home, he did not, figuratively
land on the floor at the bottom of the stair. He did in a physical sense,
of course. But in spirit he landed smack dab into her arms. Get
what I mean?”
“I think I do, but it couldn't be as serious as all that.”
“Wait and see what happens — but I have no right to take up your
time by gossiping about Thompson. I'll continue it with my mother
at home tonight. There are other matters of importance to command
your attention this morning.”
“For instance, what?”
“I made an appointment for you to receive and talk with Mr.
Early, of Chicago at eleven this morning.”
“Oh, yes.” He glanced at his watch.
“Yes. He said that it was very important that he see you, so he's
calling promptly at eleven and asked me to be sure to keep you in
the office until that time.”
“That's just fifteen minutes away. I'll see him,” and then as if to
himself, “I wonder what he wants to talk to me about, anyhow "
“I haven't the least idea,” said Marie, and he started and looked
up at her and smiled.
“I was talking to myself, Marie. I was thinking aloud to myself.
Still it is just as well that you heard.”
“What ever it is, it seemed most important to him, that he see
you, so I wouldn't like you to forget and go out as you so often do.”
“I won't forget that I won't go out.” And then again he mumbled
to himself. -
“This Kermit Early has always been a sort of man of mystery.
He isn't married; I never see him with a woman, yet I'm sure he isn't
a fairy. He seems to live well, has what he wants, yet has nothing to
do with anybody that I've ever seen. So what, exactly, does he do,
and what has he got against the Jews? Something strange and peculiar
about the whole thing.” Then relaxing, and looking up at the girl.
“Well, he'll be here presently, so I'll just wait and see.” He called her
and by the time he had dictated the letters to be answered that morn-
ing Kermit came and was shown into his private office by Marie.
“Now picking up where we left off yesterday, Wyeth, You intimated


106 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
that you'd like to be financed so you can make a series of new pictures.”
“I would be interested, yes.”
“And I said that I was in a position to get the money for you to
make them with, correct?”
“Correct, — with a string tied to it, you also implied.”
“There is a condition.”
“And what is that condition ?”
“That you produce a certain kind of picture that we are interested
in having made for our use.” -
“Why have you singled me out to make this certain kind of picture?”
“Because of your uncanny insight into the conditions we want this
picture made around. I consider you the only man in America
able to do this to our satisfaction.” y
“That would seem like a compliment, but before I become enthus-
iastic, an enthusiasm superinduced by the vision of having enough
money once in my life to make some pictures. I do not wish to be
worried crazy with fear: the fear of being unable to pay off before it
is finished.” -
“You will be relieved of all financial worries if you go with us.
I can assure you as to that.” w
“All's well enough thus far. What kind of picture is this that you
want me to make for you and your associates to release?”
“A picture exposing activities of the Jew for the benefit of our
group; to be shown, primarily, to our group.”
“M-m. I was afraid it would be something like that. Too bad.”
“Why too bad?” said Early. “You need money, don't you? You've
said you'd be glad to have real money to make some pictures with
once? If you had real money you could make the kind of pictures you
are capable of producing, couldn't you? You've never had that kind of
money, so what?”
“But I have never made a hate picture.”
“But you do hate Jews, don't you? They forced you out of making
pictures? Messed up the business you set in motion years and years
ago?”
“But I don't hate Jews. I don't hate anybody.”
“After all they did to spoil your business?”
“They didn't go into it to hurt me; to put me out of business. They
went into it on the theory that they could make some money. They


THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE 107
had a right to.” Early paused before going on.
“But they put you out of business, they — ”
- “The Negroes didn't like their pictures, and stayed away from the
theatres in such great numbers when they played them that they were
forced to suspend, give it up. It was just my bad luck the way things
turned out. That doesn't give me any leave to go off sulking, to start a
campaign of hate.”
“But consider what it can mean to you? Put you back on your feet
more solidly than you have ever been " Early insisted.
“I’ve considered all that, Early, but I'm simply not a Red a com-
munist or a Nazi. I hold no brief for Jews. Many times during my
fights with them to try to get a decent rental price for my pictures,
I’ve often felt like killing them, they seemed so mercenary. But I'm
too concerned with the deficiency of the Negro, and I'm too involved
in trying to improve or help improve the condition of our group,
to have any time to hate Jews.”
“Jews are the scourge of America. They are the greatest disease
in our economical and political life. Some day you're going to
admit, along with everybody else that the Jews are the cause of this
war, the last war, all the wars since modern civilization; wars that
have destroyed millions of people in Europe.”
“Maybe so, and if it is, it will continue. My going out here and
producing a hate picture isn't going to change it.”
“It’ll help expose the dirty chiselers in the eyes of Negroes. That's
worth something.” Looking at him more closely.
“Who’s behind all this, anyhow, Kermit? Not Negroes, of course?”
“Oh, no.”
“Naturally they wouldn't have that kind of money, and if they
had, it isn't something that they would be sponsoring. In short, it just
isn't Negroes, is it, Early?” -
“No,” admitted Early.
“I thought not,” said Wyeth. “Then who?”
“I’d rather not say. All you have to do is just give me your word
that you'll make this picture and leave the rest to me. Only this I can
say at this time. These people hate Jews and feel it is a patriotic
duty to expose his methods, his exploitation, his chiseling and his
cheating.”


108 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
“A strange patriotic duty. Why not call it by its right name, a hate
duty.”
“I don't see it that way.”
“Supposing for the sake of argument that I made this picture.
Where would you show it, with the Jews owning most of the theatres?
People can be persuaded only to go to theatres to see pictures in any
large numbers.”
“That is not a part of your responsibility. All you're to do is just
produce the picture. The rest is our responsibility.”
“I couldn't, Kermit, as much as I’d like to get the use of the
money you promise for doing so. My heart wouldn't be in it, and when
my heart isn't in a thing, I don't do much good at trying to do it.”
Turning to him seriously. “Do you know what I could do so much
better than that.”
“What?” asked Early. -
“Make a picture exposing the Negro. His laziness, shiftlessness;
his wasteful tendency and his irresponsibility — a whole lot that is so
completely wrong about him; so unnecessarily so; things that he could
so easily, with a little effort, correct and make right. A picture exposing
the Negro for his own good. I’d like to title it, “Go look in the mirror,
you fool! That thing looking back at you, is yourself.’ By this, it is
meant that the Negro is made up of about everything that is contrary
to his own welfare. His word is no good, and I repeat, he is ir-
responsible, trifling and lazy, wasteful and extravagant. We even hate
each other. Heard a speaker while in Chicago writing my book say
that no Negro has ever risen to power and success by the help of
Negroes. Consciously and unconsciously, he hates his own kind,
doesn't want another Negro to get ahead of him, and if he can, will
reach up and pull him back and down and tramp on him. Education
has neither changed or improved this condition. In fact, the more
educated the Negro is, the more he seems to play his fellow man
down, hold him in contempt, laugh at anything he attempts to do
and lauds the white man at every turn. He doesn't hesitate to betray
his fellow man to any white man who'll pay him.
“Does the Jew play such cheap politics? You know he doesn't. The
Jew is the world's oldest and most successful merchant. He is re-
sponsible, employs hundreds of thousands of people right here in
America. Do we? I know, we've been free only 80 years and haven't


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 109
got that far. At the rate we are going, hating and anxious to keep
each other on a level with ourselves, how far do you suppose we will
have gone in another eighty years?
“No, there is so much wrong with our group and we need to be
exposed for our own benefit more than anybody else, that it seems
vain even to go thinking about exposing Jews.”
“Well, Wyeth,” said Early, rising to his feet, and smiling. “I ex-
pected you to refuse to do what we want you to do at this time. I'm
here in addition to persuading you to make this picture, also to wait
and meet somebody else, due here in a few days from abroad. So
don't make up your mind now, just take it easy and keep thinking
about it. After all, you could make the picture and use a fictitious
name, not your real name. I've decided that you only can do this pic-
ture, from a story I have written, like nobody else can, and I’m going
to stay on your tail until you consent to do it,” He paused now to
look at his watch.
“It's noon and what about going downstairs and having a bite of
lunch with me?”
A few minutes later, seated in a booth with a couple of bottles of
beer before them, while they waited for their order to be prepared,
they couldn't help overhear a conversation between two colored
women, seated in the booth behind them, that amused them.
“Dey want no tuhkey to be had, so I decided to buy a chicken
instead,” said one, whom the other was calling Lucy.
“None to be had up heah in Ha'lem,” said Helen; “but plenty
down town fo' white fo'kes. So dat's wha’ I went and got mine.”
“You did?” cried Lucy, amazed.
“Sho did, and I got a good one, too.”
“Well, I decla’,” cried Lucy, and her tone indicated her chagrin.
“Well, gittin' back to what I stahted tu tell yuh.”
“Sho. Go ahead. I’m interested. Meantime, why you think we
couldn't get tuhkeys in Ha'lem when dare wuz plenty downtown P’’
“Dey was a ceiling on’m, and dey been puttin' so many Ofays in
jail fo' ovuh chargin', until dey was afraid to, and ef dey can't steal
frum and cheat us niggahs, dey won't be bothered wid going regular
to oblige us. So dey wouldn't put dem selves out to go an buy tuhkeys
to sell to niggahs and just make a ceilin' profit.”
“Well, gittin' back to what I stahted tu yell yuh. Have anudder


110 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
drink,” and she proceeded to pour it.
“Sho.”
Early and Wyeth smiled at each other as they listened to the women.
“I goes into dis sto. The man was busy in de rear and when he
seed me entuh, he motined fo' de woman to go wait on me. She was
fat, lak most Ofay womens is, especially aftu dey gits mai'ed and has
a kid or two.” The other laughed.
“So she bustles up to me, smilin’. ‘C’n I serve you, lady,” she said,
gracious like.”
“They knows how tu flattuh you,” said the other.
“And how,” cried Lucy. “Well, she smiled at me, and says: “A
chicken? Nice, fat, tender chicken,' and pointed to a pile ov'm dis-
played in the front window. I pointed to one I lacked, so she picks it
up and throws it on the scale. -
“How much P” I asked.
“She looked at it. ‘Dollar ninety-eight.’”
“Seemed kinda high fo’ the size. ‘How much a pound?' I asked.
She didn't seem to want to say. Instead she repeated, ‘the chicken
is a dollar ninety eight cents.’ And I calls back just as loud. “How
much is the chicken, a pound, woman? You sell it by the pound, don't
you?' My niggah was beginnin' tu rise now. She glanced toward the
man, who shook his head, and then turning back to me she said ‘44
cents'. I looked at the scale. It registered 3% pounds. I did some
figurin' in my mind. ‘Come on,' she calls, “do you want it or not?” At
44 cents a pound, the chicken would total about a dollar and fifty
eight cents.
“How come a 3% pound chicken to cost a dollar and ninety eight
cents,” I asked, loudly. She picked the chicken up an threw it back on
the pile with the others, and turned to wait on somebody else. I stood
there, glarin at heh, fightin' mad. I looked right at her cheat anudder
niggah right befo' mah eyes, but he just out and paid what she asked
without doing any checkin’.”
“Or thinkin’,” said the other.
“That's it. No thinkin', jes' let a duhty Ofay cheat his eye balls
out and not know it, even.”
“It’s a shame.”
“Hit's going on all ovuh Ha'lem, Ofays cheatin’ niggahs, and nig-
gahs not known' it even.” -


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 111
“I wanted to ruch ove de countah and grab dat Ofay bitch and
beat heh yes, yes all ovuh dat sto. But de culud papers had been say’n
so much about us niggah's fightin', ready tu fight at de drop of a hat,
swearin’ and black guardin'.”
“De'se Ofays uz enough to make us fight.”
“Ain’t it so.” -
“Las’ tanksgivin’,” said Helen, “I was shoppin on eighth avenue
and stopped in front of a sto wha a nice lookin' young tuhkey was
displayed. De Ofay inside saw me and come out an asked me to come
in and sold me the tuhkey, I taught, cheap.”
“It always seems dat way,” said Lucy.
“Jes' seem's dat way,” admitted Helen, “But it all ‘Jes seems.”
Lucy laughed. -
“When Xmas come, I was shoppin' Christmas mawnin' fo anudder
tuhkey and stopped in front ob de same sto' again. The same Ofay
come hustlin' out, recanized me and asked me in de sto' to buy annud-
er tuhkey. He jes' named a price lak dis woman did tu you 'bout de
chicken. I keep on askin’ ‘how much a pound?' He finally named it,
but I could see he didn't want to, and dat made me 'spicious. I paid
him and when I got outside, I sorta tested de weight of distuhkey up
and down and it seemed lighter dan it oughta be. I went into a sto'
next do'. I asked de man to put dat burd on de scale, which he
did. It was nearly fo' pounds sho’t ob what it was supposed to be,
and was I mad! I go back to dat sto' and he saw my niggah
wuz up. I raised my finguh and beckoned to him. He come up and
tried to be mad. I didn't caeh nuthin’ bout dat. It wuz me dat was
mad, sho’ nuf mad. I said 'you been cheatin,’ white man, and onless
you gimme back du money you has cheated me out uv, I gwine
'pot you to de law.”
“Dat did it, I bet,” laughed Lucy.
“I’ll say it did. De co’ts know dese Ofays in Ha'lem cheat, so when
you haul 'em dare, dey go befo' de Jedge wid one strike against dem
befo' they staht. Dey hates to be called to co’t on cheatin' cha’ges. So
this Ofay foſkoes ovuh a dollar rat quick, and sulks back to de rear
of de sto.”
“Dey has a way of weighin' something heavy on a scale dat only
weighs a few pounds, wid de reg'lar scale hid under de countuh wha
y


112 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
he can change rat quick. So on dese shot scales, he throws somethin'
heavy and you can't tell how much it weighs. He then says, 'so much
or so much' and you get cheated tu death and don't know what hit's
all about.”
“An talk about liahs 1 Dey 'cuses us niggahs ob bein’ liauhs,
but we is amatuehs compa'd wid dese Ha'lem sto' keepuhs.”
“You heard them,” said Kermit, with a smile. “Those are some of
the things I want to show up.”
“Oh, I’m aware that there's a lot of cheating going on. Everybody
knows that the Negro is exploited in many places, shamefully, but
I don't agree that your method will stop it. It'll perhaps make it
worse, in a different way.”
“You have a chance to do a great racial service by jumping right
into making this picture — even if you wouldn't be getting a chance
to have your other pictures financed, you should be racially patriotic
enough to do it for the good of our folks. If a few thousand of our
folks could see a picture telling the same kind of story those women
have just related, can't you see what it would mean? They would
start to checking up on these merchants; begin to look at the
scales and ask a few questions. It might take more than one picture
to open their eyes. Maybe two, three, four, maybe a series, but it
ought to be done and it ought to be started right away.
“Did you ever hear the story of the snake, the rattlesnake and the
Negro 7" said Kermit. -
“No,” replied Wyeth. “What kind of a story P”
“A parallel. I take the Jew as he is, and all these women have
said, is no more than I expect to hear, and we will go on hearing it
until the end of time, for it is current to expect the Jew to cheat, the
same as a snake is expected to bite. Now I'll tell you the story of the
snake, as nearly as I can remember a fellow telling it to me, many
years ago.
“A Negro, as the story goes, was coming along a dusty country
road one chilly morning. He didn't have many clothes on, just a shirt
and overalls, was bare-footed and shivering himself, when he met a
rattlesnake in the road, and the rattlesnake was crying.” Wyeth
laughed. w -
“The rattlesnake,” went on Kermit, “was crying—tears in his
eyes and he appealed to the Negro as follows: “Brother, please save


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 113
me. I'm cold, almost frozen and unless you save me, I will surely die.’
“‘How c'n I save you, Mistah snake?' asked the Negro, pausing to
look down at him. ‘Take me, brother,’ said the snake, ‘put me inside
your shirt next to your body where I will get warm, please do that and
save me.' .
“So the Negro, as the story continued, gathered the rattlesnake and
put him inside his shirt next to his flesh and went on down the road.
Presently he felt a movement and looked down. The snake had become
warm and had stuck his head out of the shirt and was looking up at the
Negro boldly, and as the Negro's eyes met the snake, he stuck his
tongue out like he meant to do something. The Negro stopped and
looking down at the snake, cried ‘Hey, you, what does this mean?'
“‘That I'm going to bite you,' replied the snake and flashed his
forked tongue at the Negro, threateningly.
“‘But, but,’ cried the Negro. ‘Didn't you tell me back dare when I
picked you up and put you inside my shirt, dat — ”
“‘Yes,’ replied the snake, flashing his red and ugly tongue at the
Negro again, “but I'm a snake.’
Wyeth laughed.
“So a snake is supposed to bite, regardless how much he is be-
friended, or who it is that befriends him and that means that a Jew
is supposed to cheat, regardless of the circumstances or who you are.”
Both laughed heartily. \ -
“Thats the inference, Early,” said Wyeth, “which of course, is
only an inference for, while many mercenary and perhaps, struggling
and ‘don't care’ Jews do cheat, I have in mind a lot of Jews that
have done, and are doing, a great deal for posterity, and who can
not be charged with being mercenary even.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Kermit.
“What about Julius Rosenwald, for instance, the father of the
Negro Y.M.C.A. P.”
“Oh, well, he was different.”
“Isn't the example he set, along with a lot of other rich but
kindly Jews and what they have done for mankind and the Negroes,
especially in the case of Rosenwald, to be credited as against the
activities of these Jews, whom the story compared with the snake?”
“I suppose so,” said Early. His tone indicated that he would
like to change the subject,


114 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Rosenwald paid for and caused to be erected more than 5,000
school buildings for Negroes in the south, left a revolving fund to
pay part of the teachers' salaries and to maintain and keep the
schools up indefinitely. This, in addition to helping to finance
every Negro Y.M.C.A. and Y.W.C.A., as far as I know in the
entire United States.
“I chose to consider acts of this kind when you insist that I ought
to make a picture designed and conceived to make Negroes hate
Jews. It wouldn't be right, Early and you know it wouldn't be.”
At this point the waiter brought the food they had ordered and
they fell to eating.
Late in the afternoon of this self-same day, in Berlin, Germany,
Henrich Schultz and his sister Bertha, a year younger, left the for-
eign office where they had been in conference with Von Ribbentrop
with regard to their mission to America. As we know, even Hitler
himself had approved the mission, so they were enthusiastic when
they left Von Ribbentrop. Germany was sending hundreds
of agents to America at the time, but since war had been de-
clared on Germany by England and France and the blockade put
into effect, all ships, including the Europa, were held in German
ports and Schultz and his sister, a medium sized, beautiful and
affectionate girl, started for America via Italy. -
Because she was so devoted to her brother, Bertha Schultz had fol-
lowed him off to Heidelberg and then to the Sorbonne and had
majored in the same studies that he had taken, and was therefore the
best assistant he could have chosen and he had persuaded the foreign
office to give her a commission, along with his, so the two, considering
themselves fortunate, were happy to think they would be together in
America, work together and be close to each other.
Bertha had not been to America since her mother took her and
the rest of her children back to Germany many years before, so looked
forward to their returning with anxious and happy anticipation.
Accordingly, therefore, in that year, late autumn, Bertha and
Heinrich set out for America, journeying southward to Genoa where
they had reserved passage on the Italian Luxury Liner, Conte De
Savoia, scheduled to sail from there a few days later.
Bertha had been told about Heinrich's tie-up with Kermit Early,


THE case of MRS. wingATE 115
so looked forward to meeting him. Heinrich had cabled Early when
they were leaving and about what day they would arrive. He had
also cabled Early a sum of money with which to rent a suitable apart-
ment in the Negro section in Harlem where they could work from
and not be suspected or molested.
On the way across Bertha and Heinrich encountered many Ger-
mans, all headed for America as secret agents of the Reich. The
ship seemed to fairly swarm with them, men and women, all assigned,
more or less to different cities, but all over America. Some were as-
signed to South America, but via New York where most were to remain
awhile, possibly to check up on conditions in America so that they
could compare the sentiment on reaching S. A.
There was a ball every night in the huge salon of the ship, plenty
of wine, beer and Schnapps. They were wined and dined daily, being
singled out it seems because of their color, and the object of much
curiosity. Many told them of individuals they were to meet on arrival
in New York, Chicago, Milwaukee and other cities; names that later
became conspicuous in Newspaper headlines for subversive activity.
They were met at the pier by Early, who shook hands with both,
then ushered them into a taxi, where they were driven to the
Pennsylvania Hotel, where they met Mrs. Wingate, Kermit having
checked in there until Schultz would arrive, after which all planned to
take apartments in the Negro section in Harlem.
When Mrs. Wingate was introduced to Bertha, young and beautiful
and so highly educated, for a fleeting moment she experienced her first
jealousy. In that moment she pictured Kermit, with all his super-
education possibly falling in love with this beautiful and gorgeous
creature. She became so jealous, that she decided to accompany them
to Harlem the next morning, to examine the apartments that Kermit
had leased, one for Bertha and Heinrich, the other, and in a different
building, for themselves. That night she decided to talk with Kermit
about her baby, due to arrive in six to seven months. She artfully
maneuvered the conversation around to the subject in a roundabout
way, and was relieved to have him bring it up instead of her.
“Now about the baby, Florence,” said Kermit, crossing his legs
and lighting a cigarette, which he passed to her, then lit one for him-
self.
“Have you decided just what to do about it, I mean, as regards


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 117
“M-m,” she mumbled and continued to hide her face.
“But why, and of whom?” She sat up again, her eyes on the floor.
“That girl you brought here, that very pretty girl.”
“You mean the Schultz girl?”
“M-m.” -
“Well, of all people.” She turned and throwing her arms about
him, cried just a little. Then, drying her eyes.
“Oh, it was silly I know, and I had no reason to feel the way I did
-— even for the short moments that I did.”
“You most surely did not. I — ”
“Oh, I’m not accusing you of giving me any reason for you didn't.
But it is just natural that a woman might feel that way about another,
especially about one young and so beautiful as she is. Don't you
think she is beautiful ?”
“Well,” said Kermit, after a moments thought, “come to picture
her, I suppose so.”
“She is. Don't misunderstand that. One of the prettiest girls I ever
saw, anywhere.”
“Is she really all that beautiful?”
“Why of course, Kermit. Rich color, large, beautiful, soft dark
eyes. Just about everything, including the most perfect shape I ever
saw a girl have.”
“Couldn't be more perfect than yours.”
‘Oh, yes. I might have had perhaps, a pretty shape some years
ago.”
“You still have, darling.”
She looked at him and smiled. He reached over and kissed her.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “But we've been sweethearts so
long. It would be very easy for me to begin to get jealous of my
darling, see?”
“Let's return to the subject we started to talk about.”
“Our baby. Of course, dear.” *
He looked down at her stomach. She followed his eyes.
“Oh, it will not begin to show for months yet.”
“No?”
“Of course not, darling. Women don't usually begin to swell up
until three months before their time. I won't begin to get out of shape
for a long, long time yet.”


118 THE CASE OF MFS. WINGATE
“In regards to Mr. Wingate?”
“Since I’ve been wanting the baby for so long, I am resigned
to what I have to do. He knows that I’ve always wanted a child and
he, in addition to not being built like other men, is deficient otherwise,
and could never become a father.”
“How unfortunate.”
“So, unfortunate, yet that's the case. So I'm all ready when I
return to Atlanta, to take him into my room and tell him the whole
story.”
“I wish you didn't have to,” he said sympathetically. She looked
down at him.
“Thank you, darling. I wish that I didn't, but I’ve been happy since
I married him, only because of your coming into my life. That has
meant more to me than anything which could have happened. I’m still
a young woman, and I’m still entitled to some happiness. Since God
only can be responsible for his misfortune, to tell him the truth and
have it over with and as soon as possible, is the best way out as
I can see it, so that is that and I’m ready to have it all over with him
and be free so that we can get married and give our child a name
when it arrives.
“Now since that is settled about as much as it can be before I tell
him, let's talk about something else.”
“What, for instance?”
“That man Heinrich Schultz and his sister, especially, his sister.”
He laughed and pinched her cheek.
“No, I'm not jealous any longer, dear.”
“Then what?”
“Curious.”
“Curious? I see. About what?”
“Their mission to America.”
“They're German agents, which is confidential, you understand.”
“Of course I understand, dear, and any talking and asking ques-
tions will be only of you and with you.”
She was thoughtful a moment.
“All right, darling. What do you want to know?”
“He is the fellow you’ve been telling me about for some time.”
“Yes. He was here during the past summer and that was when I
met him,”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 119
“I see. Where, dear?”
“In Milwaukee.”
“Milwaukee? That's a German City is it not?”
“Not now. The town was founded and settled in the beginning
by Germans.”
“Then they would be German sympathizers, pro-Germans, you'd
call it?” -
“I guess so, darling.”
“With this country so pro-English, in time don't you think there
might be some sort of — collusion?” Kermit was thoughtful.
“This country is made up of so many kinds of groups and races
and elements, it is rather difficult to figure out just who is who and
what is what.”
“I guess that is true, but just what is your position in this whole
affair, dear?”
“I represent the Negro angle. My position is to advise and direct
the Negro side of the set-up.”
“Now at this time, what are you supposed to do?”
“Get a colored fellow up town by the name of Sidney Wyeth to
make a picture showing how the Jews cheat and exploit Negroes,
and to show it to Negroes all over the country.”
“Somebody should make a picture showing how they cheat and ex-
ploit white people, too. They cheat and exploit everybody, including
themselves, when they can. I despise the funny-eyed creatures. They
don't care anything about anybody or anything except the almighty
dollar. I'm with Hitler for putting them in their places. We need a
Hitler over here.” Kermit was beaming. This was the first time he had
talked with her in detail about what he had been doing for a long time.
Now to have heard her say what she had, which was so agreeable
along with his plans, that he felt he could talk more about it with her.
“I’m glad to hear you express yourself as you have, Florence.”
“Most Southerners hate Jews.”
“I know they do, but I wasn't sure as to how you felt about them.”
“What does this man Wyeth think? How does he feel? Is he going
to make the picture you and your associates have planned?”
Kermit's face fell. She noticed it and became anxious,
“He hasn't agreed to yet.”
“Why not? What is he waiting for?”


120 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Well, he says he isn't a Red; that he doesn't hate Jews, that he's
not anti-semetic, that—”
“Maybe he loves them.”
“No, he doesn't particularly love them. He seems to be a sort of
pacifist in spirit, doesn't hate anybody.”
“Well, what are you going to do about it? Can't you get somebody
else to make it?”
“He’s the only one who can put the feeling that ought to go into
the picture in it, in order to stir Negroes into action.”
“Is that So?”
“Yes, I'm sorry to say, for unless I can succeed in persuading
him to do it, we might have a big hole knocked in something I’ve
planned very thoroughly and sold my group on the idea, one hundred
percent.”
“Then what do you plan to do?”
“Oh, I haven't given up hoping that in some way I can ultimately
get him to do it. I've just started trying. I intend to keep on after him.”
Florence was thoughtful a moment, then turned her eyes to his.
“I suppose this Schultz is interested in getting Wyeth to do it,
also P”
“Oh, very much so. He thinks I’ve got his consent and he's under
the impression that production is to start shortly.”
“Now what are you going to do?”
“I haven't had time to tell him what Wyeth thinks about it yet.”
“Of course not, with him just arriving this afternoon.”
“That's it. I won't say anything about it, unless he asks me, until I
show them to their apartment and get them settled. That'll take a
week, meantime, I'll go see Wyeth again and try to get him to see
these Jews as I do.”
“Meanwhile, I have an idea.”
“Yes P”
“This sister of Schultz, if neither you nor he can get Wyeth to do
so, why not sic her onto him.”
“You mean, get her to try to persuade him?”
“Of course. As pretty as she is, and so obviously intelligent, she
might succeed where you fail.”
“That's an idea.”
“Is Wyeth married?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE - 121
“No,” said Early. “He’s single.”
“Not married and I don't suppose she is?”
“I haven’t heard, but don’t think so.”
“Well,” she said, rising from his lap and pausing over him. “You
keep that suggestion in mind and if you fail to budge Wyeth, then
take it up with her and her brother with this in view.”
“Smart idea, Florence, and I'll keep it in mind.”
“Do you have tickets for the show, sweetheart?”
“I do. Haven't been to a floor show for some time, so it’s about
time we begin to dress.” They dressed in evening clothes and went
out to one of New York's leading downtown night clubs and saw a
good floor show.
The next morning Early took Schultz and his sister, via taxi, to the
apartment he had leased for them, high up on a hill in Harlem; in
that section they call “Sugar Hill”.
“So this is Harlem,” said Bertha, looking out of the taxi window
after they left 110th Street.
“Black Harlem, Miss Schultz,” Kermit explained. “Here we enter
the largest Negro City in all the world, a city within a city.”
“It seems a bit — ordinary,” she commented, looking at the crowd
of Negroes, idling, playing and carrying on boistrously and loudly
on the sidewalks, as the taxi spun along.
“It is ordinary, extraordinary,” laughed Kermit “and otherwise.
Within the environs of this black city within a city dwell more than
400,000 people of our group, at least, my group,” said he, correcting
himself, not knowing just how Bertha might regard herself.
“Include me, too, Mr. Early. I am a German first, but a Negro
always. I am in sympathy with the Negro and his struggle to reach a
higher plane of thought and action. I have come here to dedicate my
future, as it were, first to the service of our Fuehrer, and the third
Reich, at the same time to The Negro and his peculiar problems. I
want to study it from the inside and ground up. Maybe in a small
way I may be able to mean something before it is all over. I hope so,
at least.”
“Our people present a peculiar problem here. Held down so long
by southern white people, they almost consider themselves failures.
A long time ago I heard a great leader, called Booker T. Washington


122 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
say that the hardest task in all his life had been to convince a colored
man that he could be anything.”
“Booker T. Washington was a great man,” said Heinrich, thought-
fully. “About the first book I remember reading when we lived in
America, was a story of his life, called UP FROM SLAVERY.”
“I read it, too, Heinrich,” said Bertha. “Don’t you remember
that mother bought it among other gifts at Xmas time and you and I
used to struggle over who was to read it first and then mother
had us draw straws.”
“That's right, sis. I remember it all now.”
“And who won?” inquired Early, smiling at one, then the other.
“He did,” said Bertha, looking at him fondly. “My brother has
always seemed to be strangely lucky.”
“Really?” said Kermit.
“Really, Mr. Early. Ever since he was a child, luck seems to have
followed him. Just consider his good fortune in being able to get this
commission for each of us. I wouldn't have missed coming to America
for anything.”
“We were fortunate in that regard,” said Heinrich. “Because if I
don't miss my guess, if we hadn't when we did, we might not have
gotten out of Germany for a long, long time, maybe not until the war
was over — and it's going to be a long war, Early, longer than even
the Fuehrer himself anticipates.”
“You think so?” said Kermit.
“I know so. I made a careful study of conditions while in this
country last spring and summer. This country is so pro-English and
the Jews wield so much unnoticed power, that the whole world may
be in it before it is over. The Jews want America to get into a war
with Germany.”
“Do you think so?” said Early.
“I’m sure of it. Through it they visualize a way, if America should
win, of over-throwing Hitler, whom they hate, of course.”
“How do they feel about it in Germany?”
“Too early for many to have formed a definite opinion. Currently,
however, the consensus of opinion is that Hitler will tear into France
next summer and take Paris before either England or France can
prepare. They are dreadfully unprepared, while Germany has been
getting ready almost ever since Hitler came into power. The entire


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 123
Reich is a beehive of preparation right now.”
“While America sleeps and Roosevelt plays politics,” suggested
Kermit. By this time they had reached the building where he had
leased their apartment, so pulled up at the curb. Kermit helped both to
the sidewalk and a few seconds later they were speeding to the floor
upon which the apartment was located. It was one of the best. Had
seven rooms and two baths. He got it for a smaller rental than
current because it was larger than most Negroes could afford, and
the leasees prohibited many things that were permitted in other
buildings in Harlem, where, if one was able to pay the rent, most
anything went, including an occasional shooting and now and then a
murder.
Bertha and Heinrich were well pleased with the place, checked and
rechecked it from one end to the other, and arranged to go down
town the next day and select their furniture.


cºrris VIII
IDNEY WYETH was called to Washington by telegram
regarding the sale of his book, so got into his car the next
morning and drove down there, leaving Marie to look after
matters while he was away, as she always did.
After attending to the immediate business that called him there,
he went milling around the theatres as he had always done when he
had pictures to book. Driving up New Jersey avenue to where it ends
and U street begins, and just as he crossed Florida avenue, his eyes
fell on the front of the Howard Theatre, where a show seemed to
be playing. He circled a few blocks and a few minutes later parked his
car on a side street and went into the lobby and was looking at the
pictures when he saw that it was Irvin C. Mantan's show.
And while doing so, among the pictures who should he see but one
of Edrina's. He started. He had been too busy since the night she
called on him at the office and he took her to the Bamboo Inn, to think
much about her, but as his eyes spied her picture, he decided then and
there to look her up and renew what had started out to be, he thought,
a very pleasing affair.
When the curtain rung down that night, he hurried around to the
stage entrance, something that he had never done, but was excited.
He wanted to see Edrina. -
So parking himself after getting inside, he met the performers on
the way to their dressing rooms, hoping that Edrina would pass that
way to her dressing room, so that he could speak to her and let her
know that he was in Washington.
Presently she came along, hurrying with her eyes down and had
almost passed him when he reached out and caught her arm, where-
upon she turned with a frown on her face, to have it disappear sud-
denly, as, on looking up her eyes fell on him, and her frown disap-
peared, her mouth opened.
124


THE CASE OF MRS. wingATE 125
“Why, you!” she exclaimed, happily and carried away with delight.
“Sidney Wyeth, you, you, you!” Throwing her arms about him she
embraced him right there, without regard to the others. With show
people, such scenes invariably go unnoticed.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she exclaimed, hugging and squeezing him. “I'd kiss
you if I didn't want to spoil your sweet lips for later with all this old
make-up on mine.” She relaxed then long enough to look up at him,
her expression too happy for words, and cried:
“Where did you come from anyhow, and if you knew I was here,
why didn't you wire me so that I could have been made happy, waiting
and preparing for you? Why —” then breaking off and looking
around, she caught his arm, and said: “But come to my dressing
room. I'm so glad to see you.” So saying she half-pulled and half-
dragged him up a flight of steps and around and through a narrow hall
to her dressing room, where she let him in, then closed and locked
the door behind them.
She found a chair and sat him down upon it and started again, talk-
ing so fast and with so much enthusiasm and delight until he couldn't
say anything. He hadn't been able to even greet her yet. “I was so
frightened when I saw you, I liked to have fainted. For a moment
I thought you were a ghost. Oh, dear!” She laughed then and he
joined her.
“Now, darling,” she said, patting his cheek, “just try to be com-
fortable and patient while I get out of this makeup and costume, and
I'll be right with you.” So saying she patted his cheek again, and dis-
appeared behind a screen where she started to talking to him again,
though neither could see the other.
“You know, Sidney,” she called. “They say you never hang around
back stage or run after show girls. Is that so?”
“I don't know.” He didn't know what else to say.
“You don't know? Then who would? It wouldn't be because — you
don't care for — women?” -
“What are you doing,” he called back. “Feeling me out?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m not a fairy, if that's what you're trying to find out.”
She laughed but seemed satisfied. “I’m back here because I'm in-
terested in you. I wanted to see you.”
“Did you, sweetheart?”


126 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
º
“Of course I did,” he replied, stoutly.
“I’m so glad. You've perhaps been too busy to pay any attention
to women, is my guess.”
“I’m trying to develop my book business. That takes up all my
time.” *
“I’ll bet. Are you out of the picture business altogether? Aren't
you going to make any more?”
“I don't plan to right now.”
“Well, regardless how busy you are, you may have somebody on
your hands from now on, if I have my way about it.”
“My, my. Sounds good to me.”
“I’ve been thinking about you ever since that night together in New
York,” she called, and he could hear her getting out of costume and
removing the grease paint.
“Really?” he said.
“Really, Sidney. Are you glad to hear me say that I have?”
“Sure am.”
“You’re so — so different from any man I ever knew.”
“Is that a compliment or a – condemnation?”
“A compliment, of course.”
“I like you, Edrina.”
“Oh, Sidney, do you?”
“Cross my heart.”
“But I can't see you,” both laughed.
“I’ll be patient and wait.”
“I’ll be ready in less than two minutes, sweetheart.”
“Take your time. We won't know the difference this time next
year.” She laughed.
“You have a sense of humor, too,” she said, coming from behind
the screen, smiling and as beautiful as she was when she called on
him at his office a few days before.
“I dressed so quickly until I'm not sure I did it correctly. But I
didn't want to keep you waiting.”
“That was awfully sweet of you, dear heart.”
“Now look me over and tell me if you see anything not just right,”
she said, holding her arms out like a dress model, and turning from
right to left, left to right. “My slip is not showing beneath my skirt,
is it? Speak now or forever keep your peace,” she said, at which both


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 127
laughed. He looked her up and down carefully.
“Everything is hunky dory, Eddie.”
“Don’t kid me. If you do I won't like you.”
“No, honey,” he said. “I looked you over carefully as you posed
and turned like a model. You look all right.”
“I wanted to be sure, since I'm going out with you and I want to
look nice when I do, although you haven't even asked me to.”
“The fact that I was waiting backstage for you, is the best evidence
that I wanted to see you, and that meant that I wanted to go out with
you.”
“I’m glad you do. The evening is yours and all the other evenings
while we're in Washington and anywhere else the show goes, as far
as I’m concerned.”
“This makes me very happy, Edrina,” he said, sincerely. -
“Before we get too far away from the subject, I'm asking you
again do I look all right?” and again she posed like a model, turning
from left to right, right to left.
“You look all right, sweetheart. This is the second time I looked
you over.”
“Thanks,” she said sweetly, and seemed to be satisfied at last. “Then
we'll go.” She took his hand and led him across the small room to the
door and started to put a hand on the knob, then seeming to think of
something she paused and looked up at him. For a moment he didn't
seem to understand, then suddenly gathering her in his arms, he
, kissed her passionately. She quivered for a moment and trembled,
too. When she could do anything, she sighed, deeply.
“Oh, my! Yours are the sweetest kisses, so warm, so soft, so
passionate!” He squeezed her to him and kissed her again, as pas-
sionately as before, and again she quivered and trembled and sighed,
deeply.
“Oh, dear,” she managed to gasp, more than say, and swayed
perceptibly, her eyes closed bewilderingly and he had to hold her.
The chair upon which he had sat was near and he moved over to it,
sat down and took her on his lap, where he embraced and kissed her
again, and again until neither knew how many times. Then holding
her close, her face against his. -
“I don't know whether its just emotion, infatuation or a thing called
love,” he sighed, “but what ever it is, it's took me over completely.”


128 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
“Call it love, Sidney,” she whispered, “then tell me that you love
me.” She buried her face on his shoulder for a moment, and when she
raised it, there were some tears which she had to find her kerchief and
dry.
“If you were anywhere but on the stage, darling,” said he, hesi-
tatingly, “I would do so gladly, and without hesitation, for then I
could be sure of myself, be sure of you. But Eddie, darling. I'm –
I'm afraid of show girls, I — I’m almost afraid of you because you
are on the stage.” She sat up straight now and looked hard at him,
then she got to her feet and he stood, too.
“But I'm not a show girl in the sense you mean it, Sidney, dear.
Until a year ago when I went out with Mantan, I had never been on
any stage. I had never even thought of going on one. So you see,
darling, I can't be called a show girl in the sense you mean it.”
“I hope you understand the kind I mean. The stupid kind, playing
up to some cheap white man who has produced the show — not always
having produced it, just hanging around it. The kind who are ready,
ever to play up to such men, go out with them, to bed with them,
laboring under a vain theory that he's going to ‘do something’ for
her, and as a result she starts ‘doing something' for him, first. I mean
that kind, I've seen them, and I've met them. In the matter of a show,
they seem to be always around, pawing over that trash. They anger
me, they humiliate and lower the standard of our race and I want no
part of such. That, dear Eddie, is why I've never hung around stage
doors and run after show girls, as they say. I am so completely
opposed to so much that goes on backstage with many of these shows
until that aversion has become an obsession. I may be wrong, but if
I got to liking you, as I am beginning to, and then sooner or later I
came to catch or meet you pawing over some old white man, as, I said,
I've seen so many of our girls do, I'd feel like killing you and myself,
even for having let myself fall for you, understand?”
“I do, darling, and I don't blame you at all. If you ever caught
me doing anything like that, I hope you would kill me then and there,
for I'm a nice girl, Sidney. I've never done anything like that and I
can assure you, I never will. Now are you satisfied ?”
He nodded, but not too enthusiastically. She saw now that his con-
victions and his prejudices, when asserted, were deep, and any girl
who won his love would have to be a serious girl, and above all,


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 129
a moral girl and even Edrina knew that not all the girls who worked
in shows, night clubs and cabarets were so ecstatic. -
“There could be something in what you just said, dear,” he was
saying now. “And you wouldn't have to be — be bad just because
you're in a show as so many show girls are. I know some girls on
the stage who are as nice as many girls raised in the best of homes.
But it is so often and so commonly said by white men who work
around Negro shows, and produce them, that they can have any
colored girl they want. That is what makes it hard for me to — get
interested in any show girl. But now I am interested in you. I hope,
from the way I am talking, dear, that you don't think I'm a nicey,
nicey, boy. I simply don't want to get interested in any old loose girl,
if I know what I’m doing. In fact, I won't let myself become so
interested.”
“I’m a kind of girl who tries to be sensible, Sidney, and no sen-
sible girl would let herself become careless as you've just explained.
I understand. No good man's going to fall for any loose, bad girl. He
may run around with them, play around with them, take all they're
silly enough to offer which in most cases is everything, but when he
gets ready to marry, he looks right over their heads and doesn't
see any of them at all.”
“I believe you, Edrina. Right now I think you're a fine, intelligent
and sweet kind of girl and I do like you. I could soon learn to like you
much more. But if you stayed on the stage, matters might not always
continue as they now are. Shows experience varying forms of fortune,
often misfortune. And when they get into these bad breaks, that is
when a girl might be persuaded to try save the show often at the
expense of her good name. I hope that doesn't happen to you while
I’m liking you. But there are angles that do not include having white
men and being common. I'm thinking of the first day I met you.” He
seemed reflective now, thinking back those few weeks before.
“The first day?” she said, also reflectively.
“Yes, Edrina, that first day. I’m thinking of how you kept talking
about the stage; kept insisting, as it were, of how you liked it. You — ”
“But — but,” she cut him off quickly, to argue. “That, Sidney, was
before I met you, knew you — before you entered my life. Before I
could know that I was going to — like you.” She looked up at him so
sweetly here, so appealingly that his heart for the moment went out


130 THE CASE OF MIrS. WINGATE
to her, and he smiled down into her face, kissed her quickly and as he
looked at her and continued to listen, she went on:
“Isn't it possible that in such a case, I might become subject to
change? By which I mean that if you began to like me seriously and —
didn't want me to stay on the stage, I might quit?”
“That would be provincial, and I am not provincial, and I’m still
not rich.”
“Not rich? I didn't say anything about—money, dear,” she looked
up into his face and did not understand.
“After all, Edrina, acting is an art, a very fine art. If a girl has
real talent and was able by her acting, or singing or dancing, to ul-
timately get somewhere, it would be provincial for some man to make
her give it up just to please him.”
“I’m listening, Sidney, but I confess that I don't know what you're
getting at,” said she.
“I’ll get to it in time, and then you will understand. If a girl has real
talent, and is ambitious as I can see that you are, the thing to do
would be to produce a show for her. That would mean financing it and
managing it and so controlling it that a dear wife would not be exposed
to temptation and be forced to — yes, sell her body for the benefits
of some white man who'd tell her he had somebody who would, per-
haps, bank-roll the show if some particular girl in the show would
be nice to him.”
“Oh,” she breathed, and looked away, then up at him. “I see what
you mean now.”
“I am not rich enough to produce a show. In fact, I am not in-
terested in stage shows, unless it would be a big broadway grosser —
but show business is not on my mind. For the present I am in the book
business, a publisher. The kind of a girl I would be happy to fall in
love with, if such happened, would be a nice, educated and intelligent
girl who would be satisfied to marry me and let me place her in a com-
fortable apartment in New York and just be happy to be my wife
and look after me. That's the limit of my social ambition now.
I’ve met and like you and you're in love with the stage, perhaps you
expect, at least hope, to go places on it.” He relaxed now and sighed.
“That's why I don't know just how to feel about you. You seem to
have all I want, but you're on the stage, you like it, you say you'd
leave it if I wanted you to, at least that is what you imply. But if


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 131
you still like the stage and had to quit just to please me, that wouldn't
leave me in such a favorable light, in your estimation, now would it?”
“No, darling,” she said, slowly. “It would not.” He drew her to
him, and squeezed her. She liked it and looked up in his face so
kindly, until he was moved to say:
“But listen, Edrina, you don't know, may even never know, how
hungry my heart is and has been for so long until I can hardly re-
member how long, for the love of a good woman. A love like that
can often do so much for a man, can spur him onward, possibly
before the end, to dizzy and successful heights. That is what so
many men's wives have done for them and the men have been glad
to say, every day, publicly and otherwise. ‘Whatever success I seem
to have achieved, it has been my wife who has inspired it.” How many
men, and God only knows how many, have despaired, felt they could
go no further and were ready to give up and quit, but their wives
would not let them. They believed in their men and insisted and gave
them no peace, so they tried again and maybe again and again, until
in the end, complete success, security and happiness, and it is a fine
thing in such a case to feel that some one near you, like a wife, made
you do it.
“I guess this all sounds, to Negroes anyhow, who have failed too
often as men of destiny, fantastic and foolish, and why am I saying all
this now? It's not the time and place. I came here to take you out to
a restaurant, where all show girls want to be taken after the show.
As it is, I’ve given you a lecture in philosophy. So let me relax,
honey, and let's get going and forgive me.” As he finished, he looked
down into her eyes and indulged in a big, broad smile. She smiled, too.
“Thank you, darling,” she said and raised her lips. Drawing her
close he kissed her with a resounding smack, and, swinging her around,
opened the door, she turned when outside and locked it behind them,
and together they went down the dimly lighted stage hallway, down a
flight of stairs, around a corner and out into a Washington night.
Getting into his car, they turned into Florida Avenue, around a
corner and back into New Jersey Avenue and away to a restaurant,
which he knew served good food.


carris IX
HE SCHULTZ’S had completed the furnishing of their apart-
ment and were comfortably settled and Heinrich had been down
to meet other Nazi spies, and had a long conversation with Hans
Schiller, New York agent and was asked to keep in touch with Schiller
constantly, since something sensational was expected to break at any
time.
“How're you coming along with the colored picture? The one to
show the colored people how the Sheeny's are taking them for a ride?”
- “To be frank about it, Schiller,” said Schultz, “I haven’t taken
the matter up with Early, my Negro contact man since I arrived.”
“Ought to get right on it, Schultz. As I see it, a powerful Motion
Picture showing just how they are being systematically exploited
by these kykes should prove timely to stir things up in the colored
sections.”
“It’s a sure way to start them on a campaign of destruction. The
Jews run more than half of all the business in the Negro sections
here, Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington
and other spots,” said Schultz.
“A finely directed picture, filmed in the form of a good melo-
drama would prove about the most powerful single instrument to-
wards inspiring some good race riots all over the country, that. I can
think of. How do the colored people feel about the way they're treated
here in New York?” asked Schiller.
“Seem to be contented as far as I can see. My folks, you see,
aren't inclined to bother much if nobody bothers them.” -
“That's why a good picture, the kind Early has outlined, ought to
get them started into action. What about this fellow Wyeth, who's
to make it. Does he hate Jews?”
“I haven’t taken the matter up with Kermit, but I will. He and
his lady friend are having dinner at our apartment tomorrow, and I'll
132


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 133
take it up with him at that time,” said Schultz, rising. Schiller rose
and followed him to the door.
“Do that as quickly as possible, Schultz, and let me hear from you.
The whole group of us are interested.”
“You’ll hear from me no later than next week, I promise.”
“Okeh, Schultz and so long.”
“So long, Hans.”
Bertha, who took pride in the fact that she was both a good house-
keeper and cook, had prepared a sumptous dinner to entertain Kermit
Early and Mrs. Wingate. Heinrich, who was domestically inclined,
was helping her and she had a chance to ask him something that had
been on her mind.
“This Mrs. Wingate, Heinrich,” she began. “Just who is she and
what is her relations with Mr. Early?”
“She's his girl friend.” -
“Oh, his girl friend. M-m. A Southerner?”
“Yes. From Atlanta.”
“Isn't that a bit—unusual? A white woman, and a Southerner,
friendly with a-colored man?”
Heinrich shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“Understand they've been going together for a long time,” he said.
“They seem to have a perfect understanding and appear to be very
fond of each other,” said Bertha, as she hurried about her work.
“Something a bit strange about the whole thing. It seems they've
been going together for years, many years. I have a feeling that she
put him through school.”
“I wouldn't be surprised,” said she.
“He doesn't say much about it, and I hesitate to butt in and ask
him, but I did gather from a conversation with him and other things
that I've managed to piece together, that they knew each other as
kids in a little town in Georgia. Of course they didn't get very far
down there, but later on in Atlanta, he went to work for her.”
“Is she-a married woman?”
“So I understand. Husband's a rich textile man in Atlanta—owns
a string of mills all over the Southeast.”
“Great goodness,” exclaimed Bertha in amazement. “And he lets
her come to New York to see—a Negro man, stop at the same hotel,


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
d—” z
“—live together in the same rooms.”
“Whew I’’ cried Bertha. “This is a strange case.” Schultz smiled
and shook his head. “And as far as I can see, she's very fond of him.”
“Crazy about him! It's her money, I'm sure, that has been behind
him for years.”
“You know,” said Bertha, putting a roast into the oven, “I caught
her looking at me a bit oddly the night we arrived, while we were
visiting with them in the hotel.”
“Jealous, I bet,” Heinrich laughed.
“I don’t think she need be.”
“Kermit has too much sense to play around with his bread and
butter.”
“Have you spoken to him about Mr. Wyeth yet?”
“Haven't had time, but I plan to when they call tonight.”
“Hasn't he said anything about it? How Mr. Wyeth feels about it,
if he'll do the picture?”
“I’ve a suspicion that he hasn't consented to, otherwise, even as busy
as we all have been, I think Kermit would have said something about
it.” -
“Especially when he is so anxious about it. Who wrote the story?
It is to have a story?
“By all means. Kermit wrote the story.”
“It should be interesting. He's had lots of experience along the
lines he is working, and with such a thorough education.”
“He’s a Ph.D.”
“Now, Kermit, how are you coming along with the picture?” said
Schultz after they had dined and retired to the parlor to smoke and
talk, the night of Bertha's dinner.” All eyes were turned on Early,
who answered, with a bit of embarrassment.
“I have only had one short and one longer talk with Wyeth since
I arrived?” said Kermit, a bit evasively.
“And P”
“He doesn't seem to share our views with regards the Jews.”
“You mean, that he – is not altogether agreeable to — making
the picture?”
“We really haven’t gotten to the bottom of the deal yet. I saw him


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 135
twice and the last time, talked at some length regarding the matter.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh,” said Kermit, a bit uncomfortably, “He argued that he
wasn't a Red, that he didn't hate Jews; didn't go in for hating anybody
and all that.” -
“Pardon me for making a suggestion, Mr. Early,” said Bertha.
“But if he isn't agreeable to doing it, couldn't you — get somebody
else to direct and produce it?”
“That's the trouble,” spoke up Mrs. Wingate, as if coming to
Kermit's rescue. “As I understand it, this Sidney Wyeth is the only
man capable of directing the picture, effectively. I've read the script
and it is deep, the story, far-reaching and intense. As I see it, it
would take a most intelligent director to bring it to life on the screen
and make a realistic picture.” T
Bertha looked at her brother, who shook his head, obviously dis-
appointed.
“It’s a picture that only a Negro could direct, effectively, Bertha,”
said Schultz, with a look at his sister.
“I hear you, all of you, speaking about the man Wyeth. Just who
is he?” inquired Bertha, looking from first one then to the other.
“He’s a Negro with terrific imagination and an uncanny insight
into Negro life in general,” explained Kermit.
“He is also an author. Has written a fine novel which I found so
very interesting.”
“A writer, too,” exclaimed Bertha. “I’d like to read his book. I
wonder where I can get a copy?”
“At any book store, I guess,” said Mrs. Wingate.
“No, Florence,” said Kermit. “He hasn't pushed it through book-
stores. If she wants to read it, I'll get a copy and bring it to Miss
Schultz from his office. I saw a whole stack there the other day.”
“Where is the office?” said Bertha.
Kermit told her.
“Then I'll go there and get a copy of it myself. Maybe I'll get to
meet him and see what kind of a man this is that all of you seem so
interested in.”
“He’s out of town,” said Kermit. “I called there today and the girl
said he was away.”
“Then if there is somebody at the office, I could get a copy,


136 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
anyhow P' inquired Bertha, looking at Early.
“Mr. Schultz,” suggested Mrs. Wingate at this point. All turned to
look at her. “I told Kermit the other night, that I thought it would be
a good idea in the event Kermit and you were unable to persuade
Mr. Wyeth to do the picture, to send Bertha to see him. Sometimes
a pretty woman — ”
“Why, Mrs. Wingate,” exclaimed Bertha, blushing modestly. Mrs.
Wingate raised a hand.
“Such a pretty girl like you, Miss Schultz — ”
“Oh, Mrs. Wingate, no.”
“No?” said Mrs. Wingate, turning to look at her in surprise
“Oh, I didn't mean that I wouldn't go. I'm glad and willing to try
do anything my brother and Mr. Kermit asks me to. I objected to your
calling me beautiful. That's what I meant.”
Mrs. Wingate relaxed and smiled. Then looking around.
“I don’t think we will need to argue about that. The gentlemen
present, I am sure, will agree with what I said.” She turned to Bertha
and smiled patronizingly, while Bertha blushed, furiously.
In Washington at about this same hour, Sidney Wyeth, by ar-
rangement with Edrina the night before, had agreed to wait for her
after the show in his car around the corner from the Howard
theatre. It was a pleasant night and Wyeth was glad when he
recognized her footsteps and her voice as she hurried to the car.
After making her comfortable in the big, soft, cushioned seat he
crawled under the wheel beside her, and turned to her.
“Now, sweetheart,” he said, “instead of going to a hot, stuffy and
noisy restaurant tonight, how about some good, old time barbecue,
some ice-cold beer, and a ride into the country to eat and drink.”
“Oh, that'll be too sweet for words,” she exclaimed, clasping her
hands joyfully. -
A half hour later found them drawing to a stop, deep in a soft-
shaded woodland, into a glade, as it were, where the moon looked
down upon them with a smile. It was a night for romance, a spot
for lovers.
“Isn't this spot just too beautiful for words,” cried Edrina, looking
around and up into the shadows of mighty oaks, through the leaves
of which floated a soft breeze. Turning her eyes to him now, she placed


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 137
a hand on his arm, looked up into his eyes, softly, and cried:
“Really, Sidney, I — I believe you are really romantic after all.”
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he protested. “I am not and never could be.
But I can appreciate nature and beauty — and a very lovely girl” —
and he kissed her quickly. “Now let's eat our barbecue and drink
the beer before it gets warm.”
Through, a few minutes later, he turned to Edrina.
“Edrina P”
“Yes, Sidney,” she answered softly, giving him her undivided
attention.
“Right now I'd like to forget the serious side of life and play at —
making love.”
“Why, Sidney,” she exclaimed, looking up at him, her eyes wide
with well-affected surprise. Then relaxed as quickly, and came closer.
“Why play at it, dear? Why not live it, feel it, say it?” Pausing,
she looked up into his face expectantly. He placed an arm about her
waist, whereupon she got closer and made it easier for him.
“I do want to, Edrina. I’d really like to, so much.” he said, his
face serious.
“Then please, Sidney,” she said, grasping his hand and holding it
and stroking it, “do go ahead,” she breathed more than said. He drew
her close and kissed her, he squeezed her, then kissed her again. She
sighed deeply, passionately, her hand resting on his shoulder.
“This is heaven, Sidney, heaven. There is so much — feeling in
your kisses, so much — passion!” She closed her eyes, and seemed to
just dream.
“I wish I dared admit that it is love, Edrina.”
“Oh, Sidney, what else can you call it?”
“I don’t know, Edrina.”
“You’ve taken life and everything that went with it so seriously
all your life, dear, that you are really afraid of love when it comes to
you.” -
“I’m not afraid of love, Edrina. I'm afraid of the stage. I've been
thinking about that all day long; ever since I left you last night.”
“But you do like me, don't you, Sidney? A little at least?” He
looked down at her. .
“If I spoke the way I feel, Edrina, I would say much more than
that.”


138 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“Then why don't you, Sidney? Why do you pause and hesitate?
I explained all about that last night, didn't I?”
At this he frowned, then went on:
“I — I think, or feel, we should go slower, get to understand each
other better before we get too deeply into the emotional side. Don't
you think so, dear.”
“I do, Sidney.”
“Now getting right down to facts, I must appreciate that you're on
the stage and that you like it, am I right?” -
“Y-yes, I guess so,” she managed to say, uncertainly, and waited.
“The fact that you have spent only one season there and didn't get
stranded or have to go hungry as is so often the case, is very important
to remember.” -
“How so?”
“There's a tragedy connected with the stage that may be awaiting
every one who is ambitious to become a part of it. For instance, you
like the stage; you've had just a taste of it and you want more,” he
said, thoughtfully, gazing into space.
“What's all this got to do with us, Sidney. You and — me?”
“Plenty, Edrina. It'll explain itself in time. Please be patient.”
Looking at him, she sighed a bit, impatiently.
“Howard put you on the stage and you're grateful to him for having
done so. You should be. In view of the way you feel about it, that is
only right and proper; the way you should feel.”
Turning to him, this time more impatiently.
“Why are you saying all this, Sidney?”
“I’m coming to something. I'll arrive there presently and then you'll
understand,” he said. Making herself comfortable and as patient as she
could, she sighed lightly again and listened.
“Go on, sweetheart.”
“Getting back to Donald, you're more than grateful to him.”
She is forced to turn now and look at him, a question in her eyes.
He seemed to want to annoy her now; to upset her calm, as it were.
Was it because he was telling a truth that didn't seem to her necessary,
and that she'd rather not hear?
“Now returning to the stage and as I have said, you like it and
you're hoping to go places on it.” -
“Well ?” -


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE - 139
“There's something more, and it is more serious, but I won't go that
far now. I'll just wait and cross that bridge when I get to it. Now I'll
explain about my side of it.”
“Yes, Sidney.”
“I don't want to go liking some girl then find out after sober con-
sideration that she is not altogether free.”
“Free ?”
“That's what I mean, Edrina. You are not free as far as I’m con-
cerned, by which I mean that it might not be wise for me to let myself
get to liking you — I mean, seriously.”
Turning to him again, she said.
“Won't you come right out and say what you mean, Sidney, and
quit beating about the bush?”
“I mean that if I let myself go to liking you, say, a lot, in time
I might want you all for myself. I might even want to marry you.”
She turned to him quickly, now, her eyes lit up with a glad joy. A
happiness mingled with hope but restrained by fear. She said just one
word then, but a word that had a world of meaning.
“Well . . . .”
“If I wanted a wife, I’d want one who would be at home when I
returned from a hard day's work, at the end of a day.” Again she
uttered just another word, the same as before.
“Well . . . .”
“But in love with the stage, all ambitious to go places on it, you
might not be at home when I got there. You might be here or a hun-
dred places far away. Anyway, you might not be at home to greet
and welcome me, and that, then, Edrina, would not be a home; it’d
simply be a place to go.” She understood what he was getting at now.
“Oh,” she cried.
“That is what I mean, Edrina. I admit that it may sound a bit
selfish and I'm sorry. But I've done some planning, maybe a lot of
planning and in all my planning, I’ve pictured a wife who would be at
home when I returned with open arms and passionate lips to greet me,
to welcome me; with the home clean, and neat and cozy; with tasty
food cooked, hot and steaming ready to serve me.” And again she
cried, ecstatically.
“Oh . . . .”
“Now that could hardly be possible, with a wife off traipsing


140 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
around with a show, and I have no interest whatever in the kind of
show, yet would have to put up with it and her being with it out of
consideration to her in order to get along. So now do you see, Edrina,
what it can all add up to?”
“I see Sidney and I understand, but I also see and understand
that you're not through yet. You have more to say, so go on while
you're at it and say it all. Say everything you're thinking about —
get it off your chest.”
“There isn't much more, he said. “In plain words, I don't think it
wise for me to go falling in love with a show girl. I want to be happy
with the girl I marry. I want to just think and feel that she's every-
thing in the world to me and while I realize that it is hardly possible
for a man and woman to fully agree about everything, I do hope
that my wife and I are agreeable as to the fundamentals of life to-
gether. And that first wish is for her to be home at all times and
she couldn't be there and off with some old show, too. Naturally,
under those circumstances, I'd expect to provide that home and supply
the means to keep it comfortable so as to have it the way I wanted it.
And that, Edrina, is what I mean.”
“You are completely within your rights, Sidney, a man's rights.
And yet, in spite of all you say, you are, I think, a bit strange about
the whole thing.”
“I think the word ‘practical' would fit better.”
“Maybe, then, I am not practical,” she said, testingly, “if that's what
you mean.”
“That is another thing I dislike about show people and show work.
It fires them with fantastic illusions; makes them forget the essential
things in life, and replaces it with an illusion, which so often
turns out to be a delusion” he said, with a frown. She looked at him.
“As for instance?”
“We’ve all got to eat, provide a place to sleep, buy clothes to wear,
pay rent and a thousand other things. We cannot do this on illusions.”
“Well?”
“I’ve seen no end of actors slip out on room rent; they seem espe-
cially fond of jumping board bills. Beating people too poor to afford
it, so poor most times until it is pitiful. These performers have talked,
sold them an illusion about big things, big applause, forty weeks work,
big pay and got them so enthused until they trust the man and look


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 141
forward to some of these big things the performers are going to do,
to happen—only to wake up some morning to find the actor, and all
the illusions, gone with the night.”
“You are certainly hard on performers,” she said.
“Not hard on them; only on the things they do and that they are
given to doing so much until I can seem to hear it echoing all around
me. As I said, if and when I marry, the thing I would want to
think of first is a place to take this wife, a place to set her down and
provide for her.” -
“Oh, would you, Sidney,” she cried, grasping his hand.
“Why of course I would, Edrina. What else would I be expected
to do?” -
“Then Sidney,” she cried, sort of crawling upon him, “If you said
you loved me, you'd — ask me to — marry you and then you'd set me
up in a nice apartment — and all that?”
“I’d try to, Edrina. In fact, I would.”
“Then speak, Sidney, say it now,” she cried, as close to him as she
could get. He smiled down at her paternally, then kissed her.
“Oh, Edrina, we can't just rush into anything so important, so
serious and all that in a hurry. Without going around together for
awhile, to see if we can get along, see if we are temperamentally suited
to each other in many ways, otherwise, our wedding night and our
honeymoon might all be broken up with quarrels; of ‘well, I thought so
and so and you ought to have done this, or that.' No, dear, I’ve lived
too long to let what might be only an infatuation, turn into a tragedy.”
“There it goes again,” she sighed, and relaxing, slumped back into
her seat. “Why can't we just love and be happy and let responsibilities
wait until later. You're so serious until you incline to spoil things,”
she sighed, complainingly.
“And there is even more to consider than what I’ve said, Edrina,”
he said. She looked up at him, divided now between tears and anger.
“Even more than what, Sidney?”
“It’s about — Howard.”
She straightened in surprise, this time glared at him.
“About Howard 2 Well, what about him?”
“A whole lot. I — I think you're — in love with him.”
“I — am — what?” she started and cried out, shocked-like. She
moved away so that she could get a better look at him. “I’m — in —


142 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
love with Howard!” He reached over and patted her.
“There, there, now.” He said, consolingly. “Don’t get so excited.
Still, and I repeat, I think you are in love with him.” She sighed
deeply, placed her hands on her hips, glared at him this time without
restraint and exhaled:
“Well, people!”
“You're shocked because — it is possible that you didn't even know
it yourself. It might not have even occurred to you that you were.”
Looking hard at him, she shook her head sadly, hopelessly.
“Haven't you been going around with him ever since he put you in
the show?”. Relaxing a bit, she is forced to think a moment, then admit.
“Well, yes, but I'm not in love with the man, never have been and
never will be.”
“Are you sure?” he said, looking at her so closely that she is forced
to flinch and turn her eyes away, sigh deeply, and shake her head as
if to say, “What more?”
“You’ve been quite contented while going around with him; you
haven't quarreled or fought as most show people do.”
“Sidney, please don't be ridiculous!” she cried, exasperatingly
placing her fists on her hips.
“You’re still going with him, aren't you? Not unhappy while in his
company, are you?”
“But I tell you Sidney Wyeth, I do not love the man! Isn't that
enough?”
“It would be — if you meant it,” he argued. “Maybe you even
think you do. Then maybe-” and he broke off and paused,
thoughtfully.
“Maybe,” she repeated, looking hard at him. Then “Maybe —
what?” - -
“Howard has something to say about it . . .
“Now what do you mean?” she said, frowning impatiently. He
smiled amusedly, still seemed a bit hard around the corners of his
mouth as he looked at her. -
“I’ve been told that Howard is not a marrying man. He's past 35
and he's never married any woman yet. Still, he's the great lover. So
sedate and agreeable, so easy for a woman to like. I call him the little
prince.”
She turned to glare at him, closed her mouth tight, then opened
22


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 143
it again to cry:
“You've become not only ridiculous but utterly impossible. Please
drive me back to town.” He was silent now, but turned to look at her.
He felt that he hadn't handled it as he ought to have. That he should
have been a bit more discreet. He was a bit sorry that he had said all
he did.
“I’m sorry, dear,” he said, stepping on the starter. He backed the
car up and turning around, started back to Washington. Glancing at
her, he could see that she was angry and kept her gaze straight ahead.
He sighed, increased the speed, and the huge car dashed through th
night. -


CHAPTER . K
- ARIE COLEMAN was busy, typing a letter at her desk, and
had just finished when the door opened softly. She looked up
and then started, perceptibly. For therein stood one of the most
beautiful girls she thought she had ever seen.
It was Bertha Schultz. She paused as Marie looked at her and
registered surprise, then got to her feet. Bertha took a step forward
and closing the door behind her, spoke.
“Pardon me,” she said, pleasantly, “but is this the office of Mr.
Sidney Wyeth?” -
“It is,” replied Marie, courteously, pleasantly. “Won't you come in
and — ” paused to look around, eyes fall upon a chair, to which she
pointed: “Be seated?”
“Thank you,” said Bertha, and Marie thought that her voice was as
beautiful as her face, as perfect as her figure. -
She came close enough now for Marie to feel her presence. “I am
interested in a book, wheh I understand Mr. Wyeth has written.
Is this the place where it is published?” -
“Yes,” replied Marie. “This is the place. Would you—lke a copy?"
“I would very much, thank you,” replied Bertha. “The price,
please?” Marie told her and went for a copy, bringing it forward
and showing it to her.
“My, how beautiful,” cried Bertha, as she took and began to
examine it. -
“Thank you.” said Marie. “Everybody admires it. Shall I—wrap
it?” holding her hand out for it. -
“No, no, thank you. I want to sketch through it. I’m sure I’m going
to enjoy reading it very much.”
“I’m sure you will. Meantime, please be seated.” Marie pushed a
chair forward and rewarded her with a pleasant smile. Bertha sat
down.
144


THE CASE of MRS. wiNGATE 145
"On second thought, I think I'll take an additional copy, if you
don't mind.”
“We'll be delighted, thanks.” Marie went for the other copy.
“And you may wrap that copy, please.”
“Sure,” called Marie, and proceeded to do so, returning presently
with it wrapped and sealed. Bertha counted out the money for both
copies.
“I want to send this one to a friend,” said Bertha.
“That'll be nice, I'm sure,” said Marie.
Bertha Smiled, sweetly. Marie Smiled back at her and sitting down,
hoped that the other wouldn't hurry. Who was the girl she thought.
Didn't seem like a New Yorker, nor any other girl she knew; had
ever known — and so pretty, my! She found herself saying this over
and over again, daring to look at her out of admiring eyes. She was
speaking now, and handing her a card, which Marie gladly took.
“Here is my card. My name is Bertha Schultz. I have just returned
to — America, and I’d like to talk to you, if you don't mind.”
Marie looked at the card again. It was engraved, and as rich as
the name written there was beautiful.
“Thank you,” said Marie, rising and bowing. Bertha acknowledged
by rising and bowing. They were both standing now.
“My name is Marie Coleman,” and Marie reached into her desk
and found her card. It was not engraved, and she felt a bit cheap. All
cards should be engraved. She would have some engraved as quickly
now as she had a chance. Meantime.
“I’m glad to meet you, Miss Schultz,” said Marie.
“My compliments to you, Miss Coleman.”
“Thank you,” said Marie. They both sat down again.
“You’ve been — abroad, Miss Schultz?”
“I have, Miss Coleman, attending school,” replied Bertha.
“Oh, that is wonderful. Do you know when you entered, I got the
impression that you, well, I don't know why I felt the way I did
exactly,” said Marie, “but I was sure you were not a New Yorker
and — for that matter, not from anywhere else that I could think of.
So I was right. You've been abroad, attending school. Where, may
I ask?”
“Of course. At the Sorbonne in Paris, more recently.”
“At the Sorbonne in France! My, magnificent! And you attended


146 THE CASE OF MRs. WINGATE
some other school over there, before that?”
“I’m a graduate of Heidelberg.”
“Heidelberg My, my, but you have been attending schools, all right,
such great schools.” Bertha smiled. Marie looked at her with un-
expressible admiration. No wonder, she thought now, she had been
so greatly impressed. It seemed to stand out, such extended educa-
tion, in the girl's every move, every expression. And with all
that, she seemed like a nice girl, an agreeable sort of person. She
knew she was going to like her. -
“I’ll be glad to talk to you, Miss Schultz,” she said, relaxing com-
fortably, as she waited for the other to speak. Bertha was inspecting
the book again and seemed pleased. She looked up at Marie, and
reminded Marie of Schumann-Heink, dead a long time, but as Marie
studied her, she kept thinking and comparing her with the great
German Soprano. Held her head like Schumann-Heink had, was re-
fined, possessed everything, she thought, that training, educa-
tion and good manners could give a person. Recalling her words,
Marie thought, and recalled now, that the girl had a slight German
accent. She wondered if she was part German. It was obvious to Marie
that one of her parents was German, and she suspected if so, it must
have been her mother, she didn't look like the offspring of a colored
mother by a white man, not in America. She was sure she was not.
“Looks like it might be interesting. I shall start reading it as quickly
as I return home. Meanwhile,” and she looked up at Marie. “I was
going to inquire for it at the bookstores, some bookstore downtown,
then was told that I might get a copy at the office. Since that was
closer and handier I came here and am glad now that I did.” -
“I’m glad you did, too,” smiled Marie.
“Isn't the book on sale at most of the book shops?”
“No, Miss Schultz, it is not?”
“Is not?” She looked down at the book again, turned the jacket
back, admired the attractive binding with “My, how pretty. Every-
thing about it is pretty, so well gotten up in every way, nice print,
easy to read, yet not large and unsightly.”
“Thank you. Mr. Wyeth, the author, has good taste about every-
thing he does. He personally supervised the layout in addition to writ-
ing the book,” said Marie.
“Indeed! Mr. Wyeth must be an interesting man.”


THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE 147
“I think so,” replied Marie.
“Is he – related to you?” inquired Bertha. Shaking her head:
“No,” said Marie. “I just work for him.”
“Oh.” And Bertha looked down at the book again.
“I would like to know why the book is not on sale at all the shops,
if you don't mind?” - -
“I don't mind telling you, but hope you'll understand when I do.”
“I’ll try to, I assure you,” said Bertha, looking at her.
“First, Mr. Wyeth has not been to them and tried to get them to
stock it.” -
“I — ” Bertha started, but broke off. Then after a pause decided to
go on. “I was hoping that I might meet the author, since this is his
office.” -
“Mr. Wyeth is out of town.”
“Out of town,” exclaimed Bertha. Her expression showed how
keenly she was disappointed. “Oh I'm so sorry.”
“I am, too,” said Marie. “I’m sure that he would be glad to meet
you, too.”
“Thank you,” said Bertha, and smiled appreciatively. “Will he be
gone very — long?” There was a note of anxiety in her tone.
“I really couldn't say, Miss Schultz. Mr. Wyeth is a bit un-
predictable. He leaves most times suddenly and without saying any-
thing, or where he is going, and may return the same way.”
“So sorry,” sighed Bertha. “This is his real name, then, is it not?”
“Yes,” said Marie. “Plain Sidney Wyeth. No middle name. He's
very plain and unassuming.”
“Is he?”
“Yes,” replied Marie. “And if I do have to say it myself, he's a
very fine man. I’ve worked for him for many years, so I think I
should know.”
“You should, and I’m sure you do,” said Bertha. “I’m glad to hear
you say that. Now I’ll know what to — expect.” Marie lost her smile
for a moment. Wonder overspread her face instead. Bertha looked
up and saw it.
“Oh, you're wondering what my interest could be, aren't you?
Well, none in particular. Mostly curiosity. I've never met a colored
author.”
“I guess not. We haven't very many. In fact, very few active in


148 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
writing, none at all in the publishing field.”
“No P” said Bertha.
Marie shook her head.
“No, I thigh Mr. Wyeth is about the only one, and his novel
there, is the first one by a Negro author to be published in quite a
long time, at least three or four years.”
“Indeed P”
“I’m afraid so. Our people haven't gone in for writing so much
for quite a long time. There are quite a number of new books about
the Negro, a novel or two in the lot but they’ve all been written
by white people.”
“Is that so?” said Bertha, and seemed much surprised. Marie
looked at her. As highly educated as she obviously was, why didn't
she know. -
“You didn’t know P” she asked.
“I’ve been in Europe for so long until I am — a bit out of touch
with conditions in America.”
“Oh, I understand.”
“Otherwise I should know some of the things you're forced to
tell me,” said Bertha and smiled. t
“Not exactly. Having been through two great schools and all the
studying it must have taken,” said Marie, “you couldn't have had
much time to keep acquainted with conditions in America.”
“That is it,” said Bertha quickly relieved. She didn't want to have
to say too much about herself, and nothing about what she and her
brother were in America to do, of course. Still she was curious and
being by nature an ambitious, serious-minded sort of person, she was
anxious to learn much — a very great deal.
“We were discussing colored authors and what they are doing
in America at this time,” she said.
“Exactly nothing—that is, almost nothing,” said Marie.
“I’d like to know. Could you tell me, perhaps, why?”
Marie shrugged her shoulders. “That's why I'd like you to meet
Mr. Wyeth. He's wonderfully well-informed. In fact, one of the most
informed men in America about most anything you can think about,
talk about. He could tell you anything and about everything you’d like
to know, and especially as regards our group.”
“That's why I wanted to meet him.”


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 149
“Anything that I know and can tell you about is due to my close
association with him, otherwise I might not know half as much.”
“I think you're very well informed and most interesting, too,” said
Bertha.
Marie smiled appreciatively.
“We were talking about colored authors. You didn't finish telling
me,” said Bertha.
“No,” said Marie. “I didn't because there is so very little to tell.
We have several columnists on the colored papers. I don't go in much
for column reading, so don't know much about what they write. Am
sure it is interesting, however, else the newspapers wouldn't keep
publishing what they write, week after week.”
“How many colored men and women, would you say, are depend-
ing on what they write for their living,” inquired Bertha.
“Mr. Wyeth is the only one I know,” said Marie. -
“It doesn't seem possible 13,000,000, and no more than one—at
most two or three—receiving sufficient royalties to live on ?” said
Bertha in surprise.
“The word “royalty' is Greek to Negroes. We have several music
writers and recording artists who might know what the word means,”
said Marie. “But that would be all.”
“It's really deplorable,” said Bertha, shaking her head sadly.
- “Such amazing deficiency.” -
“I’m forced to agree with you. But assisting Mr. Wyeth in the sel-
ling of his book, I know much more about books and that they are
writing practically nothing at all along that line.”
“And again I’d like to know why?” said Bertha. And again Marie
shrugged her shoulders.
“I don't know, Miss Schultz. I do know that they are not making
many serious attempts, either. Mr. Wyeth and I discuss it frequently.
He says that, as a whole, the Negro isn't a very interesting writer,
beyond Negro history, some kind of poetry and essays, because he is
too academic. Many are calling themselves anthropologists. They write
a great deal about the origin and development of mankind, especially
of man hundreds and thousands of years ago, which they learned
in school, but seem to know little about the man in the street today,
his idiosyncrasies and all that. But of how to make a dollar in a coun-
try that is strictly capitalistic, and where the possession of wealth,


150 THE - CASE OF MES. WINGATE
measured in dollars and cents is the role, and has been since the coun-
try was founded, he knows exactly nothing.”
“Too academic, I can see,” commented Bertha. “Entirely too aca-
demic for his own good,” and she shook her head sadly.
“To write what people will buy and read, the first thing is to know
people, living, breathing and moving around people; people of today,”
quoted Marie. “And to know people, Mr. Wyeth says, you've got to
meet people, study people, find out what they are thinking, learn all
about what they are doing, how they do it. He calls many of our
educated Negroes, “academic Idiots,” whereupon Bertha burst into
laughter.
“You sure have to and that is what I mean when I quote Mr. Wyeth
as explaining the Negro's failure. He doesn't study people, he's not
in trade, commerce or industry. He doesn't produce much if anything
worth-while, so when he attempts to write it is mostly from an aca-
demic point of view. In other words, he has acquired all he knows in
school, or most of it, anyhow, and schools cannot very well teach you
what to write about when people want to know about people.”
“So you don't think the colored people — our people.” Bertha
corrected herself. She knew that it would be best in speaking of
Negroes to refer to them as ours and us instead of as somebody else,
“are succeeding very well as writers.”
“A large share of our educated group, who depend on teaching and
white collar work, have tried to educate themselves into success, by
either remaining in School, or by going back and acquiring one degree
after another until, loaded down with degrees, as Mr. Wyeth puts it,
and starving to death, he does not, unfortunately, seem to know
much of anything at all.”
“That is most unfortunate,” commented Bertha, and shook her
head sadly. “Just what do they produce, anyhow?”
“Arguments, mostly,” said Marie and laughed. Bertha was forced
to join her.
“And trade and commerce, what do they sell; what do they have
to sell ?”
“Religion mostly,” said Marie, humorously. “They sell Religion
from every angle, retail, wholesale, in the basement, attic, on
the street, everywhere. It's the biggest stock in trade with them,
Heaven, Religion and Heaven.”
-- *- - - - - -
* ºf


152 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“By all means, Miss Schultz,” exclaimed Marie, sincerely. “I want
you to come by again, as often as you want to. I've enjoyed talking
to you so much and am sure we have much more to talk about, now
that we are acquainted. So come by any day, every day that is con-
venient for you to. In that way, sooner or later you'll have to catch
Mr. Wyeth in.”
“Thanks for the invitation, and don't be surprised and above all,
annoyed, if you see me again soon — sooner if it wasn't that I am
going to plunge right into this book and I’ll probably have it read
by this time tomorrow.” Both laughed.
“I am anxious for you to come back and meet Mr. Wyeth. When
he finds a person interesting, he will ask plenty of questions. I can't
do that, ask people so many questions, so much about themselves, but
he can. I would, however, like to know more about you.”
“Then why not ask? I shall be glad to tell you.”
“Oh, I will, in time; but Mr. Wyeth, if he finds you as interesting
as I have, will ask you all about yourself right away and won't mind
it. But to his credit, I can explain, he asks them in a way that you .
won't mind, maybe, at least most people answer them without seeming
to mind,” laughing again; they smiled at each other and Bertha finally
took her leave and Marie listened as her footsteps died away down
the hall.
She went back to her chair and thought about this unusual girl, and
kept on thinking about her all that day while doing her work.
- ". - " - - ,


CHAPTER X I
YETH'S TAKING EDRINA out and dining her each night
after the show, was not lost on members of the cast. In fact,
it had become the subject of much gossip, especially among
the ladies of the chorus. In their dressing room two girls, not alto-
gether fond of Edrina on general principles, were having much at
the moment, to say about her.
“Have you heard about Edrina running around with Sidney Wyeth,
the Motion Picture Producer,” said Angel, putting on her makeup,
eyes in the mirror in front of her. Angel was tall, tan and very
shapely. Mantan specialized, among other things or styles, in the
tall, tantalizing kind.
“I was looking out the window at Maw Williams when he drove
her back last night,” said Maude, not so tall, yet not too short but
round and plump with attractive calves, goo, goo eyes, and kissable
lips. Before she went on the stage a few years before, Maude was
called the prettiest girl in Deweese Street, Lexington, Ky. On the
show they called her “Cutey.”
“What's the low down, anyhow? Edrina's Donald Howard gal.”
said Angel, wincing aloud as she pulled a long hair from her brow.
“You mean was,” said Maude.
“I mean is,” corrected Angel. “For she still is, regardless how
much love Sidney Wyeth tries to make to her. She's crazy about that
little West Indian monkey and I don't mean maybe.”
“Perhaps you're right,” agreed Maude.
“Anyway,” observed Angel, “how come her running around with
Wyeth, anyhow?” -
“Maybe she's tryin' tu win a home. Sidney Wyeth has dough.”
“That's the first show girl I ever saw him look at the second time.
He doesn't seem to go in for us.”
“Ain’t it so, I’ve often wondered if he’s ‘high hat.
x * x
153


154 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
“But gettin' back to Edrina,” said Angel.
“Yes, of course,” from Maude.
“I tell you she's crazy about Donald Howard and it's me that
knows. But as you just suggested, since Donald doesn't spend anything
but his time, entertaining any girl, maybe Edrina's decided to flirt with
a home and a man who can keep it up,” said Angel.
“If she could land Wyeth, it would mean a home and a man who
could take care of her. I imagine he's the kind of man who would
take care of a girl,” said Maude.
“Lucky girl if she can. I wish he'd look at me. I’d grab him and
run. Anything to get out of this old show work. I'm so tired of it.”
“There's no future in it at all,” sighed Maude, wearily.
“It’s a dog's life I tell you, and its me that knows it.”
“Not you, sugar,” grinned Angel, shifting to the other side of her
face. “Me.”
“We both know it,” said Maude, with a sigh. “All we show girls
know it.”
“Except Edrina,” corrected Angel. “She doesn't.”
“Yes, she does,” snapped Maude. “But she's just vain. You see
she had a little luck. I mean, thus far she hasn't been stranded and
forced to go out and sell her yes, yes, in order to eat or get back
to New York. That’s what I mean.”
“And because Donald Howard's sorta sponsorin’ her,” said Angel.
“She’s fool enough to think she's goin' places.”
“She is sure nuts,” laughed Maude. “All Donald Howard's ever
done except stage this cheap show for Mantan, was to — ”
“—rehearse,” assisted Angel, cutting her off and finishing her
Sentence. -
“Rehearse is right,” laughed Maude. “And how he can rehearse!”
“The rehearsenist man that ever lived.” -
“Remember “Old Man Evil?’” said Angel.
“When I rehearsed from April to October in the thing? Do I
remember it? You should ask me if I’d ever forget it.”
“Rehearsed from April to October. Opened in November, ran
two forced weeks, and — ” -
“—closed as usual, and—”
“ — without pay. And you have the nerve to ask me if I remember
it!” and she laughed a hard, bitter, laugh. “You and I and a hundred


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 155
other po'niggah puhformers, or would be performers, all too hongry
to be called real, standing around the stage entrance of the old
Lafayette with our dispossesses, pray'n 'tu Gawd we would get some
money, just a little money for all our work, not counting months of
rehearsals, on account of that little slick-haird shiek.”
“What a night that was, aw, what a night!” sighed Maude.
“Niggah performers was sure desperate,” said Angel, retrospective-
ly. “They'd have killed Howard if they could have gotten their hands
on him.”
“All of which happened before this silly Edrina got into the show
business. If she'd been there with a dispossess in her hands like the
most of us — ” -
“ — all of us,” corrected Maude.
“Yes, all of us. Anyway, had she been, maybe she'd have some sense
by now and quit dreaming.”
“It's been such a long time ago, and it was such a bitter experience,
until I've tried to forget it. But since you brought it up, just what
happened, anyhow?”
“The police had to come and escort him away. Three ov'm, don't
you remember?” said Angel looking across at her.
After puckering her eyebrows, Maude perked up.
“Sure I do now,” she exclaimed. “Three cops on motor cycles.”
“Sure. They put him into a taxi. Then one got on each side of the
taxi and the third one behind it and sailed away with that little
niggah up Seventh avenue,” they both laughed.
“And that's how he got away,” said Angel, still laughing. “Now
along comes this silly Edrina thinking she's going places because
he's behind her,” sighed Maude, shaking her head sadly.
“She will,” said Angel, the meaning of which Maude didn't
catch.
Turning to the other, curiously.
“Huh?”
“I said she will,” from Maude humorously.
“Where?”
“To the po'house,” laughed Maude. Angel laughed, too. They both
laughed.
“To the po'house is right,” and again both laughed.
“That's why I say,” continued Maude, “that if this Sidney Wyeth


156 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
is serious in the attention he's paying her, and she's got any sense
at all, she'd better grab him and run—”
“—and keep on runnin' after she gets him; keep on runnin' until
she gets out of sight and sound of show business.”
“You’re tellin me,” echoed Maude.
“But she won't,” said Angel, face more serious now.
“How come?” said Maude, turning again toward her.
“Because, she won't have sense enough. That's a colored woman,
you know.”
“Maybe you're right,” said Maude. “Love and labor is our motto.”
“We’ve been treated so bad and for so long until we just can't seem
to be sensible when a good man comes along,” said Angel, ruefully.
“Ain’t it the truth,” agreed Maude. “What makes us that way, any-
how P”
“Just born that way; born for bad luck and a hard time. My
grand mammy says they were that way in her day; when she was a
girl. She says that they were fightin' over yalluh men, givin' them
their money and letting them make a fool ov'm, the same way as
they're doing nowadays.”
“I guess we just won't ever have any sense. Now take this Edrina
for instance,” Maude went on. “And Wyeth and Howard. Wyeth
must be liking her a little, else he wouldn't be feeding her every night
and asking nothing.”
“Asking nothing?” inquired Angel, turning to look at her. “What
do you mean?” -
“I mean taking her out every night and spending money on her and
not going to bed with her.”
“Oh,” echoed Angel. “Don’t you think he's gettin' any of it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How would you know?”
“Oh, I wouldn't know; but I don't think so. He drives her up to
the sidewalk, kisses her good night and drives on away. That's what
I see him doing, so am sure he isn't forcing her to go to bed with him.”
“Some man! I never seen a niggah who'd spend fifty cents on a
gal if he didn't demand her to go to bed with him and — ”
“ — spend the night,” laughed Maude, “all night,” and both
laughed.
“Maybe he's a — ”


THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE 157
“Naw, he ain’t,” cried Maude, quickly.
“How'd you know?”
“He don't act like one, don't talk like one,” said Maude.
“Maybe he's savin’ it until he marries her.”
“There are men like that.”
“What do you call them, such a man?”
“Virtuous men,” and both broke into laughter.
“They say Edrina's got good stuff, too,” said Angel. “They say
when she puts her arms around them and begins to whine—”
“Aw, go on, gal,” said Maude. “You’re gettin' real dirty.”
“Gettin' back to Wyeth, and Howard. If Wyeth should marry her
she'd still keep Howard as a sweetie on the side, and in time, run
a good man clear off. Now watch and see if I ain't right.”
“She couldn't be such a fool,” said Angel deprecatingly.
“But she is and it'll all be about this little old show business; I'm
tellin' you. She thinks she can sing; that she's a soubrette, when all
she can do is squeal right loud. But she'll fool around, tryin' to do so
and by an by Wyeth’ll go on about his business and let her alone.”
“Ain’t it too bad how some gals gets all the breaks and the rest get
the boot? If ever I gets a chance to marry a good man, I wouldn't ever
go running around with any no-account one, believe me.” Just then
somebody knocked on the door, and both started and looked around
and Angel called:
“Yes ?”
“Mr. Mantan,” the voice called. “Are you there?”
“Sure, Mr. Mantan. Maude and I are both here, made up and
ready to go on.”
“All right,” he called back and they heard his footsteps pass on
down the hall and a moment later heard him knock on the next
dressing room door.


carris XII
EANWHILE, SIDNEY WYETH had left Washington and
Donald Howard had come down from New York and now
sat in a booth, in a restaurant, across the table from Edrina.
“I believe Wyeth likes you,” he said, toying with a fork. He pres-
ently picked up a glass of water and took a sip. Howard was born in
the West Indies, had been educated in America, had gotten away -
from the usual accent, but said words with such care until one won-
dered if he didn't have some monkey in him anyhow. Edrina smiled,
looked up at him cooquettishly, while Howard went on:
“There's your big chance. You may win a movie contract — and
a husband at the same time.”
“Quit trying to kid me, Donald.”
“I’m not trying to kid you, Edrina,” he insisted, smiling laconic-
ally. Edrina didn't answer.
“Sidney Wyeth is steady, sticks to what he's doing. That's the kind
of man that makes a good husband.”
“But I don't think he's interested in me — at least that way,”
ventured Edrina. “Additionally, I’m not exactly interested in pictures,
anyhow. I prefer the stage first, last and all the time.”
“I’ve told you that it is passing, Edrina. This kind of show,
especially. It's liable to break down and pass out entirely any day.
The theatres we've been playing have mostly given up running stage
shows. They've all gone into playing pictures exclusively.” There was
a frown on Howard's face as he finished. Edrina felt it a good time to
express a far-fetched ambition.
“What's the matter with Broadway? Shows seem to be still popu-
lar down there.”
He looked up, smiled, then frowned again.
“An illusion — a far-fetched illusion,” he said and laughed depre-
catingly.
158


THE case of MRs. wiNGATE 159
“But I like illusions, Donald,” smiled Edrina. “To play down there
has always been my ambition, the height of my ambition, of my
dreams.” - -
“Have you got anything to sell to Broadway? They're not hot for
Negro drama. Maybe something good, dirty and low down, but noth-
ing that you'd like so well.” (
“I can sing,” she said.
He looked at her.
“Not the kind of songs they want to hear a colored girl sing
on Broadway. Then again, shows don't stay there forever, at least
all of them. They close sometimes after the first night—and a bunch
of bad press notices the morning after. It's too much of a gamble,” he
said, but she had ideas of her own.
“But I’m from Kentucky, where gambling is a virtue. I like to
gamble; taking chances thrills me. Since only one horse can win, we
often bet on the wrong one. We Kentuckians can take it, dear. We
swallow our disappointment and wait until Derby day rolls around
again,” she persisted, with a fine gesture. But he was not impressed.
“All you say is fine fiction, Edrina, but in New York you have to
eat, pay rent and keep going, win, lose or draw. If you lose nobody
cares; but suit yourself, dearie. It's your bread, butter and future
you insist on gambling with. But if you happen to throw craps, don't
complain and try to say that I didn't tell you, at least try to warn you
against taking chances up in the big town.”
“I’m still willing to take the chance,” insisted Edrina bravely.
“You can get into enough trouble with a show like this, even.
There's nothing sure about it. Some morning you may wake up and
find there's no place to play, which is what we may be confronted
with before many weeks. The theatres don't want to be bothered
with a lot of people backstage, fighting and demanding money, getting
drunk and carrying on as they often do. I wish you wasn't enthusiastic
about the stage, dear. It's too unpredictable, too uncertain.” Then
breaking off suddenly, he looked at his watch and started. “Meantime,
it's near show time and I want to see what these new people I'm
putting in the show looks like before the curtain rises. Let's eat this
bite and get going,” and he fell to eating.
Wyeth had gone down into Virginia to stage a campaign through
the schools in several towns, so on the way back to New York in his


160 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
car, stopped in Washington, and, of course looked in on Edrina. The
show was due to close at the end of the week and move on west to
Pittsburg. Donald Howard had returned to New York.
Back stage, he was waitng for Edrina to make her change. Pre-
sently coming from behind the screen where she made it, she stood
before him smiling. At the sight of her his face lit up with sincere de-
light and he exclaimed: “My, my, but you sure look nice tonight,
dear.”
“Think so,” she said, then turned from right to left, left to right,
her arms poised like a model, displaying a dress for the benefit of a
customer. He looked her up and down with care, at her skirt to see
if her slip might be showing. It was not.
“Everything is okeh, honey bunch,” he said, approvingly. “I think
you're more beautiful than I have ever seen you look before tonight,”
his face beaming.
“Jive,” she said, playfully. “But thank you for the words, never-
theless.”
“I mean it honestly, Edrina,” he insisted.
She paused thoughtfully, then raising her eyes to his.
“It's the dress you like. It's new. I bought it at a store down on F
street today, and have been waiting to wear it in the hope of pleasing
you. So I'm glad you like it and thanks. I wish you liked me as much
as you seem to like the dress.”
“I do like you, Edrina. I’m very fond of you. I've been thinking
about you all the while I was away, and was anxious to get back
where I could see you again and be with you before going on through
to New York.”
“You won't leave before I do, will you?”
“I think I’ll have to.” -
“Please don't, but sit down sweetheart,” and she adjusted the
single chair which was in the room. He sat down. She moved closer
but stood looking straight into his eyes. -
“Let’s have a serious little talk before we go out, darling,” she said,
and her face was serious and very sober. He looked up at her and
taking her hand, pulled her down on his knee, where she nestled close
to him comfortably, an arm about her waist. They exchanged a kiss,
and he was emotional again, she was also, so he squeezed her.
“When you begin to like a person and you go away from them


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 161
a while, it is interesting to feel the reaction, sensational reaction,”
he said. “Down there in Virginia where I've been, I met so many nice
girls. Teachers in the schools, many of whom were young and attrac-
tive; they made me welcome and listened to what I talked about,
bought my book, many schools, the whole faculty, that is, where they
were getting any money.”
“What do you mean, getting any money?”
“I didn't mean any money, sweetheart. They all, of course get
something. But in about half the schools the pay of the colored
teachers has been put on a par with that of the whites, and in those
schools they have money, were able to and did buy books, whereas
in those where the old scale still obtains, where they were getting
from about two-thirds down to about half the pay the white teachers
are receiving, it was not so hot and I felt sorry for them and didn't
mind if they didn't buy as well. I understood that they couldn't afford
it, poor things. But what I started to say, dear, was that in spite of
meeting a lot of young and pretty teachers, several times a day,
just as quickly as I was out of their presence, I’d fall to thinking
about you; at times with such violence until many times, I felt like
turning around and coming back where I could see you.”
“Oh, my,” she cried, an arm about his neck but looking straight
into his eyes, “but that thrills me. Old serious-minded darling like
you are, to think of me and want to come back before you were
through is thrilling, dear, to say the least,” and she ended by giving
him a big kiss, and squeezing him tight to her. “Now tell me more
about what you thought about,” she said. “I l’ke to hear it.”
“I hardly know how to start, I just thought about you all the
time, that's all. Haven't you ever did that?”
“Of course I have, silly. I've been doing the same thing about you
ever since you left. Just thinking about you every day, every hour
in the day, almost every minute in each hour.”
“Oh, darling, no,” he protested.
“But darling, yes,” she cried. “Now if you thought about me all
the while you were away as you say you did, then maybe it was
because you've begun to like me a little, yes?”
“You mean a great deal, Edrina. Not just a little,” he said and
seemed to mean it. He squeezed her so close now until she could
feel and faintly hear the beating of his heart against hers, hers


162 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
against his. He breathed a deep sigh.
“You can feel that something, Edrina, can't you?” he whispered,
hoarsely. She nodded her head, then started to complain:
“But you don't trust me, Sidney, and that — hurts. It pains and
makes me sad and unhappy, so unhappy.” She started crying now
and began to feel for a kerchief. He came forward with one and
dried her tears instead, meanwhile, stammering at something which
she didn't seem to hear, or at least to understand.
“You — you don't trust me and that's why you're holding back.
I — I do believe you like me some, enough to make me happy and
contented, but it makes me feel bad to think that you have distrust
all mixed up with your liking, and I don’t like that.”
“Maybe you're right, and if that is so, I’m sorry,” he admitted. She
sat straight now and using her kerchief, dabbed at her eyes.
“And that's what I want to talk to you about.”
He looked at her, and in doing so she was forced to meet his
eyes. Then suddenly with a burst of passion, he kissed her boldly,
and that started it all over again.
“Oh, Sidney,” she cried, tears starting, and her face torn up and
slightly distorted, “When you do that, I — just lose all my com-
posure, my control. Kiss me again, you mean old darling,” and
around his neck went her arms again, and the next few seconds were
given up to a passionate exchange of kissing and embracing. After
a time she relaxed again, and went on:
“If you trusted me,” she said. “We could mean so much to each
other, and it would make me so happy.”
“If you could influence me into trusting you, dear heart, that
would make me happy, too, very happy,” said he.
“But what can I do to make you trust me, Sidney? I’m doing
everything I know how to make you. I can’t think of anything
else that I’ve not already done to make you do so,” she ended by
looking at him appealingly. Meanwhile, he was thoughful, adjusted
himself and she rose up a moment to let him do so. Then pulled
her back down on his knee.
“I’ve trained myself all my life to accept others,” he began, "as
I find them. And in that respect, regardless of the fact that I think
you're more deeply enamoured of Donald Howard than you like to
admit, even to yourself, I am willing to take that chance.”


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 163
“Then, what, dear,” she asked.
He shifted uncomfortably, and a frown crossed his features. He
looked at her and she met his gaze.
“It's this show business.”
“The stage, Sidney,” she said, quite frankly, and patiently, where-
as he had expected her to explode, blow up, as it were.
“Yes, dear” he replied, looking at her. “The stage and shows. I
could put up with your being with a show as long as you're single,
but you see, Edrina,” and he broke into a frown. She leaned forward
and kissed his forehead, and then stroked his cheek kindly.
“Yes, Sidney,” she said, kindly, patiently, “go ahead, get it off
your chest. Tell me everything that's worrying you.”
“I want a companion and the best companion for a man is a —
wife. But I want my wife at home. I want to feel that that is where
she is, and —” again he broke off and she understood. He didn't
want to tell her that she should leave the stage if she wanted him
to marry her. She squeezed him as if to reassure him. She'd try to
clear up this whole misunderstanding, if she couldn't, at least she'd
make a try.
“Oh, so that's what the hold back is all about, eh?” she cried,
eyes dilated, with inspiration. He looked at her.
“Mostly.” he said, and waited.
“Then what do you want-me to do, Sidney darling?” Her question
rather caught him off guard. For a moment he was puzzled, still
not altogether satisfied with all he had said up to now, he frowned
again, and went on:
“It is not what I want, or what I might command, Edrina. What
ever you do is up to you.”
“Up to me, Sidney?” she asked, slightly puzzled. “Just what is
up to me, darling?” -
“The stage, Edrina, your work on it. I don't want any girl for a
wife, my wife, traipsing around all over the country with a show.
Yet, I know that you like the show and stage show work. So well
until it would become a choice between the stage and me,” he said,
argumentatively.
“Then the choice would be you, Sidney. I'd give up the stage,”
she said, and by saying so, implied that that was all settled. He looked
up quickly, hopefully, and a bit surprised. But not for long. He was
r


164 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
still not convinced. After a moment of serious thought.
“I wish I could believe you,” he said with something akin to a
sigh. t
“What do you mean, ‘I wish I could believe you’,” she said now,
looking hard at him. -
“Just what I said. I wish I could feel convinced that you mean
what you say. Maybe you even think you do yourself — now.” She
sighed, a bit hopelessly. He patted her reassuringly.
“You see, Edrina,” he went on. “That is the way you feel now.
After awhile, however, you’d begin to feel different. Liking the
stage as you do, you'd think about it. Then it would occur to you
that you hadn't wanted to give it up, but that in order to please
me, you were forced to and then at the first disagreement, you'd
get mad, but always you'd be thinking that I made you give it up.
Who knows that such a continued reflection, might in time become
an obsession, your obsession.”
“You mean Sidney,” said she, “that altho' I promised to, I’d
still want to continue the work, and — ”
“— do like most women. Finally leave your husband, your children,
if that happened, and go back to it. That has happened before and
it can happen again and it is that which I'm afraid of.”
“But I’ve said that I’m willing to give it up; I've tried to imply
that you mean more to me than any stage, all the stages. Why must
you continue to doubt me?”
“Because, away down in the bottom of your heart, behind all that
you are insisting at this moment, you doubt yourself. Why? I can
seem to see right through you and your ambitions, Edrina. You
are little short of insane about it. You might promise to give it up, as
you have just promised — and even intend as you feel now, to do so.
Then along one day would come Mantan or Howard, or both, with
a proposition.
“Supposing by that time I have become devoted to you; you have
become a part of me, of my daily existence; that I love you, love
you truly and am happy, you are happy, too. We have a happy home.
You wouldn't really want to change it, but you'd keep thinking;
you'd build castles in the air, great castles that are a part of the
stage. Then you'd begin to work on me. You'd tell them to leave it
to you, you’d bring me around in time. Then it would be, just for a


THE CASE of MRS. wingATE . 165
little while, dear, only a little while. To please you, for isn't it the
function of man and wife to want to, and try to, please each other?
So I would try to please you, and let you go. If the show had any
measure of success, that would continue into weeks, into months.
Oh yes, you'd perhaps write me every day, send me telegrams, think
of me and say 'my poor, darling husband. He wants me so. I must
get back to him, and all that. Even as much as I wouldn't
want to, I would be forced to put up with it and perhaps would. But
supposing the show began to totter, to waver and threaten to fail?
Then somebody connected with it might come to you. They've
done it before, they'll do it again. Some old funny looking Ofay might
become interested. He might not have any money, but could interest
some other funny looking Ofay possibly to put up a little dough to
carry on. But in order to get him to do this, inducements would
have to be made. You have a soft, pretty body. I'd like to fondle
that body, but I'm one of these rare idiots who exist only in the
minds of a novelist. I'm willing — and even want to wait until that
wedding night. I haven't asked you to — to go to bed with me,
have I?”
She nodded her head in agreement.
“It doesn't mean that I am not a normal man. I am, in fact, pas-
sionately normal. But all my life I’ve pictured waiting until the
wedding night to take all a girl can offer a husband.
“But would these ‘hounds of the Baskerville's, view it that way?'
The delivery of your pretty, soft round body might be the price of
this Ofay keeping the show going. I know show business. If they
were convinced that it would, they would keep on after you to deliver
—and get mad and hate you in the end if you didn't. They'd advance
the argument that it meant work for a whole lot of people, people
that this Ofay didn't want. All this seems sordid and bitter, but a
girl ambitious for the stage and hoping for success there, a colored
girl under present conditions, is most likely to be forced, before it
was all over, to sell her body, trade it many times, to keep the show
going by pleasing some confounded Ofay, and Edrina, that's why
I'm holding back; why I—oh, I’m sorry that I let myself begin to
like you.”
“Oh, Sidney, darling,” she cried dramatically. “Please believe me
when I say, when I insist, that I would do nothing of the kind. I


166 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
would give you everything I have and do everything in my little
heart to make you comfortable and happy. Won't you please, oh,
please believe me and trust me to do what is right.” She patted his
cheek, kissed his lips, pawed over him, caressed his hands and kissed
his forehead. Meanwhile, sighing deeply:
“I wish I could, Edrina. I don't see why I don't after all your
protestations, but away in the back of it all, I can't forget that you
like the stage, and it is that, more than what might happen, for it
will surely happen if you stick to these shows long enough, that I can't
get out of my head.” He stood up after the above words, and
raised her to her feet. She moved around him, however, to try to
force him to look at her, into her eyes, which he avoided.
“I’m sorry I let myself like you,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve
by-passed this for years. I mean, liking show girls, which has been
my environment because I didn't want to get into a squeegee as I
am in now. I’m not condemning stage shows in general, but I know
that the day of Tab shows like this is about at its end. So when I see
you all ambitious to go places in one, I know where it may end
up and I don't want any part of it.”
He now walked around the small room with her following and
pleading with him; insisting over and over that she was not in love
with the stage and would quit any time he asked her to, but he was
adamant. He had more to tell her about it, so after a few turns up
and down, he paused and faced her and went on:
“I never had any confidence, patience or interest in Tab shows
when they had plenty theatres to play. I know too much about them.
Many performers are given to indulging in unnatural relations back
stage, and if you suppose I want a wife in such an environment, then
I’ve lost my sense of morality—and I haven't.”
“I tell you Sidney, for the hundredth time, that it doesn't mean
that much to me and I'll quit — I'll quit tomorrow, if you say.”
“I’m not asking you to upset the man's show; I'm not asking you
to quit at all. I'm only debating what might come to pass if I mar-
ried you and set you up in an apartment then set out to try and be a
good husband. A few weeks of happy wedded bliss, maybe, but as
long as you're as fond of it as you are, it would return. The first
rehearsal that you heard of going on, you'd be hanging around it.
As pretty as you are, they'd sure be propositioning you, I know it.


THE CASE OF MErS. WINGATE 167
You couldn't help feeling flattered. The fact that you'd hang around
is the best evidence of your interest, otherwise you wouldn't be
there. Aw, hang it,” he cried abruptly and disgustingly. “Instead of
being happy as I’d like to be over liking you, I'm miserable,” and he
started walking again.
“But why be miserable, sweetheart. I’ve told you that I’ll devote my
whole life to making you happy. Can a girl promise more?”
“No, Edrina, she cannot,” he said and sighed, deeply, like he was
getting tired. She looked up into his eyes.
“Still you're not convinced. I can see it in your eyes; I can feel it.
Please Sidney,” she went on. “You can't do this to me,” and she
emphasized it by breaking into tears and beating her two fists against
his chest. Then turning her back to him and giving up to tears,
she sobbed: “I’m due some consideration. I”—she was forced to
break off because he caught her and turned her about to face him
suddenly.
“I really want you, Edrina. I want you heart, body and soul.
Can't you see, and can't you feel how unhappy it would be to have
you go and leave me after I had become devoted to you?”
She pulled away and again turning her back on him.
“You say such fine things, and then you unsay them with so
many other words that take the feeling out of the good ones you've
just said. You—you just—hurt me. Treat me like—like I didn't
have any heart at all.” She now turned back and looked up at him,
her eyes filled with sad tears. He met her gaze and seemed so miser-
able and unhappy. She laid her hands gently on him and let the
tears go unchecked.
“How could I go away from you or do anything you didn't want
me to if I loved you and loved you dearly 2 Doesn't loving a person
mean trying to please them; trying to make them happy and con-
tented 7” she said. With a sigh as if to give up, he shuffled, and said:
“There isn't much more I can say, I guess. I’ve become so fond
of you until it is difficult to resist your appeal much longer.”
“I give up almost everything dear to a woman: modesty—almost
throw myself at you, and still you won't say that you love me. What
kind of a man are you anyhow, Sidney Wyeth !”
“Just a poor, unfortunate one who wants a wife to be good to him;
to be home when I get there, to love and care for me, to kiss and


168 THE CASE OF MRS. WIN GATF
fondle me, and to repeat it when I leave. That is all.”
“Then you don't believe I'd do all that? That it would make me
happy to do so? *
“I think you would do all that, Edrina, and make a beautiful
job of it. I believe you'd be so good and sweet to me, I’d be the
happiest man on earth; but I'm afraid that one day in the midst of
this bliss, when I returned home—” he broke off and turned his
face away. She didn't follow him this time, but just stood looking
at him, sadly, pitifully. He turned back to her and tried again to
be brave and honest.
“That is why I don't want to say that I love you, Edrina. Still,
you know that I do,” he said. She made no answer for she had
spent herself for words to try to convince him of her fidelity. He
moved toward the door now. She stood still, saying nothing, doing
nothing. At the door he paused and turned back. .
“So come, dear,” he called. “It’s time to go. There's no use for
us to argue longer. When you're convinced regarding all we’ve
talked about, convinced yourself, then you'll come to me and say it
and when you do I’ll believe you. You feel that you mean it now—but
you don't. And I won't say that I love you until you convince me
and say so of your own volition.” She still stood where he had left
her, face down, but crying no longer. She had listened soberly to
all that he said. Now she turned and walked slowly towards him.
He looked down at her sadly, but said no further words. Then
suddenly, and in a burst of emotion, pent-up emotion, she threw
her arms about him and cried :
“Oh, Sidney, Sidney !” and fell to weeping all over again, this
time, as though broken-hearted. It was minutes later before he had
succeeded in calming, her, and they were able to leave the dressing
1 OO111.
Outside, he put her in the car and drove her straight to her room,
and kissed her good night. As he drove away, he decided that since
he was so bewildered and upset, to drive on through to New York
that night, which he did.


ºn XIII
WO DAYS LATER in New York, he received the
following Telegram:
“HOW COULD YOU LEAVE TOWN WITH-
OUT COMING BY AGAIN TO SEE MEP DIS-
TRESSED. SHOW MOVING ON TO PITTSBURGH
TONIGHT. PLEASE WRITE ME AT ONCE, CARE
OF ELMORE THEATRE THERE, THEN CALL ME
PITT 5-6783, 11 P.M. SUNDAY NIGHT. YOUR
HEART-BROKEN
E D R I N A
Wyeth turned his entire attention to his work at the office for the
next few days to try to forget all about it, at least until Sunday
night, when he would call her.
He arrived at the office while Marie was out, having reached
New York around five A.M., sought a few hours sleep, then hurried
to the office, feeling no worse for his night's drive from Washington.
He hurriedly penned Edrina a brief note, sealed, stamped and
went into the hall and posted it, special. No sooner had he returned
to his desk when Marie came back from lunch. She stopped and cried
in surprise:
“Why, Mr. Wyeth, you, back!” She relaxed then and crossed to
him, shaking his hand. After removing her hat and coat she brought
her note book and pencil and for an hour took letters and checked
accumulated matters, which needed his attention.
“Now,” said he, at the end of that time, “that everything is
started again, what's been happening since I’ve been away?”
“Plenty,” replied Marie.
“Plenty?” he repeated, curiously, a bit anxiously.
“Just what I said,” said Marie. “Nothing sensational, altogether.
Only the usual number of murders up here, women have been killing
i
*
169


170 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
their husbands and men, sort of reversing the order in Harlem,”
and both laughed.
“Well,” said he, still smiling, “since we don't happen to ever be
involved in any of the murders, being of the peaceful variety, what's
been going on at the office that might be of interest to me?”
“Well,” she said. “You’ve had a visitor, among other things.”
“A visitor? A process server, perhaps,” he said, and she laughed.
“We seem to be about caught up on suits. Old film suits, the
book business is too inconspicuous to attract suits, it seems.”
“Nobody thinks we are making enough money to make suing us
worth while,” said he and they both laughed again. “But getting
back to the visitor. If not a process server or the marshal, then
who?”
“The prettiest girl you ever saw.”
“A pretty girl?”
“I must change that. You haven't seen her. The prettiest one I
ever saw, just about, at least.”
“And she called here to see me? Are you sure it was not to see
Thompson? That's who all the pretty girls come to the office to see.”
“Not this girl. I don't think she'd take a second look at Thompson.
Especially, after she looked at him once and saw there was nothing
in his pretty round head, nothing on his face but a smile, that eternal
and winning, or intended winning smile. No, she was here to see you,
and is coming back.” -
“My, this is getting interesting. A pretty girl to see me, oh, no.
There must be a mistake, unless it was somebody trying to get into
the movies?” -
“No,” said Marie, with a twinkle, but quite firmly. “She wasn't
trying to get into the movies.”
“Then whatever could a pretty girl want to see me about, if not
to try to get into the movies? Come on, 'fess up, else I'll think
you are playing a joke on me.”
“No,” said Marie. I’m not playing any joke. The girl was here,
bought a copy of the book, then decided to take another copy, and
paid me for both. I invited her to be seated, which she did and we
then had a long, interesting talk.”
“Well, that was $5.50 worth of interest at least, and purchases
are always interesting to us. Exactly, then, what did she want?”
~


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 171
“To be frank about it, I don't know,” admitted Marie. “She didn't
tell me. But she's coming back, so if you'll be patient and in the
office for a few days, you will get to meet her for she will be back.”
“M-m,” he mused, thoughtfully
“Not only is she one of the prettiest girls I ever saw, but one of
the nicest.” said Marie. r
“A colored girl?” -
“She wouldn't mean that much to us.”
“Oh, of course. I wouldn't be saying all this about—a white girl.
“Of course not,” he said, understandingly.
“Added to this,” said Marie, “she is one of the most intelligent.”
“You mean,” queried Wyeth, “Educated?”
“I mean both,” replied Marie, with restrained enthusiasm.
“I found her educated, intelligent, refined and just downright
nice, with all the rest.”
“She seems to have impressed you, I must say, and greatly.”
“And she will you, when you meet her,” Marie insisted.
“Go on, I’m really interested by now. As stated, she seems to
have made a great impression on you.”
“And I repeat, she will on you, when you meet her, too.”
“How do you know?” - -
“Because you like intelligent people, sensible people. People who
have something interesting to talk about. And, oh, in my enthusiasm,
I forgot to explain that she's read your book—took it home, sat down,
so she said, and didn't get up until she finished the over 400 pages
of it. She said she liked every word; said that it was magnificent,
is now reading it over again and studying it this time, and wants
to talk with you about it”
“I’m glad,” he said, modestly.
“She said that in addition to a fine and interesting story, well told,
that there is so much sound and interesting philosophy throughout
the whole book. She insists, among other words of praise and de-
light, that it is easily the most interesting and worth-while novel of
Negro life ever published, and I was sincere when I agreed with
her.”
“That's saying a great deal,” he commented.
“Well, I don't know,” she observed. “What has a Negro written
during the last few years about us, at least, that could be called fine


172 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
and beautiful, unless it is the story told in your book.”
, “Nothing so fine and beautiful,” said he, “but the white people,
and especially the critics, sure raved about ‘Nature's Child’.”
“‘Nature's Child' " she exclaimed, vehemently. “That sordid,
filthy, and foul narrative, built around the adventures of a trifling,
worthless, good-for-nothing, unfortunate Negro ! Incidentally this girl
has read it and shares the same views of most of us Negroes regard-
ing it.”
“What is there about this girl that has put you into such a state
of excitement and enthusiasm f What's her name?”
“Schultz, that's her name. Bertha Schultz,” said Marie, finding
and showing him the card that Bertha had given her. He looked at
it and seemed to admire it.
“M-m. Sounds like a German name,” he mused. She looked up.
“I think she's of German extraction,” said Marie. “And, come to
think of it, I think I recall that she had a slight German accent.”
“You’re getting into deep waters. A colored girl, highly educated
and intelligent, critical, and with a German accent? Now who is
this person?”
“She’s been here twice and each time I have found her so interest-
ing, until I’ve been fascinated, and haven't asked her so much about
herself, but now that we discuss her, there is something just a bit
mysterious about her.”
“Becoming mysterious now. Go on.”
“Well,” she said, “come to think of her, that's my impression. She
appears to have all she needs, dresses tastily, but very conservative.
She says that she is engaged in research, but didn't say who for.”
“So you discussed Nature's Child, eh? Had she read ‘Passion’?”
“Yes.” -
“And what did she think of it?”
“She wonders why our group are so excited about it.”
“A strange sort of book.”
“Must be something. It's become a best-seller overnight. We are
selling as many of it without trying very hard, as we are your book.”
“Our people have an inferior complex,” he said, thoughtfully.
“And are not aware of it. If a Negro wrote anything like that and
played them down half as much as they are in this book, they'd


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE - 173
want to have him killed—shot at sunrise,” she said, shaking her
head. -
“I got so I couldn't express an honest opinion in my pictures. Yet
those were the kind that drew. I'm finding that I like writing. I
can say what I feel and not have some theatre owner jump on me
and want to cut our check, or cancel my picture because some Negro
came out of the theatre and said: “How come he put something
like that in a picture? We're trying to get away from that stuff.’”
“The Negro,” observed Marie, “wants history, especially as far
as he's concerned, obliterated. He wants the public to feel that he
started right here on Seventh Avenue, with all thought of slavery and
bondage rubbed out.”
“But getting back to Miss Schultz.”
“Yes, of course. We've digressed, as we often do,” and looking
up at him she smiled, tolerantly.
“It is both strange and peculiar how we Negroes and our white
Americans differ so with regards to us.”
“We're as far apart from the standpoint of views as two groups
could be. Now with regards to Nature's Child, which Miss Schultz
and I discussed at great length, we can see nothing but a story of
the worst side of us, yet the white people called it the great “psycho-
logical' novel, which we debated, too, and tried to understand what
they meant.”
“And—” he started and broke off.
“That the psychological angle was simply the psychology of a
worthless, depraved Negro under favorable conditions, to commit a
foul and horrible crime. It seems so easy for them to conceive us
in any distorted role, and so hard to picture us as just plain Ameri-
cans, living in most part, a normal, conventional life.”
“They don't consider that we have or live a normal and conven-
tional life,” he said, blandly.
“It seems that way,” she said with an unhappy sigh.
“Now this Miss Schultz. Did she say where she attended school.
You referred to her being educated"
“Educated—and how !” exclaimed Marie. “At Heidelberg and
the Sorbonne.”
“Whew l’” he cried.
“Graduated from both.”


174 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Whew " He cried, shaking his head.
“I can see you and her talking for hours.”
“I can't imagine myself being able to talk to anybody with so much
education as she must have.”
“But she's easy to talk to. Asks a lot of questions—like you, for
instance,” and she looked up at him with an amused twinkle, which
made him smile. Sidney Wyeth had a reputation for asking people
more questions than any other man.
“I told her,” went on Marie, “that you'd ask her all about herself.
I’d like to be around when you and her meet.”
“Has she met Thompson?” He asked.
She looked up, amused.
“Do you know, that sap ran in one day while she was here.”
“And P”
“When he saw her, he went into action quick, and then almost as
quickly as he started, stopped.”
“Why?”
“She began to ask him questions; questions that he could have
answered readily, if traveling all over the country as he has with
you had taught him anything—but of course, Thompson knows
nothing but to make that silly attempt at love, which didn't get to
first base with her.”
“Then what happened?”
“He sneaked away after a few minutes and let her alone.”
“What's he doing in Baltimore, anyhow 2°
“Oh, this teacher, whom he got mixed up with down there, has
put the rascal to work.”
“Yes?”
“And how. You know that he could never get anything to do, being
a musician, you always tried to get him to go out on a gig over the
week-end, to pick up some extra money.”
“He was never able to get a job during all the years he was with
us. I remember, and how.”
“Not a single one, not even a gig; but all that's changed since she
got hold of the boop down there.”
“How So?”
“She finds him jobs, and as quickly as he loses or gets fired from
one, she quickly puts him on another. His hands are as hard as a


THE • CASE OF MFS. WINGATE 175
laborer’s.” Both laughed at this.
“Good for the teacher.”
“He came back to the office after he met Miss Schultz, but she
had gone. Looking around, he stalled a moment, then finally said to
me: “Who was that old smart gal, and what does she think she is
anyhow 7"
“And that's what I'm curious to find out. Who is this girl, and
what's it all about anyhow?”
“You’ll soon find out,” she said, and smiling, plunged into her
work.
Over at the Schultz apartment in the meantime, matters were
just so-so. Mrs. Wingate had returned to Atlanta, leaving Early on
the anxious seat, since they had decided that she should tell Mr. Win-
gate about her baby within three months, and at the most favorable
opportunity. Early had left the hotel when she went away and took a
moderate apartment in another section of Harlem and came ovel
to the Schultz's more or less every night.
Heinrich had business most every day, staying late into the night
downtown with Hans Schiller, where they were making plans to
be put into immediate operation, provided America was ultimately
pushed into the war on the side of England.
Bertha reported on her visits to Wyeth's office, advising that he
was still out of the City. Meanwhile, Early was anxious for a
showdown on getting Wyeth's consent to do the hate picture, so
he was kept busy preparing for this showdown by compiling a
mass of facts to try show Wyeth why he should do it.
While Bertha's calls at the office were not to spy, they naturally
talked about Wyeth and the fact that he was out of the city, which
kept Kermit from calling for this showdown until he could catch
Wyeth.
As was generally known, America wanted none of Europe's
war, but was being slowly pushed in that direction. Down at Hans
Schiller's office, this fact was debated freely, and their movement
to keep America out of the war had a long and popular following,
and meetings and plenty of speaking every night, always found a
group ready and anxious to listen. Father Coughlin came in for
lots of praise. His anti-semitic leaning was daily becoming more


176 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
obvious, and his picture decorated the walls of many places especially
in Yorktown. -
At his room the night after Wyeth returned to New York, he
sat down and wrote Edrina the following letter:
Dearest Edrina:
“I decided after leaving you, and all of a sudden, to
return to New York, so of course, I had no chance to
communicate the fact to you since I had just left you. In
addition, I am given to acting on impulses, and which I did,
as explained. Also my office needed my presence, and am
glad I came back as there was so much unfinished business
on my desk that it was well for me to have returned for
now that has all been cleaned up and I feel much better
for having returned.
“Hanging around Washington would only have caused
me to grow more fond of you and I am too fond of you,
under the circumstances, already for my own good. In this
case it seems to be more love, more pain, so what! How-
ever, I will call you at Pittsburgh Sunday night as you've
asked me to, but to be frank about it, I think it best for
us to end our little affair at the earliest opportunity while I
still possess some self-control, leaving you to continue your
stage ambitions without discouragement on my part.
“Frankly, I am sorry for both of us, and take full respon-
sibility for letting it go this far. But it will be easier to
agree to disagree now and have it over with, leaving you
free to continue on the stage which you love so much, with-
out having to listen to my objections and pointing out dire
possibilities, than to prolong it.
“In conclusion, please believe me when I say that this
hurts me more than it could possibly hurt you, all things
considered, but I believe that in the long run, you will be
glad I have taken this stand, to forget each other and re-
main -
“Cordially and Sincerely
“S ID N E Y W Y E TH"
When Edrina received the letter in Pittsburgh, it made her sad,
for at the time she was lonely, and the letter naturally added to this
feeling of melancholy.
“Oh, Sidney,” she weeped. “How could you do this to me—and
I’ve learned to love you so.” She felt sure that she loved him, the


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 177
cold and reserved Sidney, as she pictured him. She cried herself
to sleep that night.
Came Sunday, a beautiful day. The state didn't permit stage
shows on Sunday, so she managed to get through a long, boresome
day, trying to read so the time would go faster. It seemed ages
before eleven o'clock that night finally rolled around, with her
expectantly waiting.
Promptly at the appointed hour, the call came through. However
hard a time as she was having to try to convince him that she could
be the kind of girl he wanted for a wife, she knew that she could
depend on him to keep his word. So picking up the receiver, she
called: “Yes. Miss Vinson on the phone.” She had never heard
his voice over the telephone before, so she was not at first sure that
it was him.
“This is Sidney in New York, Edrina. How are you, dear?”
After writing her such a letter, now he was talking so nicely. In
a moment she was crying, but managed to reply.
“Oh, Sidney,” she sobbed. “I received and read that awful letter,
and how could you send anything like that to a poor unhappy girl
like me?” -
“I’m sorry, dear,” he replied. “It hurt me to have to write it, but I
think we ought to face facts as they exist and not try to brush them
by and make out like they are not there. So I was just trying to be
frank and honest with you, that's all.”
“Listen, Sidney,” she cried, interrupting. “I understand you and
please don't scold me. A girl alone in the world as I am, has to
make a living, her living, and I have always tried to make an honest
one. Is that right, Sidney, or wrong?”
“It's right, of course, Edrina. I—”
“You intimated from the beginning that you cared for me and I
have been awfully happy about it ever since; but you won't say more,
so what can I do? Well, if you won't speak, you leave no alternative,
but for me to do so. To prove that I am sincere and want to please
you, I've decided to quit the show here when it closes next Saturday
night and go home for a while to Louisville. So it is up to you
from there on. I love you, Sidney, and—goodbye.” So saying, she
hung up so abruptly that on the New York end, he was surprised


178 THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE
and shocked, and thought for a moment that the phone had gone
haywire.
In his room then, it was he who was both upset and annoyed.
He had been thinking seriously of calling it quits. He found now
that he had become more fond of Edrina than he thought, than he
had planned to become. He still knew, and realized it from the outset,
that he had no intention of falling in love with a show girl, any show
girl.
So he rose to his feet and walked the floor for a long time, trying
to make his mind up what to do. One thing he could neither overlook
or forget, and that was that he had hurt her, and that was neither
right or fair. Because she was stage-struck and harbored dreams as
regards it, was not enough to condemn her; to injure her and make-
her feel as she evidently was feeling. And the fact that he had no
confidence in any show girl, show girls could still have hearts, that
could be hurt as well as any other girl, and he had never gone in
for hurting anybody and then remain callous to the injury he had
caused. So the longer he walked the floor, the more did he become
convinced that he should now do something to appease her. Still,
stubbornly, he refused to give in. He undressed and went to bed to
sleep it off but sleep refused to come. So he sat up, got up, walked
around again for a while, then ended it all by sitting down at a
table to pen her the following note:
Dearest Edrina:
“You have upset me entirely and completely. I cannot
stand to see you hurt and unhappy like this, because of me. I
do love you, Edrina, if I must say it. I love you more than
I realized. I fear that before it is all over it will be you who
will be breaking my heart.
“Now, if you really mean to give up the stage, my dear
I hope it is of your own volition and not just to please me,
and think you can be content and happy for the rest of
your life as a plain and simple housewife, then I ask you,
dear Edrina, to marry me. -
“I will lease a nice apartment for you here in New York
and when the time comes, go with you and we can pick the
furniture together to your own taste . . I am willing to do
anything that I know how from now on with a view to pleas-
ing you and making you happy . . . My only hope in doing
so is that you will not, sooner or later, break it all up by


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 179
slipping out and going back on the stage again. If you feel
that you don't care to do this, I'll try to make you the
best husband any girl ever had . . . -
“My cards are on the table now, where I have laid them,
face up. From now on it is up to you. Please try to under-
stand and appreciate before you answer, that you are still
free, and can refuse and reject my offer and that I will try
to accept it, if to the contrary, graciously and in good spirit.
If you do accept it, however, try to understand that I've
always wanted a fine, dignified and intelligent lady for a
wife and such a kind of woman wouldn't want to go traip-
sing off with some show, and the kind of show you are now
in, one liable to close at the end of any engagement and
without notice.
“I do not want that kind of a girl, now or ever for any
wife of mine, which I hope is plain and clear.
“Now please think this all over, soberly and carefully,
before you leave the show and while still in Pittsburgh,
and still later on while vacationing in Louisville, and wait
and then, if you care to, you can give me your answer. Please
understand that I do not wish to influence you in any way;
just want you to act on your own in considering my offer,
altogether. As long as you are single you are free to think
and do as you wish to without any regard for me. I want
to feel that if you marry and come to live with me as a wife,
I want it to be a good wife as I shall, in turn, try to be a
good husband. It takes more in each case than mere affection
and emotion for either of us to be successful in such an
event. It is up to both of us to exert an effort, to make
an occasional sacrifice and think of how each other might
feel about a decision of importance thereafter before ar-
riving at such a decision on our own.
“If all I’ve tried to say is now clear and understandable,
dear, then write to me at your earliest convenience what you
want me to do, and I will try, gladly, to comply with your
every wish.
“Affectionately,
“S I D N E Y’’
After reading it through and deciding that it was about what he
wanted to say, Wyeth folded it in an envelope, sealed and stamped
it and laid it on his clothes, to be posted when he got up a few
hours later, for it was now long past midnight and he was relieved
to feel that he could sleep at last, which he did after retiring. He


180 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
went right off to sleep and didn't awaken until hours later, feeling
fresh and entirely rested.
Two afternoons later in Pittsburgh where she had received the
letter in the afternoon mail, Edrina was happy and was in the act
of shouting for joy and reading it over again when there was a
light and familiar knock on her door. “It couldn't be Donald,” she
thought aloud, for he was in New York, or at least was supposed
to be. Anyway, after a pause, she called: ~
“Come in,” turned and waited, eyes on the door. It was
pushed open, and, stepping through, wearing a flashy fedora hat,
carrying his cane, for Donald always carried a large, heavy and
attractive cane, and dressed up as slick as a shiek, was no other than
whom Wyeth called the little prince himself. Edrina's mouth opened,
but he spoke first.
“Aw, Edrina, I'll bet that you're surprised,” and laughing, closed
the door as she cried, shocked like.
“Why Donald, you!” She had the letter in her hand and didn't
want to let him see it, or to talk about it just then.
“I arrived about an hour ago. Got a telegram from Mantan to join
him here, which I will talk about later.” He was hanging up his hat
and cane and turned in time to catch her trying to conceal the letter
behind her. -
“Au, au, au,” he cried, pointing at her. “You’re hiding something
from me, honey bunch. You don't have to do that,” he said, coming
up to her. “I’m the daddy that understands all things and sympa-
thizes freely, if sympathy is needed, you know, kid.” She tried to
side-step his curiosity by changing to something else.
“No need to, you know, for here I am, in the flesh,” and he laughed,
jauntily. “In the flesh and in person. Now come,” he said, “what
are you trying to hide?” He tried to see what it was but she kept on
turning so that he could not.
“Why—why didn't you—let me know?”
“Sit down, Donald,” she said, drawing up a chair and as she did so,
he could and did see the envelope.
“Oh, a letter. Only a letter. Why were you trying to hide it from
me?”
“Oh, I didn't want to talk about it—just now at least.”
“I see,” he said, sinking down on the chair. She continued to


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 181
stand. She was dressed only in her lounging robe, and of a sudden
one of her teaties poped forth and hung out. He smiled as she
quickly covered it and smiled, embarrassingly.
“Bet I can guess who the letter is from,” said he, ignoring the
sudden exposure. She didn't answer, so he went on.
“Must have said something of importance; maybe asked you to
marry him, eh?”
“Oh, Donald,” she said evasively. “You mustn't ask me such
questions. Such intimate questions. I told you I didn't want to talk
about it just now. Now you want to know all about what he said.”
“Just a friendly interest, Edrina.” He paused, thought a moment,
then looked up. “It is from Sidney Wyeth, isn't it?”
Her silence confirmed his words.
“I’m glad, Edrina. I've been hoping for this, and I hope he has
asked you to marry him. If he has, grab him and run. He's a good
man, will make you a fine husband. I'm—" and then he was sudden-
ly cut off.
“But Donald, dear. I—” she started, her face suddenly emotion-
al. He raised a hand, a commanding hand and kept her from saying
more. He got up and walked up to her, his eyes straight into hers.
“Don’t be a fool, girl. I mean that.” He looked hard at her and
she understood what he meant.
“If you’d—” woman-like, she began again, and again he raised
a hand, his eyes flashing impatiently.
“I’m not, Edrina,” he began sharply. “We’ve been over that time
and time again, enough so that you ought to understand. You do
understand, but you're still vain and full of illusions, and I've been
trying to get that out of you ever since and you know it.”
“Well,” she said, “I just—” -
“I can't do you any good. I've made it as plain as I could, over
and over again that I'm not a marrying man; and that I don't want
any wife. But I won't stand in a good man's way. You've got to
eat, pay room rent, purchase a change of clothes now and then and
all that takes money. You're liable not to be able to do any of these
things, fooling around with this kind of a show. And you'd be sure
to go hungry waiting on me. You've got a chance now to step into
a berth of security. Don't fool around and let it get away. Grab
the man I tell you and run and keep on running along with him, and


182 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
forget me and show business in general. There's nothing to it any
more.”
He walked across the room now, his hands behind him. She
looked after him and tried to weigh what he had said. It seemed
hard for her to do so and she was still not satisfied. By a window,
he paused and looked idly out over smoky Pittsburgh, and twiddled
his thumbs behind him for a moment, then presently turning, came
back across the room to her.
“If Wyeth has asked you in that letter to marry him, write him
‘yes’ today, then do whatever he wants you to from then on, Get
what I mean?”
She nodded her head lightly, still anxious to begin what she had
wanted to start, all over again. He saw it and his frown deepened.
“And again, and for the last time, give up any ideas about me,
secret or otherwise, and this show, too, for that matter,” he said and
turned away again. She looked at him, then stepped forward and
catching up with him:
“What do you mean—about the show?” she said and waited, curi-
ously, a bit anxiously. He turned and looked at her a moment be-
fore answering
“It's closing.”
“Closing?” she echoed, startled-like.
“Yes, Edrina. Closing here in Pittsburgh Saturday night, this
Saturday night and not the next or the next,” he said, and turned
his eyes away. -
“Oh,” she breathed in surprise, and lowered her eyes thoughfully,
and in spite of her telling Wyeth over the telephone two nights
before that she was leaving the show, she was obviously disappointed,
keenly so. Meanwhile, Howard turned back and continued:
“We had only three weeks, two in Washington and this one here.
We tried hard to get more, but were not successful, so we’re closing
Saturday night, and that is that. It’s the same old story, more theatres
and more theatres are giving up stage shows, preferring to take their
chance on pictures. They say they don't want to be bothered with
stage hands and orchestras and performers and union demands. It's
too many headaches and arguments for the extra money they make,
so again, that is that,” and he shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
“So the show is closing,” she murmured, more to herself than to


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 183
him “and I don't have to quit after all.” He heard her and turned to
her.
“So you were going to-quit, anyhow,” he said, a note of surprise
in his voice. “On account of Wyeth?”
She nodded affirmatively.
“Oh, so it's gone that far, eh?” Again she nodded, her eyes down-
cast. “He didn't want you in a show, did he?” She shook her head
to indicate that he didn't. /
“Good. And keep it that way. You should be happy.”
“I’m glad you told me. I was going to give Mantan my notice to-
night,” she said slowly.
“Won't need to now. That's why Mantan sent for me, for me to
dish out the bad news. He's gone back to New York. I've got to
stay until the end of the week and face the music if there isn't
enough in the till from our share to pay off Saturday night.”
“I hope I get what's due me. I need it to go home on. I'd like to
have a few dollars left after I get there, too.”
“I’ll do the best I can. Most of them will want fare back to New
York, and that has to come out first.”
“I’m going to Louisville,” she said.
“To visit your mother and sisters? That's nice,” said he.
“Mantan will perhaps organize another show in New York, don't
you think,” she said. The show was still on her mind. “Or, maybe,
rearrange this one?” -
“Perhaps. It's his living, you know.”
“I was thinking,” she began hesitantly.
Immediately his face lit up again with a deep frown, and he
glared at her:
“Don’t do it, Edrina,” he exclaimed, “for if you are doing any
thinking or going to do any, I know what it will be about—shows.
That's on your mind so completely until its become an obsession. I
can't see why you don't do a little thinking and try to be sensible.”
“Now, now, Donald,” she said, putting a hand on his arm,
more calm than he expected. “Don’t get so excited and so quickly.
I'm going to take your advice and marry Wyeth and be as nice to
him as I can.” Again he turned upon her with impatience and sus-
picion.
“What do you mean by being as nice as you can’’ he said, his
eyes glaring at her.


184 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“Just that. Isn't that all I can do? Be as nice to him as I can be?”
“Sounds a bit suspicious to me,” he muttered, not entirely satis-
fied. “You’d better be sure it's good and nice and not just partly.
If Wyeth was some ham actor, with a head and mind full of illu-
sions and a hot dog only in his stomach, you'd probably be terribly
concerned and worried about him. As it is—well, what's the use,”
he said, shrugging his shoulders in disgust.
“I’m going to marry him and be a good wife,” she insisted now, a
bit more positively. “Now does that sound all right?”
“Sounds better if you mean it and intend to stick to it,” he agreed
and seemed a bit more satisfied.
“There was something else on my mind that made me sound
a bit indifferent,” she said now. “That's what's worrying me at the
moment.”
“What is it?” he said, turning and coming closer.
“If I marry Wyeth, I've got to get a-divorce first,” she said, her
eyebrows knitted.
“Oh,” he echoed, in another tone. -
“And that's what's worrying me,” she said moving around, her
face clouded with annoyance. She twisted her hands and didn't seem
to know what to do. -
“Can you—get it? Will that little darkey you're married to out
in Louisville give it to you?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, reassuringly. “He wouldn't go to the trouble
to contest it. Besides, we've been apart for years. He doesn't care.”
“That's another reason for your going to Louisville, eh?”
“Yes.” -
“Then why are you—worried?” he asked, and looked at her. She
looked back at him with a deep frown. -
“Why?” she exclaimed. “You should know. It takes money to
get a divorce and you know that I have none.”
“The money,” he muttered, as if to himself and thoughtfully.
“Yes, of course.” -
“So what am I going to do?” she said, still frowning, and look-
ing at him, helplessly. He walked around the room, thinking deeply
as he did so. Presently paused, perked up, turned and looked at her,
eyes flashing with an idea.
“I have it!” he exclaimed, raising his hand and gesturing with
the forefinger of same.


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 185
She turned to him with a hope that flashed suddenly across her
features. -
“Have what? The money?”
His smile and enthusiasm was replaced quickly by an impatient
frown.
“Oh, no, of course not.”
Her face fell then and she muttered in a sort of undertone.
“I thought not.” She said, turning her eyes back to him. “Then
what is this sudden and big idea that made you say, I have it?”
“I meant that I had an idea where you could get it.”
“Oh,” she said, and relaxed without enthusiasm. Then as if to:
see just what he was talking about, turned back to him.
“Where?” she asked.
“From Wyeth?" -
“From Wyeth !” she exclaimed “What do you mean, from
Wyeth?” a
“Just what I say. From Wyeth,” he insisted, coming closer.
“You’re crazy,” she said and turned away as if in disgust, then
after a step or two, turned back. -
“I haven't even told him that I was married. He doesn't know
that I am. Then”—she said, breaking off, “Oh, they say you never
had an idea that ever got anybody a dollar. Now you're proving it.”
“Then tell him,” said Howard, ignoring her last remark.
She turned to glare at him.
“How do you suppose he's going to feel? Haven't even told him
that I was married, now to up and tell him that I am and to give me
the money to get a divorce so that I can marry him is some nerve,
hump!” and she turned her back on him as she finished.
“Oh, girl,” he said, taking hold of her and turning her about to
face him. “Quit being a child. You're a grown woman and all grown
women have been married at least once, most maybe two or three
times. Anyway,they've always been married once and Wyeth would
understand that.” She paused and her eyes took on new hope. She
turned back to him.
“Do you—think I—could,” she said as if she was daring.
“Think you could—what?” he didn't seem to understand.
“Tell him that—that I’ve been married?”
“Of course you can,” he cried.
“And—an'—he wouldn't get angry?”


186 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Get angry! What for? Of course you can tell him. You should
tell him everything. Be frank and honest for once.”
“Oh, if I only could,” she murmered with a sigh, more to herself
than to him.
“But why can't you? Wyeth is, among other things, a practical
man. That's another reason you should grab the chance to marry
him. He'll be easy to live with if you could start being frank and
honest and truthful with him. Then he'd trust you.”
“Yes, trust me.” She turned to him again. “You know, that's
what’s been the holdback. He hasn’t been inclined to trust me.”
“Why?” he said, looking straight at her. “Been reading your
mind, maybe? Sees you're crazy about the stage—stage-struck, yes,
that's it and he isn't going for that for the simple reason that he
knows, like everybody seems to know and appreciate but you, that
there's nothing to it.” y
“Not only that, but he's said so much about—bad morals among
show girls.”
“He is right.”
“Says they have white men—even play up to them and run after
them if they have a chance.”
“They do. He was right again.”
“But I don't do that, never have and I never will.”
“You never have. That is true. You can't tell what you might
do if you keep on fooling around with show work.”
“That's what he says. That's what he's been afraid of.”
“Smart man. He's looking ahead. Still, he's asked you to marry
him, hasn't he?”
“Finally. That's what's in this letter.” She held it up.
“Good,” he cried. “That can be the end of his distrust, providing
you don't do anything to bring it all up again. It's up to you, but
you'd better play straight, and don't think you're going to be able
to play double and fool him. He knows too much about show
business, show people and Negroes all combined not to be able to
see through anything.”
“But getting back to the matter of a divorce,” she said. “You think
then. I should sit down and write him a letter.”
“A nice, sweet letter,” he said.
“And tell him the truth?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 187
“The whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God.”
“And I–maybe I could say that I—I haven't—any—money?”
“Yes, all that, Edrina.”
“—and—”
“No more. He'll understand even if you didn't say that you had
no money. Being a broad and practical man, he'd know you wouldn't
have any; that no Negro ever has any.”
“Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful!” she exclaimed, ecstatically.
“What would be wonderful, Edrina?” he inquired. -
“That I could tell him I’ve been married, haven't a divorce, but
want one; and that I haven't any money to—”
“Stop there. You needn't say any more. He'll understand and send
it to you. Besides, he'll send you extra money to take care of you
while you're in Louisville, and money then to come back to New
York when you're ready to marry him.”
“And—and you think he'd do—all that?”
“I know he will,” said Howard, stoutly. “That's what I meant
when I said that he's a man, a real man. Even you have learned that
most Negroes are full of nothing but jive, and promises, and—”
“—like you—never have any money,” she said, “Yes, Donald, I
know that. Only thing.”
“Now what?”
“I wish I had told him that I’d been married.”
“Oh, forget about it. As a practical man, he'd rather you had been
married, at your age. Men don't go for old maids.”
“I’m not old,” she cried, and affected anger.
“Old enough. But getting down to business. So you'll do as I say?
Sit down, write him a sweet, tender and honest letter and tell him
everything?”
“I will, Donald.” She said. He picked up his hat and cane now
and walked toward the door. She followed. There, he turned back
for a last word of counsel.
“And Edrina, from now on try to be sensible, understand?”
“Leave it to me, dear. I’ve got plenty sense.”
“Then start right now to using it and keep it up from now on
Good night.”
“Good night, Donald,” she said, smiling, and closed the door be-
hind him,


carris XIV
T HIS office in New York, late the next afternoon, Sidney
Wyeth received a special delivery letter from Edrina, which
read:
“Darling: -
“Your sweet, sweet and loving letter is at hand, saying that you
love me and asking me to be your wife, and has made me the happiest
girl in all the world.
“Since I had to all but propose and beg you so hard to trust me,
and to believe in me, my answer is almost unnecessary. But since
it pleases and will make me so happy to say yes, I accept and will
be your wife. I do love you, Sidney, however much you have argued
to the contrary, and I will try to be the dearest wife to you that any
man ever had. Now I am going to try to start out by being honest,
frank and truthful to you.
“Because you never gave me any encouragement whatsoever,
Sidney, dear, you kept me in a state of fright and of fear that I
would displease and add to your distrust in me. I was honestly
afraid to tell you that I have been married, and that if you want me
to be your wife, I’ll have to first get a divorce from the man I
married when I was a mere girl, and have been away from for so
long until it doesn't matter.
“To get a divorce, which I plan to secure while in Louisville, will
take money, dear, money that poor Edrina does not have. So I guess
you will scold and make me unhappy all over again for not having
told you, but as explained above, I was afraid to.
“I am hoping, oh, so much, darling, Sidney, that you won't get
angry now, but will be sweet and patient, write me a darling letter
and forgive me and promise to love me forever as I plan to devote
my life to loving you.
“With oodles of love and a thousand kisses, may I remain
“Affectionately,
“E D R IN A*
188


THE CASE OF MErS. WINGATE 189
Wyeth smiled as he finished the letter, and then raising it to his
lips, kissed it. Without delay he reached for a fountain pen on his
coat and wrote her.
Dearest Edrina:
“Yours of recent date, just received, and thank you. You didn't
say if you were well or anything about your health, so I presume
that you are well, otherwise you would have said so in your dear
letter. -
“Please, my dear, don't feel bad about what you didn't tell me.
I surmised that you had been married, and in no way feel either
discouraged or disappointed that you have been, and felt that you'd
have to get a divorce if and when you consented to marry me. I
also surmised that you wouldn't have any money to get it with, so
am assuming this expense.
“However hard I seemed to have been, it is clear that after love,
always comes responsibility and expense, both of which I expect to
assume. This is one of the many reasons that girls should try to
be a little sensible. Love is the sweetest thing on earth—but flies
out the window quickly when there is no food around to eat.
“I will, therefore, go immediately to the post office and forward
you a registered and insured letter, enclosing the cash so that you
won't even have to spend a lot of time being identified so as to get
an order cashed. If you will write me before leaving Pittsburg where
you will be in Louisville, I'll send the money so that it will be wait-
ing when you arrive there. I will enclose a little account book so
that you can keep a record of expenditures, starting a sort of budget
system before we marry even, since I am sure you will find this in
the end a very satisfactory way of keeping a record of expenses. I
presume that you will retain a lawyer and enter proceedings for a
divorce as quickly after you arrive in Louisville as is convenient.
And, of course, I shall be glad to hear from you, among other things,
as to when it might be granted. Naturally, I will be anxious to know
when I may expect you back in New York to become my darling
wife.
“Until I hear from you, please try to think of me as
“Lovingly yours,
w “S ID N E Y''
When Marie arrived at the office the next morning, she found
that Wyeth had been in and had gone to Jersey, by the words of a
trite note, and she knew it would be to stage a sales campaign of
some kind over there. She knew that Wyeth was a restless person,
forever on the go, and, moreover, if he spent any unusual sum of


190 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
money, the first thing he'd think of would be to get it back as quickly
as possible. So since he left the office so early, she had a suspicion
that he'd spent a larger sum than usual, so opened his drawer and
looked at the newest stub in the check book.
It was there, as she suspected. $100.00 to “cash” for “personal.”
Woman like, she had stolen a peek at Edrina's messages and letters,
which he left in the middle drawer of his desk, and never locked it
during his absence.
No sooner had she closed the desk drawer and came out into the
reception room, than in walked Bertha Schultz, dressed more beau-
tifully than ever, smiling and peeping into Wyeth's office at Marie,
in the hope that at last she was going to catch him in and meet him.
“Oh, Bertha—I mean, Miss Schultz,” she began.
“You mean just what you said,” Bertha exclaimed. “Don’t we
know each other well enough by now to drop some of the formality?”
“Why of course,” cried Marie, glad that Bertha had called. She
was pretty well caught up with her work, would have to stay at the
office and was glad that somebody had come in for her to talk to.
“Then it is agreed. We're going to call each other by our first
names from now on,” said Bertha.
“O.K.” said Marie extending her hand which the other grasped
and held, then both broke into laughter. Bertha again glanced into
Wyeth's office and Marie shook her head, sadly.
“Oh, no,” cried Bertha, her tone tense with disappointment.
“Please don't say that I have—missed him again?”
“I’m sorry, but I just came in a few minutes ago and I missed
him even.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” cried Bertha and looked it. She sighed and
Marie got a new idea.
“Well, let's get comfortable. He's gone for the day, and I haven't
much to do, so let's take seats in his office and just talk.” She led
the way, and pointed to a large comfortable leather chair to one
side, or in the corner of the room, while she sat down in Wyeth's
chair behind the desk, which was leather, large, roomy and com-
fortable.
“My,” cried Bertha from the large leather one in the corner,
“but this is a comfortable chair.”
Marie Smiled across at her.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 191
“So is this one,” and she swung backward and around to face
Bertha. “I’m the executive lady in charge, Miss Schultz. I'll hear
your complaint now,” she said in a deep, bass voice.
“By all means,” replied Bertha, affecting her role with humor.
“Well, your honor. It is like this. I've been to this office no end of
times to meet and talk to a certain gentleman called Sidney Wyeth.
He seems to absolutely refuse to be here when I call. What can I
do about it?”
“Well,” said Marie, then placed her chin in her hand and pre-
tended to think deeply, which brought forth a laugh from both.
“Maybe-Mr. Wyeth doesn't care to—meet me,” suggested Bertha
timidly.
“Oh, no, Bertha. That's a mistake. The fact is, he is anxious to
meet you.” Marie paused. “Guess we can't do very good at play,
so let's stay serious.” -
“All right, darling,” said Bertha sweetly.
“Confidentially, Bertha,” Marie went on, “Mr. Wyeth has got
himself mixed up with a girl.”
“Oh, a girl,” repeated Bertha.
“Yes,” replied Marie. In a mood to gossip. “A show girl, and
that was not his intention.”
“No?”
“Absolutely not. My boss in all the years I’ve worked for him, and
as many girls as he has worked during all that time in the many
pictures he made, has always been careful not to let himself become
entangled with any. Now, when we have suspended making pictures
for over two years, he should fool around and let a show girl hook
him is more than I can get used to.”
“But, my dear Marie, I understand that Mr. Wyeth is a man of
decision, quite old enough to—”
“Do what he wants to, yes. But Mr. Wyeth has not wanted to
let himself become involved with any show girl, and this escapade
is something that just slipped up on him.”
“Well, it doesn't seem like any of our business, but I can't blame
myself if you want to talk about it. I know it'll be interesting to
listen to.”
“I brought it up for the reason that if he hadn't done so and
hadn't sent her a hundred dollars just this morning, he'd have been


192 THE CASE OF MRS. WIN GATE
here in the office and you’d have met him.”
“But-" objected Bertha. Marie raised her hand.
“I just wanted to explain that when he puts out that much money
for something he has no business doing, it makes him feel guilty
and to get it off his chest, he jumps out early and he won't stop now
until he's made it back—and perhaps that much more before he
stops—and I mean he'll have it back by tomorrow night.”
“From the way you put it, he must be a good salesman,” com-
mented Bertha.
“That isn't half of it,” cried Marie. “He’s a master salesman—
and doesn't seem to be selling at all.”
“How's that?”
“Just goes along in an easy, unassuming way, plain and simple,
but gets into people's confidence and they fall in line and do what
he wants them to, without seeming to be aware of what they are
doing.”
“Remarkable.”
“He’s a most remarkable person, that's why I hate to see him all
worked up and perhaps engaged to any show girl.”
“Aren't show girls nice?”
“Some of them.”
“Only some?”
“Only some, Bertha. Ever been around them much?”
Bertha shook her head in the negative.
“Well, I have. Lots of experience with them from helping Mr.
Wyeth make pictures.”
“You, helped him * said Bertha, anxiously, curiously.
“Oh, yes. For years, his general assistant. That's where I got
acquainted with show girls—and their ways, from chorus girls up.”
Bertha was listening to Marie closely, Marie continued, not under-
standing of course that Bertha hoped to find out something about
Wyeth's intention and inclination. Having failed to meet him, she
had been unable to tell her brother and Early anything they were
anxious to know. Now as Marie was in the mood to talk, maybe
to gossip only, it was a chance to find out just how Wyeth
reacted to various angles which might help her to know more about
him without Marie suspecting just why she was so interested.
“Many of the show girls are bad,” went on Marie. “Most when


.THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 193
they start—at least, are young and vain, subject to flattery, which
they get lots of, and that perhaps gets them started—and how so
many do perform” exclaimed Marie and shook her head woefully.
“I hardly know anything they wouldn't do. I suppose white show
girls are just as vain and carry on the same as do our girls, but they
can do so without being noticed, because the men they play with
are men of their own race. But our colored men, except Mr. Wyeth
and Mr. Mantan, rarely run their shows. So the girls are at the mercy
of the men who promote the shows, run the night clubs and hire
our girls. As a result, and feeling that if they are ‘nice' to these
Italians and Jews who operate the night clubs, they'll get to go
places, it seems logical for them then to play up to these men, under-
stand?”
“Of course,” said Bertha. “I follow you. Please go on.”
“Well, as a result, their conduct as a whole is just rotten. Most
men operating night clubs, grills and cabarets, are sporting life
characters, gamblers, and ofttimes, former pimps and racketeers,
so playing around with the women forced to work for them is their
specialty. In fact, directly or indirectly, they keep most of them, the
owner or his managers, and nobody has complained more about this
than Mr. Wyeth. So you can see why I am provoked that he should
go and let himself become all enamoured with one, send her money
and I'm afraid, plans to marry her.”
“Really?”.
“Well, I think so. He wouldn't be sending her $100.00 if he hadn't
planned something like that. He isn't a man that runs around or
keeps women like most show men.”
“No?”
“Oh, no. In all the years I’ve worked for him, I don't think he
has ever kept a woman.”
“He’s not married, as I understand it?”
“No, he isn't married,” replied Marie.
“Ever been P” -
“Yes. A long time ago. Had trouble, something sad and which
ended with a tragedy and it was that which caused him to start
writing.”
“I see. What are his inclinations P’’
“A domesticated man, entirely; a marrying man, and would make


194 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
the right kind of girl a good husband for he is home loving and
wants a home. But he's off on the wrong trail and I know it, and
I'm annoyed.”
“I don't wonder. Just who is the girl? Did you ever meet her?”
“Yes, I met her. She seemed to be all right.”
“Is she-pretty?”
“Quite pretty,” replied Marie, “but she's stage struck and I’ve a
feeling that no good is going to become of it and before it's all over,
he's going to be sorry he let himself get mixed up with her.”
“This is interesting,” said Bertha.
“Mr. Wyeth is an interesting man and a good man, and has no
business getting himself mixed up with any actress.”
“You know, as you talk about him, I begin to associate him with
the man in his book.”
“It is, in a measure, his own story,” said Marie. “His life of hell.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed Bertha, rising to her feet and coming over
to Marie and sitting down on the desk to face her. “From the
moment that story began, there was something about it that made
it read, in most part, anyhow, like the events had actually happened.”
“Yes, they happened,” said Marie, “and the tragic part about it,
is that it happened to him, to Sidney Wyeth himself.”
“This is so interesting. And the girl he wrote at such length about?”
“That was his wife.” -
“Oh, my l’exclaimed Bertha, her eyes opening wide. “Just think
of it. According to the story, she seemed like a good girl?”
“She was.”
“Is that so?” exclaimed Bertha again, all interest. “But she was
weak.”
“Yes,” said Marie. “That, if you studied the book, was the cause
of all the trouble.”
“The book is a fine study of human psychology.”
“A wonderful study,” said Marie.
“And now he's in love with a-show girl,” said Bertha, looking
down.
“Thinks he is,” said Marie.
“But you don't think it is genuine, real?”
“It could be, if she'd do right by him.”
“What do you mean?”


THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE 195
“As I view this girl before she went out again with Mantan's
show, she has stage ambitions, is stage-struck.”
“Oh,” echoed Bertha.
“Knowing Mr. Wyeth as I do, his engagement to her is with the
understanding that she's to leave the stage.”
“And you don't think she will want to.”
“When a girl is stage-struck, nothing but to stride across the
stage before the footlights will ever satisfy her.”
“Then you think that she may have agreed to give it up just to
please him?”
“That's it exactly,” said Marie.
“And as quickly as she's married to him, she'll find a way to go
back on the stage and being closer to him then than she could ever
get before marrying him, she plans to then persuade him to let her?”
“My, how plain you make it,” exclaimed Marie, smiling up at
Bertha. “But that's just the way she has it all planned.”
“To fool him,” suggested Bertha.
“It would amount to that,” observed Marie.
“Isn't a very good way to hold a husband.”
“You nor I would do it, but this Edrina, that's her name, is a
show girl. And as I’ve said, I don't know anything they wouldn't
do. So inveigling Mr. Wyeth into marrying her, knowing all the
time that she doesn't intend to keep any promises she's making be-
fore he marries her, is small besides what she's liable to put over
on him after.” -
“If Mr. Wyeth is—as you've described him, a sensible man, he
should see what he's letting himself in for.” -
“He hasn't let himself love, or fall in love with any girl for so
long until she's sort of swept him off his feet—for the time being
at least.”
“Maybe only for the time being.”
“I hope so.”
“She’ll probably overstep herself somewhere.”
“That's what I'm expecting to happen. Still, he might just rush
blindly and desperately into it and up and marry her before he gets
wise to the snare.”
“Does this Edrina, as you call her,” suggested Bertha. “Go with
any other man?”


196 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“With a music writer by the name of Howard.”
“Oh.”
“I know him and know that she has not only been crazy about
him but still is, another reason why I'm provoked at Mr. Wyeth's
action.
“I know that I must meet Mr. Wyeth now,” said Bertha.
Marie looked at her.
“Do you know, Bertha. You're the type of girl I'd like to see Mr.
Wyeth fall in love with.”
“Me?” exclaimed Bertha, pointing to herself, and laughing.
“I didn't mean exactly you, Bertha,” explained Marie. “I meant
the kind of girl you are.”
“But why,” said Bertha, “why, like me?”
“Because you are the kind of girl he's always admired. A refined,
highly intelligent girl. A girl whose refinement and intelligence
wouldn't let her stoop to and do horrid things like many of our girls
in America would stoop to.”
“Oh, but you flatter me, Marie. Flatter me too much,” and Bertha
sought to laugh it off.
“Please don't get me wrong, dear,” Marie insisted. “I know
nothing about your personal affairs. You even might be already
married, as far as I know. I am, you understand.”
“I know it,” said Bertha.
Marie paused and looked up at her, a question in her eyes.
“A friend of yours told me. We talked about you and it was she
who told me that you were married. -
“And happily so. Meanwhile, I was about to explain—”
“—about me,” said Bertha, cutting her off. “Well, darling, I am
not married, not engaged, have no fellow, though I did go with a
boy in Germany before leaving there, but he's in the army and I'm
in America. So you know now that I am free, single, disengaged
and the only man I’m interested in, other than my brother, is Mr.
Sidney Wyeth, who, as you know, I am most anxious to meet.”
“Well, that makes it mutual.”
“Mutual?”
“Yes. I want you to meet Mr. Wyeth, and I promise to get hold
of him and keep him here until you do. I may need your help to
keep him from making a fool of himself.”


THE CASE of MRs. wingATE 197
“I’m sure I'll be glad to help you in any way I can.”
“You may be able to, in a way that you don't know. I don't know
how now, myself. But getting back to Mr. Wyeth, when I finally
corner him in the office, I'm going to slip across the hall to another
telephone and call you.” -
“Oh, will you, darling,” cried Bertha, slipping off the desk and
standing.
Marie rose to her feet, too.
“I will, Bertha, with the understanding that you dress and come
right down.”
“Will I? And I can dress quick, dear. Oh, you've made me so
happy until I must—” and breaking off, she bent forward and kissed
Marie impulsively.
They put arms about each other now and walked out into the
reception room.
In Louisville, Kentucky, in the meantime, Edrina's sister had just
signed for a telegram. Another sister, followed by her mother came
up. The mother's face showed anxiety.
“Telegrams always frighten me,” said the mother, waiting anx-
iously for it to be read. “I hope nobody has died.”
“Nobody has died, mother,” said Carrie, unfolding the telegram.
“I’ll bet it's from Edrina.”
“It is,” said Alice, behind her, reading it over Carrie's shoulder.
“So glad,” said the mother, with a sigh of relief. “Read it out
loud, please.”
“It's from Pittsburg,” said Carrie. “Am going to be married to
Sidney Wyeth, the Motion Picture Producer and Writer. Quitting
show Saturday and coming home from here to get a divorce from
Arthur, Love “E D R IN A ’’
“There, Lord. I knew something was happening,” cried the
mother. “I felt it.”
“Going to marry Mr. Wyeth, eh?” mused Carrie, thoughtfully.
“That’s fine.”
“And who, pray, is Sidney Wyeth?” cried their mother, perking
up, curiously. - -
“He’s the man who makes most of the colored pictures we take


198 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
you to see, mother. Don't you remember seeing his name on the
screen P”
“Yes, now that you mention it. I do remember seeing that name
on most of the colored pictures I’ve seen. My, he should have
money,” she said, and seemed cheered.
“He’d have to have, to make pictures,” said Carrie.
“It takes lots of money to make them,” said Alice. They turned
and walked back through the front room to the kitchen, from where
they had been called when the messenger came with the telegram.
“I hope she treats him right and doesn't go to playing around,”
said Mrs. Graham.
Edrina arrived late the next day and was greeted by all, including
her old mother, who cried between sobs, as she embraced her:
“Edrina, my darling. We're so glad to see you.”
An hour or so later the three sisters were together in the kitchen,
while Alice and Carrie prepared the dinner. Naturally the news that
she was engaged to be married to Sidney Wyeth, the Negro race's
only motion picture director and producer, was considered little
short of a triumph.
“How'd you happen to meet Mr. Wyeth, anyhow,” inquired Alice.
“Oh, just ran into him one day on the street,” answered Edrina,
a bit breezily.
“And you think he fell in love with you—”
“—at sight,” replied Edrina, easily, smiling as she cut her sister
off. “I saw it while he was being introduced. Saw it in the way he
looked at me.”
“Isn't that interesting,” cried Alice, exchanging expressions with
sister Carrie. Both turned admiring eyes now to Edrina, who smiled
and seemed to be pleased.
“Who introduced you to him, Edrina?” inquired Alice curiously.
“Donald,” replied Edrina, and smiled as both sisters started,
obviously surprised.
“Donald !” both exclaimed in chorus.
“Oh, it just happened,” said Edrina. “Donald and I were coming
up Seventh Avenue; Mr. Wyeth was crossing at 135th Street and
we met at the corner, so Donald, naturally, introduced us. Donald
and he have known each other for years.”


the case of MRs. wingate 199
“I see,” mused Carrie, then turning to her: “I thought it was
Donald,” she ventured. -
“So did I,” said Alice joining Carrie.
“It was Donald who you've been telling us about,” said Alice.
“Ever since you went on the stage.”
“Donald in all your letters,” said Carrie.
“Well,” said Edrina, and hesitated.
“I’m sure you must have liked Donald very much,” said Alice.
“Much more, perhaps, than you do Mr. Wyeth,” said Carrie.
“You’ve never written us anything about him, so from where did he
appear so quickly”
“Well,” began Edrina again.
“Mr. Wyeth, perhaps, has money? Isn't he a man of-means?”
from Carrie, and she glanced across from Edrina to Alice, whose
eyes were on Edrina.
“Why, Carrie!” exclaimed Edrina, affectaciously.
“That could make some difference,” suggested Alice.
“Yes,” from Carrie, “a very great deal of difference,” and she
looked across at Alice, who seemed to be thinking just about as .
she was.
“On the other hand,” said Alice, after a brief but thoughtful
pause. “It is possible, after all Edrina has been writing us about
Donald, for more than a year, a whole year, that Donald might not
be a marrying man.” -
All of which vexed Edrina very much, but she was trying hard
not to show it.
“Are you really in love with Mr. Wyeth, Edrina,” inquired
Carrie, “or, are you—”
“—just marrying him to get a home?” suggested Alice, cutting
Carrie off, who was about to ask the self same thing. By this time,
Edrina's control which she had lost for a moment, returned and
came quickly to her assistance.
“Now is it just right to ask me such questions?”
“You’re still in love with Donald, Edrina,” cried Alice, looking at
her closely, and speaking very boldly.
“And knowing, perhaps, that Donald is not a marrying man,”
ventured Carrie, daringly, “you're marrying Mr. Wyeth for money
and for money only.”


200 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Shame on you, Edrina,” said Alice, and shook her head and
made a “twt, twt, twt,” sound with her lips. Cornered, caught un-
prepared for this chiding, Edrina was near tears, while Carrie tried
to modify it by a forced laugh. Yet with more to say, went on:
“Meanwhile, she'll keep on going with Donald, and—”
“—having him just the same. Oh, Edrina, Edrina,” and both she
and sister Alice laughed.
“But that's New York for you,” said Carrie. “You’ve caught on
up there, Edrina, bravo, bravo!”
“Oh, hush, hush,” cried Edrina, withdrawing a kerchief and
dabbing her nose and her eyes. “How can you talk to me like that,
both of you.” Turning now, she hurried away, across the dining and
reception room and up the stairway, just as their mother walked in,
and turned to see Edrina, kerchief to her face disappear up the
stairway. Now she turned to her other two daughters and with a
frown on her face, began :
“I overheard the last of your conversation. Why did you want
to embarrass your sister like that?”
Alice and Carrie turned back to their work now and were silent.
“It was a mistake to draw her out the way you did,” complained
Mrs. Graham, severely, looking from first one to the other.
“We didn't start out to do so, mother,” said Carrie, defensively.
“No such thought was in our minds,” said Alice.
“We got started talking, and it just happened, that's all,” said
Carrie, and seemed to feel badly because they had embarrassed
Edrina.
“I’m sorry that it had to be,” said Mrs. Graham. “To be frank
about it, I was afraid it was that way, but you shouldn't have gone
as far as you did.” ^_
“I’m sorry, mother,” said Carrie penitently.
“And I am, too,” chirped Alice.
“Well,” sighed Mrs. Graham, with finality. “There's nothing that
can be done about it now. It'll make her feel bad, with her here,
I’m sure, on Mr. Wyeth’s money, for how could she pay for a
divorce unless some man is putting up the money?”
“And it sure isn't Donald,” said Carrie.
“Lord, no,” confirmed Alice.
“I heard her reading a long telegram to Mr. Wyeth over the phone


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 201
*
just before she came into the kitchen, and in the end, I heard her
say ‘send it—collect’.” -
“I was hopeful when she first returned. Hoped that she liked Mr.
Wyeth and planned to make him a good wife,” said Mrs. Graham.
“Right after sending Mr. Wyeth the telegram collect, she called
off another to Donald—and paid for it,” said Carrie, whereupon Mrs.
Graham shook her head, sadly.
“Now I'm going to be worried. No good can come of a woman
trying to play two men. I'm afraid, before it is all over, that Edrina's
liable to make a mess of it all.”
“Still,” observed Carrie, “if Mr. Wyeth is the man I'd imagine
him to be, he ought to understand.”
“Maybe he does and maybe he doesn't,” broke in Mrs. Graham.
“It's Edrina. She has no right saying a lot of honey words to one
man and all the while, in love with another.”
“Why hasn't she married Donald,” said Carrie. “She's talked and
written enough about him to have been married to him a long
time ago.”
“Maybe Mr. Howard has something to say about it. He hasn't,
I'd bet, asked her to marry him,” said Mrs. Graham, her face still
serious.
“She's skating on mighty thin ice, if you ask me,” said Alice,
at which all three sighed and continued to think about Edrina, who
was now upstairs.
“I’m sorry, if she doesn't really care for Mr. Wyeth. From the
way she described him to me, and from other things I gather, he
seems like a good man and might make her a fine husband.”
“And he seems to want to badly, too,” said Alice.
“It’s been going on, it seems, ever since woman was woman and
man is a man,” said Mrs. Graham. “The same old thing. In love
with some man who either doesn't care, is not worth the feeling,
and at the same time, ready to make a fool of another, possibly a
good one.” As she finished she turned to leave the room, mentally
very much disturbed. Pausing, she turned back for a last word.
“It isn't going to work, it isn't going to work at all,” and with
that she dragged herself out of the kitchen.
Late that night Edrina, in her kimono and alone in her bedrpom
with her hair down and feeling comfortable, finished penning the


202 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
following note to Sidney Wyeth in New York:
“Arrived home safely and have told my mother and sisters all
about you, and they are pleased and in love with you already.
“I’ve engaged a lawyer to apply for my divorce and he says
that he expects to secure a decree in ten days to two weeks. He is
charging me $50.00 to get it and I have paid him half of it down
as a retainer.”
She paused briefly, to think of what more to say, and tipped the
end of the pen between her teeth, thoughtfully, presently setting it
down, started out again.
“I do nothing but think of you, dear, morning, noon and night.
Every day will seem an age until it is all over and I return to New
York and your arms, never to leave them again; and soon there-
after we shall be married and belong to each other for good.
“My folks, in the meantime, are giving me a shower as quickly
as I have secured my decree, and it is too bad that you can't be here,
so that everybody could meet and fall in love with you as I have.”
She paused to stretch her mouth wide and was conscious that she
was becoming drowsy. Knowing that no more letters would be
picked up from the mail box that night, she didn't close the letter,
but laid it aside and prepared for bed,


CHAPTER X V
YETH WAS doing so well in the sale of his book in north-
ern Jersey, that he just drove by the office each morning
for a full week, glanced through the mail, jotted down some
instructions for Marie, and was gone every morning when she ar-
rived.
In the meanwhile, after her last talk with Marie concerning the
story in the book as being inspired from Wyeth's own life, told
in the third person, Bertha was reading it again and studying it very
closely this time as she did so. -
Among the characteristics reflected in the development of the
story, was, among other things, that of a man void and free of any
ostentation and pretence. This was debated at some length in the
story. Another angle which interested her, was his views with re-
gards to the intermarriage of races.
Since America as a whole, was opposed to the institution, Wyeth
had written of it in a most interesting way. He drew the picture of
a girl, presumably white and as far as she knew, until it all came
out in the end to the contrary, was a white girl. It was purely co-
incidental for her to fall in love with a colored man, who refused
her love because he thought she was white.
Elsewhere he criticised the Negro for his failure to assume more
responsibility, and his tendency to blame the white man for his con-
dition, claiming it to be due to the under-privileged life he was forced
to live and to race prejudice. He referred to that as the easiest way
out. He pointed out very forcibly, that while that excuse, worn
threadbare by this time, might be easy to hold up in place of suc-
•cess and possession, that in the end, however, it got the Negro
nothing.
She compared Wyeth with Kermit Early, with so much academic
training until, as she viewed him, he was largely unfit for real suc-
203


204 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
cess and had not achieved it, had found the white man's prejudice
to be such a stumbling block that he was making a supreme issue
of its results. She also thought of and brought his relation with
Mrs. Wingate into her mind's picture. Mrs. Wingate, a wealthy
and aristocratic white woman, who was really in love with this
colored man.
She had inquired of the whereabouts of the author of Nature’s
Child, having planned, in her research and the information she was
turning over to her brother, to ascertain in detail any information
that might later be of value to the Reich. She could not find out
much about the author of Nature's Child other than that he lived
on Long Island, was married to a white woman, and seemed to have
gone into retirement after the success of his book, which although
shortlived, was phenominal while it lasted.
She had also investigated another Negro author, who had written
a book of research, which she found very interesting and exhaustive,
and had sent copies of it back to Germany. Like the author of
Nature's Child, this one had also married a white woman and she
wondered at all this; was it customary for Negroes, after achieving
some measure of success, to marry white women? Was it because
women of their own race did not quite come up to their ideas,
socially and otherwise? She didn't think Wyeth would marry a white
WOman.
Truly the Negro in America, she found, presented the most
unusual situation. He seemed to be the most interesting when he
was in some way involved with the white man, the women often
only as a concubine, which was the subject and background of the
novel, by a southern white woman called Passion, and which she
found the Negroes buying in greater numbers than they had ever
bought any book, so she was told by local booksellers in Harlem.
The story was filled with the words “nigger” and “darkies” and of
the term “darkies in their place,” and all through, was repeated
“they knew their place and stayed in it” to which they were
violently opposed, and would become very angry if such terms were
expressed about them by Negroes. Yet, here was the case of a
white woman, a Southern white woman who put them in the “dog
house” at the beginning of her story—and kept them there through-
out and didn't let them out in the end—and they were buying and
reading the book as they had never bought any book, including the


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 205
bible. It was baffling and she couldn't understand it at all.
Surely there was much for her to study and find out, and this added
to her anxiety to meet Sidney Wyeth and to have a long talk with
him, and to meet him again and have more talks, for, according to
Marie, he was a Negro from whom she could find out things she
wanted to know, things and matters of current interest. This, she
soon found out, Negroes in general did not possess and seemed to
take little interest in. If they were educated they were invariably aca-
demic, academic to the point that he was more ignorant of current
events, especially those concerned or related to trade, industry and
commerce than he was with historical facts. She recalled that
Marie had told her about their inclination and love for anthropology,
and how so many aspired to become one and even dared call them-
selves an Anthropoligist. Something that not one person in a thou-
sand in everyday life would understand, and who wouldn't care
if they did not.
“When you talk with Mr. Wyeth,” Marie had said. “If you have
occasion to know what banking in Wall Street and all over America
is all about, he can tell you. If you went South and would like to
know what you would meet on the way down there, he could tell
you all you wanted to know about Philadelphia, how the streets run
even. On then toward Washington, he would tell you about the
great Dupont family in Wilmington, Del., home of the greatest
chemical corporations in America which Bertha would have appreciat-
ed knowing, being aware that Germany was the home of the greatest
chemical products the world over. Yet in Wilmington, the Duponts
were the greatest runner-ups. “But few Negroes would even know
what that was all about. It wouldn't concern ‘anthropology', so
they would be as dense regarding it as of the forests you would en-
counter in the heart of Canada.
“The Negro could talk to you about Washington, because there
our group hold more white collar jobs than anywhere in America,
and many would be aspiring to get a better one. He could tell you
about the color line there among Negroes, and that there is where
they want to be regarded as aristocrats. Because in Washington there
live a thousand well paid colored school teachers, aristocrats of the
Negro race, aristocrats without money, and where nobody wants to
see anybody get ahead of anybody else, themselves especially.


206 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Where selfishness reigns among each other supreme, and where
no Negro is appreciated unless white America has placed their
stamp of approval on him, first. “Then,” Marie had told her, “they get
in the honored ones way, until they can't move around, wine, dine
and flatter them almost to death. That is Washington and our people
could tell you all about that.
“Going on South then through Virginia and the Carolina's, you
meet endless colored people, but few of the intelligensia could tell
you that there is the dynasty of ‘LS-MFT' Lucky Strike, the
world's best tobacco, or of Camels and Chesterfields which they are
fond of smoking, but it is of little interest to them where the tobacco
is grown that goes into them. No, he wouldn't know that and is
not interested in finding out.
“He would know that other than from California, oranges and
grapefruit and lemons come in large numbers from Florida, about
the only commodity and fruit that he would know where grown; but
continuing across Georgia, Alabama and Miss., he would also know
that there is the home of King Cotton, but he hates those states and
that section so badly, due to the way he is treated, and kept in his
place’ until he wouldn't want to talk much about them.
“Jumping from the Mississippi River to the Pacific coast, about
the only thing in that section that he wanted and could talk to you
about would be of Negroes who had inherited oil lands in Oklahoma;
but Mr. Wyeth could and would tell you that there were more
wealthy Negroes in the Cane River Country in Louisiana, where
many Negroes, born of a white father before the civil war, were
slave owners, Negroes, a hundred years ago who owned each other,
and whose descendants still live on the feudal estates that they
inherited. He would tell you of a strip of sandy and hilly land along
the eastern edge of Texas, a strip of country, 66 miles long by 16
miles wide, which Negroes owned almost entirely up until 15 years
ago.
“But why and how, you might ask, did this come to happen?
And Mr. Wyeth would tell you then of how hardy old Negroes from
the plantations of Louisiana and Arkansas right after the civil war,
with their families treked westward in covered wagons into Texas
and settled in what is now the richest valleys there. He would tell
you about how the whites frightened them with the first Ku


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 2O7
Klux Klan hoods and fiery crosses and virtually forced them off
these rich, black lands. Compelled them to flee eastward, back
in the direction from whence they had come, but not as far back.
For when they reached the sand hill country on the eastern edge
of Texas, land that every settler had rode across and ignored, and
feeling that they would not be bothered or molested, they settled
there where they lived in peace for fifty or more years until one
morning in 1930 when the news ran down through the Gut, that oil
had been discovered. Then back to the hills came the white man, and
for ten years he turned it into a land of litigation, persuasion and
coercion. But at least half the Negroes stuck by their guns. They
held on and in time, because it came under Federal observation and
supervision, managed to retain his rich oil lands, and that today
is where the richest Negroes in all America live.”
“And why would Mr. Wyeth know so much about all this, and
all these others, with so much education and so many degrees, know
so little?”
“Not little, Bertha,” cautioned Marie. “Nothing.”
“Well ?”
“Because they teach nothing about Negroes in our schools but
the history of slavery and the war that ended it. They teach nothing
about the Negro's part in our great country since then or of today.
Our educated Negroes know mostly, only what they learned in schools.
They try to find out little about themselves thereafter. The Negroes
chief interest and great concern is to find the best possible job, and
the jobs they give and grant to Negroes are not the best jobs, under-
stand?” -
“I can,” said Bertha, “but still you haven't explained why Mr.
Wyeth should know so much about all the things you've told me.”
“Because, dear Bertha, Sydney Wyeth is an observing man, living
down to earth and concerned with the things, like white men, that
make, and has made America great. Even before he started making
pictures, but especially afterward, he had occasion to travel all over
the country to book his pictures in the Negro theatres, scattered all
over creation, and on these long trips, seated in his car, he saw things
and he asked about them. They interested him and he found out
from day to day, week to week, month to month on these long trips,
what they were all about, and so—”


208 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
“— he knows and that is why he can—”
“— talk about anything you or anybody else might want to know,'
said Marie, “except, of course,” and Marie smiled, “Anthropology
and the origin of man,” and they both laughed.
“Mr. Wyeth can tell you only of what man is doing today, not a
thousand years ago, at least, not very much about it,” and again
they laughed.
“So, Marie, dear, you have made me more anxious to meet your
boss, but never, no never, is he in. Always,” Bertha complained, “he
is out—gone before I reach the office, so what? Will I ever meet
him P Ever?”
Marie sighed and shook her head.
And then the very next morning, Bertha, while cooking her
breakfast, had a telephone call, which, of course she answered. It
was from Marie, at the office.
“Oh, Bertha, he's here; he's in,” she cried, almost frantic.
“You mean, Mr. Wyeth?” Bertha cried.
“Nobody else. So, darling, eat your breakfast, for I can hear it
cooking, eat it and hurry down here—run ſ”
“I’ll run,” said Bertha, and ate so quickly until she didn't realize it.
A few minutes later she walked into the office of the Wyeth Pictures
Corporation, to see the object of her desire, sitting at his desk,
busy talking over the telephone, and a few minutes later she had
been introduced to him by Marie, who left them alone to talk—and
they talked!
y


cºrris XVI
46& O YOU'RE MISS BERTHA SCHULTZ." Wyeth began,
after being introduced and having invited her to become
seated. He looked at her, seemed to be pleased and smiled
amiably. She returned the greeting.
“Yes, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, prettily. “I’m Miss Schultz,” and
they both laughed, for they were thinking how many times she had
been to the office to see him.
“I’m inclined to feel that I know you, Miss Schultz, since my assist-
ant has said so much about you and seems to admire you very much.
I want to apologize at the outset, however, for being absent so often
from my office, where I am supposed to do business and meet
people,” he said.
“Oh, that is all right, Mr. Wyeth,” replied Bertha, so pleasant he
thought and so perfectly agreeable. “You’re a very busy man and
I can appreciate your being absent, busy developing your sales in the
field which is the best place I am sure, to do so.”
He glanced at her with new interest. She had just made an ex-
pression of intelligence. He could see by that one remark alone the
kind of girl Marie had described, an intelligent and understanding
sort of girl.
“Thank you, Miss Schultz. You summed up the case in a few
words. I don't know whether you understand much about business
from the Negro viewpoint, but my experience for a long time has
been, that if we are to succeed in only a small way, it is necessary for
those of us desirous of success to lead in the effort.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Wyeth. I am interested in finding out
as nearly as I can, exactly what the Negro is doing, and from all
I've been able to learn, you are about the most informed man in a
broad and general way that the race possesses.”
Looking at her, Wyeth thought of what Marie had said; that the

200


210 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
*
girl was of German extraction, of fine intelligence and possessed
self-confidence. He was interested in her, and was curious to know
more about her, to talk with her, perhaps, about the things she
knew. He couldn't know, of course, the many reasons why she
wanted to talk with him, and of the things that might be of interest
to Adolf Hitler that she was to find out.
“No one could read your book, either from the standpoint of
entertainment or psychology, and not appreciate your intelligence and
mass of information, Mr. Wyeth,” she said sincerely.
“Then you have read it?” he said, a bit anxious to feel her out;
see just what were the reactions of this girl who had spent so much
time in Europe. Her reaction could be different than one so close
to the things he had attempted to write about.
“Twice, Mr. Wyeth.” -
“Twice?” he said this in such a way that she had to explain it was
not necessary to do so in order to understand it. All the comments he
had heard had been to the effect that it was very simple, easy to
read and understand. She read what he was thinking and quickly
said:
“I didn't read it the second time because I did not fully understand
it the first time.”
“Thank you,” he replied and smiled, a bit relieved.
“I fully understood it the first time, and that,” said she, “is why
I read it the second time,” and she smiled sweetly, hopefully. He
now understood and liked her. She was making it easy.
“You’re a very interesting person, Miss Schultz.”
“Please don't flatter me, Mr. Wyeth,” she said and blushed, and
he thought, as Bertha had told him, of the great Schumann-Heink.
“I enjoyed reading it, Mr. Wyeth. It was not merely enjoyable and
interesting, but it left you feeling something.” -
He was thoughtful for a moment, then turned to her:
“Digressing for a moment, there have been two books published
during this decade of especial and peculiar interest to our group. I'll
take first the last one only recently published.”
“You are referring to Passion, I suppose,” she offered.
“Exactly. Just what was your reaction to it?”
She shrugged her shoulders lightly.
“You found,” he said, “it interesting?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 211
“Yes, I found it interesting,” she admitted.
“But you didn't find in it a book which you would say that you—
liked P” -
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed, quickly
“And yet our people, we Negroes I mean, are buying that book
in greater numbers than any current book ever published.”
“You don't say so!” she exclaimed, somewhat surprised.
“They are doing just that.”
“And it—oh, it has so many words, situations and so much that
I imagine they would dislike; that they would complain about.”
“Yes, it has all that, and there is no escape in the end from the
bastardy the book puts them in-yet they are buying it as they have
never bought any book that I ever heard of before.”
“It's amazing!”
“It shows, among other things, that tragic realism interests them.
While it is a terrible book, a dirty and very much soiled sort of
book, from a moral point of view, I’m glad the woman wrote it. It
has helped me.”
She looked at him, not quite understanding.
“I have enjoyed picturizing the Negro in his true state in such
books as I have written, and in the many pictures that I have made.”
“Yes, pictures,” she said, sitting up. She hoped he was going to
say more about pictures.
“But they won't let me!”
Her eyebrows wrinkled.
“I don't—quite understand you.”
“It would take too many words to explain, then still you might
not understand. But what I mean directly is that when I try to do
this, film the Negro realistically, there is so much complaint on his
part, and I meet so many theatre owners that refuse to play the
pictures, especially in Washington and a lot of other places, too,
that I don't dare picturize him as he actually is, and at no time or
in any picture have I used such words and terms as this white
woman uses to describe him. In short, she puts the Negro in the dog
house at the start of the book and she keeps him there throughout
the entire story, and locks him up there to stay for good in the
end and still they buy the book, and nobody says: ‘Oh, I liked it,”
still they buy it. We handle it and are selling as many copies through
our mail order department as we are of mine. Why I like writing
a


212 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
is that you can express your opinion, use words that fit best, and
nobody annoys you with squawks and kicks and so much of that
which dogged me all through the years that I made pictures.”
“Indeed!” she exclaimed and was anxious for him to go on.
“Oh, yes. It was amazing. Now the truer my pictures are to Negro
life as we Negroes experience and know it, the better they draw and
the better they liked them; but there was always somebody com-
plaining to the manager that he or she didn't like the picture and
questioning why that man was doing and saying the things he
did. We're trying to get away from all that stuff you hear them say.
They have no regard for history. They would have history obliterated,
wherever they can exert any pressure or influence, especially if it
showed him in the roles we all know he played, prior to the civil
war. He would have the world feel that he began right out there
on Seventh avenue, from the beginning. In fact, it is so hard for
one Negro to please another that one becomes despaired.”
“Amazing.”
“Amazing but true. To begin with, he refuses to take any of us
seriously unless the white man puts his stamp of approval on us
first. The very thing he would have you crucified for doing, saying
or portraying, the minute the white man says something fine about
it, immediately it becomes classic with them and we are then praised
and lauded to the skies.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Really, Miss Schultz, I don't know,” he said shaking his head.
“Nothing leaves you so baffled as the novel Passion, which if a Negro
had written and the white people were not buying as they are, too, he'd
demand the author, if he were a Negro to be shot at sunrise—and
this runs right down through those of the intelligensia, including
the many organizations, conceived and operating for the benefit of
a higher millenium as regards us. This Southern woman has been
invited to speak to endless groups of Negroes and they are falling
over each other to hear her, because she has written a book, picturing
the Negro in the lowest strata of society that he could possibly be.
Nowhere in the book has she honored him. She puts words in a colored
Doctor's mouth in the story, expressing a wish and a desire to marry
a girl who has been the concubine of a no-good white man.”
“I agree with you that in this respect,” she said, “they are—
baffling.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 213
“I once heard a speaker, a colored orator of renown say that no
Negro has ever achieved great success with the help of one another,
and it is true. White America, we all agree and admit, seems to view
us, especially the contemporary Negro, through a distorted vision.
He seems to want to keep us in the dog house, as it were, talking,
when he puts words in our mouths, always in dialect, rolling our
eyes, being funny at all times, or if he is forced to accept us from
another viewpoint, he will readily do so but as criminals, morons, de-
generates—anything but what the most of us aspire to be, good
Americans living a moderate and conventional American life. In
fact, he seems to want to feel that we have no contemporary life.
And yet, any Negro, who aspires to rise above the common masses,
has got to please that white man and in some way, conform the Negro
to his point of view, otherwise he is ignored and crucified. And so by
this kind of silence, we are crucified by the leaders of our own race,
who refuse to take us seriously because the white man has neglected
to do so.”
“Very interesting, Mr. Wyeth,” she said. “In just what way, if
any, has this affected you, and especially your book?” -
“That is a long story.”
“Is it?” she said. “Why have you made no effort to get your
book on sale at most of the book shops?”
“I have, and am, Miss Schultz, sort of feeling my way into the
depth of what I consider a rather intricate situation.”
She nodded understandingly, and listened closely.
“Meanwhile, I am finding out by going slowly, yet persistently,
no end of ways that might ultimately get me somewhere.
By that, I mean, that I am able, by concerted effort, to make
a good living and keep my assistant steadily and profitably employed,
by building up the sale of the book, and perhaps other books, directly
to the masses.”
“I follow you,” she said. -
“It was the same way in the production of pictures. The Negro
on the street is with you when you make an honest but worthy
effort, and he will buy what you produce. Just get it to him and he
will do the rest. It is the so-called or would-be leader who, in the
end, fortunately, is not very effective, who lambasts you, tries to
ridicule you, hold you up to contempt and tries to keep you stale-
mated.”


214 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“How can you explain such a-a peculiar phenomenon?” Bertha
queried, her brow wrinkled.
“Yes, how can you?” Wyeth repeated. “It would take so many
words to explain it that I might be here until noon trying to do so.
I brought it up because I don't want you to feel that the white man
holds us back as much as this very group I refer to would have you
think. Through such philosophy as he practices, he helps to hold
himself back. He refuses even more, I fear, than the white man
to recognize and appreciate merit and ability, constructive ability,
within our group and by his activity and conduct makes our lot
harder. Most of this, in a word, is due to nothing but pure selfish-
ness.” -
“I understand, but—I—hardly know how to-accept it.”
“You could hardly,” he said, understandingly.
“You see,” she went on, as if to clarify her lack of knowledge of
the things he was talking about. “I’ve spent the last ten years, most
of it at least, in school in Germany and France, and—”
“—which has left you a bit ignorant of conditions here in America,”
he interrupted her and smiled, nodding his head.
“But now that I am—back, you see, I am anxious to learn all
about us—and any condition or circumstances that involve us. I
might tell you that learning these things is to be my future work.
Naturally I am axious to start finding out all I can and as quickly
as I can. That is why, among other reasons, that I have been So
very anxious to meet you.”
“Thank you, Miss Schultz,” he said pleasantly. “I admit know-
ing a great deal about our group here in America, but I hope I don't
sound boastful or egotistic in making such an admission. For so many
years I made motion pictures, and I had to find places to play them
all over America, any place where there were enough of our group to
make it profitable.” -
“I am especially anxious to have you tell me more about—making
pictures,” she said, raising her pretty hand. “But there's something I
would like you to tell me right now, and I will ask you to tell me
before we get too far away from it.”
“Of course,” he said, and waited.
As she poised for the question he watched her closely, and again
was reminded of her extremely Germanic extraction; and again he
thought of the great Madame Schumann-Heink. To him as he


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 215
studied her, she was the strangest colored girl he had ever met. She
did not have the usual Negro inclination, accent, composure; she
was anything but a colored girl in the way he knew them. And yet,
she was colored, this was obvious in the brownishness in her other-
wise bluish eyes, the wave of her hair, the darker color of her
skin, which should have been, according to her mannerisms, real
white. -
“Before I went—to Europe,” she began again. She was still having
difficulty in representing herself as an American. Speaking of it
so often confused her. “I heard so much of how the Negro had made
such wonderful progress in the years since the Civil War. I don't
hear nearly so much about this—progress now. Why?”
“We don't say nearly as much about our progress since the
great depression swept the country during the past fifteen years,
but which has been over long enough to forget most of it. Until
the depression, which was when there was so much said about
progress, we thought we had made much.”
“Had we ?”
“In a way, yes, but it was mostly academic. Decidedly academic.”
“Not material, industrial, commercial or economic?”
“No, it was not,” he said. “It was mostly academic, but un-
fortunately, was confused with the material, if you didn't go very
deep, or investigate very far. Still, we seemed to have had more
economic success before the depression than we are enjoying since,
but I insist on the statement that before the depression our so-
called progress was still more academic than material, but a
greater value was placed on that academic success before the de-
pression than we have since valued it.”
Bertha listened carefully to his every word.
“I recall the statistical reports back in those days which were in
effect that we had so many people who had graduated from college,
so many from high school, so many doctors, so many lawyers,
so many teachers, so many preachers, so many churches, and so
many this and so many that. When the depression swept over the
country, and thousands of these various grades of graduates were
forced on relief, and to grab and take any kind of job that could
be created, for our government went into the creation of jobs, such
as through the medium of the WPA and other works administra-
tions, much of what we had reckoned as assets, lost value completely.


216 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
When it moved on and left them stranded, destitute, what had before
been considered an asset, was a pitiful liability and it was the de-
pression that perhaps made us realize we hadn't made so much prog-
ress after all as we were inclined to boast of; that much of this so-
called progress was merely potential. It most assuredly was not
material, and we found we couldn't buy food, clothing or pay rent
with it. Just before the great depression, there had been an orgy of
buying, purchasing homes in which to live, to rent and exploit. On
most of these purchases only a small payment was made, but
through and during this period of inflation, it was enough to transfer
the property, mostly only by contract, to the purchaser. Within
a few years then, the purchaser was considered the owner of much
property, as it were. It looked like we were going places, only to have
the depression destroy and wipe out these potential values so quickly
that it left the previous and temporary holders dizzy. Had you lived
here during the worst of that period, you would have been forced to
agree with the rest of us, that we were finished—that the end for the
Negro had come, because we educated ones and all, in plain words,
were just nothing.
“That, then, Miss Schultz,” he finished, “is why you don't hear
so much about our progress and achievement at this time.”
“You have made it so clear. Well, what about now?”
“Now? Yes, now. Well, Miss Schultz, that is hard to say. We've
had a wave of prosperity for several years. It would seem that after
having survived such a calamity as the depression, that most of
us would be sensitive about it and try to avoid going through such
another condition by conserving our earnings, but we are not.”
“Oh, no?”
“There's always some conservative people, and this applies to many
of our group, who didn't go on relief during the depression; didn't
go on it because they had managed their earnings carefully and
though terribly restricted, didn't sink that low. The same situation
applies now. In the sale of the book it is our privilege to meet
many people and come to understand this condition very well. There
are some people who have money all the time, subscribe for the book
and pay for it whenever it is offered for delivery, but there are others
who, if you don't get it to them between Friday, their pay day, and
Monday morning, won't have anything left to pay with after that
date. They are just careless, wasteful and extravagant, that's all.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 217
“With regard to the church and the colored preachers, what in-
fluence do they wield?”
“Enough to live quite comfortably, regardless, and by such in-
fluence as he has, makes those who belong to the church the most
conservative. Their promise is better, and they strive to keep it
far more than the ones who do not belong to or are not active in
some church.”
“You think so 2°
“I know so. If it wasn't for those who are associated with some
of the many churches, I don't know what would become of us. I'm
inclined to feel that we would almost disappear as a worthwhile
group. Those women who are the pillars of the colored church, do more
to hold us together and make us as responsible as we are, than any
other influence, which is still not sufficient.”
Bertha glanced at her watch.
“I know that I must not continue to keep you away from your
work at such a time of day, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, rising to her feet.
“So I will get out of your way, but it is my wish to talk with you
again, a great many times, if this can be arranged.”
“I am sure we have interests in common, Miss Schultz, and will
be able to meet again many times and talk about what seems to
interest you, and most assuredly does me—the condition of our
group here, which is a stupendous problem.”
“A tremendous problem is putting it mildly,” she said as he
followed her into the reception room. Marie paused in her typing
to get up and smile at them, and put her arm about Bertha's waist.
“I know that you both have found common interests,” she said,
“and you haven't got started yet.”
“But we will and I hope soon,” said Wyeth, smiling down on the
two girls. “Miss Schultz here,” he said, looking at her, “is going
to prove a very interesting person to talk to, I can see that now.”
“He likes that kind of person, Bertha,” said Marie. “His com-
plaint is that he cannot talk to many of us, that we don't take matters
that seriously.” -
“Mr. Wyeth is a wonderful man,” said Bertha, smiling up at
him. “I could listen to him talk forever!” All broke into merry
laughter at this, then with a bow and another smile, Wyeth turned
and went back into his office, closing the door behind him,


cºrn, XVII
N LOUISVILLE, EDRINA'S shower turned out to be quite
I an affair. Her mother and father and their mothers and fathers
before them were all born in Louisville and as youngsters had all
been educated. Her mother, as a girl, was both beautiful and refined.
Her father was tall and handsome. Her grandfather was a half-breed
Indian, her grandmother a beautiful mulatto. So Endrina was
descended from the best colored people in the town of ‘Marse Henry
W. Watterson.” They therefore went all out to make Edrina's engage-
ment to Sidney Wyeth a popular event by inviting all the best
Negroes of Louisville, which included most of the colored doctors,
lawyers, school teachers, especially the principals of the many
Negro schools, the undertakers, insurance men, two bankers, head-
waiters from the leading hotels, all combined to make the affair a
popular event.
With a large portion of the 100 dollars that Wyeth had sent her,
which was enlarged by gifts from her brothers, Edrina had pur-
chased and dressed for the occasion as few colored girls had ever
dressed for anything in Louisville. At the moment, the party was at
its height. A local orchestra had been engaged, two girls with the
best voices had also been retained and rendered solos that gave the
party zest and entertainment. After much insistence, Edrina con-
sented to give a rendition which she had sung with Mantan's show,
knew how to “sell” it and having just finished the song, was sur-
rounded at the moment by many admirers. She was presently taken
in charge and questioned regarding her engagement to Wyeth, whom
everybody knew to be the race's only Negro motion picture director
and producer.
“Will you continue on the stage after you marry,” she was asked,
“or retire to the life of a house-wife?”
“Oh, I could hardly give up the stage,” Edrina replied, with her
218


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 219
most gracious smile. “My public would hardly let me. I expect to
open in a new play shortly after my return to New York,” she
informed all who heard, and was pleased with the animation the
remark created.
“Will Mr. Wyeth approve?” she was next asked, whereupon
Edrina answered with her sweetest and most attractive smile.
“He may not want to, but—” and she brought her large and
beautiful ostrich feather fan down in a large and illustrious sweep,
“I shall attend to that,” and she smiled her best and bowed, again
pleased with the flattery.
After a dance with Professor Jones, principal of the Central
High School, and a drink of punch with Dr. Maxwell Andrews,
Louisville's leading Negro surgeon, she permitted the Headwaiter
of the great Brown Hotel to sit out a dance and then danced with
Charles Weston, president of the Monmouth, leading Negro insur-
ance company of Kentucky. -
She brought her stage training into effect that night—and Donald
Howard knew how to train a girl in the art of etiquette, and Edrina
was at her best for the occasion, carrying off all honors. When the
guests departe- shortly after midnight, everybody was talking about
Edrina; how she had improved since going to New York, and in
the heart of every girl who attended, she was the secret subject of
much envy.
Everybody was pleased with the success of the party, but her
mother, who had overheard her speech regarding the stage, and was,
as usual, worried and took her in tow when they sat down for a
moment's relaxation after the last guest departed.
“I’m awfully worried about you, Edrina,” she began and shook her
head. “It’s bad enough to marry Mr. Wyeth, who seems like such a
good man and not be in love with him.”
“Who said I wasn't, mother?” she lied, glibly.
The success of the party had added to her ego and self-confidence,
also to her ability to lie and fool even herself. Actually she had
the feeling that she was in love with Wyeth. “Not me, I'm sure,”
she finished, her head high.
“No, not you, of course, Edrina,” said her mother. “But don't try
to fool a mother who raised you, and even if you have been to New
York and are able by your bizarre and vivacity to fool the guests as


220 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
I saw and heard you fool them tonight, you cannot fool me. You're
in love with this Donald Howard and no other. You are not in love
with Mr. Wyeth.”
Getting dramatically to her feet and sweeping around the room
with stage-like precision, Edrina faced her mother.
“Oh, mother, don't say that—please don't say it! I can't under-
stand why you, Carrie and Alice keep on intimating that I'm not in
love with the man I'm going to marry, and that, instead, I'm in
love with Donald Howard. Positively and absolutely, I am not in
love with Donald Howard, and would not marry him if he was the
last man on earth!” -
“Hush, my child, please,” her mother replied, and waved her down
with a motion of her hand. “Sit down and quit aeting. You're not
on a stage and I’m not one of an audience. I'm your mother and
what I want to talk about is for your own good. So please quit acting,
dear, and sit down and listen to me.”
“Well,” sighed Edrina, petulantly, but sat down as requested.
“Now, dear,” Mrs. Graham began. “As I said, I’m awfully
worried about you and I wouldn't be feeling as I do if there wasn't
a good sound reason for it.” -
“But what reason, mother 2 What have I done or said to leave
you worried as you insist?”
“Tonight you told everybody within hearing distance that you
could not afford to quit the stage; and that you expected to open
in a new play immediately upon your return to New York.”
“Oh, well,” said Edrina, deprecatingly. -
“That was only for show; to make you appear big in the eyes
and ears of those who heard you. Still, it is truthfully what you
would like to do, now isn't it?” her mother insisted, pointedly.
Edrina shifted uncomfortably, but made no immediate reply, so
Mrs. Graham went on :
“You said it all as a grand gesture, but behind the gesture was
ambition, and you plan to persuade Mr. Wyeth to consent—after you
marry him, to let you remain on the stage, now isn’t that true?”
Edrina shifted more uncomfortably, and turned and tried to
change the subject. -
“I’ve promised to be a good wife to Mr. Wyeth; the best wife
I know how to be. Now isn't that enough?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 221
“Of course—if you mean it.”
“Oh, mother,” cried Edrina, springing to her feet, and starting all
over, but her mother caught her by the arm and pulled her back down
again.
“Sit down and be patient. You don't want to listen to me because
the truth hurts and you want to supplant truth with camouflage,
dramatic gestures.” - -
“Everybody who I talked with tonight said such fine things,”
said Edrina. “But alone with you and my sisters, you start insisting
that I don't mean Mr. Wyeth any good; that I'm marrying him
for security only; and that I’m planning to fool him, and—”
“—you're not going to succeed, dear. That is what I want to
caution you about; that in planning as you are, in the end you'll
find out that you are only fooling yourself.”
“I’ll be glad when it is all over; when the lawyer calls or writes
me and tells me the decree has been granted, and that I’m free to
return to New York. I thought you were going to be glad to see me
and—”
“We are alliglad to see you, Edrina, and if we could feel that you
intended to do right by the man you've agreed to marry, we'd all be
with you, but I'm your mother and Carrie and Alice are your sisters.
We know you and we can see right through all that you are fooling
everybody else with.”
“So what?” cried Edrina, as if deciding to face the music and
have it over with.
“Just quit playing around and try to be true to yourself if you
are unable at present to be true and faithful to the man you're about
to marry. You send him a telegram collect every day, and you call
him by telephone almost every night, in each case, collect, and you
say so many sweet words to him, assuring him in almost every
breath of your fidelity, of your anxiety to please him and make his
life the happiest he has ever known. And you send Donald Howard
telegrams and pay for each one out of the money Mr. Wyeth is
sending you. You call Donald after you talk to Wyeth, and you charge
the calls on our telephone, I–’”
“—I’ll pay for all of them before I leave, mother.”
“I’m not talking about that. You'll pay for them, I know—out of
more money Mr. Wyeth sends you, not out of anything Donald sends


222 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
or has ever sent, and you try to make me believe that you're not in
love with this Donald. Edrina, how can you!” Edrina began to cry.
Then breaking suddenly off, she faced her mother bravely and boldly.
“Please, mother, believe me. I won't let you down. Just store that
in the back of your head and think and charge me with anything you
like, but believe me when I say that in the end I won't let you down.”
She crossed over to her mother, bent over, kissed her, and patted her
cheek. Mrs. Graham sighed deeply.
“Your promise to me is just as good as all those you are making
to Sidney Wyeth and will be broken as promptly when and if the
time comes,” and Mrs. Graham, sighed again, more deeply, more
hopelessly.
“I don't care how you feel—now, or what you say, mother dear.
All I ask is that you leave Mr. Wyeth to me. I know how to handle
him, so just leave him to me, dear mami, and watch what happens.”
She bent over and kissed the elder woman again and again patted
her cheek and then turning, crossed the room and went upstairs to
her room.
Two days later the lawyer called her and told her that her decree
had been granted, and to call at the office to sign the papers and etc.
The etc. meant of course to bring the rest of the money.
She called Western Union immediately and wired Wyeth the
news; and that she would be ready to leave for New York as quickly
as she heard from him. -
When Wyeth got her telegram, he understood, and understood,
also, what she didn't say. By now she knew that she didn't have to
always ask for what she wanted. -
Two hours later a telegraph messenger walked across the porch of
Edrina's home in Louisville, and when he crossed it on the way out,
Edrina held a Western Union check for a hundred dollars, which she
kissed, and two days later, she started back to New York where she
was met at the Penna. Station by Sidney Wyeth, who kissed her, took
her bags and hat box in charge, carried them to his car, followed by
her. He helped her into the front seat, smiled down at her, then went
around the car and got into the driver's seat. He looked at her, smiled
again, squeezed her hand, then drove her uptown to Harlem, and to
a restaurant where they used to go when it all started, retired to a


THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE 223
booth they used to sit in, and gave their order to the waiter.
A half hour later they were in a heated argument. It started over
some remark he made about what happened to some show people
recently, and having decided to change him over on her way from
Louisville, she chose it to begin her campaign. It brought immediate
response.
“But why do you dislike show people so, dear?” she began, in-
nocently enough. “I ask you, Sidney, is that just right and fair? Why
are you so against them 7” He looked up quickly and in great surprise.
“Against show people? What do you mean, Edrina?” he wanted
to know.
“Well,” she said, slowly, carefully. “You’re always ready to play
them down.”
“I merely related how, after rehearsing six weeks here while you
were away, some fifty or more were taken to Philadelphia, where
they had been promised work all winter, but actually played just one
flop week. That half of them were stranded over there, unable to get
back. In Philadelphia, think of it, only ninety miles away, and can't
get back.”
“But they can't help it. A man like you should feel sorry for them,”
she said, seemingly anxious to provoke his impatience.
“I do feel sorry for them, but that won't get them back to New
York, nor will it compensate them for rehearsing the entire fall.
I merely criticised their taking such chances. The Actors Equity
Association would not have permitted such a-travesty, but they
waived Equity, and did it on their own. That is all that I criticised.
They shouldn't have allowed themselves to take such chances on a
turkey show.”
“People have got to get along somehow, is how I see it,” she
argued.
“There's a war going on in Europe. It may involve America before
it is over. There's plenty of work and good pay. Nobody needs sym-
pathy who ignores these conditions and permits themselves to be
inveigled into a turkey show that's stranded half of them in Phila-
delphia, $2.50 worth of railroad fare away from New York.”
“Still I feel sorry for them and you ought to feel the same way,”
she said.


224 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“Do you call that being sensible or practical ?” he argued, wonder-
ing why she had chosen to make an issue of an incident, foreign to
both. “They weren't paid for the flop week they played, even.”
“And because of their misfortune, you're against show people,”
she insisted. He turned to look at her more closely.
“Listen, dear, I don't understand why you brought this up and
chose to argue about it, unless there is some ulterior motive behind
it. Well, what is it all about? Speak up, dear, get it off your chest.”
“How can I reason with you when you're so prejudiced against
show people?” she argued. “They've never done anything to you,
have they? Then why do you dislike them so?” She looked at him,
and the very expression with which she did so seemed to him most
unreasonable.
“I tell you for the dozenth time, Edrina, that I'm not against any-
body nor do I dislike show people. You're not so concerned with
that as you pretend to be. There's something on your mind, honey.
I, can smell it. You've been doing some thinking and planning. So
don't sit there, beating around the bush, trying to make a mountain
out of a mole hill. Just come on out with what it is.”
Edrina was momentarily cornered. She had been planning, a
single track planning, that didn't include what he might think about it
or anybody else. She hadn't been very clever in starting it. Was it
because she was overly anxious? Too anxious to get on the subject,
and to have him agree with her, then she was going to be very
sweet and persuade him that he was all wrong about shows, and that
she was right. Up against a brick wall—in a blind alley, as it were,
she reverted again to the same thing which by this time had become
monotonous. -
“I still say that you're against show people,” she began all over
again.
“Is this a round-about way to see if I have changed in regards to
your work on the stage? It sounds like it,” he said, looking straight
at her.
She didn't look at him, but kept her eyes on her plate instead.
“If it is, for your information, I haven't changed at all. If the
recent debacle in Philadelphia has meant anything as far as I'm
concerned, I'm more set against it now than ever. We've just had a
very good demonstration of what badly financed, careless show pro-


THE CASE OF MFS. WINGATE 225
duction can come to. I'm most emphatically set against it and don't
want nor will I have any wife of mine, messing around with any
kind of a show. It's all a gamble at best, and why should I permit
a cheap gamble in which the stakes are lowest at best to interfere with
my home and comfort and happiness? As I used to tell you, I know
too much about the whole cheap effort to get enthusiastic and have
never been enthusiastic about them since I went into the show busi-
ness, years and years ago, so that is that.” His tone was hard and
firm as he tried to eat a mouth full of food, and there was a severe
frown on his face at the same time.
“See,” she cried, pointing a finger at him, accusingly. “I told you
that you were against show people, and just then you admitted it.”
He looked up a moment, and frowned more deeply, but wishing to
avoid a further argument, lowered his eyes and said nothing. “You
just hate show people—hate them,” she cried, and looked hard at him
and was still looking hard at him when he raised his eyes again and
met hers.
“Mantan's getting up a new show. You haven't been here long
enough to have been told about it, so somebody must have written
you at Louisville that he was.”
She couldn't answer, but it was Donald who had written her that
he was. He had merely said that Mantan was getting a new show
together as a matter of news and not with any thought of putting
ideas in her head. Wyeth was still looking at her and now went on:
“Is that what this is all about?”
She made no answer and lowered her eyes to her plate and said
nothing. He knew that it was this that was on her mind, and that
she would not be happy until she had called on Mantan—to find if he
had any part in it for her. He grunted. He was angry now and
wanted her to know just how he felt. He was additionally angry be-
cause she had assured him over the telephone, at his expense, night
after night that she had given up all such ideas and ambitions and
was ready, as quickly as she returned to New York, to be all his
own and make him happy. Now hardly before she arrived, she had
staged an unreasonable argument, in the hope, as he could see, of
getting his consent to resume show work.
“I’m still standing where I have stood all along. I want my wife
in my home. I want a fine, dignified and intelligent woman for a


226 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
wife and you can't maintain any such position surrounded by a lot of
swearing, immoral and blackguarding vandals as these shows,
most of them at least, are made up of and I won't stand for it. In
short, I won't have it.” She didn't answer because she didn't know
how, so he went on, in a muttering tone now, more to himself than
to her, - -
“Drinking, Smoking weeds, swearing and running around back-
stage almost naked, and nobody caring, hunh! Pawing over stage
hands and cheap white men, thinking they can do something for
them when the man is hardly making enough to take care of himself.
But they think that being a white man he can do something for them
so start out to ‘be nice' and persuade him to do so by pawing over
them, inviting them to their homes, going to bed with them—crazy
nuts.”
Edrina glanced up, was glad that his eyes were down and that he
didn't see her. She was a bit frightened now and realized that she
had chosen a bad time to win him over and was sorry she had started
out to, so soon. She was in a quandary as to what to do, how to
turn. Presently she tried a new angle, which turned out to be just
as bad.
“Mayle you don't feel that I am good enough for you,” she
suggested. She said this with her eyes down on her plate but could
see him raise his and look at her, felt it.
“You have everything I want in a wife, Edrina. You come of good
people back there in Louisville. A friend of mine told me all about
them; a friend who used to know you in Louisville, Said that you were
considered a nice girl out there, that you had been raised well, and
that you had fine intelligence. But since getting a little taste of the
stage, you're stage-struck. You think you have something that the
public wants. Maybe you have, but it's too long a gamble to find
out through the medium of a turkey show. I said all along that I
wanted your consent of your own volition, with the understanding
that you'd be satisfied to be a housewife only. And that's what you
promised of your own free will, Say what you may, feel as you may,
but I didn't demand it; was careful not to. I’m sure you understood
my sentiments, that any demand on my part might influence you,
contrary to your wishes.” -
“I’m willing to be a good wife, Sidney. But I’ve got to tell you


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 227
that I hate to see you so set against show people, that's all. They've
never done anything to you, so—”
“All right, Edrina, all right,” he said, cutting her off. “Since you
feel as you do about it, supposing that we postpone our wedding
awhile? Until you've made up your mind, definitely, just what you
want to do. Let's wait. What do you say to that?” Before she could
answer, for she had no answer then to make, he glanced at his watch
and started.
“Good gracious,” he cried. “We’ve been here, arguing for an hour
and a half. I called your landlady and told her to wait, that I'd have
you there an hour ago. She said that she was due to go out and we're
imposing on her by being late.” He called the waiter, paid their bill.
“Now let's go,” he said, and without further words, rose to his feet,
and together they left the place.
The next morning, around noon, at the hall where Mantan was
rehearsing, assisted by Howard, Edrina put in her appearance. After
greeting them and listening to compliments and kind words about
her coming marriage, Edrina broached the question regarding a part
for her. Howard didn't seem to understand what she was talking
about and dismissed the question and proceeded to talk about some-
thing else. She resumed her question, this time insistently.
“I tell you, Edrina,” said Donald, complainingly, “I didn't write
any part in the show for you.”
“But you can,” she replied, insistently. “It’s not too late yet.”
Turning impatiently, he looked sharply at her.
“What about Wyeth? Aren't you supposed to be getting married
to him very shortly He doesn't want you in this show—any show.
What about him?” She tried to ignore his question.
“Hasn't he bought you a divorce? The divorce you've been talking
about getting for more than a year, but never had money enough to
get?” Still Edrina made no answer. He went on, laying aside his
other work and looking straight and hard at her.
“Hasn't he been sending you money, taking care of you all the
while you were in Louisville? You wrote me that you bought a swell
dress for your party with money he sent you? Who sent you money
to come back to New York on 2 As I've told you, I didn't write any
part in this little show for you, for I wasn't thinking about you in


228 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
that regard. I thought I was giving you a chance to get a good
man and a good home and security, and now, no sooner have you
hit New York than here you come running, wanting to know
about a part in this cheap show we're rehearsing. What kind of a
game are you trying to play, anyhow f" he wanted to know, still
looking hard at her. Turning to him at last and affecting tears with
a dramatic gesture to fit, she held out her hands toward him:
“I love you, Donald. I've always loved you. I want to be in the
show so that I can be near you, close to you.”
Glaring at her with unbounded impatience, he swore:
“Well I'll be Goddammed !” and then sprang to his feet, boiling
all over with anger. “I’ve doubted your honesty and sincerity all
along, but I did think, at least hope, that you had a little sense.”
She had risen, and now held her arms out to him appealingly.
“I love you, Donald. That is all I know. Please listen to me, dear. I
want to be in the show so as to be near you all the time.”
“Shut up!” he all but screamed, glaring at her, and brushed aside
the hand she tried to lay on his arm. “You little fool, you God-
dammed little fool! After all I’ve said, after all my pleadings, you
turn out just as I feared all along. You Goddammed little fool,”
he cried and stamped his foot—he was that angry.
Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he turned and walked
away from her, across the room and stood by a window, looking
outside at nothing, while he patted his toe on the floor impatiently.
He stood there a moment, his back to her. Then as suddenly, he
turned and walked back to where she now sat, and standing over
her, he glared down at her and went on:
“So you've been playing Wyeth for a sucker, eh?”
“Oh, I'll marry him if you say so,” she said, glancing up and
shrugging her shoulders.
“Trying to make a fool of the man, hunh? But you're not fooling
him, oh no! If he hasn't seen it already, he will quickly enough. He'll
see right through your cheap little scheme to play him for a sucker.
And when he understands what its all about, he'll throw you over—
and hate you!” He paused a moment as if to let his words soak in,
take effect. “Throw you right out on your can!”
“And remember that when he does, and the things that are going
to result, happen, they're going to happen, not to him or anybody


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 229
else, Edrina. They're going to happen to you, you God dammed
little fool!” He turned his back on her and trembled with anger,
as his foot played a tatoo on the floor. She was weeping now, pitifully.
“I’m not making a fool of myself, Donald, regardless of all you
say. It's only that I love you, just love you, that's all.” She finished
and gave up to her tears now. He looked down at her without sym-
pathy or feeling. -
“Do I have to tell you again, after all the many times I've told
you before, that I am not in love with you or any other woman?
When a man loves a woman, the first thing he thinks about is to
marry her. I've never asked you to marry me for the simple reason
that I’ve never been in love with you, and for the second reason
that I’m not a marrying man. So please, oh, please cut this “I love
you, Donald,' out, and never say it to me again. Even if I cared
enough for you to consider marrying you and was a marrying sort of
man, I wouldn't have you when I see what a cheap game you've been
playing with one of the best men in show business. If you haven't
any better sense than to play around with your bread and butter as
you have in this case, what a dumbbell any man would be to trust and
believe you. So go your little way from now on. I'm out of it and
hope I'll see you so hungry that your tongue will be hanging out.
A gal as crazy as you deserves nobody's sympathy and won't be
getting it. If I run into Wyeth I'll tell him to quit fooling around
with you; you haven't sense enough to treat anybody right, in-
cluding yourself, you Goddammed fool.” With this and another
hard look at her, weeping now with face down, he turned and
left the office, slamming the door behind him,


anºn, XVIII
N SPITE OF DONALD HOWARD’S anger and swearing,
I Edrina continued to hang around the rehearsal hall, and finally
caught Mantan in a charitable mood one day, and feeling agree-
able toward all mankind, as well as obliging, he agreed to give
her a part.
“Just a small part—in fact, a bit,” he said, “But if you just must
be on the stage, you can have it.” After her thanks and tears, she
wanted to know what kind of a part.
“A singing part, Edrina. I think it will be clever to have a nice
girl in a cute dress, come out during the run of the show and sing
a couple of nice, clean, popular songs.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Mantan,” she cried, gratefully, “thank
you. I am sure it will be just what the show needs.” She clasped
her hands in an ecstasy of delight and joy and when she went to
her room, was so happy until she decided to call on Sidney Wyeth
at his room as quickly as the show opened, which was the following
week. She hoped he'd go to see the show. It would be like him, she
conjectured, to look in on it and when he saw her come quietly out
on the stage in a nice, pretty dress and sing a nice, cute and pretty
little song, maybe he wouldn't be so hard on her; maybe he would
repent, take her in his arms, and set a date, or ask her when she
was ready to marry him.
She waited until after the show had been running three nights
before making the call, which she did one night after the finale.
He had retired and lay trying to read some of the manuscript he
was at work on. She knocked so lightly, he was not certain if any-
body was there. She repeated it and hearing him move, called: “Oh,
Sidney. May I—come in P’’
230


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE * 231
He recognized her voice, so got into his slippers and robe and
crossing the room, opened the door. She was standing there, dressed
in the suit and hat she had worn when she called on him at his
office in the beginning; and when he had liked her so much. Maybe
he might again, at least she hoped he would.
“Hello, dear,” she cried, softly, and dared smile at him, sweetly.
“Hello, Edrina,” he said, carelessly.
“Sorry to wake you up,” she said, apologetically.
“I wasn't asleep,” he said. “Come on in,” and swung the door
wider so that she could enter. She did and pausing, turned to face
him after he closed the door.
“Now go right back to bed, you old farmer,” she said, smiling up
at him, so sweetly until for a fleeting moment, she reminded him
of the time when he was most fond of her. He merely grunted, and
turning, went on back to the bed and got into it, after stepping out
of his slippers, and sat there to face her, his back propped against
the pillows, with his robe still on. She sat down on the side of the
bed to face him.
“They say you almost never stay up late.”
For answer he grunted again.
“They say,” she went on, “that you go to bed with the chickens.”
He grunted a bit again for an answer.
“I’m not going to keep you up late, my farmer,” and she laughed
lightly, a little, forced laugh.
“Yes,” he said, a bit grudgingly, she thought. “The farm is still
with me. I guess it will never leave me. I still think of those days out
west there on the Southwest of 29, dream of those old days, long
for them, too. Yes, the farm is still in me, I guess it will never leave
me.”
“Especially when you won't let it,” she said, chidingly. She had
planned before calling, however, that she wouldn't argue with him
about show people tonight, and accuse him of being against them.
She had planned to steer entirely clear of this angle.
“I’ve quit trying,” he was saying. “I guess it's because I like
farming. I hated to give it up, but four dry years and four crop
failures forced me to. I couldn't help it.” Then turning to her in a
changed tone. “Well, how do you like the new show?” she started,
pretending to be surprised.


232 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“How did you know that I was in it?”
“I saw it,” he replied calmly.
“Oh, you did,” she exclaimed, guardedly. Now was the great
moment. Did he like it? What was he going to say about her part?
“Well, how'd you like it?”
“Oh, it seemd all right—I guess.”
“You guess" she repeated. “What do you mean by you guess?
Is it because you—don't like shows?” There it was again. It just
slipped out. She realized that in her eyes he stood convicted of hating
show people. She was relieved when he didn't get angry or become
impatient. All he did was to turn to her slightly and inquire:
“Who said I didn't like shows? I go to them right along.”
“I’m surprised,” she said, a bit sarcastically, but which seemed to
be lost on him.
“You seem to have a distorted opinion when it comes to me and
shows,” he said.
“I don't altogether understand you at times, I admit,” she replied.
“I’m all right,” he said. “I thought you were very good in the little
part you have.”
That pleased her and she was encouraged to go on.
“Thank you, dear. Didn't you think the little part was nice and
clean P” -
“Oh, yes, but—” and he broke off, as if deciding after starting to
say nothing further, not to finish it. -
“But,” she spoke up. “But, what, my dear?”
“Oh, nothing,” he said and shrugged his shoulders to indicate that
what he started to say had best be left unsaid.
“But you must have had something on your mind, then decided
not to finish saying it. I'm curious to know what it is. Won't you
finish it, please?” -
Again he shrugged his shoulders and glanced at his manuscript.
“You admit the part is nice and clean.”
“Yes, now.” -
“You’re the strangest sort of person,” she said complainingly.
“What did you mean by now, anyhow 7" -
“That they often make changes in shows, quick changes. It all de-
pends.”
“You’re baffling. I haven't the least idea what you're hinting at


THE CASE OF MRS. WINCATE - 233
What do you mean by quick changes?”
“That tomorrow you may be called on to do something else,
something different, entirely different,” he said.
She sighed.
“I’m stymied. This something else, you mention. Well, what, for
instance?”
He glanced at her, then let his eyes run up and down her. She fol-
lowed his gaze, then looked straight at him.
“What are you thinking?”
“That you have a nice form, attractive limbs, nice rounded breasts,
Mantan might decide to make you one of his models, take your
clothes off and display that body, most of it, anyhow. All of it, in fact,
that the law will allow him to, and the law doesn't pay much atten-
tion to what the Negroes do in Harlem, so long as it isn't murder, and
they don't take that over seriously, especially when the murder is
confined to one Negro killing another.”
“You’re a crepe hanger. Why are you so hard to please?”
“There's nothing to please involved,” he answered, matter-of-
factly.
She was getting angry, and felt like saying something sharp.
“What I mean is that he's liable to change your nice little part to
something not so nice, see?”
“Never!” she exclaimed, stoutly, sitting straight and fast.
“Let's hope not, but still he may, who knows?”
“He’ll never take my clothes off,” she said, indignantly, rising to
her feet, posing, then turning, walked away a few steps and turning
again, came back and resumed her seat on the side of the bed.
“He took his wife's off a long time ago. Why shouldn't he yours—
if he thinks it'll help the show?”
“The next thing you'll say is that he'll be turning me over to a
white man to play around with, to get the Fay man to put some
money behind the show.”
“No, I won't say that, because as long as I’ve known him, and I
know he's been plenty hard up at times during those years, I've
never heard of him selling any colored girl down the river to a white
man. I’m not afraid that he'll do that.”
“I still say he'll never take my clothes off and show my body. He's
always going to keep me in nice, clean parts. I'm a nice girl with


234 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
plenty of modesty and he knows it.”
“They all had the same thing—until he decided to sweeeten up
the show, pep it a bit, and nothing peps up a Negro show as much as
naked girls. He has to play lots of midnight shows in white houses,
and midnight shows mean hot shows, red hot and the more naked
the show, the hotter, and better they like it.”
“Nevertheless, he won't change my part. The people like nice
songs sung by nice girls like me. All the people haven't filthy minds
like you imply, so what if he does have the chorus girls display
their bodies? I’m not a chorus girl.”
“They won't care anything about those nice little songs you're
singing. They'll want to look at something, and you have, under your
clothes, what they might want to see.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Think so?” he said and looked straight at her.
“What are you trying to get at, anyhow * she said, her voice
raised. He waved at her with his hand.
“You don't have to shout. I hear everything you say clearly.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice lowered, “but you just seem to
want to rub it in. And this to the girl you've promised to marry.”
“You’re a sweet child,” he said, turning to look at her, pitifully,
frankly. “And I'm sorry you're stage-struck. We might have been
able to make a go of it, if it wasn't for that—in spite of the fact that
you don't love me but do our boy, Donald.” .
“Leave him out of it, and say what's on your mind,” she snapped
complainingly.
“Okay, sister. It shall be as you wish. But I haven't anything
particular on my mind. I was saying that people who go to midnight
shows, and a very great many who go to see them regularly and
right at the theatre you're playing in, want their stage entertainment,
when it comes to a colored show, hot; as hot as Harlem is supposed to
be. And if this idea pops into Mantan's head, or into Levine's, who
operates the house, he'll strip-tease you. Before it's all over they're
liable to take that nice little dress you're wearing clear off, with
the slip under it along with it, and send you out there stripped clean,
as naked as a jay bird's baby.”
Jumping to her feet indignantly, as he finished, both angry and
impatient, she glared at him, leaning over him a bit as she did.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 235
“Sidney Wyeth,” she cried out loudly, “how can you think such
things much less express them in the way you're doing? I didn't
think it of you. I'm surprised. You're just narrow-minded. To think
that I’d stand for anything of the kind. You must be crazy!” And
she posed over him impatiently, tapping her toe on the floor.
“Wait and see. I saw the show from the audience, not from in
front of the footlights,” he said, calmly, shrugging his shoulders
and smiling tolerantly.
“Now what do you mean?”
“Sitting through it and forced to feel the reaction around me, I
have the feeling there's going to be some changes made—and they
might not be long in the making.” -
“You’re utterly impossible!” she cried, stamping her little foot,
and turned to walk up and down a few times, and then came back.
“And besides, would you stand for such a thing?”
He looked up at her quickly.
“Me?” he cried, pointing to himself. “What do you mean about
what I’d stand for P”
“Why, as my husband do you mean to say that you'd let Irvin
C. Mantan take my clothes off and parade me back and forth across
that stage and display my body?”
“I wouldn't want him to, if I were your husband,” he said.
“What do you mean now by you wouldn't want him to ?” She
sat down again and got as close as she could, leaned toward him a
bit temptingly, and in a lower voice: “As your wife, Sidney, dear,
my body would belong to you, only you, and not to the show or
Irvin Mantan to parade for the benefit of those loud and noisy
Negroes who attend the theatre.” She leaned forward and before he
could do anything, kissed him, tempting him almost beyond control,
but he sat up quickly and coldly went on: -
“But I’m not your husband, Edrina.”
“But you're going to be, aren't you, Sidney?” she insisted, laying
a hand on him gently, and looking up into his face appealingly. He
took her hand and laid it gently aside.
She frowned at this, as if to say: “Why did you do that?” Instead
she said, very soft and very low : “That's what I mean, Sidney.”
His reply was prompt. He didn't hesitate.
“I’m sorry, Edrina, I was going to be your husband and wanted


236 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
to badly. But you walked out on me, broke your promise and thereby
our engagement. So the engagement is off. I release you from
your promise.” He finished coldy and formally. This chilled her,
hurt her to the quick. Still she decided to keep on trying. So she
reached again for his hand.
“But Sidney,” she began, with great effort. She seemed to realize
that it was now or never. For a fleeting moment he was again
tempted. She looked so sweet and appealing; it would be so easy to
reach out and take her in his arms, crush her to him and hold her
there, hold her there and keep her there—all night! In the end,
self-control came to his assistance, and he decided to pass it up, all
of it, and go on being as he had been all his life.
“You broke the agreement, Edrina, not me. You threw me over
and went back into the show. You're free from now on as far as I’m
concerned. So it's up to you to manage matters your way and take
the consequences.” -
"But Sidney,” she cried, squeezing his hand and fondling it. “You
love me. I can see it in your eyes and you want me, I can see that
in your eyes, too. Why struggle against fate as you are; you've
fought against it all along, and why? I'm yours for the asking—
more, for the taking . . . Why don't you—take me, Sidney.” She
tried to get him into a position so she could kiss him, but he kept
away from her.
“If you were in love with me when I–went back into the
show, you're still in love with me now. You couldn't put me out
of your heart that quickly. Going back into the show and into a nice
little part like they've given me, couldn't change your love to hate,
now could it, Sidney?”
“I don't hate you, Edrina, on the contrary, I feel sorry for you,
and you're going to feel sorry for yourself before it's all over.”
“Why do you say that? Sidney.”
“I don't know right now, but I feel it; I feel something, something
that's going to happen real soon, and when it happens, it's going to
happen to you.” She sat erect, the words bearing down on her.
Donald had said those same words. “When it happens, it's going to
happen to you.” Angered suddenly, she sprang to her feet.
“It isn't going to happen—not to me, anyhow.” She now turned
and walked the floor. He looked at her sadly, as though he pitied her


THE CASE of MRS. wingATE - 237
and that made her more angry.
“It won't happen to me, because I won't let it happen to me,
that's what! I won't let it happen to me. Donald said those same
words to me when I called on him to put me back in the show. He
was angry and swore at me because I came back. He said I should
have stayed away and married you, been nice to you, and—”
“—what else did he say to you, Edrina?” he inquired, looking
straight at her. “What did you say to him to make him angry, so
angry that he swore at you?”
She paused, suddenly taken aback, caught off guard and couldn't
answer, or didn't dare answer. But he read the answer in her face,
in the way she hesitated. -
“You went to him and told him that you loved him, didn't you,
Edrina, which meant that you didn't love me, now isn't that so?
You told him that you loved him and wanted to be in the show so
that you could be near him, close to him all the time, but he didn't
see it the same way. To be near him would be to be on him when
things got tough, and he didn't want that; he wouldn't stand for
that. He knew you didn't love me and I knew it, too, but was willing
to marry you in spite of that and take a chance. I was going to marry
you and take the chance and hope for the best. But you kicked that
over and rushed to Howard, who didn't want you on him and chas-
tised you for the way you were acting, and in the end I bet he
walked out on you, now didn't he?”
She made no answer and turned her face away. He put his feet
on the floor now, got into his slippers and stood up. Walked over to
her and being much taller, towered over her as he went on.
“Then you went over his head. You saw Mantan and caught him
in a good mood. Mantan has more heart than Howard. He felt sorry
for you and he created a little part and put you in it. The kind of
part you wanted, a nice little part in which you're allowed to wear
a cute little dress, look cute and sing two nice little songs. That done,
you waited until you were sure I'd seen it, then you came here and
felt that I wouldn't be so hard; that I’d changed my mind about your
being in a show in general, and you've played your cards carefully.
Offered me everything, more than I asked for, yes, I know. All
very tempting, Edrina, and if I wasn't the kind of fool I am, God
help me, I couldn't have resisted you. Unfortunately, you're a poor


238 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
judge of men, real men, Edrina, for real men stand for something.
Even if I had accepted you, took your clothes off and kept you here
all night, it wouldn't have lasted. Real men have principle, they
stand for something, and what they stand for cannot be appeased
by a woman throwing herself at them. I could have had you from
the beginning, and maybe I've been a fool for not taking you. But
I wanted a wife to love and respect and live with until I die, and
to do that I had to choose a woman that I could respect and trust.
You've proved in the final analysis that I couldn't trust you. Just as
you've tried to tempt me by offering me your body just now, and
before, for that matter. Sometime, some place and somewhere, you'd
give it to somebody else to tempt and if you’d been my wife, it
wouldn't have made any difference. That's what I mean, Edrina. I
guess you'll hate me from now on, but your ideas of life and
men, my kind of a man, anyhow, has been all wrong, and you might
as well know it now as to find it out later, after we got married
for if we had, it wouldn't have lasted. We're just not suited to
each other, and that, Edrina, is that. I’m sorry.” So saying, he
sat down on the side of the bed and lowered his eyes.
She stood there for a time. Presently she turned to look at him
and sighed. Then she walked slowly toward the door. He got to
his feet and followed her. At the door she paused and turned to look
up into his face. There were tears in her eyes and again he felt
sorry for her.
“And this—this means that—it is all—over between us, Sidney?”
she said. He sadly nodded his head.
“I'm afraid that it does,” he replied in a low voice.
“And—an—you—don't love me any more, Sidney?”
“It isn't a question of love, Edrina.”
“Then what is it, Sidney?”
“A question of policy.”
“Policy?”
“Yes, Edrina. Policy and—principle.”
“Principle?”
“Yes, Edrina, as I’ve said over and over again. A man has to stand
for something, and a woman ought to, also. You see, before you
went on the stage you would have understood all this and you would
have appreciated it and agreed with it. But your stage ambitions


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 239
have warped your viewpoint. In a way, being on the stage would not
matter all that. But the way you are, does. And you can't see any
other way. It is possible that somebody might cast a big show, a
big Broadway production and they might want you for a real part,
and in which you might get somewhere by playing. And then again
you might be left in the kind of show you are in indefinitely, sub-
ject to all the influences that go with it, and I don't want any girl
I marry in any such environment, subject to temptations, and that
is why it is best, much for the best, that we end it here and now
and go our own ways.”
“And you—you're not going to-be sorry, Sidney?”
“More than sorry, Edrina. It would be easier to go along with
you, for you have so much that could mean lots to me, but in the end
you'd drag both of us down and neither would be successful or
happy. I'm not going to be sorry, I'm already sorry. It isn't easy for
me to send you away, but I’ve got lots that I want to try to do be-
fore I die. In the end I must try to do these things, otherwise I’d feel
that I’ve lived in vain. I’m sorry, Edrina. This is going to make me
most unhappy, but there is no other way. Good night.”
“Good night, Sidney.” He opened the door and she took a step,
then turned to look again up into his eyes and again he was sorry
for her. He leaned over and kissed her, and she grasped and held on
to him until he repeated it three times, then with a sob she rushed
out into the night, and he closed the door behind her.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 241
and because he had a reputation for being big-hearted, created the bit
and which had pleased her to do so much until he was happy to think
that he had made an ambitious, stage-struck girl happy, too. Yet, as
a showman, he knew as well as Levine that for the theatre's kind
of audiences, the bit didn't mean a thing. Levine was talking again
and Mantan, of course, was forced to listen. zº
“No, her entire part in the show doesn't mean a thing.”
“You don’t think so P”
“I know it doesn't,” argued Levine emphatically. Then, as if
possessed by a sudden thought, he turned to Irvin and looked hard
at him through the large rimmed glasses he was wearing.
“Can she dance?”
Irvin hesitated, then lied:
“A little.”
“M-m. I notice that she has a nice body.”
Irvin wondered what he was thinking. He didn't have to wait
long for he turned to him in his quick and abrupt way.
“Then take off her clothes and have her do a jungle romp.”
Irvin started. That was not only a radical but an abrupt change.
He wondered if it was not an impossible change. Through Irvin's
mind there quickly ran the recollection that no girl ever work-
ed at this theatre who possessed a nice body, that Levine didn't, before
the end of the engagement, suggest displaying that body, unless hers
was an act so sensational otherwise that merely displaying her
body wouldn't mean as much. Inwardly, therefore, he sighed. Edrina's
body, stripped, therefore, was to Levine's mind more attractive than
the little songs she was singing,
“Hasn't she a pretty body?” said Levine, turning to him.
“Don’t you think so?” Irvin had to admit that she had.
“Then let's sell it,” cried Levine, and that, Irvin knew, was final.
It was curtains for Edrina's little act; the end of leisurely strolling
across the stage, holding her hands and squeaking the two songs
which she thought were getting over in a big way. As we see, Levine
didn't think so.
“You can teach her the routine in a day and a night,” said Levine.
“Then have her ready to open Sunday in the change. That's the
deadline. If we give them a good hot show Sunday, it might enable
us to do some business after that, including Sunday, for the rest
of the week.” -


242 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
Levine ran down the list and told him about the other changes,
at the end of which time, he turned again to Irvin, who spoke first.
“How many shows have you planned for Sunday?” he asked
Levine.
“If you're able to whip her into the act as I have it in mind and
it is good and hot, six.” Levine answered thoughtfully, as he
rechecked the whole thing in his mind.
“Whew l’”
“It's because the show is dying—in fact dead already. If you've
whipped this girl's change into a hot, wiggly and twisty rhumba, with
a jungle background and music in keeping with the performance
until they like it, it will take two shows to sell it. You know as well
as I do that if they like it, they can sell the last four, and will, as they
leave the theatre.” -
“Guess you're right, Mr. Levine,” sighed Irvin.
“I know I’m right, so it's up to you. You won't have enough com-
ing as your share to give them a token payment at the end of the
week, much less a full payment, unless you do something to bring them
in this theatre, starting Sunday.”
Irvin left the office and strolled to where he encountered Howard,
looking glum and unhappy. Howard knew the show was dying, too,
and always short of money, he knew that he wouldn't get much
or anything at the end of the engagement, and that was why he was
looking glum and feeling more glum than he looked. He looked at
Irvin and read the annoyance in his face.
“Well ?”
“Levine's squawking.”
“I was afraid he would be. Been waiting for it.”
“Yeh, howling his head off so has ordered changes.”
“Been expecting it. Go on,” said Howard, listening.
“Call rehearsals after the show.”
“Okeh, Irv.”
“We'll rehearse all night tonight.”
“Okeh, boss.” Irvin turned then and left Howard, went to look
for Edrina, to tell her the bad news. He knew it would break her
heart, and he hated to have to do it. Then consoling himself with
the words “show business,” shrugged his shoulders, braced himself
for the ordeal. Added to this, he could tell her that it was Levine's


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 243
orders, and Levine was the payoff. It had to be done. So with a deep
sigh, he sought Edrina and found her happy and serene in her dress-
ing room. Performers like her, could never see that a show was
dying. If the three front rows were filled, they'd say “we’re knocking
them dead” and all the empty seats behind the first rows wouldn't
mean a thing to them. He knocked lightly on her door. He didn't
have the heart to do so briskly or loudly.
“Come in,” she called in a sweet voice, and turned to greet him
with a smile as he pushed the door open and entered, eyes down-
cast, but she didn't notice that. 2.
“Oh, Mr. Mantan,” she cried, on seeing that it was he. “You!”
and she was glad to see him. She guessed that his visit was about
herself right quick. It was to tell her that the songs were getting over
big; that the audience were raving about her. That would sound nice
to her pretty ears, so she turned to welcome him and the message
he was bringing.
“Yes, me, Edrina,” he said in a tired voice and sank onto the chair
she offered. She stood near and waited, wearing her best smile as she
did so. He glanced up at her, and she was looking so innocent and
happy that he groaned, inwardly. “How could he do it,” then de-
cided to prolong telling her as long as possible—a few minutes
anyway.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Mantan,” she ventured, after he
failed to explode the news she was expecting; that she was waiting
for. In that moment he realized that he could prolong it a few
minutes longer. She looked so comfortable and happy with the two
dresses she was wearing in her act, spread out and perfumed,
making everything seem so sweet and pleasant.
“Yes, Edrina,” he dodged. “In my office.” The office where he
had just left Levine was a general sort of office for the stage manager,
the show manager, and Levine when he was back stage. He sighed.
So Irvin called it for this occasion, “his office.’ He supposed he
could, perhaps be a little more official telling her there than in her
cozy little dressing room, where she could burst more easily into
tears when she heard what he had to say, than in the little, cold,
manager's office.
“Thank you, Mr. Mantan,” she said sweetly. She was wondering
now. Maybe he was calling her there to tell her that her act was


244 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
going over so big that he felt it warranted a raise in pay.
“Soon?” she asked. He had risen to his feet and opened the
door. He turned back to her now, and replied:
“Yes, soon, Edrina,” and then left before she could see that his
eyes were deeply troubled. He heard her say, “Thank you, Mr.
Mantan,” as he hurried away to the little office.
After primping herself, powdering her nose and making her face
lcok a bit prettier, Edrina called at the little office and knocked on
the door. Another girl in the show was coming toward the office
and as Edrina knocked on the door, she looked up and saw her, and
smiled when she realized she'd beat the other girl to Mr. Mantan. She
was still smiling as she opened the door and entered Mantan's office.
Knowing that it was her, he pretended to be busy, didn't look up,
but called over his shoulder for her to come in and kept at what he
was pretending to do without looking up.
“Sit down, please,” he said, taking on his most serious and busi-
ness-like expression, “I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”
“Thank you,” she said, and obeyed him, sitting down in the only
other chair in the room, which happened to face him when he dared
look up, which, of course, he had to after a few seconds. Presently
he raised his eyes and faced her.
“Levine's kicking,” he said, abruptly. She started, not understand-
ing at first, what he meant. She only knew by his expression that it
was not to raise her salary. She swallowed a moment, then managed
to say:
“Kicking?” breathed deep and looked surprised.
“Yes, kicking—and how !”
“I—I—don't understand,” she said.
“The show's dying, if you understand what that means.” Still,
she was confused, so repeated after him:
“Dying?” - -
“Dying dead. So, he demands changes” . . . . . and lowered
his eyes to the piece of paper on which he had been figuring. -
“Changes?” she said, and met his eyes when he raised them from
the desk.
“Yes,” said Mantan coldly. He had complete control now and was
ready to dish out the bad news, regardless of what effect it had on
her. “Yes, changes, and your act is the first change he's suggested.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 245
Her heart fell. Quickly she recalled Wyeth's words at his room a
night or so before. “They make quick changes in those kind of
shows. You're doing something today. They might ask you to do
something entirely different tomorrow,” he had said, among other
things. She had decried the idea, insisted that they would not change
her act. She was sure the people liked it, so how dare they even
suggest changing it? She heard herself faintly.
“My act,” she managed to say with an effort.
“He didn't mean mine,” said Mantan. “I’m not a pretty girl like
you.” He looked her up and down now, and she followed his eyes
and wondered what he was thinking, what he was planning.
“Yes,” Irvin was saying, without looking into her eyes. “You
have a fine, rounded and attractive form, Edrina. Can't say as I
had ever noticed it as closely before,” and he continued to study the
lines of it as he watched her.
“You said something about my act,” she reminded him and he
came back to himself, and looked up, smiled, then quickly got serious
again.
“Yes, so I did,” he now said hastily. “Well, he wants you to take
your clothes off and do a jungle romp.” -
She started, violently, all her pride and ego gone completely.
“A what?” she cried, looking hard at him. She refused to believe
at the moment that he meant what he said. “A jungle romp, and I'm
to take my clothes off? Oh, Mr. Mantan, you're joking, surely.”
He answered by shaking his head to indicate that he wasn't.
“I—I don't understand,” she said, chokingly.
“It's Levine's orders. He's the payoff, you know,” he said coldly.
“What—what is a jungle romp, anyhow " she asked.
He smiled tolerantly.
“Well, it's a creation, or a creative dance,” he started to explain.
“But I'm not a dancer, Mr. Mantan, you know that,” she said
insistently.
“He asked me to make you one.”
“Make me one?” she exclaimed. “How can you or anybody else
make a dancer overnight. I—”
“It isn't exactly an interpretive dance. That is, it is a combina-
tion dig-a-dig-a-do, a shake dance and rhumba.”
“Oh, Mr. Mantan, no!” she cried, near panic now.


246 THE CASE OF MFS. WINGATE
For answer he only shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
“It's Levine's orders. And, I repeat, he's the payoff, you know,”
and he shrugged his shoulders again.
“But he surely couldn't have meant me, Mr. Mantan. I—I thought
what I am doing was—all right; I thought it was getting over fine.”
“That's what you thought, Edrina. I'm sorry, but it wasn't.
These Harlem Negroes don't care anything about nice, clean songs.”
“But you know I can't dance, Mr. Mantan, never tried to dance a
lick in my life.”
“As I started to explain,” he said, leaning forward. “You don't
have to exactly know how to dance for you do not exactly dance.
I can teach you what he wants you to do. The main thing is to keep
moving and to wear as few clothes as is possible. In fact, you will
not have on anything but a sort of a little something down there,”
and he pointed to her midsection.
“Oh, My God!” she exclaimed, and again she thought about what
Sidney Wyeth had warned her that they might do. There were tears
in her eyes now, and, looking at her, Mantan felt sorry.
Back in Nashville where he was born and attended school, his
father, long since dead, had been a preacher and a school teacher,
while his mother, still living, had been the principal of a large
Negro grade school. They were, he could never forget, stickers as
regards morality, and although the show business had forced him to
strip many ambitious girls of their modesty, he had never gotten fully
used to it. So it pained him to see Edrina sitting there with tears
running down her cheeks.
“What do you mean by ‘I won't have to exactly dance,’” she
wanted to know now, looking so pitiful and distressed.
Again he shrugged his shoulders.
“Mostly shaking,” he said and shook his shoulders. At last she
understood. She was to strip virtually naked, get out there and wiggle
and shake and do the hootchi ma kooch.
“Oh.” she cried in horror, and covered her eyes with her kerchief
and cried bitterly.
“A shake dance,” she sobbed, without even the benefit of a skirt.
“A shake dance,” she got up and tried to look at him through tear-
filled eyes. “Oh, Mr. Mantan, how can you, how can you!” and she
lowered her face and covered her eyes.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 247
“Now, now, Edrina,” he said kindly. “Don’t take it so hard, and
above all, don't put it on me.
“Then on whom?” she looked at him sobbingly.
“Levine. I told you that it was Levine's orders.”
“A shake dance, oh, Mr. Mantan, no. Please say that I don't have
to—to get out there and try to please all those Negroes, by wiggling
and twisting like a kooch dancer.”
Mantan was annoyed.
“I can't defy Levine, and neither can you or any of us.”
If you disobey him, he'll swear not to use any of us on the stage
of his theatre again. It is the only spot where we can work in
Harlem, almost the only place where we can work in New York,
short of Broadway, and Broadway is a long way from us. You know
I can't afford to have him say that to me.” Seeming to realize
further crying was useless, she sat up, dried her tears, and after a
moment's thought, again turned to him.
“And if I refuse,” she dared ask.
He shrugged his shoulders and replied promptly.
“Well, that would be one way out, the only way. But you'd just be
out of the show, that's all.”
She again lowered her eyes and again began to cry.
“I can, of course, and as you know full well, get a gang of girls
to do it, but he suggested you, so if you want to stay in the show, there
is no other alternative.”
Edrina knew that Harlem was overrun with girls specializing in
the ‘shake'.
“I’m sorry for you, Edrina,” he said, sincerely. “I heard you
were engaged to marry Sidney Wyeth, and I was hoping that you
would do so, and quit fooling around with these shows. There's
nothing to them any more. Wyeth would have made you a good
husband, for he is steady, is a good business man and would have
stood between you and that old wolf that howls outside. But he
wouldn't have vou as long as you insisted on messing around with
the stage. On the other hand, if you just had to be seen, he would
have considered you, I'm sure, for a role in pictures. That would
have been much better. Then when you were not working in pictures,
you could have been in a nice apartment with no worry about pay
days and skip-pay days. If we can't bring more people into the


248 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
theatre right quick to see this show, we won't be able to pay off
when we close. So he figures as to how with you doing this jungle
romp and the other changes that he's suggested, that that will pep
things up and bring the darkies in, starting Sunday, and if it does,
we'll all get some money when we close. So what do you say?” and
he slapped his thigh in a gesture of finality.
She sighed deeply, then nodded her head sadly, in assent. He
started to get up, then thinking of something, sat down again.
“What has happened with your engagement to him, anyhow? I
mean to Wyeth "
“Nothing,” she said quietly.
“Nothing?” he repeated, and looked closely at her. “Aw come
now. Something did happen. I’d bet. What was it? You can tell me.”
“There's nothing to tell,” she repeated, evenly, her eyes away. “I
saw Sidney last night.” -
“You did?” he cried, and seemed surprised. “He didn't want you
in this show, did he?”
She admitted with a shake of her head.
“I was hoping by having the nice little part I’ve been playing
that—”
“—yes, yes, I understand,” he said, cutting her off. “You were
hoping by doing a nice, mild little part that he'd relax and everything
would be all right. Well, it didn't work and I know Wyeth. He has
never had any confidence in these shows even when they had places
to play, plenty of places. He used to tell me that they would play
out. Then, when talking pictures came along, he said they were
through, completely; but there would still be Broadway shows, big,
gorgeous and expensive productions and some times dirty shows,
too filthy to be allowed on the screen, but little shows like this, they
were through. Now he's quit you. Being a woman, you won't admit
this, but I can see that that is what happened. I was afraid it would
happen when you started to hang around the rehearsal hall. You like
the stage and are wedded to the idea, but he knows too much about
it to want you in it, or any other show of the kind. So he gave you
your choice, the show or him. You cut the hog by choosing the
stage, but hoped to win him back, maybe and that's why you went to
see him last night, not knowing that this was going to happen today.”
He was through now and stood up. She remained seated and he


THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE 249
knew that she would stay in the show and try to do the part. Again
he was sorry for her. It was now or never, and he gave her one last
chance.
“Well, I'm sorry. If you think Wyeth might still relent and marry
you, don't take this part. Quit the show and go and tell him.
If he still says no, just hang around, be nice and in time he'll get
sorry and take you back. If, on the other hand, you take the part,
get ready to rehearse all night tonight and all night tomorrow night,
then count it over, for when he hears about and sees you out there,
almost naked, shaking and twisting your body, he will be through
and put you out of his life forever.” He paused and looked down at
her as if to give her time to decide. Then, after a time.
“Well ?”
- “I’ll be at rehearsal tonight,” she said, without looking at him,
but rising to her feet, walked by him on the way out.
He shrugged his shoulders, stepped outside, turned and closed
the office door and went the other way. As he did so the girl who came
up as Edrina entered, bit her lip, stamped her foot, and swore in an
undertone. She wanted to talk with Mantan, but he was so worried
about Edrina that he forgot and ignored her. She had heard the con-
versation between Edrina and him.
She was thinking about what they had said as she turned and
walked away,


CHAPTER X X
ERTHA SCHULTZ stopped by the office next morning,
observed that Wyeth's office door was open and knew by this
time that he was out and gone. If and when he was in, it was
always closed, so she greeted Marie, with a kiss, they had become
that intimate and friendly.
“I’ve got hundreds of books to ship, dear,” said Marie, flashing
a sheaf of orders under Bertha's eyes. “Since Passion was pub-
lished, the Negroes, anxious to read it, were told they could get it
at bookstores, and when they went there, our book suggested itself
to them and they've been placing orders, which come in small lots
through stores, but still more directly from the customers themselves.
So we're simply swamped with demands for it.”
“That's fine,” said Bertha. “And—” S
“I have to wrap all these books, make out C.O.D.'s on a large
share, which means a lot of work to get them in the mail. So that—”
“—is why you are swamped with work, eh?”
“Exactly,” said Marie and sighed.
“Then, dear, let me help you,” she said and proceeded to take
off her coat preparatory to doing so.
“Oh, really, Bertha,” cried Marie. “I didn't mean that when I
complained.”
“I’m going to help you, dear,” insisted Bertha. “And I'll be glad
to. You know, Marie, in Germany the women work, all Germans
work and they don't dislike it. Everybody is raised and taught from
childhood to work. That is why German people are so—aggressive,
I think they call it. I’ll be glad to help you. This kind of work is
letting me get soft, and I’m glad to do some real work. So tell
me what you want me to do,” with which she made a gesture of im-
patience, and Marie could see that she meant to help.
250


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 251
“But the pay, I–”
“Who said anything about pay?” said Bertha. “I’ll perhaps learn
something about the book business which will be beneficial. So come
on, say what I am to do,” and she impatiently snapped her fingers.
“Well,” said Marie, “if you just must.”
“Just must is the word,” said Bertha with decision. “Just must
and I must, so let's go on from here,” Marie laughed and patted her
kindly.
“Oh, Bertha, you're a darling girl and I love you,” and Marie
placed her arm about her and embraced her. “I’m sure everybody
must like you.
“And I like you, too, Marie. I think you're the finest girl I ever
met; that I ever knew,” cried Bertha, squeezing her. “In the mean-
time, when Mr. Wyeth comes back, he'll be cheered if all the orders
have been filled, so let's get busy.”
“He will that,” said Marie. “Now, since you insist on helping,
we'd best go back in the stock room where we keep the books and
start from there.
“Then,” said Bertha, “It is to the stock room we go,” and she
turned in that direction. Marie placed an arm about her and they
went back to the stock room where they worked without pause until
noon. They went downstairs then to a restaurant, chose a booth
and sat across from each other.
“Now I guess we can do some talking,” said Bertha.
“About what, for instance”
“Mr. Wyeth, the boss,” said Bertha.
“Oh,” cried Marie, and smiled. “Well, what do you think of him
by now, since you've met and talked with him?”
“Oh, fine,” said Bertha, smiling and looking the part.
“He is a nice fellow, isn't he?” said Marie.
“More than a nice fellow,” said Bertha, enthusiastically. “A fine
fellow.”
“It's me that knows.” Then she paused and frowned.
“What's the matter?” said Bertha, looking at her concernedly.
“I’m worried about him,” said Marie, and her frown deepened.
“And why?”
“That girl?”
“Oh, the girl. How do they seem to be getting along?” said Bertha.


252 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“I’m not sure. She's back in town—and in the show on 125th St.”
“So what?'
“It isn't what he should have done. Getting mixed up with a show
girl, getting himself engaged to one. It isn't going to work out.”
“Now, now, Marie,” said Bertha, “you shouldn't take it that
way. I'm sure Mr. Wyeth must know what he is doing. I think you
should trust him and leave it to him to do the sensible thing.”
“Maybe all of us have to make some kind of a mistake sooner
or later, but for Mr. Wyeth to make the one he seems about to make,
is more than I can stand and just not say anything about it.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Bertha sympathetically. “Tell me more about
it.” -
“There isn't much for me to tell,” said Marie. “It is of course his
affair and in everything since I’ve known him he's been so level-
headed and has made so few mistakes—never one like this, that I
don't know what to do, what to say.” and she frowned and took a sip
of water as if to drown it.
“Where is the girl now?”
“In that show on 125th Street.”
“Oh, I thought she was in Louisville,” said Bertha.
“She returned a few days ago, and is doing a turn in the show
down there this week.” - -
“I’d like to see her.”
“I’m planning to take you to see the show. There's something I
want to find out about her first.”
“Oh P” -
“Mr. Wyeth is not the kind of a man that a show girl would be
falling overly much in love with.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Bertha.
“That girls like her usually go all overboard on some good-
looker like Thompson, you remember, and who used to work for us.”
“Yes? Of course I remember the fellow Thompson. Seemed very
much in love with himself. So that's the kind they usually fall for,
as you put it?” -
“That kind or a musician. Just one thing is sure about the kind
of men they fall in love with. He must be no good,” she finished and
Bertha laughed. -
“I mean it,” insisted Marie seriously. “It is hardly within their


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 253
capacity to love a good man, for a good man would not indulge them
in a lot of illusions.”
“Illusions, eh?” and Bertha laughed again.
“Illusions are right. They'd want somebody, when they are
stage crazy, to tell them that they were going to put them on Broad-
way, or book them for 40 weeks over one of the big vaudeville
circuits. Mr. Wyeth, you see, would not tell her anything like
that. He never has told any of the girls he used to work in pictures
any tales about going places.
“Most of them want to be fooled; they want somebody to tell them
that after they've appeared in this picture, or that picture, and do
just as they tell them to, they'll get a seven year contract in Holly-
wood and be flown out there in due time. I’ve heard him tell them
repeatedly. ‘Listen. This is just a colored picture, to be shown in
a few hundred theatres, mostly to colored people. We are giving you
so much and so much to work in it, but please don't get the idea
that it's going to be shown on Broadway, or that a big fat contract
to go to Hollywood is going to follow. They don't know anything
about us in Hollywood, and would not care if they did. So if you're
satisfied to work for the sum we agree to pay you, do your work well
and should you happen to stand out in the scenes when we screen
the rushes, we'll play you up in the trailer and on the posters as
best we can, which in the end isn’t much.' All of which, wouldn't
make him appeal so much to her. Besides, he's just a plain man, and
stage girls don't go overboard for plain men, either.”
“She's probably calculated that he has money, and that, as you
see, could interest her,” suggested Bertha.
“It could and should, although Mr. Wyeth has no big money. But
if that's what she's playing for, she'll fall down on the job. Our
women don't know how to treat or play up to a man who could and
might be willing to help them. They set out to play that kind for a
sucker and give the money they get to men like Thompson.”
“I’m learning things,” smiled Bertha.
Marie laughed.
“What's become of this fellow, Thompson, anyhow P”
“Oh, cried Marie, suddenly. “I knew there was something I
wanted to tell you. Well, old tall, dark and handsome got hooked.”
“Hooked?” inquired Bertha, and Marie laughed as she saw


254 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
Bertha didn't understand.
“I shouldn't use so much slang, especially when talking to you.
They didn't teach you American slang in Heidelberg or at the Sor-
bonne. But getting back to Thompson. The teacher took him to Rich-
mond and married him.”
“Oh, really,” cried Bertha.
“She did exactly that.”
“Tell me all about it,” cried Bertha, anxiously, smiling.
“Well, it started when he met her in Baltimore, when he drove
Mr. Wyeth down there and around to the schools where Mr. Wyeth
reviewed his book and would then sell it. He developed it into a nice
business, and took Thompson along to assist him.”
“Assist him, eh?” said Bertha. “Did he make a good assistant?”
“Naw,” cried Marie disgustedly.
“No P”
“Positively not. Mr. Wyeth couldn't interest him in learning or
trying to learn anything about it. But since most schools are filled
with young lady teachers, and Thompson was tall, dark and hand-
some, with pretty, slick black hair, all he needed to do was to make
a play for the teachers, many of whom would make a play back for
his benefit and that was how it all started.”
“In Baltimore?”
“In Baltimore,” said Marie. “He met this particular teacher one
afternoon while Mr. Wyeth was reviewing his book at a school, made
goo goo eyes at her, and she goo-gooed back at him. He met her
that night and it got started. -
“After Mr. Wyeth finished his campaign in Baltimore, he sent
Thompson back to complete deliveries, and while there he ran into
this teacher again. She was about ten years older than he, had been
married three times, and was seasoned in the art of inveigling men,
so he told me.” -
“But, ten years older than he, why would he—” º
“—I’m coming to that. Why would he play around with a woman
ten years older than himself, is what you were going to say. Well,
you see, Thompson had a habit of getting a few dollars from girls
when matters could be so organized.”
“Oh, I see,” said Bertha. “He was one of those kind of men.”
“Not altogether so. Wasn't smart enough. Thompson didn’t have


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 255
a lot of brains, and the kind of men you're thinking about have to
have a lot of sense—of a kind, do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” agreed Bertha.
“Thompson, as I explained, didn't have that much sense; but since
Mr. Wyeth couldn't get him interested in what he was doing, and
he was around with him meeting these teachers, and being admired
by them, and being in the love making business and needing more
money, he had long since made a practice of giving them a long
pitiful story about his boyhood.”
“His boyhood?”
“He was a timid sort of boy, he'd tell them and would cry easily,
and while young, as many children do, with a weak bladder until
they grow older, would wet the bed and his father, a hard-up farmer
in the dust bowl section of the West, where farmers more or less
had a hard time, would punish him for it.”
“Oh, that was unkind and thoughtless,” cried Bertha.
Marie smiled and pointed at her. Bertha didn't seem to under-
stand. -
“That was how it worked,” said Marie. “You see, when I told
you about it, you felt sorry for him.”
Bertha laughed.
“And that was how and why these girls would feel sorry for him,
want to sort of mother him and take on over him and when he
saw they were taken, he'd take them for a few dollars through some
bad luck tale. He did it so much and for so long that it possessed
him; he wasn't happy or satisfied unless he was at least trying to
work it. Well, he got acquainted with this teacher. Thompson, I
know, had about despaired of making good on his own, so had a
vision of marrying some rich woman and in that way, getting along.
But he had no realization of what wealth was exactly or what it
meant. This teacher's mother, however, was buying a home, and they
lived in it, and her grandmother owned another, at least was sup-
posed to and after going out with Thompson and getting his num-
ber, this teacher, as stated, ten years older, and vain and liking
young men, especially good looking ones, decided to take him for a
husband, and started out to play her cards accordingly. When Mr.
Wyeth sent Thompson back to Baltimore to complete these deliveries,
she had a chance to play her cards, for when he got back here, he told


256 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
me what he did. He told her he was a bit hard up and looked sad.
She stroked his pretty dark hair over his round head, and handed
him $5.00.” -
“Five dollars.”
“Yes, five dollars.”
“And finally got him for a husband?”
“For a five dollar bill,” said Marie.
Bertha burst into laughter.
“Yes,” said Marie, “she ultimately got him for a five dollar bill.
She had married three times before in Baltimore and the fact was
the subject of much gossip. One of the three men, a very bright one,
she married twice. So when she got ready to marry Thompson, she
took him off to Richmond, over to a little river town nearby and
there married him.”
“And that is why I hayen't been seeing him around the office of
late,” said Bertha.
“She put him to work, real, hard work, out at Sparrow Point,
Maryland, that's what she did, and he hasn’t been up here but once
since, which was the time you met him.”
“Meanwhile, you’ve gotten entirely away from Mr. Wyeth's
romance. I'm interested in hearing more about him and this—show
girl, you were talking about,” said Bertha.
“Of course,” said Marie. “I guess you think I'm such a gossip.”
“You’re a woman,” said Bertha and smiled understandingly.
Both laughed then.
“As regards Mr. Wyeth and this show girl,” and Marie let escape
a sort of hopeless sigh. “I don't know how to feel. I’ve always hoped
Mr. Wyeth would meet the right kind of girl and make a sensible and
happy marriage, but I can't see this tie-up, can't see it at all. I've
hoped he'd get a good wife for several reasons.”
“Among which, for instance?” -
“That he's on the road to real success at last. As simple and as
insignificant as it may seem, his publishing business is the most
promising thing he has ever done.”
“Is that so?” said Bertha seriously. -
“It is. His friends think he's all through because he has suspended
making pictures, but he's doing far better, for himself, in the present
business than he ever did in making pictures.” -


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 257
“Seriously?” said Bertha, thoughtfully.
“Seriously, and I know.”
“You should,” said Bertha.
“I’ve been closer to him in both lines than any other person, and
I'm in a position to see and know what's going on, and he's on the
road to go places, writing and publishing his own books and selling
those by others, the kind that best appeal to our group, at the same
time.
“By which, you see, if he had a nice, sensible girl, like—like you,
Bertha, for instance.”
“Oh, not me, Marie,” and Bertha blushed beautifully.
“I know, I said something like that before, but I didn't mean you
exactly, Bertha. I did, however, mean a girl like you. Why, with
a smart wife by his side, if no more than to let him keep his mind
on what he's trying to do, nothing but death or serious illness could
stop him.” - -
“I do hope he'll get the right kind of wife,” said Bertha sincerely.
“That is why I'm so annoyed by his taking up with this show girl.
I get mad almost every time I think about it.” Bertha had become
suddenly and strangely silent, and Marie looked at her.
Seeing that she was preoccupied, Marie said nothing. But Bertha
was thinking. Thinking of her brother, of Adolf Hitler, and what
she had come to this country, promising to do; of how she had
sworn to first serve the Third Reich; that even now she was sup-
posed to be at work on Sidney Wyeth, helping to interest and ulti-
mately persuade him into making the hate picture, the first schedule
on their program. And, instead, she was seated in a common
restaurant high up in black Harlem, talking about nothing, as it
would be viewed by those to whom she had to report.
All this went through her mind in a flash, whereupon she came
back to herself and to Marie's presence across the table, and re-
laxing, smiled at Marie and took a sip of water.
“Please pardon me, dear,” she said, apologetically, and reaching
across the table, laid a hand on Marie's as if to reassure her. “I
just happened to think of something; something back in Germany.”
“You—you have a-deep interest in Germany, Bertha,” ventured
Marie, guardedly. She didn't want to seem too inquisitive. By now
she was aware that there was something a bit peculiar and mysterious


258 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
about Bertha. It was not altogether clear exactly what she was doing,
yet she was sure it was nothing to be ashamed of. But as friendly as
they had become and were, she was sure that there was something,
perhaps a very great deal, that Bertha had not told her about her
work. Beyond a certain point she seemed vague and indefinite and
secretive.
She had wondered about her unusual interest in Wyeth, more than
just common interest. Was there something that she wanted to
have Wyeth do, and if so, what? Yet she knew she couldn't ask
her and wouldn't. It might embarrass her, and she liked her too
much to risk that. Still she wished she could find out more.
“You were speaking about Mr. Wyeth,” she heard Bertha saying,
and became conscious almost for the first time, that Bertha was
holding her hand. Holding it, she was sure, to reassure her. She
smiled across at her and caught her hand and squeezed it as if to
reassure Bertha.
“I think we should talk about something else, Bertha,” she said.
“Besides, here comes our order, and eating it will keep us busy for
the next twenty minutes.”


ARIE AND BERTHA had agreed before Bertha left the
office the day before, to go shopping downtown together
on Saturday afternoon, and Bertha was to meet Marie at the
office and go on from there. Accordingly, Bertha called and we find
them in the office before leaving, talking about the thing nearest to
them.
“I met and had a long talk with one of the girls in Mantan's
show on 125th Street last night,” Marie was saying. “And she told
me the show did fairly well the first week, but got off to a bad start
on the hold over and that Levine was in a panic, and ordered changes,
some quick and radical changes.” -
Bertha, who was fast learning much about the Negro by her asso-
ciation and talks with Marie, listened with close interest. -
“She said that Mantan then called in Edrina, that's the girl Mr
Wyeth has been engaged to.”
“Has been 7" said Bertha. “You mean, is, don't you?”
“I mean what I just said,” said Marie.
“All right, dear. Please go on. Then what?”
“I’m coming to that, all that,” she said.
Meanwhile, Bertha glanced over her shoulder towards Wyeth's
office.
“He was in early this morning, but drove away shortly after I
arrived. I think he's gone up to New Rochelle, for the day,” said
Marie, following Bertha's glance at his office.
“He seems so industrious, so full of energy, always up and going.”
“He is that. Up and going most times, gone,” said Marie. “That's
why I'm on the anxious seat about him; to get this crazy show girl
out of his system, if I can.”
Bertha smiled patiently.
“And I think,” said Marie, “at least hope, strongly, that's about
259


260 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
what's happened.” Marie paused, and Bertha patted her shoulder
gently, as she waited for her to go on.
“This girl in the show, who happens to be a friend of mine, told
me that Mantan called Edrina to his office after the order went out
that they were going to change the show, and that she went into the
office, all smiles and high-hat. But when she came out, she could
have been bought for thirty cents, the way she looked, and that she
was crying. Then, according to this girl, they were all called into
rehearsal and kept hard at it until about two-thirty A. M., when
everybody was told to knock off and go home, but Edrina and the
piano player.
“Then what?”
“She didn't know, but that she thought Mantan was teaching
Edrina some new routine, which was supposed to be sensational.”
“But what has this to do with her engagement to Mr. Wyeth "
“Oh, yes,” cried Marie. “I forgot that part of the story. The girl
said that while Edrina was in the office she went there and while
waiting outside to see Mr. Mantan, overheard them talking; and that
from what she could gather, Mr. Wyeth had walked out on Edrina
after she went back into the show.”
“Walked out on her, eh?”
“I’m not sure, but the girl said, from what she could gather, that
Mr. Wyeth had become engaged to Edrina only after she promised to
quit fooling around shows. So the fact that she went back into this,
was contrary to what he wanted, so he quit her.”
“The plot thickens,” said Bertha and laughed.
“And becomes more interesting,” said Marie. “Well, I wasn't
through. The girl said that she thought Mantan was teaching Edrina
to shake.”
“Shake?” cried Bertha.
Marie had a good laugh. -
“I guess you don't understand what all these Harlem terms
mean.” -
“I surely don't understand what you mean by shake. What does
it mean, anyhow, Marie?” said Bertha, all curious.
Having seen it done often, Marie proceeded to give her a slight
demonstration.
“Good gracious, you mean, that—that she's going to do something


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 261
like—that?” Bertha's expression indicated how she viewed it.
“Oh, a whole lot more than that. That was just a counter
sample. -
“No wonder they say such—such terrible things,” said Bertha,
wearing an amazed expression, “about Harlem. Shaking, whew! So
indecent.”
“I agree with you, and so does about every decent person. Still
they come up here and thrill and cheer to the indecency. They call
themselves ‘slumming'.”
Bertha shook her head, sadly and sighed. -
“Not only does a girl have to shake herself almost to pieces to do
it, but she must strip almost naked, into the bargain.” -
“Naked 2 Oh, Marie, no!”
“Oh, Bertha, yes,” said Marie.
“Naked,” Bertha repeated, and again shook her head.
“I said, almost, Bertha, dear.”
“Oh, almost? How almost?”
“I want to take you down there to see the show tomorrow night,
dear, then you'll see how “almost’.” "
“Me, to see a show like that, and you, oh, no, Marie! I'm still
decent, even if I am living in Harlem,” argued Bertha. “We haven't
sunk that low, really, have we?”
Marie embraced her.
“It's not as bad as all that, although this girl friend of mine says
that they are grooming it to be ‘hot, red hot'.”
Bertha looked at her again and shook her head.
“But why—why do they permit so much indecency up here?”
Bertha wanted to know. “Is it be—because it is a colored section,
and the white people don't care what they do?”
“In a way, yes, but not altogether so. They feel that a show has got
to give them something they can't see downtown in order to bring
them up here, and no doubt the management of this theatre intends
to bring them up at whatever the cost.”
“Poor Harlem,” sighed Bertha and again shook her head.
“But getting back to what I started to tell you, the girl said
that they plan to start Edrina doing her new act Sunday.”
“Sunday, too.”
“Oh they start and do the most bold things on Sunday. Not so


262 TFIE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE ->
unusual at that. Hitler started this war, which is liable to grow into
an awful war, on Sunday.”
Bertha looked at her quickly, sharply, then as suddenly relaxed
and made no answer.
“Well, I intend to see it and I won't like you as much as I do
if you don't meet me and go with me.”
“Oh, Marie, must I?”
“I heard you tell Mr. Wyeth that you wanted to find out all you
could about Negroes.”
“But I didn't mean going to—to an—indecent show.”
“I guarantee that you won't be overly embarrassed or harmed,
dear, so just make up your mind, for I'm going to take you with
me,” said Marie.
Bertha gave her consent by a sigh.
“Another reason I have for going, and taking you with me,”
said Marie, going on.
Bertha looked at her, a question in her eyes.
“Mr. Wyeth will be there.”
Bertha started, and turned to look at Marie with a new interest.
“Oh, he's—”
“No,” corrected Marie, cutting her off. “He’s not going with us.”
“But—”
“—when he goes there he goes on Sunday, and when he hears
that they have changed the show, he'll surely be there.”
“Oh, I see. I guess I understand better now.”
“He'll want to see what they have her doing.”
“Of course.”
“And when he goes there, he's usually alone, and generally goes
along between seven and eight o'clock.” Again Bertha looked at her,
a question in her eyes.
“Yes, usually alone. Other than this old crazy girl whom he's
allowed himself to get mixed up with, he's never had many, if any
girl friends.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. It isn't that he doesn't care for women, but he seems
to find more interest with his thoughts than with the most of them.”
“If you weren’t married and I know happy with your husband,
I’d suspect you of having a deeper interest in Mr. Wyeth,” said


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 263
Bertha, and winked, playfully. “Go on,” she said.
“I’ve worked for him so long until he seems like a brother and a
father to me, all in one,” said Marie, smiling.
“I can understand that.”
“And you’d want to see somebody like that, if they were getting
married, to marry the kind of woman they needed; a woman who
would place his interest first and look after him, wouldn't you?”
“Of course,” agreed Bertha.
“Getting back to Mr. Wyeth,” resumed Marie. “As I started to
explain, he usually goes to the show between seven and seven thirty
and sits in the section furthest over. I’ve been to the show and always
see him seated in that section. Now we must be there, waiting when
he comes in.”
Again Bertha looked at her quickly, curiously, a question in her
eyes.
"Because I intend before the show is over, if possible, before this
girl comes out to do her new act, to be seated behind him, as close as I
can get, or we can get, and watch his reaction.”
“Oh, I follow you now,” cried Bertha, and she seemed to under-
stand at last.
“When we leave the show, I'll know if he still intends to marry
her. Now do you understand what I am getting at?”
“I sure do, dear. What time shall I meet you and where?”
“In the lobby of the theatre at about six-thirty.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Wait until I arrive, if I am not there. I’ll buy the tickets.”
“But—”
“I’ll buy the tickets. Now let's get on downtown to do our
shopping,” so saying, she put Bertha ahead of her and went through
the door, closed and locked it behind her, then arm in arm they left
the building.
Edrina sighed as she took her dresses off the hangers late that
night after the finale, kissed them, wept over them for a moment,
and sighed again as she folded and placed them gently in her suit-
case to carry home. She knew she would need them no more as long
as she stayed in the show, and it had suddenly become necessary for
her to stay in the show, for it was now her only means of earning


264 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
a livelihood.
Sidney Wyeth had quit, walked out on her, as it were, and she
was not feeling good about it. No girl feels good when a man quits
her. If there's to be any quitting, the girl is supposed to do it. In her
case she had been given no chance, no choice. She knew when he
led her to the door and kissed her goodnight it was goodby, too.
He had kissed her just to keep her from feeling so bad, but he was
through. That he had been steeling his heart against her for some
time, ever since she had developed the argument in the restaurant
on returning from Louisville, that he knew he had enough of her. He
had said it was principle and seemed to put a firm emphasis on it.
And now as she folded her nice little dresses and gathered her two
songs, and put them in the suitcase with the dresses, she realized
that when she left the theatre the next night she would be con-
sidered by all those who saw her, and by those who knew her, as .
another kind of a girl.
She thought of the matron, and of the girls at the YWCA which
place she had been working, and had quit to go in the show, of their
modesty and ideas, what they would think of her when somebody
told them that she was doing a naked dance down at the theatre.
It was a dismal outlook.
“Oh, well,” she said to herself with a deep and tired sigh, “I asked
for it, and now I’ve got to take it,” and she sighed and was
a very unhappy girl when she left the theatre, alone.
She had mastered whatever it was that she was to do to Mr.
Mantan's satisfaction, although he had almost killed her, teaching
her how and she was tired, dead tired. She went directly to her room
and to bed. Mantan told her he'd wake her up the next morning, and
continue to put her through the routine until the show opened.
It was not a difficult routine but an intricate one. In it, she did about
everything a theatrical producer's mind could conceive. To remember
all that she was to do, would be the harder. Being an intelligent girl
with a good memory, however, she was not afraid of forgetting
which followed which. She only knew that she hated to do it, but
realized now that she had to or else. -
When she opened the door of her room, the first thing to greet
her eyes was a special delivery letter which had come that night
from her mother in Louisville, While from her mother, she knew


cºrn, XXII
ERTHA SCHULTZ did not rise early the next morning,
which was Sunday. Back in Germany she lived with her
mother and half brothers and sisters on a small farm outside
of Berlin. And although the past six years had been spent in school,
in Paris and Heidelberg, she managed to spend two months in the
middle of the summer at home and loved the little farm, where they
had raised many of the things that helped to feed Berlin. Marie had
told her that Wyeth was born on a farm, and that just before start-
ing to make pictures, had spent eight years as a master farmer in
the Dakotas where the fields were wide and the farms large.
She intended to talk with Wyeth about it as soon as they could
get around to it, so she thought about her home and the folks back
in Germany. Germany had overrun Denmark, Norway, Belgium,
the low countries and France and was charging like mad into Russia
since she came away and everything seemed to be over, the end of the
war was near. But in reading the papers and keeping herself inform-
ed regarding events, she knew the war wasn't over; that Germany,
obviously a winner, was still not a winner, but from the tone of her
mother's letters, she realized that the people of Germany were under
the impression that they had won, and were only waiting for England
and Russia to capitulate. She dared wish it could get over quickly.
Germany winning, of course, but she was too close to what was going
on in America, the bitter resentment, the intensely pro-English senti-
ment, especially on the part of the President, to indulge long in this
vain hope.
She thought about Wyeth, and that she was to help pursuade
him to make the hate picture, and wondered, soberly, just how she
would go about it. She liked Mr. Wyeth, and she couldn't at this
distance, visualize very clearly just how she was going to persuade
him to do something she had a feeling that he didn't want to do.
266


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 267
| Besides, she didn't hate Jews as Hitler had been training Germans to
do. She disliked many of their mercenary ways, and was meeting lots
of things here and finding that they were more mercenary in
America than in Germany where there were not nearly so many.
From what she understood and saw going on all over Harlem, it would
be easy to stir Negroes against Jews into action, and by such could
understand what the hate picture that Kermit Early had written and
planned to have Wyeth film, could do to throw them into a siege of
hatred and destruction. Yet, she wasn't enthusiastic over the idea. It
was something, she fully realized, in the position she had accepted
and assumed, that had to be done if only as a matter of policy.
After tossing about for half an hour, she fell asleep again and was
surprised on awakening to find that it was nearly noon, so rose, took
her bath, prepared breakfast for herself and brother, and after he
left the apartment, sat down and wrote her mother a long letter.
Promptly at the appointed time, late that afternoon, she found
herself in the lobby of the theatre, attractively dressed, and looking
more beautiful Marie thought, than she ever seen her. A crowd was
pouring into the theatre; a few were leaving. She hadn't been there
long when she felt some one touch her, and turning, looked into the
Smiling face of Marie. After greeting each other they entered the
theatre lobby where they had to wait in line. Standing, waiting,
therefore, they could not help hearing the comment by those leaving
the theatre. Some men who chose to linger a few minutes on the way
out, were very definite about what they had just seen.
“What did you think of the show, anyhow " said the first one,
turning to the other.
“Oh, so, so,” observed the other. “It wouldn't be worf a quatah if
it wasn't fo’ dat gal.”
“You mean the gal doin' the naked dance?”
“Sho.”
“Youse right. I wonduhs was she naked, shonuff.”
“Seemed lak she was.”
“And man, she's sho got some purty teaties.”
“You tellin' me!” and they laughed. “Dey wuz bouncin’ round
on her breas lak li'l rubber bubles. I’d sho laktu hold dem bubbies in
mah hand fo jes” a minet.”
“Gwan, man, hush yo mouf.” and again they laughed and left the


268 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
lobby. Bertha and Marie exchanged expressions.
Another couple coming slowly out with the crowd, paused to
COmment. -
“And when she'd stop, stomp her foot, den shake dem hips, aw
man!” -
By the loud music from inside, the show had broken, and a large
crowd came out now, filling the lobby as they did so. When the lines
grew thinner, they were permitted to enter. Marie decided to stand
in the rear where she could watch the door, and see Wyeth when
he entered, but seated Bertha in an empty seat and told her to
watch the picture, while she waited for Wyeth to appear.
Bertha became interested in the picture, but found it hard to watch
and listen to it, and keep looking up at Marie. About seven-thirty,
however, she nudged Bertha and whispered in an undertone:
“There he goes.” Bertha rose to her feet and together they
watched him, followed him with their eyes until he found a seat in
the section Marie had said he would find one. They crossed and
found two near the aisle, a few rows back.
“As quickly as the picture is over,” said Marie, in a whisper,
We'll be able to get seats right behind him.”
“Supposing he should look back.” whispered Bertha.
“He won't look back, unless somebody starts a fight—and we'll
take a chance on that at least.” They both laughed, turned their eyes
toward the screen and picked up the story and watched the picture
to the end. As Marie suggested, at the end of the picture, half the
people rose to their feet and left the theatre and before the crowd
standing and waiting could pour down the aisles, they stole forward
and got two seats almost directly behind Wyeth.
It was fully an hour later before the theatre became suddenly
quiet, the lights dimmed and the house was almost dark, when the
curtain rose and the orchestra began playing the famous diga-dig-
ado, which was followed by a sensational chorus performance. This
was presently blended into an African native dance, in which drums
supplanted almost every other instrument. Then came some fast
dancing, a lot of wiggling and twisting, and finally Edrina put in
her appearance. The house came down with applause. It was obvious
then what the crowd was waiting for.
Watching it quietly from his seat, Wyeth wondered, after the


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 269
shock of seeing the girl he had been about to marry, dash from
the wings, to all appearances, entirely naked. There was an expres-
sion from every auditor in the theatre, an expression of “oh,” and
“ah's.” The orchestra then played loudly, giving her a chance to dash
back and forth, in an assumed dance, which, by a close observer, could
be seen to be no dance at all, but a well-faked camouflage, staged
by the ingenious Mantan with careful and well-ordered precision,
to seem like a sensational dance.
Bertha and Marie clasped hands after an “oh,” as she made her
entry, and continued to hold hands, while Edrina put on her act.
They watched and studied her, and associated her as the future
wife of the man sitting before them whom both admired.
They could hear whispered expressions all about them, debating if
she was wearing any clothes at all. -
“That gal's naked, or I'm a liar,” one argued.
“Naw she ain’t,” said another. -
“How come? Where are her clothes P”
“Well, she ain't got on much, but she has something over her—”
“Ain’t it a shame. That gal doin' a naked dance. Yuh know who
she is P” -
“Naw. Who?”
“She's the gal who used to wait table at the Y. Remember, she
used to wait on us.”
“Sho, I remembuhs now. Her name's—”
“Edrina Vinson.” ,
“Sho, sho, I remembuhs her now, shonuf. And now, Edrina Vinson
doin' a naked dance.”
“She sho can do hit—now look at heh.”
Edrina was now doing an imitation of the hootch, which in the
words of colored America, stopped the show. Mantan had taught her
how to stamp one foot hard on the floor, then follow it up by
an abrupt twist of her hips, followed by a wiggle, more twisting, how
to go as low to the floor as possible, then bring her midsection up
and hit at some invisible object in front of her. All the while, her
rounded teaties were putting on an act of their own, due to her
continued twisting and wriggling. Although bronzed, they at-
tracted as much attention as if they were bare and looking at it, and
listening to the reaction of the thrill-packed theatre, Bertha and


270 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Marie were sure they heard Wyeth emit a slight groan on more than
one occasion and sadly lower his eyes. At such times, Marie
would squeeze Bertha's hand and nod her head towards him.
The act was prolonged for several minutes and they wondered
at her ability to hold out so long. Finally the dance was brought to a
climax when the music, mounting higher and higher until it reached a
crescendo by a terrific and deafening roar, and Edrina dashing from
right to left, left to right for what seemed an interminable time,
fell in a dramatic sprawl on the floor. The curtain came down and
the house broke into deafening applause. They kept her, wearing a
robe, coming forward at least half a dozen times for encores, and
Wyeth, watching it all quietly, and knowing how anxious she had
been to catch the spotlight, wondered if she was pleased, now that
she had it.
After what seemed an age, however, the house lit up and Marie
and Bertha let him leave before they rose and followed him, keeping
him in sight as they did so.
On the sidewalk he paused wearily, to look around and hesitate
a while, during which Marie came up behind and touched him. He
did not start, but turned and when he saw who it was, seemed re-
lieved.
“Oh, Marie,” he cried. Then his eyes fell on Bertha. “And Miss
Schultz Well, I declare l’”
“And we declare, Mr. Wyeth,” said Marie.
“Were you in the show?” and he turned and nodded his head
toward the theatre.
“Yes,” said Marie. “You were, too. How'd you like it?”
He shrugged his shoulders, and they caught his complete reaction.
“It was interesting, I guess.”
“Especially the girl,” said Marie. Both girls watched him closely.
He frowned, and they knew he couldn't take it and was through.
“Where are you going from here?”
“Where?” he repeated absently. “Oh, I don't know. To Heaven,
maybe, or—”
“Don’t say it,” cried Marie. “Are you driving?” He pointed to
his car, standing at the curb.
“Why not drive a couple of lonely girls around the block?”
“Why not,” he said, apparently anxious for company against his


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 271
thoughts which were pounding the walls of his brain like a trip
hammer. -
“Then what are we waiting for,” said Marie, glibly. She pushed
Bertha beside him where she took his arm. He seemed surprised and
turned to look at her. Marie rushed around and took his other arm,
smiled up into his face.
“Now, what have I fallen into,” he cried, and for the moment
forgot the tragedy of what he had just looked at. “Two pretty girls
taking an old man in charge, my!” -
“You’re not old,” said Bertha, softly as they crossed to the car.
He looked down at her and their eyes met. Knowing that he must
be tired and awfully lonely, Bertha felt it her role to comfort him,
so squeezed his arm and again he looked at her out of his sad eyes
and she felt sorry for him.
When they reached the car, Marie opened the door and taking hold
of Bertha, helped her into it. -
“In the middle, beauty,” she said. Wyeth started around the car,
but she laid a hand on him. “Supposing you let me, this time, yes?”
“Sure, baby. Glad to have you,” he said and seemed relieved.
“Okay. Meantime, crawl in, beast, and take a seat on the right
side of beauty.” All laughed. He smiled a bit awkwardly at
Bertha when he found himself that close to her, while she blushed,
beautifully.
Marie slammed the heavy door, and went around to the driver's
side, opened the door and crawled under the wheel, reached her
hand across Bertha after an “excuse me,” and said to him, “The key,
please.”
“Of course,” he said, found it quickly and handed it over. She
inserted it and stepped on the starter.
“Where do you want to go?” Marie asked, looking across at him.
He made a gesture.
“You’re the driver and the boss. Go where you want to.”
“Fine,” she cried. He turned to Bertha. “You heard him give me
permission. Well, I'm going to show Bertha what great highways
we have out of and into New York.”
“I’ll be so glad,” cried Bertha enthusiastically. Marie pushed her
over, and, of course so close to Wyeth that she found herself
squeezed a bit against him.


272 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGAte
“Put your arm around her shoulder, Mr. Wyeth, then we'll have
more room.”
Wyeth did so, and Bertha was thrilled.
“Incidentally, Miss Schultz, there's plenty room for three in
this seat.”
“Not with me driving,” said Marie, and winked at Bertha. They
were sailing up St. Nicholas Avenue now, to 150th street where she
turned into St. Nicholas Place and at the end of it, at 155th St., they
entered the Speedway and coasted along it more than a mile to the
street that would carry them to the Saw Mill River Road.
The moon was shining bright, lighting up the road into an almost
silvery daylight, and Bertha, her eyes on the scenery, was all
excitement.
“So beautiful!”
“Never been out this way?” inquired Wyeth.
“No, Mr. Wyeth. I haven't been out of New York since I’ve been
here,” she told him. They were close enough to feel each other's
flesh and both were strangely thrilled by the touch.
“Then you've been missing a great deal,” he said.
“I’m sure I have by the sight of all this,” and she nodded to the
passing landscape.
“It is beautiful for miles out this way,” he said. “All the way up
into New England, and still beautiful after you get there.”
“Wonderful,” commented Bertha, and was conscious that being so
close to him, with his arm behind her, touching her a bit, was pecu-
liarly satisfying.
“Before you go to sleep, Mr. Wyeth,” called Marie, eyes on the
road ahead,
“Before I go to sleep?” he echoed, looking at her.
“He always goes to sleep when anybody else drives the car,
Bertha,” Marie said, the remark directed to Bertha. “So you can
count on him losing consciousness completely before we reach the
Merrick road.”
“The Merrick road,” he exclaimed, surprised like.
“Why not?” said Marie. “Why shouldn't we go for a real ride,
now that I have charge of this big, fine car, with a pretty girl
between you and me,” and she giggled. “I know you're too much of
a gentleman to fight with me across such a sweet girl as Bertha.”


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 273
“Bertha is a sweet and pretty girl,” he said, smiling down into her
eyes.
“Marie is given to flattery,” said Bertha, but was blushing neverthe-
less.
“She couldn't flatter you, Miss Schultz. You are a pretty girl, and
more beautiful because you are so nice to everybody, with it.”
“And now you team with her against me,” complained Bertha.
All laughed at this and paused while Wyeth dug into his pocket
for a dime to pay the toll across the Henry Hudson Bridge. By
the time they reached it and crossed it and started for the Merrick
road, he stretched his mouth wide in a sigh. Marie nudged Bertha,
who was afraid to look at him, but understood what Marie meant.
Before they reached the Merrick road, as Marie had predicted,
Wyeth was fast asleep, and they dared look at him, then at each
other.
“I was hoping he would stay awake until we reached the first
toll gate, but he beat us to it.”
“Poor fellow,” said Bertha kindly, and looked down at him where
he was by now, snoring lightly. .
“The reaction has set in. She's behind him now and the trouble
she would have made him, with it, and I’m happy,” and Marie sighed
like she was satisfied. -
“I don't see how any girl could disregard him.”
“They wouldn't if they understood him,” said Marie. “The trouble
with her is that she didn't understand him and never would have
learned to.”
“I can understand it better now.”
“He didn’t deserve such a fate, such a misfortune to interfere with
the realization of a great ambition,” said Marie.
“You mean writing.”
“I mean writing, yes.”
“I wonder how she feels by now,” said Bertha.
“Perhaps bad—for awhile. But being stage-struck, she'll get
Over it.”
“I wouldn't be surprised.”
“We'll drive to New Haven, to a place I know on Dixwell Ave-
nue, have some refreshments, then return to New York?”
“How far is New Haven from New York?”


274 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“About seventy-two miles.”
“That is the home of—”
“—Yale University.”
“Yale, of course. That's one of America's great schools.”
“Yep. With Harvard it is one of the oldest and the greatest.”
“I’d like to see it in the day time.”
“Some day if all turns out well, we'll make Mr. Wyeth drive us
up here again, only this time we'll go all the way to Boston, where
on the way we can see both Yale and then later, Harvard, too.”
“Harvard?”
“Harvard University. That's where Mr. Early got his Doctorate.”
“So I was told. I shall be thrilled to see it.”
“I know you will. So will I. I've never been there, but have always
wanted to visit it, as well as Boston and much of New England.”
“I imagine it is very much like old England.”
“It is, so I’ve been told,” said Marie. They glanced again at
Wyeth. who was completely lost in a deep and peaceful sleep by
11OW.
“He needs it,” said Bertha, looking at him kindly.
“And how,” said Marie.
“And you think he's completely through with the girl back there?”
“Completely.”
“It might be for the best.”
“It is. Decidedly for the best.”
“I’m glad if it is.”
“So am I. Now my worries are over. Meanwhile . . . .”
“Meanwhile P”
“If some nice girl should take an interest in him, it would help him
to forget her without so much effort.” Bertha didn't answer, but she
understood what Marie was hinting at.
Back in New York in the meantime, the show was out and Edrina,
wearing a heavy, quilted robe, was relaxing in her dressing room,
after the most strenuous day she had ever had. Mantan had brought
her the robe, to “keep you from catching cold after your act,” he
said. “Don’t neglect to put it on immediately after you quit dancing,
after the first curtain. You can't afford to catch an awful cold.”
So Edrina sat there alone in her dressing room after the day's


THE CASE of MRS. wingATE 275
performance. Six times she did the act that day and had been re-
warded by more applause than she ever thought she would get. The
house had roared with applause all day over an act she had not
dreamed one week before that she would be doing. But what would
the reaction bef She knew that she would be considered a ‘shake' and
hootch dancer from then on, and nobody but a cold, bold and indif-
ferent sort of girl would want that, regardless of how much applause
she received.
During the moments she was thinking about all this, at the front
of the house, Henry Levine, manager of the theatre, was talking
with Irvin C. Mantan. He was smiling and rubbing his hands be-
cause he was happy. From the jaws of almost complete failure, the
show had been snatched back into a howling success, all because
of him, for hadn't it been he who thought of having Edrina Vinson
do the naked dance?
“Well, Mantan, she saved the show.”
“Yes, Mr. Levine,” said Mantan. “It seems that way.”
“Our receipts are three times as much as they would have been,
had we tried to drag the old show through the day.” Mantan said
nothing. Levine had the floor. “So I think we should do some-
thing for Edrina as a gesture of appreciation.”
“That's right. I think we should,” agreed Mantan.
“So we'll go back stage and tell her and present her with—say,
$25.00 as an expression of our appreciation.” Mantan agreed with
him, knowing, however, that Levine would take all of it out of his
share at the end of the week. But he said nothing. At least, Levine's
suggestion, put into operation, had saved the show, and in a way he
was glad, for now he would be able to completely pay off at the end of
the week. Furthermore, he knew and Levine knew, that there would
be a line waiting on the sidewalk at the box office the next morning
to get in the theatre; and that when he wired the managers at Phila-
delphia, Baltimore and Washington to come to New York and see
what he had to offer, and when they came and saw how the show
was drawing, it would repeat in all those places, whereas he knew that
he wouldn't have secured a single date but for the wiggle he had
taught and got Edrina to do.
Taking Irvin's arm and smiling down the barrel of his long nose,
Levine led him from the office and to Edrina's dressing room, back-


276 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
stage, at the rear of the large theatre.
In response to their knock on her door, Edrina wearily called,
“Come in.”
Smiling all over and followed by Mantan, Levine entered.
“Ah, Edrina,” he began, in his perfect English. He was born in
this country, educated in the best of schools, and as a result, spoke
the most perfect English, with no kind of accent to indicate that he
was a Jew. But he looked so completely Jewish that one was re-
minded on looking at him, that he must have been descended direct-
ly from Israel himself.
“You were wonderful, my dear,” he said, crossing to her and
daring to gently pat her on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Mr. Levine,” she said. She did not raise her eyes to
meet his. They were, however, on the wall across the little dressing
room, where in an elongated shadow, silhouetted there, his nose
stretched clear across it and reminded her in her befuddled and
aggravated condition of a shadowy apparition. He ran his hand into
his pocket and withdrew a large roll of bills that she could see
without looking up.
“And now, Edrina,” he began again, turning to smile at Mantan,
standing near. “I told Irvin that since your new act has practically
saved this show, that we ought to do something for you as an act
of our appreciation for what you've done.” He paused now long
enough to count out the amount. Then looking down at her, and
smiling, while she glanced again at the wall across the room, where
his shadow and the large glasses he wore and his long nose, were so
distorted that they were comical. She thought about Snow White
and the Seven Dwarfs, especially about the old hag in it who was
so evil. -
Levine was talking again.
“So, Edrina,” he said, carefully, and laid the bills on the table
before her. “We are making you a present of $25.00 as a token of
that appreciation.” He finished, stepped back, smiling and rubbing his
hands.
“Thank you, Mr. Levine,” she said, picking up the bank notes and
for the first time, taking her eyes off the silhouette of his shadow on
the wall across the room. Levine was very careful to use terms
“we” and “us” and Mantan knew full well why, Regardless of


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 277
the fact that Edrina's new act had changed a dismal box office out-
look, Mantan knew that when they went to settle at the end of the
engagement, it would be “you” and “yours,” which meant that the
extra $25.00 would come out of his share entirely.
With a fine bow, a few more kind words, Levine turned around
and left the office, with Mantan following, leaving her alone. Gone,
she looked at the money which she needed. Since Wyeth walked
out on her, she was brought quickly to realize how helpful he had
been at all times. She never had to ask for anything; he seemed to
understand when she needed money and it was always forthcoming.
She sighed as she folded and put the bills in her purse.
“Well,” she sighed again. “Twenty-five dollars is twenty-five
dollars, especially when you need it—and do I need it!” Consciously
she knew it was time to put him out of her mind, but she kept
seeing his tired, sad face; his deep frown, and recalled their affair.
“It's all over,” she said half aloud, and felt sorry for herself. “How
could he, or any other sensitive man, be happy seeing his future wife
out there before 2,500 people, cavorting as I was compelled to,
shaking and twisting my body—six times in one day—and with hard-
ly any clothes on at all. I don't blame him,” and again she sighed,
this time, hopelessly. She thought about the wedding night that he
had waited for and planned. Donald and other men did not talk
about wedding nights. They talked about that night, but Sidney
Wyeth had waited and planned a wedding night; a wedding night
that never came. No, she thought aloud and to herself, there would
be no wedding night for her and Sidney Wyeth. He was gone out
of her life, she knew now, forever.
In the midst of these reflections, there was a light knock on
her door. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she wasn't sure
about it, so waited for it to be repeated. It wasn’t. The door was
pushed open and when she looked quickly around, it was into the
face of Donald Howard. He rarely knocked the second time. He
just came on in. Donald hadn't visualized any wedding night. Be-
fore leaving New York to go out with the show the first time, but
after he had sold her on going on the stage, he'd had his wedding
nights. And they had thrilled to many wedding nights during the
entire first tour, all over the country. As far west as Kansas City:
North to Chicago, South to New Orleans. So Donald had missed


278 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
nothing. Only Sidney Wyeth had. He missed everything she had
to give him.
By this time, and for a long time since, Donald's entering her
dressing room without invitation or a second knock, was like z
husband, entering his wife's bedroom after ten years of wedded
life.
“Oh, Donald,” she heard herself say. “You.”
“Yes, me, Edrina.” He crossed the room, found a stool that was
near, drew it up, sat down and smiled at her somewhat oddly. Was
it, she wondered as he did so, a smile or a smirk. “Well, kid,” he
said, looking at her in whatever way she wondered it was. “You
put it over. Yes. You put the show over big, and you're in for the
season now.”
“Thank you, Donald,” she replied quietly, and wondered if he was
thinking about how she felt; how she must be feeling after her
daring performances; wondered how he would feel now, regarding
her as a kooch and shake dancer, instead of the nice, pretty girl from
Louisville, singing a darling little song. She seemed to catch some
inference from his words “in for the season now.”
Then he must know, or did he know? No, he didn't know, but
he understood. He understood and meant when he said “you're in
for the season now” that Sidney Wyeth had walked out; that he
was not going to marry her. And after the bold performances, of
course he understood and he was taunting her, not complimenting.
He also meant that since she had been put into such a role, she would
have to stay in it. Never again could she be permitted to go back to
playing current roles.
“I heard Washington calling Levine as I came by the office, about
the show, so we're booked for Washington, as soon as we can get
there. That means that Sam Steinbeck'll set us in the Quay in
Philadelphia, and then the Dunbar in Baltimore, then back to Pitts-
burgh, on to Cleveland, then Detroit and into Chicago. So, kid,” he
said, rising to his feet, “You’ve put it over, and you won't have to
worry about engagements for the next ten weeks, maybe longer, and
that, you know, is something. A whole lot if you're asking me.”
He moved across to the door and opened it, then seemed to
think of something, or had he saved it to tell her at this particular
moment, when he was about to leave her?


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 279
“Oh, by the way,” he said, pausing, and turning back to her.
“Guess who I saw leaving the theatre a few minutes ago?”
Without looking up or at him, or making any effort to guess,
she said: -
“I give up, Donald. Who?”
“Sidney Wyeth,” he said calmly, but watched her carefully as
he said it.
She started, perceptibly, then glanced at him, to catch him smil-
ing across at her with that smirk, written all over his face. She
looked at him for only a second, then lowered her eyes back to the
table before her, with what he said, beating against the walls of her
brain until she could almost hear out loud, “Sidney Wyeth !” the
words seemed to echo, over and over again. Then Wyeth had seen
her; had seen her out there before throngs, all but naked! She
realized now that he came to see her in her humiliation, but to
be told that he had been there, which meant that he had seen it,
seemed to shock her almost insensible. Howard was talking again, his
voice seemed to come from far off, but she understood what he was
saying; and she understood still more clearly what he meant.
“Yeh. Sidney Wyeth, with a couple of pretty girls.” Again she was
shocked. She sat up straight, and looked at him vaguely. And there
it was again, on his face, not a smile but a tantalizing smirk. It
seemed to please him to taunt her; to remind her what her career
had come to. Sidney Wyeth, at the theatre with two pretty girls—
after walking out on her less than three days before. Sidney Wyeth,
who had not gone with any girl for years, so she had been told. Yet,
to watch her humiliation, he had come to the theatre, bringing two
pretty girls.
Donald happened to come into the theatre just as Bertha and
Marie came up to Wyeth and didn't know that until then, he had
been alone. It would seem at the time he saw them, that Wyeth
had brought them to the show. Donald had stood for a moment and
watched them, then strolled by, nonchalantly, hoping that Wyeth
would see, call and introduce him to the girls. But as we know,
Wyeth was suffering so from the shock of seeing the girl he had
been engaged to marry a few days before, that he did not notice
Howard pass by, go a few steps, then turn and retrace his steps.
So from the front of the theatre, Howard had watched them until
*


280 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
they drove away, then timed his call to tell Edrina and make her,
already feeling bad, feel worse.
He knew that Marie was Wyeth's stenographer, but who was
the other girl? Such a pretty and apparently high-class girl! That
was the impression Bertha gave everyone who saw her. And that
was the kind of girl Donald liked and would have given anything
to meet. Watching them until they turned and disappeared, he had
wondered who the girl was. He asked somebody about her,
somebody who didn't know any more about her than he did, but who
professed, when asked, to know.
“That was one of the Walden girls,” he told Donald.
“Walden girls, eh?”
“Yes, one of the Walden girls of Westchester.”
So with this in mind, and strangely anxious to see Edrina hurt,
more than being forced to do the disgraceful act had hurt her, he
kept thinking about it and planned to tell her when the show was
over, so that she could have it to think about all night.
“One of them,” he was saying now, “was sure a pretty thing; as
pretty as a picture, and she was hanging on to Wyeth like she liked it.”
“As pretty as a picture and hanging on to Wyeth's arm like she liked
it,” echoed and reechoed through Edrina's mind. She was not looking
at Donald, but she was gazing wide-eyed into space before her.
She was wondering now if Wyeth had not been playing her— and
yet! If he had been playing her, then why hadn't he gone the limit,
at least as far as he could have? Surely a man playing a girl as this
would seem, would have taken what she had to give him, would have
partaken of it—unless he was a fairy.
“Oh, no,” she cried to herself. “He isn't a fairy.” No, he hadn't
done anything or said anything to give such an impression. He was
just one of those rare persons called ‘virtuous’ men.
“I’ve been hearing of her,” Donald was saying now. He guessed
again and as we shall see, was strangely right.
“Hear she's just returned from Europe. Been in school in France,
and from all appearances, she looked it—some girl!”
Edrina now found herself suddenly afire with jealously. He had
been playing her. While professing so many words about love, he had,
all the while, been seeing this pretty girl, perhaps making love to her,
and all the while, making a fool of her.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 281
“I understand,” Donald continued, “That she is one of the
Walden girls, of Westchester.”
“Westchester, eh,” Edrina was saying to herself now. “West-
chester, rich and aristocratic, Westchester.” She was conscious of
suppressed rage. She hadn't been good enough for him. No girls
in Harlem had been good enough. Going with a girl from West-
chester; Westchester where only the ‘dicty' Negroes dared to reside.
So she had been played for a sucker, not him. He had deliberately
gone to Westchester and brought her to Harlem on a slumming party,
brought her to the theatre to show her the girl he had been playing
around with; and they had sat together in the theatre and looked at
her cavort all over the stage, virtually nude for the benefit of thousands
of noisy Negroes. Sat there and saw her humiliated as no modest
woman could be so completely humiliated. And when it was all over,
they had left the theatre, perhaps laughing about it and feeling sorry
for a girl who would condescend to attempt such a dance. Now that
pretty girl that Donald has described so aptly; that highly refined girl
who had been to school in Europe, had just returned and was living
in aristocratic Westchester, could think about and remember her with
contempt; think of her as a common woman who had been engaged
to marry an author and a motion picture producer; who could have
the satisfaction of feeling that she had saved a good man from mak-
ing a grievous mistake. Thinking of her, Edrina, as a mistake.
She became so angry that she rose to her feet, locked the door
so that Donald could not walk back in and see her like she was. She
didn't want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her angry; seeing
her suffer for the mistake that she had made so he could say “I told
you so.” Yet she was so angry that she walked the floor for half an
hour, angry as an enraged tigress, trying to hate Sidney Wyeth;
hating, without much effort, the girl that Donald said he saw him with.
And yet, with all her anger and accusations, she couldn't seem to
get much satisfaction out of hating, or trying to hate the man she
had been engaged to. The more she thought of him after becoming
calm again and her anger had subsided somewhat, the less she could
hate him. For in all her thinking, she could not recall any time, in-
stance or place where he had been guilty of doing anything but
trying to show her that her ambitions would in time spell her down-
fall. She sat down and through her mind ran his words:


282 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“They'll strip tease you if they think making you as naked as a
jay-bird's baby will help the show.” How this did echo and reecho
now in her memory.
“They make quick changes in these shows.” Quick changes—
and what a quick change! Just when she thought she was doing well
and was going to be able to prove to him that she could stay on the
stage and be nice and clean and as dignified, perhaps, as that pretty
girl from Westchester, she was suddenly called and forced to learn
a routine, take off all her clothes, as he said they might do, and go
out there and do a dance that in one day had, perhaps, made her the
most notoriously talked about woman in Harlem. She could picture
the people, and the women especially, as thinking of her, and pointing
to her, as the woman who did that naked dance on 125th St. Being
so pointed out and looked at, they could hardly think of, or ever
recall her as anything but a notorious woman. In her spell of rage
during which time she walked the floor, trying to hate him as much
as she had told him, only a few days before, that she loved him,
but in which she could never feel entirely satisfied, she was in the
end forced to admit, at least to herself, that it was all her fault. In
her stage ambitions she certainly had never pictured being a kooch
and shake dancer. Indeed no. If she had been told, and anybody had,
or could have shown her, that was what it would come to, end up as,
she would, as she recalled it now, most surely have quit the stage and
run—run as far away from it as she could get. Which would have
been into the arms of Sidney Wyeth, ultimately to become his
wife.
But as she sighed deeply now and realized that she couldn't stay
in that dressing room all night and would have to leave it and go
home, she took the blame for it all. She would, she realized and ad-
mitted to herself, with regret, have to keep on kooching and shak-
ing, as that was the only way left open for her to make a living.
Then she thought of Alice and Carrie and her mother and
the Doctors and the “big” Negroes back in Louisville, all of whom
knew Sidney Wyeth by reputation, and would be watching the
Colored papers to see when she was marrying him; be calling up her
sisters and inquiring when it would be taking place. What could she
now tell them to pass on to the folks, the best people, back there in
Louisville? And then she recalled, suddenly, something that took


THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE 283
place in the theatre while she was doing her act. She had seen a light
flash and it now came to her that it was, perhaps, a reporter, and he
had taken a picture of her. As she continued to think about it, it
occurred to her now that it might be reproduced and used on the
theatrical pages of the next issues of the Negro weeklies, all of which
circulated in Louisville. As her people bought those weeklies, and
they would see her just as she was cavorting all but nude—and all
would conclude right quick, that it was over; and that Sidney Wyeth
would not be marrying her after all; after all her display and boasting
while in Louisville!
She lowered her eyes and cried, cried like her heart would break.
Never could Wyeth or anyone else have showed her, much less prove
to her, that she would come to this—and so quickly
An hour later Edrina dragged herself into her room, sat down,
looked hopelessly and sadly into space, with not a friend, she felt, in
the world to turn to and admit that she had been vain and mistaken.
With an effort she rose, removed her clothes, and went to bed at
last.


cºrrºr XXIII
LORENCE WINGATE had returned to Atlanta, and on
F arriving there, she entered her home on Peachtreee Street
with determination to at last tell her husband. the truth;
tell him that she was in family way by a colored man and proud
of it!
He was away, as he so often was, in New York, in New York
at the same time she was, but neither knew of the other's presence,
and of course she would not have contacted him, if she had. It was
an ugly situation. She had made up her mind on the way from New
York to tell him the whole truth, and have it over with. Before doing
so, however, she decided to visit Wakefield—perhaps for the
last time, for she knew that when word went around down there
of what she had done, one of the finest flowers of the old South,
married to a colored man, old Barber Early's son, she would never
dare show her face there again. If she went now, before it all hap-
pened, she would be welcomed, treated as only the wife of one of
the richest men in the South would be treated, and which she knew,
would be her farewell.
Her mother had been suspicious of something; had a feeling that
she had a lover on the side for a great many years, and had hinted
at and tried on several occasions to find out more. Yet, as far as she
had been able to learn, nobody suspected that other man to be a
Negro. It was perhaps about the last thing anybody there would
have suspected. Nobody in Wakefield would even dare associate such
an idea with the former Florence Adair, scion of one of the South's
oldest and proudest families.
She did appreciate her people's position in the matter, however,
even though she had made the sacrifice for their benefit. Still, the
South and southern people are sentimental, with their pride. The
thing then to do, as she conceived it, was to drive down to Wakefield,
284


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 285
accept all the hospitality as of old, and while there, force herself, if
she could, to forget Kermit Early—as if she could ! The very
thought of it made her smile. For the further she got away from
him, the more she found herself thinking of him.
Ever since she discovered that she was going to be a mother, he
had become more dear to her, and more beloved. The South could
never understand a love like hers for a Negro. They would not be-
cause they would never even consider such a possibility. The whole
idea of a white woman in love with, and married to, a Negro, was too
far from their minds! Yet Florence Wingate knew Kermit Early as
no other woman could know a man. She was closer to him than a
wife could be to a husband. During all their years of association,
which had been of the forbidden type, and because of the thought
ever present that it was forbidden, they had found each other's
companionship more compassionate, had indulged each other sex-
ually more than any man and woman would ordinarily indulge—
and now with a child on the way, she found herself turning to him
more than could otherwise have been the case. Because she could not
tell anybody the great joy of becoming a mother, the greatest desire
of her life, she had to keep it a deep secret from all but Kermit, so
it is obvious how much at such a time, he meant to her.
But as we have seen, Florence Wingate was a resolute woman,
accustomed to responsibility. She had put Kermit Early through
school, all the way up to a Doctor of Philosophy, the highest degree
to be secured, and from the greatest school in America. From the
days when she, as a young girl, used to stick her tongue out at him
and frighten him back there in Wakefield, hers had been a career
of initiative and responsibility. So now, as she checked over what she
was to do there in the confines of her home in Atlanta, she was pre-
pared for her greatest task, her greatest responsibility.
As we know, she couldn't, in going to Wakefield, tell anybody—
not even her mother, that at last she was going to become a mother.
They had hoped and looked for it during the first five years
of her marriage to Mr. Wingate. Then, when it failed to happen,
it had, in their minds, dwindled to a hope, but long since that spark
had died and nobody expected her to have a baby any longer. What
a pleasure, therefore, and what a triumph it would be to now tell
them there would be a “blessed event” after all.


286 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Without letting herself think any more about it, which would have
been to confuse her mind with no end of thoughts and plans and new
plans all of which would only annoy her the more, two days after
she arrived in Atlanta, she was in her huge limousine, rolling South
to Wakefield where she arrived just before noon, to the surprise of
all.
“Why, darling,” her mother cried. “Why didn't you write to me—
even wire me as early as this morning when you left Atlanta, that
you were coming so that I could have made some preparations?”
“I’m sorry, mother,” she said, blandly, “but I just got back from
New York, decided of a sudden to come down here, pay everybody
a visit and return to Atlanta—and perhaps to New York very
shortly.”
“You haven't been here for so long,” her mother said, shedding a
tear as she assisted her with such baggage as she had, “we thought
when you did come you'd stay a long time. We would be glad to
have you do so.”
“I’d like to, dear, but when I plan anything that way, it never
happens at all. So I took a notion last night to drive down. I didn't
want to write or wire—didn't want to do anything but just come
on down and see you and Wakefield, all right quick, and get on
back to Atlanta before anybody knew entirely what happened.”
“Of course we're glad to see you if only to look out the window
and see you pass through the town, since its been so long. How is
Mr. Wingate?”
“Fine. I haven't seen him for a few weeks, but he's expected back
from the North this weekend and we-we'll be together then, thank
you.” -
“I’m glad. Well, dear, make yourself comfortable while I go out
and see if we can get you a good dinner.” So saying her mother
left her,and she was relieved.
No sooner had she, than she went back to the car and drove around
and called on a few of the many friends of the family. Conscious
that this would be her last trip, no doubt, to Wakefield, she wanted
to see, meet and talk with all the people she had known all her life.
It was a peculiar feeling to meet them now, kiss the wives and
daughters and embrace the old men and play with the children, and
feel all the while that she was saying farewell to them all; and that


TEIE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 287
never would she see them again; never again to face any of them;
never to dare to do so. -
She sighed when she got back to the house and sat down to one of
the last meals she would ever eat at her mother's table.
Back in New York in the meantime, Kermit Early had been doing
some planning and some preparing, too, to get Sidney Wyeth to pro-
duce the hate picture which he had taken so long to prepare. This
fact had kept him on the payroll of the subversive organizations in
Milwaukee and Chicago for such a long time. So Kermit Early was
ready at last to go to the bat for a complete show down with Wyeth.
He had talked with Heinrich about it at much length, and had
Schultz more enthusiastic than ever about it.
“When you've had two or three long talks with Wyeth, showed
him all the angles, and how the Jews, if anything, are not only not
a friend of the Negro, but indirectly their enemies, I'm sure he'll
see the logic of it all and ultimately come in with us.”
“I’m prepared to show him all that and go the limit. There's so
much I want to tell him; so much that he ought to know; so much
that the Negro race in America should know, and who will go into
action quickly if they can be shown.”
“And it's the best way to show them and the world what a louse
the Jew is; that he is the most selfish of all people, caring nothing
for anybody, any place, anywhere; caring nothing for anything but
the almighty dollar. Wyeth's got to be shown and convinced that in
making this picture he is doing what Adolf Hitler has so ably
started, and which will, in the end, reduce the influence of the
greatest group of parasites the world ever knew—the thieving, steal-
ing, lying and cheating Jew. Damn him!” and Heinrich rose to
his feet and walked the floor of the apartment, while he and Early
went deeper into their plan.
As we have already debated, and perhaps will have occasion to
debate more and more in the development of our story, the Negro,
to a large degree is seriously mis-educated. In some manner the im-
pression went forth, that what was needed to help solve. their great
problem, was education. So right after the Civil War when the Negro
was given the right to vote, and because he had not been trained in
how to keep and hold it. He had lost, as all America knows, that right
in the South, but the theory of more education as a solution of his


288 the CASE OF MRS. WINGAte
grave problem, still existed. So in many families, with honest, hard
working and diligent Negro mothers and fathers, who have been mak-
ing sacrifices so long to give their offspring an education, the idea is an
obsession. Plainly the theory is still in effect, to a large degree, that he
can be educated into success.
Kermit Early was a victim of that widespread misconception. As
we know, he managed to acquire all the education the greatest
schools in America could give him, assisted by Florence Wingate's
money, which had made it easy and convenient for him to acquire.
Yet now after all the education, the love and assistance of an aris–
tocratic white woman, Kermit Early was in effect, a failure, in the
sense we measure success in America. But Kermit Early, if he was
aware of it, was not admitting it. It is a question if he had thought
of it in that sense.
In America, regardless of how much the Negro might say to the
contrary, he has never been put into a position of great respon-
sibility beyond managing schools for Negroes and supervising civic
organizations for his own welfare. During the days of slavery, they
were afraid to entrust too much to the Negro, not because they fear-
ed he would fail, but because they feared it would set him to think-
ing. They didn't want that. If he began to think, about the first
thing he would concentrate on and ask, would be why he was a
slave and the white man free. To put him in a position of respon-
sibility during such times would have inspired him to think and per-
haps, keep on thinking. So thinking on the part of the Negro
was discouraged in as many ways as could be managed. He was
given the unrestricted right to worship God, for in that respect
since nobody has ever returned to either prove or disprove the
theory of the hereafter, getting religion and worshipping was en-
couraged during the entire period of slavery. So when he was
freed, worshipping and looking for his great day after death had
become a fixed idea with Negroes. But shunting and avoiding re-
sponsibility had also become a part of him. He was not keenly anx-
ious to assume it and that, with few exceptions, prevails today.
As stated, the belief that education would fit him better for life,
and would ultimately do more than anything else to solve the
problem that his existence in America presented. This theory still
exists, and many Negroes struggle for years to get through school


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 289
with only a vague idea and feeling as to what they are going to do
after they secure so much education. In the case of Kermit Early,
he hadn't exactly planned at the outset to acquire all the degrees
he later found himself in possession of. It was his plan and ambition
to go to Atlanta University and to continue there until he had gradu-
ated. He had not even planned to secure a master, beyond that, and
it never entered his mind to acquire a Ph.D.
It was due to his intimate association with Mrs. Fiorence Win-
gate, who was more responsible for his going all the way in Educa-
tion. Mrs. Wingate having taken up with him, as has been explained,
and from then on provided the means that made it easy for him to
continue in school. -
He started, as we also know, to do big things, even before securing
his doctorate, but with Mrs. Wingate at his elbow, not only asking
but insisting on providing the means an educated man should have,
he was not forced to earn a living out of it. It was assumed by both
he and Mrs. Wingate, whose wealth was so convenient to his needs,
that he needed time to put his plans into action.
So it turned out that nothing Kermit attempted actually paid his
expenses. He understood commerce and trade only in a general way.
There was nobody to hire a colored man for what he was able to
do. There was nothing left, he soon found out, but to go down South
and teach school. This he could have gotten, but nothing short of
a deanship of a real school would have even been considered.
Then, there was a distinct disadvantage of being associated with
any school. That disadvantage was Mrs. Wingate's and their affair.
To get all they secured from their relations, it was necessary that
they first be independent. The next was secrecy. Never given to
much talking as has been shown above, his relations with Mrs.
Wingate made him more secretive. Any position he might have
taken in the South, in any school, would have necessitated Mrs.
Wingate's coming there to see him. This couldn't even be thought of,
much less considered. So to make what could be a very long story
very short, it was not until Kermit became associated with the
subversive group in Milwaukee and Chicago, that he began to secure
enough income to take care of himself. Naturally this attracted Mrs.
Wingate's attention. At last, as she viewed it, Kermit was coming
into his own, and she was cheered. Not that she minded carrying


290 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
the burden, for she didn't, and would have gone on doing so indefi-
nitely without complaining or perhaps thinking of it over-seriously.
But she was cheered when Kermit started receiving an income in
keeping with his long schooling. Since Kermit had to sell them some-
thing for their money, and with them knowing little or nothing at
all about the Negro as a group, he was not questioned and the one
hundred dollars a week that they paid him was considered by them,
in view of their plans, a good investment.
America was now alive and flooded with German agents, and the
Jew and his position in America as compared to the position Hitler
had reduced them to in Germany, was a splendid issue for debate.
Kermit's plan to expose and start reducing his freedom and oppor-
tunity by the production of a hate picture was so logical, and in
keeping with their plans, that they were all enthused. By now
he knew they were waiting to hear what was happening, how it was
coming along. So Kermit was on the spot and was most anxious to
show some kind of results at an early date to keep them satisfied.
We have forgotten thus far in our story to explain that in race
prejudice, segregation and many restrictions that hold the Negro
back, many have found,this to be the best alibi that could be conceived
as an excuse for failure, and have preferred to give up making a real
and sincere effort on the excuse that they were not given a chance to
get ahead. No man was more fully acquainted with this than Sidney
Wyeth. He knew it and regarded it as a major Negro excuse and was
impatient with it. He felt that it was time they were offering some-
thing better. But Sidney Wyeth knew that nothing delighted many of
the educated ones of his race more than to be able to blame somebody
or some condition for their failure.
In the various propaganda combinations against the Jews both in
America and abroad, one of the outstanding ones was that the Jew
had too much ! that he had far more than his share, and that he
was continually seizing more avenues and arteries of commerce,
thereby depriving somebody else of their opportunity. This was one
of Kermit's excuses and he sincerely believed it to be true. This
justified, as he saw it, something radical, if necessary, to crush
Jewish power and influence. Naturally with Heinrich Schultz, a
disciple, follower and ardent believer in the philosophy of Adolf
Hitler, he subscribed to this idea, and had talked it over time


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 291
and again with Early.
It was decided to pay Wyeth a visit, several visits if necessary
and to go to bat with him until convinced one way or the other.
“I’ve never been around where they were making a picture,” said
Kermit, “otherwise, I’d attempt the direction and production of it
myself. But I know enough about it to realize I'd probably make
a mess of it.” -
“We'll see Wyeth,” said Heinrich. “I’ll go along with you. I'd like
to meet him anyhow.”
“Meantime, what does your sister say about him?”
“Plenty. She talks about him all the time, thinks he's a great
fellow.”
“Fine. But has she said anything about feeling him out?” said
Kermit.
“No, she hasn't. Feels that she has not known him long enough and
hasn't got matters around to that point yet.”
“Of course,” agreed Kermit. “Meantime, we'll call on him.”
“Maybe you'd better call him up and—make an appointment?”
suggested Schultz.
“No,” said Early, and shook his head.
“Why?”
“He’s a plain sort of person. Doesn't appreciate much ceremony
and putting on on the part of Negroes. Says we're all too poor to be
officious. So the thing to do is to just walk in on him, sit down and
talk,” explained Kermit.
“Okay by me,” smiled Heinrich. “When?”
“Now,” said Early, promptly rising to his feet.
“Then what are we waiting for?” said Schultz following Kermit.
A half hour later they were sitting in Wyeth's office waiting for
him to come upstairs from the restaurant, where he had gone for his
lunch.
“Well, Kermit,” he cried, on his return, grasping the other's hand,
heartily. “It’s been a long time since I've seen you. I've been thinking
about you. Don't know just why?”
“And it's been a long time since I’ve seen you, too, Mr. Wyeth.”
He then introduced Schultz.
“Miss Schultz’ brother P”
“That's how they are related,” said Kermit, looking him over.


292 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Well, I hope you're as bright and intelligent a man as Miss
Schultz is a girl,” said Wyeth, cheerfully. “I admire Miss Schultz
very much.”
“Thank you,” said Schultz.
Kermit smiled.
“Meantime, be seated, gentlemen, and tell me what I can do for
you.”
All became seated, the door was closed, Wyeth looked from one to
the other, a question in his eyes.
“It’s what I called to see you about, shortly after I came to New
York, Wyeth,” Kermit began.
“You mean—a—picture?”
.” Exactly.”
“I see. You still intend to make it?”
“And I’m still interested in having you direct and produce it.”
“I don't like the idea of hate pictures, Mr. Early.”
“It is not exactly a hate picture, if I may be excused for inter-
rupting,” interposed Schultz, leaning forward.
Both looked at him.
“When you consider how the Jew neglects to do even little things
for the Negro that he could just as well as not do, but looks
upon us as too insignificant and not worth that much, it riles you,”
said Early.
“Possibly,” said Wyeth, and waited.
“In the matter of the motion picture, for instance,” suggested
Schultz.
“We would get a far better play, perhaps, if he wasn't controlling
the industry as he is. The South's hatred for us keeps us from be-
ing cast in better parts on the screen than is given us. It also keeps
us off the radio,” said Early.
“I’ve been hearing a great deal about that,” interrupted Schultz
at this point. “That we can't get on any of the big commercials with
an all-colored show on account of the South. Just how do they man-
age to keep colored people off?”
“Easily and simply,” replied Wyeth, calmly. “A company pro-
ducing a standard brand article, for instance, deciding to feature
an all Negro show, signs a contract to broadcast the show over a
national network, including a chain of stations, a large number of


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 293
which lay south of the Mason and Dixon line. All may seem well
until the broadcast starts, whereupon most of the Southern stations
“button’ the program, put on records or have a local program ready
and put it on during the time the Negro program is supposed to be
on all over the country, until the program time, usually a half hour,
has expired, then they go back to the network. In that way we are
deprived of making any of the big money that the white people re-
ceive for entertaining over the air. As a result, except as an occa-
sional guest artist, we are confined to 'sustaining' programs, the
pay for which is mostly very small, or for which we receive noth-
ing at all, just the advertising it might give us.”
“Of what good is such advertising?” Schultz wanted to know.
Wyeth shrugged his shoulders, then went on to explain.
“If it is a quartette or a choir, singing mostly spirituals and
hymns, it results in somebody, somewhere, wishing to have these
singers come to their town for a program in person, for which they
pay something, often a net sum and in that way the few Negroes
that belong to the quartette get a break.”
“So we are ruled off the big air programs, eh?” said Schultz,
frowning.
“And confined to singing spirituals and hymns, just before noon
on Sundays, with the usual old time darkey sermon, plenty of
moaning and shouting, and that, except on rare occasions and as
a guest artist, now and then, are the roles we are confined to,
on the radio in America.”
“Now getting back to our role on the screen, controlled almost
completely by Jews in this country. He is not certain about his
position in the public eye, understands that the South wants the
Negro kept in his place in any story filmed,” said Early. “So instead
of giving us a play in an outright Negro picture, nationally released
and exploited, the Jew hesitates to make it on the ground that many
Southern theatres might not book it and show it, so he keeps away
from any stories that show the Negro in any intelligent or favor-
able light, writers write the Negro out, if the part is not so import-
ant and if this cannot be done, he substitutes some other nation-
ality, if this is possible. Any way it goes, the Jew makes little or no
effort to give our group an intelligent and dignified role on the
screen when he could just as well do so. He uses the South's objec-


294 TIIE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
tion to Negroes when the South hasn't perhaps thought of it and
might not object at all.”
“That's a dirty Jew for you,” cried Heinrich, “the selfish sons of
bitches just don't care. Yet by his money he's able to purchase plenty
of propaganda and make the world think, especially America, that
he's being unmercifully persecuted by Hitler,” Schultz went on,
angrily.
“We'll soon be in this war,” cried Early, vehemently, “and it'll
be nobody but the Goddamned Jews who got us in it!”
“That is what Germany is afraid of,” said Schultz now, walking
the floor. Pausing in front of Wyeth, he pointed his finger at him,
as he went on: “Germany has never wanted a quarrel, much less
a fight or to go to war with America. Above all else, Germany
would like to stay at peace with this country. I know that.
“But rich Jews and their great International bankers hate Hitler,
they feel that if they can get the United States into the war, that
the combined Nations can lick Germany and overthrow Hitler, so
by propaganda galore, created, built up and exploited by Jewish
trickery, they are pushing America as straight into the war as she can
be pushed.”
“Don’t forget our President,” said Early and laughed.
“I’m not,” said Schultz, “for it is through him that they are
working.”
“Possibly not. Yet he's given and is still giving a lot of money
to help Negroes. More than Negroes are giving to help themselves,”
said Wyeth. “But go on. I'rn listening.”
“In the meantime, we are interested and are here to talk about
what the Jew is doing to keep the Negro down,” said Early, look-
ing at Wyeth. “While posing and having us believe that because he
is persecuted, too, that he has an interest in common with us, that
he is the Negro's friend. Do you believe that?” said Schultz.
“Of course Mr. Wyeth doesn't believe it. I can't understand, after
the way he's been treated by the Jew sons a bitches, why he seems to
insist on standing up for them as he does,” said Early, a bit angrily,
frowning.
“You’ve been making pictures for a long time, you're the only
Negro who has ever made and released more than one motion
picture. You know that they butted into your little end of the
business two or three years ago, made a mess of it, then quit, left


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 295
it and went on seeking a better way to make money, didn't they?”
“Well, they had a right to,” said Wyeth. “This is supposed to
be a free country, you know.”
“But the fact is they did just what I said they did, didn't they?”
“Not to force me out, exactly. They had ño personal interest in
messing up the little independent production business I had built
up. They thought there was money to be made in it. They thought
that being Jewish with plenty of money to work with and the usual
Jewish self-confidence they could make a reasonably profitable busi-
ness out of it. So with this bigger money, they took a flyer at it,
found it wasn't all it was cracked up to be by Negroes, please
understand, who hoped to profit by it, so they withdrew and refused
to put any more money in it, and went about their business.”
“But not until they had put you out of business,” said Schultz,
pointedly.
Wyeth shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve never been able to understand Mr. Wyeth's complacency
regarding it,” said Early, turning to Schultz. Both looked closely at
Wyeth.
“If they put more money into it and made better pictures—”
began Schultz.
“—not better pictures, Mr. Schultz,” said Wyeth, cutting him
short. “Smoother pictures, a little more expensive from the stand-
point of sets and detail, but not nearly as interesting from the
standpoint of entertainment. In short, as Mr. Early implied.
The Jew does not take us seriously. He takes us only as he sees us.
We are not in trade, commerce or industry seriously. We can't
borrow money from the banks as he is able to do, to promote or
exploit anything. We're just Negroes as he sees us, looking for a
job, or some other way to make a living. So when he was sold the
idea of making Negro pictures, nobody told him that he should get
Negroes to write the stories.”
“More contempt. If he was going to make a Jewish picture, the
first thing he'd think of was a good Jewish writer to prepare the
story,” said Early.
“But he has many seasoned Jewish writers to write anything he
might want to film,” said Wyeth.
“You mean that we don't have plenty of Negro writers?”


296 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
“No, we do not. We have a few, yes.”
“Then,” Early went on.
“Why did he get white men to write the Negro stories they ulti-
mately filmed, that was what you were going to say,” said Wyeth.
“Exactly,” said Early. -
“Nobody said anything about Negro writers, none came around
to sell them any idea of writing the story to be filmed—but white
writers came around seeking the assignment.”
“Naturally.”
“Naturally, Early,” said Wyeth. “Yes, naturally the white man
came around and showed and convinced them that he could write
the kind of story they wanted; that he knew a great deal about
Negroes. Almost every white person thinks he does, so in lieu of no
Negro putting in an appearance and selling them himself, which he .
could have done and if he had the kind of story that was filmable,
they wouldn't have been hard to persuade to buy the Negro story
instead of the hackneyed effort of the white man. But since no
Negroes showed up, as we never show up for anything but a cheap
job at so much per, nobody ever thought that the story ought to
be written by a Negro who understood Negro thought and the
Negro angle as well.”
“Well?” said Early and paused.
“That is why, with all the Jew's faults and his apparent neglect
as regards our group, when he could do something for us, since he
is in the money, when you analyze it, you'll find that it is our neglect
and indifference more than anything else that keeps us out of the
bigger and better things. If we have anything to say about it, it is
usually impractical and unworkable. If there had been intelligent
Negroes doing any writing for the screen at the time they started
out to make those pictures, the pictures would have been more suc-
cessful because they would have been down the street the Negroes
travel, in the language that is familiar to all us Negroes. In the
story the white man attempted this was not true. The writers put a
lot of words into the Negro actor's mouth that he never would say.
The pictures looked good, like a meal might, but when you ate it or
attempted to eat it you didn't find it palatable, didn't have the taste
you looked for or expected. Result, you get up from the meal dis-
gruntled and dissatisfied, not always knowing just what was the


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 297
matter with the meal. That was the effect their pictures left on the
Negroes who went to the theatres to see them. Pictures that did a
lot of talking but said nothing. Result, the Jews who made them
couldn't and never did understand what the matter was, and the
Negroes who went in at first to look at them and stopped going,
didn't know. He knew that something was wrong; that they were
not interesting, but he didn't understand why. Being given, long
since to charging his race with failure, he now blamed the Negroes
for the uninteresting pictures turned out. Negroes who had nothing
to do with it. But in keeping with our hatred for each other, the Negro
charged the colored actor with the failure. Said he didn't know how to
act. The fact is, we Negroes have so little confidence in each other,
that it seems to give most of us a peculiar satisfaction when we can
charge failures to ourselves, and then go out and most shamefully run
each other down.”
“Still this doesn't, as I see it, absolve the Jew,” declared Kermit,
a deep frown on his face. “He cheats and exploits the Negro by
rent gouging, and in a hundred other ways. He should be exposed"
“Maybe so,” said Wyeth, soberly. “But I find so much at fault
within us and ours that it keeps me so busy thinking and trying to
improve the Negro's condition that I have no time or enthusiasm
for trying to show the Jew up when at least the Jew is getting
along all right for himself.”
“What do you mean?” said Kermit.
“Just what I say,” said Wyeth. “The Jew has successfuly built
himself in this country and he knows the art and business of
making money.”
“But he’s a cheater.”
“Maybe so, but he hasn't chosen the Negro as the only one to cheat.
If he is a cheater as you insist, he'll cheat a white man as quickly as
he does a Negro.”
“But he does cheat Negroes and exploits them more than he does
the white people, gentiles, I mean.”
“If he does,” said Wyeth, “that is because the Negroes think less
and are easier to cheat than anybody else.”
“And you think that's all right?” said Kermit.
“Of course it is not all right, but as long as the Negro isn't com-
plaining, why jump on the Jew and try to make trouble?”


298 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
“I don't agree with you.”
“It comes right back to what I've said already. The Negro is
shiftless, thoughtless, wasteful, lazy and extravagant and doesn't
give a damn if he is. Now you feel that something ought to be
done to reveal how the Jew is taking advantage of all this.”
“I do,” said Early.
“Well, since we are the victims, wouldn't it seem appropriate
for the Negro to be awakened to his own perils?” said Schultz.
“That is the object of the picture, to wake him up, let him see
in vivid and unforgettable scenes and convincing dialogue just
what the Jew is doing to him,” insisted Early.
Wyeth sighed, but still wasn't convinced.
- “Shouldn't that be enough to convince you of the logic of mak-
ing such a picture, Wyeth?” said Schultz, leaning forward.
“I agree with you that something ought to be done to wake
the Negro up. But I do not agree that a hate picture, which, when
shown would cause the Negro to revolt, cause him to go out and
break up things, destroy property, for that is too often his re-
action. This would be plain suicide and I do not want to be a party
to it.” The men looked at each other.
“We ought to accept it and say nothing about it,” said Kermit.
“I’ll put it another way,” said Wyeth. “I’ll make a compari-
son.”
“All right,” agreed Kermit and waited.
“Everybody knows the Negro is deficient in the many ways I've
just related; he's lazy, irresponsible, shiftless, with so many faults
that he should, if he could be persuaded as a group, get serious
and try harder to improve his condition.”
“Yes?”
“Still he doesn't, and all America, especially the South, has
grown accustomed to accepting him with his faults.”
“Why the South?”
“Because they accept and bear with him more down there with all
these faults than the North does.”
“I don't understand you,” said Schultz.
“I’ll explain. Down South they don't want Negroes voting,
they avoid any form of social equality as they call it.”
“I understand that.”


THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE 299
“But if you are of good character, have a reputation for honesty
and hard work, they will help you far more readily than they will
up in the free North.”
“Just how 2° from Schultz.
“In all kinds of ways.”
“Just what kind of ways, for instance?”
“The banks for one thing, will lend a Negro money down there.”
“Won't they do so up North, with the same security, with the
same rating?”
“They positively will not. The Negro has no standing or
rating that will enable him to borrow money in the current sense,
North or South. But the South puts your character first,
lends a limited amount on the assumption of character and extends
them credit in many other ways that helps the Negro from an
economic standpoint. In other words, the South accepts the Negro
along with his faults, and feels that with all his faults, the Negro has
to be taken care of and does take care of him.”
“What has that got to do with the Jews cheating and exploit-
ing him?” -
“You’ve preached that philosophy in your pictures,” said Early,
“leading the Negro to a mirror and forcing him to look in that
mirror and have implied that the creature who looked back at him
was us, nobody but us.”
Wyeth laughed, so did Schultz. Early was forced to smile even.
“But I have never preached destruction in any picture as a way
to improve our lot, for it distinctly is not the proper way.”
“Our picture does not preach destruction.”
“But if shown, it might create destruction, which is another
point of debate.”
“How so?” from Schultz.
“That the Negro is given to destruction; that he for some
peculiar reason seems to delight in breaking up things. He does it
everywhere, but seemingly more in the larger cities North than in the
South, for instance. It is a well-known fact that he is given to
breaking up and destroying any neighborhood he moves into and ,
takes over.”
The other men were silent. They knew Wyeth was speaking
the truth. With their own eyes, they saw it going on in Harlem,


300 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
in Chicago, everywhere Negroes move into and live. Only the
constant watching by policemen could seem to 1estrain them from
destruction. Even Sidney Wyeth couldn't explain this tendency,
no Negro can. Yet it goes on more currently in the free North
than in the oppressed South. Always destruction on the part of
the smallest boy, girls even, never construction. The strangest
failing America knows. No doubt environment has much to do
with the tendency but that the tendency to destruction seems to be
everywhere is a fact no Negro can or will deny.
“We are almost a half million strong here in New York,” went
on Wyeth, “but there is hardly an example of construction on our
part going on anywhere in New York other than churches. Some-
body else builds a section sometimes for us and when they put men
in uniforms to watch it, and by so doing, they manage to keep it
fairly decent, otherwise our children and our grownups proceed
to destroy it as if it was put there for them to mutilate and destroy.
But the towering misfortune among all the other unfortunate
situations in which we live and are involved, is our failure to
catch on and learn how to produce anything. That's what I mean.
The Negro has not, after eighty years of freedom and billions of
dollars spent to educate him, learned anything about producing as
a means of making money, and improving our lot, and helping us to
be free. The Jew knows how.” -
“He already knew how—” -
“That is no discredit to him. Knowing how to make money and
making it and having it has long since made him sensitive to the
responsibility of his community. Everywhere in New York and
other cities where Jews live, you need only look around you to
see something that he has built, from his own synagogues, Young
Men's and Young Women's Hebrew Associations, and hospitals to
no end of other structures.” -
“Well, he has the money—has made it to do it with.”
“Shouldn't we do the same things?”
“We’ve been free only eighty years,” said Early.
“That's longer than the Jew has been in this country. There
were only 250,000 Jews in America in 1880. That was fifteen years
after we had been freed.”
“You’re forgetting that the Jew was in trade and commerce before


t THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 301
anybody else.” said Early.
“Well, he is a builder and by his thrift and industriousness, is
able to provide employment for thousands of his own people and
more employment for thousands of others,” said Wyeth. “Do we?
No. Have we built anything—even for ourselves in Harlem, Brooklyn,
or anywhere else, except a few churches—and most of the ones we
worship in were built by white men; built by them for white people.
Yes, I know, the white people became frightened when we appeared
and at the sight of us, turned and ran, and we simply moved in and
took over. We have a fine YWCA and a still finer and larger YMCA
in New York, both built by white people for us, but not by ourselves.
“Those, gentlemen, are some of the reasons why I can't see
going out and making pictures designed to stir up strife and
hatred by one group against another. I admit the Jew has his
faults, plenty of them, but we have far more; faults that could
be corrected by us for our own benefit. Personally, I don't mean
much, and making the Negro pictures I have made didn't mean
much. All I can do now is a little preaching through the pages
of an occasional novel for a more sensible effort on the part of
our group, of whose responsibility or irresponsibility, I am a part.
If you can conceive some way in which I can be of assistance in
a broader and more helpful sense, I’d be glad to join and go
along with you. But this is not your plan, however much you might
say to the contrary.
“I don't know just who is behind this plan of yours, to produce
a picture to make Negroes hate Jews and stir up trouble, but I
can guess it to be some subversive group or groups, inspired from
Berlin, for Adolf Hitler, and is not for the benefit of the Negro, but
more to bring about chaos and trouble here in America. I wouldn't
be interested in anything like that, regardless of the way we are brow-
beaten and held back in our own country. As bad as this is and as
much as I dislike it, I realize that it might be worse,” said Wyeth.
“I’m sorry but I'm afraid, gentlemen, that you'll have to count me
out.”
By this time it was plainly obvious to both men that Sidney
Wyeth was not going to be persuaded by them, at least, to direct and
produce their picture. Still resolute and determined by disposition,
however, Schultz went on :
“I’m sorry, since we're in position to get the finances for you to


-
302 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE º
resume the production of pictures, that you do not agree with us.”
“I’m sorry,” said Wyeth, simply.
“The people who are advancing the money to make our picture,
stand ready to advance an even larger sum to finance the production
of those that you want to make. I’m told there hasn't been any colored
pictures made, except a few insignificant productions, since you sus-
pended; and that our people are anxious to see some good ones,
so by helping us, and us helping you, we all benefit. Don't you think
that is very reasonable?”
“Yes, fair enough.”
“Then supposing you take it under advisement. It doesn't have to
be made right away, and we'll see you and talk about it again,
later on.” With these words, Schultz rose to his feet, followed by
Early and Wyeth. There was nothing further for Wyeth to say,
so when they left all were as agreeable as when they arrived. On
the way downstairs and up the street, the two men talked it over
however, between themselves.
“In spite of his objections, I still feel that we can ultimately get
him at least to direct it,” said Schultz.
“I hope so,” said Early gloomily, “but how?”
“I don't know just now and can't say,” Schultz replied, “This
much I do know, that we won't succeed in getting him to do it as
we had planned it.”
“I agree with you,” said Early.
“Bertha,” Schultz went on to say, “seems very much interested
in him. I'm wondering what her interest is.”
“I’d say personal,” suggested Early.
“Maybe so,” said Schultz. “Well, she's a girl.”
“A pretty girl and an unmarried girl,” said Early.
Schultz glanced at him.
“She knows what she wants to do, even if it is personal.” -
“But if we ever succeed in getting Wyeth to direct and produce
this picture, it'll have to be your sister who gets him to do so.”
“That’s what I am afraid of.” -
“So deciding, supposing that we count ourselves out and leave it to
her to do whatever she can to persuade him to,” said Early.
“I guess that is about all that’s left for us to do,” said Schultz.
Both men lapsed into silence, then, increasing their pace, disap-
peared up the street toward Sugar Hill. -
y


carris XXIV
ARIE AND BERTHA had not seen each other since they
drove Wyeth, still sleeping, to New Haven, where he
awoke and accompanied them into a tavern where they had
refreshments. Wide awake and refreshed he drove them back to
New York. When he awoke in New Haven, he didn't know that he
had been asleep, so all had a good laugh over it, and enjoyed their ride
back to New York, during which time both the girls went to
sleep, and then he had the laugh on them. It was the roar of an
elevated train overhead that awakened both with a start—and
they weren't aware they had been asleep until awakened by the heavy
elevated cars rumbling southward overhead the way Wyeth was
driving.
Naturally, Bertha was anxious to see Marie a few days later
and talk about Wyeth, and while at the office, Wyeth entered and
invited her into his private office. Seated, he smiled across at her
and it pleased her to smile back at him.
“I’ve been thinking about something which I'd like to ask you,
Mr. Wyeth,” began Bertha.
“Fire away, Miss Schultz. Will try to answer anything you
ask.”
“Why don't you put your book on sale at the bookshops?
Surely there are a great many people who would be glad to pur-
chase it, if it were where they could see it?”
“No doubt, but I have just neglected to do so. But before one
makes any concerted effort along such lines, it is customary to
send the book out to the newspapers for review.”
“Well, haven't you done that?” she inquired. He was thoughtful
a moment. Then looked at her.
“Shortly after the book came out, I went to Chicago where I had
planned to start to do this. We were still in the picture business and
303


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 305
written, at alternate intervals, more about Nature's Child. In fact,
she seemed to have fallen in love with the book, and took a de-
light, every time she had a chance, of saying something about
it in her column. So I called at her office. While waiting, I saw
some one open the inner door and peep out, and imagined later
that it was she; but her secretary finally came forward and asked
me what I wished. I displayed my book, which she took and went
into the office where she stayed a few minutes then returned with
the report that the lady didn't feel it prudent or good policy to
meet the authors of books she was expected to review, since it
might influence her opinion regarding the book. But that if I cared
to leave it she would give me her reaction within the next two
or three weeks in her column. Frankly I was disappointed, since I.
knew that few authors ever call on reviewers; that the books are
mailed to the literary department of the various newspapers and
the authors would have no occasion to be calling on the news-
papers as I was doing in Chicago.”
“Naturally,” said Bertha, wonderingly, but waited for him to
go on with his story. -
- “There was nothing I could do, of course, but leave the book
as I had gone there to do. I would liked to have spoken with the
lady, but since she had decreed otherwise, I left the book and went
on across town a few blocks to the literary department of another
paper. The literary editor there was not in, so I left the book and
watched both papers for their reaction.
“That was in September. I followed the literary pages of both
papers until the following January—and I've never, even to this
day, seen or heard any comment or review.”
“You don't mean it!” exclaimed Bertha, in great surprise.
“While in Chicago I arranged with a large school that was
located near the Negro section of one of the suburban towns
there to show one of my pictures, at which showing I planned
to review the book and solicit some sales, which I have since de-
veloped very successfully. I was referred to the principal, a very
fine white lady, a least they said she was, and I found her congenial.
I showed her the book and she was very much interested—until
she examined it.”
“Just what do you mean by that?” inquired Bertha,


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 307
issue. I decided then not to seek any more reviews.”
“I understand you better now. But surely they must have read
the book,” said Bertha, her face drawn into a serious frown.
“I’m in no position to know if they did or did not.”
“If they read it, they would have been almost forced to say
something about it, and it couldn't have been anything but favor-
able,” she now said insistently.
“That is why I am forced to feel that they did not. I doubt
very seriously if either of the literary departments of these two
great papers ever read the book or had anybody read it. It is my
opinion, when they sketched through it as this principal of the
school did, looking for dialect and comedy, crime or degeneration,
all of which seems to interest them about Negroes more than con-
ventional Negro life, and I’m not forgetting the crime angle which
made Nature's Child so popular with them, and they found none
of this which they were looking for, I don't think they read the
book or went to the trouble of getting anybody else to read it. Any-
way, nothing was said about it, and that is what happened to me.
As a result, I decided to say nothing further to white people about it
and, as stated, sent no more copies for review, deciding since our
group liked the book so well, better, from all that I could hear,
than any Negro book they ever read, that I would just go ahead
and sell it in such ways as I could learn and develop, and be
satisfied. And that is why it is not on sale in the shops.”
“I’m surprised,” said Bertha, “for it is such a splendid story, so
interesting from beginning to end, and has so much human appeal
that I can't understand anybody reading the book and not being
impressed.”
“I don't know if I have explained it, but white America, a long
time ago, set us Negroes in a sort of groove. By that I mean that
they developed the view that the Negro was first a clown, a come-
dian and an idiot, conceived and born into the world to amuse white
people. And in spite of the fact that we have been free eighty
years; that billions of dollars have been spent to educate and
make us apparently like any other American, we still remain in
his picture eye, just the same as we were supposed to be before
we were freed. Funny, in a measure, but pathetic. So he seems to
insist on us being one way or the other. First, and preferably,


308 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
funny, so as to make them laugh. But if he can't get a laugh at the
thought and sight of us, then he can and does associate us in any
other way, except in a contemporary way. It seems that to change
this we'll have to get them in a corner and almost, at the point of a
gun, literally say: ‘now, white man, I’ve been educated by and in
the same course of study that you have. About the only difference
between us is that you are white and I am black, or brown or at
least a Negro. Anyway, I eat the same kind of food that you do,
prepared as you have yours. I breathe like you, walk like you and
in most ways, talk like you. You have, as a group, far more money
than I have, and you have the preference of jobs. I must accept
what I can get, but for three generations a portion of us only
have talked in dialect, fewer as the years go by. All of us do not
roll our eyes, show our teeth and act in all the fool ways you think
we ought to.”
“It seems we've almost got to go that far to make him under-
stand that we are not essentially a different people. For instance,
a few months after these other incidents, I made an adaptation of
my book to a play. I've read plenty of plays and, of course, been
to see many on the stage, so I know that the manuscript of the
play I made from my book was well done and an interesting
script. I sent a copy to each of fifteen leading American stage
critics all over for comment with a letter advising that I knew this
was a rather unusual procedure but that I was planning to pro-
duce it on Broadway in the near future and would like to hear
what they thought of the idea—what they would think of a play of
modern, intelligent Negro life. Not a single one answered or wrote
a line about it. They reacted the same way the papers had to my
book. Which left me in a quandary. What was I to do, what was
I to think? Their lack of interest in both cases was the same.
White America, as I’ve said, has the Negro typed, They have
us set in a groove that she has chiseled according to her own idea
and style, and there we are supposed to stay and be satisfied.
“That is one of the reasons I feel that Negroes are not trying
to write anything. He doesn't know how to write according to
the white man's philosophy regarding us, and if he writes accord-
ing to his own, he can't get it published, because the white pub-
lishers just can't see it. As a race, we've never been called on to


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 309
write anything for the screen, very little for the radio, and from
the standpoint of books and magazine articles, well, we're just
out. And, unfortunately, we seem to accept the spot they have set
us in, and for the present seem to have given up making any
serious attempt to change it.”
“That is deplorable,” said Bertha, shaking her head, sadly. “De-
plorable to say the least.”
“Deplorable is the word. It all boils down to what I have felt
necessary for a long time. That it is up to the Negro, and the
Negro alone to work out his own salvation in the arts, the sciences,
the motion picture, and to some extent, the radio. Unless we are
willing to do this, we are just sunk.”
“It surely seems that way from what you say,” she said, then
paused to look at him a bit oddly.
“Would you believe me when I explain, Mr. Wyeth,” she
said, sudden-like, “That you're the only one that I’ve talked to, I
mean, in our race, who seems to take it that way; that seriously.”
“I’m not surprised. Most of us don't take anything seriously.
Everybody has money now and we don't give a tinker's damn about
tomorrow. That is Negro America.”
“But—they—they can't go on this way forever. Surely something
is going to be done about it, something will be done to change it,”
she went on earnestly, seriously.
“Don’t let it trouble you too much, Miss Schultz,” smiled Wyeth.
“Don’t let it trouble you more than it is seeming to trouble them,
for if you do, you might be unhappy. They are not. We are given
to taking things so easy until you can't but wonder that most
white people fail to take us seriously, why they are so inclined to
look upon us as clowns, comedians and idiots, and are so unwill-
ing to accept us in the ordinary American way.”
“But they are not all that way, are they?”
“Of course not. In fact, most of us are different, but they do
not consider those as a majority. Their contact is confined to a
small minority, mostly to the servants who work for them,
the girls, who take care of their children, the women, who cook
for them, the men, who clean up after them, shine their shoes and
look after them, more or less in a menial way.”
“What about the teachers, the doctors, the white collar workers?”


310 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“They don't meet them. Most white people do not know that they
exist. And with regards to this class, with many exceptions, of
course, they present another side of our complex problem.”
“In just what way, please?”
“A very great many of them are selfish. Downright selfish and
when they have a good job themselves, they don't waste many
tears about the others not so fortunate.” - -
“This is a new angle. I haven’t been told about them.”
“You wouldn't be, because that is the kind a girl like you would
meet, become associated with and be so close to that you might
not be able to see just how selfish and—often despicable they
are.”
“You seem to have gone deeply into the problem of the Negro
in America,” she said. “You know more about his conditions than
anybody I've met.”
“I hope you will become better acquainted with them.”
“I do want to,” she said eagerly.
“I don't know just how you will go about finding out. I could
help you, to some degree, but it is not convenient at this time.”
“What do you mean? Would you mind explaining?”
He looked at her, then he thought for a moment and looked at
her again. -.
“I’ve been contemplating going on an extended sales tour into
the South. I have covered some of it but this is the best time of
year to go further. My errand, of course, will be in the sale of
my book. I am building up a very successful business, and I like
the work. It pleases me and brings me closer to the Negro than
I have ever been and I have boasted of having been closer to the
masses in the production and distribution of pictures, than any-
body else. But the sale of my book brings me face to face with not
only the masses but also the classes.”
“Oh, Mr. Wyeth,” she cried, shifting anxiously. I am so interest-
ed in what you are talking about. I would be glad to-to share in
some of all this contact you speak about. Won't you please tell me
all about it—everything?” She moved her chair a little nearer his
as she finished, and looked so anxious that he was forced to smile.
“This trip,” she went on. “Just how are you going to manage
it, where will you be going?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 31]
“All the way, if I have my way about it, from here to-Browns-
ville, Texas.”
“All the way from here to Brownsville, Texas? That is—”
“Away Southwest, nearly 2,000 miles, on the Texas and Mexi-
can border.”
“Oh, how wonderful! Please go on. On this trip you will—ex-
ploit your book?” *
“That is the purpose. It amounts to simply getting in my car
right here in New York, and going” on from here, stopping at
all the schools that I can conveniently contact, and when I have
gotten as far South as Philadelphia, I will review it to as many
groups as I conveniently can. I shall carry a substantial supply of
books with me, but all the orders that I cannot fill as I go along,
Marie will take care of from the office. So I just drive on and on
and meet people, as I said, in schools and from Philadelphia South,
most of those I visit, of course, will have colored teachers. So I
can make a dozen or so of these institutions a day, five days
a week. I try to get to a key city to spend the night, and there I
meet more groups who seem to like to hear me talk, and all my
talk in the end brings out the matter of the book, so I sell many
and learn lots of things of interest to go into other books.”
“How wonderful! No wonder you are so well-informed,” she
cried enthusiastically. “Now, who will go with you on this—
trip?”
He shook his head. “Nobody, just me and myself and—come to
think of it, I'll probably carry my gun.”
“By yourself and only your gun?”
“It will be in the autumn. Back where I was raised in Southern
Illinois I used to hunt in the fall. I learned to be a very good
marksman. So on this trip, too, I'll carry my shot gun, possibly a rifle,
but assuredly the shot gun. Here and there, when I see something
to shoot, I stop the car, get out and take a shot at it and often bring
down what I shoot at.” -
“This is too wonderful for words and how I envy you. I would
give—half of my life to go on a trip like that.”
“It would enlarge your education wonderfully,” he said.
“But I would not know how to go—by myself,” she said, and
looked at him, a question in her eyes. “I don't know much about


312 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
shooting except what I was taught at school, shooting at clay pigeons,
at marks and the like. I haven't fired a shot gun since.”
“That is why I stated that it is unfortunate that you can't make
such a trip.” -
“With you, maybe?”
Again he looked at her, and seemed embarrassed.
“With me? That wouldn't be quite in keeping with—with,
society, I don't think,” he said a bit hesitantly.
“I am not in society,” she said readily. “I am not on a job to study
and learn anything about society in particular. I—could go with you.”
“Oh, Miss Schultz. Not with me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, apologetically. “I—I guess I spoke too
hastily. I guess you—you wouldn't want a woman with you. I'd
perhaps be—in your way.”
“I wouldn't say that,” he said, his face reddening in spite of the
brown of his skin. “And you wouldn't be in my way. It is only
that I–I hadn't thought of anything like that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said and was then silent. He didn't know exactly
what to say, so said nothing. After a smile, which was as if to
reassure him, she rose and left, he thought, a bit abruptly.
Outside, she spoke to Marie.
“I’m going home now,” she said, pausing to glance over her
shoulder in the direction of Wyeth. Then in an undertone. “When
Mr. Wyeth leaves the office, do you think he will be gone all day?”
“He’s getting ready to leave now. When he goes, he won't be
back any more today,” replied Marie, looking at her curiously and
wondering what she was thinking, maybe planning.
“When he leaves, I want you to call me.”
“Of course,” said Marie, wondering more at her strange actions,
what she had on her mind.
“Then please do that, won't you? I'll be waiting right there by
the phone for your call. I’m going now,” She reached and quickly
kissed Marie on the cheek, and turning, left the office without
further words.
Marie looked after her, more curious than ever over her
actions. A few minutes later, Wyeth came out of his office with
his large case, in which he usually carried about two dozen books
so as to have them if he might need them. He paused to consult


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 313
his watch, then advising her that he was going North to White
Plains for the day, left. She was going to ask him something about
Bertha, but he seemed in a hurry; he was always in a hurry, so
she didn't get a chance to do so before he was gone. She sat silent
for a few seconds, wondering what is was all about. Then pick-
ing up the telephone, she called Bertha.
The answer was immediate for Bertha immediately picked up
the receiver at the other end.
“It's Marie, Bertha.”
“Has Mr. Wyeth left the office?” -
“Yes. That's what I called to tell you.”
“Thank you, dear. Now—will he be back soon?”
“He won't be back at all—that is, not today,” replied Marie.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” cried Bertha.
“So glad?” called Marie. “I don't understand you. What's this
all about, anyhow?”
“I’ll catch a taxi and come right down. I’ll tell you when I get
there,” and without another word, hung up.
A few minutes later Bertha rushed into the office, breathing a bit
heavily from running up the stairs.
“Bertha!” Marie exclaimed, and rose to her feet. Bertha came
closer and embraced her. She turned to look in Wyeth's office.
“He is—gone?” she asked. Marie nodded her head.
“Then, we can—sit in his office?”
“Of course, Bertha.”
“Meanwhile, I can wait until you
work.”
“I am caught up. We've made the shipments for the day.
Anything else can wait.” They both went into Wyeth's office, where
Marie took his chair, Bertha in the one she had sat in half an hour
or so before.
“Tell me now, Bertha,” Marie began, “What is all the excitement
about? Why are you all of a sudden, so strange, so excited?”
Bertha looked at her for a moment. w
“Didn't you overhear us talking?”
“Of course I overheard you, in a general way,” explained Marie.
“But I didn't listen to what you were talking about in particular.”
“Then you didn't hear him, that is, understand his saying that he
have caught up with your


314 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
was going on a trip, a long trip South?”
“Oh, something, but of course I knew that he had planned it
for some time. What has that got to do with your being so ex-
cited 7”
“I want to go with him.”
“Bertha I’’
“I want to go with him, Marie,” Bertha cried excitedly, al-
most in tears.
“But—Bertha, Mr. Wyeth is a man, and you—a girl.”
“That is why I am so excited. But I want to go with Mr. Wyeth
on this trip.”
“Are you losing your mind? A nice girl like you, riding all over the
country with a-man?”
“I want to go. I know it may not look just right, yet here is a
chance, my chance to find out something it is most important that
I learn. To be with Mr. Wyeth for days, would give me the oppor-
tunity to learn it. I want to go with him.”
“But—but—Mr. Wyeth would not take you. Mr. Wyeth is a
gentleman, and not that kind of a man—”
“I know, Marie, and I understand how he would feel about it.”
During the night, she had been kept awake, thinking about such a
trip; of the long days and nights when they would be so close to-
gether, closer than they could possibly be elsewhere or under any
other conditions. She did not say that she had some strange desire
to go with him. All she knew was that she wanted to go; that she
wanted to be with him on this trip.
“I want you to help me find a way, to plan a way,” she cried
and grasped Marie's hand which she had reached and picked up.
Marie looked at her closely.
“I don't understand you,” said Marie.
Bertha looked at her, sighed and shook her head.
“Maybe I don't understand myself. I only know that I want to
go with Mr. Wyeth on this trip, and because I also know that it
doesn't look just right that Mr. Wyeth, being the kind of man he is,
might not want to take me, I'm appealing to you. It is only you
who can persuade him to take me. I—”
“Furthermore, Bertha, it is a business trip with him. He has
been on them before. He did well. He will know this time how


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 315
to do better. He will be working, reviewing his book a dozen times
a day, everywhere, to endless groups, including preachers and
teachers, insurance agents—no end of people. He is well prepared
for what he is going to do.”
“I understand all that, Marie, dear.” 4
“You might be in his way. Trying to be nice to you might slow
him up. He is a restless, energetic sort of person. He wouldn't like
to be slowed up. He-’”
“I wouldn't slow him up, Marie, darling. Furthermore, instead
of being in his way, I could—help him.”
“Help him?” cried Marie. “Help him how 7"
“Why, in many ways,” Bertha replied, readily, rising to her
feet, too excited to remain seated longer. She moved a few steps,
back and forth, twisting her hands. Presently she stood over Marie,
who looked up at her. She paused.
“I’d like to help you, dear Bertha,” said Marie, kindly, taking
her hand now and fondling it. “You know I am your friend, your
best friend.”
“And I am your best friend, too, Marie, dear. You know that.
I love you better than anybody else I know. I want to go with
Mr. Wyeth. You are smart, you are intelligent. You can think of
some way.” She paused to sit down on the desk before Marie,
and facing her went on :
“Now, darling, you must help me. You must find a way to per-
suade Mr. Wyeth to let me go with him.”
Marie looked at her a moment, bit her lip and frowned, lowered
her eyes to think, looked up at her again.
“Another thing, being a single man, with you near him, might
It would be hard on any man that close to a girl like you,
to resist becoming interested.”
She looked into Bertha's eyes and Bertha blushed and turned
her's away. -
“Mr. Wyeth, as you know, has just escaped from the clutches of a
woman who didn't mean him any good.”
“But Marie, I’m not that kind of woman. I would not
could not injure Mr. Wyeth as she might have injured him.”
“No, you would not and you could not, because you are a nice
girl, the kind of girl as I have hinted before who would be—nice for


316 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Mr. Wyeth to-like. I wish you and he learned to like each other.”
“Oh, Marie,” cried Bertha, sweetly, modestly, daring to take
a quick look into her eyes. Then lowering her eyes again she
played with the finger nails on the hand that was free.
“Of course, Mr. Wyeth is his own boss. I have nothing to do
with what he thinks or does,” said Marie.
“But you are interested in him,” said Bertha.
“I am, Bertha, like a big sister. I enjoy looking after his
interests and he likes me doing so. The point is, just how could
anything like this be arranged?” and she lowered her eyes. Bertha,
quick-witted by nature, training and disposition, was doing some
thinking, too. She turned to Marie with a sudden idea.
“I could hire myself to him, be his secretary, for instance,” Bertha
said suddenly, and was more anxious.
Marie looked up, then smiled.
“Why smile, Marie? Couldn't that be arranged?”
“But you are already employed, you already have a job,” Bertha
shrugged her shoulders.
“My job is and always has been, to find out things about Negroes,
to become acquainted with their condition, their position in Ameri-
can life in general, and to compile that information. It is obvious
to you and to me, Marie, that instead of this trip being a hindrance,
it could be of great help; it would mean more information the
acquisition of which I desire, more than anything else. I could learn
more on this trip than I could otherwise find out in years. Mr.
Wyeth is a practical encyclopedia of information. I could go with
him as his secretary, helping in many ways.” * -
“To sell books, that would be the way you could help him; the
way you could possibly help him lots and not be in the way, by
helping him to sell his book. You wouldn't want to do that; no-
body ever wants to help do that—and it is so simple, so easy.”
“Why wouldn't I? In fact, I’m sure I would enjoy helping him
that way.” -
Marie looked up with a new interest.
“You mean, Bertha, that you—wouldn't mind helping him sell the
book?”
“Of course not, and why not?” Marie looked at her seriously for
the first time, Drummed the fingers of her hand on the desk before


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 317
her. Then looked up at Bertha again.
“If you feel that you would like to help him that way, it might be
arranged, at least considered, but only after you think it over.
Are you sure that you would like to help him that way?”
“I tell you, darling Marie, I would like to help him in any way.
The more I think about it the more I know I want to, and I
would. I’ve told you that I would like to be more active. That would
give me a chance, and I wouldn't be any old stick-in-the-mud;
I'd throw myself into the work. I bet I’d help to increase the sales
immeasurably. I can operate a typewriter; I know shorthand. I
could be a wonderful secretary, a secretary who'd try to help
and cooperate. Oh, please, Marie, say that you'll try to per-
suade him to–to let me go with him.”
“Let me think it over, by myself,” said Marie, rising to her feet.
As if to get Bertha for the moment out of the way so that she
could think, clearly and without interruption. Then she took her and
pushed her down in the chair.
“You sit there, and stay seated while I think it over.” -
Bertha smiled up at her like an obedient child. Marie walked
away, then up and down a few times then finally turned to Bertha.
“Mr. Wyeth is my boss, and he's a good boss. Been a good one
for years and years. I was unhappy for only a short while, be-
cause I saw he was about to get into trouble, and he didn't deserve
it. I’m not going to let anybody else get in his way and mess him
up.” Bertha started to protest, but Marie hushed her, by laying a
finger over her lips, and pointing at her.
“You wouldn’t do that, and I’ not afraid about that. The only
thing I'm uncertain about is—something else. Something about—
you.”
“About me?” cried Bertha, starting to rise. -
Marie pushed her back and reassured her by smiling.
“Take it easy, Bertha, sweetheart. What worries me about you is
that you are so pretty and so nice and congenial and in so many other
ways so good, that—that—well, supposing Mr. Wyeth, after
being so close to you for days, closer than two people could be
otherwise than as man and wife. Supposing that he should begin to
like you.” Bertha had been listening to her tensely, hanging onto
Marie's every word. Now she slumped back, with an, “Oh, Marie.”


318 THE CASE OF MIrS. WINGATE
“If I was a man like Mr. Wyeth, lonely, with nobody in love with
me, me in love with nobody, and I found a fine girl like you right
at my side, ready to assist me in a thousand ways, as I know you
would be ready, willing and glad to help in any way—every
way, am I so strong-willed that I could resist such a presence and—
not become, possibly, interested?”
“But Mr. Wyeth would not be interested that way in me,
Marie.”
“Why couldn't he?”
“Be—because. Oh, he just wouldn’t, that's all,” and Bertha, her
eyes lowered, blushed furiously. Marie stood up and looked down at
her, and then it suddenly occurred to her, why she was on the
anxious seat. It was because there was something about Bertha, as
much as she liked her, that was secretive; something that Bertha
had not and did not tell. What was it? Looking down at her she
went on seriously. -
“You see, Bertha, there is something a-bit mysterious about you
which you have not told me. I don't know what it is, and I de-
cided when it occurred to me shortly after I met you, that I wouldn't
ask you. I do not believe it is my part to ask you. I am not asking
you now. I believe, however, that it is something to do with this
war, in some strange and peculiar way. Oh, hang it, I can't seem
to make my meaning clear,” and Marie stamped her foot, to indicate
her agitation. -
Bertha, in the meanwhile, knowing that Marie was speaking the
• truth, of course, knew why. She also knew that what she hadn't told
Marie nor anybody else; knew that it was something she would
never tell, remained silent, terribly embarrassed, for she was
sorry that it was that way. Finally she took Marie's hand, still with-
out looking up, and went on to say, to admit.
“There is something, and I know it is that something that has
worried you, yet it is something confidential and I don't want to
talk about it. If you are my good friend, you will just understand
that there is something and won't say anything about it again. I can
only tell you that it is nothing—that is against you, or our race, or
anybody in particular. It is just something that I can't talk about.
Now do you understand?” She dared look up at Marie now and
there were sincere tears in her eyes, and Marie understood and


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 319
was as she should have been, sorry for Bertha.
“Darling,” she cried, and standing, moved closer to Bertha. “I
understand enough to trust you, to want to help you because I
know you need kindness and sympathy.”
Bertha was weeping now.
“I—I like Mr. Wyeth, Marie,” she said between her sobs.
Marie looked long at her.
“Oh, I don't mean that I am—in love with him. I am in love with
no man—at least I don't think so. So you don't have to worry about
that. I do mean when I say, however, that if there is any man that
I am particularly interested in, it is Mr. Wyeth.”
“You mean, Bertha,” Marie was saying now, “that—that if on this
trip. if Mr. Wyeth should begin to—like you, I mean, seriously, that
it would—be all right?”
Without raising her eyes, Bertha nodded her head slowly in the
affirmative.
“But this something that I cannot talk about, I–I'm not free. I
won't be free until—until this war is over.” She now rose to her
feet and walked away, and with her back still to Marie. “And be-
fore the war is—over, something might happen,” she continued.
“It might happen to me, and if it did, I would—never be free.”
As we know, Bertha meant her allegiance to Adolf Hitler,
of what she had sworn, before leaving Germany to do, or try to
do; but whatever the case, her life, her efforts and her duty were
first to the Third Reich, to Germany, her fatherland—and Adolf
Hitler. That is what she meant and could not say.
“It is all so strange and—so fatal,” said Marie, standing close be-
hind her. “This subtle something—but I won't say any more about
it. I am satisfied. In the meanwhile, if Mr. Wyeth should begin
to like you before this trip is over, he would not embarrass you.
It would have to be you who made the overtures, and by what you
say, I can see that you are not free to do that, not now. But if all
or any of it should come to pass, it would have to be you who would
take the initiative. Mr. Wyeth might grow to like you, but he would
keep it to himself. He would never force it on you. He would not
believe that you would or could ever fall in love with a plain man
like him.”
Bertha was emotional again and turning, threw herself into


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 321
Waterbury and Hartford to take jobs. She was to stay on each job
only as long as it was necessary to get the lay of things. They had
hinted that being so pretty, she might be able to inveigle bosses and
foremen into “talking” and in which way get closer to the guarded
departments. Possibly be able to plant an incendiary or time bomb
here and there where it could do the most damage.
She had heard them debate the idea and plan to plant these bombs,
if unable to in the precision departments and works, then in the lunch
rooms and recreation departments, with the bombs timed to go off
during lunch and recreation periods when the explosions would kill
and maim more people. All of which she viewed with horror and as
nothing short of plain murder. The more she heard it debated and
planned, the more repulsive the whole scheme became to her.
Sooner or later, however, she was able to see, she would be
called on to go into action and attempt some of these plans they were
devising. The fact that to do this would kill and injure scores of inno-
cent and defenseless people didn't seem to matter at all—in fact,
recalling a remark of Hans Schiller, to the effect that the more it
killed, the merrier, and the more the effort would be considered as a
long step towards success.
After learning of Wyeth's proposed trip, she was quick to appre-
ciate that if she could slip quietly away with him, she would be un-
available to engage in or commit any of the dastarded acts.
She had been sent to America at the outset to investigate con-
ditions pertaining to the Negro; of his treatment and of his reaction
to that treatment. Plain and simple research, the kind of work that
she had prepared herself at both Heidelberg and the Sorbonne to do,
and not to commit sabotage, destruction and plain murder.
There were plenty men—and even women, among those sent here,
however, who were perfectly agreeable to doing anything they
were asked by the leaders to do, in so long as it could be considered
for the “dear Fuehrer.”
She had even tried to bring herself around to their way of
thinking, since they were all supposed to be united in a common
cause. But she had failed in the effort miserably. She just couldn't
accustom herself to such ideas and sleep good.
Immediately—even as Wyeth related his plans to her, she decided
to by pass all the subversive efforts, if she could, that was going on


322 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
downtown and go away with Sidney Wyeth. During the night that
followed her conversation with him, she found herself picturing her-
self on such a journey. It would not only make her unavailable, when
it came to carrying out, or attempting to carry out their nefarious
tenets, which she knew that in due time she would be called on to
try perform, but the trip itself would provide the opportunity to
gather so much widespread information, even if only in a general
way.
Then there would be the pleasant association with a man she liked,
to go with it. In meeting Wyeth and what conversation she had
exchanged with him, it was her wish to get into a position where she
could, if possible, be closer to talk with him still further. So the more
she thought about the trip, the more the desire to go possessed her.


LORENCE WINGATE stayed two days in Wakefield, was
F careful of what she said, even to her mother, dropping no
hint about her plans, then returned to her home on Peach-
tree Street in Atlanta, where she found a message from her hus-
band. It was from Charlotte, where he wrote her on hotel station-
ery, that he had his chauffeur meet him and would make the rest of
the journey to Atlanta by motor, stopping over in a few places en-
route, but that he would, however, endeavor to reach Atlanta by
Saturday night.
Seated by a window, she counted the days, only a few away.
She sighed. Close to it, she was conscious now that she dreaded it, yet
realized that it had to be done and the sooner the better. Yet, as
she contemplated leaving Mr. Wingate, who had never been a
real husband to her, she was strangely sorry. For more than ten
years she had tried to endure him. She had even permitted him to
satisfy himself in his own way. As she stood there thinking about
him and about Kermit and about her people, she decided that before
she left him she would let him satisfy himself again, as revolting as it
always was to her. She moved across to a comfortable chair and
thought about her baby. This seemed always to compensate for any
sacrifice, for everything. It made her brave and resolute. A child was
what she had done it all for. Now, since the child was on the way,
she felt equal to any task, any burden that might be forced upon
her, for the great privilege.
As she sat there, looking out into the street, it became dark,
slowly, very dark, so dark that she got to her feet and going to
the window, looked out at the sky, which was overcast. A wind
was blowing, a soft wind, but a wind that felt like it was preceding
a storm. It had been hot and sultry for two days, and everybody
was looking for the heat to be broken by showers, but as she looked
up at the heavily overcast sky, then heard the rumble of distant
thunder, with a flash of lightning that frightened her, she realized
that it might be more than a shower. A storm was approaching At-
323


324 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
lanta, coming down from the northwest.
Mammy was busy lowering windows upstairs. She could hear her
and Florence now hurried to lower the windows downstairs. A few
minutes later the storm broke. Daring to look out at the row of
trees that lined the wide street, she could hear and see limbs being
torn by the wind from them and fall crashing into the street. Light-
ning, great flashes of it, lit the dark outside up into a silvery like
shimmer. The rain came down in torrents and it continued to storm
all through the afternoon and into the early hours of the night.
She had just finished her dinner and mammy was clearing away
the dishes when the telephone rang. She went to it and when she
answered, some one asked if she lived there. She answered in the
affirmative. The operator said it was long distance calling from
somewhere in South Carolina. She became anxious. She tried to
think who would be calling her from South Carolina. After a
time, she could hear voices from the other end, then a man's voice
said: “I am trying to get Mrs. Wingate, are you Mrs. Wingate?”
“I am,” she replied, and was very curious by now. There was
more talking on the other end, which she could pick up in bits,
through the receiver. Then the man who had been talking to her.
began again.
“I would like to talk to Mrs. Florence Wingate.”
“I am Mrs. Florence Wingate,” she said, and waited, while the
person seemed to turn and exchange more words with others, appar-
ently in the room. She heard another voice, talking evidently to the
man on the phone.
“That's the name on the identification card. Mrs. Florence Win-
gate,” and he called the street number, “Atlanta, Georgia.”
“All right,” said the voice on the phone, but to her. “All right, I'll
tell her. You've put it on me, so I'll tell her.”
“What could it mean?” she asked herself, now very anxious.
“Hello,” called the voice.
“Hello,” she replied.
“Are you Mrs. Wingate?”
“I am Mrs. Wingate.”
“Mrs. Florence Wingate, and you reside on Peachtree Street, in
Atlanta?” -
“I am Mrs. Florence Wingate and I live on Peachtree Street in
Atlanta, thank you. Now what do you want; what is this all about?”


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 325
“This is Sergeant Winslow, of the highway patrol, at Florence,
South Carolina, Mrs. Wingate.”
“Yes, I hear you, and I understand. What has happened? Why are
you calling me?” -
“To tell you that a Mr. Wingate, residing at that address in At-
lanta has been—” somebody interrupted again, but only for a mo-
ment while she held her breath, “–has been killed.”
“Been killed !” she exclaimed. “I don't understand. You say Mr.
Harold Wingate, has been—”
“—killed, Madam. I’m awfully sorry, but somebody had to give
you the sad news.”
“Do you mean to tell me that—”
“—Mr. Harold Wingate, the textile merchant and mill owner has
been killed in an accident.”
She was near to fainting now, but as we have described her before,
Mrs. Wingate was not a weak woman as women go, but strong and
resolute. A woman, because of the unusual manner in which her life
had been diverted, and because of having to assume responsibilities
that few wealthy women, or women of wealthy husbands, have had
to shoulder, had become used to many things. Now she was steeling
her nerves to a -tragedy. Her husband had been killed ! She could
hear the Sergeant's voice again.
“Yes, madam, he was killed while crossing the Southern Railway
tracks, north bound tracks, during a blinding storm. He evidently, or
the driver evidently, didn't hear it, the car seemed to have stalled. It is
our opinion that they didn't hear the approach of the train. The driver
jumped out and escaped and Mr. Wingate, from all appearances,
started to, but failed to get clear of the tracks, when the train crashed
into his car, killing him instantly and wrecking the car, which we
found half a mile down the track, after the storm had subsided.
Sorry madam. Are there any instructions you wish to give us?”
“Yes,” she said, faintly. “Hold the body until I arrive, I will
leave by train as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you. Kindly call the police station at Florence, South
Carolina, when you arrive.”
“I will,” she said faintly, and hanging up the receiver, sat there,
bewildered, like—trying to fathom what it all meant. She couldn't,
for a long time, get used to it. Meanwhile, mammy coming down the
hall, paused on seeing her looking so pale, came forward.


cºrrºr XXVI
ARIE COLEMAN did a lot of thinking regarding her con-
M versation with Bertha Schultz after Bertha left. And at
home, Bertha did a great deal more. Bertha saw in such a
trip, the greatest opportunity she would ever have to study and learn
the Negro, and the conditions that controlled and influenced him. She
could buy a car, and she could cover in it the Negro section of the
country all over—but without Sidney Wyeth, and his wealth of gen-
eral information regarding every place and every condition that would
be brought under her observation and discussed as only he was able
to discuss it, made thinking of going alone seem vain, useless. She
thought of it and continued to think of it all over again and the more
she did so, the more convinced she became, that she'd just have to go
with him. In the meantime, Marie in her home, was talking with her
mother whom she was always glad to turn to for counsel.
“Why don't you take it up directly with Mr. Wyeth, dear,” her
mother was saying.
“I am planning to, but it has me on the anxious seat,” said Marie.
“I am wondering what he is going to think of the idea. I'm wondering
how having a pretty girl, sitting beside him and going with him every-
where, staying in the same hotels and all that, is going to appeal to
him P”
“Well, all I can see is for you to talk with him about it. He's always
been very broad-minded.”
“Yes, I know,” replied Marie. “That's what's making me hesi-
tate. I don't know just how to approach him on it. He's a very
scrupulous person, you know.”
“Choose a time and place to bring it up, then talk about it.”
“I was so glad he got out of that other mess without me having to
say anything about it.”
“That was most fortunate. What about that girl now?”
327


328 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
“Oh, I don't know. I haven't thought much about her after that
night when she pranced around on the stage as naked almost as the
day she was born.”
Her mother laughed.
“I guess it was seeing her that way, exposed to everybody's gaze,
that finished her with Mr. Wyeth.”
“I think he had finished with her before she did the dance. He
went there and looked on to feel sure that he didn't want her,” said
Marie, and again her mother laughed.
“What about Bertha 7 Maybe that will turn out to be a match?”
“I don't know, I wish it would, but there is something Bertha hasn't
told me.” -
“Why?”
“She can't.”
“You mean she won't?”
“No, mother, I don't mean any such thing. I think that she would
like to, but she simply cannot.”
“What is it?”
“That’s what I don't know; what I can't understand.”
“Have you talked with Mr. Wyeth about it?”
“No, but I want to.”
“Then why don't you?”
“Do you feel that I should?”
“By all means.”
“Then I will. At the first opportunity.”
“Meanwhile, does she seem to—like Mr. Wyeth?”
“I think so.”
“You think so. Very much?”
“She seems to a great deal. I don't know if it is that kind of interest.
Bertha is so highly trained. She is so far above and beyond foolish
people; so far away from doing foolish things.”
“I’m glad to hear it. That, I should think, is the kind of girl Mr.
Wyeth needs, the kind it seems that he would want.”
“It is, and he would like a girl like her.”
“Then what is he waiting for?”
“Oh, he'd never make any passes at her.”
“Why not?”
“She's too pretty. It would be hard for her, even, to convince him


330 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
And the next day Marie did. Wyeth gave her the chance.
“How is Miss Schultz?” he inquired of Marie, after they got
through the letters and he had signed and was handing them back
to her.
“Fine,” replied Marie.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Yes?”
“She left rather abruptly the other day. I had something I wanted
to talk to her about.”
“What, for instance?”
“My trip.”
“Oh, your trip. What could you have wanted to talk with her
about?”
“Oh, nothing in particular. Just tell her about it, I guess. She
seems so interested in the serious side of life, and I think I'd have
enjoyed telling her more about it.”
“By the way, Mr. Wyeth,” she said carefully, evenly. “Had you
thought about taking anybody with you on this trip?”
“Not exactly. Why?”
“Oh, I don't know.”
“You're not thinking about digging up Thompson, perhaps?”
“Lord, no!”
“Then why did you ask me if I was thinking about taking any-
body?” He paused and looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“I was thinking about—Bertha.”
“Berthal You mean Miss Schultz?”
“Miss Schultz.”
“What ever made anything like that suggest itself to you?”
“Oh. I don't know. Maybe I had a reason.”
“This is getting a bit deep. Why would you associate Miss Schultz
with going on a trip like this with me?”
“Maybe Miss Schultz.”
“Come, Marie, you're talking in riddles. Miss Schultz, I am sure,
hasn't thought of anything of the kind.”
“Hasn’t she?”
“What do you mean, anyhow 2°
“Have you thought much about Miss Schultz, Mr. Wyeth?”
“Well,” he said, slowly, thoughtfully, “no further I guess than that


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 331
she's a nice girl, an intelligent girl, the kind of a girl I admire, the
kind of a girl I could like without much effort.”
“I see.”
“You see—what?”
“Have you observed that in some respects, she is—a bit secretive?”
“Explain yourself.”
“That there is something she hasn't perhaps told us, told me, at
least?”
“Oh, yes.” Marie turned to him abruptly, and looked hard at him.
He was very calm, unexcited.
“I’m asking what you mean?” said Marie.
“Just what you suggested; that there is something she has not
divulged. Incidentally, I understand what that is,” said Wyeth,
slowly.
“What is it?” Marie asked. r
She rose to her feet, stood over him. He looked up at her, still
calm, quiet. -
“That she's German,” he said
“A German, yes, I know that.”
“That she's also a German secret agent,” he said.
“A—what?” she cried.
“A spy.”
“Oh, Mr. Wyeth, no!”
“But, Mrs. Coleman, yes.”
Marie dropped into a chair, out of breath.
“Well, people!'
“Didn't you understand—that—that she was 2"
“Of course not,” she cried.
“I have all along,” he said with a smile.
“And haven't said anything about it?”
“Perhaps I thought you knew. You should have.”
“Why should I?” she wanted to know.
“You’re an intelligent girl, at least that's what I've been taking
you to be all these years.”
“But Bertha, a spy, I can't believe it.”
“A Nazi spy,” he said.
“Great God!”
“Sent to this country along with others, by the German foreign


332 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGAte
office to check on American activity.”
“Are you joking?” said Marie, bewildered.
“Of course I am not. America is literally swarming with Nazi
agents, checking on everything that's going on in this country.”
“But Bertha, and her brother?” she cried. “I can't believe it.”
“They are both spies; he's the chief one.”
“I’m astounded,” said Marie.
“I’m not.’
“You can buy me for a nickel. And you've been talking with her,
just as though being a Nazi spy didn't mean anything.”
“Why should it?”
“Now you are getting worse,” she exclaimed. “Why shouldn't it?”
“Because it shouldn't. They’re colored, interested in the welfare
of the Negro as well as we are.”
“But Nazi spies. Aren't you going to report them to the FBI?"
“Of course not.”
“But—but why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“But they will be reported,” she said.
“Not unless you or I do it.”
“I’m dumbfounded,” she said, excitedly.
“Take it easy, Marie.”
“What am I to do?” she blurted out, looking at him oddly.
“Just what you've been doing,” said he.
“You mean, be—nice to her, and—all that?”
“Of course,” said he.
“But how can I now, knowing what—you've just told me. What
are you going to do?”
“Go on just as I have been.”
“Admiring her and being interested in her,” said Marie.
“Sure,” he smiled.
She shook her head and didn't for a moment know what to do, or
say.
“You see, Marie, Hitler is smart. All Germans are smart, as
smart, almost as Americans, who think they're smart, are dumb and
badly informed, which is the reason they're in trouble; why they're
going to be in greater trouble. Some of these mornings we're going
to awaken a shocked nation; so shocked that we won't know what


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 333
has happened until it has happened—and then it will be too late!”
“What are you talking about?” -
“That the Germans have got our number. Hitler is wise in many
ways. I don't know fully what it is all about. In fact, I admit I don't
know anything about it at all. Just a feeling, but after talking with
Bertha the first time, I could see what had been done. They were
born in Germany, of a Negro father, whose father before him
was a German. He was lost on the Emden, a notorious raider during
the first World War. The Emden sank lots of ships before a British
man-o-war finally caught up with her and sank her off the coast of
South America. I was a young fellow at that time but remember it
well. Nobody was saved. So that was when and how they lost their
father.
“Their mother brought her and Heinrich to this country, after
she married another colored man, a soldier this time, stationed after
the last war in the Rhineland, and who brought her and these two
kids to this country where they lived some eight or ten years, long
enough, as it were, to become very thoroughly Americanized. Then
he died and she took Bertha and Heinrich, youngsters, but old enough
to know a lot, back to Germany and put them through schoool. If the
truth was known, I bet that they had assistance from their govern-
ment. Anyway, they were thoroughly educated in Germany, and later,
in France.” -
“At the Sorbonne.”
“The Harvard of France.”
“They are both Doctors of Philosophy.”
“German thoroughness.”
“Evidently,”
“Now, grown up, as wise in the ways of the world as training can
make them, they are sent back to this country to—”
4 & spy.”
“Well, don't condemn them for that. Only smart, intelligent and
well-trained people make good spies. People willing to put their
country ahead of everything else—all else.
“In a way, I respect their position, and the way Germany has
honored them. Compare it with the way we are treated here in our
own country. Played down, kicked around, ignored, all because the
South insists on keeping us in “our place'. Heinrich knows that as


334 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Negroes, living up here in Harlem among us, that they won't be
watched; that they can operate freely, get valuable information re-
garding the movement of ships, dispatching of convoys, and relay it
on to Germany, nobody the wiser. Hitler knows it, so they have his
complete cooperation with plenty of money at their command to
work with, see?” -
“That's why she wants to go on this trip with you,” Marie said.
He started, paused, looked at her. “I can see through all her anxiety
now. Cunning anxiety,” said Marie to herself.
“What did you say?”
“She wants to go on this trip with you.”
“She does 2" -
“To spy on what you are doing, what the Negro is thinking—
everything.”
“That's interesting,” he said, and lowered his eyes, thoughtfully.
“You puzzle me. Meanwhile, what about this man Early. Is he
a Nazi spy, too?” she said calmly.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Why not? If the others are?”
“Kermit is working with them, rather, with some subversive
group, but he isn't a Nazi spy, for he's an American Negro.”
“What about that white woman he's going with; that rich white.
woman, from down South?”
Wyeth smiled.
“Lucky Negro.”
“Now what do you mean?”
“Just what I say. Kermit is one of these highly educated Negroes,
educated beyond his scope. He's been mixed up with some subversive
group for quite a while. He was mixed up with them while I was
writing my book in Chicago, two years ago.”
“And you knew?”
“Of course I did, Marie. But what if I did? He's a Negro just
like us, trying to get along. He's too highly educated to get any-
thing to do, so if somebody chooses to pay him something for—”
“—doing nothing.”
“Oh, no, you're mistaken. He's a very busy man.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to get me to make a hate picture, for one thing.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 335
“A picture to make Negroes hate Jews?”
“Something like that.”
“Are you going to? You hate Jews, don't you?”
“No,” he said.
She looked at him.
“After all they've done to you?” He ignored the remark.
“After all that some of them have done to you, at least,” she
corrected, “I think you'd hate them.”
“I don't hate anybody. It's bad philosophy. Besides, some Jews
have helped me.”
“I know.”
“Of the $2,200 it cost to get my book out, over $2,000 was ad-
vanced by Jews.” - -
“I know that, too.”
“So shouldn't I be grateful ?”
“I guess you should.”
“I am, but even if this hadn't been done, I’d still feel as I do.”
“I thought you hated Jews. You curse them often enough.”
“I curse Negroes still more.”
“And how !”
They both laughed at this.
“They say you're hard on Negroes.”
“I’m not. They're hard on themselves, but don't know it.”
“I guess you're right. But getting back to Miss Schultz and this
trip.”
“That's what we were talking about.”
“Knowing as you do now, that she's a Nazi spy, you won't con-
sider taking her now.”
“I’m favorable to the idea.”
Again she looked hard at him.
“You mean that you’d consider taking that girl on this trip with
you, knowing that she is spying on our country and sending the
information back to Germany?”
“She isn't doing it exactly that way.”
“Then what way?"
“Hitler has sent her and her brother here to gather information
for Germany, about the way the Negro is being treated, to coun-
teract the complaint about how they are treating the Jews. Some-


336 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
body higher up among their agents has perhaps asked Heinrich to
have me make this hate picture to stir up trouble.”
“Well, isn't that enough to stop everything right here; to expose
them. Wouldn't that be our duty, our patriotic duty?”
“Yes, and no.”
“Now what do you mean?”
“In sending them to a far country to find out something about
our condition for whatever value it might ultimately be to Germany,
is showing, in a way, a greater interest in Negroes than our own
country is doing without great pressure being brought to bear, and
so far as I'm concerned, I’m glad of it. Hitler has been able, away
off there in Germany to realize that 13,000,000 Negroes can mean
something, regardless of the fact that our own country is unwilling,
or seems so anyhow, to take us that seriously.”
“I agree with you there.”
“I am not sure about her brother, for he is shrewd and cunning
and would go as far in the interest of Germany as the most ruthless
Nazi. But his sister is simply trying to help him. She isn't so sure
about herself, but behind all this, she is not a Mata Hari. She's just
a nice, sweet and intelligent girl and I am sure she has no ulterior or
sadistic purpose in wishing to go with me on this trip.”
“What else could she want to go for?”
“Well,” he said, thoughtfully, “she's had a lot of education forced
into her head. Like most German people, she is not afraid of work,
and sees in such a trip an opportunity to broaden her viewpoint.”
“She seems to be fond of you. What does that mean?”
“I wouldn't know. I can't imagine, much less picture, any pretty
girl like her becoming interested in me, further than for the informa-
tion I could give her.”
“How do you feel about her?”
“I’ve already said that I admired her. I even like her,” he said.
Marie sighed.
“Then?”
“I’m willing to take her along if she wants to go.”
“Wants to go?” ... • -
“Yes. Do you think she would really like to go?” He asked, a
bit anxiously
Marie laughed, kept on laughing.


º THE CASE OF MRs. WINGATE 337
“Why are you laughing?” he asked. -
“About you asking if she wants to go when she is all but insane to
do so.”
“Really?” 2.
“Oh, Mr. Wyeth, you should have heard her pleading with me
to get you to let her.”
He smiled now, all over his face.
“You mean to say that you would take her,” she said, surprised.
“Listen, Marie, what are you interested in f"
By her expression, he could see that she didn't understand.
“You would like to see us sell a lot of books, wouldn't you?”
“Of course. You know how much I want to see this go over.”
“Then, take it from me, Marie, as energetic, intelligent, pretty,
willing and glad as she is to work, she can help sell so many books
that you'll have to hire three or four extra people to help you ship
them.”
“You think so?” she said, looking at him in surprise.
“Think so?” he echoed. “I know so. I've always needed somebody
like that to help me. I never hoped that I'd meet anybody who wanted
to and could.”
“She wants to—badly.”
“You mean, to help me sell the book?” he asked, anxiously.
“Exactly that. She said she would be glad to act as your secretary,
do anything you asked and wanted her to do, and that she would be
happy to help sell the book above all else.”
“Then it's a deal, Marie, and you can tell her whenever you are
ready that I accept her offer. Why, when I introduce her to the
teachers in all the schools I plan to call on; in the churches on Sun-
day; to groups of Negro insurance agents—to all kinds of Negroes,
everywhere, as Miss Schultz, Doctor of Philosophy from Heidelberg
and The Sorbonne, they'll go crazy.”
“I can see them falling for that.”
“And how ! Why, she'll have the children running home to get
money from their parents to buy the book. They will be glad to do
that, in the hope of a smile, in the hope of being remembered by her.
In fact, every teacher will be afraid not to buy if she just smiles
and acknowledges an acquaintance with them for fear she might for-
get them.”


338 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“I can see that häppening. As crazy as they are about highly
educated people, they won't want to let you take her away.”
“They sure won't. So let me take her along. You can take care of
shipping all the books we'll need, but I'm telling you that with her
assistance, I'll never again have half the chance to sell as many books
as I will on this trip.’ -
“I’m relieved,” sighed Marie. “I was afraid you wouldn't even con-
sider it. You don't have much patience with women, you know.”
“No, I do not. Not when they are forever holding me up, fixing
at themselves, then nagging me about what I ought and ought not
to do.”
“She won't do that.”
“I know it, and that is why I am agreeable to taking her along.”
“Maybe you'll be falling in love with her.”
“Don’t be a fool, dear. A pretty girl like her wouldn't think of
falling in love with a plain somebody like me.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” said Marie.
“I wouldn't want her, after I misunderstood a fine friendship to
say, ‘I don't like you that way.” No, don't think I’m going to make
a fool of myself.”
“You came near doing so not long ago,” said Marie, with a know-
ing glance. Then smiling, a twinkle in her eye, she adjusted her
clothes and sat down
“Oh, you mean my show girl.”
“Nobody else.'
“I slipped out of the nozzle before it tightened. She didn't
care anything about me.'
“She was playing you for a sucker.’
“That's what I discovered.”
“In time. I was praying for you,” said Marie, happy and relieved,
now. She went back to her work, smiling over her shoulder at him
as she did so.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 341
Negro is thinking and doing, if he is thinking and doing anything
really worth while. She wants to know what the white man thinks
about all this, too, and if he is considering what the Negro thinks
and is doing, very seriously.”
“She likes your plain, simple and down-to-the-earth philosophy.
She said she could listen to you talk forever; listen to every word
for in everything you say you reveal something; something she wants
to know.”
He smiled modestly.
“Take Kermit Early, for instance, with all his education, all the
way from high school in a small town in Georgia, through Atlanta
University, the University of Chicago, with a Ph.D from Harvard,
and the best he's able to do is to try to get you to make a picture to
cause Negroes to hate Jews.”
“Speaking of him, I understand the white woman who put him
through school and paid for most of the education he has, lost her
husband.”
“Is that so?” said Marie
“I ran into Schultz at a newsstand downtown the other day and
he showed me an account about Mr. Wingate having been killed
while crossing the railroad tracks during a blinding storm and I
remarked to Schultz that he had the same name as Kermit's girl
friend. He smiled and told me that it was Kermit's girl friend's
husband.”
“Well, that should mean a break for Kermit,” said Marie.
“I said something about it to that effect to Schultz and he said
Kermit didn't talk much, but that he thought it would be, too, and
that she might marry him soon, now that her husband was out of the
way.”
“What do you think of Early,” said Marie, looking at him.
Wyeth shrugged his shoulders. .
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“You’ve known him a long time?”
“Yes. Several years.”
“Yet you don't know much about him?”
“No more than I have just said.”
“Umph!”
“What do you mean by that, Marie?”
w


342 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Oh, nothing in particular.”
“Nobody knows much about Kermit Early. Years ago he and
Phillip Merivale edited a weekly, and threatened for a while a new
era in Negro journalism. But before, or at least while they were,
everybody was talking about how highly educated both were. Dur-
ing that period, Negroes were reckoning the success of each other
largely on how much education one had. So Early and Merivale were
on most everybody's tongue, especially the tongues of the intel-
ligentsia,” said Wyeth. -
“Then what happened?” She asked.
Again he shrugged his shoulders.
“What happens to most Negro efforts, and has been happening
ever since I can remember. The publication needed dough. They
didn't have any, of course, but nobody expected them to, being only
a pair of young fellows, with lots of training, academic training. Any-
way, the publication needed money, and they didn't have it, didn't
know how to get it, and were, perhaps, too impatient to just stick and
make the paper pay, so they disbanded and the paper ceased to
exist. Merivale, later on, went out and started the organization
which has made him one of the leading Negroes in our race today.
He's a real success.”
“He is sure that. About the only leading Negro that the masses
trust, believe in and follow.”
“He has a good income from the organization he founded and has
built to success. When a Negro has money, is actually successful, he
isn't inclined to be penurious and little like a great many of our
would-be and so-called leaders are. It is poverty that so often warps
and twists the Negro all out of proportion, due to a lack of the
wherewithal. It is because he has no money and worse, because he
does not know how to make any, that makes him like he is more
than anything else.’
“Are these the kind that Booker T. Washington referred to
as “just educated’,” suggested Marie, and smiled.
“They thought, while getting it, that the education would make
money for them. As they viewed it while in school, all they had
to do was just finish, get their degree, and all would be well.”
“Maybe that is what Kermit Early thought?”
“Perhaps. But I wouldn't know, He has always, as far as I can


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 343
learn, been a sort of man of mystery.”
“Maybe it's that wealthy white woman he goes with. Maybe she's
been providing the money to help make him this ‘man of mystery'.”
“I wouldn't be surprised, and that may be another reason for his
keeping so much to himself. I’ve seen them together in Chicago. I
wouldn't be surprised that going with her has had lots to do with
his silence and seeming mystery.”
“If you go on this trip, you won't get to make this hate picture
he seems so anxious for you to direct,” said Marie.
“I wouldn't direct it if I wasn't to go on the trip. I haven't any-
thing against Jews, even though some of them are often, it seems,
rather mercenary.” -
Marie laughed, and moved over to her desk.
“What shall I tell Bertha when she calls or comes around?”
“Well,” he said, moving across to the door, preparatory to leav-
ing. “Maybe I'd better leave that to you. Only this, I do want you
to be nice to her, Marie.”
“Are you falling in-love with Bertha, Mr. Wyeth’
“Why, Marie!”
“Oh, you'll never tell her that you are, but you do like her, don't
you?” e
“I do like her, yes. And I want you to keep on liking her, too.”
“Just like I have been f" -
“Just like you have beci., Marie.”
“All right, Mr. Wyeth. I will. About her brother, excuse me for
holding you up, but I've wanted to talk with you about him for some
time. What do you think of him?”
“He’s a 100 per cent Nazi, out and out, and in a way, I'm—well,
afraid of him.”
She looked up, quickly.
“I mean,” said Wyeth, eyebrows wrinkling, “that he is, or could
be, and might turn out to be—well, dangerous, before it is all over.”
“This is interesting. If he is likely to be dangerous, and I suppose
you mean, to American welfare, mightn't he—involve his—sister?”
“He might.”
“She would be expected to follow his lead; do whatever he wanted
her to?”
“Yes.”


344 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Then is it—prudent to continue this interest in—Bertha P"
“If I take her on this trip, yes.”
“Now, perhaps you're putting yourself in for something.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Getting back to her brother. So you fear he may be—dangerous
to the country's welfare—in time?”
“I feel sure that he will.”
“Aren't you going to do anything about it, say anything about it?”
“I don’t know.” -
“Don’t you feel that you—should f"
“I—I don't know.” -
“You’re rather vague and—indefinite. Is it because of his—sister?”
“Oh, no.” -
“Then why?” -
“Maybe it's because of America's attitude toward us. We've been
over this before. Naturally none of us Negroes like the way we are
treated.”
“None of us,” said Bertha.
“And I repeat. We don't like the way they play us down, keep us
down, and think we should be satisfied; that we should be happy
about it.” w
“It is really funny the way they feel about us, compared to the
way we feel about ourselves.”
“We are as far apart as heaven and earth.”
“So you don't feel that you ought to say anything or do any-
thing about Heinrich 2"
“No. Besides there's nothing I can say, nothing I could do now. He
hasn't done any of the things he is likely to do—when the time comes
—yet, so there would be nothing for me to do or say now, even if
I wanted to. Maybe I wouldn't do or say anything when I know
that he's stirring up trouble.” -
“You think maybe, then, that finding out should be the duty of "
“–America herself. As I see it, he's going to have an easy time of
it when the time does come.”
“Why so?” -
“Because nobody will be watching him. Nobody is expecting
Negroes to do anything but cry about the way they are treated. They
won't ever be checking to see what we are doing—until after it is


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 345
done, at least. Heinrich will be able to work without being suspected
or molested.”
“Just what do you think he's likely to do, as a starter, for in-
stance? Now that you are definitely decided not to make this hate
picture. They won't have that to start trouble with.”
“I look for them to find some other way, providing they don't get
somebody else to make the picture.”
“It’ll have to be some other way. For if you don't direct the pic-
ture, it won't be made. I overheard them while waiting for you, say
that. In the way they talked, I'm convinced that if you don't direct
it, it might not be made.”
“Then it won’t be made.”
“You feel sure then, that you won't make it?”
“I’ve never guessed that I would or would not. I simply never in-
tended to.”
“I believe they sent Bertha in to try to persuade you.”
“Perhaps.
“But after meeting you, she's become so interested otherwise until
I don't think making the picture is that important to her, any more.”
“I hope not. She couldn't persuade me to, either.”
“I’m sure she couldn't, but I don't think she will try to persuade
you to do so very hard.” -
“Heinrich wants it made as part of what he is up to; but it's Ker-
mit Early's big idea. I think he's sold somebody the idea that he will
get me to make it, and he doesn't want to be let down on it.”
“Now about what you think they might do to start some kind
of trouble between Negroes and Jews. What?”
“Race riots.”
“Race riots?”
“Of course.”
“But how will they go about developing a race riot?”
“Easily.” -
“But how " she insisted.
“Oh, there are many ways. A few hired agitators, perched on a
step-ladder, facing the sidewalk in a Negro section. On Seventh and
Lenox Avenues here in New York, for instance.”
“I’ve seen them on ladders up and down those streets and have
been seeing them on ladders like that for years.”
f


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 347
“First, she'll help me sell more books than I can otherwise sell,
with all the plans for doing so that I have in mind.”
“I follow you.”
“The next, by the time we leave, and if she goes, of course, I'll
have completed the voluminous manuscript of my new novel that I've
been working on these many months. With her complete educa-
tion, and being so close to me, she can help put it into the shape I
want it, understand?” -
“Of course. You always have your manuscripts thoroughly
edited by some highly educated person, before sending them to the
typesetter. Having such a complete and thorough education, she
can check it intelligently without interfering with or interrupting
your work, and, being close to you—”
“—can go through it, sentence by sentence, putting it into
such perfect rhetoric and grammar until by the time you get back
and turn it over to the printer, it will be as you want it, letter per-
fect.”
“Exactly, Marie. I should have a finer script than I’ve ever had
a chance to have, before.” -
“I agree with you.”
“I knew you would. Maybe this time I might have a novel that
white reviewers will read.”
“Let’s hope they will.”
“Also the would-be Negro reviewers, who borrow the book, as
they did in the case of the review the woman gave it in the Courier,”
and Wyeth laughed.
“She didn't review the book, even after borrowing somebody's
copy and writing her impression. It was a ridicule.”
“That's it,” laughed Wyeth. “Not a review, but a ridicule,” and
they both laughed.
“They'll give us a review if the white papers speak well of it but
with the white people viewing us, either as a bunch of clowns,
comedians and idiots on the one hand—”
“—or a criminal, moron or degenerate on the other, what can we
look forward to ?” she said.
“Our people are a mess. It's amazing when you think of it. Why
do we hate each other so?”
, “The most unfortunate part about it is, that so few seem to be
.*


348 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
conscious or aware of the contempt we hold each other in,” said
Wyeth. -
“The fact that the Negro race hasn't produced a novel in almost
five years, hasn't seemed to have occurred to them at all.”
“They don't do that kind of thinking,” said Wyeth.
“Not a day passes that we don't get from one to a dozen letters—
often more, from people who buy your book and read it, praising
it to the skies. Yet when our so-called reviewers say anything about
it, it's a knock, a ridicule.”
“Meanwhile, getting back to the white press.”
“We’ve gotten entirely away from what we were talking about."
“It was about the white people whose work is to review books,”
said Marie
“I’ve tried to write it so they will. They keep me so angry and
out of patience by seeming to deliberately say: “Write that story
in dialect, Negro, with plenty of clowning, comedy—or create
some distorted characters like in Nature's Child, and to a degree, like
in Passion, where the Negro is kept in his place' or may frighten
somebody, especially the reviewers.”
“I’m glad you thought of all that before you started writing.”
“I have written the story the same as I have all the stories
I’ve ever attempted. According to my philosophy of life, and to please
myself. I have simply tried to conform, and include such startling
situations which I believe, at least strongly hope, may inveigle them
into reading the first hundred pages, anyhow. If they’d read even
the first 25 pages of my present book, they would have to read it
all and—”
“—like it,” said Marie, interrupting him.
“But when they open it, looking for Dinah and old Sambo, or a
dice game or some old darkies moaning a lot of spirituals and hymns,
at least don't find some dialect, they close it and lay it down and
give it away, perhaps, to the colored porter or maid and the book
never has a chance.”
“They may not read this one, either, but let's hope they will.”
“I have put the most I know, anyhow, into it. Beyond that I’ve got
to gamble, so we'll wait and see what happens. Meanwhile, hope for
the best.”
“One advantage that you have over any other writer, black or


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 349
white, is the fact that you publish and sell your own books. They can
never keep you out of some measure of circulation. However, the
whites receive this new book, if they decide after it is published to
read and accept it at all, or do not do so, we know in advance that
our group are going to.”
“I believe they will like it, too,” he said hopefully
“They'll rave about it, and buy enough to continue to make our
little company prosperous,” said Marie
“That's something to be thankful for; that we can always count on
a good living from the sale of any book I write, and that I like.”
He was at the door now and she got to her feet.
“So it will be all right to tell Bertha you'll take her with you?” she
said.
“I’m leaving it to you, Marie,” he replied, opening the door.
“I plan to draw her out before I tell her that you will. There's more
to find out about Bertha before I will be satisfied to again like her
after what I’ve learned.”
“Well, be good to her whatever you do,” he said, and turning,
went down to the hall on the way to the stairs and his car.


carris XXVIII
FEW MINUTES after Wyeth left the office, Bertha Schultz
rushed in, almost out of breath with anxiety and excitement.
Marie smiled easily as she heard her footsteps, rushing toward
the office door. Bertha's steps were ever firm, and direct. Bertha,
the Nazi spy girl, knew what she wanted to do, who she wanted to
see. As she opened the door and looked in, her eyes seemed more
blue today than they had before. Marie looked at her out of different
eyes. She was not looking at Bertha, the girl she had begun to admire
and to love from the day she met her. She was looking at another
woman, yet the same person in the flesh. She was looking now at
Bertha Schultz, an international spy. It gave her a peculiar feeling.
She had read of women spies; of Mata Hari, and her cunning adven-
tures. Now she was face to face with Bertha Schultz, in the service
of Adolf Hitler—Bertha Schultz, a Nazi spy.
“Oh. Marie,” cried Bertha, evenly, but with restrained excitement,
as she walked stealthily-like into the office, glanced toward Wyeth's
office, saw the door was open and knew by that that he was out. She
breathed a sigh of relief, then crossed to Marie, not having noticed
that Marie had been looking at her closely, studying her, weighing
her in the balance, as it were.
“Bertha,” Marie exclaimed, this time deceitfully, rising to her
feet.
Bertha crossed over to her and smiled.
“I’m so glad to see you today,” Bertha said, and relaxing, smiled
again at her and Marie couldn't help but feel she was a sweet girl,
kind and tender, just like the girl she always thought her to be.
“If Mr. Wyeth has gone for the day, may we-" and she pointed
toward the office which had a fine desk, a leather sofa, and two
comfortable chairs which they had become accustomed to talking
from, until sitting in them while doing so had become a habit,
350


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 351
“Of course, dear,” said Marie, and reaching out her arm, let it
encircle Bertha's slender waist. Together they entered the private
office and took the seats they had become used to sitting in.
“This is such a comfortable chair,” sighed Bertha.
“It is comfortable, Bertha.”
“And now, what did Mr. Wyeth say?” she asked, suddenly lean-
ing forward. Marie turned and looked at her a moment before an-
swering and in doing so, studied her and thought of her connections
again. She wondered if she would ever be able to look at her and
think of her without a lot of ugly thoughts intruded.
“Well,” began Marie, thoughtfully. “We talked about it,” so say-
ing she looked at Bertha who met her eyes directly. Bertha did not
flinch or turn away. In that moment Marie began to admire her
again. She was not a weakling nor a coward. Bertha Schultz was
still a brave and resolute person, ready to squarely face whatever she
had to face.
“You talked with him?”
“I talked with him, Bertha, rather, we talked about it.”
“I see,” said Bertha, thoughtfully. Then looked squarely at Marie.
“And what did you decide?”
Marie did not reply immediately, but lowered her eyes momen-
tarily, then raised them to Bertha.
“As I told you, dear. Mr. Wyeth has planned this trip with a
view to selling his book, only.”
“I understand that, Marie.”
“When he goes out to do that, he doesn't like to be interfered with
in any way.
“I both understand and appreciate that also.”
“Shortly after the book appeared, he took Carter Thompson with
him to help sell it.”
“And P” <>
“After trying in every way he knew how, and failing to get
Thompson to do anything but make love to the younger teachers, he
gave up in disgust and said that he would never try to get anybody
to help him again. Nobody.” Bertha started, her jaw dropped. She
:ooked discouraged. .
“Then, he-he doesn't want me?” she said, slowly.
“I didn't say that,” said Marie.


352 THE CASE OF MERS. WINGAte
Immediately Bertha's eyes flashed with a new hope.
“But, he doesn't intend to make the same mistake again.”
“You know I wouldn't deter him, Marie.”
“He hadn't planned, as stated, to take anybody with him. You
must appreciate Bertha, that for a man as serious-minded as Mr.
Wyeth is, and going on a trip which has been planned as long as he
has planned this—ever since he got the book out and found that this
kind of trip would pay, that to consider changing anything so im-
portant at such a late date, isn't quite in keeping with his way of
doing things.”
“I’ve thought of all that, too, dear Marie, and I am willing, as I
told you, to do anything Mr. Wyeth might wish me to, if he will
only take me.”
“You know that he is very plain, doesn't like a lot of show and
ceremony, and doesn't like to have his time taken up with any such
things. He has a way of jumping into his car when he is ready to go
somewhere, and going. Has no patience with women who insist on
him waiting while they do a lot of primping, powdering and putting
on.”
“I have never primped or put on, Marie. I don't even use lipstick;
I rarely use powder,”
“He always gets up early. In making these schools and insurance
offices, it is often necessary for him to be at a school or an office
around eight o'clock. Maybe he has to drive some miles to get there
by that time, so he can speak to the teachers before they begin their
classes, to the agents before they leave their office. If he is by him-
self, he doesn't have to worry. Just jumps up, gets into his clothes,
steps on the gas and within a half hour or less, is where he wants
to go. Nobody to wait for and make him angry or get him impatient.
-Nobody to complain about what he does, or doesn't do. Are you
sure you'd be willing to put up with all that?”
“It is exactly what I would like to do. Why, on our little farm on
the outskirts of Berlin, Marie, we rise with the chickens, get a lot of
work done this time of year before the sun rises. German people raise
their children to work hard, and work all the time—and not mind
it. That is what I’m used to doing; what I'd like to do. I could be
of so much help to Mr. Wyeth. He'd find me waiting to go when-
ever he was ready. He'd find me ready to help sell his book, lots of


354 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
go on. She knew that in all the years she had worked for him that
he had been at all times on his own; that he had never had any en-
couragement from his race who never understood nor even tried to
understand just what he was doing or was trying to do. She knew
that whenever the Negro newspapers had a chance to knock and
injure him, they had seemed to delight in doing so, although profes-
sing great admiration for him and saying a lot of fine words, but which
for some peculiar reason, they never printed. She knew that Wyeth
had long since given up hoping they would and was succeeding, not
by their help or cooperation, but in spite of it. She knew that although
they had sent the book to only some three white newspapers for re-
view, because in failing to get any notice of any kind from them, that
he had ceased to send out more books for that purpose. He had
gone on and learned to sell the book in numbers large enough to
make their little company independent and prosperous, a fact that
few knew and none believed. She knew that many colored papers
asked for copies, which he sent until he found that somebody on the
paper merely wanted it, none made any effort to review it, which
Wyeth knew was due to the fact that the white papers had not done
so. Wyeth hadn't expected them to and had found that he didn't alto-
gether need it, if making more sales was why. She knew and he knew
that their people, thousands of Negroes all over the country, liked
the book, praised it to the skies, told of how good and interesting it
was to each other, and kept their mail filled with a stream of orders,
as the result of their mouth to mouth advertising. So many people,
unbiased and unprejudiced could not be wrong. They were told by
letter and otherwise how much they liked the book. She knew, and
had read, and so had Wyeth, about every novel for the past ten years
that Negroes had written, which were not many. The publishers had
them on their lists and sent all books by Negroes to them for ex-
amination and had done so for many years, in the hope that Wyeth
might find it possible to film them. Mr. Wyeth had been anxious to do
so, and was ever hoping that he might find something good and had
paid about the only money any Negro ever received for the screen
rights to a book, whenever Wyeth thought that he could do anything
with it at all. -
She knew, also, that if Wyeth hadn't been a writer, given to con-
ceiving a plot about Negroes whenever one was needed to film, after


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE . 355
reading it, that he wouldn't have been able to make the great number
of motion pictures that he had filmed, for there would have been no
stories to make them from.
In the very short while the Jewish promoters attempted to make
Negro photoplays, the Colored papers had given them miles of space
and publicity. She presumed that they had gotten some money for
it, but during all that time, Wyeth, who had made the first Negro
feature length picture, and since more than all the others put to-
gether, was ignored by the Negro newspapers just as if he had never
filmed a single one. And yet, although he had suspended producing
pictures because he was finding that publishing his own books was
more profitable for his own efforts, the great amount of printer's
ink that had been given by the Colored papers to the white people's
efforts, had been unable to save those producers and keep them going
All had failed and quit within two years and left the field in disgust
after losing all the way from many thousands to one hundred"
thousand dollars for their efforts.
Now in his early forties, Sidney Wyeth had reached sound ma-
turity and knew what he was doing. Given to the art of characteriza-
tion, he had had twenty years of practice in writing and making
pictures, and knew pretty well what it was all about and was about
to finish a novel, to interest both races with enough sound sensation-
alism, to compel the indifferent reviewers on white newspapers
to possibly read it. Marie felt that if they did, they would give it a
good review, and if they read this one, they would, no doubt, send
for their present book which they would then read and like and give
a favorable review. She was glad they had not sent it out for general
reviews when it was published, at which time it might not have been
read by many, the same as the few who did get it and had failed to
read it. -
Now what Sidney Wyeth needed more than anything else, Marie
knew, was intelligent assistance. In all the entire Negro race, with as
many educated ones in proportion, as there were in the white race,
it was thq hardest job of all to hire anybody that could do anything.
The war was on and the demand for stenographers had about ab-
sorbed all the colored girls the same as the white girls who could
operate a typewriter. She knew that the Negro race had few persons
with any sort of executive ability to help build a small corporation


356 . THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
with splendid possibilities into a larger and more substantial one.
Besides, the Negro mind didn't seem to run that way. They made fair
clerks for white people when white people wanted to hire them, but
when it came to salesmen, they knew little or nothing and cared less.
So she was Sidney Wyeth's sole support. She managed so that with
only a little assistance, she could take care of the work of several peo-
ple. It was necessary. Wyeth had long since given up hoping to get any
man to help at all. Now they were offered the help of a brilliant girl,
a girl who could be of tremendous assistance and who was begging
for the chance; a girl who would never go off on another job, but
a girl who could only be used in the capacity she was applying for
while Wyeth was out of town, which would be, happily, for several
months.
Being satisfied by now that Bertha would help Wyeth as no other
person would be capable of, yet feeling that to make it seem that he
was not sure if he wanted her or not, would permit her to impose
certain conditions that might be necessary. So Marie frowned, looked
wise and serious, and continued to keep Bertha on the anxious seat.
“We're both so afraid that—that it might not be just the proper
thing,” she was saying. . -
“Please trust me to do the proper thing, Marie. Please believe
that I will,” pleaded Bertha. Marie looked at her, cold and business-
like. -
“There is another important thing. I said something about it
before.”
“Yes?”
“Is it just the proper thing for a girl, a pretty girl like you, Bertha,
to be riding around alone with a single man?”
“I know that is something that has to be—adjusted,” said Bertha,
and the frown on her face was evidence that she had considered how
it might look.
“People might be inclined to-talk.”
“That is possible, but between a lady and a gentleman, this
shouldn't be overly difficult. Mr. Wyeth is a gentleman.”
“Mr. Wyeth is a gentleman,“ said Marie.
“And I-am a-lady,” said Bertha.
“You are a lady, Bertha, a fine and beautiful lady.” .
“And I am not afraid to—go out with Mr. Wyeth; to travel all


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 357
over the country, sitting there by his side.” -
“Have you consulted your—brother, about doing so?”
“I have,” replied Bertha. “He—trusts me.”
“Will he—trust Mr. Wyeth?” -
“If I trust Mr. Wyeth, my brother will trust me with him.”
“I see. Well, Bertha.’
“Yes, Marie,” replied Bertha, and rose to her feet and crossing,
paused, and stood over Marie, so anxious until Marie was forced to
reach out and lay a hand on her, whereat Bertha relaxed a bit and sat
down on the desk before Marie and made herself patient.
“If you promise not to—make Mr. Wyeth fall in-love with you.”
“Oh, Marie. Mr. Wyeth is not going to fall in love with me,” cried
Bertha, blushing in spite of the seriousness of the situation.
“Any man would fall in love with you, Bertha, as pretty as you
are and as nice and agreeable, Any man would, so however you
might talk, insist and feel, any man would under the circumstances,
fall in love with you.”
“I don't altogether agree with you, Marie,” she said, still blushing.
“But if Mr. Wyeth should, I—wouldn't be angry.” She turned her
eyes away now.
“Now, Bertha,” cried Marie, pointing a finger at her. “If you
play around with my boss and then let him down, I'll be angry and
never like you again,” and looked at Bertha, tantalizingly.
“Oh, Marie,” cried Bertha, throwing her arms about her and cry-
ing just a little. “I would always treat Mr. Wyeth right—regardless
what—what happens to me.” She was quiet and then turned away,
and Marie knew why. Bertha was thinking of her commitment; her
pledge to the Third Reich, whereby it came first and she didn't know
what the subversive organizations spying on American activities
might demand of her, what sacrifice. Bertha’s freedom did not be-
long to her, not even her own life. If it were not for those solemn
commitments, Bertha would be free and if Bertha was free, she be-
lieved she would like Sidney Wyeth, that in time she might even
marry him. With a wife like Bertha Schultz, no heights would be im-
possible for him to reach.
But, and she sighed to herself. Bertha was first committed to
the service of Germany, and Germany might become ruthless in
its demands on her. Who knew. She didn't, and she knew that


358 - THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
Bertha didn't. So she decided to make it as easy for the poor girl; as
easy as she could. If Wyeth took her away on a long trip and kept
her, she would be at least free until she returned. Furthermore, she
would be where her brother, whom Wyeth did not trust, could not
easily reach or influence her. And thinking of this, it occurred to her
that before telling her that Mr. Wyeth would accept and take her
with him, she could demand that Bertha agree, and have her brother
agree, that in consideration for taking her, she would have to agree
to continue with him for the entire trip, and have her get her
brother to agree to let her, so that he could not suddenly recall her
from some far-off point, to leave Wyeth stranded, as it were. So
she called Bertha. -
“Now, Bertha, I’m contemplating asking Mr. Wyeth to consider
your offer.”
“Oh, darling, you make me so happy,” cried Bertha, turning,
too happy for words.
“Just a minute, dear, before you take it for granted. There is a
condition involved, if I do.”
“Yes, Marie?”
“If Mr. Wyeth condescends to take you, it will be only after you
agree to certain things.”
“I’ll agree to anything if he will just take me.”
“Very well, Bertha.” Marie moved up to the desk, found a pad
and pencil. Bertha stood beside her and waited.
“Note number one,” said Marie, putting it down on the pad.
“You agree, if Mr. Wyeth consents to take you, to do anything he
asks you to, considering that he's a gentleman and that he wouldn't
expect or ask a lady to do anything not in keeping with her duties.”
“Of course,” agreed Bertha.
“Second, if Mr. Wyeth agrees to take you and he finds your assis-
tance helpful, he would naturally like to feel that he could expect you
to continue to assist him as long as-he was on the trip, for the
period of the trip.”
“Of course, and I agree, cheerfully,” said Bertha.
“About your brother. Supposing that he should decide to call you
in to help-help in what he is doing, and what you have, no doubt
agreed to assist him in doing. You must bring a letter to Mr. Wyeth
from your brother, agreeing to let you continue with Mr. Wyeth


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 359
during this entire trip.”
“I’ll do that,” said Bertha. “My brother will agree.” Marie paused
now and thought of how she would get Wyeth to cover as much of
the country as he could and take as long as he could so that Heinrich
could not have Bertha do some sabotage work or something else as
mean and contemptible.
“I shall be glad to continue with Mr. Wyeth as long as he desires
me to,” said Bertha.
“He often stays away a long time. He might decide when he got to
Texas to go all the way to—California, for instance.”
“I wish he would. I’d like that even better.”
“Well,” said Marie, pausing, “I’ll check through all the conditions
and make a record of them and have them ready tomorrow for you
to read. Meanwhile I'll talk with Mr. Wyeth again about you, and if
he is agreeable, and you are agreeable, maybe we can get together.”
“Please do, darling,” cried Bertha as Marie rose to her feet. “As
I’ve said, I can learn so much about what I want to know on a trip
like this, and from Mr. Wyeth that I shall be agreeable to any terms
or conditions that he might impose. I'll help him and he will be glad
that he took me with him, I assure you of that.”
Marie believed her and was glad, even though she didn't intend to
let Bertha know how glad she was,
Marie came to the office earlier the next morning than usual as
she wanted to be sure to catch Wyeth before he went out.
“So,” she said, smiling after opening the door. He was sitting at
his desk, hard at work and she knew, would be going in thirty
minutes. “I beat you to it today.”
“Beat me to it, Marie? What do you mean, beat me to it?”
She came into his office before removing her hat and coat, paused
to face him.
“I mean, Mr. Wyeth, I got here before you got away this time,
see?”
“Oh,” he said, smiling and relaxing. “That is nothing. Maybe I
was going to stay in the office all day today.” -
“With that case of books,” she said, pointing to it, “and the car
half full? I could see them when I came in,” and she laughed. She
turned now and removed her coat and hat and coming into his


360 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
office, sat down. He turned to face her.
“I had to see you today because I’ve got to give Bertha her reply,
and wanted to talk with you again before I did so.”
“I see,” he replied. “And what did she say? How does she feel
about it?”
“Oh, she's crazy to go, but after talking about her brother yester-
day and that you didn't trust him, it occurred to me that we'd better
tie her up as best we can, before agreeing to take her.”
“That was very thoughtful of you Marie, and, timely.”
“That's how I felt about it. Since they are both spies, and as you
say, with him liable to call her in, maybe, to pull some sensational act
of sabotage if he takes a notion, and get her mixed up in it, I thought
we'd better take such precautions as we could now, when we have a
chance.”
“I’m glad you thought about that, too. I positively do not trust
Heinrich. I don't believe there is anything he wouldn't do if he
thought it might please Hitler. And in that respect I mean as much
as murder.”
“I think you ought to report him.” -
“If I did they would jail Bertha as a suspect and keep her jailed
for the duration. Would you want that done?”
“Oh, no,” she cried, hastily. “I hadn't thought of that.”
“Then until Heinrich has planned a murder, don't think or say
any more about reporting him. If our America were half as consider-
ate of Negroes as they ought to be, they'd put some smart Negroes
on the FBI and they'd sooner or later, catch up with the subversive
activities of Heinrich Schultz—and Kermit Early, for that matter,
and put them both out of circulation. Since, however, they refuse to
take Negroes seriously enough to watch them and their activities,
then let them take the consequences. This much I will promise you,
however, and that is when they begin to inveigle Bertha to the ex-
tent that her life and freedom is in danger, then I may do some-
thing. Until then my lips are sealed. Now what,” he said, changing
the conversation. -
“I believe that since you have made everything so clear, that Bertha
can be of great help to you.”
“I know she can.”
“Not only a lot of help, but a great deal of comfort. I think she


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE r 361
- -
will look after you personally and if you're going to be gone so long
and travel so far, that is something worth considering.”
“Thank you, Marie.”
“So I haven't told her that you would take her. I've just let her
feel that you might, and will keep her on the anxious seat for a while
longer yet. Meantime, I am making everything so exacting, until
she'll be willing to do everything she can think of to make the trip
convenient and successful.”
“I think she would do that anyhow, but there is no harm in making
the conditions seem severe. One thing I like about it, and will prolong
the trip as long as it may be necessary, is that it will take her from
under Heinrich's influence and be sure to keep her out of trouble that
much longer, anyhow.”
“That's how I feel about it. I even went so far as to demand that
she bring a letter from her brother, agreeing to let her stay with
you during the entire trip, or no go.”
“Good! Bertha is a good girl. I don't think she would ever do any-
thing she'd ought not to unless somebody like her brother, to whom
she is greatly devoted, would make her.”
“That's how I feel about her. So now that that is understood,
when I see you tomorrow I'll have everything ready and sealed, as
it were.” She rose to her feet, thought of something else, turned to
him. “When do you think you will get away?”
“Within the next few weeks.”
“Then I'll reckon that way.” Started toward the door, Marie
thought of something else and turned back to him.
“In the meantime, I don't see why you wouldn't take a couple of
girls to a show and a night club, maybe, before you go away.” She
smiled and he laughed. -
“Of course I will. When, dear one?” She shrugged her shoulders,
perked up, looked rather cute.
“I’m giving you a chance to be with Bertha,” she smiled again
mischievously at him. “I know that's what you want to do, but I'll
help you get used to each other by going along one time. Well,
we'll let you know,” and she went back to her desk and to work.
“Now Heinrich,” said Bertha, at their apartment a few hours
later. “Mr. Wyeth is going on a very long trip in connection with the


362 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
-
sale of his book and I’ve asked his stenographer to let me go with
him.”
“Why, Bertha, go on a long trip like this with a-man and alone?”
He frowned a moment. She patted his shoulder and sat him down. She
had more influence in some ways over him than he over her, con-
trary to what Marie and Wyeth were thinking. Yet, when he asked
her to do something, she always did it without questioning the
logic of doing so, most times. She sat down across the table to face
him.
“I wouldn't have considered it if I hadn't seen in going on it, the
biggest opportunity I could ever get to study conditions all over
the country.”
“And maybe on the trip persuade him to make our picture,” he
added, with some enthusiasm. She did not react immediately to the
suggestion but replied off-handedly:
“Perhaps. The main thing is to accompany him on the trip, be close
to him. He will talk, I will talk. He likes people to ask him intelli-
gent questions. I like to ask those kind of questions.”
“And how !”
“So from such a trip, I should return about the wisest person
among the secret agents of our country.”
“You should that.” -
“His stenographer in the meantime, is smart.”
“How SOP.”
“She wants a letter from you stating that you won't recall me
before the trip is over.”
“How long will the trip take—but that's all right. Type the letter,”
he said, rising. “I’ve got to meet a Doctor Gustave Von Barwig, from
Stettin, due in this noon via Argentina.”
“Who is he?”
“One of Hitler's closest advisers, being sent to America to take
complete charge of activities in and around New York.”
“What about Hans Schiller?”
“He’s never been in complete charge. Meanwhile, he'll act as one
of Von Barwig's advisors.”
“What is going on, anything in particular?”
“Confidentially, they're expecting Japan to pick a quarrel with
America and England and while Hitler's armies are crushing Russia,


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 363
Japan will declare war on America and England and draw much of
their force off to defend their interests in the Pacific,” said Heinrich.
“Big doings.”
“I’ll say. I hope Wyeth doesn't keep you too long. I might be need-
iny you most any time if these things happen.”.
“I hope it won't force me to run around with those silly women
I've been meeting in Yorktown.”
“Who knows,” Heinrich laughed.
“If I go on this trip, I won't be here for them to annoy me.”
“Easy, sister, they're of great help to us.”
“I guess so, that is why I have tried to be nice to them, and will
continue to be, but I don't like them.”
“You seem to like the girl Marie, and are especially fond of
Sidney Wyeth.”
“Mr. Wyeth is a lovely man.”
“What is this, Sis? Are you—falling for Mr. Wyeth?” He looked
at her quickly, curiously.
“Why, Heinrich! As if I dared like anybody that way. My life,
like yours, and my first duty is to the cause of the Third Reich.”
“Of course, but that doesn't keep you from liking somebody,
and you do like Mr. Wyeth?” -
“I do, Heinrich,” she said, with lowered eyes.
“M-m. I thought so. How much?” -
“I don't know, Heinrich.”
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Write out that letter so that I can sign it. I must get down to
Schiller's office to meet the Herr Doctor.”
Bertha typed the letter carefully. Heinrich signed it and rushed
out to join Hans Schiller and others, to go meet the Herr Doctor,
coming in from Germany via the Argentine. Bertha was getting
dressed preparatory to going out when the telephone rang. She
answered promptly.
“Bertha,” said Marie from the other end, recognizing her voice.
“Oh, Marie, darling.”
“Come down.”
“Of course. Right away?”
“Right away, precious.”
“That's a darling,” said Bertha, her hopes high. She hung up the


364 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
receiver, finished her dressing, and in half an hour was seated in
the comfortable chair in Wyeth's office. -
“Did you get the letter?” inquired Marie.
“From my brother, you mean?”
“From your brother, Bertha.” Bertha handed it over.
“Well, that part is settled,” said Marie after reading it, “and
Mr. Wyeth has agreed to take you with him.”
“Oh, Marie,” cried Bertha, rising from her seat, rushing across
to Marie, and throwing her arms about her. “I’m so happy, darling,
so pleased,” she cried, between kisses on Marie's cheek. “I won't
ever get through thanking you,” she now all but cried.
“I’m glad. I hope it works out.” -
“It will work out, Marie, dear. I’ll see that it does.”
“You have a great deal of self-confidence, Bertha.”
For answer, Bertha Smiled and shrugged her shoulders. She sat
down and Marie was pleased to see her so happy and so greatly
relieved.
“Now when does Mr. Wyeth plan to leave?”
“In a few weeks.”
“Fine. That'll give me time to have you both up to dinner.”
“Really?’
“Yes. Meantime, Mr. Early's girl friend from Atlanta is back
in town. Would it be all right to invite them?” -
“Of course.”
“Well I wanted to know how you and Mr. Wyeth felt about it be-
fore inviting her.” t
“It will be all right with Mr. Wyeth. I’m speaking for him, too.”
“Then I’ll invite them,” said Bertha.
“Please do. I’d like to meet this Mrs. Wingate. A white woman,
you say?” -
“A very pretty white woman, rich, dignified and refined.”
“Indeed. Rather unusual.”
“It is. Very unusual, I’ve thought.” -
“What do you think of Mr. Early P" Marie wanted to know,
casually.
“I don't know much about him,” said Bertha, shrugging her
shoulders. “He and my brother seem to have a great deal in common.”
Marie would have liked to ask her more about her brother; she


366 THE CASE OF MRS. wingATE
~
“So I understand,” said Marie. “A Ph.D.”
“That's right. A Doctor of Philosophy.”
“And you are a Doctor of Philosophy? From the Sorbonne or
Heidelberg”
“The Sorbonne. Both my brother and me.”
“Whew,” cried Marie. “Makes me feel like I'm a dumbbell.”
“Oh, Marie, no. How far did you go in school, anyhow?”
“High School, teacher's course, then two years during which I
majored in business administration.”
“You have as much practical education then, as a Doctorate could
give you. Beyond what you know is a whole lot that one rarely
needs; that one rarely has occasion to use. How far did Mr. Wyeth
go in school?” said Bertha.
“Not very far.”
“He’s a graduate in the philosophy of life; of common sense and
knowing what to do, what to think, how to think, the greatest edu-
cation a body can possess.” -
“I agree with you. Meantime, we were talking about this Mrs.
Wingate.”
“Talked right away from her,” laughed Bertha. “Well, she's a
widow now and I'm wondering if she and Kermit are going to get
married.”
“Has he said anything about it?” inquired Marie.
“No,” replied Bertha. “He doesn't talk so much.”
“Let’s try to draw her out at the dinner,” suggested Marie.
“All right. I'm with you. We'll try to do so. She seems quite
talkative.”
“Is that so?”
“Seems to want to.”
“Do you think Kermit would object?” said Marie.
“I don't think so. In a way, she seems to wear the pants.”
“She should, if she's paid for all the education he's got,” said
Marie and laughed. “And she's from Georgia?”
“Atlanta,” replied Bertha.
“Next to Mississippi, they tell me that's the worst state in the
Union,” said Marie.
“How so?” from Bertha.
“How so?” and Marie looked at her.


carris XXIX
66 OW KERMIT, dear,” said Mrs. Wingate, settling into a
N comfortable seat beside him on the sofa of their apart-
ment in Harlem. “Can we talk about something very im-
portant for a few minutes?”
“Why, of course, Florence. I shall be glad to.”
“Thank you, dear,” she replied. Her face took on a serious ex
pression now. She paused briefly as if trying to decide just how to
start and where to start. “It’s about the estate.” Kermit was listening,
attentively. She saw she had his undivided attention, so went on.
“The will was duly probated, and thanks to Mr. Wingate's sa-
gacity, he left a will that was easy to probate. One half of the estate
to me, largely in trust with one of the banks in Atlanta, the balance
to his relations, so nobody will have to go to court and spend a lot of
money on lawyers. I'm glad it is that way, as I'd dislike so much to
go through a lot of court proceedings.” Mrs. Wingate didn't say,
since it was not necessary, that if she had to go into court in Georgia
later on, after marrying a colored man, that it would be most em-
barrassing. She knew better than anyone just how the white people
of the south, all of those she had met and knew through all the
years of her life, would regard what she was about to do—marry a
colored man. All would be strangers to her from then on. It was a
choice between the man she loved and had been a companion to these
many years, and the white people of the south, on the other hand,
and she had long since made her choice.
“I announced that I was moving to New York, and got everything
settled in such a way that I won't have to go south again for a long
time, if ever.”
“You could, by yourself, dear.”
She shrugged her shoulders. Laid her hand on her stomach and
sighed.
370


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 371
“In a few months now we'll have our baby. That is all I'm in-
terested in. I can forget everything that is behind me without
much effort, while we look to the future.”
“To the future, Florence,” he said, and smiling, reached out,
placed an arm about her waist and drew her closer and kissed her.
She relaxed a bit, tired like, laid her head on his shoulder. After a
time, she lifted it, thought for a moment, then turned to him.
“When shall we get married?” He turned to her.
“Whenever you say, dear.” After a brief thought, he turned to
her: “Now that you are—free, do you really want to marry me,
darling,” She looked at him in surprise. -
“Why, of course, Kermit. That is what I have wanted to do all
these years. Why do you ask such a question?” For answer, he
squeezed her. Then looking into her eyes.
“I just wanted to hear you say it, darling,” he said. “Now that
you are free to see if that could make any difference.”
“Oh, darling,” she cried, throwing her arms about him and
hugging him. “Nothing could make a difference with me about you.
I'm so happy now that it is all over and we are free to marry, until
it bewilders me.” She relaxed her embrace, looked at him a bit oddly,
then shook her head.
“I can't seem to realize that we are free; free to become man and
wife at last. It makes me—sort of dizzy, dear.” She looked into
his eyes again and again he kissed her, patted her cheek.
“Then everything is all right, sweetheart. We'll be married just as
quickly as you say.”
“Where?” she asked. He paused, thought a moment, turned back
to her.
“Oh, down at the city hall, perhaps?” She frowned.
“No. I want to be married by a-preacher, a minister of the
gospel.” He thought again and looked at her. -
“There's a church downtown, called ‘the little church around the
corner’. Lots of people get married there.” Again she frowned, then
stuck her mouth out and pouted.
“I want to be married up here in Harlem; by a-colored preacher.”
He smiled, patted her cheek, relaxed happily.
“That'll be so much easier. I’ll get any kind of preacher you want,
I mean, any denomination, and, we'll be-married right here.” She


372 THE CASE OF MRS. win GATE
clasped her hands, then relaxed again and thought for a moment,
turned to him
“I have it,” she cried, her eyes lighting up with delight.
“All right, honey. What do you have?” said Kermit.
“Let’s arrange to be married at the Schultz's "
“Okeh, dear.” then after a pause. “But I’ll have to speak to
Heinrich and his sister about it first.”
“Naturally.”
“But it'll be all right. They've invited us to dinner. Maybe we
can arrange to be married at this—dinner?”
“Oh, that would be too delightful for words, darling.” Cupping
his cheeks with her hands, she kissed him with a loud smack and then
stood up. He followed her
“I’ll take it up with them today.”
“Who have they invited to dinner, other than us? Do they know
many people?” Kermit was thoughtful for a moment, shook his
head.
“I wouldn't think so.”
“Maybe they're going to invite this man Wyeth 7"
“Wouldn't be surprised. And the girl who works in his office. She
and Bertha seem to be very friendly.”
“Speaking of Mr. Wyeth.” Mrs. Wingate walked over by the
window, adjusted the light, turned to face him. “What's happened to
your deal? Is he going to direct the picture?” Kermit's face fell, his
smile died.
“I’m so sorry, dear. You have such an interesting story, have
worked on it so long and so hard. Why won't he?”
Kermit shrugged his shoulders. “The same old thing.”
“Don’t like the “hate the Jew’ angle?”
“That’s it.”
“I don’t understand. The Jews ruined his picture business,
messed it, as you say, all up. Still he won't go in for exposing them
for what they are, a bunch of chisling Sheneys?”
“Both Schultz and I went to him while you were away, argued it
out pro and con. We didn't get anywhere. Still refuses to make it."
She looked at him, at a loss for a moment what to say,
“What about his sister, I mean, Bertha Schultz? Has she tiied to
do anything?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 373
“Yes. She's been working on him, in a way.”
“In a way? What kind of way?” -
“He’s about to take a long sales trip. She's persuaded him to let her
go with him.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That ought to do it.”
“I hope so,” said Kermit. Mrs. Wingate was thoughtful again.
“Is this Mr. Wyeth a-single man?” Kermit nodded.
“Yes. He's single.” Mrs. Wingate smiled.
“If he takes her on this trip, he's almost sure to fall in love with
her, a pretty girl like she is.”
“That shouldn’t be hard to do.” -
“I’ll say. I would if I was him. I hope you don't go to doing so be-
fore I marry you,” she smiled and pinched his cheek, chidingly.
“She's a pretty girl and a smart girl.”
“Keen as a razor's edge.”
“You say she seems to like Mr. Wyeth?”
“Appears to.”
“That way?”
“I don't know. Maybe.”
“Well,” she said and shifted so that the light was in her face.
“If he takes her on a trip like this, she ought to be able to get him
to do whatever she wants him to, before it's over.”
“I hope so,” said Kermit.
“Meanwhile, please find out from Miss Schultz, if she is inviting
him to dinner. I’d like to meet him myself,” said Mrs. Wingate.
“I will. He's interesting.”
“Is he—good looking?”
“Plain,” said Kermit.
“Plain,” she said, “but that wouldn't make much difference with
Bertha. It's brains that count with her.” “And he has the brains,
you think?”
“Too much. If he wasn’t so smart he'd have accepted our offer;
be working on the picture by now.” -
“I still believe she can get him to direct it—if she tries hard
enough.”
“That's it,” said Kermit.
“Do you think she's really interested in trying to get him to do so?”
“Heinrich is. She'd do anything to please him.”


374 the CASE OF MRS. WINGAte
“Then the thing for you to do, as I see it, is to put plenty pressure
on Heinrich,” Mrs. Wingate said. -
“I’ll do that.”
“We'll have a chance to study them all very closely at the dinner.
Meanwhile, suppose I go on a shopping trip downtown? I want to
select something to get married in.”
“I’m due to meet Heinrich downtown today.”
“Downtown, eh? Where?”
“At Hans Schiller's office, to meet Doctor Von Barwig.”
“More Germans. This country seems to be swarming with Ger-
mans lately.”
“It is.” -
“Trying to keep America out of the war?”
“That's it. Trying to keep America out of the war,” said Kermit.
“Think they'll succeed?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“The Jews are closer to Roosevelt. They want it and Roosevelt
is itching to get into it. That's what the Jew influence is doing to
him. Nobody in America wants to get in the war but Roosevelt, the
Jews, and the British.” -
“They carry a lot of influence, I mean, the British.”
“And how. For instance,”
“What?”
“Have you noticed that a very large number of the screen actors
lately are English?” said he.
“Most all of the best ones, the highest paid ones,” she said.
“The Jews are behind that. All this is indirectly pushing us closer
to the war. It may be necessary in order to save the British Em-
pire.”
“This country is terribly pro-English. Always has been.”
“Especially the South,” he suggested.
“They adore Royalty.”
“Don’t leave out the president and his wife.”
“Just take the whole country, and you won't miss anybody,” said
Kermit and laughed.
They turned now and went into the dining room.


CHAPTER X X X
HE TELEPHONE rang in Wyeth's office and Marie picked
up the receiver and called, “hello,” and then recognized
Bertha Schultz's voice from the other end, apparently very
, much excited.
“What is it, Bertha?” Marie now called back, sitting up and taking
notice.
“If you're going to be at the office another half hour,” she cried,
“I’ll tell you. I am coming right down.” She hung up without saying
another word.
As Marie hung up and looked around, she found Wyeth looking
at her from his office. He had left the door open and couldn't help
hearing some of the conversation.
“What's going on? A new murder in Harlem 2 That shouldn't
excite anybody.”
Marie Smiled, got to her feet, came into his office and sat down.
“It was Bertha,” she said.
“Berthal”
“Yes,” she replied, “she was all excited about something.”
“I wonder what it could be?” he said curiously.
“Didn't take time to tell me, but said she would be right
down,” Marie said.
“In the meantime, how did you two come out regarding the trip
yesterday?” he now said, looking at her with some interest.
“Oh, all right. She's ready and raring to go whenever you are.”
“Good! I can see a lot of books moving out of our stock room very
soon now.”
“You seem to have lots of confidence in Bertha's ability to help
you,” said Marie.
“Bertha's got what it takes to do just that. But best of all is her
willingness to do it.”
375


376 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“I guess that can mean a great deal. She's planning to have us
up to dinner soon.” -
“Really?”
“Yes. She's to let me know today when she is going to give it. She's
inviting Kermit Early and that white woman he goes with.”
“Yes?”
“She asked me if I thought she should include her.”
“Is that so. Why?” -
“Well, she said that she didn't know if it would be proper to do
so. Mrs. Wingate is a Southerner, you know.”
“From Georgia, where they eat Negroes.”
“What do you mean?” She seemed curious.
“I mean, they are hard on Negroes,” he laughed.
“We talked about that yesterday,” said Marie. “I told Bertha that
Georgia was the home of Judge Lynch.”
“And what did she say?” He began to laugh.
“She thought he was some man. I had a hard time making her
understand that he was only a figure of speech; that the term meant
lynching.” -
“Then what? How did she react?”
“One thing she said during the conversation that surprised me,”
said Marie, “was that they play up America's lynching of Negroes
in Germany something terrible.”
“Good!” he cried. She looked at him in surprise. “That's good
propaganda for us. I knew they did, not only in Germany but all
over Europe, even a great deal in England.”
“Is that so?” cried Marie, in surprise.
“They do just that. That is why America is not so highly respected,
even in South America, where they play it up, too.”
“I didn't know that.” -
“Well, it's so, and that is what the South with all its prejudices
and everlastingly playing us down, and—”
“—white supremacy up—”
“—is doing for our America. We are making the whole world into
a lot of hypocrites. To get our money, which Roosevelt and his New
Dealers seem anxious to give away to everybody who'll just pre-
tend to be friendly to us, they must smile in our faces and tell the
Administration that we are the World's great democracy, which—”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 377
“—doesn't include Negroes, of course.”
“Of course not. That's the South. They never get tired trying to
keep us in our places. As a result, they give the whole country a bad
name. Actually, America isn't really popular anywhere, and the way
the South insists on treating us is the cause of a share of it.” -
“And with the South running the administration at Washington,
politically—”
“—there's nothing that can be done about it. But getting back to
Bertha and what she talked about yesterday.”
“Well, she said that Germany regards America as a great big
joke, implied that they consider us stupid, but being rich and having
so much money we are able to force our opinion and ideas on many
people who kowtow to us to get some of it. But she didn't say
anything about South America.”
“She might not know so much about it. Her brother would, how-
ever. You can bet he'd know all about it. I really think they hate
us more in South America than they do in Germany.”
“Oh, sure. The fact is Germans, not even Hitler, hate us. They're
annoyed, of course, for the help we are giving England whom they
really do hate, but Germany, even if soon at war with us, does
not hate us. After the last war there was a greater friendship
when it was all over between the Americans and the Germans than
between England and the United States.”
“Why so?”
“The Germans are in a way, a better people than the English. The
English, including the Negro West Indians here in this country, tend
to be egotistic and arrogant. Out west where I come from, there were
so many Germans and they were, along with the Scandinavian people,
the best people I’ve ever met in all America. Big-hearted, honest,
splendid farmers, the best kind of neighbors—just good people and
personnally, I'm sorry Hitler invaded Poland and Russia and started
this terrible war. If he had just been patient he'd have finally gotten
the fifteen mile corridor through Poland, for Poland would have
ultimately given in to him. But he'd had too much success in getting
Austria and Czechoslovakia. It made him over-confident, so he
started a war that is going to all but ruin the whole world before it is
over. In the end it will be his end, whereas, had he been patient,
he would have come out on top completely and been looked upon


378 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
and admired as the greatest man in the world.”
“Do you think so?” questioned Marie.
“I know so,” said Wyeth, firmly. “Why, at the outbreak of
the other war, the Kaiser was considered the greatest man in the
world of that day, which you can't understand very well at this
time, but he was and so was Hitler—in fact, so is Hitler at this
hour.”
“But they hate him.”
“Naturally, but if he wins this war, he'll be lord of the world.”
“What about the way he's treating the Jews?” she said.
Wyeth shrugged his shoulders.
“If Germany loses the war, that'll help the Jews some, but not as
much as the people might think. Unfortunately, nobody likes the
Jews anywhere in the world. They put up with and tolerate him
actually here and in England, but nobody loves him, nobody trusts
him. It has been that way since civilization began; it will be that
way as long as civilization lasts and most of the people worship God.”
“You seem to like them.”
“It isn't a matter of liking, as far as I am personally concerned.
I have always believed in tolerance, and most people are the same
way. But in time of war, and more so, after wars when we get
back to the work of readjustment, it doesn't work so well,
that is when the forces of evil within men begin to assert itself;
when hatred begins to break forth into flame and assert itself. That
is when you see how men feel—but I don't want to get into a long
discourse on the troubles of the world. I'm just a poor author, trying
to sell his own books, and am satisfied with the good success I'm
having. Besides, if I recall correctly, we were talking about Bertha
Schultz, who—”
“Is due here any moment,” said Marie, getting to her feet and then
pausing to listen. -
Both heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hall rather
hurriedly, and looking at Wyeth, Marie nodded her head and said
in a low tone, “that's her right now,” and she crossed into the recep-
tion room just as the door was pushed open and Bertha entered.
“Oh, Marie,” she cried. “I just had to see you. I—” then she
broke off for Wyeth's office door was open and her eyes fell upon him
sitting there. He smiled, and bowed when their eyes met,


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 381
“It is all a bit confusing to me. My mother, a white woman, mar-
ried two colored men. In Germany, it wouldn't mean any more than
one white person marrying another, but in this country, it's—”
“—very different, Miss Schultz,” said Wyeth. “So different that
if they wanted to get married in Georgia, where the lady hails from,
they could not.”
“What—do you—mean?” Bertha exclaimed.
“Just what he says, Bertha, dear,” chimed in Marie. “The laws of
the state of Georgia and all the other states down there—”
“—and several states up here, in the north and in the west, have
laws against the same thing,” interposed Wyeth.
“But don't let that concern you. The state of New York permits
intermarriage, and that's all that matters in this case. Kermit Early
and this Mrs. Wingate have a perfect right to marry each other
in New York and most northern states, so just forget about it. Mrs.
Coleman and I are animated because of certain phases of it. We both
wonder how it came about. Mrs. Wingate, a wealthy and aristo-
cratic Southern woman, whose husband, a millionaire, just killed
recently. Yet, they seem, Mr. Early and Mrs. Wingate to have been
sweethearts for a long time, which was while her husband still
lived. None of our business, of course, but the circumstances are so
unusual—”
“—extraordinary, would be a better word, Mr. Wyeth,” said
Marie. Bertha looked on, still a bit bewildered.
“Extraordinary is the word, Miss Schultz. It just isn't done here
in America, as far as I can recall. So naturally, Mrs. Coleman and I
are both curious and anxious about it.”
“And now that we are invited to see it take place it will be the big-
gest thrill I've ever had a chance to experience,” cried Marie, gleefully.
“Well,” said Bertha, emitting something of a sigh. “We'll all get
to see it, so it'll be more interesting to me than would have other-
wise been the case. I’ll be anxious to witness it now myself.”
“What sort of looking woman is this Mrs. Wingate?” said Wyeth.
“Oh, she's pretty,” said Bertha, promptly.
“Is that so?” mused Wyeth. “And about how old? Older or
younger than Mr. Early, would you say?”
“I’d say about two years younger. Of course I wouldn't know.”
“Of course not, Doesn't matter.”


382 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“We'll all get to meet her and talk with her,” said Marie, then
pointing at Wyeth, “and you—dance with her,” then laughed, Bertha
laughed, Wyeth looked embarrassed
“My boss, dancing with a pretty white woman—oh, my,” cried
Marie, teasingly
“I can't recall,” said Wyeth, “if I have ever danced with one. Not
a Southern one, at least. In fact, I’m sure that I've never danced
with a white woman at all.” Both the girls looked at him and pointed
their fingers at him, teasingly. *
“It'll be a big night for Mr. Wyeth,” Marie kept on, tantalizingly,
“dancing with a rich, Southern white lady.”
Bertha smiled and looked at Wyeth with new concern.
“He'll get to dance with you, too,” said Marie, chidingly. Bertha
blushed, furiously.
“Oh, Marie,” she cried, and lowered her eyes.
“As big a thrill as it may give him to dance with Mrs. Wingate,
it will give him a still bigger one to dance with you.” Bertha blushed
more, and when she raised her eyes to look at Wyeth, she saw that
he seemed highly elated, and that made her blush the more.
“Oh, Marie, please hush! Mr. Wyeth will get to dance with me
lots, maybe, when we go on the trip,” and she raised her eyes to look
at Wyeth, and in that moment Bertha Schultz got a feeling that she
was beginning to like Sidney Wyeth. As he looked at her, he felt a
strange and peculiar reaction. He din't dare let himself think what it
was, but Bertha did. For the moment she forgot that she was a
Nazi spy, in this country to gather information and send it back to
Hitler; she forgot everything for the moment but the fact that she
was a woman, and Sidney Wyeth a man. That Sidney Wyeth was a
lovely man, and a lonely man and that she could be not only a great
help to him in his honest and sincere efforts towards success, but that
she could be of comfort to him. Had they been alone at the moment
and closer together, he might have said something and her reply
would have been soft, tender aud agreeable to whatever he said.
And then as suddenly she forced all of this out of her mind, and re-
turned to the commonplace.
“Well,” she said, getting to her feet. “May I consider everything
settled ”
“As far as we are concerned, Bertha,” said Marie, “Yes.” She
turned to Wyeth, who was standing. “Is it all right by you, boss?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 383
“All right by me, ladies,” he said, agreeably.
“Then we'll consider it settled,” said Bertha, moving toward the
door. “I’ll leave you now,” she said, pausing and turning back to
Wyeth in the doorway. “I’ll find out from my brother just what day
Mr. Early and Mrs. Wingate would like to be married, then I'll set
the date for the dinner and let Mrs. Coleman here know. Will that
be all right, Mr. Wyeth?”
“Perfectly all right, Miss Schultz.”
“Then I'll bid you good morning,” she said, sweetly, bowing a bit,
and smiling happily. She moved into the reception room then, fol-
lowed by Marie, who closed Wyeth's office door behind them and
followed Bertha across the reception room and bid her goodbye at
the outer door. She turned and coming back, knocked on Wyeth's
door and entered. -
“Well,” she said, pausing, “What do you think of it?”
“It'll give us something to look forward to; something to think
about.”
“I agree with you. I'm already thinking about it, this Mrs. Win-
gate and Mr. Early.”
“A rather strange case.”
“Stranger than fiction, if you ask me. How did it all start, and
where?”
“Schultz and I talked about it the day we met downtown and he
told me that her husband had been killed. He didn't know so much
about it, but more, of course, than I did, as he met this Mrs. Wingate
in Chicago when he was out there and I suppose Kermit had said
something about it to him.”
“Where did he meet her, and how 2°
“Down in a little town in Georgia where they both came from, it
seems.”
“In Georgia. But how could two people, so far apart socially, meet
and start to like each other in a little town in Georgia, a beautiful
white woman and a Negro?” said Marie. He shrugged his shoulders.
“You’ve heard me say that Kermit Early doesn't talk, and I don't
know. All I know, or have found out is that she put him through
school and has been friendly and intimate with him for years, over
ten, so I understand.”
“And now she's going to marry him.”


384 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Yes, marry him.”
“He’d better not go back to Georgia with her afterwards,” she
said.
Wyeth laughed. -
“If he does, he'll never leave Georgia,” and they both laughed.
“Of course,” said Wyeth, “both of them know all about that and
when and if she goes to Georgia from now on, it will be alone.”
“I’ll sure be glad to see her, meet her and talk with her. This is
one time I’m going to look into somebody's business and study them."
“It should prove interesting.”
“Ought to give you something to write about.”
“There is plenty to fire the imagination. If I knew their whole
story, I bet it would make interesting reading.”
“If you'll agree to make Kermit's hate picture, bet he would agree
to tell it to you,” she said, and smiled. Wyeth joined her.
“That is one way I could get it.”
“But you won't,” suggested Marie. -
“I won't.” -
“Bertha managed to get in a word about it, if you noticed.”
“And swerved right away from it so quickly that I couldn't express
an opinion much less an answer,” he said, smiling.
“Bertha's a smart girl,”
“And shrewd with it into the bargain.”
“I’ll say.” -
“Yet there is something about her, so sweet and feminine, that
she-’’
“—gets you. That's what you mean. And she's got you,” said
Marie, pointedly.
“Now there you go,” he said, chidingly. -
“But she likes you. I saw it awhile ago. So if you like her, it is
mutual.” -
“I don't know,” he said and sighed a bit.
“It's her work, her mission to America that restrains any more
expression. If the war ended tomorrow, she'd be an entirely dif-
ferent girl. Then she could be herself. Now when she is about to,
she thinks about what she was sent here to do and holds back.”
“That's it, I understand.”


386 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
has given me all the happiness I’ve ever had, so you come first, in my
life. In the past, of course, I've had to live a sort of-double life; a
dual existence, as it were, but from now on that must be changed.”
She paused and he took her hand to comfort her. He saw that what
she wished to say was a bit hard, as close to each other as they
were. What Florence Wingate was trying to make clear was that now
that she was marrying a colored man, she could and would have few
if any white friends from that day on. Such as she might have would
be new friends, mostly in New York. These old friends and acquain-
tances in Atlanta and Wakefield, when they heard what she had
done, would be through with her forever. She had thought of and
considered all that, years before, so she was prepared to change over
when the time came—and the time is now.
“One thing Schultz asked,” he was saying, “was if we would like
anybody present; if Bertha should invite anybody?”
“Whom, in particular, did they have in mind. Did he say?”
“I don't think anybody but Mr. Wyeth and his secretary. As I
told you, Bertha is very friendly with this Mrs. Coleman and had
invited them to dinner before thinking about inviting us. Then when
we decided to get married, and they suggested tying it up with the
dinner, Mr. Wyeth and Mrs. Coleman were naturally included, see.”
“Of course, dear, and I will be glad to have them witness our
little affair.”
“Then it will be all right for them to come?”
“I want them to. I don't know anything about Mrs. Coleman, of
course, and I haven't met Mr. Wyeth, but you know that I am
anxious to. So when you see Mr. Schultz, please tell him that I
am anxious to meet their friends.”
“Would you like them to invite anybody else?”
“Not unless they want to and you want to. Maybe some of your
old friends?”
“Oh, I don't care to dig up any. It's been so long ago, and I'm
interested in only a few at present. I don't think the Schultz' have
many friends, except the white people they are associated with
downtown. I think Bertha planned to only have Mr. Wyeth and his
secretary and us, so if they haven't planned to invite anybody else,
it'll be all right with me to just confine the party to those already
invited and let it go at that.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 387
“Then let it remain as is. And now, dear, I'll return to what I
started to talk about and I think we should be perfectly frank with
each other and face our new life in harmony.”
“You mean, Florence, that in—in marrying me, ours will be a new
life—especially yours?”
“I guess we can call it that.”
“It will be that,” said Kermit. “From the day you marry me you—
you're a white woman in a social sense no longer. It is a sacrifice
you will have to make when you marry me.”
“I’m prepared to do so, Kermit. In fact, I'm anxious to get
started at doing so.”
“When the child comes, you also understand, that it will be con-
sidered a-’’
“—colored child. Yes, I understand. Majority will not obtain in a
matter of this kind. You're at least one-fourth white, but our child
will be considered a colored child, so I am satisfied to be a colored
zwoman from now on.”
“You’ll still be a white woman; a white woman married to a
colored man, unwelcome, however, on the white side, your lot will be
with Negroes from then, on, and—”
“—that is what I resigned myself to a long time ago and am
ready and anxious to get started at it. I want you to direct me
in this change as you call it,” and she smiled. “I want you to help me
make myself agreeable to this new order. I suppose, after all, however,
that I’m not the first white woman to marry a colored man?”
“No, dear. There are plenty of others. In Chicago, there is a
circle that includes only mixed couples. I was to an affair they gave
out there once.”
“Was it—interesting?” she asked, curiously.
“Oh, nothing unusual. Because of Mr. Wingate's wealth, yours will
be different, I fear. If the papers find it out—and they will, we may
get a lot of notorious publicity. Reporters from many papers may
call to see us, take our pictures, and print them.”
For a moment she seemed a bit frightened, then steeled her nerves
to the coming ordeal as she had been doing since she fell in love with
Kermit Early.
“You—you think they will—do all that, Kermit?”
“They won't miss doing it.”


388 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Then—then, if they do, and, I have a baby so much sooner than
I would be—due to, that—that wouldn't sound so good, would it?”
“I guess not, dear,” he said.
She was silent, thinking deeply a moment, then went on:
“I—I don't like—scandalous notoriety. If what you say happens,
I think we ought to—to go away for awhile. To-to, oh, where could
we go for about six months; where they wouldn't know just when
—the baby came? All Europe is at war. We can't go there?” Kermit
was thoughtful. She was holding onto him like she was dependent
on him—she was dependent on him. He could feel her trembling
slightly.
“We could go to-South America, dear. We could find a haven
down there to sort of hide away, then go to some big place a
couple of months after your delivery, then return here.”
“But that would interfere with your work, dear; with your mak-
ing the picture?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You come first, Florence. Unless I can get to the picture before
we leave, it'll have to wait until we come back.”
“Oh, I dislike so much to-"
He stopped her. “That's all right, Florence. I won't mind. Our
baby is the important thing now. If we go to South America, take
ourselves into the Andes Mountains or off to Patagonia, there will
be no newspaper reporters around to expose our family life and use
it for headlines. So about two months before it is due, we'll sail
quietly away from here.”
“Perhaps go by plane. I’m expecting America to be drawn
into the war any time. If we are, Germany'll fill the Gulf of Mexico
and the Carribean with submarines. We might be torpedoed. We'll
go there by plane.”
“Meanwhile, let's not let that worry us any more right now.”
“No, dear. Let's think about the wedding.”
“By the way, Florence,” he said, and his mind seemed to be on
something.
“Yes, dear?”
“About your—your folks back in Wakefield?” She sighed.
“They'll just have to-take it,” she said.
“But you must be thinking, at least must have thought, just how


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 389
it would—react on them?”
“I have thought of it, Kermit, been thinking of it for years. When
I went down there last, I planned it as my final visit. I saw them
again, later, of course, when they came to Atlanta to Mr. Wingate's
funeral.”
“Will you write, maybe, and tell your mother that—you are going
to get—married?”
“I’ve thought of that, too. It will be best that I not do so.”
He turned to look at her. She read what he was thinking.
“You see, if I write and tell them that I'm going to get married
again, they'll tell everybody in Wakefield. Tell all our old friends.
Then, if, as you say, the papers got hold of it and published our
pictures, it—”
“—would put them on the spot,” he said, interrupting.
“So if I say nothing about it and they read it in the papers, the
shock will be all at once—oh, Kermit, I don't care,” she said and
began to cry. He took her in his arms to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said, patting her shoulder while she
continued to cry. “I’m so sorry. After all they are your parents.
And there are your brothers and sisters to think of. I’ve thought of
all that, and that is why I asked you the other day—” And he stopped.
“There, there, dear. We have been happy together. We'll soon
enjoy a greater happiness. We're going to be married. There is no
law in heaven against two people marrying that love each other. Be-
cause of the customs of this country, however, it will be considered
in Georgia, anyhow, wrong and a crime against society. So we must
just forget Wakefield and Georgia—and my people. That's all.”
He tried to smile, but she could see that he was conscious of the
sacrifice she would be making; could see that it pained him to have
her do so, and Florence Wingate knew that it would take him a little
while to get over it. At that moment she felt a quick, sharp pain in her
stomach and started. He turned quickly to her. She laid a hand on it.
“Dear,” he cried, and placed an arm about her.
“Just a little pain. I think women begin to have them when a child
is on the way. I'll go see a Doctor.”
“I will take you—” he said, then hesitated when it occurred to
him that she had best go alone. There would be nobody to do any
thinking if she did. After they were married,—he would take her


390 - THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
to a colored doctor in Harlem, but—it was best for her to go to see
one now, downtown and alone.
“I’ll find out if it is my pregnancy that's causing it. I'll go this
afternoon. Now I'd better let you go. Shall I—get up and—fix
you some breakfast?”
“No, honey. I'll get up and go meet Schultz and get a bite down-
town while there. Now be sure to go downtown and see a Doctor
and find out about those pains.”
“I’m sure they are due to pregnancy,” she said; “but I'll find out
if they are.”
“Please do. Go to a good Doctor, have him examine you thor-
oughly.”
“I’ll do so and tell you all about it when you come to dinner to-
night.”
He kissed her then and she lay back to rest, feeling strangely tired.
Bertha and Marie had a great deal to talk about, at her apart-
ment, where they had come to from the office.
“Well,” said Bertha. “My party is all set. I had my brother call
Mr. Early and tell him that it was all right this morning, then they'
arranged the date.”
“When P” from Marie.
“Next Thursday at 5 P.M. Is the date okeh with you?”
“Sure. I'll tell Mr. Wyeth about it in the morning.”
“I do hope he can arrange to come,” said Bertha, a bit anxiously.
“He will.”
“Sure?”
“I’ll make it sure,” said Marie, and Bertha seemed satisfied.
“We’re not inviting anybody but Mr. Wyeth and you, Mr. Early
and Mrs. Wingate, but if you and Mr. Wyeth want to—”
“—we won't want to, dear. We're both too anxious to meet Mrs.
Wingate and—sorta study her. Another thing, and Mr. Wyeth told
me to warn you.”
“Warn me, Marief Warn me about what?”
“That as quickly as the newspapers find out that the wealthy Mrs.
Wingate is going to marry a Negro, they'll storm this apartment for a
story.”
“You think so?” she said, looking up at Marie anxiously.


THE EASr. OF MRS. WINGATE 391
“I’m sure they will. ‘Wealthy white widow, marries a Negro', is
news and this lady's husband was a millionaire textile manufac-
turer, and a Southerner. With his widow getting married to a Negro
will be news, big news. So Mr. Wyeth says if you don't want this
news to break and spoil your dinner party, to have Mr. Early and
Mrs. Wingate keep very quiet about it. After they marry, it will have
to break; but if nobody knows about it before it happens, it will not
interfere with the party. Otherwise a lot of reporters will be ringing
your bell and spoiling our party.”
“I’ll tell Heinrich about it as quickly as I can get hold of him.
I'm sure he wouldn't want a lot of reporters coming here.”
“They'll sure be here. As quickly as they hear about it.”
“I’m glad you told me. I'll call Heinrich—no, he'll be home
shortly, then I'll tell him.” -
“Then see that everything is kept strictly quiet,” said Marie.
“Thank you, dear,” said Bertha.
“Meantime, I'm going to get here between two and three next
Thursday to help you get ready.” -
“Maybe I can hire somebody.”
“Why do that when I can help do a better job, Bertha. So every-
thing is set. I'll be seeing and hearing from you, no doubt, before
next Thursday.”
“Since you insist on helping, I’ll call you and have you help me do
the marketing. I'm a bit out of practice. Then again, you'll know
what they might like to eat, better than I do.”
“I know all about what they like, Mr. Wyeth especially. When he
goes to a dinner, he goes to eat. Throws formality and ostentation
out the window, eats his fill and enjoys it.”
“Then do help with the shopping. It will please me so much to
feel that Mr. Wyeth enjoys his dinner.”
“After he eats, I'll see that he does some dancing, otherwise he'll
sure fall off to sleep.” Bertha laughed.
“He will. I know him. Whenever he eats well he goes right off
to sleep.”
Again both laughed.
“I hope he won't do that at my party,” said Bertha.
“He can't help it, unless he does something to keep himself
occupied. He won't want to at your party. He will be too anxious
to talk with Mrs. Wingate and we both want to be present when he


392 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
does so. We must not miss that,” said Marie.
“Yes?” -
“By all means. He'll ask her a thousand questions and bring out
all we'd like to find out about her.”
“You think he will—do that?” said Bertha, anxiously.
“I know he will. He's just itching to do so.” Bertha laughed. “Or-
dinarily I would object to it. But at this party I'll want him to,”
said Marie.
“But you said he will go to sleep.”
“Not the way I have it planned. You see, immediately we have
dined, I intend to have him dance with Mrs. Wingate.’
“I see.” -
“That will interest him, not that he will care so much about it,
but it will interest him and put him in a talking mood. Now as I
plan it, I want him to dance with her first, then you, then me, then
back to her, by the end of which time he will be wide awake and
ready to start talking to Mrs. Wingate.”
“Heinrich says that she is anxious to meet Mr. Wyeth.”
“Yes?” from Marie.
“Very anxious to. I think, among other things, she wants to feel
him out regarding Mr. Early's story, the one he wants Mr. Wyeth
to direct.”
“Then that's enough. If she is anxious to meet and talk with him,
and I tell him that she is, we can leave everything then to him.
In two hours we'll know more about Mrs. Wingate than we could
learn if we saw her every day for a year.”
“I could listen to him talk, it seems, forever,” said Bertha en-
thusiastically.
“It will be Mrs. Wingate who is going to do the talking—answer-
ing his questions. He won't do much. She will do it all.”
“Oh, won't that be fine. I met her the first night we arrived and
as I recall, she was rather curious about me, and has been every
time I’ve met her since,” said Bertha, “Now she is anxious to meet
and talk with Mr. Wyeth.”
“And he is anxious to meet and talk with and study a wealthy
white woman about to marry a Negro. Before we leave this place
that night, he will have brought out everything of real importance
in her life. Now watch and see if he doesn't,” and again they both
smiled, and Marie took her leave. 4.


394 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
while it was being made. Then, as stated, go far away to South
America as they had decided.
The next thing that entered her mind and persisted in occupy-
ing a great deal of her thoughts, was her future as the wife of a
colored man. Looking forward to becoming a mother had inspired
her to develop some associations. She and Kermit had been entirely
alone, hadn't developed a single friendship in all the years they had
been together. She had many associates in Atlanta, but owing to her
husband's peculiar deficiency, she had never grown very enthusiastic
about the friendship down there, seeming to keep thinking about
him and conscious of a fear that many of his friends might be the
same way. Her chief happiness, therefore, had been Kermit.
Now that her husband was dead, thereby removing the task of
having to tell him the truth as she was about to when it happened,
and she was at last free, she was happy to know that she was soon
to be married, to a man she loved, and was now looking forward to
the life she was to live afterward. She knew that if she made new
friends and developed any sort of association, it would be up to her.
Kermit, as we know, by disposition was quiet and not given to doing
so, was growing more fond of keeping to himself and not making
friends as she could readily see.
If she was to live the life of a white woman married to a
colored man, she realized that most of these new friends would be
colored people. She would, in order to make friends and have friends
when her child arrived, have to find and select these friends, so
having to do it, she was anxious to get started, and the first start
would be the night of their marriage at the Schultz'. She didn't want
to see many present that night—just those few who would be there,
would be enough. She wanted to feel her way, and from what she
had heard about Sidney Wyeth, that would be the best person, of
all others, whom she would best want to meet. -
They procured their license at the City Hall, the afternoon of the
wedding and were stared at by the clerk and by others who heard
them apply, which curiosity they ignored and left the office as quickly
as it had been secured and breathed a sigh of relief when it was over.
It had kept them both on the anxious seat.
After they left the clerk's office, those employed gathered around
and studied the application. One, a girl, was the first to speak.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 395
“Florence Wingate, born in Wakefield, Jasper County, Georgia.
Last residence, Atlanta, Georgia.” Raising her eyes a bit excitedly, “I’ll
bet that's the Mrs. Wingate whose husband was killed crossing the
railroad tracks in South Carolina not long ago.”
“Oh, no,” said another. “I read about that. He was a very rich
man. Several times a millionaire. That couldn't have been his widow,
going to marry a-Negro.”
“It wouldn't seem so, but that's the same name. He lived in At-
lanta, and I’d bet that she's his widow.”
“She was pretty and refined; you could see that.”
“And was wearing the finest diamond on her engagement finger
I ever saw.” -
“That's the widow of the Wingate who was killed, I tell you,” in-
sisted the girl who had suggested it in the beginning.
“Well,” said the clerk, who had issued the certificate. “There's one
way we can find out—and quick.” -
“How's that?”
“By telling the reporters when they come around this afternoon
about it; describing the couple.”
“That'll be news. “Rich white widow to marry a Negro’.”
All laughed and returned to their work. When the reporters called
just before the office closed, they told them about it. The reporters
evidently considered it news, the way they dashed away to their
offices where most of them aired their suspicions to the editor and
were sent out to find out more about it, and get their pictures for
publication. They didn't succeed in locating the couple at once, thanks
to Kermit Early's tendency to stay in the background. We turn now
to the party, with Kermit and Mrs. Wingate arriving at the Schultz
apartment, dressed appropriately for the occasion. Mrs. Wingate was
wearing a rich, light blue afternoon dress with a corsage of white
orchids, while Kermit wore a dinner jacket, also made up especially
for the occasion. They were admitted by Heinrich who also wore a
dinner jacket.
A moment later, they were being introduced to Wyeth and Marie,
and as they already knew Bertha, who came from the kitchen to greet
and make them welcome, they were seated and Marie and Bertha
returned to the kitchen to continue preparing the dinner they would
serve before the ceremony which had been arranged for ten P. M.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 397
“That's what took me there.”
“For What?”
“Oh, to book my pictures. They're always glad to get them. Played
every one I've made.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wingate. That, of course, as stated, is what took me
to Wakefield.” * -
“I understand that you—you're the only—colored man who has
ever directed pictures. Is that true?”
“I guess so. I'm the only one who was that crazy,” whereupon
he laughed and was joined by the others present.
“I think that is wonderful,” she said, appreciatively. “In fact, I
consider it an achievement.”
“Oh, I managed to make a living doing so for almost twenty years,”
and he smiled again. -
“For nearly twenty years!” she exclaimed. “Now isn't that re-
markable,” and turned to the others. “Don’t you think so?” They
nodded and agreed it was but Wyeth didn't.
“Oh, there is nothing remarkable about it. I started out by
writing a novel, then somebody sold me the idea of making a picture
from it. I hired a stage director to help me do so. He didn't know
anything about motion picture direction, but learned enough while
we were making it to see what it was all about, after which I directed
them myself, and that is all.”
“All! What more?” she wanted to know. “What more? And in
addition to being a motion picture director, you are also a writer.”
He smiled. She went on. “I’ve read your latest book.”
“Oh,” he exclaimed, modestly. “You did or just sketched through
it?”
“Sketched it? By no means. I read it, word by word from the
beginning to the end. Read it in Chicago shortly after it was pub-
lished. I liked it.”
“Really, or are you just saying that to make me feel good?”
“Oh, Mr. Wyeth, no. I don't like your saying that. I read your
book and I liked it, enjoyed reading every word of it and have been
reading part of it again, only recently.” -
“I thank you. Glad you liked it. If I don't like a book it's hard for
me to read it.” -
“Well, I think everybody likes it that reads it. I'd like to see some


398 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
of your pictures. Sorry I missed them in Wakefield and Atlanta.”
“They weren't shown where you go.” -
“How is that?” She looked at him quickly.
“Well, in Atlanta you'd go to The Fox, Loew's Grand, The Para-
mount, Capitol and such theatres as those.”
“Yes. I’ve been to all of them.”
“My pictures were shown only in the Colored theatres, down on
Auburn Avenue, Decatur Street, Ashby, West Mitchell and in the
colored neighborhoods only. That is why you never had a chance to
see them, even if you had wanted to at the time.”
“I’m sorry. Are there any of them being shown in New York
now? Up here in Harlem? If so, I'll go to see the first one
that will be shown.”
He shook his head. “They've all been played out. I haven't made
any for over two years.”
“You haven’t. Why not?”
“Oh, for one reason and another,” he said, with a bit of a sigh and
a shrug of his shoulders.
“Just for what reason, do you mind saying?” she asked now,
solicitiously.
“Oh, for lack of money to make them with for one thing.”
“Lack of money? Can't you—get the money?” She was getting close
to what she wanted to talk about now. She was watching him
anxiously, weighing every move, every gesture, every word.
“Oh, I suppose so; but it wasn't so profitable when I laid off. To
get back into it, I'd have to give up my present work, books, in
which I am doing very well, so wouldn't like to give up to go out
and get money from somebody to make them with.”
“Maybe it wouldn't be so hard,” she ventured, suggestively and
glanced at Kermit and Heinrich. They were interested, were becom-
ing anxious. He saw it and understood why. He didn't want to get
into an argument or bring up the hate picture at this time, So tried
to change the subject.
“Oh, you know when you give up something and get started doing
something else and have some success, it's rather hard to go back to
something you've quit.”
“I understand making pictures is—fascinating. I'd think you'd
want to keep at it,” she said suggestively.
“I liked it. Didn't think I would ever quit during all the years I


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 399
made them.” He paused and sighed, perceptibly:
“You should not have to quit, Mr. Wyeth. Why, you're the only man
of your race to ever direct and produce pictures. I think it is a grave
and serious mistake for you to quit. I think that deprives—even your
race of an achievement. Of course you are a man of decision. You
perhaps know better than anybody else what you want to do.”
“I'm afraid I must agree with you. I may, of course, return to
making pictures, but not until after I have put what I am doing on
a solid and satisfactory basis.”
“And how long do you think that will take?” she asked, eyes
still on him. He smiled and again shrugged his shoulders.
“Who knows. It might never.”
“Oh, Mr. Wyeth, not that, I’m sure. If it is for lack of money, I
am sure that can be solved.” She paused briefly to look around at
Kermit and Heinrich, both interested, she could see by their anxious
expressions. Their eyes told her to go on. She turned to Wyeth, with
an idea that had just at that moment popped into her head.
As we know, she knew all about Kermit and Heinrich's offer to
finance the cost of producing other pictures, with the understanding
that he would direct and produce their hate picture first. It hadn't
worked. Now she had a new idea and decided to execute it—at least
advance the idea at once.
“I am interested in your—genius, Mr. Wyeth. I've been told so
much about your, shall I call it, uncanny insight into human nature;
the reaction of human emotions, until I would be willing to consider
—assisting you, if it is agreeable.” -
He looked at her. What did she mean? She had caught him for
the moment, off guard, unprepared.
‘I mean, Mr. Wyeth, that a man of your ability in the production
of pictures, shouldn't just quit as you say you've done. I can appre-
ciate what you are doing and since writing and making pictures are
related, it would seem that you could—could do both, no need to give
up one for the other.”
“Well, no. Making pictures would not mean that I would have
to give up my literary efforts, but in the past, I don't think I—” -
“Now, Mr. Wyeth, pardon me for cutting you off. But in the
past, as I understand it, it rather strained you to-finance your
pictures, did it not?”
“Strained me? It all but ruined me,” and he laughed, ironically.


400 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGAtE
She nodded her head in understanding.
“Naturally, under such a strain, you couldn't think of anything
else, much less do anything else. Now is that correct?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then, Mr. Wyeth,” she went on, surprisingly intelligent, he
thought. “If you were relieved of the financial worry and respon-
sibility; if somebody, for instance, should take that over, leaving you
free, absolutely free to concentrate all your energy, your genius and
effort on just making the picture, directing and doing whatever was
necessary to turning out a first-class product, wouldn't that interest
you?” She paused and waited for him to reply.
He glanced at Kermit and Heinrich, who said nothing, but Mrs.
Wingate understood what he was thinking about and raising a pretty
hand, went on quickly. -
“I mean, Mr. Wyeth, if somebody wanted to help you do some-
thing for which you are so capably fitted, and I am sure you would
like to do, and that somebody would be willing to do this without
attaching any kind of string or condition whatever, to having you
do so, wouldn't you be willing to reconsider?”
“Well, I'm afraid I would seem stubborn if I didn't. That doesn't
mean of course, that—”
“—you are consenting to do anything that is not agreeable to you.
What I want to make clear, Mr. Wyeth, is that whatever might be
advanced would not put you under any obligation to do anything not
agreeable to you. All this is just a suggestion, possibly just an idea
of mine. What I would like to do would be to call you up, say, very
soon, at your office and make an appointment to—come and see you
and air what is on my mind. Would you be agreeable to-seeing me,
and hearing what I have to say?”
“Why, of course I would. In fact, I would be glad to welcome you
and listen to anything you have to say.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, smiling so sweetly at him
that he was flattered. “Then you may look for me to call at your
office very soon, and again let me thank you.” He bowed in reply to
her smile and wondered what new angle she had in mind to help
Kermit out. Just then the phone rang and Bertha came from the
kitchen to answer it. After a word, she looked at Mr. Wyeth and
told him that it was for him. He got up and went to it. He was ex-
pecting to hear from a bookseller in Philadelphia and it was he who


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 401
was on the other end. He had left a note on his door where he would
be and where to call.
The Jew who spoke very broken English advised that he had come
for the hundred copies of the book, and would he mind coming to
the office and giving them to him. Wyeth consulted his watch, called
Miss Schultz and asked her if he was gone for half an hour, would
she mind. Marie came up and Wyeth explained to her what is was
for. They agreed that he could go, but to be sure and come right
back. - .
He went into the reception room and explained that he had to go,
but would return very shortly, and a few minutes later was in his
car on his way to the office. Bertha and Marie returned to the
kitchen, and to talk. With Wyeth gone, both Heinrich and Kermit
turned anxiously to Mrs. Wingate. She proceeded to explain.
“It occured to me all of a sudden,” said she, “that I could offer
to finance Wyeth's own pictures, let him make them first, then, while
he was doing so, to work on and perhaps persuade him to do ours
after he finished his own.”
The men looked at each other, then turned back to her, a big smile
on their faces. -
“What an idea,” exclaimed Heinrich enthusiastically, turning
from Mrs. Wingate to Kermit, who was beaming.
“It seems the Madam has outsmarted us,” cried Kermit, turning
to Florence. “Why didn't you suggest that angle to me long ago,
darling?” -
“It’s a brilliant angle,” cried Heinrich. “By saying nothing
about our picture, but advancing him the money to make his, we put
him under a moral obligation to make ours. What an idea!” He
turned back to Mrs. Wingate, who had suddenly become thoughtful.
“I’m not sure if he would go in for it if he thought it was this
other money he was using,” she said, her face serious. Then looked
in the direction of the kitchen, she motioned them to keep quiet.
“I don't want his stenographer to overhear us. Let's move—” She
looked around the room. “Over there by the window.” They rose
now and crossed the room.
“I will think it over, and you both do some thinking, too; but
my idea is to call on him alone, as I suggested. Since I could finance
his pictures if he will let me, then I think it would be better for me
to advance the money, don't you think?” She turned to Kermit.


402 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“If you think it best and care to, dear,” he said.
“I think he would accept it and be more likely to let me than he
would if he thought it was this other money. I have a feeling that
if we work it this way, he can be persuaded to ultimately do it.”
“I agree with Mrs. Wingate, Early,” said Heinrich, both turning
now to Kermit, whose face was highly animated with the hope that
Wyeth might be persuaded.
“From the little conversation I’ve had with him thus far, I'm sure
he won't make it the way you've been trying to get him to. But once
back into the swing, with no worry about money and able to concen-
trate as he has perhaps never had a chance to before, I think it will
soften him and then, with a little persuasion, we will get him to
make ours.”
“Again I agree with Mrs. Wingate, Kermit,” said Heinrich.
“Then, Heinrich,” said Kermit. “It looks like we'd better turn
it over to the Mrs. and let her do whatever she can with Wyeth.”
“He’s a man, I venture to say, of deep convictions,” said Mrs.
Wingate; “a man who wouldn't go back on an obligation.” She
looked at Kermit, and Kermit understoodd when she continued:
“It will be necessary for me to see Mr. Wyeth, and to get together
with him at the earliest possible moment, so I plan to see him tomor-
row, no later than the day after. When he returns, therefore, I will
suggest that I see him tomorrow afternoon, and arrange an appoint-
ment accordingly.”
The men agreed with her. They returned to their former seats
now to wait for Wyeth to return.
Meantime, while this was going on, the reporters from all the big
dailies, had been and were still very busy. Long distance calls had
been made to Atlanta, and all had ascertained that the Mrs. Florence
Wingate who had called at the license bureau with one Kermit Early,
colored, was the one and the same Mrs. Florence Wingate of Peach-
tree Road, Atlanta, and were now all combing Harlem to try to find
out more about it; to locate the couple, photograph them and have
their stories and photographs ready for the morning and early after-
noon editions of their papers.
Word had got around to the reporters of the Associated Press, In-
ternational News and the United Press, and they had men on the job to
seek and find the couple that were due to be married,


carris XXXIII
HEN WYETH RETURNED from the office, Heinrich
put a dance record on the combination Radio and Phono-
graph, a fox trot, which was very entertaining; made all
present feel like dancing. Mrs. Wingate looked at him and smiled.
“Do you dance, Mr. Wyeth P’ she said. He smiled a bit awkwardly.
“I used to—when I was young,” he replied and laughed.
“Young,” she cried, and stood up. “Why, you're not old.” She
made a step toward him and he stood up. “Would you mind dancing
with—me?” she said and held up her arms. He was embarrassed
and flushed, but he realized that he couldn't refuse a lady, so put his
arms about her and did the best he could. It wasn’t bad, and looking
up into his face with a pleasant smile, she chided him.
“Why, you're a good dancer,” she said, and relaxed comfortably
into his arms. He was embarrassed and wondered if the two men
saw how flushed his face was. He was doing his best. It was the
first time, he could recall, ever dancing with a white woman. She
was a splendid dancer, light on her feet and before he was aware
of it, was enjoying it. Again she raised her eyes and looked at him.
And again he flushed. He had plenty of imagination, which was
now on fire. Her body was soft and seemed to fit into his arms as
if she had been made for them. Terribly excited, he exerted him-
self to avoid missing a step and embarrassing both.
“You have a good sense of humor, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, smiling
up at him. Afraid he would blunder or make a mistake, he managed
to inquire.
“A sense of humor, Mrs. Wingate?”
“Yes, Mr. Wyeth. A splendid sense of humor.”
“I don't understand you.”
“Why, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, somewhat surprised. “I mean that
you are a wonderful dancer. I’ll bet you've won prizes.”
403


404 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“I haven't danced,” he laughed, “for years. I was afraid I'd for-
gotten how.” -
“Indeed!” she exclaimed, “but you haven't. As well as you do,
you'll never forget. You say you haven't danced much in recent
years?”
“Hardly at all.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why so, Mrs. Wingate?”
“Because it is so—pleasant to dance with you, I'd think you danced
a great deal.” He smiled at this. _ -
“I was fond of it many years ago. When I was much younger.”
“To hear you talk one would think you were really old.”
“I’m not so young any more.”
“And you are—not married, Mr. Wyeth?”
“Not so fortunate, Mrs. Wingate.”
“Why not?” *
“Oh, I don't know. Because nobody will have me, I guess.”
“That sense of humor again. I said you had a good one,” she said
chidingly. The music stopped and they relaxed. She took his arm
and led him toward the window.
“Why don't you marry Bertha 7 She's a nice girl, intelligent, and
so very pretty.”
“Oh, Mrs. Wingate,” he cried, abashed. “Miss Schultz couldn't
be expected to like anybody like me.”
“And why not? I think she would. Have you tried making love
to her P” -
“Out of the question,” he said, flushing in spite of himself. “I
haven't tried making love to any woman.” He experienced a feeling
of guilt, as he recalled Edrina.
“But a man like you should be married, Mr. Wyeth. I bet you'll
make some nice girl a fine husband.” He looked at her, and was sur-
prised to find himself able to talk so freely with her. She was interest-
ing; she was entertaining. She was talking again.
“You must pay attention to Miss Schultz. She's the kind of girl for
you. You need a fine, highly intelligent and dignified girl for a wife.
She's that kind of a girl, don't you think?”
“I do, and I am rather fond of Miss Schultz. But I wouldn't make
the mistake of trying to-make love to her.”


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 405
“I’ll bet she wouldn't discourage you. Just try and see how she
reacts.” Again he looked at her. She met his eyes and smiled back,
He was growing to like Mrs. Wingate, but he wondered at her
amiability. He did not know and he could not understand what Mrs.
Wingate had planned. She wanted to know colored people, interest-
ing and worthwhile ones. She was finding him all they had de-
clared him to be. She decided to list him among those friends of the
future that she planned to make.
Meanwhile, Heinrich had turned the record over and was play-
ing the number on the other side. Wyeth looked across the room and
saw Early standing alone. He turned to Mrs. Wingate:
“I’m sure you wish to dance with the lucky man now,” he said.
Taking her hand then, he led her across to Kermit who insisted that
he continue to dance with her, but he would not hear of it. So
with his arms about her, they danced away, with Mrs. Wingate smil-
ing back at him and making him feel more abashed. He wanted a
drink and crossed the parlor then into the dining room where he found
Bertha and Marie setting the table. With the music shutting out
their being overheard by Kermit and Mrs. Wingate, they now
turned to tease him.
“Did you see him, Bertha,” cried Marie, pointing at him.
Bertha looked at him teasingly.
“Oh, how. Dancing with the gorgeous and beautiful bride-to-be.”
“And was he dancing, dearie!” cried Marie and laughed.
“I’m jealous,” said Bertha, pouting a little.
“Jealous?” said Wyeth, wonderingly. *
“Shouldn't I be? You haven't danced with me. You haven't even
said anything about dancing with me.”
“But I—I would be glad to, Miss Schultz,” he said, quickly.
“Then take her and proceed at once,” said Marie, coming forward
and taking Bertha by the arm and leading her up to him. Wyeth was
flushing all over with embarrassment. “The music is going, go on
into the parlor, boss, and do your stuff.”
All but pushing them together, she ushered them into the parlor
with: “I’ll finish setting the table, dear, now go on.”
A moment later Wyeth found himself going around and around
with Bertha in his arms, his face burning with the blood that had
rushed to it. He looked down at Bertha, who was as soft to hold and


406 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
as good a dancer as Mrs. Wingate. She looked up to meet his eyes,
blushed, lowered hers, but tightened her hold on him which pleased
him, and, as he had with Mrs. Wingate, tried to do his best. During
the short time the dance continued, he caught Mrs. Wingate looking
at them and smiling meaningly, which he didn't know how to take.
Bertha seemed pleased and to be enjoying the dance, which ran out
a minute or two after they started, and Bertha, with a pleasant bow
of thanks, excused herself to rush away to the kitchen, where she
began to get the meal ready to $erve.
A half hour later, all were seated, with Kermit and Mrs. Wingate
beside each other, and Wyeth at the head of the table, where he
could look at and converse with Mrs. Wingate without any effort.
“So you've been all over my home state, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, as
they were being served.
“I like to be in Georgia at least twice a year.”
“Why only twice, Mr. Wyeth?”
“Twice in particular. In the summer when the peaches are in ful!
bloom around Columbus and Fort Valley, then again in the fall dur-
ing pecan picking time. I have enjoyed going from Atlanta, via motor,
to Jacksonville, Florida, which takes you right down through the
heart of the pecan and cotton territory.”
“Doesn't it thrill you?” said Mrs. Wingate.
“Nothing like it.”
“Wakefield is in the heart of the same kind of territory. In fact,
we have fine soil around Wakefield.”
“Deep, red and rich,” said he.
“Red and rich is the way to describe it,” she said, and sighed a
moment. “Dear old Georgia, in spite of all the mean things they
often say up north about it, is a great old state and I love it, but
Kermit doesn't,” ventured Mrs. Wingate, looking at him, with an
affected frown, whereupon Kermit paused to look at her kindly.
“It’s a great state, all right—to stay away from,” said Kermit.
Other than Wyeth and Mrs. Wingate, the others didn't understand
just what he meant, although Bertha and Heinrich, looked up and
tried to be agreeable.
“Did you ever hunt any in Georgia, Mr. Wyeth?”
“I sure did. One fall, down around Albany.”
“At Albany? You've been there, too,” exclaimed Mrs, Wingate


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE - 407
enthusiastically. -
“Hunted squirrel and quail, shot a few rabbits, too, down there.”
“Wonderful! It is a great place for game shooting.”
“Plenty to shoot.”
“I’ll say. Ever been to Augusta 2"
“On the Chattahoochee? Lots of times. They have two theatres
there and they played my pictures and I’ve been going to Augusta ever
since I started to make pictures.”
“If you keep talking about pictures, you'll have to let me see you
make the next one.”
“It’s interesting work, but not so interesting to look at.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, most of the time is taken up getting ready to shoot. Then
you shoot a minute or two, then go back and lose another half hour
fixing, rehearsing and then you shoot again, maybe, for two minutes.
So to look on soon bores you.” -
“Nevertheless, I'd like to see you make one. And speaking of
pictures, while it's on my mind, will it be all right for me to call
at your office about say, three, tomorrow afternoon?”
“Why, yes, Mrs. Wingate. I'll make it a point to be there.” Bertha
and Marie exchanged a meaning glance, then turned their eyes to
the others, who went on.
“You say that you—like Atlanta?”
“Oh, fine. I've always liked it. I’ve spent lots of time in Atlanta.
In fact, I lived there for six months several years ago—right after
the Leo M. Frank trial.”
“You did ſ” she exclaimed, pausing and looking quickly at
him. Kermit looked at him, too. The others wondered what it was all
about.
“The trial had just closed when I arrived there to spend six months
early that year. The trial was on everybody's tongue.”
“And how,” she cried. She looked at Kermit. “He was down there
at that time, too.”
“Oh, you knew Mr. Early then?”
“Sure. We've known each other since we were kids. Were you
in Wakefield around that time?” -
“I went through there about that time, which was while I was not
much more than a kid myself.”


408 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“Kermit's father ran a barber shop on the main street of the town.
He still lives there, but doesn't do any work in the shop any more.”
“And your people, what did they do there?”
“Until he was retired two years ago, my father was cashier of the
First National Bank.”
“Oh, a banker, eh? Then you come of rich folks?”
“No, Mr. Wyeth,” said Mrs. Wingate. “Not rich. My great-
grand parents were, a long, long time ago. They owned more than a
hundred slaves, and thousands of acres of land, before the Civil War,
but the war broke them and while my people have always stood well
in Georgia, they were not rich.”
“Mr. Wingate was, however,” said Wyeth. She shrugged her
shoulders.
“I’ve seen his name on mills all down through the South—the
Wingate Mills is how the signs read over the top of them,” he said,
then looked at Kermit, who was living up to his reputation, saying
little. Mrs. Wingate looked at him, and smiled. She turned to Wyeth.
“Will you be going to Georgia again soon?” .
“I’d like to go there this fall, during the open season, to shoot par-
tridges,” said Wyeth.
“Why don't you,” said Mrs. Wingate. “It would be a splendid di-
version. I'm sure you'd enjoy it.”
Wyeth laughed. She looked surprised, frowned a bit.
“Why do you laugh Mr. Wyeth 2" she inquired, looking straight
at him. He paused, respectfully. -
“I must apologize,” he said now, a bit meekly.
“Why an apology?”
“For not explaining that I couldn't give up what I am trying to
do long enough to run down to Atlantic City over a week end, much
less take the time to go all the way to Georgia to shoot quail. That's
for people with more money and more leisure time than I can afford.
That is why I should have explained before breaking into laughter,
which you could hardly, under the circumstances, have understood.
I'm sorry.”
“I believe you're being overmodest, Mr. Wyeth,” said Mrs. Win-
gate. “I believe that you have adopted modesty as a mode of con-
duct to the extent that it has, perhaps, become an obsession. With a
little planning I'm sure you could find the time to run down to Geor-


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 409
gia, shoot quail and rabbits and go opossum hunting at night—just
have a grand time. With all the good food you could get to eat. I'm
sure you wouldn't regret such a trip—even if you had to make just a
wee bit of a sacrifice to do so,” she said, insistently.
“You’ll make me very unhappy if you keep on talking about it. It
would be a throw back to my youth. I use to hunt every fall when I
was a boy—until I left home.”
“And where is your home, Mr. Wyeth? Where were you born,
and where did this—genius begin to sprout?”
“Please, Mrs. Wingate. You'll make me think I'm somebody, if
you keep on.”
“Well!” she exclaimed, elevating her eyebrows. Looked around
at the others, who agreed with her by the expression on their faces.
“But I was born in Illinois, down in the lower end of Illinois, near
the town of Cairo, if you ever heard of it,” he said.
“I certainly have. In fact, who hasn't heard of Cairo? Down in
Egypt, they call it,” and she laughed. All of those present exchanged
expressions, turned to look at Wyeth and Mrs. Wingate who were
easily the center of interest. -
“And that is where you attended school?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wingate.” -
“There's a state school about fifty miles north of Cairo. Is that
where you got your college training?” Marie laughed. Those pres-
ent turned to look at her.
“Please pardon me,” she said, lowering her eyes.
“What for?” from Heinrich. Marie looked up at Wyeth, who
smiled, turned to the others.
“She was compelled to laugh when Mrs. Wingate inquired about
my college training.” Turned to Mrs. Wingate. “I didn't get any
college training, Mrs. Wingate. I know where the school is that you
refer to. That's the Southern Illinois State Normal, and the town is
Carbondale. I’ve been there often, but not to attend the school.”
“Do you mean to tell us, Mr. Wyeth, that you—never went to col-
lege; that you didn't actually graduate from any college?”
“He never went to any college, Mrs. Wingate—not even to high
school. He did reach the eighth grade in a country school down
where he came from,” said Marie, speaking for him. She turned to
look at him, as all the others were doing.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 411
on, even if I do seem to flatter you.”
He laughed, turned to the others. “Mrs. Wingate and I seem to
have the floor, talking about exactly nothing. We are wonderfully
well represented here tonight, with so few of us. We certainly ought
to find something to talk about that would interest us all.” He turned
his eyes to Bertha and Heinrich now.
“We have Mr. Schultz, and his delightful, sister, Bertha, from
Berlin—all the way from Berlin, Germany. I could talk a great deal
about Berlin—rather, I could ask a lot of questions about Berlin.”
“You can talk about Berlin: ask Miss Schultz those many questions
which you claim you'd like to ask, some other time” interposed Mrs.
Wingate, “Right now I want to talk about you.” She paused to
look at the others, a question in her eyes which all present seemed, by
their expressions, to answer in chorus.
“Go ahead, Mrs. Wingate,” said Heinrich. “I’m certainly enjoying
listening to you and Mrs. Wyeth. I can keep on listening.”
“By all means,” joined Bertha. “Please do go on.”
“Now, Mr. Wyeth,” cried Mrs. Wingate, triumphantly. “It’s
been moved and seconded that we continue, you and I, to talk. So,
will you—proceed?”
“All right. But where, and about what?”
“Your book.”
“My book?”
“Your book.”
“Which one?”
“Which one P” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Which one? I’ve written a new one.”
“Oh, a new one,” echoed Mrs. Wingate, surprised. “I didn't know
about that one. I’m talking about the one we've all read.”
“Oh, that one. You see, when I finish a book, I soon forget about
that one. All my thoughts are about the one I'm either going to write
or am writing. Meanwhile, what is it about the one you've read that
you want to talk about?”
“The girl in it, Mr. Wyeth.”
“The girl?” He paused and his eyebrows contracted. Turned to her.
“Which girl? There were two girls and I think I said a great deal
about both.” -
“I agree with you. In fact, I want to ask you about both. But I'd


412 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
like to talk about the one you had your hero to-quit; walk out on.
Because—”
“—what?”
“Be—because he thought she was a -white girl.”
“Oh,” he exclaimed, and smiled.
“You weren't altogether kind—to her.” She said this a bit softly,
seemed momentarily embarrassed, looked around at the others. All
who had read the book were thinking. They glanced unconsciously
at Kermit. They were putting two and two together. They under-
stood that Mrs. Wingate was associating herself with the story now;
associating Kermit with it, too.
Kermit hadn't walked out on her because she was a white girl.
Of course, she was thinking of herself, also. There was no parallel
in the two cases. She hadn't let Kermit Early walk out on her.
“You’d—rather not talk about it, perhaps?” she said now, glancing
across at Wyeth, hesitantly.
“Oh, I don't mind,” said Wyeth, readily. Then turning to her in
a changed expression. “Do you think you’d—like to-talk about it?”
As he finished, he glanced unconsciously around at the others. They
were all thinking about the same thing. Mrs. Wingate and Kermit
Early. All wondered why she brought the subject up; wondered why
she wanted to talk about it.
“Why did you have the hero leave her when she told him with so
much feeling, so much pathos, that she loved him?”
“That was my inspiration.” -
“But you put it into words. He admitted that he loved her—more
than any person in the world, and she cried so. I felt sorry for her.
I even cried with her, when I read that part.”
Everybody's eyes were on Mrs. Wingate now. The situation had
grown strangely tense. Not only were they looking at Mrs. Wingate,
about to marry a colored man, and associated her naturally with the
white girl in the story whom Wyeth had his hero to quit.
“You can, of course, understand my reaction to the situation in
your story, because—I’m about to marry a-colored man,” and she
looked at Kermit, who was embarrassed and didn't know how to feel.
“You’ve considered, of course, everything. . . .” said Wyeth,
“Everything, Mr. Wyeth.”
“And are satisfied ?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 413
“I’m satisfied. Now after what you showed in your story, what is
your—opinion?”
“I don't wish to express any.”
“But you do have an opinion?”
“Perhaps.”
“After what you said in the story, I'd like to hear it.”
“I think we should talk about something else,” he said.
“I’ll change the subject,” she said and forced herself by an effort
to seem cheerful.
“Thank you,” said Wyeth, and seemed relieved.
“But I’m still going to talk about the story in your book,” she
said, somewhat defiantly.
“I’m glad that it interested you that much,” said Wyeth, agreeably.
“You painted a beautiful picture of the other girl. I mean, the
colored girl.” º -
“You think so P’’
“You most assuredly did. Seems like it was actually taking place.”
“Thank you.”
“But behind it'all, I could still see the picture of the other girl.”
“I suppose so,” said Wyeth.
“That was because he loved her, wasn't it?”
“Yes, he loved her.” Mrs. Wingate seemed more satisfied now.
“Those other people: her father and her sister, who were so awfully
mean. About the meanest people a writer could create. Were they—
real people?”
“Real people, Mrs. Wingate,” he admitted.
“I thought so,” said she. “In fact they were all real people, weren't
they?” -
“Oh, Mrs. Wingate, please.”
“And one of them—was you,” she said and laughed now, somewhat
brazenly, or was it desperately. She had wanted to marry Kermit for
ten years. Why was it playing on her emotions so now, Wyeth
wondered. She was talking again.
“And did they, Mr. Wyeth, do all the terrible things you had them
doing?”
“Most of it.”
“It doesn't seem possible, as I think about them, for two people
to be se—mean, so heartless.” -


414 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“There are lots of such people, maybe,” he said.
“I agree with you,” she said, and thought about how the white
people, friends of hers and of the family for generations, were going
to think—and act, when they heard about what she was about to do.
Then she forced it out of her mind.
Bertha rose, followed by Marie, and served drinks. Mrs. Wingate
took a strong drink. She was not a drinking woman, had never
drunk anything very strong. She had never been drunk. Felt like
getting drunk all of a sudden. Then decided it wouldn't look nice. But
she did take a large drink and Kermit looked at her a bit anxiously.
Feeling better, she turned again to Wyeth. She wished it was
possible for her to meet him again, to talk with him at great length.
“You built the last hundred pages of the book up to a tremendous
climax. It fairly thundered with action—and drama"
“Thank you,” he said and smiled, modestly.
“Your ending was so beautiful. I read and reread it and cried
again.”
He smiled. He was interested. She went on.
“Of course that was purely fictional, the end, I mean. Wasn't it?”
“Why?” and he looked straight into her eyes.
“Because the girl didn't have any Negro blood in her as you
showed, which made it possible in the end for him to marry her
without—transgressing tradition. She was actually a white girl and
when he left her to go to Chicago and become engaged to the colored
girl, he went out of her life altogether. Wasn't that the way that
part ended?”
“So inquisitive, Mrs. Wingate. So exacting,” he said and forced
a laugh. -
“Because, Mr. Wyeth,” she said rather boldly and defiant, glanc-
ing at the watch on her wrist. “Within an hour you're going to wit-
ness the transgression of a tradition. I’m not afraid. I defy it.” Paused
to look across at Kermit now, then turned back to Wyeth, with
more defiance in her eyes and tone than ever. “I’m a white woman.
I love a colored man and have been in love with him for ten years,
ten years, understand? And I’m going to marry him. Yes, marry
him right here tonight, and I don't care anything about what the
white people are going to think about it!” She paused now and looked
at the others, a bit helplessly,


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 415
“Maybe, after a while you will write a story about us—Kermit
and me. A white woman who loved a colored man—and was proud
of it!” She laughed now, a bit hysterically. “Proud of it!” Laughed
again, then lifting her partly filled glass, emptied it.
The situation had grown more tense, more embarrassing. Nobody
said anything, nobody dared say anything.
“I want to ask you, Mr. Wyeth. I'm asking you because you are,
I'm sure, broad minded and liberal in your views. The question may
seem rather—difficult to answer, but I want you to answer it.” She
paused now and looked him straight in his eyes, bravely, even though
defiantly.
“What do you honestly think about the intermarriage of races?”
The question was a difficult one, a bold one, an embarrassing one.
Every one present knew that Wyeth didn't dare to answer it honestly,
frankly. They were anxious to hear what his answer to her question
would be, however, since she had asked it, and expected an answer.
Wyeth answered more promptly than they expected.
“I consider it every man and woman's privilege to marry whom
they choose. I have no other opinion as regards it.”
“Thank you. Now I’m going to be more bold than I have already
been tonight, then I'm going to hush. Quit talking. I've said too much
already, and Kermit, here, is burning up, I know. But I've just got
to get this off my chest.”
“What is it that you want to ask, Mrs. Wingate?” said Wyeth,
calmly, evenly. She turned and looked straight at him before going on.
“Would you—marry a white girl if you were in love with her?”
He started, looked around at the others, who were all looking at him.
“If I was in love with her and she with me, ’’
“—what?” said Mrs. Wingate, pointedly.
“I would.”
“But you'd be careful not to let yourself fall in love with one, to
begin with, I'd bet,” and Mrs. Wingate laughed, a strange mocking
laugh. “That is all, folks,” and she bowed to those present, who
smiled and was glad it was over.
Just then the doorbell rang, and Bertha excused herself and
hurried away to the door, returning a few seconds later to advise
that the minister had arrived.
“And now the minister,” said Wyeth, looking from Mrs. Wingate


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 417
“Pardon us, folks, but we're from the press. Just heard about the
marriage. We wonder if you'd mind, giving us a story and posing
for some pictures?” They turned to Wyeth, immediately identifying
Mrs. Wingate because she was the only white person present. They
had to guess which was the bridegroom, however.
“Do you mind?” said one, coming up to Wyeth, “posing with
the lady for a photograph?”
“But I am not the lucky man,” corrected Wyeth, turning to
Kermit, upon whom he laid a hand. “Here is your man.” -
“Oh, pardon me,” Immediately they posed the couple, who were
taken so completely by surprise that they didn't have time to protest.
Flash after flash followed, then single poses, profiles, straight on,
sitting, standing, just about every pose they could think of. By the
time this was over, they sat the couple down, and plied them with a
number of questions, and before either could object, they had their
entire history, from birth to the present time. As quickly as they
had burst in on them, just as quickly did they leave, leaving every-
body and especially the couple, confused and bewildered. -
“What's it all about?” cried Mrs. Early. “What do they want with
all they have asked; with all the pictures they took?”
“You’ll see by tomorrow morning's papers,” said Wyeth.
“You mean,” cried Mrs. Early, “That—that they will—publish our
pictures in—the papers?”
“Every paper from here to San Francisco, Mrs. Early, allow me
to compliment you. From Canada to the Gulf of Mexico,” said
Wyeth.
“Oh, no!” she cried, brought to a sudden realization of what it was
all about; that every paper would include the Atlanta papers; her
picture, standing now beside Kermit Early, her husband, a Negro.
Publish it all conspicuously for them to read in Atlanta, in Wake-
field. When she got to Wakefield, in her mind, she closed her eyes
as if to try to shut out the sight. This had to be. Kermit Early was
now her husband, had been her sweetheart since she was little more
than a girl but nobody knew anything about it until tonight. Now
everybody would know about it before the sun went down the next
day. t
“Oh,” she sort of choked. “I-I didn't understand what it was all
about.”
“Don’t you like to see your picture in the papers? Most people


418 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
would be glad to, Mrs. Early,” ventured Marie. “You have to be
an important person to get your picture in all the papers.”
“But—but,” she stammered, nervously. “We are not important,
Kermit and I, are we Kermit?” He laid a comforting hand on her.
“They won't do this, will they? They won't dare do it. We didn't
give them permission to do so, did we?”
“When they were allowed to enter the place and we permitted them
to photograph us, that was our consent. They'll do whatever they
want to with the pictures, dear,” he told her calmly.
- “You—you mean, Kermit,” she said, excitedly, “That, that we
can't do—anything about it?”
He shook his head, while she raised a jeweled hand to her face,
looked around her bewilderingly. She didn't know what to do.
Everybody's eyes were on her.
“Let's—let's go home, Kermit,” she cried suddenly. Her face, all
could see, was torn with worry, anxiety, for she was thinking of
Wakefield; she was seeing a picture of her mother reading the papers,
about what she had done; she was seeing a picture of all her mother's
neighbors and friends after they read it. They could not look hard at
her, snub or avoid her; but they could her mother, her poor, helpless
mother. Strange, but she hadn't thought of that until this moment,
She had been able to keep her association with Kermit Early secret
and from her mother for so long, that it hadn't occurred to her that
it would reach her mother this way. Her poor mother, down there
in Wakefield, alone, to be pointed at and snubbed. This was too
cruel for her to stand, for her to think of, even. She could stand all
their snobbery, their contempt, for it was she and she only who had
married a Negro. ~
But she was in New York, deep in the heart of Harlem, where she
didn't have to see them, hear them—but what about her poor, help-
less mother?
As they rode to their apartment a few minutes later, she was so
distressed with the thought of it that she hid her eyes and cried. Ker-
mit tried to comfort her—by placing his arm about her, but he could
not shut out the picture she was seeing, the words she was hearing
them say to her poor mother. Never since it all started so many years
ago had she been brought to realize so vividly what she had done.
She had a picture of her mother when she read the papers next day,
and the next day and all the other days as long as her mother had


… XXXIV
HE FORMER MRS. WINGATE didn't get to Sidney
Wyeth's office at three P. M. the next day after the wedding
and party, because she was in too much trouble. It was for-
tunate for them, she and her husband, Kermit Early, that the apart-
ment they had rented had an observer through which they could look
and see who was outside, and those looking through the observer
from the inside, couldn't be seen well enough to be recognized. For
from nine A. M. of the morning after, until late the same night, a
stream of reporters beat a path to their door. After a time they dis-
connected the bell, and a few minutes later, reconnected it, because,
while the bell did not ring, they pounded on the door, which was
more annoying than listening to the bell ringing. Neither dared venture
out, due to the annoyance of curious people who insisted on bothering
them until around noon, when Kermit called the Police Department
about their predicament, and officers were sent to keep people from
bothering them further.
In the meantime, the afternoon papers had featured their mar-
riage with stories, and their pictures as conspicuously as had the
morning papers, and every newspaper in the country published it and
had a story about it, along with their photographs. So before the sun
went down the day after their wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Kermit Early
were the talk of the entire country. º
But it was the Southern papers, that carried more than a story.
Many of them devoted their entire editorial section to it. Under
sensational captions, they published editorials that were read by all
the subscribers and purchasers of their papers, as few editorials were
ever read,
421


422
THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
SOCIAL EQUALITY IS HERE! NEGRO'S MARRIAGE TO
WEALTHY SOUTHERN WHITE WOMAN MOST
SENSATIONAL EVENT IN YEARS /
So began an editorial in the Memphis Gazette:
For years the South has been warning America regard-
ing social equality; that Negroes, if given an opportunity,
would intrude themselves into white society. The South, for
generations has preached the necessity of white supremacy.
For generations the South has also tried to show that it was
necessary to keep the Negro in his place. But the vain
and selfish North, always delighted to laugh at and decry
such ideas, and pander to the Negro vote, has always
played down such insistence on the part of the South.
Well, in an apartment in the Negro Section of New
York, known far and wide as Harlem, it happened last
night. Social equality with all its threat to white society is
here. Mrs. Florence Wingate, a wealthy aristocratic and re-
fined white lady, product of one of the oldest and proudest
families in all the Southland, took unto herself a Negro, one
Kermit Early, for a husband.
Occasionally a white woman marries a Negro. But until
last night, such marriages have not been taken seriously for
several reasons. First, if the white woman who partici-
pated in it was wealthy, the marriage on her part has most
often been inspired by sexual desire. Such marriages, most-
ly to a Negro butler, or a chauffeur, rarely lasted long be-
cause, after such women's passions have been satisfied over
a period, they have found that living with somebody so far
beneath them socially soon became boresome, tiresome and
ultimately impossible, and they usually left such Negro hus-
bands and went their way.
On the other hand, marriages between white women and
colored men have been and are, the result of being thrown
together via employment or other contact, and have repre-
sented at best, only white women of the middle class, but
most of all such marriages have been between white wom-
en of the lower classes, many of the underworld, who
have lost all social responsibility, have become prostitutes


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 423
~
and would marry anything called a man. Such marriages,
therefore, have not been taken seriously as they do not
threaten society.
But the marriage of Mrs. Florence Wingate, widowed
only a few weeks go by the death of her many times a
millionaire, mill owning white husband, to Kermit Early,
a highly educated Negro, a Doctor of Philosophy from
Harvard University, entirely changes the social picture.
While the marriage on the part of this wealthy, Southern
white widow, was no doubt inspired in the main, as most all.
such marriages, regardless of class, by sexual desire, Ker-
mit Early was not a butler, a chauffeur or a Negro pimp,
whom Mrs. Wingate would tire of shortly, but an intensely
thoughtful Negro. From the standpoint of intellect, Mrs.
Wingate's equal, if not superior. A Negro, no doubt, who
has been far-sighted enough to see and understand that he
could and would profit immensely by such a marriage.
While this has not been discussed or debated to any great
length, it is the highly educated Negro who threatens our
social existence—and the marriage of Kermit Early, Negro,
to a scion of great wealth and the finest blood, of the South,
is not to be dismissed and forgotten, and unless the North
sits up and takes notice, and passes laws, perhaps, as every
Southern state has on its statute books, prohibiting marriage
between whites and Negroes, and joins with the South in
every way it can, to keep the Negro in his place, they will
soon rue the day they granted the Negro so much freedom.
The Macon, Georgia Chronicle, in its editorial column, which
paper is widely circulated in Wakefield, went on to declare:
YANKEE NORTH, whAT Now?
It has happened as the South has so long predicted; and
at last is here. Social Equality. A rich and beautiful white
woman, a Southern white woman, mind you, has taken her-
self a Negro husband. Not an ordinary Negro, but a highly
educated and no doubt, interesting Negro. A man that she
can look up to, respect and admire, for only such could
inspire a Southern white woman to so disgrace herself,
and her family—and the South in general, knowing that,


424 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
of all things she could do, this would be the most unforgiv-
able.
It took a generation of political manoeuvering to get the
Negro out of politics in the South where carpet-baggers
from the North put him, as a tool to exploit the South, help.
less and poor after the disastrous Civil War. But through
persistent bravery and patience, the South finally recover-
ed, has managed the race situation so well that lynching
has declined until it has almost disappeared. The white
people and the Negro who lives here get along fine to-
gether, due to the fact that the Negro knows and keeps in
his place, and is no longer a threat to our society and white
supremacy, if it were not for the North, which persists in
meddling into our way of life. The travesty of a wealthy
and aristocratic Southern white woman marrying a Negro,
a highly educated Negro, previously from the South, could
not have happened here, nor anywhere else in the South, be-
cause our laws, put on the statute books by far-seeing white
statesmen, a long time ago, would not have permitted it.
But the Yankee North, with its pampering and playing the
Negro against their own interest for political gain and
power, does, in a great measure, serve to defeat what the
South has done. This couple could not have become man
and wife anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but
they could, and did, slip off into the free North, and there
stand side by side before a Negro minister and hear them-
selves pronounced husband and wife—to the eternal disgrace
of American Society! -
- The Birmingham Scimitar went on to say:
the only thing missing at this wedding, was the
wife of the President. She should have been on hand to give
the bride away. We feel sure that she would have been
glad to do so, and, perhaps, invite them to the White House
for their wedding reception This, people of the South, is
what, due to the North, and their ideas about Negro Free-
dom is beginning to happen. Social Equality is the word
for it. The South has said much over a long period of years,
and warned persistently and repeatedly that this is what
would happen if restraint was relaxed as regards the Negro.


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 42
5
The South has done everything they could think of to
keep the Negro in his place, and as far as his actions in the
South are concerned, the problem is settled and has been
for a long time. But as long as the North persists in their
so-called idea of freedom for everybody just that long
will the highly educated and scheming Negroes like Kermit
Early, try to do what happened in New York last night!
Every Negro who reads about this wedding, will be
thrilled. Even in our Southland, where he will not publicly
say anything about it, but before the sun goes down on
another day, it will be debated among them quietly and
secretly, and how many others, of this highly educated
class, will plan, if he or she can, to repeat what Kermit
Early did last night. If and when Kermit Early and this
white woman have a child or children, who will benefit by
this white woman's great wealth: They won't want to be
like other Negroes. They will remember that their mother
is a wealthy white woman; that their father is a Doctor of
Philosophy from the greatest University in the Western
World, and that they will be too good to marry one of their
own race, so will seek to marry a white person. If they fail
here, or to find such association agreeable, there will be
plenty of poverty-stricken white people in Europe who will
be glad to trade a royal name for an American fortune, even
though the possessor of the wealth be a Negro. That is the
only thing that you can call it: Social Equality. And the
marriage that took place in New York last night will do
more to foment unrest and inspire social climbing on the
part of the Negro than anything that has happened since
the Civil War !
The Atlanta morning and evening papers, known to be the most
liberal in the South, published only the facts in the case, but did not
run any editorials on it. But those and the Macon papers, one of
which went the limit editorially, reached Wakefield and soon the
sleepy little town was ablaze with gossip, much of which soon reach-
ed the ears of Mrs. Adair, Mrs. Early's mother—and as was to be
expected, shocked and mortified her. She shut herself in and didn't
go out the entire day. Neighbors and friends of old, kept adroitly
out of sight, but curiosity seekers passed before the house and linger-


428 THE CASE OF MES. WINGATE
have done such a terrible thing, married a nigger.” -
“Please mother, don’t let's talk about that now. We'll talk about
it after you arrive in New York. We'll have a long talk. Maybe then
you'll understand, but I won't go into that now.”
“But—but—darling, I–I don't know if I can get to New York.
I'm sick now. I need the doctor, but I' afraid to call Doctor Ware. I'm
afraid 3 *
“Mother, listen, please.”
“Yes, dear.”
“I’ve thought even of all that; that Doctor Ware might act so
that you would feel bad if you called him. But there is a doctor who
will come to see you.”
“What doctor, dear? We've never had any but Doctor Ware. What
doctor?” -
Florence was silent for a moment. Her mother listened, anx-
iously.
“Mother?”
“Yes, Florence?”
“Call Doctor Johnson.”
“Doctor Johnson? Who is he?”
“He’s the colored Doctor. His office is down on Railroad Avenue.”
“A nigger Doctor? Oh, Florence!” -
“Please mother. Take it easy. Don't continue to abuse yourself.
Doctor Johnson is a young man and a good doctor. A better doctor
than old Doctor Ware. But you won't need to call him. I'll call him.
I'll tell him to come and see you. I'll ask him to take care of you; to
drive you to Macon and put you on the first train, in a drawing
room and send you on to me in New York.”
“But Florence.”
“Please, mother, do what I ask? If you keep fretting you'll get
worse; maybe die. So just be quiet and lay down until Dr. John-
son arrives. I think he keeps a nurse. I'll ask him to bring the nurse
and take care of you until you reach Macon. If he thinks it advisable,
to send the nurse on with you to New York. Now do you hear,
mother P” -
“Yes, I hear, darling.”
“Then sit down and take it easy until the Doctor arrives. I’ll call
him from here and if he can't get there for awhile, I'll call you back
and tell you when he will arrive. Now is that all right, dear?”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 429
“I—I guess it will have to be. I'm here all alone, and all this trouble
has upset me. I’ll do what you say.”
“All right, then, mother. I'll talk to the Doctor now. Please be
quiet, take it easy and be patient.”
After a few more words she hung up and immediately asked long
distance to call Dr. Johnson, the Negro physician, down on Railroad
Avenue.
Dr. Johnson had closed his office for the might, but was still in it,
checking his accounts when the phone rang. Picking up the receiver,
he said: -
“Hello, Dr. Johnson talking.”
“Dr. Johnson, this is Mrs. Kermit Early, in New York. I’m the
former Mrs. Wingate of Atlanta.”-
At the mention of her name, Dr. Johnson got a shock, recoiled so
violently that he almost fell from the chair. Before him were all the
daily papers that were sent to Wakefield, and all of which he had
read and was glad to close the office so that he could read them over
again.
He knew Florence as Negroes know white people, prominent
white people and although he was only a small boy when Kermit
Early left Wakefield to go north, he also knew Early. And now a
call all the way from New York from a woman whose picture was
in all the papers before him, was a distinction, and he stammered a
bit before he got himself, on hearing her voice, under control. How-
ever, he did very quickly and called back:
“You mean, that you are—”
“Mrs. Kermit Early, nee Mrs. Florence Wingate, and I am calling
you on urgent business from New York, Doctor Johnson.”
“Yes, Mrs. Early, Thank you. I think I understand. I will be glad
to serve you in any way I can.”
“Very well, Doctor Johnson. You know my mother, Mrs. Adair?”
“Yes, Mrs. Early. I've seen your mother. I know where she lives.”
“Well, Dr. Johnson, I've just talked to her, and the events which
you may have heard about have so shocked her that she is ill. You
have heard about it, have you not, Dr. Johnson?”
“I have, Mrs. Early. I have read about it. It is in all the papers.’
“Then you understand, Dr. Johnson?”
“I understand, Mrs. Early, and I repeat, I will be glad to serve you
in any way I can. Just say what you want done.”


T THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 431
Johnson had to pause a moment to enjoy. The next moment he put
his feet hard on the floor and twenty minutes later was ringing the
bell at the Adair home.
Old, but still healthy, destined to live a great many years, Mrs.
Adair was suffering only from shock and fear. Not a single white
person, other than her children had called to offer a word of condol-
ence, not a single one had rung the door bell to give her a word of
kindness, and she was not surprised. She knew that what Florence
had done was the one thing no white person in the South would or
could either condone or forgive. So when Doctor Johnson called, was
admitted and showered her, along with the nurse, with kindness, it
was more than the poor soul could stand. And after a few minutes
of being treated again like she had a heart and soul, she fell
to weeping and the doctor had the nurse put her to bed and prepare
her hot food which she ate and enjoyed, for she had been too upset
by it all to even eat.
He left the nurse with her, with instructions to administer to her
every need, left the house, but called early the next morning to see
how she was faring, to find her up and well and ready to leave for
New York as quickly as arrangements could be made to that effect,
which she wanted made as quickly as the doctor could effect it.
After a long talk over the telephone to Mrs. Early in New York,
the doctor agreed to look after the home, which she would close,
but which Mrs. Adair, wanted to feel was being looked after. The
doctor had an old colored woman whom he knew would be glad to
stay there, keep it up and be happy in doing so, and so advised Mrs.
Early accordingly.
“Very well, Dr.,” Mrs. Early said. “I will go to the bank and wire
you $600.00 at once. $500.00 please give to my mother, for expenses
for her and the nurse to New York, the balance as a retainer to you
on account of service. So you attend to everything and look after
the home. I will send you funds regularly for the upkeep and pay
for the woman you put there. Now please wire me from Macon col-
lect just what train you put them on in Macon and what time it will
arrive in New York.”
The doctor was flattered to do everything he could, and did it well,
and two days later wired Florence Early in New York that her
mother was on the way and what time she was due in New York,


wºn, XXXV
zº
IDNEY WYETH UNDERSTOOD why Mrs. Wingate failed
to keep her appointment at his office the day after the wedding. ,
She called him the next day, however, to apologize for failing
to keep it, which he graciously accepted. In fact, he was relieved
that she did not. He had suddenly decided to finish and get his new
novel out before going on the proposed trip, so called Bertha and ex-
plained to her that he would not go as soon as at first planned; that he
would like to finish the new book and publish it before going, and
which would delay the trip into the autumn. She was agreeable, al-
though, was obviously, by her tone, disappointed.
“In the meantime, I have the manuscript almost completed and I
wonder if you'd mind going through it for me, making it English
perfect and improving it in other ways, or wherever it needs it in
general?” Wyeth asked Bertha.
“I will be glad to help you,” she said, “if you feel that I am
capable of doing so, Mr. Wyeth.”
“I can't think of anyone whom I have more confidence in to do it,
Miss Schultz.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wyeth. I appreciate the confidence you have in
me. Now when would you like me to call and begin to check it?
Or would you prefer bringing the script to our apartment and we
could start to check it here?”
“Why, since we might be bothered here, and it is no trouble for
me to call at your apartment, if agreeable to you.”
“That will be fine, and I shall look forward to seeing you. Now
when P”
“I am not engaged tonight, so can bring it up there around eight
o'clock?” .
“Then please do so, Mr. Wyeth. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there, Miss Schultz,” he said and hung up. He paused to
stretch himself, then went out and had his dinner. Promptly at
-*
432


THE CASE OF M RS. WINGATE 433
eight, he rang the bell at the Schultz apartment and was admitted
by a smiling and neatly dressed Bertha, who welcomed him pleasantly.
“I want to thank you for a wonderful dinner night before last,
Miss Schultz.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Wyeth,” she said, “but you are due to thank
Mrs. Coleman more than me. She supervised its preparation.”
“Then I want to thank you both. It was a fine dinner, and I en-
joyed it and really had a good time up until—”
“The reporters came,” she said, finishing the sentence for him.
“Have you seen the papers?” she said, and then before he could
answer, she went on. “But of course you have.”
“Who hasn't: What a write-up they got!” he said, shaking his
head. -
“In every paper in New York,” she said.
“In the United States,” he corrected.
“I suppose so. My brother bought several out-of-town papers and
they all had a big story about it, along with their pictures.” -
“You ought to read the editorials about it in some of the Southern
papers,” and so saying, he took some from his pocket. She moved
over close to him to examine them, which pleased him strangely and
seemed to please her. She then read two of the editorials out loud
at his request.
“My, what emphasis they put on it. I don't understand,” she
said, lowering the paper and looking at him, inquiringly. “Is all
they say, possible?”
“Nothing to it,” he smiled and shook his head. “Just two people,
one white, the other colored, in love with each other, have long since
found an interest in common, and have sealed it by getting married,
and that is the beginning and end of it.”
“Do you think so?” she said, looking at him closely.
“Of course, the South would make much ado about it because of
the fact that a wealthy white woman married a Negro which alone
is enough to throw their social ideas all out of kelter.”
“And—you don't think it will have any such results as they imply;
that they even say?”
“None whatever.”
“You don't think it will inspire other Negroes to—want to emu-
late them P’’
“It may not happen again in ten years. As to our race trying to


434 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
emulate them, that is silly. In the first place, few Negroes are even
thrown into any association with the whites, and almost never with
white people as wealthy as Mrs. Wingate happens to be.”
“I suppose not.”
“Negroes and whites, especially whites of the upper and wealthier
classes never meet socially, north, south, east, or west. We Negroes
really have little to interest any white people, much less a wealthy
one.”
“One of the papers,” she said, looking around as if to find it. She
could not without rising, so sighed a bit and went on, giving find-
ing the paper up, perhaps as not worth while, “gave a very good story
of how it started. Back in that little town in Georgia, and said some-
thing about her financing his education.”
“We all knew that, at least I did.”
“My brother did also. In the meantime, she seemed very much
interested in you.” Wyeth looked at her and smiled a little.
“It made me a-a bit—jealous,” she dared to say, and when he
turned to look at her quickly, she lowered her eyes and blushed.
“Looks like you are developing a sense of humor,” said he, look-
ing at her shyly. She raised a pair of beautiful eyes to him.
“A sense of humor?”
“A sense of humor. Meaning, jealous of the lady.” She laughed,
blushed, went on.
“But I was.”
“Oh, Miss Schultz.”
“I felt it very much when I looked out and saw her dancing with
you. She seemed so pleased, and you seemed the same way.”
“Miss Schultz l’”
“I felt better after you—danced with me.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t believe me?” w
“I refuse to.”
“I’m sorry. I wish you would. In the meantime, maybe we'd better
get to work on your story?”
“I think we should, too.” She lowered her eyes in a way that he
always liked to see her do. He pulled the heavy manuscript out of
his portfolio and handed it to her. Her eyes opened in surprise, as
she took and examined it a moment.
“Gracious, what a manuscript!” she exclaimed, looking at it as


436 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“I’m glad to feel that you know how,” he said. Her eyes had been
lowered to the script, she raised them back up into his, and smiled at
him again, sweetly. Her hand was still on his arm. She seemed to
have forgotten it, but he hadn't. He looked down at it, she followed
his gaze, blushed, furiously, drew it away, looked up at him, blushed
again.
“I think you are due some compliments yourself,” he now said, in a
low voice. She looked up quickly in surprise.
“Me? For what?” He smiled down into her eyes. He hadn't in-
tended to but in the moment he couldn't seem to help it.
“For being such a lovely person, such an agreeable assistant, so
nice about—everything.”
“Oh,” she said. “That is nothing.” Kept her eyes downcast, but
the blood was in her face.
“I think it is,” he heard himself saying. “I think you are.” She
looked up at him again now. His face was afire with what he felt.
She saw it and her heart in the moment, went out to him.
“Do you think I am, Mr. Wyeth 2 Really?”
“Really, Miss Schultz. I do think so. I think you're about the most
wonderful girl, about the nicest girl—the loveliest girl I ever met,
and I–” and then he broke off. Hesitated. She looked quickly up,
her face aflame with a feeling she didn't quite understand, herself.
“—what, Mr.—Wyeth 7" - -
“I—I—oh, I'm afraid to say it,” and he lowered his eyes. Again
her small hand went forward quickly. Placed it on his arm. Looked
up into his eyes frankly, honestly.
“Please do, Mr. Wyeth,” she said. He raised his eyes and theirs
met. What was in hers was in his. Was it affection?
“I—I don't think I–ought to, Bertha-that is, Miss Schultz.” Her
hand on his arm tightened, the fingers around his wrist, trembled
eVen.
“Please call me Bertha-that is, if you want to.”
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
“I do,” she said, and lowered her eyes, but kept her grip on his
wrist. -
“Then I have a first name. Maybe you might try calling me—by
it,” he said. She looked up at him.
“Sidney,” she said and lowered her eyes again. “It’s a pretty
name.” -


the case of MRS. wiNGATE 437
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I’ve always thought so. There is something, in the meantime, on
your mind, Sidney,” she was saying now, eyes lowered, but daring
to glance up, only to lower them again, as she went on. “Why don't
you—get it off? Say what it is; what it is that you're feeling.”
He was silent and she noted it, looked up, a question in her eyes.
“I'm afraid to,” he said, calmly but frankly.
“Must—I say it for you?” she asked, eyes downcast.
“I would like you to,” he said.
“You want me to say that—that you—like me, Sidney?”
“I do like you, Bertha. At the same time, I'm afraid that you—
that you are not free. That is why I–I don't want to say so much—
now, at least.” Raising her eyes to his now, into which had gone
suddenly a softness.
“You’re—so wonderful about everything, Sidney. So understand-
ing, and—I trust you, and—like you, too. I like you a whole lot.
But you are right about what you said; that I am—not free. I am
not free, Sidney, and because I am not, I am sorry. Sorry for myself,
sorry for you.”
“That is the way I feared it was. It is because of that that I don't
want to say much more—just now.”
“You’re a darling,” she said, eyes down, tears flowing; she was
using a kerchief. He moved closer. He placed an arm about her waist
and she made it easy for him to do so.
“I—I understand everything, Bertha, and I want to—help you.”
She was weeping now and laid her head on his shoulder. He
placed a hand beneath her chin, tilted her head back slightly and
kissed her lips. She did not draw away but returned the kiss, and wept
harder. He didn't kiss her again. He was sorry for her. He squeez-
ed her hand and she did not resist. He knew at last that he loved
Bertha Schultz and that she loved him. He knew and appre-
ciated that Bertha was a German agent, a Nazi spy, sent to America
by no less a person than Adolf Hitler on a mission; with a task to
perform. He knew that this mission might call upon her to do many
things subversive, and he was sorry that such a sweet and beautiful,
tender and lovable girl was shouldered by such a nefarious task. Yet
he understood that she could not be free as long as it lasted; that
she couldn't stop it and feel that she was doing her duty.
He decided then and there, however, to keep Bertha from doing


… XXXVI
RS. EARLY WAS WAITING at the Pennsylvania Station
M for the train that was bringing her mother from Georgia to
New York, to arrive. It was late as most trains were at the
time, so she found a seat, purchased a magazine and made herself
comfortable, and patient. Meanwhile, Mrs. Adair, aboard the train
which had just left North Philadelphia, was relaxing comfortably,
and was enjoying the ride.
Dr. Johnson had been able to secure a drawing room for her and
the nurse. The papers were still publishing something about her
daughter's marriage to a Negro, so Mrs. Adair decided since every-
body knew about it and were talking about it, to talk to the nurse,
whose name was Betty, about it. She began to do this before the
train had gotten out of South Carolina. When she heard Florence
called, she recalled that it was while crossing those same tracks that
Mr. Wingate had been killed, so turned to Betty abruptly.
“Did they say Florence, Betty?”
“Yes, Mrs. Adair. This is Florence, South Carolina.”
“Florence, South Carolina,” she repeated more to herself than to
the girl. “This is where Mr. Wingate was killed.”
“Were you—speaking to me, Mrs. Adair?” said Betty who had
been sitting, but had risen quickly and now stood by the old lady
who looked up at her quickly, a bit surprised.
“No, Betty. I was talking to myself, but sit down there,” pointing
to the seat facing her. “Maybe I might talk to you. I want to talk
to somebody.”
Betty sat down. The old lady looked at her closely.
“You look like an intelligent girl, Betty.”
Betty flushed, didn't know just how to answer.
After a pause, during which she framed a simple reply, she spoke:
“Thank you, Mrs. Adair. I try to be.”
439


440 the CASE OF MRS. WINGATE -
“Well,” Mrs. Adair went on. “You are an intelligent girl and a
nice girl. Too bad you're not a white girl.”
“I’m satisfied to be just what I am, Mrs. Adair.”
Mrs. Adair looked at her again.
“Have you read that new novel, Passion, Betty?”
“Yes, Mrs. Adair. I've read it.”
“What did you think of it?”
“It was interesting,” she replied.
“But did you like it?”
“It wasn't a story that one would, I think, exactly like, Mrs. Adair.
Not the way I see it, anyhow.” -
“I’d think that the colored people would dislike it. That educated
colored girl in it, in love and pregnant by a scalawag white man who
couldn't marry her. Who didn't want to marry her.”
“Colored and white people don't usually marry each other,” said
Betty. “Nobody expected the man to marry the girl.”
“Yes, but he got her in family way. According to the law of
God and all that is holy, he was due to protect her.”
“He tried to, in a way,” said Betty, simply.
“Sure he did. Gave a big, black, buck of a nigger money to
marry her.”
Betty laughed.
“I read the book but I didn't like it. Didn't like anything about it,
but it had lots of truth—too much truth, maybe. And maybe that's
why lots of us people in the South don't like it. Yet we're all reading
it. That will make the book, or help make it, at least, a financial
success.” - - -
“I’d think so,” said Betty.
“This race question, strange thing, isn't it, Betty?”
“I'm afraid so,” said Betty.
After some hesitation, like as though she wanted to say some-
thing and didn't know just how to start, Mrs. Adair finally picked
up a paper, turned to Mr. and Mrs. Early's pictures and held them
up to Betty's gaze.
“Been reading about them, Betty?”
“Yes, Mrs. Adair. I've been reading about them.”
“The woman's my daughter.”
“So I understand, Mrs. Adair,” said Betty.


THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE 441
“A sort of Passion in reverse, Betty.” -
Betty smiled, said nothing, waited respectfully, her hands folded
in her lap. Betty was raised in Wakefield. Had been trained to listen
to white people when they talked and answer when spoken to.
“Naturally it's got me all upset. I’ve had to leave my home. Born
in Wakefield, lived there all my life. Then this had to happen—and I
was afraid to meet anybody I've known. I’m running away now, like a
criminal, in a way. Nobody has said a word to me, not a word in a
town where I’d lived until nigh onto seventy years. Isn't that some-
thing, Betty?”
“I'm afraid so, Mrs. Adair. I'm sorry.”
“I’m sorry for myself, Betty. Yet what can I do? The woman who
did this, and whose picture you see in that paper is my daughter. A
beautiful woman, Betty, a rich woman.” -
Betty looked at the pictures. “She is beautiful, Mrs. Adair.”
“Ten years ago she was considered the prettiest girl in Wakefield,
belle of the town.” She picked up the paper, looked at the pictures,
shook her head, hopelessly. .
“The man. He used to live there, too, was born there. Went from
this town about the same time my daughter married Mr. Wingate, a
rich mill owner, in Atlanta. I know his father, knew his father's
father. Fine niggers. Ran a barber shop there for generations for
white trade. Fine niggers, I tell you, respected by everybody in Wake-
field—and now he shows up in New York, head full of fine educa-
tion—and marries my daughter, a white woman.” She lowered her
eyes to cry. -
Betty came over on the seat beside her, placed an arm about her
and comforted her. After a good hearty cry, with Betty comforting
her the best she could, she sat up, pointed to the seat facing her,
whereupon Betty moved over and sat down again to face her.
“My own daughter, to break her mother's heart. Do something
like this when she knew that they would never, never as long as
there is a speck of blood in their veins, stand for or forgive. Why,
even the dogs in Wakefield like me; they bark at and play with me
when I pass along the street. And, over night, I lose every friend I
have—almost every soul in Wakefield. I think even the dogs, are mad
about it. I can picture them running away when they see me now,
howling with their tails between their hind legs. I don't see why she


444 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
She understood and Florence knew she understood, what she was
talking about.
“I had the hardest time keeping nice while still too young to think
of getting married. It was then it started. I was sensible enough to
realize that I couldn't play around with white boys back there in
Wakefield, so I turned and tried to make Kermit satisfy my desires.”
Fier mother's eyes opened wider. “But he refused. He wouldn't let
me, I tried to make him. I kept on trying to make him until I virtually
ran him out of Wakefield. He had to leave his home because I kept
after him so.” Again Mrs. Adair opened her eyes wide.
“So all this Kermit is being charged with, is not his fault. It was
not his doing. It was me. Me, Mother; please get that straight in your
mind at the outset. Not Kermit. Me, Mother, Me!
“You know all about how I met Mr. Wingate; you knew that he
was old; that I did not love him, but consented to marry him and
finally did to help you, my brothers and my sisters; to give them
their chance in life.”
“Yes, I remember and understand all that, daughter,” said Mrs.
Adair, with lowered eyes.
“It turned out to be a greater sacrifice than any of you thought;
than any of you ever knew.” -
Mrs. Adair looked up. She found her daughter looking straight at
her, with eyes that seemed to burn holes through her.
“What do you mean, Florence?”
“As badly as I needed to be married, needed to have a husband to
satisfy all that nature had put into me, the night following the after-
noon that we got married in Wakefield, and went to Atlanta, where
we stopped over that night on our honeymoon to Europe, Mr. Win-
gate broke down in our bedroom and made a shocking confession.”
Mrs. Adair started.
“Florence, what do you mean?”
“He told me that he was not a normal man, mother.”
“What l” cried Mrs. Adair.
Florence, still looking straight and hard at her, nodded her head.
“He told me there on our wedding night, that he was not a normal
man, mother.”
“You mean?”
“That he was like—like—Leo M. Frank. You remember the Frank


448 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
“I’m glad, mother. I had hoped that you would. Kermit and I
will be leaving in a week or ten days.”
“Just one thing, darling,” said her mother. “The girl I brought
with me from Wakefield. I would like to ask her to stay with me,
if she wants to. Being from Wakefield, she understands me better,
I would feel that—”
“I’ll ask her to. If she's agreeable, I'll call Dr. Johnson and ask him
to release her.”
“Oh, then I will soon get used to it. Being from Wakefield, I
won't be afraid of her as I might be of some of these northern
darkies—”
“Now, mother, that is one thing you must not do; that you must
get used to not doing.” -
Mrs. Adair was bewildered, turned to Florence.
“Did I–make a mistake, dear?”
“Yes, mother, you did. You musn't call colored people “darkies' and
“niggers' up here. They don't like it. They don't like it in Wakefield,
but they have to take it down there, so just shrug their shoulders and
pretend it doesn't matter. It does, and you must get used to using the
word ‘colored’ and “Negroes' and then you won't make anybody
angry.”
“Of course not. I’ll be careful, darling. We shouldn't call them
such names in Wakefield, and I will be glad to quit calling them by
those ugly names.”
“Now the next thing, mother. In marrying a colored man, I knew
that my future association would be mostly with them. While you
don't have to, it will be well if you just try to get used to that, too.
You won't have to associate with anybody that you don't want to.
New York is where nobody pays any attention to anybody else, unless
it is mutual. You can live right in this apartment for ten years and
they wouldn't try find out who you were from next door. So you can
live right here, in the way you want to live. The town is filled with
churches and you can go to any one of them that you want to, come on
home and do what you want without being bothered by anybody. I
hope the girl who came along to attend you will want to stay in New
York for awhile at least, for she will make a better companion for
you than anybody up here.” -
“That's what I want, honey. Somebody for a companion and Betty


currºr XXXVII
FTER HAVING declared their love, Bertha and Wyeth
found it easier to greet and welcome each other and to work
together. They both seemed happier after that, and started
going together regularly. He began to take her to shows and to
moving pictures, dining together frequently and going for long rides
in his car, growing more devoted to each other as time went by.
Meanwhile she was assisting him with his completed manuscript and
was improving the reading of it tremendously, without adding, as she
admitted, a single thing to the story that he had told. Her assistance
was simply making the story easier to read, and more beautiful in its
general construction. Bertha enjoyed the work and Wyeth and
Marie were pleased to have her so near. All three had much in
CO1111110m.
He provided a desk for her near Marie's in his office and she spent
considerable time there and neatly retyped the manuscript after going
through it carefully. It was a voluminous mass—when he finally
wrote finis at the end of it. Before retyping, as stated, she went
through it, sentence by sentence with the most infinite care, and
both were greatly satisfied with it as they turned it over to the type-
setter.
“I want you, Bertha,” he said, as they sat in his car in a glade of
a forest in Tarrytown, where they had driven for a Sunday's out-
ing, and from which spot they could look down on the lazy waters of
the Hudson as they floated south to meet the salt waters of Long
Island Sound, “to read the proofs with as much care as you have
checked the manuscript.”
“You know how glad I will be to do so, sweetheart,” she said, her
little hand in his, his arm about her waist. -
“You have changed my whole life, Bertha. In spite of the fact
that you cannot marry me until this awful war is over, and I am not
asking or expecting you to, you have brought more happiness and
451


452 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
contentment into my life than I have ever known,” he said with a
happy sigh as he squeezed her.
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Sidney, dear. Words are inade-
quate to express how much you have brought into my life. I'm so
happy, in spite of that which you spoke of, until I want to sing a
little prayer every night when I retire; every morning when I arise, to
thank God for it. I love you so much that nothing else matters. It
just thrills my heart to think that I have you; that we have each
other,” and she laid her lovely head against his and just sighed with
contentment.
“In the meantime, Kermit and his wife just suddenly disappeared.
Disappeared as if into nowhere. I wonder why?”
She was silent a moment, and he turned to look at her.
“She told me before she left, dear, but in confidence, why.”
“Oh,” he cried, then broke off and didn't ask her to tell him. She
sat up straight, looked at him, then patted his cheek.
“I’ll tell you, dear, because I know you won't repeat it to anybody.”
“You don't have to tell me if you don't wish to, darling,” he said.
“But I wish to, Sidney. Mrs. Wingate is going to have a baby in a
short while.”
“Oh,” he cried, understandingly. “That's why they went away so
suddenly, eh?” -
“Yes. If they stayed here and she had it, long before it would be
due according to the date they married, it would—”
“—look bad—and might get into the papers,” he said understand-
ingly.
“That's it, and is why they decided to go away where no one here
would know anything about the time when the child was born.”
“Very sensible on their part.” -
“That's what I thought,” said Bertha, “since their marriage created
such a furore, the birth of a baby so soon after they married might
get a whole lot more unfavorable publicity at this time, so they are
trying to avoid that.”
“I’m rather glad they had to go away when they did, however," he
said. She looked at him, inquiringly.
“He had been after me for a long time to direct and produce a
picture from a story he had written and was most anxious to bring
out. A hate picture designed to make Negroes hate Jews and put


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 453
them into action as far as they were able to go, against them, and
I didn't want to do it.”
“I know you didn't, Sidney, and I, too, am glad he went away since
I know that you didn't want to make it.”
“That was what she was going to come and see me about, after
making the appointment the night of their wedding.”
“But when the newspapers came out and threw them all out of
balance,” said Bertha, “added to which, she had to send for her
mother down in Georgia, where they had ostracized her so, that she
couldn't stay there longer, all on account of her marrying a colored
man; and then having to go away to keep from being talked about
again, so she had to give up seeing you.”
Wyeth smiled. “I knew it, and am relieved. I suppose he had sold
her on the idea and she had plans to try to persuade me to do so,
but in another way.”
“A way that they didn't get to. Meantime, just about when do you
think we'll get away on our trip?” she wanted to know.
“In October.”
“October? I will be glad when the time comes, dear,” she said.
He looked at her.
Her face was serious and she did not turn to meet his eyes. She was
thinking about her brother. He had been busier than ever lately.
Ever since Von Barwig arrived, meeting after meeting had been
the order of the day. Her brother told her that Japan was planning
on attacking America very shortly; and that in view of the fact that
America was considered by Germany to be practically in the war on
the side of England, and that if and when Japan attacked America,
would be the signal for Germany and Italy to declare war on America.
He told her that when this happened the long delayed plans that had
been formulated, and were still being whipped into shape, downtown
would go into effect, and that he hoped Wyeth would not take her
away, as he was sure they would be needing her very soon.
She had to pretend that she would be ready to do whatever they
wanted her to, but she wasn't enthusiastic about it any longer. Ever
since she had met Sidney Wyeth and become impressed with his
philosophy, she was conscious that the purpose they might assign her
to carry out, would be very distasteful. She had not told her brother
that she was in love with Sidney, although she found him leoking at


454 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
her often a bit oddly as if with a feeling that she was, but he was
too deeply enmeshed in what he was doing to talk about it, and
she was glad that he did not. She had become, in fact, far more
interested in Sidney Wyeth and what he was doing than she was
in carrying out the wishes of Adolf Hitler. Since she and Wyeth
had declared their love for each other, she found herself thinking
more about her future life in America, as the wife of the man she
loved, than of the glory of Adolf Hitler, who at this time was rolling
across Russia, well on the way to the Volga, and who, at the time,
was expected to capture Moscow, an expectation that was shared in by
the entire world. -
What Bertha was thinking most about at the present, however, was
to get away where her brother could not reach her very easily to send
her on any subversive mission. She was still going downtown, meet-
ing a lot of women that she did not care about and never had, but who
were the busiest people she ever met, “keeping America out of the
war,” they called it, while all the while, America, she knew, was headed
as straight for it as she could go, and according to her brother, would
be in it by the first of the coming year.
She relaxed after a time and sat back in her seat.
“Will we be going anywhere near this place where you used to
live in South Dakota, Sidney?”
“No, dear, not very near.” He looked at her quickly and smiled.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You talk so much about it; of how you settled
there and lived in a sod house all by yourself, and seemed to have been
so happy and hopeful; regarding the future, until you've got me
thinking about it, too. Thinking about it and hoping some day I
will see it and, perhaps live with you those years again which you've
said that if you could have had—me, then, that you would never have
left there.” -
“Had it been possible for me to have known you then Bertha, and
to have had your love and help as you are giving it to me now, I would
still be there, with, no doubt, a large and fine family by this time.”
“Oh, Sidney, no,” she cried and hid her face on his shoulder.
“We’re going to have that family yet, Bertha, dear, even if we can't
go back to that farm I developed off there in South Dakota.” For an-
swer she squeezed him and both wished then that they could drive to
a magistrate or a minister and be married and start to having the


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 455
family both dared dream about. Then the thought of war with it's
millions of young men dying, with other millions now living and happy
and hopeful who would die before it was all over, came to them and
they dismissed all ideas of any immediate happiness in marriage—and
decided to be content just to love each other until they could do better.
October came as it has been coming once a year since the beginning
of time, and Wyeth's new book was ready. They had busied themselves,
compiling a list of thousands of names and addresses of people who
had bought the other book, copy for newspaper advertisements and
about everything needed for Marie to work with, while with a goodly
supply of both books, Bertha and Wyeth left early one morning,
heading Southward on their long planned trip.
PEARL HARBOR
On the morning of December the Seventh, which was Sunday, they
awakened to hear over their portable radios, somewhere in the South-
land, that Japan had launched her sneak attack on America at Pearl
Harbor. America was at last in the war, but from a direction nobody
had been expecting her to enter it, are to be drawn into the con-
flagration |


º, XXXVIII
66 ELL, DEAR BERTHA,” said Wyeth, when they say.
W down to breakfast together just before noon that fatal
Sunday. “It is here. America is at war.”
“Isn't it terrible, darling,” she said, shaking her head sadly. He
shook his head helplessly. -
“I knew it would come. I’ve been afraid it would for a long time,”
he said.
“My brother told me that it was brewing, and that the Japanese
Ambassador would call on Secretary Hull during the hours of attack
as a gesture.”
“With all due respect to our Secretary of State, I thought his
answer to Japan was most stupid,” said Wyeth. Bertha looked at
him. “Japan has no doubt planned this move for a long time, and now
when it seems that Russia is completely licked and may be broken
up as a result of the war, who knows. Still, I was flabbergasted when
I read his reply to Japan, ordering her to do all those things when it
should have been obvious to anybody that since Japan had gone as
far as she had and at such cost she wasn't going to turn back com-
pletely just because our Secretary of State asked her to.”
“My brother said that America would find Japan a more bitter
and ruthless enemy than Germany.”
“I’ve never trusted Japan, and I agree with your brother. It sure
looks bad for us. I'm afraid it's going to be a long war and a hard
and bitter one,” he said, with a sigh.
“Will it make any difference in your immediate plans, dear?”
she asked, her eyes on him anxiously.
“None, Bertha. I'm too old for the army, and I cannot help my
country in any way by changing my plans,” he said. Bertha seemed
relieved when he said that, and turned to eating her breakfast with a
greater relish,
456


THE CASE of MRS. wingATE 457
In the meantime, back in New York, Heinrich had been called
by order of Dr. Herr Von Barwig to the office of Hans Schiller
to meet with most of the other German agents operating in the
Eastern area. Activities were in full force. The call, as stated, had
been sent out by the Herr Doctor, who knew well in advance of
Japan's carefully planned sneak attack on Pearl Harbor; and who
knew also that it would be followed by a declaration of war on Amer-
ica by Germany and Italy. All of which had been planned by Hitler
and Mussolini to coincide and follow Japan's sneak attack.
Von Barwig also reckoned, and well, that promptly after all
this happened, a nation-wide dragnet would be thrown all over Amer-
ica to uncover and stop as quickly as they could be found, all sub-
versive activities which had spread and were operating in no end
of places under the guise of “America First,” and other “patriotic”
organizations. This activity had become so general that it was going
on to a small degree in the streets of most towns. Solicitors were
everywhere, contacting and soliciting joiners right in the streets, and
in broad daylight, all directed from one central point under the super-
vision of Dr. Von Barwig.
Knowing that all such activities would fall immediately under
suspicion, and would be promptly investigated by agents of the
FBI, Von Barwig had called this meeting for the purpose of, among
other things, disbanding insofar as further meetings at that particular
address were concerned.
“The FBI,” he said, addressing the agents assembled, “will go into
action on a scale far more sweeping than ever before. It has started
already and it is only a question of a few days, possibly only a few
hours, before we will be investigated. So it would be foolhardy for
us to attempt to continue meeting in this hall.”
He then advised all present to wait for a call from him, designating
where to meet in the future.
“In the meantime,” he went on further to advise, “Secure some kind
of a job. The best you can find, and fitted to your likes and what you
can best do, but get a job so that when and if you happen to be
questioned, you can answer satisfactorily and avoid being taken to
police headquarters and investigated. Every man and woman of Ger-
man extraction and with German sympathies will fall under suspicion
and immediately after the Fuehrer declares war on this country there
-


458 THE CASE OF MPS. WINGATE
will be wholesale arrests. Many will be jailed, mostly on suspicion.
So now while all is still free and clear, get busy; get your story
straight; let it be a logical one, and stick to it when and if you are
hauled in. We have a long list of good lawyers in our ranks, so do
your part and we'll see that you are properly defended in the event of
arrest and attempted prosecution.”
After the meeting Heinrich met Hans Schiller in a tavern, where,
over their beer, they had a long talk.
“What kind of a job do you plan, Heinrich 7" said Scihller after he
had drunk deeply from his stein, which he now set down before him,
and waited. -
“I’m already employed—in a way,” said Heinrich, toying with
his stein, his eyes on it and a smile on his face. Schiller looked at
him in some surprise.
“I doped this thing out,” Schultz went on to explain, “a long time
ago, when I had a feeling it might come to this.”
“So,” said Schiller. “How 2 Come on and let me in on something.”
His eyes still on his fingers as he toyed with the stein, Heinrich
raised them to Hans now, and became a bit serious. “I’m sorta tied
up with a little, struggling Negro newspaper in Harlem. I'm their star
reporter—and part owner of it, into the bargain,” and then he
smiled again, as if to himself.
“What's this?” said Hans. “Sort of a joke?”
“No,” replied Heinrich. “Strictly on the level.”
“Is that so?” said Schiller, a touch of doubt still in his tone. “Well,
let a fellow in on it. Tell me about it.”
“I don't mind,” said Heinrich. He took a swallow from his stein,
then went on.
“To know colored people, you've got to be one. In spite of having
been thoroughly schooled in Nazism, I lived for ten years before that
in America. Those were my adolescent and tender years when certain
things become a part of you. Those ten years gave me a certain outlook
on life in keeping with the way the Negro is treated in this country,
and the sympathies I developed in his cause during those ten years
still linger with me, so I am able to alternate into his philosophies
as readily as I want to. I am at war, along with the Reich, against
America, but I am in sympathy with the Negro in his fight here
for a greater freedom and am out to help when and however I can.”


460 THE CASE OF Mr.S. WINGATE
you owe me for, I can't print your paper tonight, and that's final. I’ll
have to pie all the type and give up printing it altogether. I’m
sorry, but that's the way it stands!’
“Those poor devils pleaded so long and so hard until their throats
were dry; they couldn't do much more now than make gestures with
their hands, but I could see that this was one time the printer was
going to stick to what he said. They had to give him some
money, and as I’ve told you, being colored, they didn't have any but
were ‘going to’ have some—soon, of course. Meantime, they had to
have the paper on the street the next morning, or else they were a
pair of cooked geese. -
“The printer, as if convinced that he wouldn't get any, started to
leave the place and came toward the door. Just as he reached me, I
raised my hand and he stopped. “I couldn't help overhearing the-
controversy,' I said. ‘May I ask what is the trouble?' Just as if I
didn't know. He went on to tell me, while they cut in with this alibi
and that alibi. He would wave them down and start all over again,
and they in turn would start all over again with more and new alibis.
I listened for a couple of minutes while he tried to tell me, but could
never finish for their butting in. Finally I raised my hand and,
stopping them from trying to tell their side, I said:
“‘These fellows are friends of mine. Why don't you give them a
break P’”
“‘A break!’ he shouted loudly, throwing up his hands. “That's what
I've been giving them. Breaks, nothing but breaks. Now I must have
a break—$175.00 or else!’
“He was in a new rage and started past me out the door, when I laid
a hand on his arm and said, reaching for my wallet with the other
hand. “All right, my friend.' I counted out $125.00 and looked at him.
He looked at the money hungrily. “I haven't $175,00, but here's
$125.00 that belongs to somebody else, but I'll take a chance and give
it to you on their account, providing you print the paper as you
are due to tonight. Is it a deal?’”
“Then what did he do?” asked Schiller, curiously.
“He took it, of course.”
“And printed their paper. Then what?” from Schiller.
“I became part owner.” -
Schiller laughed.


462 THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE
“Hate them like poison. They tried to play along to get American
dollars, but they simply will not go all out as many of the other
S. A. states have done, regardless,” said Heinrich.
“The Doctor is all set with communications. You get the low-
down on when the ships will sail, turn the information over to us,
and old Doc will shoot it on in code to the Argentine, and they'll relay
it to the commanders of the U-Boat wolf packs as they are called,
and—bingo, another ship goes to the bottom.”
“As easy and as simple as taking candy from a baby—in a great
big and supposedly smart country like America,” and Heinrich
smirked.
“It doesn't seem possible.”
“It wouldn't be possible and so simple in my case if it wasn't
because they play the Negro down so. A few smart Negro dicks on the
FBI milling around Harlem and they'd soon catch on to my racket and
throw me in jail.”
“Maybe they'll be sending some up there if they get suspicious as
to where the leak is coming from.”
“Never,” said Heinrich, shaking his head.
“Why not?” Schiller wanted to know.
Turning to him, then taking a big drink of beer, Heinrich set the
glass down and went on, his face dark with resentment.
“It’s the South.” ~
“The South?” echoed Schiller, not understanding.
“That's what I said. The hand of the South, reaching out to cow
the Negro, discourage him and keep him as they put it “in his place'.”
“You’re talking Greek now.”
“I’m talking German, a language that we both understand. And I
tell you that it is southern influence and control that keeps the De-
partment of Investigation from even hiring any Negro for secret
service, much less training any in the art. Although practically one
third of the people south of the Mason-Dixon line are Negroes,
only a few towns down there have Negro police, and when they do
have they are supposed to confine most of their arrests to Negroes.”
“You don't say,” exclaimed Schiller, amazed.
“You, a German, wouldn't know that, of course, and I wouldn't
if I wasn't a Negro, living with and putting up with all that is forced
on them. But I know that always during a Democratic Administra-


470 THE CASE OF MIRS. WINGATE
manders of the U-boat wolf packs lurking off our eastern shores.
Not only once, but many times, rescued seamen from sunken mer-
chant ships, told the same story: that after they had been torpedoed,
many of the commanders would surface their craft and call across to
such of the crews as had survived the explosion and sinking, to inform
them that they knew just when they had sailed, and knew when they
would be coming along and that all they had to do was just be patient
and wait, which they had done, and that they would then laugh and
order their craft to submerge.
Meanwhile, at the Schultz apartment on Sugar Hill in Harlem,
Heinrich had a visitor. It was Schiller, with whom he was in heated
debate with at the moment regarding the war.
“Well,” said Hans, cheerfully, a big smile of satisfaction lighting
his face. “It looks like everything is all over but the shouting,” and
felt greatly cheered. “As I see it, it'll be impossible for this country to
replace enough of the ships that our U-boats are sinking, in time
to defeat Hitler. It just can't be done,” he cried, convinced in his
own estimation that it could not be and rose to his feet and walked
up and down for a few minutes. This was Schiller's way. A rest-
less and determined person, he was estimating the progress of the
war and felt sure that Hitler would win it.
“Perhaps not,” said Heinrich, “but they're sure going to try like
hell. I’ve been looking in on all their efforts from the state of Maine
to the Virginia capes, and I have never seen such feverish activity. If
the Fuehrer beats them, he'll have to start doing it in a mighty big
hurry, and go like hell before those thousands of ships they have
set to building, go sliding down the ways.”
This annoyed Schiller, and he started walking again, back and
forth, up and down, presently paused.
“You mean, ship building?”
“I didn't mean skiffs. Also every other kind of building that will
produce goods with which to shoot at Hitler.”
“Well, that's what you think. Germany's won the war and all that's
left to do is for the United Nations to sue for peace and stop the
slaughter and the losses while there's still something left for them
to start over again with.” He started to walking the floor again im-
patiently, then pausing, turned and pointing a finger at Heinrich,
cried :


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 471
“Getting back to what we were talking about, Heinrich—sinking
ships off the east coast here. At the rate they are being sunk, how in
hell are they ever going to catch up? Build as many as we are
sinking?”
“At the rate our U-boats are sending them to the bottom, they'll
finally develop a better measure of protection. They'll have to. This
high rate of sinkings can't continue.”
“Understand that they've decided to withdraw all oil tankers al-
ready. That'll burden the railroads which already are overloaded.”
“The Herr Doctor was telling me,” smiled Heinrich, “of how
the commanders, contacting him via short wave, were laughing about
how easy the tankers were to hit. They said that they could release a
torpedo as far as three to five miles away—release them if they
wanted to while still submerged, and hit one of those quarter-of-a-
mile long fellows, with perfect ease. They say that it's like taking
candy from a baby,” and both laughed.
“Now there you are. What are they going to do about it?”
“You mean the shipping, the coastwise shipping?”
“That's what I mean. All their destroyers are tied up, convoying
the ships going to England.”
“That is why we have such a free hand on this side of the Atlantic.
They haven't any destroyers to protect convoys, South—but they'll
get some by and by and my little racket will play out. Besides, when
I see this begin to happen. I've sense enough to turn to something
else to mess matters up and make it hard for them.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I could manage to wreck a few trains. I’ve made a careful study
of how. And by the time I’ve gotten around to it, I’ll know better
how,” and Heinrich winked at Schiller and poured another glass of
beer.
The former Mrs. Wingate, now Mrs. Kermit Early, living with
her colored husband at a hacienda, far to the south of Buenos Aires
in Patagonia, had been taken to the nearest hospital in that far off
country and had given birth to a pair of twins, babies, a boy and a
girl, and both she and Kermit were delighted.
As we return to them again in our story, she had left the hospital
with a Spanish nurse to take care of the little ones, returned to the


CHAPTER X | /
IDNEY WYETH AND BERTHA SCHULTZ had completed
their trip, which had been prolonged by Wyeth, not merely
to keep Bertha from being returned any sooner than possible
to where she would again come directly under the influence of her
brother, but because they had developed such a complete measure
of success, that staying out paid and paid well.
Wyeth's new book had become, to an appreciable degree, a best
seller, and the demands from bookstores and other sources, required
their attention and service in New York and, immediately following
their return, they were compelled to enlarge their office space. Bertha,
who by now knew as much about it as did Wyeth and Marie, became
an executive and was given her own office and a stenographer.
Meanwhile, the war had been going its destructive way, but
England and America, after meeting no end of disaster, defeats and
loss of territory in the Pacific, which Japan had seized so quickly
that it didn't seem possible, were at last beginning to see the light
in the clearing.
Montgomery had stopped the “desert fox” at El Alamein. Not only
had he stopped him when the whole world had expected the early
fall of Alexandria and the capture of the Suez Canal, which Benito
Mussolini had thrown Italy into the war to secure, but were expect-
ing in due time, Cairo, further down the Nile, to capitulate.
Instead, after turning Rommel back at El Alamein, Montgomery's
8th army had fell upon the far flung legions of Adolf Hitler's
African Corps, and chased them clear across North Africa, finally
catching up with them and cornering them at Bizerte, where the .
entire army was forced to surrender. But Rommel escaped by plane
to Italy, where Americans joined with the famous 8th army, to drive
the Axis from Sicily, onto the famous boot, where after stalling them
for months at Cassino, finally broke through, drove on north through
474


478 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
ger he was to find out in due time, than it should have been, for his
own safety—and that of his country. Watson was sociable—and
talked, freely; told everything he knew. Heinrich listened with keen
interest, to everything he said, interposing a question now and then.
So in the language and slang of Negroes, Watson spilled his “guts”.
Soon, Heinrich knew more about the war officers' trip west-
ward than Watson himself. At a point, Heinrich raised his hand and
said:
“While passing through Iowa, on the way from the Pacific coast
a long time ago, I recall crossing one of the highest bridges I ever
saw.”
“That's on the Northwestern,” cried Watson. “Sho. We cross it
on the way to Omaha, just west of Boone, Iowa, over the Coon
River.”
“Over the Coon River, eh?”
“Sho. About ten miles West of Boone.”
“It is sure one high bridge,” said Heinrich reminiscently.
“Said to be the highest in the world.” replied Watson. “Over 100
feet from the bridge to the river. So high that all trains slow to
twenty miles an hour when they cross it.”
“It that So?” -
“Sho is, brother. I’m the one who knows. You'll find me a man
who is informed. I can tell you about every Railroad in America,
especially west and South.
“So these high officials will be passing over that bridge if they go
west to the coast?”
“Sho. But I haven't told you the whole story,” said Watson, swell-
ing with pride. -
“No, Watson?”
“Naw, man. Dey asked fo’ me through the office. Dey told old
Giltzow to hold me in reserve or dey would go over another rail-
road. So old A. W. sends fo’ me and told dem not to sign me out on
any other car, but to hold me in reserve for this special party of
nuthin' but big men.”
“They know a good man, Watson,” said Heinrich, patting his
shoulder. “In the meantime, I'm due to go to Omaha soon and I'll
plan the trip so that I can go on the same train that hauls your car.”
“Why not do that, boy? We'll have a good time all the way to


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 479
Omaha. Plenty good food, good whiskey, nothing but Scotch. Wish
you was going all the way to the coast.”
“Sorry I won't be.”
Heinrich decided then and there to go to Omaha, beforehand, stop
off at Boone, go out to the high bridge, and study for his own bene-
fit, the best way to handle a delicate situation.
The next day he took an earlier train to Boone where all trains
except the Streamliners change engines and crews. Most trains re-
main there for ten to twenty minutes, but the streamliners from only
five to ten.
He carefully checked the Pacific Coast Limited into Boone, and
out of Boone to the high bridge, which took exactly eleven minutes.
It was one minute later when the train reached the center of the
structure, where you looked straight down into the Coon river,
which seemed like a small rivulet, it was that far away from the
bridge.
He made a pencil note of everything and observed that after the
train reached the west end of the bridge, the engineer pushed the
speed forward and after it hit the level country west of the river,
went up to near a hundred miles an hour, retaining that rate of speed
right into Council Bluffs, on the Iowa side of the Missouri, directly
across from Omaha.
He took a day train the next morning back from Omaha, and
viewed the bridge more carefully, noting that there was a high grade
on either side at the approach of the bridge.
In Boone he hired a Taxi to take him to a small town just across
the river, to view the bridge from the highway and while they were
passing through the valley of the river, a train passed over the
bridge. It looked like a toy, it was so high above him.
Returning to Boone by the same taxi, he double checked on it,
mentally, and when he took the next train from Boone back to
Chicago, he had all the information that he needed, and decided to
wreck the Pacific Coast Limited the night it passed over that bridge
with the Chief of Staff and other high officials of the government,
including both the Secretary of War and of the Navy.
His plan was a simple one, depending for success on everything
working out according to plans. -
As a precaution, he decided to reserve a seat to Omaha on the


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 481
that when the train slowed before reaching the bridge, all he had
to do was to open a vestibule door, jump off and roll down the
embankment to safety, then get to his feet and wait for the explosion.
He then set out to play Watson and his two girl friends to the
limit by putting on a big party, making the popular night spots, and
finding out anything else he wanted to know from Watson.
In all the maneuvering to gather information that Heinrich had
engaged in, during which he was perhaps responsible for sending
more than one hundred American merchantmen to the bottom, on
the east coast, he found it popular to be free with funds. The Na-
tional Socialist party had seen to that before he left Germany, so
money was no object. -
Anybody but Negroes would have, in time perhaps, grown suspi-
cious at such cheerful spending, and begin to ask where he got so
much to spend. But Negroes rarely, if ever, concern themselves with
where anybody gets money, or how. All they concern themselves
about is, if they have it—and spend it. If you spend it you're a good
fellow and you have the key to their homes and hearts. So Heinrich
had it and Heinrich spent it; and Heinrich was popular.
He was handsome into the bargain, with soft, pretty slightly blond
hair, which in itself was unusual. There are few Negro blonds.
Instead, they refer to all such Negroes as “marinny” darkies.
Not only did Heinrich blow them to a big party one week before
Watson was to play host aboard the private car to the highest offi-
cials in the United States Army, but when they arrived at the apart-
ment, he made each girl a present of a crisp, new $50.00 bill—and
that finished it. The girl he stayed with almost wore him out that
night trying to demonstrate her gratitude.
He insisted the next morning, that since he might not be around
Chicago much longer, that they put on another big party the night
before he and Watson left to go west, to which, of course, agree-
ment was unanimous. To be sure that nothing would interfere with
his plans, he suggested taking the girls downtown the afternoon
before to do “a little shopping”, to dinner afterward, and then to
the Regal Theatre where one of the big colored bands would be
playing, then to the Club De Lysia for a final party.
While Heinrich, as we have shown, was busy preparing to wreck
the great Pacific Coast Limited, with more than a hundred human


484 - THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
filled with Negroes—” and he broke off and raised his eyes to smile,
cunningly. Hans greeted his smile with another fully as cunning.
“Just how could something be made to happen, Herr Doctor?”
inquired Schiller, naively.
“If one of our adherents should venture to ‘turn the trick, some
one who hasn't done anything for the cause for a long time.”
“Like Heinrich's sister, Bertha, for instance.”
“Yah, Bertha hasn't done anything for the cause for a long, long
time, if I remember correctly.”
“She has never done anything.”
“Most regrettable, most regrettable, indeed, Hans. Why have
you permitted such neglect; such gross neglect?”
“Well, I've sort of left that to Heinrich.”
“Heinrich has done well—enough for both, perhaps, but his sister
took the same oath to our Fuehrer, at the same time as did Heinrich.
Now since she has been so neglectful, why not put her on this job?”
“Why not?” agreed Hans.
“She ought to be able, without attracting any suspicion, to get
close enough to the president's wife when she comes to this Golden
Gate Ball Room to speak, to-"
“—toss a little pineapple, maybe . . .” and Hans laughed, a cold,
hard and diabolical laugh. Von Barwig smiled naively.
“Just what is the girl doing, that she hasn't been around for some
time to help the cause along?”
“Understand she works in a Negro publishing house up in Harlem.”
“Works in a publishing house, eh? Well, she's a very thoroughly
educated girl. She should be well fitted to work in a publishing house.
Who runs the business?”
“Belongs to a fellow by the name of Wyeth.”
“Wyeth?” the Herr Doctor repeated, thoughfully. “Where have I
heard that name before?”
“From Heinrich and me. He was the fellow whom Heinrich and
Early tried so hard to get to direct Early's picture.” Von Barwig
struck the table so hard and loud that the glasses trembled. -
“That's it! Thought it sounded familar. So he's the guy whom they
tried to get to direct the picture—and he ran out on them, eh? Must
be a Jew lover.”
“He insisted that he didn't hate Jews, and repeatedly refused to


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE - 489
“Yes, dear?” said Bertha as she came up.
“A Mr. Hans Schiller to see you,” she said, waving in his direc-
tion with her right hand. Bertha started, and frowned visibly. Cross-
ing to the door, cracked it and peeped out at Hans, waiting for her.
She closed the door and paused to think a moment while Marie
waited. Presently she crossed to leave Bertha's office and that brought
Bertha back to her presence. She started, and then smiled. She had,
in that second, thought so much about Schiller, and what he was
calling to see her about, that she had forgotten Marie's presence.
As Marie came up, she stepped aside and thanking her, said:
“Send him in, please.” Marie bowed and opened the door. Bertha
crossed back to her desk and sitting down, was facing the door when
Hans entered a moment later.
Recalling that he and her brother were closely associated and had
known each other back in Germany, and while she was very annoyed
at having him call, she realized that he had perhaps been sent, so she
decided to do her best to be agreeable and courteous. Rising up after
he entered her office, and coming forward to meet him, she stretched
out her hand and cried, in her best German: -
“Ach, Herr Schiller, I am glad to see you again,” and grasped the
hand that he extended. After exchanging greetings, she invited him
to be seated, and moved a chair near to hers, waved him to it, then
sat down herself and turned to face him with a forced smile and a
forced cheerfulness.
They exchanged some more formalities, and talked about her
brother. She told him, which of course they already knew, that he
was in Chicago. In fact, they knew much more than Bertha did
about Heinrich and what he was doing in Chicago, and were in
telephonic conversation with him almost daily. In fact, Heinrich had
long since quit talking to or telling Bertha anything regarding his
sabotage activities, and in truth Bertha really knew little if anything
about what he was doing.
Looking around the office presently, Hans turned to her and
smiling. “You seem to be fixed up very comfortably,” he said, and
looked at her large, new desk; at the comfortable office chair she
was sitting in. -
“Thank you,” replied Bertha, pleasantly. “I like it.”
“You should. I'm inclined to envy you,” at which Bertha smiled,


490 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
deprecatingly, and wished he would tell her what he was there to see
her about. She was on the anxious seat, so anxious, in fact, that she
WaS 1161 VOuS.
“Do you just—work here,” he went on. “Or do you—have an
interest in the business?”
“Oh, just work here, Hans. That's all. Helping them out for the
present,” she said, causually.
“I see,” said Hans, carelessly, but watching him, she was sure
that she caught a slightly evil glint in his eye. “In the meantime, I
won't take up much more of your time.”
“Oh, that is all right, Hans. Glad to see you again.”
“And I am to see you, Bertha. Haven't seen you downtown or
heard anything from you for so long that we’ve been wondering
what happened.”
“Nothing in particular, as you see,” she said, apologetically, and
made a little gesture with her hand. “I want to apologize for my
neglect to drop by or run in more often, however. But I am all
right, as you see.”
“Still ready for—any service in the cause, I suppose,” he said, as
if feeling her out. She hesitated very briefly before replying, during
which delay his face clouded visibly.
“Of course, Hans. Always ready to serve our Fuehrer; always
glad to be of any service to the Reich.”
“Good,” cried Schiller, promptly and seemed relieved.
“Have you—something in mind, Hans?” she asked, testily.
“Me, oh, not me, but the boss has.”
“Oh,” echoed Bertha, and her heart fell. She had a sudden and
peculiar premonition. She had an ugly vision. “Well,” to herself,
“What is it?” He was talking.
“The Herr Doctor has some plans, so he sent me up to see you
and tell you to come down and see him—real soon, if possible.”
“I see,” said Bertha, evenly, steeling her nerves for the worst.
“When P” -
“Well, if it isn't too much trouble, he'd like to see you—tonight,
maybe.” He was looking hard at her now and his eyes were as cold
as steel through the pretended smile and ease on his face. He did
not take them off her, so she was afraid to frown, to even think. The
Bertha that Wyeth knew and loved, suddenly faded from view, and


THE CASE OF MERS. WINGATE -- 491
*-
the Nazi Bertha took its place and her face became hard and cold
to meet the situation she knew she was in now. While she was still
the human Bertha, she started to tell him that she had an engage-
ment that night. She knew, however, that if she said that, it would
make it bad for her. The Fuehrer came first.
“Very well. Where?”
“The same place. His hotel.”
“What time, I mean, at what hour?”
“Nine o'clock. There will be others there when you arrive.”
“Very well, Hans.” She stood up now and if they had been where
nobody could hear them, they would have exchanged the salute:
“Heil Hitler!” As it was, they exchanged a silent one with the rais-
ing and stretching out of hands in the usual way, then turning, both
in a goose-step like way, they crossed to the door, where Bertha put
her hand on the knob, but before opening the door, she repeated:
“The hotel, at nine o'clock. I'll be there. Good day.”
“Good day, Miss Schultz,” he said in English, and stepped outside.
She followed and opened the reception room door leading into the
hall, and bowing to each other again, he left. Bertha closed the door
behind him. Marie was listening to his footsteps go down the hall
outside. Bertha turned from the door and paused thoughtfully,
seemingly unaware of Marie's presence until she looked up and
upon seeing her, forced a sweet smile, and turning went back to
her office, closing the door behind her.
Her action was not lost on Marie, however, who knew without
being told, for, of course, there was nobody to tell her anything, that
Schiller's visit meant Bertha no good.
. She heard no sound in Bertha's office after she went back in there,
and she had a vision of Bertha in the throes of sudden unhappiness.
She knew that she had restrained much happiness out of defer-
ence to what she had been sent to America to do. She had never gone
in for a good time completely, and she was ever sorry for her, for
she knew that Bertha wanted to.
Now, after feeling that she might be let alone for the duration,
after which she would be free, she is suddenly the recipient of a visit
and certain instructions, which she knew would not add to the girl's
happiness.
This was confirmed a few moments late when Bertha came out of


500 THE GASE OF MRS, WINGATE
the floor while he sat there and just looked at her for a time,
presently rising to his feet and going over by her. As he paused by
her side where she was standing with eyes down and shaking her
head slowly and hopelessly, he chanced to glance at the Negro
papers, spread out on the table and started as he read about the
president's wife coming to the Golden Gate Ball Room.
Like a shot had struck him, he got an idea then and there what it
was all about. Bertha had been ordered to assassinate the president's
wife when she came there. That was what it was all about. She
could not, he knew, tell him or admit that that was what she was
so upset about—but he knew now! -
The headlines about it in the papers gave it all away, and the
fact that Bertha had the papers, every one of them that carried a
headline account announcing the event. Otherwise, he asked him-
self, why did she have them? She had become suddenly calm. He
raised his eyes to see why, and found her glaring with a wild and
seemingly faraway hope in her eyes. Slowly she turned those
strange eyes to meet his, and whispered.
“There is but one way to save me, Sidney, just one way to—save
me from myself.”
“What way, Bertha 7” he asked.
She reached and laid a hand on him, looked in his direction but
saw nothing, her eyes being wild-like and opened so wide until
they seemed unnatural.
“You’ve known all along, from the very beginning that I was a spy.
Yet you at no time thought of reporting me as you had every right
to do in the interest of your country. I knew all along that you knew
too, and I learned to love you more because I knew I could trust
you. I've been commanded by the forces who control my destiny, to
commit a diabolical deed. I must at least try to do so. It has been
so well planned that it might succeed, and I–I don't want it to,
Sidney.”
She was back to herself again now and tears were again in her
eyes.
He placed an arm about her now and drew her close. While she
wept on his shoulder, he said:
“What is it, Berthaf What do you want me to do?”
“Report me, Sidney, Tell your country that I am a Nagi spy and


|504 THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE
slow-thinking Watson could get to put her on. He was making a
play for high stakes, according to his Fuehrer, so didn't want to
begin to act until the time came and it was necessary. He naturally
had no interest in the girl beyond his play, so didn't want to be
bothered until the show started.
It was the gayest party he had ever staged, everything going off
just as he planned and engineered it. Seeming to be drinking as
much as they, he was careful not to drink much of anything and
when they retired that night, with the rest pretty well stewed, he
was as sober as the lord, and woke up early the next morning,
looked at the girl sleeping soundly and snoring beside him and heard
the alarm go off that Watson had set to awaken him.
Watson awoke when it went off all right, raised up, looked at it
sleepily, then turned on his side and went promptly back to sleep.
Fifteen minutes later Heinrich got up and going into Watson's
bedroom, awakened him.
“Great goodness,” cried Watson, sitting up and fully awake.
“And me gotta take de biggest white fo'ks in de noo nited States
wes' dis mawning''”
He started to scramble into his clothes when he paused and looked
up to see Heinrich standing smiling down on him, chidingly.
“Brother, but how you can sleep,” said Heinrich. Watson grinned.
“Tankey, pal. Yuh saved mah life.”
“Oh, you'd have awakened in time,” said Heinrich, turning to go
back to his room, then paused to turn back as Watson called:
“Yeh. When dem white fo'kes called me fum de ya'd's, maybe.
Den ole man Giltzow, de sup’ntendent 'ud come out to de ya'd, all
de way fum downtown tu gib me 'ell.”
Heinrich laughed good naturedly, and waved at him.
“All right, Watson. I have to make the same train myself, so
forget about old man Giltzow and catching hell, and chase on over
there and be ready to receive your passengers when they arrive.”
“I’d bettah be. And since you woke this fool niggah up, I’ll be
Johnny on de spot.” -
“Well,” said Heinrich, “I’ll be up ahead and will be seeing you
later.” -
“Sho, fellah. Sho, sho.” cried Watson, cheerfully. “Be sho’ tu cum
back. I'll be lookin' fo' yuh.”


THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE 511
Listening, his ears keen, he did not hear any after effect; that
roaring and tearing and grinding that should have followed as the
train fell, car by car from the bridge and tumbled into the waters of
the river below. Why?
He was puzzled, then started with a new realization. He heard
the explosion all right, but now as he recalled it, it hadn't seem
to come exactly from the direction he was expecting it; as it should
have, straight down those tracks. It had come from below the tracks,
far below. But why?
To satisfy his curiosity, which was tensely aroused by now, he
ran down the tracks to the foot of the long, high bridge and pausing,
could see clear across it, and saw the rails all the way across — and
there was nothing amiss anywhere. --
“Well I’ll be damned,” cried Heinrich. “I’ll be God damned ſ”
The Pacific Coast Limited had hit the long, level stretch on the
other side of the Coon River bridge now, the stretch that led into
Council Bluffs across the Missouri River, just east of Omaha, and
the Diesel Engineer had pushed the throttle forward and the Stream-
liner was doing fully 100 miles an hour and would keep it up until
within ten miles of Council Bluffs, after which the train would have
to cross another bridge before rolling into the Union Station at
Omaha.
The explosion had naturally caused a world of excitement. Every-
body was asking everybody else, what had happened, how it hap-
pened, where it came from, and who was responsible. Conjecture,
followed conjecture. The consensus of opinion was that a Nazi spy
had tried to wreck the train as it crossed the high Coon River Bridge
but had failed somehow. -
Nobody as we know, knew the truth but Watson. Even a stupid
Negro can become very sensible and close-mouthed when it might
be necessary for his own safety and salvation. Watson knew that
if he talked this time, he would have to say more. He would most
surely be relieved of his duties at Omaha, taken up town, thrown
into jail and, questioned, and cross questioned by about everybody,
including a gang of newspaper reporters, and in the course of this
all, most likely be struck, maybe beat up, because he couldn't tell
any more than what he knew, which they might not choose to
believe. If he didn't talk, say anything, nobody would suspect him.
For nobody had. He didn't know that he would be about the last


chara, XLIII
f
Y KEEPING NEAR BERTHA, placating her in an almost
endless number of ways, so that he was able to keep her mind
off what she was scheduled to do, Wyeth managed to keep
hope alive in her breast, during those days that led up to the fatal
night, or the night that was to prove fatal, perhaps, to millions of
people all over the world. Only at night when he was not and
could not, of course, be with her, did she become discouraged
and verge on panic, and often fail to get the proper sleep.
Schiller and other agents of Von Barwig came to her apartment
on several occasions at night during this time to check on her,
study her and see if she was likely to break under the strain of
thinking of it. But as has been explained on occasion, many times
before, Bertha Schultz was a brave girl, with plenty of will power
and able to direct her movements at will, and so far as they were
able to see, every time they called, she was standing up well, no
threat of cracking under the strain and that they could count on
her to be strong and ready when the time came.
During these visits they gave her little peace. Over and over
again they sought to impress upon her the necessity of doing it; that
it was for the cause of their dear Fuehrer, who was battling bravely
to the inevitable end of the war he had imposed upon the world,
which, of course, was not the way they put it, so it was the least she
could do, when theirs was such a great opportunity, to commit the
act.
Nobody, they told her, but stupid Americans would permit their
first Lady to go around the country, exposed to such hazards, with-
out a group of agents to surround and keep anybody from getting
near enough to her to do what Bertha would be able to the night
she came to Harlem.
“It's just like Heinrich told me. They don't take the Negro
513